by Cate Conte
Josie hadn’t responded. I threw my covers off and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. I wasn’t going to the Bean this morning. I just didn’t have it in me. I would make a pot and take a travel mug and that way I wouldn’t be buying a sugary latte, so it was a win-win. Besides, I didn’t want to see all my neighbors, all the people who would be whispering and pointing at me, or at the very least staring at me, trying to see inside my brain to know if I really had killed Carla as my guilty pink scarf suggested.
Ugh. Not the best thoughts to start the day.
I grabbed my laptop off my nightstand and plugged Carla’s name into a Google search. Sydney had said last night that Carla had a lot of enemies, and it was a matter of finding out who disliked her “more than most.”
The phrase rang in my head. For sure, Carla had her opponents—Sydney being one of them—but she had to have proponents too. No one was universally reviled, and the mere fact that she was still on the council was a testament to a strong supporter base. It wasn’t as black-and-white to me as it was to Syd—most people had some redeeming qualities, and to make a blanket statement about her lack of popularity would put pretty much everyone in town on the suspect list.
No, there was a certain type of person toward whom Carla seemed prejudiced for whatever reason, and that could be the right starting point.
Not surprisingly, there were a lot of results. She was in the paper almost weekly, given her role on the town council, which was quite active, coupled with her outspoken personality and her tendency to be über-conservative in her views on how the town should be run, and what kind of an image we should have. I skimmed a few of the most recent articles, looking for clues or anything suggesting that someone was out to get her after a decision she’d made or a position she’d taken.
There were a few of them. Starting with last Monday’s meeting, during the public hearing about a co-op specializing in alternative healing activities moving into one of the town-owned buildings for rent. There was some weird charter in the town, the article explained, that mandated public input before the town rented out any of its space. Mostly likely to avoid the appearance of impropriety or favoritism.
What should have been a very non-controversial topic, though, had exploded into a debate about voodoo-like practices. I frowned. Carla definitely had a fixation on the word voodoo. It was what she’d accused me of too. The woman who owned the co-op had actually been driven to tears by Carla’s commentary during the meeting, which included things like “witch doctors,” “scams,” and generally taking advantage of “gullible people who have nothing else to hold on to.”
Pretty harsh for a woman who wanted to bring a community resource offering massage therapy, acupuncture, and an essential oils classroom, among other positive things. The rest of Carla’s colleagues had disagreed with her, and in the end all her protesting didn’t have any sway over the application being approved, but still. Seemed like a lot of unpleasantness for nothing.
I clicked back to the search list, scanning for anything interesting in recent weeks. I paused when I saw Charlie Klein’s name, and clicked that story open.
Another Monday-night council meeting, and Charlie had gone during the public comment period to lambast Carla about the noise she was making about his property. The article quoted him as saying she’d “done enough damage in town trying to make things into her fairy tale,” and the good people of North Harbor wanted her to stop. The article wasn’t very long, and had actually been about another agenda item, but this had warranted a mention.
I sat back against my pillow. Charlie and Sydney had become unlikely friends when Syd moved to town, and Charlie had been looking out for her ever since. I’d heard Charlie had lost a daughter years ago. Maybe he saw Sydney as a surrogate. Whatever the case, Carla seemed to be hitting them pretty hard, and I couldn’t understand why. Charlie’s parking lot was off the main strip where all the action happened. The tiny house wasn’t even visible from this street, and definitely not part of the “downtown” area. Just one street over was into residential territory, and neighborhoods started to take on the persona of a truly diverse town—which this was.
I glanced over at Monty, sulking in the corner while the other cat prowled around my apartment. Monty definitely didn’t like this. I wasn’t sure what to do about it either. I didn’t want to toss him or her out if he or she needed a place to stay, but if another family was searching for their missing cat, I didn’t want to be an unknowing party mucking up the works.
