First, I open his email inbox. It’s fairly crowded with junk mail and fantasy football league notices, so I enter in a quick search for ‘Hawaii’. Immediately, a result pops up.
I open it.
Express Travel Confirmation and Receipt for: Joseph Gallant
Destination: Oahu, Hawaii
Flight information:
Departure: Flight A1665 Departing Denver at 3:05 pm on August 15, 2018
You have no return flight booked for this trip.
Joseph, your flight is confirmed! Your confirmation number is 810995
Please be sure to check in online at expresstravel.com for boarding prior to your trip.
My eyes nearly bulge out of my head. This flight information looks eerily familiar!
Rummaging in my bag, I find the printed piece of paper that Cliff handed me. I scan Melanie’s travel confirmation, to find that the flight information is indeed identical to Joe’s.
I stop reading, and stuff the paper and phone back into my bag. I’ve seen enough, and plus, Blueberry is pawing at my bare leg, and it doesn't feel pleasant.
“Did you do your business?” I ask, before bending down to scoop her up.
“Careful!” Turkey says, as I stoop over and he almost spills out of the carrier.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m not used to this thing, and I’m a little bit distracted. Joe Gallant was going to go to Hawaii, with Melanie! On the same flight and everything! It was a date.”
“Melanie Haywater, the mayor’s wife?” Turkey asks.
“Yes,” I say, as I begin lowering Blueberry into the carrier. “Turkey, you’re going to have to make some room for her.”
Reluctantly, Turkey rearranges himself. “What does that mean, for your case?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I answer. “If Melanie and Joe were going to jet off to Hawaii together, Melanie certainly wouldn’t have killed him. She just picked up clothes for their big vacation. She was excited about it.”
“Oahu is a very romantic destination,” Turkey says. “They must have been in love.”
I agree with my cat. “It sounds like they were going to celebrate Melanie’s divorce in style.” Then I have an idea. “What if Cliff found out about it?” I say.
“That could have upset him,” Turkey says. “I’m no detective, but I did read all of your Speedy’s course material. I’d venture to say that’s enough motive for murder.”
“Yes,” I reply. “But then why would Cliff come to me? That makes no sense. The police already wrote off Joe’s death, so it would be like he was getting away with...well... murder, really. There would be no reason for him to come to my office and start raising red flags.”
“No, you’re right,” Turkey says.
It’s nice to agree with him, for once.
I pat his head, and he starts to purr. I maneuver myself up to a standing position, which is a bit tricky due to all the baggage that I’m carrying. Before I begin walking, I pull Joe’s phone from my bag and look at it again.
“Guys,” I say aloud.
Blueberry yips once. “And ladies,” I add, before she can bark again.
She settles down.
I continue, “We’re just going to hang out here for a second while I check out Joe’s calls, really quickly. Then we’ll hit the trails.”
I feel Blueberry give a happy squirm.
When I start looking through Joe’s calls, the first thing I note is that there are none from Melanie. The two must have been very careful about their communication. They must have talked, given that they booked the same exact flight, for goodness sake, but I see no calls from her, and I also saw no emails.
The second item of interest doesn’t jump out at me until I’ve scrolled back to the fourteenth of August—the day that Joe died.
I see zero calls.
Nothing. No outgoing calls, and more importantly, no incoming calls.
“Ah ha!” I say, as I return the phone to my bag’s pocket.
“What did you figure out?” Asks Turkey.
“There are no incoming calls, from the day that Joe died.”
“And?” Turkey prompts.
“And that means that I was right—Ralph is lying. He lied to me, and he lied to Glenn.”
“Do explain,” Turkey says.
“Well, Ralph said he went straight to the restaurant’s office and stayed there all morning and assumed that Joe was in the kitchen working with Glenn. But Glenn said that Ralph came out of the office and reported that Joe wasn’t coming in to work. Ralph even said that he tried to call Joe.”
“But the phone proves that Ralph never called,” says Turkey.
