Silenced by a Spell

by Fiona Grace

  “Yup,” the detective replied with a look of triumph. “You didn’t notice?”

  “I didn’t,” she muttered. “No.”

  Gina had handled all the payments. She herself had been busy being yelled at by a deranged pawnbroker. Not noticing a seventy-thousand-pound payment get declined was quite the oversight. She wasn’t sure how the cops were interpreting that, but even she had to admit it looked suspicious.

  Seventy grand profit, gone, just like that…

  “What did you say the payment was for?” Superintendent Turner asked.

  “A book,” Lacey said.

  “Must’ve been a bloody good one,” Karl replied.

  Lacey gave him a look. “It was an antique. Medieval, actually. And very rare. It came from France and was one of a kind. It’s technically called a grimoire.”

  Karl smirked. He obviously already knew all this, and was waiting to deliver his final blow. “Yes. A grim-waar. A spell book, right? Pretty easily identifiable, by the runes and yellow pages and black ink drawings of dissected frogs and all that. Funny that after we searched Alaric’s room last night, we found nothing even closely resembling it.”

  Lacey’s chest hitched with surprise. The grimoire was missing? Stolen or misplaced? Had the same person who’d killed Alaric taken the grimoire? Was that their motive for killing him in the first place?

  As her mind raced through a million questions, she became acutely aware of the way Superintendent Turner was studying her. He was clearly watching intently for a reaction, so she tried her hardest not to give him one.

  But it was patently clear to Lacey what was going on here. Superintendent Turner was off to a flying start building his incorrect narrative. As far as he saw it, Lacey had realized the huge payment from Alaric had failed and had gone to his room to steal back the book. At what point the detective supposed she’d turned the repatriation of her property into a cold-blooded murder on a desolate island was anyone’s guess.

  “I suppose you have a search warrant,” Lacey said, coolly. “Well, don’t bother. I give you permission to search my store, because I have nothing to hide.”

  “How accommodating of you,” Superintendent Turner said, with a sly smile. “But here’s one anyway.”

  He shoved one of his yellow forms under her nose, then went to the door and whistled for his troops.

  Lacey stepped aside as the cops marched in and fanned out through the store, ready to turn the place upside down in search of a grimoire Lacey knew they would not find.

  As they stomped across the floorboards, Beth flashed Lacey an apologetic look.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed.

  Lacey wrapped her arms tightly around her to keep out the chill that had blown inside with the cops. She’d have to sweep once they were done, because they’d traipsed dry leaves in with them.

  “Sarge!” an officer called from the far side of the store. “Take a look at this.”

  He was holding something that looked suspiciously book shaped. Lacey’s heart flew into her mouth. Had she been stitched up? Had Alaric’s murderer somehow planted the book in her store to frame her?

  Superintendent Turner thundered past her so eagerly, he whipped up the leaves into a tornado.

  He took the object from the officer. From where she was standing, Lacey could see it was a thick, black, leather-bound book. Her stomach dropped.

  “AHA!” Superintendent Turner cried.

  He came marching back to Lacey.

  “What have we found here?” he demanded, sounding triumphant.

  Lacey looked at the book in his hands and was overcome with relief.

  “I think you’ll find that’s the complete works of William Shakespeare,” she said. “Are you a fan? My personal favorite is Hamlet.”

  Turner flipped open the cover and glowered when he saw she was right. He snapped the book shut with fury.

  “This isn’t over, Lacey,” he said, menacingly. “I know you had something to do with this. And I won’t rest until I find out what.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “You’re scaring people away, Lacey,” Finbarr said from the store door.

  It was propped open to let in the breeze, since the day had warmed up considerably. Lacey, meanwhile, had spent the best part of the morning sitting in the creepy rocking chair in the window, watching the world go by as she mulled over the murder of Alaric Moon. She could see how the sight of a woman in a rocking chair staring off into the distance might spook potential customers somewhat, but she suspected the real reason no one was coming inside today had less to do with her and a whole lot more to do with the cops who had swarmed her store.

