We all wave goodbye to Cora, and then Marley heads off by foot in one direction, while Annie and I walk in the other. I push my bike along and walk slowly, to keep pace with Annie.
“What an exciting night,” I muse. “I’m actually grateful for the distraction. It’s been kind of a rough week so far.”
“Boy trouble?” guesses Annie.
“Nope. For once, my love life is super stable.” Stable because it’s non-existent. Since my breakup with Chris, I’ve been determined to stay single. That’s not easy, seeing as I have a massive crush on my hot vampire neighbor, Maxwell Shire. I’ve managed to keep things between Max and me platonic, so I really do have a stable love life for once.
“Then it’s your business?” Annie guesses.
“Yep,” I say.
“But it’s the 15th,” Annie says. “Surely you’ve paid your rent by now?”
“I did,” I say.
“Then it’s smooth sailing for another couple weeks,” Annie says. “All you have to do is pick up some business before the first of December. I’m sure a case will come along.”
I shake my head. “Not exactly smooth sailing,” I say. “I have to renew my PI certification this week. There’s this exam that I have to take. My program is going to send an instructor to Hillcrest to make sure I know my stuff. Tomorrow.”
“You’re going to do fine, dear,” Annie says. She reaches over and pats my arm. “You’re a brilliant PI. I’ve seen you in action. You’re going to pass your test with flying colors.”
“I might—if I can pay for it,” I say, glumly.
“How much does it cost?” Annie asks. We take a right and head down a side street.
“Two hundred and ninety nine dollars. I have to pay it before I can take the test, and I have to take the test if I want to keep my license active.”
“And how short are you?” Annie asks.
“The whole thing,” I say. “I have no idea how I’m going to come up with that much cash by tomorrow. I’ve been stressed about it all day.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?” Annie says. “The cafe’s doing well this month, so far. I have extra in my bank account. I’ll write you a check when we get to my house.”
“I can’t take your money,” I say.
“Why not?” Annie asks.
“Because. You’re my friend. It’s not right to borrow money from friends. It could interfere with our relationship. I wouldn’t want that.”
Annie reaches for my arm again. Her hand feels cool as she gives my forearm a little squeeze. “We’re more than friends, Penny, dear. We’re in a coven together. We’re family.”
I want to protest. Out of habit, I open my mouth to tell her no again. But her words have struck a chord, deep inside of me. Annie and I are both part of the Terra Coven; witches of the Earth Realm. We are more than just friends. We are witch sisters. If she needed money, and I had it, I would be honored to hand it over to her.
Is this what it means to be in a coven? Do I really have a family of four?
This thought makes Cora’s marriage even more exciting. If one of my coven members is getting married, does that mean that my family is expanding as well?
I feel my worries begin to melt. Some of the heaviness around my shoulders lifts. Annie releases my forearm.
For the next few moments, we walk in silence.
It’s dark. The moon is just a sliver in the sky to the north, over one of the towering rocky peaks that guards our town. I can hear the soft crunching sound of my rubber tires going over little pebbles in the sidewalk, and the scuffing sound of our footsteps along the dirt-packed alley.
When we reach Annie’s little one-story house, I head inside with her. As she writes out a check to me, I expect to feel bad. I expect guilt, or embarrassment. My friend shouldn’t have to bail me out of my financial pickle. I expect to feel like a failure. Instead, I feel cared for. I feel loved. And above all else, I feel grateful.
She hands over the check, and then asks, “When is your exam?”
“One in the afternoon,” I say.
“Good... it’s after lunch. If your instructor arrives in town early, bring them to the Death Cafe before the exam starts. You’re going to do great, but it won’t hurt to get them into a good mood, first. I’ll bake up something special.”
I slip the check into my bag, and then hug my friend. “Thank you, Annie,” I say. “I’ll pay you back one day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Annie says. “This is a gift. Today was a good day, wasn’t it? Such good news from Cora, and you, moving forward in your career.”