“Right,” I say.
“But couldn’t Glenn be lying?” Turkey asks.
Technically, my cat is right. But something deep inside of me tells me otherwise.
“He could be,” I say, “but I don’t think he is. My money’s on Ralph.”
“Why?” Turkey asks.
“Call it witchy intuition,” I say.
Turkey accepts this answer. After all, he’s been reading ASBW lately, just as much as I have. “Okay,” he says. “So you think Ralph was lying. What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, I say, it’s time to do some forest bathing.”
“So you’re just going to forget about the case, when you’ve just made so much progress?” Turkey asks. He sounds disappointed.
“No,” I say. “I’m not going to forget about it. I didn’t tell you where we’re going to do our forest bathing, did I?”
“No, you did not,” Turkey answers.
“We’re going to soak up the trees while we walk up the long and well-wooded path to Rainbow Lake, on which Ralph just happens to have a cabin.”
“I see,” says Turkey. Now he sounds very pleased.
“I want to see the place,” I say. “It will be a nice hike, too.”
“Sure,” replies Turkey. “You’re really going there for the hike. It has nothing to do with the case, does it?”
I smile. It’s good to know that sarcasm works, even with telepathy.
Within ten minutes, we reach the beginning of the hike.
I’ve hiked on the path up to Rainbow Lake many times. The trailhead is right behind the library, and it is a nice mellow hike in the beginning, so I’ve wandered on it with Marley when we want to catch up but don’t feel like cruising around town in her van, sitting at the Death Cafe, or hanging out in my apartment.
It’s one of those hikes that lends itself to talking and walking. Nice and wide, with very little actual climbing.
In the beginning, at least.
Tonight, with my animals snuggled in the carrier, I charge past the place where Marley and I usually turn around.
The signs still point to Rainbow Lake, but the terrain gets rockier, and steeper. The incline is made more challenging due to the extra weight I’m carrying, not to mention the ongoing commentary from one of my charges.
“Watch out for that rock!” Turkey says, as I make my way up a windy section of the trail.
“Dude, there are literally hundreds of rocks on the ground,” I reply mentally. “It’s impossible for me to tell which one you mean.”
Just then, I trip over a particularly obstructive rock, and just barely catch myself before landing on my face. Our faces, I should say, because my fall would pretty much bring all three to the dirt.
“That one,” Turkey says, as I try to catch my breath.
“Thanks”, I say sarcastically.
“No problem,” Turkey responds. “And please don’t call me dude.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“We are not on a ranch, are we Penelope? If we were on a ranch, then dude would be an appropriate word to use. As it is, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use it. It’s already hard for me to go by Turkey.”
“You know,” I say. “This walk would be alot easier going if you weren’t complaining the whole time.”
“I’m not complaining! I’m giving y
ou pointers. Like watch out for that branch!”
“What br—” I stop the thought in my head as a branch slaps me in the face.
“Got it,” I say. “Next time, a little more warning in advance would be good.”
“I would have given you more warning, if I’d seen it earlier, but—Penelope, what’s that hanging from the branch?”
I’m now carefully sidestepping the offending tree limb, and as Turkey transmits this to me, I look over at it.
“It looks like another hiker lost a shirt,” I say. “Maybe they had it tied around their waist or something, and it snagged on the branch. This branch is like right in the middle of the trail.”
I walk over to the shirt, and pull it off the twigs that it’s caught on.
“Hang on. This shirt looks familiar!” I say, staring at the frilly design. “You know what? I’ve seen Melanie wearing it before, at Zumba. I recognize it because she is the only woman who practically dresses up for class. Not what I’d want to wear to a sweat-session, but to each his own, I suppose.”
I hold the shirt up to my nose. It even smells like Melanie. She’s always wearing an overpowering perfume.
“Blech!” says Turkey. “That smells awful.”
Blueberry Muffin, who up until now has been gazing around at the trees blissfully, with her tongue lolling out to the side, now yips several times in a row.