I closed my laptop and got out of bed. I sidestepped the piles of glitter in my apartment, choosing to ignore the whole Fiona thing for the time being. After putting the coffee on, I fed both cats, then got in the shower. Nothing from Todd. You would think he’d be groveling for my attention after yesterday. Unless he was too scared to call me. Either way, I was disappointed in him.
Men could be such jerks.
A long, hot shower helped. After, I worked some curl amplifier through my wavy red hair while I studied myself in the mirror. Tired, I thought critically. Stressed out. Faint creases in my forehead, smudges under my eyes. Not as bad as I feared, though. A little concealer and some eye brightener and I would be good to go.
I put on one of my favorite dresses—purple with sparkles—and my purple combats, let my hair air-dry, applied my makeup, and headed out to the kitchen. The coffee had brewed and smelled delicious. Lovely and strong. I poured a quick cup and sipped it while I filled my travel mug, changed Monty’s water bowl, and threw some lip gloss, my moonstone, and my phone into my bag.
I should probably let the cat back out so he or she could find their way home. I didn’t see it anywhere, though. “Black cat?” I called, knowing I sounded ridiculous.
Monty gazed at me from the top of his tree. His demeanor had changed from sulky to relaxed. I didn’t see the black cat anywhere. Which was a little weird, given I lived in a loft and could see the whole apartment. I waited another few minutes, then grabbed my coat and walked out of my apartment. I paused outside my door. The night had ended kind of abruptly last night, with Syd not budging on her stance about letting the police figure out Carla’s demise, and me feeling abandoned.
I didn’t want Syd and me to have a weird vibe between us. I needed to make it right. I didn’t have a lot of close friends. Syd, Josie, and Natalie were the closest people I had, and I didn’t want to lose any of those relationships.
I went across the hall and raised my hand to rap on the door. It flew open before I could, but no one was there.
Cautiously, I poked my head in. “Syd?”
“No, darling,” a voice said from behind the door.
CHAPTER 24
I froze. “Hello?”
Fiona appeared in front of me. She stretched out her arms as if to hug me, but I stepped back.
Her smile faltered, just a bit, but she covered it quickly. “Good morning.”
“What . . . what are you doing here?” I asked, craning my neck to see around her. “Where’s Sydney?”
“The young lady who lived here? She’s moved. She’s got a much nicer apartment down the street. No offense,” Fiona added. “But she needed more space. With her daughter and all.”
I felt the now-familiar headache starting to pound behind my temples. Pushing past Fiona into the apartment, I opened my mouth to shout for Sydney.
And stopped short, turning in a slow circle. Sydney’s apartment, which usually looked like a bomb had exploded in it, looked . . . not like Sydney’s. The usual towering pile of mail was not on the counter, and her usual morning coffee cup, laden with milk and sugar, wasn’t staining the countertop. Presley’s cereal bowl was missing too. And the living room—where was the funky red rug with the spirals on it? And the battered coffee table with her piles of Glamour and Allure magazines? The half-dead spider plant she kept trying to rejuvenate?
And for the love of God, where was Sydney?
Had I accidentally beamed myself somewhere again? But I swore I’d just walked a
cross the hall and knocked on my friend’s door, like I’d done so many times before. Including less than nine hours ago. But she wasn’t in her apartment, and as was pretty typical over the past twenty-four hours, I felt like I’d fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole and had completely lost sight of the daylight to climb back out.
I turned on Fiona, furious. “What have you done with her? She was here last night.” It hit me that I didn’t know this woman at all, despite her insistence that we were blood relatives. What if she was a witch, but a bad one? Or what if she was some nutjob with her sights on me, and she’d done something to my friend?
“Violet.”
I refocused. Fiona frowned at me. She shook her head slowly. “My goodness. I can see what you’re thinking. Where did you get such an imagination? It certainly wasn’t from your father, and I doubt it was from me.”
