Wicked Witch Murder by Leslie Meier Page B

didn’t need the coordinates; she was a faithful customer at the outlet mall, and that’s where she headed, arriving just after a couple of cops had finished marking off part of the lot with yellow tape. One of them was her old friend Barney Culpepper, and he introduced her to his young companion, Officer Jason Struthers. They could hear the copter approaching, and minutes later it broke through the smoke and clouds and landed. Four people were practically tossed out, and it took off as soon as they had scuttled to a safe distance.
    The little group didn’t look like hikers to Lucy; they were carrying baskets and tote bags instead of backpacks, and not one was wearing hiking boots. One woman, who was extremely overweight, was wearing a long, full skirt and had lots of chains and beads strung around her neck. Her long, gray hair hung loose from a central part and fell to her shoulders; large hoop earrings hung from each ear.
    â€œIs everybody okay?” asked Barney, pulling out his notebook.
    â€œRelatively speaking,” snapped the large woman. “If you call being up all night in the middle of a fire okay.”
    â€œLady, you’re lucky to be alive,” said Barney, producing his notebook. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need your ID for my report.”
    Hearing this, the other three, a scruffy-looking man and two equally disheveled women, exchanged glances.
    â€œID? I didn’t bring any. Will a library card do?” The woman was rummaging through a basket, tossing out a variety of brightly colored garments, some with mystical designs.
    The young cop, Officer Struthers, turned to the others. “How about you?”
    Reluctantly, they began producing their wallets and showing their driver’s licenses. The fat lady triumphantly produced a paperback book. “Here! How about this? It’s a book I wrote and has my photo on the cover.”
    The book, Lucy noted with interest, was titled Modern Witchcraft, and the author was Lady Sybil Wellington.
    â€œThis ‘lady’ part, is it a name or a title?” asked Barney.
    â€œIt’s a title,” said Lady Sybil, pulling herself up to her entire five feet.
    â€œSo you’re some sort of nobility? Like from England?” asked Struthers.
    â€œI am an initiated priestess of the Wiccan religion and the author of numerous books on the subject,” declared Lady Sybil. “I am a United States citizen and live in New Hampshire.”
    Barney shrugged. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
    The helicopter could once again be heard approaching, and Lucy could hardly wait to see who emerged this time. She was certain the “hikers” were actually members of Diana Ravenscroft’s coven, who had gone up the mountain to celebrate Midsummer Night. She wasn’t disappointed when four more ill-equipped hikers scrambled out. This group included two men and two women, all middle-aged and mostly dressed in cheap tracksuits. Like the others, they were carrying an assortment of duffel bags and baskets. Lucy had just decided to approach them for an interview when she was interrupted by Lady Sybil.
    â€œWhere’s Lady Diana?” she shrieked, addressing the new arrivals.
    â€œShe insisted that we go first,” said a young man with a prominent nose and a receding chin. “She said that she’s”—the fellow lowered his voice to a whisper—“she’s the high priestess, responsible for everyone, and she should be the last to be rescued.”
    â€œSo what exactly were you folks doing up on the mountain?” asked Barney, sounding suspicious. “You weren’t starting any fires, were you?”
    Glances were exchanged among the group members, and Lady Sybil finally spoke. “Fire is part of the Wiccan Midsummer Sabbat celebration,” she admitted. “But we seek only to encourage the growth of crops and their ultimate fruition.”
    â€œSo did