“It was a good day,” I say. “I’m excited for Cora. I hope that Silas is the right guy for her. They do seem happy together, but it’s all happening so fast. How well does she really know him?”
“We just have to pray that her instincts are correct,” Annie says.
“I wonder what he was talking about, when he mentioned that the union might upset beings in other realms.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Annie says.
Thinking about other realms jogs my memory. “I saw Azure Spincraft today,” I say, as Annie leads me to the door. “She didn't seem like herself. She was skittish and seemed like she wanted to avoid me. She seemed nervous to be around me. She didn’t really look well, either—pale with dark circles under her eyes.”
“That’s odd,” Annie says. She pulls her front door open. I can tell that she wants to get to bed. It is past nine, after all. I step out onto the front porch. “I’ll keep my eye out for her at the cafe. Do you want me to text you tomorrow if she comes in for coffee?”
“That would be great. I want us to keep our eyes on her. She’s up to something—I just don’t know what.”
“Done and done,” Annie says. “I’ll watch out for her tomorrow. And I’ll hope to see you and your instructor for lunch.”
“Thanks again, Annie,” I say. I give her one last hug, and then head off towards my bike. I hop on and steer off of the sidewalk, and into the street which is deserted due to the late hour. The November night air feels cold against my cheeks as I pedal fast, and wind whips through my short hair. As I pedal, I find my thoughts turning to Azure yet again.
Why was she in the Nugget building? She said that she was only in town for a short while, but at the same time she pulled a tab off of that flier that was advertising a permanent position. Is she planning on moving to Hillcrest full time? If she is, why did she lie to me about it?
Something fishy is going on with her, that I’m sure of. But I’m not going to figure it out tonight.
It won’t do me any good to puzzle over it. I need to get a good night’s sleep so that I can do well on my exam tomorrow.
I’m under prepared and I have no idea what to expect, but at least I have the cash to make my first payment!
Chapter Three
The next morning, I’m sitting on my couch sipping coffee when I hear a knock on my door. I’ve been looking through ‘The Art and Science of Becoming a Witch’ with hopes that there might be some kind of an ‘Exam Spell’ that I could cast to help me pass this test.
I haven’t found anything. I place my precious green book down on the coffee table, and make my way to the door.
When I open it, I see a tall, thin woman with beady eyes and a nose that is pointed like a beak.
“Hello?” I say. I don’t recognize her. It’s only 11. Far too early for my instructor to arrive, right? I still have plenty of time before my test begins. I’m still in my pajamas, for Pete’s sake!
“Hello. Penny Banks? I’m Nadia Thomas, from Speedy’s Online Licensure Program. I’m here to give you your practical exam.”
Her black hair, streaked with silver, is swept back in a tight, low bun. She’s dressed in a suit, and carrying a briefcase. As she peers down her beak-like nose at me I feel a chill run over my body.
I’m caught off guard. First of all, I’m wearing my fuzzy moon and stars bathrobe, and I haven’t brushed my hair. Secondl
y, my search through ASBW was not successful, and I haven’t yet even begun to look through my old notes from Speedy’s program. Thirdly, Nadia Thomas is not what I expected.
Honestly, I don’t hold my PI program to very high standards. It has a reputation for being easy to get into, easy to pass, and not very well organized. I expected my instructor to be perhaps a short, chubby man. Balding. Underpaid and underqualified. Uninterested in his work. He might go through the motions and pass me, just so that Speedy’s could keep collecting money from me until I retire or croak.
However, Nadia Thomas’s eyes are intelligent and sharp; her dress is formal. Above all, she seems entirely interested in me. She’s scrutinizing me now.
It’s making me uncomfortable.
I step aside. I don’t see any way around this.
“Yes, I’m Penny,” I say. “Come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
Nadia steps carefully across the threshold, into my apartment. As she enters, she peers around with those black, beady eyes.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” I say, as I cross into my little kitchen.
I reach for a mug.
I can almost feel Nadia judging me.
My place isn’t the tidiest in the world. In fact, in its current state, it’s kind of a mess. I’ve been focused on more important things lately, and I have to admit that my housekeeping hours have dwindled—to about zero per week.
