A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection
Page 26
They have no idea that there are other realms out there, crawling with magical beings—both good and bad.
They think that this is all that there is!
I used to think the same thing.
Now, I know what’s out there.
Is that a good thing? Was I better off before I knew?
Ignorance is bliss, as they say....
We finish weaving through the tables and slip behind the counter. Annie pushes aside a curtain that’s draped across an otherwise open doorway, and we step into the cafe’s small kitchen.
It’s warm back here, and it smells like all things baked and delicious.
Pie. Cookies. Crumb cakes. Scones. Muffins.
I inhale. I wish that I could buy a candle with this scent. I’d burn it in my baked-goods deprived apartment.
“There,” Annie says, pointing towards a row of industrial shelving that lines one of the walls. On it, I see baking ingredients.
“Flour?” asks Marley.
“Sugar?” asks Cora.
“Annie, we can’t banish your baking ingredients!” I say.
“No!” Annie laughs. “The ants! That little row of ants, marching into my jar of honey! I’ve about had it with them. This is the second perfectly good jar of honey that they’ve ruined. I keep sealing it up and they keep finding a way in. I’ll have to toss it out. Unless... we could just banish the ants.”
I step in closer. Indeed, I see a little parade of black ants walking up the side of a glass, twelve-ounce jar of local, wild-clover honey. I know how local honey is. No wonder Annie wants these ants gone!
And yet... they’re living creatures. I watch them move. As I watch, I say, “Do you think it’s going to kill them? The Banishing Spell, I mean....”
“I don’t know,” Annie says.
“Maybe it just removes them from the premise,” Cora says, hopefully. “No harm done.”
I like that idea. “So, we’ll say that weird little poem and wave our hands in the air and then voi-la! The ants will fly off of the honey jar and go back to wherever they were before they started out on a quest for honey?”
I step towards the shelf and bend down, placing my hands on knees.
My face is almost pressed up against the glass. I’m watching the little ants move steadily up the face of the jar. There’s indeed a crack between the lid and the jar’s glass sides, and the ants dive into the amber pool of honey one by one.
They’re actually kind of cute.
Marley joins me. I feel her shoulder press into mine, and we both become mesmerized by watching the parade of ants.
Soon I feel Cora’s shoulder press into mine, on my other side. I feel Annie’s presence behind me. We’re all crowded around the jar of honey.
“They’re kind of cute,” I say.
“In a weird way,” Marley adds.
“I wouldn’t want them in my house,” says Cora, “but I guess they’re not so bad.”
“They’re just ants!” cries Annie.
“But they’re alive,” I say. “I don’t think we should practice on them. Not without a better understanding of the spell.”
“I don’t feel good about it either,” Marley says. She straightens up.
Cora straightens up too and steps back. “I suppose practicing on something that’s not alive would be better,” she says. “But for right now I’d really better get back to the office. Hiroku doesn’t mind when I leave the office for lunch, but it’s been over an hour...” I stand up too.
Annie sighs. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to live with these ants for a little while longer.”
“It’s their lucky day,” I laugh.
I turn and see that Cora is readying herself to leave. She’s pulling a sunshine yellow knit scarf from her purse and wrapping it around her neck, so that she can stay warm on her walk down to the law offices.
Once she has it tucked around her neck, I wrap my arms around her in a hug. “You’re leaving?” I ask.
“I have to,” she says.
I give her a squeeze. Even though we give each other a hard time once in a while, I really do love Cora and I know that she loves me.
She squeezes me back. “I guess I’ll practice the spell at home tonight, after work,” she says.
I release Cora, and Marley steps in to see her off with a hug, too. We like to wrap up our meetings with hugs. That’s just the kind of coven we are.
Marley speaks as she hugs Cora. “Send us a group text, and let us know how it goes,” she says.
Annie speaks up. “Why don’t we all practice tonight, and report back to the group? I suggest we meet again tomorrow. We can discuss the timing tonight. We need to deal with these werewolves, the sooner the better.”
We all agree. Soon, we’ve parted ways, and I’m heading down the sidewalk, pushing my bike along, not quite sure where I’m going.
The autumn day is crisp. The sun is shining, but there’s a little chilly undertone to the air. Not quite a bite, but just a little reminder that summer’s well over.
I’m still wearing my black sweatshirt, and I pull the hood up over my head. I can see why Cora bundled up in her scarf. It’s getting to be the time of year when extra layers will start to feel nice.
As I walk along beside my bike, I start thinking. There’s so many things that feel urgent: I want to figure out how to track down the dangerous lawless Lux wolf. I know that I need to touch base with Dawn and Neville to see how they’re holding up, and I also want to communicate with the Hillcrest PD. I need to tell them about Sarah Pelletier's strange visit to the inn last night. I also want to see if Marty and Dawson are still in custody. Plus, I suppose I ought to fill out that darn police report, though I don’t want to.
But visiting the police department would mean facing Chris, and I’m not sure that I’m ready for that.
Not yet.
Not after the way he treated me last night.
I still remember how cold his voice was. ‘Move’ he said. Then he just drove away. Without listening to me.
I feel my blood pressure rise, just thinking about it.
