2 The Witch Who Saw a Star

by Emma Belmont

  Maris raised her eyebrows. “No?”

  Mac shook his head as he opened the cabin door. “He works too hard. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s working. No matter the city, I’ve found that crime and hard work don’t often go together.”

  Maris had to laugh a little. “I suppose not.”

  Only a step into the room, they were both brought up short. It was an utter mess. Two open suitcases sat on the floor, their contents spilling out. High heels and sandals were strewn everywhere. There was even a plate of half eaten fresh fruit on one nightstand.

  “Our young actress left in a bit of a rush,” Mac said.

  “So it would appear,” Maris agreed. Nor did the stewards seem to be doing their jobs, now that Nadia wasn’t here to oversee them.

  Mac handed her a pair of gloves. “I’ll take the bathroom and closet.”

  “I’ll start with the nightstands and bed,” she replied, putting on the gloves.

  The nightstands only held a charger, a packet of tissue, and some magazines. The bed was unmade, the pillows were smashed against the headboard, and the sheets and comforter were completely rumpled.

  “Nadia would go nuts,” she muttered, since it was already making Maris want to tidy up the bed. But as she scooped up the pillow, her fingers hit something hard. She went still, trying not to move it any more than she had, and picked up the pillows.

  “Mac,” she called to him. “I think you should see this.”

  The sheriff immediately strode out of the bathroom, pill bottle in hand.

  Maris pointed to the bed. It was a multi-tool.

  Mac set down the pills on the nightstand and took an evidence bag from his back pocket. He inverted it, inside out, and picked up the tool. Holding it to the window light, Maris could clearly see what he could: it was full of little hexagonal rods of various lengths and thicknesses, all folded into the middle.

  “Good grief,” Maris whispered. It had to be the tool that was used on the sauna’s doorknob.

  Mac sealed the evidence bag. “Let’s finish up,” he said, putting the bag on the nightstand and picking up the pills.

  Several more silent minutes of hunting through the small cabin revealed nothing more. Though Maris had been the one to find the tool, she didn’t feel any sense of accomplishment. Instead a cold dread was settling in her stomach. Kaitlyn had seemed completely genuine. But then again, she made her living as an actress.

  “I think that’s it,” Mac said. He pealed off his gloves, tossed them in the trash, and picked up the evidence bag.

  Maris did the same. “Now what?”

  “Fingerprints first,” Mac said, as they exited into the small hallway and climbed the stairs. “Then it might be time for an arrest warrant.”

  Although Maris frowned, she couldn’t object. They’d essentially found the murder weapon. Even so, she couldn’t imagine that the young woman was the mind behind two such gruesome murders. She glanced at the point where the lighthouse’s beam whirled. As they walked to the gangway along the side of the yacht, Maris thought about the wine and cheese the evening before. Everyone had seemed so at ease.

  Only when they reached the platform between Seas the Day and Copernicus did Maris realize that Slick was watching them. Cookie’s parting words came back to her.

  “Mac,” she said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. “Would it be all right for Slick to get back to sea?”

  Mac stopped and eyed the old mariner. “I seriously doubt he could have snuck aboard the Copernicus to loosen a set screw.” The sheriff glanced back up at the railing of the yacht. “And it seems evident that Hazelwood was likely shot up on deck, before falling overboard on Slick’s boat.” He turned back to Maris with a smile. “Sure. I’ll let him know.”

  20

  When Maris returned home, it was to a quiet house—until she heard a metal clanking and rattling sound coming from the hallway.

  “What in the world?” she muttered, as she set down her purse and headed that way.

  It was coming from the open door of the downstairs bathroom. She’d been about to step inside, but stopped so fast that she had to grab the doorjambs to keep from tumbling in.

  A big pair of workman’s boots blocked her way. They in turn were attached to long legs and a burgeoning stomach, all clad in blue overalls. She saw Bear’s big arms, but he was lying on his back with his head under the sink in the cabinet.

