The Case of the Power Spell

by Amorette Anderson

  This breaks the spell. Chris reaches for one of the tattered bar stools that I have positioned around the countertop (I really need to cover those, soon!), and then takes a seat. He sips his beer before answering.

  I still haven’t run the dishwasher, so I reach for paper towels.

  Chris accepts one. “Chief gave me a lecture about appropriate behavior when on duty,” he says, reaching for the pizza box. “It was pretty much what I expected. All the guys think we were doing things in the field.” Chris chuckles, and glances up at me. “They want me to give them advice... you know, for in the bedroom.”

  I’m blushing now. “Just because I wasn’t dressed and you were in handcuffs doesn’t mean—”,I stop short, and laugh. “It does sound bad, doesn’t it?”

  “Especially to those guys. I swear, sometimes it’s hard to say anything around the station, without getting ragged on. Those guys have minds in the gutter. It’s like they’re always thinking about... you know.”

  I know.

  Now my mind is in the gutter.

  See, when Chris and I first dated, five years ago, things got hot and heavy really, really fast.

  Embarrassingly fast.

  As in, I don’t even want to admit how fast things went.

  A few months into our whirlwind affair, I was struggling in academy, and then I got kicked out. Chris broke up with me soon after. So this time, we’ve been taking things slow.

  Really slow.

  It’s been months, and we’ve kept it to kissing.

  Now, standing here in the kitchen and talking with Chris about bedroom activities... that’s all I can think about.

  I’m pretty sure he’s thinking along the same lines, because now when our eyes meet, this sizzling tension passes between us.

  Shoot.

  Must. Take. This. Slow.

  Brakes! I need to hit the brakes.

  I break eye contact and reach for a slice of pizza. I put it down on my paper towel.

  “Okay, so we’re going to have to live with some jokes for a while,” I say.

  “I don’t know if the guys are ever going to let go of this one,” Chris says with a laugh. “It is pretty funny.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I can’t believe that happened. You know when you were handing me the box, with the key in it?” I say.

  “Yeah?” Chris says. “You looked kind of scared.”

  “That’s because I thought it might be an engagement ring!” I say, lifting my eyebrows. “Now that would be crazy!”

  “Crazy?” Chris’s smile fades

  “Yeah. Pretty ridiculous, hm?” I try to keep my voice light. I know I’m steering us into choppy waters, but I can’t stop myself.

  Maybe this is my way of putting on the brakes.

  “I mean,” I say, avoiding Chris’s eyes. “We’ve only been dating for a few months, and it’s not even like we’re seriously dating. This is all pretty casual.”

  Chris says nothing to this.

  The sizzling tension between us goes flat.

  Yep! Success. The brakes are now on full bore, screeching us to a halt. I may have even stopped the momentum so completely that we’re now moving in the other direction.

  “Yeah, we’re keeping things casual, because that’s what you wanted,” Chris says. “At least, that’s what I think you want. We never really talk about this kind of thing, Penny.”

  “That’s because we’re not good at talking about it,” I say. Ug. This is painful.

  “Well, maybe we’re going to have to get better at it. If we’re going to make this work,” Chris says.

  If? What does he mean, ‘if’ we’re going to make this work?

  Chris just admitted that this might not work! That means another break-up. Am I going to survive that kind of heartbreak, a second time?

  I remember how lost I felt. How alone.

  I can’t go there again.

  Chris has stopped eating. I can’t even look at my pizza. I have no appetite.

  I really hate conversations like this. I can tell that Chris does too.

  When he speaks, his voice is strained. “How do you think this is going, between us?” he asks.

  “Good,” I say. “Great.”

  “Then why did you make a face like I was handing you a ticking time bomb when you thought I might be proposing?” he asks. “Because one day, I might propose to you, Penny. If that ever happens, I’d hope that you would feel... I don’t know... excited? Happy?”

  “Yeah, but Chris, that’s years down the road. We’ve only been dating for a few months. It’s way too early to—”

  “We’ve been in a relationship for more than five years, Penny,” Chris says.