I jam my hands into my pocket and walk faster, head down. Suddenly, I hear someone call out my name. The sound comes from behind me.
“Penny!”
Stopping, I whip around, and see Chris, jogging towards me.
Shoot. Isn’t that just the way things go? Here I am thinking about how to avoid Chris, and he’s the first person I see.
He looks so handsome in his police uniform. He always does. I see his police car parked... in front of the Hillcrest Inn. I look around myself, disoriented. I’ve been so lost in thought that I barely realized that I’d walked down towards the inn.
“Did you fill out a report?” Chris asks.
“Not yet,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
He frowns. “Why not?” he asks. I can tell he’s annoyed.
“Because, Chris. Filling in blanks of a paper form is the last of my worries right now. Remember? I told you. There were werewolves here last night.”
He looks around us, as if afraid someone overheard me.
I follow his gaze and see Ted McDougal standing with Police Chief Holcomb, near the window to Raul’s room. The area is marked off with tape and they appear to be dusting the sill for fingerprints.
We’re far enough away from the two that they didn’t hear me, but Chris still reacts. He places his hand on my elbow and steers me farther away from the inn and all the activity there.
“Would you keep your voice down about that?” he says.
I emit a frustrated sigh. “I know it sounds crazy, Chris. But it’s the truth. This case involves werewolves.”
“It doesn’t just sound crazy, Penny. It is crazy. Insane. Like—certifiably insane, actually.”
“I’m not insane!” I say. I pull my arm away from his. “Chris, I told you I was practicing witchcraft months ago—on the same night that I told you I loved you. Remember?”
“Kind of,” Chris says.
“And what did you think that meant? That I was—what, lighting candles and burning sage?”
Chris nods. “And maybe listening to weird music. Like, chanting or drumming or something. I don’t know.”
I groan. “I had no idea you were so close-minded about magic.”
That’s not the entire truth. I did suspect that he was going to be this closed-minded. That’s why I’ve been playing down my powers for so long.
Too long.
I should have told him about the things I was learning, sooner. I shouldn’t have kept it hidden. If I’d been more honest, maybe we could have had this discussion under different circumstances.
Like, when our careers and the safety of our town wasn’t riding on the outcome.
“I’m not close-minded,” Chris says. “I’m realistic. Whatever weird thing you were doing with your hand last night can probably be explained by science.” He frowns, and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m not sure. I got a C in physics.”
“Maybe werewolves can be explained by science, too,” I say. “We just haven’t gotten there yet, as a society.”
“Okay...” he’s still scratching the back of his head. Then he releases his hand. He looks nervously over towards the front lawn of the inn, where his coworkers are still fingerprinting the sill.
“Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know. What I do know is that if you go around talking about werewolves like you are, you’re going to be the laughingstock of the town.”
“Maybe that’s the price I’ll have to pay,” I say. “A man died in there.” I point to the window, where McDougal is now filling out some sort of paperwork, and Chief Holcomb is sealing up a plastic container. “You guys are going to miss a really important angle of this case if you don’t believe me about the wolves.”
Chris shakes his head.
My tone becomes more urgent. “You have to believe me. You have to talk to the other officers about this. You have to talk to your chief. I’m telling you, this murder involves werewolves. I don’t know how, but it—”
Chris cuts in. “Penny, you’re not listening to me. There is no way I’m talking to the Chief about this. And neither should you. Do you know how crazy this sounds?”
“Stop saying that word! I’m not crazy!” I flap my arms in a way that might contradict my statement.
Just then, I hear McDougal call Chris’s name. Chris and I both look up. McDougal is holding a cellphone up in the air, and waving it back and forth.
“Cap Wagner!” McDougal shouts again. “We’ve got Melrose P.D. on the line! They completed the fingerprint analysis on the knife!”
“Coming!” Chris says.
He looks back at me. “How about this,” he says. “You go up to headquarters and fill out a police report detailing everything you saw that involved Marty last night. Report the fact that you saw him break into the inn. We should have recorded it all last night, but things got hectic. We need that in writing.”
“That wasn’t all I saw,” I say.
“I know—” Chris holds up a hand. “Just don’t say anything about the ... the wolves, for now. Okay?”
“But there was something else, too,” I say. “Sarah Pelletier. She was here, before Marty.”
“Really?” Chris glances up at McDougal, who is still holding up the phone. I can tell that Chris wants to take the call. He looks back at me. “You’d better report on that, too. How close was the timing?”
He takes a step away, backing up, moving towards the inn’s lawn. “I mean, between Sarah and Marty?” he finishes, as he takes another step backwards.
“She came by right before Marty did. It wasn’t a coincidence. She looked into Raul’s room.”
“You’d better report on that, too.” He backs up another step. “It’s important that we get your statements down in writing—about the events of last night. If you fill out the reports, I’ll... I’ll think about how we can handle the... other thing.”
“The werewolves?” I say. My voice carries, because now Chris is five feet away from me.
He grimaces, and nods. “Yeah, that. Just keep it quiet for now, okay Penny? I have to figure out how to deal with this. Give me some time, okay?”