I fill a mug with coffee, and then open up the fridge.
“How was your drive into town?” I ask, trying to ease some of the tension that’s now palpable in my small, messy apartment.
“Fine.”
“That’s good. No traffic? There isn’t, usually. The highway in from Melrose is usually pretty much abandoned. Not many people drive out this way. We’re kind of tucked back here in the middle of nowhere.”
Silence.
I spot my soy creamer, and yank it out of the fridge.
“Do you want creamer in your coffee... Ms... er... Ms. Thomas?” I ask. “It’s soy. I hope that’s okay.”
“Black is preferable,” she says.
I round the counter and hand her the coffee. The three bar stools I have tucked in next to the island that divides my small kitchen from my living room are covered in my crap. My knitting tote bag, a black sweatshirt, my favorite knit scarf... it’s all piled on the stools. That’s because my kitchen is also sort of my entryway.
Who has time to hang items on a coat rack? Not this girl! My coat rack, positioned next to the door, is entirely empty.
I begin scooping stuff off of the stools and piling it on the floor. “Here,” I say. “You can sit, if you like. Sorry about the mess. I’ve been sort of busy lately...” I keep working as I talk. “I wasn’t expecting you so early, actually. Not that it’s a problem or anything, I just—I might need a few minutes to get ready.”
“Take all the time you need,” Nadia says. She peers down one of the stools that I’ve cleared. Her mouth is drawn in a tight, short line. Wrinkles form around it as she purses her lips. “I think I’ll stand,” she says.
“Okay... uh... I’ll be right back. I promise. I’ll be really fast. Then we can go to my friend Annie’s cafe and get some food, if you like, before the test.”
“No, thank you,” Nadia says. “I’d like to get right down to business.”
Shoot. There goes my hope that I can improve my chances of passing by stuffing her full of Annie’s baked goods to put her into a good mood.
I’m nervous as I pop into the bedroom. Turkey is sitting on my bed. He has my laptop out. “Ready to study, Penelope?” He asks me, telepathically.
“Turkey!” I respond as I push the bedroom door closed. “She’s here! Nadia Thomas—the lady that’s going to give me my exam. She’s here, two hours early!”
“No!” Turkey transmits.
“Yes!” I fire back.
Turkey is usually very calm and collected. But as he blinks up at me, whiskers twitching, ears trembling, I can see my news makes him as nervous as it makes me.
“But I haven’t even had a chance to quiz you!” He protests.
“I know!” I open up my top dresser drawer, and begin tossing tops over my shoulder. I need to look studious for this test. Should I wear the black vintage Led Zeppelin tee that Marley gave me last Christmas? Nope. I hurl it over my shoulder.
“Omph!” Turkey says.
I glance over at him.
“Sorry!” I say, seeing that the tee landed on his head. He’s wiggling to free himself from it. I’d help, but I’m feeling too rushed. I look back to my drawer.
How about my black and grey striped tee, with the silver kitten patch by the pocket?
Eh.
Oh! Okay. Here’s a black tank top that I could wear with a nice, respectable cardigan. That will look professional and studious. I shed my bathrobe, pull off my sleeping tee shirt, and then begin dressing in a frenzy. As I pull my tank over my head, Turkey starts quizzing me.
“Okay, Penelope. What are the three cornerstones of private investigating?”
“Uh... imagination?” I say. This neckline sure feels tight. I pull at it, and notice the tag sticking out. Shoot, I’ve put it on backwards.
“No. Not even close,” Turkey says.
“Could you try to be a little bit supportive here?” I ask, as I yank the tank top up over my head. “My career is on the line! Okay... three cornerstones... um... Patience. Precision. Playfulness.”
“That’s the three Ps of witchcraft,” Turkey says. “Try again.”
“Okay... let’s see. I can get this. I just have to think. Have you seen my black cardigan?”
“You mean the one you spilled chocolate sauce on, two nights ago? I believe it’s in the hamper.”