I hold the shirt out as far as I can, pinching it between my pointer finger and thumb. “Okay, okay,” I say. “I get it! It stinks. But this is a clue!”
“Melanie was here,” Turkey says.
“Recently,” I add. “The scent of her perfume has barely faded.”
“Unfortunately,” Turkey adds.
I toss the shirt to the side, and keep hiking, fast. Suddenly, a feeling of urgency fills me. What was Melanie doing up here—today, by the smell of things?
Cliff said that she was missing. The fact that she hiked this very trail, very recently, can’t just be a coincidence.
I get chills just thinking about it. Or, these goosebumps might just be due to the dropping temperatures. Now that it’s past five, and we’re in the cold woods, I’m wishing I had a jacket of some sort.
Since the woods provide some shade from the trees, I remove the glasses from the animals. I notice now, that not only is it shady, but it’s actually getting quite dark. The sun must be setting behind the mountains across the valley, leaving our box canyon and much of the hillsides in deep shadows.
What time is it, anyways? I wonder, as I embark upon another staircase like stretch of the trail. I know it’s past five, but how far past five?
I pause long enough to take out my phone. A quick glance at my screen tells me that it’s almost five -thirty.
I also see that I have two new text messages.
One is from Hiroku. ‘How is everything going?’ it says.
The second is from Chris. ‘Am I going to see you tonight?’ he asks.
I don’t know how to answer him. After typing out a quick ‘great!’ to Hiroku, I jam my phone back into my bag, wishing that I’d never taken it out.
Because now that I’ve seen his text, all I can do is think about Chris.
He said that he likes me. Alot. Actually, he said that he likes me alot alot.
I smile, thinking of it.
Then, my smile fades. How am I ever going to tell him about The Art and Science of Being a Witch?
How could I tell him that I’m becoming something new? Something other. Something different. Something inhuman.
Max said that humans and magical beings shouldn’t date, and I understand what he means, now that it’s happening to me. One day, I won’t be human at all, not even a part of me. I’ll become purely magical—like Max and Azure.
They don’t identify as human, because they’re not.
But Christopher Wagner will always be human. I know this, at a gut level.
“You have two options,” Turkey says, within my mind.
“Wait!” I reply. “You could hear my thoughts?”
“I’m an extension of you—remember?” Turkey says. “We’re not just communicating when we use words like this. We’re always going to be energetically intertwined. I can tell what you’re feeling.”
“Oh.” I guess privacy really isn’t a part of being a witch, I think. “What are my two options?” I say.
Without hesitation, Turkey replies. “Either you share everything with him, and take the risk that he will no longer love you, or—”
“Hold on!” I transmit. “No one said anything about love.”
“Christopher Wagner loves you, and you know it,” Turkey says. “He basically said it today.”
“No! He said he likes me, alot alot,” I protest.
“That’s jock-language for love,” Turkey says. “Neither of you are very good at communicating, but Christopher is especially bad at talking about his feelings. However, at least he’s trying. Unlike someone....”
“I tried!” I say. Then I ask, “So, if I tell him I’m learning to be a witch, he might not love me anymore?”
“You know this is true,” Turkey says. “Magic frightens some people. Chris may react unfavorably to your abilities.”
“I know,” I say. The trees are growing thinner as we climb, and now I start to spot more visible sky between the scraggly branches. I think we’re nearing the top. It’s a good thing, because seeing as it’s now five thirty, I’m fairly certain that we’re going to be late to meet Hiroku at the law office. But we can’t turn back now.
I continue on, towards the clearing. “What’s the other option?” I ask, because option one isn’t sounding all that good to me.
“You could hide it from him, and always keep the magical part of your life a secret.”
“Just pretend I’m normal?” I ask.
“Well, not normal,” Turkey says. “But yes, just pretend you’re plain old Penny Banks -pre-magical abilities. You’ll be the girl he fell in love with... forever.”