My hands flew to my head, as if my thoughts were appearing in bubbles around it like in the cartoons. “This is impossible.” I decided I must have a brain tumor or something. As awful as that would be, it would at least explain all the crazy crap that was happening. “I was here last night. I had a whole conversation with Sydney after you all left. Her kid was sick. There’s no way she could have moved since then. People don’t just move overnight, not when they have a whole apartment and a kid to pack up.”
“Yes, well,” Fiona said vaguely. “It wasn’t planned. But she’s very much alive, all set up in a lovely apartment. Very happy. And so am I, because now I can be your neighbor.” Now she did lean forward and kiss me on both cheeks, beaming.
“My . . . neighbor?” I took another look around the apartment, this time focusing on the new decor—modern-looking art on the walls in the shapes of constellations. On one wall, there was a giant scroll that read Ravenstar, followed by lines of text in a language that didn’t look familiar to me. And the ravens, positioned around the room. Creepy. Staring at me.
Fiona followed my gaze, nodding with satisfaction. “Zoe and I live here now.” She cast a critical look around. “Needs some work, of course. But our most important things are here. Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, multiple silver rings flashing in the early-morning sunlight. “I’m not here to cramp your style. I just want to get to know my daughter. Think of this as a long-term slumber party.” She winked. “I promise I’ll give you your space.”
I stared at her, uncomprehending. “But . . . how?” My feet, which previously had felt frozen to the ground, finally moved, and I walked slowly into the living room. If I hadn’t known better—if I hadn’t been here myself, just a few hours ago—I would’ve said I’d imagined Sydney, Presley, and their belongings. Although, Sydney had been acting strangely last night . . .
No. I shook the thought off. The only strange thing about last night was a murder and the cops thinking I had a part in it.
“Well, it was apparent last night that you might need some support,” Fiona said. “With everything going on, and since I wasn’t impressed with that boyfriend of yours.” She said the word boyfriend like one might say cockroach. “So Zoe and I decided we would relocate. And it will be a lovely opportunity for us to catch up. Don’t worry, dear. Like I said, your friend is not far away. Now. Where does one get breakfast around here?”
“Why don’t you just conjure something up,” I said, a little bitterly.
But Fiona just chuckled. “I suppose I could, but I really want to get a feel for our new town. Did I hear something about a bean?”
Fiona wanted to go to the Bean. My place. Where my friends were. Where I’d eventually have to explain her. How had she even heard of it?
Maybe I didn’t want to know the answer to that.
It also registered that Fiona wore an outfit remarkably like the one I’d chosen for myself this morning, although her dress was orange, which set off her hair—which was a coppery blond today—nicely. She wore a different pair of high-heeled boots, maybe even higher than the ones from yesterday. Which seemed a silly choice given the season and the weather. Then again, I guess she didn’t have to walk if she didn’t want to.
“It’s The Friendly Bean,” I said. “But I’m not going today.”
“Oh, come on now. I thought you went there every morning?”
How did she know that? “No.” I held up my mug. “I made coffee.”
“Well, save it for later. We’ll go get some together.”
“I really can’t,” I said. “I have to get to work. I have an event to get ready for—”
“I love events!” Fiona clapped her hands. “What is it? I’m sure I can help.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Tell me anyway.” It came out pleasantly, but I felt like it was more of a command, and before I could register how I felt, I was speaking.
“It’s a healing circle. My friend from the yoga studio and I are putting it on.”
Fiona frowned. “A what?”
“A healing circle,” I repeated. “Where a bunch of us get together and do a group meditation for peace and love. We think the town needs a lot of healing. Even before last night.”
She smiled. “My daughter, the do-gooder.”
I bristled a little. Sydney had called me the same thing last night. At least I knew she’d been kidding. Well, sort of. I still wasn’t sure if Fiona was making fun of me or if this was just her style. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, my darling,” Fiona said, and she surprised me by coming over and planting a kiss on my forehead. My skin tingled where her lips touched me, and I wondered if that was our mother-daughter connection, or just my imagination. “It’s quite admirable, in fact.” She studied me intently, and I felt that odd feeling again—like I was being scrutinized, sized up.