  “That’s not true,” I argue. “We were doing something —sleeping together, I guess—and then we broke up. That was five years ago. Things ended, pretty badly.”

  “Okay... maybe our history isn’t perfect,” Chris says. “You might not see a story like ours on the Hallmark movie channel. But it’s still our story, Penny. I like it. We’ve been through alot. And even when we weren’t together, we were still neighbors.”

  “Yeah, but you were dating Nathalie.”

  He nods. “Okay. True enough. But Penny... that whole time, I knew that I wanted to be with you again. I just didn’t know when, or how. I never stopped caring about you.”

  “That was a weird way to show you cared about me,” I say, bitterly. “Don’t you think, Chris? Spending all of your time with another woman?”

  “This isn’t about me and Nathalie!” Chris says. “This is about me and you! I don’t know how we’re going to move forward if you can’t get over the fact that I dated Nathalie.”

  “I don’t either,” I say, honestly. There’s a lump in my throat now. I know I’m being dramatic, but I truly feel like I might cry.

  Being with Chris scares me. I’m petrified of finding myself back in that place where he’s my whole world. Then, if he ends things again, I’ll be back at rock bottom. I’ll have to build my life up again. It’s better if I just don’t allow myself to become so utterly dependent on him again.

  An uncomfortable silence is unfolding between us.

  Neither of us is eating, or drinking.

  The melting pizza cheese that has spilled from the slice and onto the paper towel is now congealed and fused to the paper. It looks totally unappetizing. Even if I did try to eat, I have a feeling that the food would just get stuck in the giant lump that’s sitting in my throat.

  “Maybe I just need some time to think about this,” I say, quietly.

  Chris blows out some air, and then pushes his beer and pizza away.

  He gets up, off his stool.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” he says flatly.

  I look at his barely touched slice, and his half full beer. “What will you have for dinner?” I ask.

  “I’ll find something,” he says.

  He walks over to me, and plants a kiss on my forehead. I stand perfectly still. I feel frozen. I don’t even turn as he makes his way to the door.

  “Good night, Penny,” he says.

  “Good night, Chris,” I manage.

  I hear the door click closed.

  Why am I pushing him away like this? I know that I’m scared of being hurt again, but is my fear really that big?

  I could get over it, if I tried.

  I could let myself fall for him again, if it wasn’t for a deeper fear that I can now feel, stirring inside of me.

  It’s one that I’m barely able to name, let alone face.

  I’ve changed.

  I’m becoming a witch.

  What if Chris doesn’t like the woman I’m on my way to becoming?

  This thought terrifies me.

  Chapter Nine

  I reach for the pizza slice in front of me, which is now glued with congealed cheese to the paper napkin beneath it, and pick it up. It feels strangely satisfying to throw the whole thing into the trash can. I scoop up Chris’ partially eaten slice and add it to t
he receptacle as well.

  In a way, it feels like I’m erasing the conversation that just occurred, though I know that’s impossible.

  I’m about to clean up the beer bottles, but I stop short when I hear a knock on my door.

  Is it Chris?

  Maybe he’s figured out something to say that will take away this lump from my throat, and this fear from the pit of my stomach.

  Maybe he’ll hold me and kiss me and make it all feel better.

  I open the door with a sense of hope, and I can’t help it that my face falls when I see Cora standing there.

  “Don’t look so excited to see me,” she says sarcastically.

  “Sorry,” I make way for her, and she walks past me, into the apartment.

  I follow her. “I thought it might be Chris. We just had a rough conversation. He left but I thought he was coming back. Did you see him out there?”

  Cora shakes her head. “Are you fighting?” she asks.

  “No—not exactly. It’s just something happened today, and we were trying to talk about it but—”

  “Oh... the handcuff thing? I heard about that. Only you, Penny. Only you.” She shakes her head while laughing.

  “That could have happened to anybody,” I say.

