Magick & Mayhem Page 17

  I had no trouble finding the scene of the accident. Tilly’s red car was easy to spot in the middle of a lovely front yard. Or more accurately, what had been a lovely front yard. Deep, muddy ruts marked the tires’ path from the road through a thick hedge of evergreen bushes and into a decorative waterfall with an intricate arrangement of rocks and flowers. Evergreen branches and shredded flowers were snarled in the car’s grill, making the vehicle look as if it needed to floss after having a salad. There were two police cars parked at the curb. One officer was talking to the homeowners, the other to Tilly and Merlin. They reminded me of coaches chatting up their boxers in opposite corners of a ring.

  I parked behind the police cars and headed over to team Tilly. She brightened up when she spied me coming. “Here’s my niece,” she announced. “She’ll be able to clear all this up in no time.”

  And how exactly was I supposed to do that? I introduced myself to the officer who looked like he was reaching the limits of his patience.

  “I’ve been trying to ascertain how this accident happened and who was at the wheel,” he said to me. “Ms. Wilde’s license, registration, and insurance information are in order, but the gentleman with her doesn’t appear to have any ID.”

  “I can vouch for him,” I said, keeping my voice low so Merlin wouldn’t be able to argue the facts. “He’s our cousin. Unfortunately he suffers from dementia.”

  “The problem is that it appears he was the one driving the car when it wound up in this yard—”

  I didn’t hear anything after he said Merlin was driving. I wondered if I was too old to run away from home. “May I have a word with my aunt?” I asked.

  “I wish you would,” the officer said shaking his head.

  I grabbed Tilly’s arm and drew her a few feet away. “Please tell me Merlin wasn’t driving,”

  She looked puzzled. “Well, if you really want me to, but I’ve never liked lying. It always trips me up and gets me in more trouble.”

  “That might not be possible in this instance,” I said through clenched teeth. “Why on earth would you let him drive?”

  “He said it looked simple enough and he insisted he wanted to try it. It’s hard to say no to him. He’s not just some ordinary old man.”

  At that moment, I would gladly have taken an ordinary old man in his stead. Talking to Tilly was getting me nowhere. If there was any way to keep the police from arresting Merlin, I had to figure it out and figure it out fast.

  “Officer,” I said, walking back to him, “we’ll be happy to make complete restitution to the homeowners for the damages they’ve incurred. But if we involve the insurance companies and lawyers this could drag on until winter. As long as the owners don’t press charges, they’ll have their money in a lot less time.”

  “Problem is, I’m going to have to write up a report on the incident.”

  “Can’t your report state that the parties involved agreed to a settlement and that no charges will be filed?”

  He scratched the back of his head. “If the homeowners do agree to that, I might be able to make it work. But you can count yourselves lucky no one was injured or you’d find yourselves in a very different situation.”

  “Believe me, Officer, we know that, and my aunt promises this will never happen again, right Tilly?”

  “Well,” she started, no doubt about to tack on a caveat of some kind. I shut her down with one steely glare. “Yes, fine,” she said, “I promise.”

  * * *

  By the time I drove Bonnie and Clyde home and returned to my shop, it was midafternoon. As I was exiting my car, Lolly walked over to let me know that several tourists had told her they were disappointed to find Abracadabra closed. I thanked her for the heads-up, but there was no way I could have let Tilly and Merlin handle the landscaping crisis by themselves. It was one of the problems with being the shop’s proprietor and sole employee. There didn’t seem to be any immediate remedy for the situation either, since I couldn’t use ordinary venues to advertise for a sorcerer to work part time.

  I flopped down in the chair at my desk, tired, hungry, and frustrated. Sashkatu regarded me for a moment before offering up a gentle trill that may have been meant to soothe my tattered nerves. He could be intuitive and sweet when he wanted to be. I took the plastic bag with my lunch from the shelf beneath the counter. I was about to take my first bite of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I realized there was mold on the bread. Terrific.