I couldn’t get a handle on what her assessment of me might be.
“We’ll have plenty of time to plan your circle. Come have coffee with me.” She linked arms with me, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I cast about for some other good reason to decline. Finding nothing, I settled on a lame observation instead. “It’s not really the weather for those.” I nodded toward her shoes.
“Don’t be silly.” Fiona waved me off. “It’s fine. And this way you can introduce me to all your friends. And we can see who might’ve held a grudge against that woman.”
I felt like I was being led to the gallows, but it didn’t seem like I had a choice. So I swallowed my protests and resigned myself to the fact that I was going for coffee with my mother.
Who now lived across the hall from me.
How had my world gone so far off the rails?
CHAPTER 25
“I can’t stay long,” I reminded her once we were in the elevator. “I have to open my shop. I lost out on most of the day yesterday.”
“I understand,” Fiona said. “I can’t wait to see your shop.”
She was still holding on to my arm. I tried to give it a tug free, but she held tighter. “This way you can keep me from falling, since you’re very worried about that,” she said with a wink. “In my unsensible shoes.” She inspected my boots. “Those are very interesting. What are they?”
“Docs,” I muttered.
“Docs?” she repeated.
“Doc Martens,” I explained. “It’s a brand. You know, like Lululemon.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but she didn’t take the bait.
“Fascinating. So. Your shop.”
“What about it?” The elevator door opened, and I stepped out into the lobby. My building manager, Kate, stood there with a bunch of boxes. I held my breath, waiting for her to zero in on Fiona and demand to know where her other tenants were, but Kate merely smiled and told us to have a nice day.
“What you do there. What you sell. How it’s doing. I want to hear all about it,” Fiona said.
“Oh. Sure.” I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the street. It was colder than yesterday. I could smell the hint of snow in the air. Fiona sniffed too. “I remembe
r this,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Remember what?” I asked.
“This smell. The feel of the cold air.” She glanced at me with a small smile. “I remember taking you sledding in that big park once, when it snowed quite a bit. I didn’t really know what to do with the snow, but your father did. What was that park? Do you remember?”
“Central Park,” I said. My brain reached for the memory, but I couldn’t quite get it. At the same time I felt it—fresh, cold air, my breath puffing around me, wet snow, the exhilarating feeling of flying down one of the hills on my little sled, wondering what would happen once I reached the bottom. Was my mother there waiting? Or had she been at the top seeing me off?
I shoved the pieces away. Trying to add my mother to a memory wasn’t helpful at all. I picked up my pace. She still held on to my arm. It wasn’t until I glanced down at the sidewalk, where only yesterday piles of icy snow still lingered, that I realized they were all gone. I swore I could see them up ahead, but as we got closer, there suddenly didn’t seem to be any.
“Violet!”
The moment was over, and I cringed at the sound of my name. I turned slowly, not sure what to expect—someone else accusing me of murder? Someone wanting to gossip about Carla’s death?—but it was only Charlie Klein, waving at me from under the awning of the sushi restaurant.
I brightened. Maybe Charlie had some intel on Sydney’s day yesterday, given that he saw her every day. Or Carla and who may have killed her. “Hey, Charlie,” I called back. “How are you?” I pulled my mother over so we could talk to him. I could feel the impatience exuding off Fiona next to me.
When we finally reached him, he looked Fiona up and down. “Good mornin’,” he said. “I’m Charlie.”
She nodded, her gaze also sweeping him from head to toe. “Fiona.”
I noticed she didn’t mention that she was my mother and wondered why, given her enthusiasm for me to introduce her to my friends. I also noticed at the same time that I was relieved she hadn’t. The news was already going to spread like crazy, but with Charlie at the helm, it would’ve been like putting it on the billboard visible from the highway. His barbershop doubled as a living, breathing gossip column.