  “No,” she says. “It really couldn’t.”

  Our talking has stirred Turkey, and he comes over to greet us.

  “What couldn’t have happened to anybody but you?” he asks, silently. “What is it this time?”

  “It’s a long story,” I answer, telepathically. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Or, maybe I won’t.

  “How about some dinner?” Turkey asks.

  I begin walking to the pantry, to grab his cat food. As I walk, I talk to Cora. “Do you carry keys with you?” I ask.

  “Always,” Cora says, lifting a set of keys and jingling them in the air. “They’re for my car, my house, and the office.”

  “Your office door locks?” I say.

  Hm. Maybe part of adulting is having an office door that locks. Since I work from a supply closet with a rickety door that barely closes, let alone locks, I wouldn’t know.

  I lift Turkey’s dish, place it on the counter, and begin filling it with dry cat food.

  “Of course it locks,” she says. Then, she eyes the inside of the pantry. I left the door open after getting Turkey’s food, and she has a clear line of site into my cereal collection.

  “Do you live on sugary cereal?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. Then, to deflect the focus from my poor eating habits, I ask, “What brings you over, Cora?”

  She hops up onto a bar stool, her shiny blond ponytail bouncing. “I found something out. I thought it might help you with the investigative work you’re doing for the mayor.”

  “Great,” I say. “What is it?”

  “Okay,” Cora says, placing her hands down on the countertops. “You’re going to love me for this or hate me, I’m not quite sure.”

  “I already love you,” I say. “I’m not going to hate you. Go ahead. What is it?”

  “Melanie was definitely planning to file for a divorce. I found out today. I happened to be sorting through some of Hiroku’s documents, and...” she shrugs, innocently. “Sometimes you see things, right? Hiroku drafted the petition for dissolution of marriage for Melanie Haywater.”

  “You’re talking in Lawyer Speak,” I say. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s just divorce papers. Hiroku writes up the petition, and then Melanie was basically supposed to hire someone to serve the papers to Cliff. Everything was all set on Hiroku’s side, and Melanie was going to serve the papers on August fourteenth, but she called it off.”

  “She didn’t go through with it?” I ask

  Cora shakes her head.

  I put a dollop of Finicky Feline Feast wet food on top of the heap of dry, and then place the dish on the floor.

  “You didn’t hear it from me,” Cora says happily, as she slides off her stool.

  I swear, there is nothing this woman enjoys more than gossip. I wonder if Hiroku knows that she has a leak the size of a pipeline in her law office. The word ‘confidential’ is not in Cora’s vocabulary.

  If I had a secret, I’d rather publish it on Wikipedia than tell Cora about it.

  “Well, I’ve gotta run,” she says. “I’m going to go home and whip up a healthy dinner. I’m thinking a big salad with some lean chicken breast on it.”

  See? Pure adult. Through and through. Maybe I should be taking notes.

  “Okay,” I say, seeing my friend to the door. I hold it open for her. “Thanks for stopping by. That’s helpful information.”

  “I thought so,” she says. “I wanted to tell you in person instead of emailing or calling. Who knows whose monitoring that stuff, these days. I know I’m not supposed to tell you this private stuff from work, but if it can help you figure out who killed Joe, it’s important.”

  Okay, maybe she has more of a conscience than I’ve given her credit for.

  Before she turns to head down the hallway, I ask, “Have you had any luck with figuring out your secret key ingredient?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing yet. But I am wearing my satchel.” She pulls her necklace from beneath her blouse. “It’s nearly killing me,” she adds, with a heavy sigh, “But I’m doing it.”

  I laugh, and we say goodbye. She’s a few steps from the walkway when she turns back. She’s pulling something from her purse.

  “I almost forgot!” she says, retracing her steps. “My boss, Hiroku, is looking for a nanny for her Chihuahua. I thought of you, because she’s going to pay one hundred bucks a week. You’re always stressed about your office rent, so...” she hands me the card.