“Shoot!” I dart to the corner of my bedroom, near the closet, and start emptying every single item out of my dirty clothes hamper.
Near the bottom, I spot my chocolate stained cardigan. Can I salvage it?
“Should I just tell you?” Turkey says.
“Yes,” I reply, as I hold up my top and squint at the splattering of chocolate sauce that travels down the front.
“Number one,” Turkey says. “Competence. Investigators must be competent in performing the tasks of investigation, such as research, surveillance, and interrogation.”
“Got it,” I say. “Competition.”
I’m barely listening to my cat. My mind is on the chocolate stain, which, in my opinion is barely visible in the sunlight. It’s faint. The cardigan is black after all. No one will notice brown splatters on black cloth—will they?”
“Not competition, Penelope, competence,” Turkey says. “Moving on. Number two. Communication. The career of an investigator rests on a foundation of professional communication skills. Now that’s an area where you have plenty of room for improvement, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” I say, as I push my hands through the cardigan sleeves. “What’s number three?”
“Professionalism,” Turkey says. “Investigators must strive to provide exceptional services to their clients, maintaining a professional relationship and demeanor at all times.”
“Professionalism,” I say. “Competition, communication, and professionalism.”
“Competence!” Turkey corrects me again.
“Do I look okay?” I ask, as I zip the fly on a pair of black slacks.
I stand in front of Turkey, hoping for his approval.
“You look like you just got into a fight with an ice cream sundae, and you lost,” Turkey says.
“Oh, come on now!” I say, looking down at my top. “It’s not so bad! I’m going to wear it. It’s the best I have, at the moment. I’m wearing it.”
“Then I don’t see why you asked me in the first place,” Turkey grumbles.
I walk up to him and give his head a pat. “Could you just wish me luck?” I ask, as I bend over and kiss his forehead. “I could really use your support right now.”
“Good luck,” Tu
rkey transmits, reluctantly. “I’d offer my telepathic assistance, but I think that would be cheating.”
“It would,” I say, though his offer is tempting. “I think I can handle this on my own.”
“I certainly hope so,” Turkey says. “I depend on you for my Finicky Feline Feast.”
“I know you do,” I say. “And that’s why I’m going to pass this thing.”
When I walk back out into the living room, Nadia is standing exactly where I left her. She looks pointedly down at her watch.
“That took a little bit longer than I hoped,” I say. I spot my coffee cup on the counter, and lift it up. The liquid inside is lukewarm, but hey, it’s caffeine. I need all of the help I can get. I take a giant gulp and then look over at Nadia.
She hasn’t said a word. To my distress, I see her eyes wander down the right side of my sweater, exactly where my chocolate stains lie. Perhaps this wasn’t the best outfit to wear.
It’s too late now.
I take a second gulp of coffee, and then a third, draining my cup. My fake glasses are sitting on the counter, and I swoop them up and push them into place. My personal development guru, Jumper Strongheart, says that wearing a costume prop like fake glasses can be helpful. When I wear my glasses, I always feel smarter.
Well, here goes nothing, I think, as I make my way to the front door, Nadia in tow.
I have no idea what this exam is going to entail, but I’m going to give it my best shot.
I’m just going to have to hope that my best is good enough.
For the next two hours, Nadia Thomas leads me around Hillcrest, presenting me with potential PI scenarios as we go. I feel like I’m on a walking tour, except instead of the history of Hillcrest, I’m being bombarded with annoying questions at every street corner.
“Say you were at this juncture, and you were tailing a suspect. When the suspect stopped to wait for the cross signal, what would you do?” Nadia asks.
“I would... hm. Good question. I would walk up next to them and maybe ask them how their day was going?”
“Thus revealing your presence?” She asks.
“Well, I’m assuming they would probably already know I was behind them already. See, Ms. Thomas, I don’t really tail suspects. I’m more of an out in the open kind of investigator. And everyone in this town knows each other, so it would be weird if I didn’t start a conversation.”
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 38
