Magickal Mystery Lore Page 12

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  When the doorbell rang at nine-twenty that night, the five younger cats ran for their hidey holes. Only my stalwart Sashki remained with me to face whatever awaited us on the other side of the door. Although I’d recently recast the wards that protected the house and grounds, I wasn’t as certain of their strength as I had once been. Six months earlier, I’d learned the hard way that where there was a murderous will, there was a devious way around the wards. I peered through the peep hole and was met by another eye peering back.

  “Who is it?” I demanded, not to be messed with. No easy prey in this house.

  “Don’t you recognize my eye?” came the injured retort. I unlocked the door and threw it open. Travis caught me in his arms and held me in a hug I could have lived in for the rest of my life.

  “Hold my place,” he said, extricating himself from my embrace and heading for the powder room down the hall. I ducked into the kitchen to put the kettle up to boil. He found me there, watching the kettle in spite of the old saying. “What happened to holding my place?” he asked, coming up behind me at the stove and putting his arms around my waist.

  I turned in the circle of his arms so that I faced him. “I hold your place whenever we’re apart.”

  I finished brewing Tilly’s comfort tea and filled two cups that we carried to the table. She’d infused the tea with an extra spell meant to mollify the drinker. She was trying to help me stack the deck in my favor when I told Travis my plan. Although I hadn’t expected him for another day or two, she’d insisted on giving me the tea leaves before we closed our shops for the night. I should have realized then that she might have had a premonition he’d be dropping by ahead of schedule. I don’t always put two and two together in time to do me any good. Tilly would never have told me outright—she was a big fan of happy surprises.

  Travis hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I made him two sandwiches of peanut butter and apricot jam on multigrain bread.

  “It’s hard to go wrong with the old PB&J.” he said, wolfing them down.

  While he ate, I told him about my phone calls to Liam and Brock Davenport as a lead-in to my strategy for getting an interview with the would-be actor. He listened without interrupting, but the furrow between his brows was deepening as I spoke.

  “I don’t like it,” he said, after washing his last bite down with the tea. “You’re going to talk him up, flatter him, tell him you can’t imagine why Ava broke up with him—basically convince the guy that any sane woman, including you, would invite his attentions. If the FBI used such a ploy, the civil liberties folks would be yelling entrapment. It’s a dangerous road to travel.”

  I hadn’t expected such flat-out disapproval. He wasn’t usually that rigid. “I understand your concerns,” I said. It was hard to keep my tone calm when my hackles were rising. If he tried to use a similar tactic to get an interview with a suspect, he’d be astonished if I objected. The old double standard was alive and well.

  “Does that mean you’re going ahead with it regardless of my input?” Drink the tea, Travis! Please drink the tea!

  I picked up my cup, hoping to coax him into doing the same. “You’re over-thinking the risks.” It worked, but only for a few seconds.

  He set his cup down hard enough for some of the tea to slosh onto the table. “No, I don’t think you understand the risks. Davenport may have killed Ava.”

  “If he wasn’t a potential killer, I wouldn’t have any reason to question him,” I pointed out. “But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check out his past, see if he has a record. Can you ask one of your police contacts?”

  Travis didn’t immediately respond. He shifted his position in the chair and finished his tea, before finally looking up at me with a sheepish smile.

  “I already checked his background, right after we talked to the Duncans.” I wanted to know why he didn’t tell me at the time, but that subject would have to wait its turn.

  “And the answer is…?”

  “He has no criminal record, but he does have two orders of protection against him, filed by former girlfriends.”

  “Was he ever charged with breaking those orders?”

  “No, but that could change in a hot-tempered heartbeat. Order of protection or not, Ava might have been his final straw.”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?” I didn’t like being managed or treated like a second-class investigator, because he worried about me. Some women might find it sweet and protective. I wasn’t one of them. Travis and I had banged heads about this more than once, and he wasn’t a slow learner.

  “You’re not going to believe that it slipped my mind, huh?” I shook my head. “Then the truth it is, when I found out about the orders of protection, I knew you’d rush right over to question Brock. And I still have this need to protect you. There was an article I read that claimed protecting loved ones is built into the male psyche—primitive genetics we still haul around.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But I’m pretty sure your big, brawny, evolved brain can override those ape-man instincts if you try hard enough.”

  “Why not think of men as the weaker sex? I need reassurance that you won’t take chances that can get you killed.”

  “I’ll be careful not to paint Brock into a corner.” I said.

  “Not good enough.”

  “Then what will ease your mind?”

  Travis drummed his fingers on the table. “Wear a wire,” he said as if he’d just thought of it. “Wear a wire so I can monitor the situation from my car.”

  I laughed, more from surprise than amusement. “You can’t be serious. In every cop show I’ve ever seen, the person wearing the wire is found out and killed.”

  “That’s TV. Besides, if you’re going to pose as a freelance writer to get an interview with Brock, he’d have no reason to be suspicious of you.”

  “Do you realize you’re kind of arguing my side for me?”

