by Leanne Leeds
Martin shifted on the outdoor sofa and coughed uncomfortably. “Would anyone like more wine? Sparkling soda, perhaps?”
“Isn’t he smooth?” Angie winked at me.
“How’s the track doing now with all the dogs gone?” I asked Martin, changing the subject from Angie’s manslaughter past and the dates I had with Martin.
“Well, it’s not really a track anymore.” Martin leaned forward, looking grateful the subject had changed to business. Angie walked over, sat next to him, and tucked her feet up beneath her. “But I make more than enough income from the restaurants, shops, and the casino. We’ll be fine. Hoyt is actually converting his kennel into an animal shelter. Not sure if you heard.”
“Wow, that’s outstanding. I’ll have to give Hoyt a ring. One of my closest friends down in Texas runs an animal shelter. Maybe she can give him some pointers. Or just be there if he needs advice.”
Chris sat down next to me and put his arm around me. I leaned in casually.
“We’re going to start on construction in a few months to get rid of all the greyhound racing stuff. Well, other than the animal shelter, obviously. Martin’s building a water park instead,” Angie said with excitement. Martin smiled at her, and in that smile, I saw Martin’s decision to build a water park had a lot to do with my sister’s desire for one.
“Won’t that be weird? A water park next to a strip club?” I asked her.
“What strip club?” Angie asked innocently.
“The one that’s at the south end of the property?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my sister chirped. “There is no strip club at the south end of the property. You must be mistaken.”
Chris and I shared a knowing glance. Apparently, a water park’s appearance wasn’t the only change my sister’s desires had brought about at the entertainment complex.
“This all just seems so weird,” I said more to myself than anything else.
Martin’s face tensed. “What’s weird?”
“This.” I gestured toward the canapés on the glass table between us, at the view over the city, then toward the meticulous table set for dinner. “All of us sitting on the patio, relaxing, talking about random things. It feels…I don’t know, it feels wrong somehow.”
“My father is off in Las Vegas, licking his wounds, Karen is rotting in a jail cell. The curse is almost gone, my mother is almost freed, and whoever is in that last bottle will be uncorked within days, I’m sure.” Martin glanced at Chris and Angie as if to seek reassurance his statements were accurate. “If there’s nothing we can do right now, why is it so wrong that we just sit back, relax, and have a nice evening together?”
“I told you she wouldn’t be able to relax,” Angie told Martin.
“It just doesn’t feel right not to be working towards something.”
“You are working towards something,” Angie said sarcastically. “You’re working on your relationship with him. And with me. Tomorrow, you’ll work with the police department and figure out who killed Conrad Noble. You’ll get the bottle, you’ll uncork it, we will go get Anna out of that rock, and she’ll absolutely adore that I’m dating her son.”
Martin smiled.
“Fortuna and I have had plenty of time to spend with one another,” Chris replied quietly, his arm tighter around my shoulder. “Remember, she’s carried much of this on her shoulders alone for over a year. Slowing down, not having multiple things to worry about? This is new for her. Cut her some slack.”
“I know it’s still unfinished,” Martin agreed, nodding. “It’s hard for me, too, knowing my mother is stuck in that hole. But I’ve gotten to talk to her through you, and she seems all right. Since Karen’s arrested, I know she’s safe from attack. It’s easier to have patience.” His face fell and grew serious. “Remember, I’ve been working toward this a very long time.”
“I know, and I don’t mean to be Debbie Downer,” I said with a sigh. “Everything just feels so normal now. Gabe and Dalida are dating, his private investigations business is doing great. You two are dating. Heck, I think even Spike and Plum are dating. Or at least he’s trying to. Pepper and Ollie are doing great; Ollie’s running to be county coroner. Pepper’s doing great at the paper. She just got promoted. Did you know that?”
“Of course, we knew that. She’s told everyone she knows,” Angie said.
“At least twice,” Martin agreed.
I sighed. “I’m ridiculous. I think I said great five times. Everything’s great. I should just be happy.”
And maybe I was. Yet I couldn’t help but feel everything was about to change and it was making me uneasy. As soon as we broke the curse, the ghosts would likely move on to wherever spirits move on to. Martin and his mother might move back to Las Vegas, taking Angie with them.
Who is the mystic of Mystic’s End once we break the curse? Did I discover who I was just to lose everything that made me…
Well, me?
The lights of Mystic’s End twinkled as I stood at the rail overlooking the town that was now my home. Even though it was dark, I could feel the surrounding mountains. The forests that covered them came alive at night with energy.
“Did you want to be alone?” Chris asked politely.
I turned and looked at the vampire. Dressed in the white shirt and black slacks of his driver’s uniform, he seemed allergic to color. I couldn’t ever recall seeing him in anything other than black and white. His dark eyes, always so intense, held mine without wavering. A boyish grin played on his pale face, his red lips striking when he smiled.
“I’m used to being alone,” I said without answering his question. “Now, I’m rarely alone.”
“Are you having trouble getting used to it?”
“Having people around?”
“People, sisters, ghosts, vampires.” He stepped forward and gently put his arms around me. Vampires were so powerful. They felt like walking marble statues encased in vinyl. “Lots of people in the world would love to have half of the family that you now have.”
