As far as I’m concerned, now that I know more about the case, the jam is just an extra.
Even if I wasn’t being paid, I’d want to try to figure out what Hillcrest’s most recent visitors are doing here—especially because wolves seem to be involved.
This has ‘magic portal’ written all over it.
When Claudine Terra died and passed ASBW down to me, she also passed on a great responsibility. As a part of the Terra Coven it’s my duty to guard the portal.
Apparently, my coven sisters and I haven’t been doing such a wonderful job. If these guys are magical, then they snuck right through that portal without us even blinking an eye.
I’m thinking so hard about all of this that I almost ride right past Marley, who is walking down the sidewalk on main street.
“Penny!” she calls out, as I’m about to pass her, deep in my daze.
I skid to a stop. “Hey!” I say. “What are you doing? Want to help me do some detective work?”
She shakes her head.
Marley has long, black, thick hair, thanks to her Indian heritage, and as she shakes her head her high ponytail swishes back and forth. She’s wearing leggings and a tie dyed tank top. I don’t know how she’s not cold, given the crisp fall weather and the fact that the girl doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her, but that’s something I’ve learned about Marley over the years—she marches to the beat of her own drum.
“I’m on my way to a massage. Melanie Haywater.” Marley rolls her eyes, naming the mayor of Hillcrest’s high-maintenance ex-wife.
“How is she doing?” I ask.
“Still as pampered as ever,” Marley says. She pulls her phone out of her purse and looks at her phone. “It starts at 5:30 so I’ll be done by 6:30. What kind of detective work are you doing?”
“Dawn asked me to do some snooping for her,” I say. “She has this strange guy staying at the inn, and she wants me to figure out what his deal is. I think—” I stop short, and beckon Marley to come in closer to me.
Marley gives me a curious look, and steps in. We both look around. The sidewalk is nearly empty, for the moment. Nevertheless, I keep my voice a whisper. “I think her inn guest might be a werewolf.”
“What?!” Marley whispers back. “Are werewolves real?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But vampires are, and so are witches. So maybe...”
I can’t believe I’m really saying this. I can’t believe I’m really thinking this. But, if you’d told me a year ago that I would be able to levitate by simply whispering a phrase in Latin, I wouldn’t have believed that, either. And now, I levitate every time I have to reach something on the top shelf of my pantry.
Unless Chris is around. I don’t want to freak him out or anything.
“Did he come over Hillcrest Pass?” Marley asks, naming the magical portal behind the Terra mansion.
“He must have. I don’t know.” I glance up and down the sidewalk. Still clear. “His name is Raul... he’s a short, stocky guy in his mid-thirties. He had a visitor with a black beard and a grey beanie. Neville saw two wolves outside of the inn last night... I’m betting it was these two strangers: Raul and his visitor. And if they’re werewolves, it’s our job to protect the town. We have to get them out of here.”
Marley nods. “Agreed,” she says. “I’ll tell the others.” She begins tapping away on her phone while she continues talking.
I know that she’s texting Cora and Annie, the other two members in our knitting circle turned witchcraft study group.
“I can meet up with you after my massage to help out,” Marley says. “Should I ask the others to join us?”
I shake my head. “Not just yet,” I say. “I don’t even know what we’re dealing with. For now, just warn them that there might be a couple of werewolves around. I want to observe these guys—Raul and his visitor—and see if they’re dangerous. Then we can make a strategy about how to deal with them, when it comes to that.”
Marley finishes her text, and then slips her phone back into her bag.
“So what’s your plan for tonight?” she asks.
“First I’m going to cover the town now and find out what I can. I’ll go to the cafe, the library, the bookstore, The Place, The O.P., and the market, and just figure out who’s seen these guys.”
“Good idea,” Marley says. She begins twirling an end of her long black hair in her fingers as she thinks. After a minute she says, “I’ve been around town a lot these last few days, and I don’t think I’ve seen either of the guys you described.”
“Well, hopefully someone has,” I say.
