There! How’s that for PI skills? I think Turkey would be proud. I start moving around the room, snapping pictures whenever I see handwriting. It’s on a wall calendar, a list of movie titles, a note pad with cleaning chores scrawled on it. As I start spotting more and more items with handwriting on it, I notice two distinct styles: one must be Rich’s writing, and the other must be Victoria’s.
Not only that, but I start to know which one is which. Victoria’s notes include the grocery list, calendar notes, and list of house chores, while Rich wrote down a list of movies, information from a mechanic about Cadillac fixes, and the scores of three different golf games.
I move from the living room towards the back hallway that leads to the kitchen. I pass the sewing room.
If Victoria planned on murdering her husband, is it possible that she might have hid the poison in here? I start poking through various boxes and bags of fabric scraps and yarn.
No poison.
I guess I’m moving a bit fast because I’m nervous. I knock a spool of thread off of the desk, and the sound of it hitting the floor makes me practically jump straight out of my cowboy boots.
I definitely shouldn’t be in here. But the cops are being awfully slow about getting around to searching this place. If Victoria is the killer, we shouldn’t give her days and days to cover her tracks at her leisure. We have to act!
Satisfied that I’ve pawed through all of the bins and boxes sufficiently, I turn my attention towards the desk. I can’t stop now. I open every desk drawer. I even snap pictures as I go. That’s because there’s more items with handwriting on them inside the drawers. Postcards, lists of birthdays, a page of scrawled numbers, and handwritten recipes. I’m here, so I might as well record what I see.
Next I move back out to the hallway. I spot a closed door just across from the bathroom. When I open it, I see that it’s the master bedroom.
I comb through the bedroom too, working as swiftly as my shaking hands and hammering heart will allow. I take about a million pictures. That’s an exaggeration but you get the idea! Turkey is going to be so proud of me. Heck, I’m proud of me! I give myself a little pat on the back.
On the nightstand I spot an orange prescription bottle. At first I think I’ve hit the jackpot, but on closer examination I see that it’s just Rich’s heart medication. Even though it’s an expected prescription to find, I open up the bottle, take out a pill, and slip it into the pocket of my messenger bag.
Unfortunately, despite my A++ investigation of the room, I don't come across any hints of suspicious drugs. You know, no bottles labeled ‘wolfsbane’ or ‘potassium chloride’ like I’d hoped. I don’t find any suspicious looking vials, powders, or baggies. That’s the sort of thing I’m looking for and that’s exactly the sort of thing I’m not finding.
I exit the bedroom and stand in the hallway. What I hear next makes my heart actually move up into my throat. Well, I’m not sure that’s scientifically possible, but it really feels like it’s up in my throat.
The sound is a deep rumbling that vibrates through the walls. Who knew that the sound of a garage door opening could be so freaking creepy?
I freeze, panicked.
Then I look down one end of the hallway, towards the entryway. If I go that way, there’s a slim chance that Victoria might walk in from the garage and spot me, if she moves fast.
I whip my head in the other direction. The kitchen! There was another exit in the kitchen. I spotted it when I was watching Victoria with the mirror!
I make a dash towards the kitchen, stuffing my phone into my purse as I move.
Once in the kitchen I spot the door. I head towards it, but something makes me stop in my tracks once again.
I spot the photograph that Victoria kissed. The one with the curly-haired teen on it. Who is that guy anyways? As far as I know, Rich and Victoria didn’t have any children.
I walk over to the photograph, pulling my phone out again. I focus in on the picture, and just as I snap the photo, I hear the door down the hall open. Luckily, the kitchen is obscured from view. Still, I don’t like the fact that I’m now alone in the house with Victoria. She would not be happy to hear me.
I reach for the back door. Crap! It’s latched or something, because when I pull on it it doesn’t budge.