  Chapter 20

  After closing the shop for the night, I didn’t go straight home. My car was still parked out front, so I drove to the EZ-Pick Grocery and Gas on the edge of town. To get Sashkatu into my car without a struggle, I lured him with an open can of tuna. Although it worked like a charm, I was never going to try it again. For a good two weeks afterward, my car had a distinctly fishy smell, no matter how much air freshener I used or how many spells I tried.

  I filled the gas tank, then parked and left Sashki in the car with the engine running and AC on for his comfort, while I ran inside to grab a few items for dinner. I threw a package of low-fat Swiss cheese into my basket, along with whole grain bread and a premade salad. But since I’d once again missed lunch, I was a sucker for the impulse items near the counter. A bag of chips and a chocolate bar wound up in the basket too. I could have been the spokesperson for a “never go shopping when you’re hungry” campaign.

  Rushing out, I bumped into Ronnie, who was on her way in. We stopped for a quick hug. I would have hugged and run with a promise to talk soon, but she looked too pale and distracted to dismiss that lightly. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Her shoulders slumped as if she’d been trying to keep up a facade of normalcy, but my concern had cut right through its underpinnings. She shook her head. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure,” I said, in spite of my gurgling stomach. “Come talk in my car.” I unlocked the doors, and Ronnie slid into the passenger seat. I stowed the groceries in the back, snagging the bag of chips to take up front with me. Sashkatu was stretched out on top of the dashboard, sunning himself in the oblique rays of the lowering sun. He assessed the situation through half-closed eyelids, but didn’t come to attention until he heard me crinkling the chip bag. It was rapidly approaching his dinner hour too. I offered the bag to Ronnie first, but she declined. Then I broke off a tiny piece of one for Sashki, who sniffed the offering, but decided to go back to sleep until real food was available. I didn’t know if it was bad etiquette to eat something crunchy while listening to a friend’s problem, but it was either that or a concert of stomach noises.

  I poured some chips into my palm. “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, tucking one into my mouth and sucking quietly on it.

  “Out of the blue this afternoon, Duggan called me down to the New Camel precinct house.”

  That explained her distress. “What did he want?”

  “To question me again, at length. He seems to think I had access to Jim’s gun.”

  “Did you?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  “Not really. I mean, I knew where he kept it, but I didn’t have the combination.”

  “What did Duggan say?”

  “That a lock box isn’t much of an obstacle for someone with murder in mind.”

  “Does he know you sometimes babysit for the family?”

  “Yes and I admitted I have a house key, so if he finds out on his own, he won’t catch me in a lie.”

  “That was the best thing to do,” I said. Especially since Elise had told him that too. I wasn’t happy about my role in Ronnie’s misery, but after Tilly, my loyalty was first and foremost to Elise. Even though Ronnie and I had spent more time together recently than in all the preceding years, I still didn’t know her all that well. And in a town the size of New Camel, it was likely that the killer would turn out to be someone I knew. By the time the case was closed, New Camel was going to be awash in social casualties.

  “Listen,” I said to Ronnie, “it’s not
only a matter of having had access to the gun. They have to prove you’re the one who stole it, and that you had a motive to murder him. From what I can see, you didn’t stand to gain anything from Jim’s death, except an unemployment check that won’t even cover your bills.” Ronnie digested my words in silence. “Duggan hasn’t trumped up some kind of motive, has he?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, “but I don’t have as much faith in the system as you seem to. I keep thinking about all the people who’ve rotted away in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.”

  “You need to put those thoughts out of your head,” I said, trying to lift her spirits in spite of everything I’d told myself. “I happen to know people who had actual motives to want Jim dead.”

  “Who?” she asked, hope supplanting the worry in her eyes.

  “I’m not ready to say yet. Once I’m sure about my suspicions, I’ll go to the police. Or the media. But until then,” I said, locking eyes with her, “you can’t mention this to anyone.” One of these days I was going to bury myself with good intentions.

  She put her hand to her heart. “I won’t. I swear.” She leaned over the center console and grabbed me in an awkward hug. “I’m so grateful I bumped into you.”