  “Yeah, I just heard myself. My college debate team would taunt me mercilessly if they were listening.” He looked like a sad puppy.

  I sighed. “Okay, I’ll wear the wire if it will make you feel better. But don’t forget my magick is always with me and it’s much more effective. If anything goes wrong, I can teleport back home before you can jump out of your car and race to my rescue.”

  “As long as there are no hiccups in your magick that day.” He had a point.

  “Touché—magick and a wire it is.”

  Chapter 20

  Two days later, the phone rang at four in the morning, waking me from a deep sleep. I bolted up. Whenever the phone rings in the wee dark hours, my worst fears rush to the front of my mind. Tilly’s semi-hysterical voice allowed my heart to subside from my throat. At least she was alive and well enough to be worked up over something. I tried to clear the cobwebs from my brain. “Aunt Tilly, please calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  “It’s Merlin,” she said, panting as if she’d just run a mile. “He’s gone. Merlin is gone. He’s run away or he’s been kidnapped. What shall we do?! What shall we do?! The old fool will get himself killed or wind up in a mental insti…” By the end of the sentence, her voice had risen to a range only heard by dogs.

  “I’m going to call 911,” I told her, making an effort to keep my own voice steady and reasonable, although my thoughts were in a whirlwind. “Then I’m coming over there. Meanwhile you should get dressed.”

  “Yes of course, I’ll get dressed. That’s what one does in such a situation.”

  Paul answered my call at the local police substation. He sounded a little groggy. I heard the low drone of the TV in the background. It couldn’t be easy staying awake through the night shift in a town where the phone rarely rang. Although the murder rate had gone nuts over the past year, other criminal activity had virtually flatlined.

  “Kailyn—what’s wrong?”
My name must have popped up on his computer screen.

  “My cousin Merlin is missing. Tilly’s afraid he’s run away.” I left out her concern about kidnapping, because it seemed far-fetched given our financial situation and the fact that Merlin’s true identity was a well-kept secret. “I know it has to be forty-eight hours before you act on a missing adult, but Merlin suffers from dementia.” I hated to say that about him, but it was somewhat true and it would allow the police to act immediately.

  “I’ll put out an APB on him. I’ll need a recent photo or a good description. I’ll run by to grab those from you. Or should I go to Tilly’s?” I heard his chair scrape against the floor as he pushed back from the desk. I told him I’d meet him at Tilly’s.

  Unfortunately, we didn’t have any pictures of Merlin. If and when we managed to return him to his own time, we didn’t want to leave any unnecessary evidence of his journey to the twenty-first century. A description would have to do.

  I threw on the clothes I’d taken off a few short hours ago, tried not to wake the cats, who might decide they were hungry, and quietly let myself out. I reached Tilly’s house as Paul’s cruiser pulled up to the curb. Tilly had left the front door unlocked for us. We found her in the kitchen whipping up a batch of brownies. Some people take drugs to relieve anxiety, my aunt baked. She was dressed in a lavender muumuu and gray sneakers with turquoise accents, but she hadn’t combed her hair. Her red curls stuck out from her head as if she’d taken the blender to it. When she turned to me, I could see in her eyes just how distraught she was. I put my arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay.” I don’t like making promises that aren’t mine to keep, but we had to find Merlin. Failure was simply not an option.

  I described Merlin for Paul as best I could: elderly, long white hair and beard, blue eyes, medium height. “Don’t forget about his dessert belly,” Tilly interjected.

  Paul stopped writing and looked up at us. “You mean a beer belly?”

  “No, a dessert belly from eating too much candy, cake and ice cream,” she explained.

  “My aunt can be a bit of an enabler,” I added.

  Paul was caught between smiling and trying to remain serious—an expression that might have drawn the attention of Leonardo da Vinci, had he been here. “Does Merlin have any friends or favorite places he might have run off to?” Paul asked once he got his lips under control.

  “He doesn’t have any friends here. And his favorite places aren’t open at this hour,” I said, thinking of The Soda Jerk, the Caboose, and every pizza shop in the county.

  “Was he upset about anything? Did he have an argument with anyone?”

  “Not that I’m aware of…” I looked at my aunt, who was stirring the brownie batter for all she was worth. I knew the sign. “Aunt Tilly—what happened?”

  She put down her mixing spoon and turned to us with a soulful sigh. “We had a little spat last evening about the TV. He wanted to watch that infernal western channel again and I told him it wasn’t going to happen. He took himself off to bed in a huff. You know how unreasonable he can be, Kailyn.” I nodded, but I knew that she could be as stubborn as he was unreasonable. The combination didn’t make for easy compromises.

  “One last thing,” Paul said, looking over the description we’d given him, “do you know what he was wearing?”

  “I can tell you in second,” Tilly said taking off for Merlin’s room. Paul and I followed. She did a quick check of the closet. “He’s still in his nightshirt,” she said, “and barefoot.”

  “Nightshirt?” Paul repeated. “You mean like from the eighteen hundreds?”