Don’t panic! I think, as I feel myself start to lose my cool. Just calm down. I focus and see a chain strung across the door. I slide it back, and then pull open the door. I’d like to say that from there I run like a ninja across the small backyard and catapult effortlessly across the picket fence that separates the Dempsey’s back yard from the next one over.
The truth is a lot less pretty. Instead, I stomp through the snow in the backyard, leaving giant footprints in my wake, and then catch my skirt on the fence. I get completely hung up and then slide down, ripping not only my dress but my undies too. That’s right. I can feel the February air against my bare bottom as I make my way towards my bike. Yikes! I’ve got to get home before anyone sees me!
I hold my hands behind me as I try to walk as casually as possible towards my bike. Shoot! My bike! I left it right there on Victoria’s lawn, lying in the snow. Well, that wasn’t that smart of me, was it?
I try to keep one hand on my dress while using the other to pick up my bike, but it’s cemented into place. It’s sunken into the snow and I can’t lift it. Drat! Seeing no way around it, I finally release my dress and lean over to really yank on my bike with both hands.
Just as I free my bike from the snow, I hear a car horn honk. Great! I release one hand and reach for my dress, at the same time whipping around.
Rebecca’s Volvo has paused in the street. “Penny!” she says. “You’re having a wardrobe malfunction, aren’t you?”
As she speaks, I hear my name called again. This time, it’s from behind me. “Is that you, Penny?” I hear. I turn around again. Victoria is standing on her front porch.
Great. Two of my favorite people.
“What’s your bike doing on my lawn?” Victoria demands.
“Sorry Mrs. Dempsey,” I say. “I—er, I just left it there for a minute while I... While I...was looking for my cat. He disappeared around the edge of your yard and I was trying to catch him.”
“Did you find him?” she asks.
“Nope... it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll make his way home. He’s a very smart kitty.” To say the least.
Thankfully, this seems to satisfy Victoria. She turns around and goes back into her house. One down, one to go. I turn to face Rebecca.
She has the car window rolled down. I don’t want to release my bike—I’m afraid if it falls into the snow again I’ll have to use both hands to get it out.
“What are you doing running around town with your rear exposed?” Rebecca asks sourly.
“I’m not wearing this on purpose,” I say. “My dress ripped!”
“I thought I’d hear from you...” Rebecca says. “About the will. I tried calling you, but you didn’t call me back.”
It’s true. I’ve now ignored three missed calls from Rebecca, and I haven’t had time to listen to one single voicemail.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I think I’m making progress. There are just a few things I still need to look into,” I say. A few hundred things I need to look into. Rebecca doesn’t need to know how complex this case has become.
“Okay,” she says. “But please don’t forget to update me. It’s not very professional of you not to return calls. And it’s not very professional of you to go running around in that...” She swivels an accusing finger in the direction of my rear.
“I know,” I mumble.
“I’ll expect to hear from you by the end of the day tomorrow,” she says. Thankfully, that’s the end of her lecture. Maybe it’s because big, fluffy flakes are falling and she doesn’t want the interior of her car to get wet. Whatever the reason, I’m glad when she rolls up her window and gives me one last curt nod before cruising away.
I’m left to manage
my ride home.
I make it into my apartment without having to expose my rear to any other unsuspecting townspeople, thank goodness.
I spend the rest of the afternoon reading up on gold with Turkey, and eating egg-drop soup made with Ramen noodles.
At seven Marley comes over, and we hash out the details of the case even more. Then, once our brains are tired and we’re feeling about as confused and tangled up as can be, we move on to other subjects. The top of our list is Marley’s crush on the lead singer of Hillcrest Funk Collective, but of course we also talk over our witchy studies.
“Any progress with the Vision Spell?” Marley asks, scraping her bowl in search of any last drops of melted ice-cream. “Are you still nervous about it?”
“I’ve been so busy with this case,” I say honestly. “I haven't given it much thought. I still don’t understand how we’re supposed to see without our eyeballs.”
