This Magick Marmot Page 10

  Why was I so sure it was Scott? With the bright kitchen lights on, it was hard to see details out in the dark. I backed up slowly, trying not to spook him, which was only funny later in the retelling. When I could reach the light switches, I swiped them off with the palm of my hand, not taking my eyes off his image. In the darkened kitchen, there was no longer any doubt in my mind that the man on the other side of the glass was the Scott-ghost. But there was nothing ghostly about him, except the fact that he was dead.

  He held his right hand up in front of his face, palm outward in the universal sign meaning stop! Stop what—the investigation into Genna’s death or looking back into his? And why would he want me to stop either one? Could I be missing the point entirely? Questions swirled in my head, but didn’t make it to my mouth. It wouldn’t have mattered. My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t swallow and my tongue wouldn’t work right.

  We stared at each other for another minute or two before he vanished. He was there and then not there. I was inching toward the window to see if he had only ducked out of sight, when the front doorbell rang as loud as church bells in the silence. I shrieked again, my nerves on a hair trigger. Had he gone to the front door? Was he asking to come in? It was one thing for my mother and grandmother to visit, but in spite of how close Scott and I had been, this was freaking me out.

  As I approached the front door, I managed to call out “Scott?” in a hoarse, wobbly voice. So much for sounding strong and unafraid.

  “Are you okay?” came the muted answer. I couldn’t get the door unlocked fast enough. I swung it open and flew into Travis’s arms with so much momentum I knocked him over and we went down in a heap on the porch. I was laughing and crying. Travis untangled himself from me, then helped me up. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be, now that you’re here.” I made tea and we sat at the kitchen table while I told him about Scott’s visit.

  “We’ve got to go out back and look for footprints,” Travis said, already out of his seat. I hadn’t thought of it, but he was right. If we waited until morning, raccoons, possums and smaller animals would run through the flower beds and disturb whatever evidence there might be. We left our tea on the table. Armed with a flashlight, we went out the kitchen door into the backyard and I pointed out where the Scott-ghost had been standing. Beneath the kitchen window were four small perennial bushes and between them, the dozen impatiens I’d planted back in June. None of them had been flattened or damaged in any way, but they were droopy.

  It hadn’t rained in days, leaving the soil dry, the wrong medium for holding onto prints. I didn’t know if I was disappointed or glad. Footprints would have meant that someone very much alive was dressing up to look like Scott. A lack of them would have pointed to a ghost, a spirit, with no weight to leave evidence. But the hard ground told us nothing, except that my impatiens would die if I didn’t remember to water them.

  Travis was worried about my safety. But now that Scott wasn’t staring at me in the dark, I was able to be more philosophical about it. “The others he’s visited haven’t been harmed,” I pointed out. “Besides, Scott has no reason to blame me for his death. We were friends since forever and I wasn’t even at the lake.”

  Travis ran his fingers through his hair, tousling the hair stylist’s work. “I still don’t like it.”

  “No need to worry. I can take care of myself.”

  “Wiping me out on the porch—was that you taking care of yourself?” he asked with a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes.

  “That was me being thrilled to see you.” I tried to keep a straight face, but failed by a mile. “Come to think of it, you never told me why you drove out here tonight.”

  “I got these insane vibes that you were in danger and needed me,” he said in the weighty voice he trotted out for the world news.

  I laughed. “You know magick isn’t contagious, right? You can’t become prescient by hanging out with me or Tilly, so ‘fess up.”

  “I missed you and I’m off tomorrow. I figured why not start tomorrow tonight?” He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. He understood how big the small things were to a woman. I wondered how many women had been his teachers and decided I didn’t need to know.

  First thing the next morning, I checked my email. Still no response from Conrad. I must have triggered something in his hermit soul when I asked to visit him. Hounding him with more emails was definitely not the way to go. I had to give him space; let the need to tell his tale build up in him. Just as well. It was going to be a crazy day with two tour buses due in, their schedules overlapping for an hour. New Camel could be overwhelmed by one busload. In the past, overlapping tours had just about brought us to our knees. When I explained this to Travis, he pulled a sulky face.

  “If you had called, I would have told you I’d be busy,” I said.

  “I know the drill. All the merchants here depend on tourism, especially during the summer and the holiday season, to carry them through the winter.” The way he rattled it off, I must have said it a few times too often. “So hire me on,” he said. “I’m a quick learner and I’ll work for free. In addition, I come with some perks that I will leave to your imagination. You’ll never get a better offer.” I had no doubt of it.

  “You’ve got a deal. You do the grunt work. Leave the magick and all questions to me.” By the time the second bus arrived, I was spoiled. My grandmother used to say that a luxury becomes a necessity in a month. I guess I’m easily spoiled, because we were only working together for five hours at that point.

  Travis found his niche at the register. He chatted with customers, paid them compliments and charmed them with his mischievous little boy smile. If people recognized him from his stints filling in for famous anchors in the New York metro area, he played it aw shucks humble, but the light in his eyes beamed a bit brighter each time.

