He walked to her, taking her into his arms.

“I’m hungry,” he told her.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“No, I mean, I’m really starving, although, of course…all my creature desires seem to be calling to me at once.”

She laughed and stepped away. “Got another robe?”

There wasn’t much in the house despite their attempts to concoct something substantial from the meager pickings. Sam found a takeout menu from a pizza restaurant that delivered as late as two in the morning, so they sent out for pizzas. There was enough for a salad, which they had just managed to finish putting together when the pizza arrived. They sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of sauvignon and their food, and Jenna found that she couldn’t help but bring up the case again.

“I feel we have the answer, as if we’re looking right at it,” she said.

“So far, we know that a number of people like to dress up as the horned god, and that they probably do so because the teaching facilities use that likeness to show why the Puritans were easily led to believe that Celtic religions and paganism did have a devil. And since the Puritans were busy getting rid of Calvinism—by any means necessary—and were supposed to be the most amazing fundamentalists, they could be convinced easily enough that there was a devil, and, at first, that those who weren’t good churchgoers might easily dance with the devil. Midwives and healers were always the first suspects.”

Jenna drummed her fingers on the table. “Yes, but Rebecca Nurse was accused by the girls, and she did hang, and she was an extremely noble woman.”

“Ah!” he said, waving his fork at her. “There were two main families who held the money in the town at the time—they didn’t seem to be against money. It was the Porters and the Putnam family. Okay, they were a little messed up and inbred by then, but it seemed that each section of the families had to side with one of the families. The Putnams were throwing out the accusations—Rebecca Nurse was on the Porter side.

“It all started with Tituba, the slave from Barbados, telling tales. Tituba was different.”

“As Malachi is different.”

“Yes, but I guarantee you, John Alden—and many other fine people in this city—are not going to let people run around crying, Witch!”

Jenna shook her head. “No, but we saw tonight that children listen to their parents. Okay, maybe not when the parents want them to, but they definitely listen to adult conversation. The Smith family was disliked. Many people felt sorry for Malachi—they hated his father. But the family itself was hated. So, that made Malachi different. Then there was the incident with David Yates. Okay, logically—and yes, I believe this— David was afraid in his own mind and hit himself in the head. Sam, that was like the girls twitching and crawling around the floor and speaking in so-called tongues. They were afraid. Tituba told the girls stories. David had been cruel to Malachi, and he’d heard that the family was fanatical.”

“I agree. It’s a sound correlation. But here’s the thing. I believe, and if you’re right about the murderer wearing a costume, the murders were well planned, as well. And if that’s the case, they were well planned to make it look like Malachi was the murderer. That doesn’t go along with hysteria,” Sam said.

“Maybe it’s all a combination of both,” Jenna suggested.

“And the past,” Sam said thoughtfully. He smiled at Jenna across the table. “Somebody wanted something, so they were using prejudices that were already there to accomplish what they wanted.”

“But who—and what do they want?” Jenna asked thoughtfully.

“The diamond answer,” Sam said. He looked at her. “Somehow, now, you have to get to see David Yates, and I have to find a way to talk to Joshua Abbott. We have to get them apart.”

“All right. Oh! Oh!”

“What? What?”

Jenna grinned. “I’m sorry—I forgot to tell you. I went and had my tarot cards read yesterday.”

“Okay?”

“I went by A Little Bit of Magic. I spoke to Ivy and Cecilia, and saw another old friend, now known as Merlin. Anyway, they said he had competition— Madam Sam. Who is Samantha Yeager.”

“She gave you a reading?”

“Yes, but she already knew who I was.”

“Really—why bother with the reading? And what did she say?”

“She said that she didn’t kill anybody over a house, basically. She’s interesting. And she had an alibi—as far as killing the Smith family, anyway. The clerk verified that she had been giving tarot readings when they were killed.”

“I should meet her,” Sam said.

“Yes, you should. She’s interesting. I mean, very theatrical. But she admits it’s all an act. I think she’s entirely different when she’s not being Madam Sam.”

“Well, then, I’ll go and have a tarot card reading.” He paused a moment, looking at her before speaking softly. “Then I think that we have to go back to the murder house again.”