“I seem ungrateful, don’t I?” I sighed and leaned into him, snaking my arm up so I could run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t mean to be. It’s a change, and…”
“And?” he asked kindly.
“I’m used to being alone. Now I have two sisters, ghosts coming in and out of my house all hours of the day and night. It’s just complicated. And weird. I don’t know how to be anybody’s sister, you know? Or anyone’s girlfriend. And then…”
“There is your mother,” he finished for me, hearing the echo of my thoughts before I could make myself say the words.
“She’s not really my mother,” I told him fiercely, pulling back. His arms held firm.
“She is your history,” Chris whispered as he stared into my eyes. “She is your origin story, as they say. Where we come from? We all carry that with us no matter what we become. It’s always here.” He tapped his chest where his heart would be if he were human. “The things we’ve experienced, the things we know, the choices we’ve made. That your mother is not a good person doesn’t change who you are. But it is something you’re going to have to process through.”
It was almost impossible for me to not feel the emotion surging through him. His energy enveloped me, and each thought whispered. There was worry that I wasn’t okay, anger that I had to deal with this, resentment that Karen had toyed with me. Those feelings competed with gratitude that she’d given me life and her misdeeds had brought me here to him. Chris’s conflict regarding my mother was almost as intense as my own.
“I know, but not tonight,” I told him, leaning my forehead against his shoulder. “Tonight, I want to try to be normal.”
“She says as she wraps her arms around her vampire boyfriend,” Chris chuckled.
“Stop. You may be the most normal thing in my life.”
“Considering your life, my love, I’m not sure that’s such a high bar.” The tenderness in his voice made me fe
el like I was melting. He trailed his fingers down my neck and I shivered. “It’s true, you know.”
“What? That my life isn’t normal?” I responded as I pulled away. “I’m well aware my life is not normal; you don’t need to remind me, thanks.” I pushed him away gently and turned back to look out over the town.
Yes, I totally realized that he called me “my love.”
Yes, I get that he was about to make a formal declaration of his feelings.
Why do you think I pulled away and stared at the skyline of Mystic’s End at that very moment?
I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it.
Judging by the sigh I heard behind me, Chris was sure I wasn’t ready to listen to it.
Five
I was uncharacteristically nervous when walked into the Mystic’s End Police Department the following morning. I spent most of my time in this town trying to avoid the police—and Chief Clutterbuck pretty specifically. Now, I was walking in as if it was my first day on the job. Plus, it was the closest I’d been to my mother since the night they arrested her. “Excuse me,” I said to a young, fresh-faced officer behind the counter. “I believe Chief Clutterbuck is expecting me?”
The officer made some kind of sound in response. Whether it was an acknowledgment or protest, I couldn’t tell. A distinct wave of fear came from the young man as he met my eyes. “You the psychic?”
“I don’t call myself that, but I suppose if you’re expecting one, I’m probably it,” I responded as cheerfully as I could. The officer’s thick shoulders rose and fell in an elaborate shrug. An awkward pause. “Yes, Officer, I’m the psychic.”
“You can go wait over there,” he said, hitching his head toward a long wooden bench. “Chief Clutterbuck will come out and take you back when he has some time.” I felt his eyes on me as I walked over and sat down.
Images invaded my mind, and I realized I was seeing a discussion the young man had with his mother before he came to work. “You stay away from that psychic woman,” his mother told him sternly, her eyes drilling into him as she removed the half-eaten plate of pancakes. “You know what Reverend Kane says about those people. We have to protect the ghosts now. The whole town, going back years. The entire town is depending on us.” The young man promised his mother he would do so.
“Well, at least you’re on time,” Clutterbuck’s voice broke into the mental movie I watched in my mind.
“I’m always on time,” I told him, standing up. “Well, actually, that’s not really true. But I appreciate you allowing me to help on this case, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t cause you any inconvenience.”
Another sound came from the young officer. Clutterbuck’s head turned, and he gave the young man a harsh stare. “Officer Corbin, you have something you want to say?”
“No, sir,” the young man answered quickly. He paused for a few seconds, his mouth twisting wryly to show he did, in fact, have something to say. “I’m sure you have reasons for doing what you’re doing with her.” He waved in my direction. “But it’s not right. My mama and my church tell me people like her? They ain’t right. Besides, she probably can’t even do what she claims, anyway.”
“Were you not hungry this morning at breakfast, Officer Corbin?” I asked him quietly. “Those pancakes looked fantastic. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t finish them after your mother went through all the trouble of making them for you.”
The young man’s face turned as white as the flour dear old mom used to make his pancakes.
“I’m only here to help, officer.” I felt some sympathy for the young men. I realize some people get freaked out by the concept of magic or psychic phenomena. I’d wrestled continuously with the ethics of my ability, how far I should feel comfortable pushing into someone else’s mind. For those that couldn’t keep me out, the idea that I could get in was no doubt frightening.
But Officer Corbin’s reaction seemed more than that. The conversation I overheard in his mind made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. What ghosts could these people possibly think they were protecting? Every spirit I knew in town hung out in my living room. Beulah Conroe’s visit bubbled up in my memory.