“And that’s your plan,” Marley says. She sounds disappointed.
“That’s not my entire plan,” I say. “You haven’t heard the best part.”
She perks up a bit. “You’re going to sneak into his room at the inn and hide in the closet, and then jump out and—”
“No!” I say. “I’m going to do overnight surveillance.”
“Really?” Marley squeals. She starts jumping up and down and clapping her hands. The bracelets on her wrist clatter against one another as she claps. “You are?”
I’m grinning now, ear to ear. I’ve always wanted to have a reason to do overnight surveillance. Marley knows this about me. Probably because I’ve been blabbing her ear off about it for the past five years, ever since I took the lesson in my PI program called: ‘Overnight Surveillance: The Pinnacle of PI Skills’.
“This is it!” Marley says, bouncing towards me and giving me a hug. “It’s really happening!”
“It is!” I say. “Can we take your van?”
Have I mentioned that Marley lives in a retro VW van? She does. It’s a cool rig, with a pull-out bed and little kitchen in the back.
“Heck, yeah,” Marley answers. “This is going to be so fantastic! What time should we start?”
“I was thinking around dark,” I say. “I’m going to run around town for a while and then go feed Turkey. Want to pick me up at my apartment at seven? That gives you a chance to finish up your massage and then get back up to the van.”
“Perfect,” Marley says. “I’ll throw in a wash when I’m at your place, and maybe take a quick shower.”
Marley parks her van at an old abandoned mine at the foot of Hillcrest Pass. No matter how many times I invite her to live with me, she always refuses. She’s a free spirit.
That doesn’t stop her from coming over to use my washer and dryer, shower, and even sleep on the couch once in a while, when the temperatures drop below zero, and her little heater no longer cuts it.
“Sounds good,” I say.
Marley and I part ways.
For the next hour and a half I cruise around Hillcrest on my bike, stopping into various hotspots to ask questions. Each interview ends in the same way: No one has seen the two strangers.
I return home, puzzled. How is it that two strangers visiting Hillcrest have remained invisible to the public? What have Raul and his buddy been up to for the past few days?
When I open the door to my apartment, I spot Turkey on one of the barstools that is pulled up to my counter. He has my laptop out, and his little paw is on the mousepad.
He turns his cute little calico head towards the doorway as he says, telepathically, “Welcome home, Penelope”.
I walk straight up to him and give him a pat on the head and a kiss on the nose. Glancing at the computer screen I ask, “What are you up to? Playing Candy Crush or something?”
“Playing... oh, no...” Turkey says. “No, Penelope. As usual, you underestimate me.”
I leave his side and walk into my little kitchen. While I reach for a glass from the cupboards, Turkey says, “I’m reading. I figured out how to take out ebooks from the library. I’m using your account. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I say. “It’s good one of us is using that account. My life is too crazy for library books these days. I don’t have time—”
“Your life is too crazy not to read librar
y books,” Turkey interjects, correcting me. “When was the last time you read up on time management, for example?”
I try to think back. Now I have a full glass of water in my hand, and I gulp it down as I think. Finishing, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and then give a loud “Ahh!” sound.
Then, I answer my cat. “It must have been a few years back. Jumper Strongheart came out with that book: ‘Karate-Chop The Day: How To Demolish Your To-Do List’.
“Right,” Turkey says. “You were doing so well there, for a few weeks. Then you went back to sleeping in. If you woke up earlier, you might have more time for reading library books.”
“Maybe,” I say, noncommittally. “But my bed is so cozy and snuggly in the morning.”
I reach for a bowl from the cupboard, and then pull a spoon from the utensil drawer.
“Does Jumper Strongheart have a book out on manners?” Turkey asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. I pull open the refrigerator. “Why do you ask?”
“You must stop using your hand as a napkin. It’s absolutely unhygienic. Unladylike. Uncivilized.”
“Turkey,” I say.
“Thomas,” Turkey corrects me.