I take my fake glasses off and set them on the coffee table. Then I look at Marley. “Honestly, that just seems like something we’re not going to get around. We have to be totally accurate and precise when we work the spell, and that means following the directions exactly. We’d have to say whole-heartedly that we’re willing to let go of seeing with our eyes. That’s just so ridiculous! How else is a woman supposed to see?”
“I’ve been talking about it a bit... with Skili.”
“Who the heck is Skili?” I ask.
“Skili is the name of the owl that’s been visiting me,” Marley says softly.
My jaw drops. Then I grin. “Marley! This is so exciting!” I can’t help it. I let out a happy squeal and tackle my friend with a hug. She manages to stay upright, and by the time I climb off of her she’s smiling too.
“It is exciting,” she says. “She’s wonderful. I’ve never felt so... so whole. It’s like a part of me has been missing for my entire life, and now I’ve found it. It’s amazing.”
“That’s just how I feel about Turkey,” I say with a smile. My cat, napping on the high window sill, twitches his tail happily. Though he’s too restful to join our conversation, I know he’s heard my words.
“What a name,” I say to Marley. “Skili. Does she have ‘mad skills’ or something.” I try to take a funny rapper pose, but I guess I’m out of practice because Marley doesn’t get my joke.
Instead she says. “Skili is a Cherokee word,” she says. “My grandmother, Felix’s wife, was Cherokee, you know. Skili means Great Horned Owl, and it also means witch.”
“Super cool!” I say. I sit up on my knees. I’m like a little kid, bouncing around. When Marley and I are together we tend to devolve into our eight-year-old selves. It’s one of the things I love best about hanging out with her.
“What did she tell you about vision?” I ask.
“She asked me if I’ve been having any dreams,” Marley says.
“That doesn’t exactly have to do with vision, does it?” I ask.
Marley nods. “It does. Skili explained it to me. She said that eyes don’t really see.”
“Yes, they do,” I say. “What else would they be for?”
“Think about this, though, Penny. In a dream, can you see?”
I don’t dream often, but when I do, the dreams are very vivid. Once I had a dream of being on top of a cloud-bank. I can still remember the way the clouds looked... ripply and soft like an ocean of white cotton candy. “Yes. In my dreams I can see,” I say.
“But your eyes are closed, right?” Marley says. “I mean, you’re lying in bed and all your eyeballs can really see is the back of your eyelids.”
“Hunh. Okay. I get that. But then how do you see in dreams?”I ask.
“The mind just makes up pictures.”
Suddenly, I remember something Max told me once: ‘Everything is mind.’
I’m silent for a minute. I feel that kind of short-circuity feeling that usually happens when an idea is so big that I can barely handle it.
“Whoa...” I say softly, after a minute. “So Skili is telling you that everything we see around us is like a dream? Like we’re not really seeing anything?”
Marley nods. “Trippy, hunh?”
“Super trippy,” I say.
We both sit for a minute. I look up at Turkey. He’s just lying there, like he always does, but for a minute my perception of him is different. I really feel like I’m dreaming. I feel myself blink, but at the same time I have the sensation that my eyes aren’t really doing any work.
Suddenly, my world isn’t out there, being filtered in through my pupils, like I’d always thought. Suddenly, the world around me is in my mind. Even my body is in my mind!
I have a crazy floating sensation.
I feel myself smiling. Did someone slip some drugs into the ice cream I just consumed? I am feeling seriously strange.
Without intending to, I smile. I look over at Marley, and she’s smiling like a fool too.
“Maybe casting the Vision Spell will make us feel like this all the time,” Marley says dreamily.
I’m not sure how long we both sit there just looking around like that, all loopy. Time feels kind of slippery. It might be two minutes and it might be twenty.
After who-knows-how-long Turkey stirs from his nap. He jumps off of the ledge and then perches on the coffee table and looks at us.
“What are you two doing?” he asks me telepathically.
“Doing?” I say. The word kind of makes no sense. We’re not doing anything. I start giggling. Oh boy. I really must seem crazy.