  I see ‘Hiroku Itsu: Lawyer’ emblazoned on it, and also a phone number and email address.

  “Give her a call,” Cora says, as I read. “She already said she would hire you.”

  “A nanny... for her Chihuahua?” I repeat.

  Cora shrugs. “Her dog is super high maintenance, but it wouldn’t be that bad.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  Once I close the door, I’m excited and agitated. I stuff the card into my wallet, along with Cliff’s. I’m not going to be a dog’s nanny. My office rent is paid for the month, thanks to Cliff, and I really need to dedicate my time to my investigative work. That’s what Cliff is paying me for, and Chihuahua-sitting would only be a distraction.

  My mind is whirring over the news that Cora has just shared.

  Melanie was going to file for a divorce, on August fourteenth—the day that Joe died.

  Another coincidence?

  I don’t think so.

  Her divorce papers could have something to do with Joe’s death, and her trip to Hawaii.

  I really need to call Cliff and give him an update, but what on earth am I going to tell him?

  Now that I know Melanie was planning on filing for divorce, I’m realizing what a sticky situation I am in. A sticky, sad situation. Plus, I’m not even supposed to know about the divorce papers.

  Sheesh.

  “Why are you pacing?” Turkey asks. He’s finished with his dinner and is sitting on a bar stool looking at me.

  “Am I pacing?” I respond.

  Yep. I sure am. I stop in my tracks. “I feel like I have to do something,” I tell my cat. “I can’t just sit here in this apartment while this case is so far from solved.”

  “You just don’t want to sit here and mope over your fight with Chris,” Turkey says.

  “It wasn’t a fight!” I retort.

  He stares me down, until I admit, “Fine I guess it was a fight. And yes, I wouldn’t mind a little distraction from that. It won’t do me any good to sit here and feel sorry for myself. Work will take my mind off of things.”

  I start pacing again.

  “Wearing a track in the carpet isn’t going to help you figure out who killed Joe,” Turkey says.

  “You’re right, Tur
key.” I walk over to him and give him a few pets on the top of his head.

  “As usual,” he says, before starting to purr. I pet him for a few more minutes, while thinking about what I can do to make some progress. Then, mid-stroke, I get an idea. I pull my hand away from Turkey’s head.

  “That’s it!” I whisper.

  “What?” Turkey asks. He looks peeved that I stopped petting him, but curious at the same time. I know, that’s a lot to get from a cat expression, but I know my cat well. I can read the curl of his lip and the tilt of his little whisker-spiked eyebrows.

  “I’ll go to the OP,” I say. “Glenn’s usually there, having a drink after he finishes his shift at The Place. I’ll pretend that I’m there to drink. Heck, maybe I’ll have a glass of wine—”

  “Just one,” says Turkey sternly.

  “Or two,” I say. “And I’ll see if I can get some information out of him. I think he might open up to me more if I’m not talking to him as a private investigator. It’ll just be a friendly conversation between two people hanging out at a bar...”

  “Be careful,” Turkey says, as I grab my messenger bag and head for the door. “He could be a killer.”

  With that in mind, I head out into the night.

  ******

  It’s never a good idea for me to have wine on an empty stomach.

  The alcohol goes straight to my head, and soon I have a very unprofessional head-buzz going on.

  Glenn isn’t even here, but I’m determined to wait for him until he arrives. I’m sure he’s going to enter the bar, sooner or later. He’s a staple here.

  “Can I get you another?” the bartender, Janine asks, as I polish off the last drops of white wine from my glass.

  I scan the bar for Glenn. Still not here. “Sure,” I say.

  “You are waiting on Chris, hon?” Janine asks me.

  “No,” I say.

  “You’re here by yourself?” She uncorks the bottle of house white and begins refilling my glass.

  “Yep,” I answer, while tapping my toe idly to the country music that’s playing in the background. “Just me, out by myself, having a glass of wine.”

  Just then, I hear a deep, familiar voice, on my right. “Then is it alright if I sit here?”

  I turn.