I sigh. This is a battle we’ll never stop fighting. My cat told me months ago, when we first started communicating, that his preferred name is Thomas Edison Fullbright.
“Sorry,” I say. “I respect that you want to be called Thomas, but you’re always going to be my precious little Turkey Werky to me.”
I lean over the countertop and give his head a few pats.
He closes his eyes as I rub his head. He can’t help it. He loves it.
I finish up with a few strokes down his back and then return my attention to the fridge. When I spot the soymilk, I pull it out.
While I pour a bowl of cereal I say, “Turkey, manners are silly conventions. They’re cultural rules that keep us busy while more important things slip by. You, of all cats, should know that.”
“And why is that?” Turkey asks.
“Because... you chose your name. Thomas Edison Fullbright. I assume that your choice had something to do with the original Thomas Edison?”
“A worthy namesake,” Turkey says proudly.
I take a seat with my bowl of cereal and begin stirring it a little bit with my spoon. I like it when the choco-puffs soak up the soymilk.
“Well,” I say, as I stir, “What about that great quote... your namesake said something like: ‘There ain’t no rules around here! We’re trying to accomplish somep’n’.” I raise my telepathic voice theatrically, doing my best Thomas Edison impression—though I really have no idea how the man really sounded.
I have a good imagination though, and I really play it up. As I recite the quote, I wave my soymilk covered spoon in the air and little splashes of soymilk fly around the counter. Some land on my laptop. Shoot. Turkey dodges the soy shower by jumping to the floor.
I put my spoon back into my cereal and dig up a soggy scoop. “I’d replace the word ‘rules’ with ‘manners’,” I say. “I don’t have time for manners because I’m trying to accomplish something. Something important. Something urgent. Just like Thomas Edison back in his laboratory.”
Turkey slinks over to his water dish. “I don’t care to debate this one with you, Penelope,” he says curtly.
I smile. I know that his surrender means that I’ve won.
Turkey starts lapping up water.
“Aren’t you curious about what I’m trying to accomplish?” I ask.
“I’m curious about a lot of things,” Turkey says. “For starters, I’m very curious about when my dinner might be served.”
I laugh. Really! My cat is a hoot. I abandon my cereal mid-bite and walk over to the pantry. “Right now, Sir Thomas,” I say.
“There! You did it,” Turkey says. “Was that so hard?”
I laugh again. As I pour out Finicky Feline Feast into his bowl, he says, “Fine. I’ll admit it. I am curious about what you’re trying to accomplish.”
“I have a new case,” I say.
I peel the top off of a can of wet food, and then scoop a dollop of the stuff out into his dish.
“That’s wonderful!” Turkey says. His mood is improving now that food is in sight. I know how that is. I’ve been struck by a case of the ‘hangrys’ more than once.
Turkey begins lapping up food while I continue to fill him in. “It’s a good one, too,” I say. “No dead bodies; no failing marriages.”
“At least not yet,” Turkey says.
I reach for the countertop. It’s linoleum, not wood, but it’s the closest thing to wood within arm’s reach at the moment, so I give it a quick rap with my knuckles. “Right. At least not yet. Knock on wood,” I say.
“So if there’s no dead bodies and no failing marriages, what’s the case about? What’s the problem? Stolen goods?” he guesses.
“Nope—nothing stolen, so far,” I say. I give the countertop another little knock. Then I return to my barstool and lift my spoon. “It’s kind of a weird case, because nothing really wrong has happened yet. Except, of course, the bloody paw print. I have no idea where the blood came from.”
Turkey looks up from his meal. “Blood?” he says. I detect a nervous tremor in his telepathic tone.
I nod. “Yep. Blood, for sure. I saw the picture.”
“On a paw print?” asks Turkey. “What kind of paw print was it? Are we talking small, critter paws, or large—meat-eating paws?” He gives an involuntary shudder.
“That’s what I asked!” I say. “Neville—you know Neville, down at the inn? That’s where the print was found—he thinks it’s a wolf paw print. I’m thinking werewolf.”