But hey. Is crazy really that bad? I feel awesome.
My laughter is contagious. Soon Marley’s giggling along with me. Turkey even offers up a telepathic chuckle. Then we all have another round of ice cream.
Chapter Eleven
Maybe I took too many photographs.
This thought hits me as I step back from my office wall, raise my hand to my chin, and ponder the wall as a whole.
Marley didn’t leave last night until eleven, which meant that when my roving alarm clock went off this morning I was not a happy camper. I then spent all morning trying to download pictures off of my phone and then get them printed at the public library. I spent a whopping thirty-eight dollars on paper and ink. Now my office wall is a collage of blurry, enlarged black and white photo print outs, hung up with painter’s tape.
I tap my finger against my lips. There has to be something here. There must be. But what?
I’m frozen like that, staring at my wall, when I hear a knock on my door. Because my ‘office’ door is old, funky, and doesn’t really close properly any more, it swings open as my visitor knocks. I catch sight of Max standing on the other side. I grin. He pushes the door open.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, while crossing the office. He’s in a muscle tank and tight shorts that stop just above his knees. Not a hip style, but my boyfriend doesn’t have to worry about fashion trends. He’s so smokin’ hot that he looks good in anything he decides to wear. “You look deep in thought,” he says.
I release my hand from my chin and accept the hug that he offers. “I’m glad for a distraction,” I say, Max’s body is warm against mine, and makes me feel all tingly and good.
“Were you at yoga?” I ask.
“How did you know?” he asks.
“Your outfit,” I say. “Plus you smell like the lemon floor polish that Sherry uses in the studio.”
“Penny Banks—detective extraordinaire,” jokes Max.
I laugh. Our embrace soon turns to a kiss. His lips are soft and strong. He moves his hands against my back, and together we walk backwards until I’m sitting on the edge of my desk.
Max leans over me. His presence consumes me. I love when he takes control like this. I lose myself in the sensation of kissing him. Soon I find that I’ve pushed nearly everything off my desk, and I’m having thoughts about doing things that would be very inappropriate given our office setting.
“Max,” I say breathlessly, pushing him away. “Ho
ld on. My door doesn't even lock.”
I work on catching my breath as Max looks behind him to the office door that’s still partly open.
“I mean, the second story of the Nugget building is a pretty low traffic area, but still...” I say.
He laughs. The chuckle is low, and I can feel it in my chest. He leans over me again and whispers, “I bet you could work some magic and lock it if you wanted to.”
“Mm....” I say.
“That would give us some much needed privacy,” Max says.
“Mm...” I say again. I lose myself to the thought of all the things I want to do with Max in that moment. But just then, my watch alarm goes off.
No! No, no, no. Not now.
Sometimes being a witch sucks.
Max looks at my watch. Minnie’s little white-gloved hand is moving in fast circles. A ring-a-ling ding dong song is playing, and there’s a high pitched chiming sound at the same time.
“What is going on with your watch?” Max asks. He stands up straighter. I push my hand through my hair as I stand too, and then I rearrange my shirt, which strangely became a bit unbuttoned during our greeting.
“It’s an alarm,” I say. “To alert me that there’s a visitor up at the portal.”
Max raises his brows. “Progress,” he says. “That’s good! So now you know when someone wants to come through.”
“Correct,” I say. “It’s just... the timing is awful.”
Max grins mischievously. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “We got to say hello to each other, at least. Maybe we can continue our conversation later. I have a conference call with my literary agent this evening, but how about tomorrow night?”
I grin too. “I’d like that,” I say. Then I look at the massive mess of photographs on my wall. “Only... I’m kind of knee-deep in a case here.” Over my head is more like it, but I don’t want to admit to that.
I continue. “Plus I’m supposed to meet Marley and her dad, Owen, for dinner after the memorial service. I’d cancel, but I think they might have some information that will help solve this case,” Before I can explain further, my watch starts going crazy again.
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 79