“But I’ll never feel truly honest,” I say. “I’ll always be holding back.”
“Both options entail possible sacrifice,” says Turkey.
I push past the last clingy branches, and the three of us emerge onto a clearing. There’s a sparkling blue lake, spread out before us. It glitters in the fading light, perfectly reflecting the peach-tinted clouds and surrounding trees. Off to one side, I spot a weathered grey cabin.
“How am I going to decide which option to go with?” I ask my cat.
“If I knew, I would tell you,” promises Turkey. “But I’m a part of you, remember? You’re truly undecided. Only time will tell.”
“You know, Max says time isn’t as linear as humans think it is?” I say.
“Do explain,” Turkey responds.
We’re moving towards the cabin now. There are little clusters of trees, every few feet away and I find myself half jogging from one cluster to the next as we near the cabin. I want to be hidden from the view, but I’m not sure why. It’s just this nervous feeling I have.
Maybe it’s because it’s so eerily quiet up here, and I know that Ralph could be a murderer.
Whatever it is, it’s filling me with a spooky sense of trepidation. I can barely focus on the discussion I’m having with Turkey. However, talking with him in my mind is keeping me calm, so as I scurry to an even closer clump of trees, I attempt to continue.
“Max says that—”
I’m interrupted by a sound that transforms my mild trepidation into terror: a woman’s scream pierces through the clearing, causing birds to abandon their perches, and take flight into the sky.
Who was that? I think, as my heart leaps to my throat.
Melanie?
I run faster, darting from one group of trees to the next. Soon, I’m just five feet from the cabin. I can see a window.
I’m about to move in closer, when there’s another scream.
It’s a blood curdling shriek, filled with terror. This is no yell of surprise or
happiness. Someone—a woman, by the sounds of it—is screaming as if her life depended on it.
The sound pulsates from the cabin, vibrating through the twilight air.
Suddenly, the scream is joined by another sound.
Yip, yip, yip!
The scream dies down, and Blueberry Muffin gives one last little yip.
“Shhh!” I say, reaching around the Chihuahua’s snout and pressing my hand against her lips.
She begins licking my hand. I start to retreat, as quickly as I can. I bounce backwards, trying to put as much space between myself and the creepy cabin as possible.
The clearing is perfectly quiet once again. The scream has stopped echoing off the rocky mountains that surround the clearing, and Blueberry’s barks have faded as well.
Maybe whoever was inside, didn’t notice.
Now that I’m farther away, I crouch down behind a large boulder. I wait, with my back pressed against the cold rock. I’m breathing hard. My one hand is still in front of Blueberry’s snout, and her little warm tongue is lapping away at my fingers.
At least if she’s licking me, she’s not barking.
While she’s still licking my fingers, I use my other hand to begin pulling the shoulder straps of the carrier off me.
“What are you doing?” Turkey asks me.
“You have to stay here, with Blueberry Muffin,” I say. “I’m going to go see what’s happening in that cabin.”
“Someone’s screaming in there, that’s what’s happening!” Turkey says. He sounds a bit panicked. That makes sense, because he’s an extension of me, and I’m a bit panicked.
I reach around my back and fumble with the buckles until I feel them release.
“I have to go see what’s going on,” I say. “What if it’s Melanie in there? What if she’s hurt?”
“Don’t leave us here!” Turkey pleads.
“Turkey,” I say, stroking his head and then scratching behind his ears. “You can do this. Just watch over Blueberry. It could be dangerous in that cabin, and I don’t want you two in harm's way.”
“But I don’t want you in harm’s way either!” protests Turkey. “You can’t go over there. It’s not safe!”
“I have to,” I repeat.
Nervously, I pull my messenger bag off my shoulder. I search through it and find my gun. Next, I find the handcuffs. The key is inserted in the lock, and I remove it, and slide it into a small pocket in my bag.
The Case of the Power Spell Page 14