  * * *

  When Sashkatu and I walked into the house, my foot immediately flew out from under me. I landed so hard, I felt the floor recoil beneath me. The groceries and the contents of my purse flew everywhere. If it had been a different sort of day, I probably would have laughed at my graceless entrance. But I was tired and hungry and my left hip hurt from bearing the brunt of my fall. I’m pretty sure I caught a smirk on Sashkatu’s face as he side-stepped me to sniff the package of Swiss cheese that had landed a few feet away. I looked around to see what had sent me sprawling. The culprit appeared to be a sheet of white paper, tri-folded like a business letter, which had come to rest near my right foot. With the grocery bag in my arms, I hadn’t been able to see it on the floor. I sat up and retrieved the letter. A single line was printed in a large, bold font on the otherwise empty expanse of white: KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF THE INVESTIGATION OR YOU’LL BE THE NEXT CASUALTY.

  I read the note three times, not because I didn’t understand it, but because I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. The wording of the threat was far from intimidating. In fact I found it cheesy, like something out of an old movie. But I knew better than to dismiss the threat for that reason. Someone who has killed once, might not find it difficult to kill again, whether or not they excel at writing threats. What bothered me most about the note was that the killer had brazenly come up to my house and slipped it through the old mail slot in the front door, instead of into the mailbox at the curb. In broad daylight. Which also meant he or she knew I wasn’t home. Had they been watching me, following me? A chill crept along the length of my spine. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so exposed and vulnerable. I looked around, as if I might see the killer’s shoes sticking out from beneath the living room drapes. I heard my mother’s voice in my head telling me to stop the nonsense and pull it together. I’d had to unlock the door and disarm the security system, hadn’t I? And there was more I could do to protect myself. I would place new wards around the house. Before Morgana and Bronwen died, our magick had become so unpredictable that it had seemed pointless to try to maintain the protective spells. But given these new troubling circumstances and Merlin’s beneficial effect on my powers, it was definitely time to put new wards in place. I’d remind Tilly to do so as well.

  Lost in my thoughts, I’d forgotten my own hunger, but the cats hadn’t forgotten theirs. They’d formed a semi-circle around me to voice their displeasure. Sashkatu marched through their ranks with the swagger of a five-star general, came straight up to me, turned, and swatted me in the face with his tail. Message received.

  * * *

  After everyone else was fed, I made a Swiss cheese sandwich with a good, grainy mustard. The salty chips were the perfect accompaniment. Dessert was the candy bar. Fortified, I went hunting for the embroidered satchel in which my grandmother kept the materials for the warding ritual. I found it on the top shelf of her bedroom closet. Although months had passed since she and my mom died, I still felt like I was invading their privacy when I went into their closets. One day I’d have to go through their things, but I wasn’t ready to tackle that yet. Maybe it would be easier if Tilly and I did it together. Besides, she might want to keep some personal items of her mother’s and sister’s. But this night I needed to focus on renewing the protective wards and then finishing the remainder of Jim’s files.

  Bronwen’s satchel reminded me of the one Mary Poppins carried. It had a deep red background with an elaborate design of gold and black fleur de lis. I’d always thought it was the most magickal-looking item in our home. I opened the bag warily, because Bronwen was known to cast exotic spells over her possessions to discourage would-be thieves. I’d seen the bag sprout rose thorns and porcupine quills and on one occasion harbor a live bat. This time nothing flew out but the stale, musty odor of disuse. I peered inside. Satisfied that everything seemed fine, I reached in and pulled out the bell. Holding it brought back memories of when I was little and used to hide in my bedroom closet with my hands over my ears, because the chiming of the bell was so painfully loud. Bronwen had explained that it had to be loud enough to clear the negative energy out of the house. But knowing the reason for it didn’t stop my ears from hurting. The years since then had apparently whittled away at my hearing, because I didn’t feel any discomfort as I walked through each room of the house, ringing the bell. With the exception of Sashkatu, the cats took off to find refuge from the siege of noise. Sashki slumbered on blissfully atop the living room couch, proof that old age has its perks.