  When there was a lull in foot traffic, he went off to the Breakfast Bar and brought us back coffee and brownies. We ate between customers like kids stuffing their faces with Halloween candy before their parents could ration it. He took a napkin and gently wiped the chocolate residue from around my mouth, then I returned the favor.

  At that precise moment, Beverly walked in and caught me at it. The woman had radar for gossip worthy tidbits she could embellish and feed to the grapevine in her salon. “Sorry, I seem to have come at an awkward time,” she said pointedly.

  I had to unclench my jaw to respond. “There’s nothing awkward about wiping chocolate off someone’s face, Beverly. What can I do for you?” I saw Sashkatu open one eye when he heard her name. After satisfying himself that Travis was nearby to take care of any Beverly related crisis, he dozed off again.

  “According to the word on the street, your shop is the place to be today. The tourists are all abuzz about your new hire.” She turned her smile on for Travis’s viewing pleasure. I think she may have batted her lashes at him too. He moved closer to me and slid his arm around my waist in an I’m-here-if-you-need-me gesture. I appreciated the show of solidarity, but Beverly was nothing more than a nuisance, like crabgrass or a swarm of gnats.

  “Who does your hair?” She gave Travis’s locks a thorough appraisal, shaking her head and muttering bits of criticism under her breath. “You should be coming to me.”

  “Not my call,” he said, taking her rudeness in stride. “The network keeps a stylist on retainer.”

  Beverly plucked a business card from a pocket of her tight green capris and held it out to him. “If you ever want a free trial cut, you know—for comparison.” He accepted the card and thanked her. I admired his willpower. I was irritated enough for both of us.

  “We’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I said in the way women understand to be a warning shot, but men take as everything’s A-okay.

  Beverly leaned toward me. “Can you afford to lose me as a source?” she asked in a stage whisper, before turning on h
er heel and sweeping out of the shop. I pitied her customers, who were about to get an earful of anti-Kailyn venom. I wasn’t worried in the least about losing her as a source. She wouldn’t let it go that far, because she was hooked on my antiaging products. This wasn’t our first go-round.

  “What just happened?” Travis asked after the door closed behind her.

  I shrugged. “We don’t bring out the best in each other.” He looked no less mystified, but before he could delve into it further, one of the women from the senior center bus tour, called out to him.

  “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Anchorman, I’m ready for you to check me out.” She had white hair, dimples and blue eyes that danced with audacity. The woman standing behind her in line giggled, her cheeks on fire as if she’d uttered those words herself.

  Travis gave me a wink. “My public awaits.”

  By the time the second bus pulled out, we were both exhausted. My aunt hobbled in from her shop. Her curly red hair had lost its bounce. Her frothy lavender muumuu had deflated like a bad meringue. Travis vacated the customer chair for her, and she sank into it with a groan. “Were those two busloads more demanding than usual or am I just getting too old for this?”

  “They were definitely up there on the charts,” I said. “I was lucky to have Travis helping me. But are you sure you didn’t just schedule too many readings and teas for one day?” I didn’t like seeing Tilly so drained. It was an uncomfortable reminder that she was part of my mother’s generation and I wouldn’t always have her around. As if his subconscious had read my thoughts, Sashkatu awoke with a start and climbed down from his window ledge, without bothering to stretch. He padded over to Tilly and she helped him into her lap. Although he was an independent, often aloof cat, his emotions ran deep. And he’d always subscribed to the theory that one should never let a good lap go to waste.

  Chapter 15

  Tilly and I sat together on the couch in her family room, watching the evening news and waiting for the medical examiner’s report on Genna. Although there was little doubt in my mind she was poisoned, I was hoping there might be other details that would prove useful to our investigation. The camera was focused on Travis, who’d staked out a corner of the Watkins Glen pressroom to recap the circumstances of her death. The room was filled to capacity, the hubbub around him forcing him to shout.

  When the camera swung away to capture the arrival of the officials, Travis did a neat segue from providing backstory to naming the men as they filed out of the anteroom. Chief of police Gimble, detective Duggan, and ME Cuthburton took seats at the back of the raised platform. Mayor Tompkins walked directly to the podium, where he waited for silence before beginning.

  “Hello everyone. I know there’s been a lot of anticipation and speculation with regard to the death of Genna Harlowe. I applaud our fine medical examiner for refusing to be rushed in this case, despite the pressure brought to bear by certain factions. His dedication to excellence has provided us with a report in which we can all have full confidence. Dr. Cuthburton.”

  The two men switched places, bumping shoulders in an awkward do-si-do. Cuthburton, who was a good foot taller than the mayor, spent a moment raising the microphone.

  “Thank you, Mayor Thompkins. I appreciate your patience. I won’t keep everyone in suspense any longer. Genna Harlowe died from ingesting potassium cyanide. The poison works by interfering with the body’s ability to take in oxygen. Aside from a faint almond smell, it’s difficult to taste and therefore easy to disguise in other liquids. At first the victim feels dizzy. That’s quickly followed by convulsions, seizures, and the stereotypical foaming at the mouth most of you have seen on television and in the movies. The final stage is complete organ failure.