  “It’s not me,” she told Finnbar. “It’s that stupid stunt Superintendent Turner played this morning. Now everyone thinks I had something to do with Alaric’s murder.”

  “Or,” came Gina’s voice from behind, as she carried over a rattling teapot and cups on a tray, “it’s the effect of the curse.” She placed the tray down and began pouring steaming tea into the cups. “Maybe the hex I read made the store invisible.”

  “It could’ve put a block on the door,” Finnbar offered. “Like the ones that stop vampires from entering private residences.”

  Gina nodded her enthusiastic agreement of his suggestion. “See.”

  Lacey rolled her eyes. “If your hex had blocked the door, then how come about fifty police officers came streaming in through it this morning unimpeded?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” Gina said. “It’s my first foray into the mystical.”

  “Did you invite them in?” Finnbar asked Lacey.

  Lacey thought back to Superintendent Turner’s search warrant. She’d distinctly told him he didn’t need it because she gave him permission to come inside.

  “Actually, yes I did,” she admitted.

  “Well, there you go,” Gina said. She handed her a cup and saucer. “That must be it.”

  “I hope so,” Finnbar said. “I’d prefer an empty store to more skeleton attacks.”

  Lacey shook herself. She was letting Gina and Finnbar get to her now. Her employees had been going on and on about the curse all morning, and it was starting to mess with what she knew to be the truth. She absolutely, resolutely, did not believe in any of that mystical, spiritual stuff. But Gina did, and she just wouldn’t let it go. She seemed determined to beat herself over the head with it. Which was ironic, considering the actual thing she ought to be feeling bad about was the bounced payment for the grimoire she’d failed to notice. Lacey had wanted to challenge her over it, but didn’t want to lay it on thick since she was already agonizing over the curse.

  “You do know an empty store means no customers,” Lacey told them both. “And no customers means no profits. Which means no jobs.”

  Gina gave Lacey her overbearing mother look. “You think we’re talking nonsense. But you can’t overlook the coincidences. The warning from the Ippledean pawnbroker. The black cat that crossed our path.”

  “The cat?” Lacey exclaimed, making her teacup and saucer rattle in her hands. “Come on, Gina! Do you know how many cats have crossed our path without anything bad ever happening?”

  “Hey, look!” Finbarr said loudly, in an obvious attempt to interrupt their bickering. “The goths are still in town.” He pointed to the street opposite, where a man and woman clad from head to toe in black strolled along the cobblestones hand in hand.

  His diversion tactic worked. The women dropped the subject.

  Gina joined Finnbar at the door with his cup of tea, and the three of them sipped quietly as they watched the creepy couple pause outside the patisserie and marvel at Tom’s haunted gingerbread house, with a little ghost girl projected inside.

  “Why are they still in town?” Lacey wondered aloud. “All the spooky festivities have finished now, haven’t they?”

  “It must be for the ghost tour,” Gina replied. “I got the date wrong, didn’t I? It’s probably tonight or tomorrow or something.”

  “Surely i
t will be cancelled,” Finbarr said, sipping from his flowery cup. “The ruins are a crime scene now.”

  Lacey shuddered as a memory formed in her mind’s eye of the misty island and the crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze.

  “Perhaps they didn’t get the memo,” Gina said.

  “But one of their party was murdered,” Finnbar continued. “You’d think they’d want to get out of Wilfordshire as soon as possible.”

  “If they’d already booked extra nights at the Lodge, they might not want to waste them,” Gina suggested.

  “Oh sure,” Finnbar said in a sarcastic voice. “Better not waste those nights at the B&B their dead friend was robbed from…”

  “Maybe Superintendent Turner asked them not to leave town,” Lacey suggested. “Like he did me.”

  It was wishful thinking. Lacey suspected he’d only asked that of her, and that she was the only suspect on his radar right now.