  With the house purged of negative energy, I went back to the satchel and took out the symbols of the four elements. Bronwen used sand to represent earth, sea water for water, and a burning candle to represent air and fire. I found all three materials stored in the bag along with a small, fragrant sandalwood tray on which to place them. Once everything was ready, I carried the tray outside. I slowly walked the perimeter of the property and the footprint of the house itself. I envisioned the elements forming an unbreachable barrier around the space as I murmured Bronwen’s chant:

  With earth and water, air and fire,

  Guard this place from all who’d harm us.

  Then I walked the perimeter of the house again, pausing at the windows and doors to pass each of the elements around their framework. For the upstairs windows, I followed Bronwen’s example and placed the wards from inside the house. We didn’t own a tall enough ladder to do it any other way, because no one in my family was fond of heights. Once the ritual was finished and the materials stored away again, a gentle wave of safety and peace washed over me. The cats must have felt it too, because they returned from their hidey-holes and settled in their favorite spots around the living room. I would have liked to join them, but they didn’t have a murder to solve, and I did. Picturing Elise in prison for a crime she didn’t commit was all it took to fire up my motivation. I sat down at the computer, pulled up the files from Jim’s flash drive and got to work.

  I found more than fifty clients under S and T, but none of them set off any alarms in my head. They ran the gamut of humdrum issues from real estate to estate planning, contracts to leases, and prenups to divorce proceedings. Some attorneys were experts in one field of the law; Jim had been more of a dabbler. U and V were easy to whip through, and I was thinking I might make it to bed before the late night news. But W proved to be a game changer. I was already so bleary-eyed that it took me an extra moment to process the name when it popped up on the screen. Roger Westfield. The county ME. I shook my head to clear away the cobwebs and started reading.

  Westfield had hired Jim within a month of moving to the area. His file was small. It contained the wills Jim prepared for the ME and his wife, which looked pretty standard to my layman’s eyes. Whoever died first left the entire estat
e to the living spouse. If they both died, the estate went to their children once they reached the age of majority. Mrs. Westfield’s sister and brother-in-law were named legal guardians for the children until that time. The one other thing in the file was a brief notation Jim made a few weeks later, which said that the ME had brought him a sealed, standard-size business envelope, to be given to his wife should he predecease her. I wondered what such a letter might say. A declaration of his love for her? A confession of an affair? A motivational essay encouraging his family to persevere without him? A map to the Lost Dutchman’s mine? I definitely needed some sleep. But not before I looked through the last few clients on the disk.

  It was well past midnight when I finally crawled into bed, contorting my body to fit around several slumbering cats. But as tired as I was, I couldn’t put that letter out of my mind. Where would Jim have put it for safekeeping? Possibly in the paper files he kept as backup, which meant that the police must have it by now. It occurred to me that he might have told Ronnie about it in case he wasn’t able to fulfill the request himself when the time came. I made a mental note to talk to her about it the next day. With that decided, I must have relaxed enough for the combined delta waves from my feline bedmates to lure me off to sleep.

  Chapter 21

  I took Sashkatu with me and deposited him in my shop before meeting Travis, so I wouldn’t have to go back home to fetch him before I opened up for the day. Instead of twiddling my thumbs until the appointed hour, I walked into the Morning Glory Café seven minutes early. Travis had beaten me there. He was seated in a booth toward the rear of the restaurant, talking on his cell phone and jotting notes on a little pad. He was concentrating, completely plugged into what the caller was saying, his brows drawn together so tightly they forged a vertical crease over the bridge of his nose.

  At that early an hour on a weekday, the restaurant was half full, the patrons all town residents. I exchanged nods and waves as I passed their tables. Without glancing behind me, I knew that every one of them turned to see whom I was meeting for breakfast. In a town the size of New Camel, I would have been surprised if they didn’t.