“Fine,” I say, though I’m not happy about it. “I’ll head up to the headquarters now. Can you call me once you’re off the phone with the Melrose guys? I want to know about the knife, too.”
I can tell Chris is relieved that I’ve agreed not to make a big scene about the wolves. Usually, he hesitates when it comes to sharing information with me. But right now, he almost smiles. “Yeah,” he says, backing up more. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”
Then he turns and starts jogging across the inn’s yard, towards McDougal and his waiting phone call.
I push my bike in a big U-turn and then get on it and begin pedaling begrudgingly up the hill towards the police department.
An hour later, I’ve completed a short, handwritten novella regarding what I saw the night before. I swear, my hand almost cramped up! The questions were endless.
On top of filling out the paperwork, I’ve also endured a round of questioning by one of Chris’ fellow officers, a guy named Bill Braxton. Basically, I find myself repeating what I wrote down on the form. ‘Yes, Officer. I was sitting in my van eating corn chips when I spotted Sarah Pelletier walking down the street. She was wearing a pencil skirt and heels. She walked over to the window and...’
You know the rest.
I’m drained by the time I step out through the P.D.’s glass double doors, back into the late afternoon sunshine, and begin walking towards my bike.
Since I was so tied up in there, what with all the questions, I haven’t had time to check my phone.
Now that I’m free, I pull it out of my messenger bag. I have one new voicemail. It’s from Chris. I reach my bike and pause, listening to his message.
“Hey, uh... Penny. I just got off the phone with the Melrose Police Department. You wanted to know about the knife analysis. They found a set of clear prints on the knife. The print isn’t Marty’s, and it isn’t Dawson’s. Problem is, they’re not finding any matches in the databases.”
Yeah, I think, rolling my eyes as I listen to the message. Because they’re from another realm.
The voicemail continues. Chris’s voice is flat and business-like. “The print doesn’t seem to belong to anyone. Chief decided to let Dawson go. There’s no reason to hold onto him now that we know his prints aren’t on the murder weapon, and his story about the map is checking out. We’re going to hold onto Marty until we can figure out what he was doing at the inn last night. That’s about it. Hope you filled out those reports.”
Chris hangs up without another word.
No ‘goodbye’.
More importantly, no ‘I love you’.
I lower my phone, and just stare at it for a moment.
From the corner of my eye, I see Dawson descending the concrete steps behind me, as he exits the police department.
I turn and try to catch his eye with a little wave. He’s still wearing the same clothes that he was in last night and he has dark circles under his eyes. He always has dark circles under his eyes, but these are darker than usual.
“You’re out!” I say. “Dawson, that’s great.”
He gives a weak smile. “Yeah, it would have been even better if I was never dragged in there in the first place.” He rubs his wrists, as if trying to clean away the memory of being in handcuffs. “Wrong place, wrong time, like my dad said last night,” he says. He gives a defeated sort of shrug.
“For real,” I say, just to commiserate with him. Dawson starts walking down the sidewalk, and I grab my bike and start rolling it along next to me as I fall into step with him.
“I bet you’re excited to get home,” I say.
Dawson nods. “I’m going to take a hot shower and go to bed,” he
says.
“That’s what I’d do, if I was in your shoes,” I say. “Hey, can I ask you a quick question?”
“Oh man,” Dawson says, unhappily. “I don’t know. I’m tired, and I’ve been answering questions for—”
“Just really quick,” I say.
“Fine,” Dawson mumbles. He doesn't sound very happy about it.
“Okay. I’m trying to figure out if Marty Stevens has anything to do with the two men you saw in Raul’s room last night. Or, even if he might have some kind of connection with Raul. Or—all of them.”
“And?” Dawson says. He reaches up and rubs his temple, like I’m giving him a headache.
We’ve reached the end of Aspen Street, and we both pause to check for traffic before crossing.
There are no cars, and Dawson starts walking. I push my bike off of the curb and jog a few steps to catch up to him.
“I’m wondering if you ever saw them together... or overheard anything... or have any idea what Marty might have been doing there.”
“Well, he’s Marty—with Animal Control. Maybe it has something to do with that bloody print that was on the carpet.” Dawson shrugs. “I mean, I’m not a detective or a cop, but that seems like the obvious connection to me. Animal Control, animal paw print.”
“Right. The paw print. A super obvious connection.”
Dawson continues. “I don’t think that bloody print was a wild wolf’s. If it was in Raul’s room, it must have been his pet. Domesticated. Maybe it was a dog with wolf ancestors. Or some kind of wolf-dog hybrid. My dad said he saw two large animals out on the sidewalk, so maybe Raul had two wolf-dogs. I don’t know.”
“Did you ever see Raul with this animal?” I ask. “I mean, did he come down to breakfast with two wolf-dog hybrids on leashes?”
Dawson shakes his head. “No, but he must have had them... the print was in his room. Maybe he was keeping them hidden because he didn’t want to pay the pet deposit or something.” He shrugs again. “Or maybe they’re illegal pets, and he didn’t want to get caught with them.”
“Could be,” I say. “But then where did the animals go? When you went into the room that night, it was just Raul’s dead body and the two other men, right? No dogs?”