“If the chief thinks you can be of help, I guess that’s what’s going to happen. Excuse me,” he responded hastily. The young man’s color was still flat white, almost as pale as Chris’s. He ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair and glared at me before turning and walking away.
“Some people will not be happy that you’re here,” Chief Clutterbuck said as we watched the young officer walk away. “I have to tell you, Ms. Delphi, I’m not at all sure I’m happy that you’re here.” Regret tinged his voice as if he couldn’t understand his own decision to welcome me as a consultant on this case. “But you are right about one thing, I do want to get to know my daughter’s new sister. And, well,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “This case is giving us a headache.”
“Do you have a murder board or something?” I asked him.
“A murder board?” he raised his eyebrow.
“Yeah, like one of those cork boards with the red string and push pins and stuff,” I answered, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about. He continued to stare at me, and his eyebrow did not arch back down. “Do you guys not have those? I see them on TV all the time.”
“You watch a lot of 1950s detective shows?”
How did he know?
“We have an evidence room over here.” Chief Clutterbuck led me through the spacious primary room of the department. Passing the waiting area filled with benches, the two of us walked straight toward a pair of elaborate double oak doors. I marveled at them, amazed at how fancy a pair of doors could be in a police station, and wondering why on earth someone had chosen them. Through the threshold was a large room filled with a boardroom-sized table and chairs. Someone had strewn pads of paper and pens about. Most forms were blank. “As you can see, we don’t have much.”
I scanned the room quickly, hoping to see the witch bottle, but it wasn’t there.
On one wall, a long dry-erase board’s vast expanse of white screamed how little had been done. Conrad Noble’s name and age (47) was written large across the top. GSW as a cause of death. The coroner estimated Councilman Noble was shot at 8:17 in the morning thanks to an ear-witness outside the office building who claimed to have heard the gunshot. His receptionist, Clarissa Beauregard, found him at his desk, dead, at 8:35 a.m.
There were no suspects listed.
“That’s it?” I asked. “You don’t even have the name of the ear-witness down.” I pointed. “It’s just listed as ‘ear-witness.’ Don’t you think who the ear-witness is might be necessary to know?”
“I don’t think that ear-witness is a suspect, if that’s what you’re saying,” Chief Clutterbuck said as he stepped forward and uncapped a marker. In large letters, he wrote the name Bond Noble. “There, are you happy now?”
I bit my tongue before I popped off with a snide comment about shoddy police work. It’s worth it to note that Chief Clutterbuck and I were the only two people in the supposed “evidence room” trying to figure out who killed the councilman. That alone showed shoddy police work, if you ask me—but I didn’t think expressing my opinions to Chief Clutterbuck would get me anywhere. It would not get me closer to the witch bottle. “Is Bond Noble any relation to Conrad Noble?” I asked politely.
Chief Clutterbuck nodded. “It’s his younger brother. According to Bond, the two of them had breakfast at the Mystic Diner together. They walked the block and a half to Conrad’s office; Bond said goodbye to him on the office building steps and headed back toward his car. As he was walking away, he heard a single gunshot.”
“That would mean that whoever shot him was waiting for him in his office.”
“Is that a psychic premonition or something?” Chief Clutterbuck asked.
“You can’t have a premonition about something that’s already happened, but no, it’s not. It’s logic. Bond would have to be in the
building’s front and close enough to hear the gunshot.” I glanced at the building’s image, an arrow pointing to Conrad’s window on the second floor. “Conrad Noble would’ve had to go up the front stairs of the building, get in the secured door, go into the hallway, and then up another flight of stairs. Then he would have to unlock his office, go in, sit down at his desk—all before getting shot, and all before his brother got far enough away from the building to hear it.” I turned to Chief Clutterbuck. “Is that even possible?”
“Gunshots are pretty loud,” Clutterbuck’s responded.
“Did anyone else hear the gunshot?”
The chief shook his head no. “Not that anyone reported, no.”
“Wait, did Bond Noble actually call 911 about the gunshot?”
The chief walked over to the table and sifted through some papers. Picking up a yellow one, he skimmed over it. “He called in to report hearing a gunshot at 8:17 a.m.” Chief Clutterbuck flipped through a few more sheets of paper. “It looks like Bobby Newsom based the time of death off Bond’s 911 call.”
I made a face. “Sure, why bother to do an autopsy to establish facts when you can just take readily available ones and make them fit?”
Clutterbuck looked uncomfortable with my observation, but he didn’t disagree with me. “Newsom is a county employee. I’m a city police chief. I don’t have any authority over how he investigates or how he decides things like this. I have to go off of what I’m handed.” He shot me a look that was a textbook example of disgust. “But I can’t argue with your point.”
“So, where do you want to start?”
“Detective Conroe talked to Bond, but it’s clear it wasn’t a very long conversation,” Chief Clutterbuck said as he leaned against the table. “How much psychic whizzum-a-gig can you do when talking to a fellow? Can you tell if they’re lying? Are you able to figure out what they’re lying about?”