  “Bear?” she said.

  He tried to sit up and Maris heard a thump. “Oops,” he said.

  Though he couldn’t see her, she put out a hand. “It’s just me, Bear. It’s Maris.”

  His big hand came out from under the pipes and waved. “Hi, Maris.”

  “Hi,” she said, crouching down, still not able to see his face. “Plumbing problem?”

  “The cold water knob was loose,” he said, his voice a bit muffled.

  “Was,” Maris said. “I like the sound of that.”

  Bear slowly maneuvered an improbable looking tool out from under the sink. It was a long pole with a strange little attachment at the end that looked like a crab claw. She was trying to imagine how it would help, when he started to wriggle out. She stood and backed up as the impossibly big man extricated himself from the too tiny space. As though he was an inch worm, he slowly made his way out from under the sink, then out of the cabinet, his legs projecting diagonally from the door. Finally, with his head clear, he sat up. Small flakes of rust dotted his face and beard, but he smiled at her.

  “All done,” he said.

  “Fabulous,” she said. For a moment she nearly extended a hand to help him up, and then realized he’d pull her over. She backed up a pace. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and then with an amazing nimbleness that belied his size, he simply got to his feet and brushed off his face and beard.

  Without the metal clanking, Maris realized how quiet the house was. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  Bear stooped to pick up his tools. “Cookie is taking a nap. The older couple said they were going to take pictures of flowers. The other women are kayaking. I think they called it a jaunt.”

  Maris grinned a little. That sounded like Nadia. She was glad that her friend was relaxing, although she’d hoped to speak with Kaitlyn about what Mac and she had found.

  “Is there something you need done, Maris?” Bear said.

  Something? Maris thought. She had a whole list. She lived by her lists. “Nothing in particular,” she said.

  It’d always been a sore spot for her that, in the hospitality trade, the doers were always rewarded with more things to be done. Now that she ran her own establishment, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

  “You say no,” Bear said, still holding his tools. “But your voice says yes.”

  Maris was never quite sure what to make of the big handyman. He’d finally overcome his shyness around her, and they were having longer conversations. But it didn’t change his awkwardness, or the simple and very direct way he had of phrasing things. Either he was a man of very few words, or a sage in the guise of bib overalls.

  “Come on,” she said, heading to the front rooms. “I’ll show you.” She exited onto the back porch, where the sun had broken through and the last of the mist was dissipating. “This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while, that doesn’t have to do with the usual upkeep.” She used her hand to shade her eyes as she looked up to the sky. “I’m wondering if we can go solar.”

  He shaded his eyes and looked up as well. “Solar panels,” he said. “There’s lots of sun.”

  Maris nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. But we’d need to have batteries for when it’s foggy or cloudy.” She gazed at the lighthouse. “We could have them in there, I guess, but I don’t know where the panels themselves would go. I don’t want to spoil the Victorian look.”

  “Let’s see,” he said, stepping off the porch. He walked for several paces and stopped at Cookie’s herb garden. He pointed to its
center. “Here.”

  Maris had to gawk at him. If anyone so much as touched a leaf in that garden, Cookie would have a fit.

  He broke into a grin. “Just kidding.”

  Maris put a hand over her heart and laughed. “You got me.” He really was getting less shy.

  But as she followed him around the back and to the south side of the house, he pointed upward. “Here.” She followed his gaze to the roof. “You can’t see it except from the lighthouse.”

  She looked from the roof up to Claribel’s optic house, then from the roof toward the front of the property. It was true. This part of the many gabled roof couldn’t be seen except from where they stood, and the lighthouse.

  “It’s a good solution,” she told him. Then she put her hands on her hips. “It’d be nice not to have to rely on the grid.”

  He put his hands in his pockets. “It’s never failed.”

  Maris frowned a little. That was true. She gazed up at the lighthouse. With their emergency generator and the deep-cycle batteries, the Old Girl had never missed a day. Maris looked back to the roof. Was she making work just for the sake of doing it? Solving a problem that didn’t exist?