  Still, Finnbar had made a very astute point about the frame of mind of the out-of-towners. If they really were hanging about for the ghost tour, or to not waste their already booked and paid for hotel rooms, despite their friend’s death, it indicated they had rather cold personalities. But cold enough to murder?

  She watched contemplatively as the couple headed inside the butcher’s.

  “I bet they’re stocking up on pig’s blood for breakfast,” Finbarr joked.

  “Ew,” Lacey replied, though she appreciated the light reprieve.

  Just then, Gina’s tone shifted.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “Here comes trouble.”

  Lacey glanced over to see Taryn advancing along the cobblestones toward them. Her scowl was so deep it could probably be seen from space. Lacey braced herself.

  Finbarr jumped back from the door to allow Taryn entrance. The woman gave him a sneer of disgust, before waltzing in and stamping her foot on the floorboards.

  “I have a bone to pick with you,” she announced, her dark, beady eyes fixed on Lacey.

  “Really?” Lacey replied sarcastically. “I’d never have guessed. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is all these horrible people you’ve lured to town with your stupid auction,” Taryn huffed. “At least when you did the equestrian auction I could cater to the clientele, but these goths wouldn’t know fashion if it smacked them in the face. I switched my whole stock to black for them, and they have the audacity to complain that everything’s too neat! They only want to buy things that are ripped up or covered in moth balls. One of them even asked if I stocked anything that anyone had DIED in!” She threw her arm out at the goth couple as they exited the butcher’s. “See! Look at that awful pair. It doesn’t look like either of them have changed their clothes for a hundred years.”

  “I don’t think you can blame me for the out-of-towners sticking around,” Lacey replied. “The auction is over. They’re here for the ghost tour.”

  Taryn shot her a look like she was the dumbest person in the world. “They’re sticking around for that bloody book,” she said.

  Lacey frowned. “You mean the grimoire?”

  The thought shocked her, but Taryn was certainly right. It explained all the nasty glances she was receiving. And it better explained the wide berth everyone was taking around her store more so than Superintendent Turner’s early morning theatrics. Everyone blamed her for the peculiar out-of-towners infiltrating Wilfordshire.

  “They’re playing finders-keepers?” Lacey said aloud.

  “Looks like it,” Taryn replied. “Now they know how much it’s worth, they’re all trying to find it. The owner is dead, after all.”

  The revelation shook Lacey. That’s why the out-of-towners were hanging around? Because they all wanted to be the one to find their dead friend’s expensive book? It was even more callous than Finnbar’s suggestion they were staying in their dead friend’s hotel so as not to waste their non-refundable rooms.

  Just then, a sudden thought struck Lacey. “What if they’re not actually friends?”

  All eyes turned to her. Everyone blinked, looking perplexed.

  “What are you talking about?” Taryn asked with a scoff.

  Lacey shook her head at her. “I’m not talking to you.” She looked at Finnbar and Gina, and said it again. “Do we actually know whether the goths are friends?”

  Finnbar’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “They all arrived together. They’re all staying at the same hotel. They were together at the party.”

  “Sure,” Lacey said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean they all knew one another beforehand. They very well may have met for the first time in Wilfordshire, at the party.”

  “And?” Gina asked.

  Lacey wasn’t sure yet if there was any significance to it. “I don’t know. But perhaps there were some personality clashes. You can get some explosive situations when two troubled souls meet. There might be some motives in there.”

  “If it’s a motive you’re looking for,” Taryn said, haughtily, “then you should start with that horrible Jeffrey Peters.”

  “Who?” Lacey asked, frowning.

  “He’s a pawnbroker,” Taryn said. “From Ippledean. He came into my boutique after your auction with a face as red as a tomato. I was this close to calling the cops on him.” She held her fingers up an inch apart.

  “Why?” Lacey asked, stunned. “What did he do?”

  “He stomped around the place like a caged gorilla, that’s what, muttering about how he’d been robbed and how someone had to pay. I assumed he was yet another one of your disgruntled auction attendees. Honestly, Lacey, I think you need to work on your customer service skills.”