“Werewolf!” Turkey gives another little shudder.
“Yeah. Werewolf. I think he might have come through the portal. I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I want to figure it out. Do you see now why I don’t have time for napkins?” I say. “Marley and I are planning a stakeout of the inn tonight.”
Turkey starts pacing the kitchen floor. “Stakeout... as in overnight surveillance?”
“Correct,” I say.
“But you failed that quiz in your PI program!” Turkey says.
“I only got a few questions wrong,” I say.
“Six wrong,” Turkey says. “Out of ten.”
“How do you remember that?” I ask.
“I’ve been going over some of the online modules,” Turkey says. “Just as a refresher. Something you could do, too, if you woke up earlier.”
“All right, not that again,” I say.
“I’m not trying to nag you,” Turkey says. “I’m simply pointing out the facts. You can’t go rushing into this without being prepared. You’ve never done overnight surveillance before. Remember the beginning of that lesson? Your instructor went over the reasons why surveillance can be so dangerous...”
“Of course I remember that,” I say, waving my hand in the air to brush off Turkey’s concern.
It’s not true. I don’t remember the introduction to that lesson at all.
Maybe my cat has a point. Maybe I do need a refresher.
“I remember why surveillance can be dangerous,” I fib. “There was that thing about...” I let the transmission trail off, hoping that my cat will pick up where I’ve left off.
Luckily, he does. “...how surveillance can lead to confrontation,” Turkey says.
“Right. Confrontation. And...”
“Violence,” Turkey supplies. “And therefore, injury. Surveillance can be mechanical or human. Your instructor said that mechanical surveillance carries far less risk. Why don’t you just set up some kind of spy gear? Like a camera, or—”
“You know I can’t afford spy gear,” I say. “Not while I’m still getting my business off of the ground.” I stand up and cart my cereal bowl over to the sink.
“You’ve been getting your business off of the ground for the last five years,” Turkey says.
“I know!” I say.
Then, softening my tone, I say. “So, it’s taken a bit longer to launch my career than I would have hoped, but—“
I place my bowl into the sink with a bang. Then I look down at my cat. He’s looking up at me with his big green eyes.
“Hey, aren’t we supposed to be on the same team here?” I ask. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“I am on your team,” Turkey says. “That’s why I’m bringing this to your attention.”
I glance at the clock on my oven. It’s ten minutes to seven. “I know you don’t mean to nag me, Turkey,” I say. “But pointing out all of my flaws is kind of nagging. Don’t you think?”
“I just want you to be safe,” Turkey says.
I walk to him and pick him up. “I’m going to do my best,” I say. “That’s all any of us can do, right?”
Turkey starts to purr. Between purrs, he says. “Okay, human surveillance it is.”
“It might be kind of fun,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to do a stakeout. It’ll be like in the movies—Marley and I will sit in her van. She has that cool pair of binoculars... we’ll bring snacks.”
“And you’ll watch the inn?” Turkey asks.
“Yes. With any luck, there will be some action tonight. Neville and Dawn say that they heard the front door to the inn slam closed last night. Then, Neville saw two wolves out on the sidewalk. I’m hoping something like that happens again.”
“Only you, Penelope, would hope to see werewolves.”
I stroke his back, in the way that he likes. He snuggles against me.
“I know,” I say. “It’s weird. But if there are werewolves in town, I really want to know about it before anything bad happens. What are they doing here in Hillcrest? What do they want? I have to find out before anything goes wrong. I feel responsible.”
“You’re a good person,” Turkey says. Then, as if second guessing his word choice, he adds, “And a good witch.”
“And you’re a good familiar,” I say.
“I try,” Turkey says. “Sometimes it’s not the easiest job in the world.”
“I know,” I say. “I’ll try to make it easier on you... How about this. I’ll wake up earlier. Starting—” I almost say ‘tomorrow’, but then I remember that I’ll be out late tonight. “Starting... next week,” I say. “How’s that?”
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 20