  But when she looked back to Bear, he was looking out to sea. He pointed at something. “There they are.”

  She could barely make out two small dots the color of orange life preserver vests bobbing on white smudges in the far distance. That had to be Nadia and Kaitlyn on the kayaks. “What good eyes you’ve got,” Maris exclaimed.

  “Time to mow the lawn,” Bear said.

  As though the discussion of the solar panels had just been a little blip in the day, he simply walked off toward the detached garage where the tools were stored. Maris had to smile as she watched him go. The solar panels were indeed a blip.

  But as she looked back to sea, it took a minute for her to find the dots and smudges. It’d likely be some time before Nadia and Kaitlyn were back, and Maris could ask the actress some questions. She glanced back at Claribel. Maybe the Old Girl could help.

  21

  Just before Maris reached the door to the conical tower, a gust of ocean air seemed to blow the door open. With a smile, Maris wondered if was just her imagination, or if the Old Girl knew she was coming.

  Inside, she flipped on the light switch and said, “Good morning, Claribel.”

  In response, the door gently blew closed behind her.

  Maris began the long climb upward, pacing herself. As a child, she’d delighted in racing Aunt Glenda to the top. Now, she just wanted to make it without soaking her clothes with sweat. But step by step, up the spiraling metal staircase, she slowly scaled the three stories. Finally, at the top, she was moving at a snail’s pace and breathing hard.

  By the time she took the last step out onto the metal landing, she had to stop.

  “Phew!” she exhaled as she paused for a moment taking in the view and catching her breath.

  The bay and the sea beyond it sparkled in bright green tones of peridot and emerald. Maris could see the kayaks clearly now, without the ocean’s haze at ground level. She could even see the difference between Nadia’s dark hair and the blonde of Kaitlyn’s. To the north, the pier jutted out from the land like little matchsticks, but the long white yacht was visible against it. Though Maris could probably stand there drinking in the view for hours, she’d come for a reason. She turned to the fresnel lens.

  It was more like a glass sculpture than something one would imagine in binoculars or a telescope. Shaped almost like a giant egg, dozens of individual pieces of glass, some grooved with concentric circles, were tightly fitted together on a gleaming steel frame. It rose from its waist high pedestal up to nearly the top of the circular glass house. Its thousands of reflective surfaces bounced light in every direction, and it glowed as though it had a life of its own. The beam was off, as it typically was in the day, when the light sensor was triggered to shut off both the turning mechanism and the LEDs.

  “How are you today, Claribel?” Maris asked and gazed down into the faceted base of the lens. Sunlight danced within it like a prism, tossing out flecks of kaleidoscope light that were mesmerizing. Then an image began to form among the sparkles.

  It was like looking through a telescope at the…utility room? Previously, Claribel had shown her images of places in town or elsewhere, but never her own B&B. But as she watched, the vision zoomed in to focus on the wooden door in the floor that Maris knew led to the basement.

  Despite having made it to the top of the tower without breaking into a sweat, Maris felt her palms grow damp and a trickle in the small of her back. She’d been meaning to investigate the basement and continue her search for Aunt Glenda’s pendulum, but her mild claustrophobia had prevented that. Maris’s eyes narrowed. Was Claribel telling her that something to do with the murders was in the basement?

  But as quickly as the image had popped into view, it vanished. Though she waited for another few moments, hoping against hope that the basement was not the message, the remote viewing was over.

  “Thank you,” she said, sighing heavily, and gave the pedestal an affectionate pat before beginning her descent.