  “In all likelihood, the poison was concealed in an alcoholic beverage and virtually undetectable. The time frame suggests that she ingested the poison at the reunion. My complete report will be available online. All questions should be directed to the police. Thank you.”

  A dozen arms shot up in the air, but Cuthburton left the podium without looking back. The mayor hurried back to the lectern to introduce detective Duggan, before the members of the press became bloodthirsty.

  “I’m surprised Gillespie isn’t there,” Tilly remarked. “After all she was in charge when it happened.”

  I wasn’t at all surprised. “Duggan’s back and Duggan does not like sharing control or credit. I’m sure he dragged every bit of information out of her. And if he gets anything wrong, she’ll serve as his scapegoat.”

  A reporter shouted out his question. “How hard is it to buy potassium cyanide?”

  “Far too easy,” Duggan replied. “You can order it on any number of websites and have it shipped to you.” A barrage of voices drowned out his last words. “Let’s do this in an orderly manner, folks. Raise your hand if you have a question.” Hands shot up again. He called on a reporter near the stage.

  “Have you talked to the bartenders and other personnel who were working at the Waverly Hotel the night she was poisoned?”

  “Yes we have, but I can’t go into our findings at this time.” He acknowledged a woman several rows back.

  “Have you identified anyone in her life with a grudge against her?”

  “Again, answering that question could jeopardize the investigation. Rest assured that we will leave no stone unturned, until we have her killer in custody.” He called on Travis in the back of the room.

  “Do you consider the accident that nearly killed Tony Russo that same weekend to be related to the murder of Genna Harlowe or strictly coincidental?”

  Duggan took a moment before responding. Watching him grapple with the question, I had the impression Gillespie may have glossed over the part about Tony when she brought Duggan up to speed. Maybe it was her way of teaching him a lesson in teamwork and civility. Whatever her reasons, I enjoyed watching him squirm.

  “I’m not in a position to address that at this time,” he said finally. “This press conference was called for the express purpose of releasing the ME’s report. The fact that I’ve made myself available to answer some questions should not be taken as an opportunity to engage me in an arbitrary game of twenty questions.” He turned on his heel and stalked off the stage. The mayor and chief of police looked at each other, shrugged and followed him off.

  The camera came back to Travis for a wrap up. “I don’t think anyone is surprised by the ME’s findings. As for detective Duggan, although he asked for questions, he didn’t seem eager, or perhaps able, to answer them. After he left the podium, we weren’t any better informed than when he started.” Ouch. Travis could spar with the best of them. His relationship with Duggan had never been great, but I couldn’t help wondering if the detective’s antipathy toward him was fueled by his association with me.

  * * * *

  “He fired the first round across my bow,” Travis said when I asked him later about Duggan’s response and his critical remark.

  “I hope it doesn’t have a negative effect on your career.”

  “If anything it increases my name recognition. My boss was grinning from ear to ear when I got back to the studio.”

  “Come have dessert,” my aunt called from the kitchen. “I made dark chocolate brownies—the chewy kind.”

  “Did someone say brownies?” Merlin’s voice came from the backyard where he’d been teaching Froliquet the ins and outs of proper household behavior. She’d proven to be quick and smart, but with a stubborn streak that confounded the wizard.

  Travis laughed. “Hey! I want a brownie. No one does chewy like Tilly!” I promised to save one for him.

  I joined my aunt in the kitchen. She’d set the table ahead of time and was pouring the tea when I sat down. The wizard appeared a moment later, followed closely by his new familiar, who was followed by Isenbale, Tilly’s Maine Coon. According to my aunt, the cat had developed quite a crush on the newest member of the househ
old. He didn’t seem to care that the marmot was an entirely different species. Most of the time, Froliquet tolerated his affections, but there had been a few nasty skirmishes that resulted in Isenbale losing tufts of his luxurious long coat.

  Between forkfuls of brownie and vanilla ice cream, I told Tilly about the email from Conrad and what I’d written in my reply. “I haven’t heard back from him yet.”

  “I’m surprised he wrote to you at all. He was a strange boy even as a toddler. His mother and I were friends of a sort back then. Not close friends by any means. She didn’t relate easily to people. She did seem to enjoy spending time with me, but then she went months avoiding my calls. From what I’ve heard, Conrad suffers from worse social anxiety than she did, poor boy.”

  I sipped my tea. Tilly had chosen her mild licorice blend to pair with the brownies. It was a digestive aid that worked wonders if one overindulged. “Didn’t his mother die young?” I asked.

  “She was only forty two, which would have made him twenty. At least he was spared the foster care system. I can’t imagine what that experience would have done to him.”

  I wiped brownie crumbs off my chin. “I don’t want to pressure him, but I have to find out what he meant about Genna. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having a look around his house too. If he had issues with Genna, I have to consider him a suspect. I’m thinking of showing up unannounced.”

  Tilly shook her head. “Bad idea.”

  “Well I do have another plan, but it relies to a great extent on your help. Are you game?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Ready, willing and able!”