  Lacey jumped to her feet, standing so fast the rocking chair catapulted back and forth.

  “Did that actually happen?” she demanded of Taryn.

  Taryn grimaced. “Why would I lie?”

  Lacey gave her a look. “Come on, Taryn. You and I both know your history of being silver-tongued.”

  Taryn sucked her cheeks in. “Touché.” She crossed her arms. “Well, I’m not lying about this. That nasty little pawnbroker spent a good five minutes pacing my store cursing your name, and I can show you the CCTV footage if you don’t believe me.”

  Lacey shook her head. She didn’t need the proof. She’d heard enough. It was time to take action.

  She stepped down from the raised window area, heading for the counter to fetch her car keys. Her heavy footfalls aroused Chester from his slumber.

  “Come on, boy,” she said.

  “What are you going to do?” came Gina’s nervous voice from the window where she’d left her.

  “I’m going to solve the case,” Lacey replied with determination.

  “But how?” Finnbar asked.

  “By heading to Ippledean,” Lacey said. “There’s a certain pawnbroker I’d like to have a few words with…”

  Taryn’s story had put the pawnbroker right at the top of her suspect list. He’d already shown himself to be a rude, mean person by shouting at Lacey in her own store. And by the sounds of things, it had taken him a significant amount of time to cool down again. Those were classic traits of someone with an anger issue, of someone so easily enraged they could snap and turn murderous at the smallest of provocations. And the loss of his grimoire was hardly a small provocation. Seventy thousand pounds was a lot of money to lose out on, especially for a small-town pawnbroker.

  Feeling a fire light under her, Lacey snatched up her keys and headed for the exit.

  But before she could leave, Gina held up her hand into a stop gesture. Lacey halted, frowning with confusion at her friend.

  “What is it?” she asked, impatiently. “I’ve got a murder to solve.”

  “You’ve already forgotten,” Gina said. “You’re not allowed to leave town.”

  Lacey felt herself deflate. Taryn flashed her a triumphant smirk. So much for her and Taryn finally finding some common ground. The woman seemed to be reveling in seeing her suffer.

  But La
cey was determined not to be beaten. She looked from one face to the next with finality.

  “Then I’ll just have to lure him here instead,” she said.

  And she knew just the way to do it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lacey headed into her back office for some privacy. As a general rule, she didn’t like to be deceptive during her sleuthing, but considering how rude the pawnbroker had been to her, she didn’t feel too guilty about it this time.

  She picked up the telephone and dialed the Ducking Stool in Ippledean. She listened to the dial tone, until the call connected.

  “Hello, Ducking Stool, Jeff speaking,” came the distinctive voice of the pawnbroker on the other end. “Can I help you?”

  Sure he’s all pleasant now, Lacey thought, as she pictured the stocky little man standing in his oddly stocked pawnshop. But just wait for the switch when he hears what I have to say.

  “Hi, this is Lacey, the auctioneer from Wilfordshire. We met the other day.”

  She chose her word cautiously. What she really wanted to say was “you yelled in my face the other day” but she didn’t want to poke the bear. At least not yet, anyway.

  Jeff’s tone shifted immediately. He dropped the politeness and became suddenly cold. “Oh? What is this regarding?”

  “It’s about the grimoire,” Lacey said.

  “What about it?” he replied, a note of intrigue in his voice.

  “I… I’ve had a change of heart,” Lacey told him. “After our discussion, I decided that I should return it to you after all.”

  “Really?” the man replied. He sounded suspicious, which was fair enough, considering Lacey was actually trying to trick him. “And this change of heart has nothing to do with the curse your clerk unleashed? You’re not trying to palm off any evil spirits back to me?”

  “Not at all,” Lacey replied, rolling her eyes. “I just decided that we small business owners need to support one another. So I cancelled the sale after the auction.”

  “Really?” he interrupted. “You’re turning down a seventy-thousand-pound profit?”