  More like from the Middle Ages, but who was counting? “Yes, he has some peculiar habits.”

  “Okay, I’m heading out,” he said. “If Merlin is barefoot he won’t have gotten too far. Try not to worry. I’m sure we’ll have him home in no time.”

  “Unless he gets it into his thick head to use magick to elude the police,” my aunt mumbled after we heard the front door close.

  “Will you be okay alone here if I drive around and look for Merlin?” If the choice was between sitting at home and waiting or joining the search, I’d join the search every time.

  “Yes, of course. No one is likely to kidnap me with my arthritis and bunions. And I feel more hopeful now that the police are out looking for Merlin.”

  It occurred to me that I should put a sign on the door of my shop to let folks know I’d be closed until a family emergency was resolved. I asked my aunt if she had readings and teas scheduled, but she didn’t. One less thing to worry about.

  I spent an hour driving in circles looking for the wizard. By the time I got back home, the cats were milling around the kitchen. Sashkatu was waiting for me in the foyer, cleaning his paws. He glanced at his siblings and back at me with an expression that said, the riff raff are getting testy.

  I fed the whole crew and gave Sashki his breakfast in the solitude of the powder room as he preferred. I wrote out the sign for my shop, but when Sashki followed me to the front door, I tried to explain that I wasn’t actually going to work and after a minute or so, he seemed to get the gist of it.

  “You can come with me to Tilly’s” I offered, “but I know you and Isenbale don’t get along.” The big Maine Coon was a bit of a bully and set in his ways. He’d never had to share his home with another animal. Sashki didn’t waste any time deciding if he wanted to go to Tilly’s. He climbed up to the top of the couch and settled in for a nap. The message was as clear as if he’d spoken the words—spare me.

  After taping the note to the door of my shop, I drove back to Tilly’s. We were sitting at the kitchen table with cups of comfort tea and brownies—the breakfast of champions. Considering the tiny size of New Camel, I’d expected the police to have corralled the old wizard by now. Doubts were beginning to crowd out my certainty that he couldn’t possibly have been wizard-napped. I kept my dire thoughts to myself. Nothing would be helped by another round of Tilly hysteria. When my cell phone rang, both of us flew off our chairs as if they’d had heavy duty springs installed.

  “Turn on the TV,” Travis said without preamble. “My network.” Tilly and I hurried into the family room, I turned on the TV and we dropped onto the couch as the set flashed on. The words Breaking News covered the screen, but quickly dissolved to a newscaster behind a desk. “The town of New Camel, New York seems to have a pied piper to rival the legendary one from Hamelin. Hugh McNamarra is on the scene—Hugh.”

  “Thanks, Phil,” the reporter said. “We’re here to find out about this rather strange procession marching through our town. Take a look.” The camera shifted away from the reporter to a shot of the street, and there was Merlin front and center in a nightshirt that stopped short of his knobby knees. He was walking barefoot along a residential street with an entourage of cats at his heels. There must have been three dozen of them, with more joining by the second. They were fanned out behind him like a bizarre bridal train.

  “For those of you who don’t recognize this location, we are just one block away from the entrance to the Interstate. It’s imperative that this elderly man and the cats following him be stopped as soon as possible. We just got a report that the police are setting up a blockade at the entrance ramp. One patrolman is here monitoring the scene. The camera moved away from the reporter to show the police car parked across the street a block behind the procession. My cell beeped with a text. It was Paul Curtis, telling me he’d found Merlin. He appeared to be fine, but I should come down to help deal with the situation ASAP.

  Tilly scooted to the edge of her seat, squinting at the picture. “Kailyn—his eyes are closed.”

  I shifted my focus from the phone to Merlin. “He must be sleepwalking. Has he ever done that before?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” I knew what that meant. When Tilly slept, she slept! Merlin could have sleepwalked every night since he’d moved in with
her and she wouldn’t necessarily have known it.

  The reporter was giving a play by play of the event. Since there wasn’t much happening, he was quickly reduced to hyping the potential dangers that lay ahead and describing the cats in the procession. “The Ragdoll toward the end looks like Mrs. Freely’s Reggie, and if I’m not mistaken, the two Siamese belong to the Banks family. Now here’s the odd thing—I know for certain that many of the cats you see here are indoor cats. Their owners must be scratching their heads, wondering how their pets got out and why they’re following the old man at the head of this odd parade.”

  I had to get down there quickly, which meant teleporting. Tilly was all for it and promised the brownies would be waiting when I returned. I had one thing to do before beginning the process. Since I didn’t dare appear out of thin air in front of all the people there and the even larger viewing audience, I had to pick a place out of sight to land. I studied the area around Merlin’s location. He was moving so slowly, he shouldn’t be too much farther along when I arrived. I chose the backyard of a Cape Cod, half brick, half slate gray clapboard with white shutters, for my destination. There was always the possibility that someone might be looking out a window and see me materialize, but it was much more likely that all the residents were on their front lawns watching Merlin and the cats.