  22

  In her room, Maris stared at the skeleton key hanging on the hook. When she’d first come back to Pixie Point Bay, she’d found it in Aunt Glenda’s silk brocade boudoir box. Along with it, there’d been some paperwork: the will and life insurance policy, the deeds to the lighthouse and the B&B, property insurance and various warranties. But it had also held a small box that Maris had recognized. It had once contained a faceted green stone in the shape of an inverted cone that hung on a silver chain. Although she’d always wanted to wear it, Aunt Glenda had said that it wasn’t meant to be worn. It wasn’t a pendant but rather a pendulum. To Maris it didn’t matter what it was. Pendant or no, it would still make a nice necklace.

  But when she’d opened the little box, it was empty.

  Though she’d searched her room many times, even moving furniture, it had never turned up. Of course she’d thought about finding it in the basement, especially since the skeleton key to the door had been in the boudoir box. But she had yet to work up the nerve to go down there. Now it seemed that a clue about the murders might be down below.

  Maris glared at the ominous black key on the hook next to the door. She had to unclench her hand to reach for it.

  “I hope you’re right, Claribel,” she muttered, grasping the key.

  Reluctantly, she went to the back of her room, opened the door to the utility room, and stepped inside. There in the floor was the door to the basement, it’s heavy black hinges and handle matching the antique lock.

  It had perhaps been inevitable that, in her journey from one troubled hotel property to another, that Maris had found one with an improperly maintained elevator. Though the mechanics had later assured her that she’d never been in any real danger, the three hours spent alone in darkness and uncertainty had left its imprint. Though she’d always been glad for her photographic memory, the images from that time in the elevator ensured she never forgot it.

  When she inserted the large key into the lock, she found that it rattled—but only because her hand shook. Using two hands, she cranked the key in the sturdy mechanism and heard the familiar grating and clunking she remembered from when Aunt Glenda would open it. With a final click, the key moved freely and Maris grasped the handle of the hatch.

  You don’t have to go down, she told herself. Just open it.

  With a tug, she lifted the heavy wood door and looked down.

  A rhythmic thumping sounded behind her, quickly drawing closer, and Maris yelped a little as a little black cat flew past her and down the wood stairs.

  “Mojo,” she exclaimed, nearly dropping the door closed. With an effort, she shoved it all the way open and lay it on the floor—then took a deep breath. “You’re lucky I didn’t lock you in,” she called down to him. The cat was infuriating—and she was so glad to have his company. “Don’t get lost down there.”


  Slowly, she took her first step down, and then the next.

  Your head’s still above ground level. You can do this.

  Another couple steps had the floor at waist level. She reached down to the wall just inside and was relieved to find the light switch. She turned it on.

  The fluorescent light in the ceiling below made a little tinking sound, then the light fluttered, and came on. Maris blew out a breath.

  “Good,” she muttered. The room below was far less intimidating when it was lit.

  At the bottom of the steps was the familiar brick floor. Maris couldn’t count the times she’d come here with her aunt. Like Mojo, she’d run down the stairs, eager to find some new treasure among all the old trunks. But now to her astonishment, there was something new. A diagonal bookcase built into the wall flanked the stairs. It ran parallel, all the way down. There had to be at least a dozen shelves, all full, and one with a little black cat sitting on it.

  “What have you found?” she asked him.

  Without thinking, she descended another couple steps and realized she was looking at what seemed to be a small library. Most of the volumes appeared to be antique books but there were also some leather bound journals. The beautiful spines gleamed with gold lettering, and one title in particular caught her eye.

  “Magick Folk,” she read. She glanced back to the utility room door. No one was there. She gave the open hatch a firm pat to make sure it wouldn’t move. Then she went down another few steps and took a seat, before she withdrew the oversize book and opened it.

  Though the edges of the pages had colored with age, the paper was in excellent condition. After flipping through a few pages, Maris realized what she’d found: an encyclopedia. Everything was arranged alphabetically. She went immediately to Precognition.

  Apparently this magical talent could manifest differently. Some witches had brief flashes that included sight, sound, and even smell. Maris smiled to herself—not that she’d doubted Cookie. But to see her own talent here in black and white… It seemed more real, more normal. Eagerly, she turned back to Potions.