“Lexington House?” Jenna asked. She felt as if her skin crawled with the thought of it. She wasn’t afraid of the house, she told herself. The house was a shell.

A shell that had witnessed terrible cruelty and violence.

“If you can,” he said. He set his hand on hers. “Jenna, I don’t want you to do anything that hurts you in any way. I still don’t know what I believe, but you were practically bleach-white the last time we were in there, and…”

“It’s what I do,” she told him. “And I’ll be all right.”

“You’re certain?”

“Of course. You’ll be there, too.”

He stood up, finishing the last swig of his wine. “We do need to get some sleep,” he said, setting down his glass and reaching for her hand.

“Are we going to sleep?” she asked him.

He grinned. “Eventually.”

Jenna was startled awake by the very loud ringing of her phone.

She groped blindly for it, remembered her handbag was in the foyer where she had dropped it, and bolted from the bed.

Sam was already up. He had showered and was dressed, and she could smell the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

He handed it to her as she came dashing out.

“Wow, I do like the way you look in the morning!” he teased.

She gave him a warning glance, dived into the bag and found her phone.

She answered with a quick, “Duffy!”

“Jenna.”

It was Angela Hawkins, Jenna’s team member, and one of her favorite people in the world. Angela had been a cop before joining the unit, and though she was a slim, blue-eyed blonde, she really was tough as nails. She was also wonderful at making contact with whatever spirits might remain behind.

“Angela! Hey, how are you? Is everything all right? Oh, please, I hope we don’t have to be somewhere right now—”

“No, no. Jackson thought we should come up. Unofficially, of course. So, we’re just here for Haunted Happenings.”

“Here?” Jenna said.

“We’re at your uncle’s house—Jackson, Will and I.”

“Oh! You’re in Salem already.”

“Yes. Actually, Will has a permit—we’re sending him out to perform magic in the street and he can see what passes by—we’re going to put him just outside one of the museums on the pedestrian walkway. Anyway, should we come to you?”

“No! Ah, no,” Jenna said, glancing at Sam, who had poured her coffee and brought it to where she stood. “No, fifteen minutes, we’ll be there. Sam and I.”

“Take your time. Jamie is filling us in.”

She hung up, feeling panicked, and then laughed.

“Is that hysteria? What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“Jackson, Angela and Will are here. Part of my team.”

“Jackson Crow—the behavior guy. The profiler.”

“Angela and Will, too. She was a cop in Virginia…and Will was an entertainer, from Trinidad, originally—fascinating guy. He works with film and sound and all that. He’s going to do surveillance down by the shops and museums on the pedestrian walk, pretend to be a street performer doing magic.”

She was afraid for a minute that he was going to be angry—afraid that his rapport with John Alden would be destroyed if the FBI showed up.

“Brilliant,” he said. “A worker who can see a zillion tourists, of course, but also get to know all the people in the area—shopkeepers, guides, Puritan and Witch Trial actors and actresses.”

“Brilliant? You’re sure?” she asked.

He nodded. “I liked your speech to John Alden the other day. We will happily use what we can get.”

“But what about John? Will he become defensive?” Jenna asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll see. Hey—they’re here, right? And it’s a free country. They don’t have to have police cooperation to be here and look around a tourist city as private citizens.”

She let out a sigh of relief and took a long swallow of coffee. “A shower. I’ve got to get into the shower…my clothes! I need both boots, oh, hell….”

“There’s a shower in the back of the bedroom, in the bath, extra toothbrushes and stuff like that in the cabinet above the sink, and…” he said, caught her arm before she could tear off and kissed her lips quickly. “Don’t panic. Sex is older than the hills, you know.”

“No, I’m not panicked. I’ve just got to move!”

He laughed as she hurried away.

Twenty minutes later, Sam and Jenna had walked the short distance to Jamie’s house.

Since he’d met Jenna, Sam had found himself intrigued to meet Jackson Crow. The man was about his own height and build with exceptional features that told of a Native American background. Angela was a slim, stunning blonde with grave eyes, and Will Chan was tall with a fascinating mix of cultures, predominately Asian, visible in his features, as well. They seemed relaxed and easy, but ready to hear everything they could about the case.