2 The Witch Who Saw a Star

by Emma Belmont

  Maris had to smile at the description of herb gardens and the tonics and tissons they produced, designed to be exactly what a person might need at that particular moment.

  Then another thought occurred to her and she flipped to the index at the back. There was no entry for fishing, nor any for boating. But near the end of all the listings was one for Water Elemental. There she read about a type of magic folk that could not only manipulate water in all its forms, but also held a special bond with it. Using that bond, they could direct its flow as well as the creatures who lived within it.

  She tapped on the page with her index finger. “Slick,” she said grinning. She’d been about to look up more entries when she heard footsteps in the house, and then female voices. Quickly, she put the book back, picked up Mojo, and headed back up the stairs. She turned off the light switch and, after setting Mojo on the floor, climbed all the way out and closed the heavy door over. With a bit of relief, and not a small amount of satisfaction, she turned the key in the lock and heard the tumblers fall into place.

  23

  Maris followed the sound of the voices and found Nadia and Kaitlyn, still in their shorts and tank tops, sitting in the living room. They both grinned as Maris entered. She studied them both for a moment.

  “Kayaking agrees with you,” she declared, smiling. “I prescribe one kayaking trip per day.”

  Nadia laughed and clapped her hands. “I can do that.”

  “It really was the most relaxing thing,” Kaitlyn gushed. She looked at Nadia. “We have to remember to let the Magnusons know and thank them. They really nailed it.”

  “Oh yes,” Nadia agreed, then beamed at Maris. “And all courtesy of the best B&B that I’ve ever come across.” She glanced around at the Victorian furnishings, and then out the window up the coast. “It really is just perfect.”

  “Thank you,” Maris said sincerely. “That means a lot coming from you.”

  “Were you at the yacht this morning?” Kaitlyn asked. “I think Cookie said you were headed there.”

  Maris nodded. “I was.”

  “How’s the crew doing?” Nadia asked.

  “As far as I could tell,” Maris answered, “very well.” She decided to skip how meals and room service on the yacht had changed since her departure.

  “Good,” Nadia said. Though she opened her mouth as if she had another question, she closed it. “Good,” she repeated, then took a deep breath. “Dibs on the shower,” she told Kaitlyn as she stood.

  “Go for it,” Kaitlyn said, sitting back. “I’m fine right here.”

  When Nadia left, Maris took a seat, grateful not to have asked for a private conversation. She decided to come directly to the point.

  “We searched your room this morning,” Maris said.

  Kaitlyn grimaced a bit. “Sorry about the mess.”

  “I’m not worried about the mess,” Maris replied.

  Kaitlyn cocked her head, her brows drawing together. “Are you worried about something else?”

  Maris studied the young actress. Was she playing a part? “We found a screwdriver under your pillow. They’re also called allen wrenches.”

  For a moment, the words didn’t register. Then she said, “A screwdriver?” Her eyebrows flew up. “A screwdriver under my pillow?” She sat forward on the chair. “I don’t own a screwdriver,” she blurted out. “I don’t have one. Why would I put one under my pillow?”

  Maris held up her hand to stop her. “It was the same tool used to loosen the set screw on the sauna’s doorknob.”

  Kaitlyn shot to her feet. “Sauna? Wait. What’s a set screw?” She’d broken out in a sweat and her upper lip glistened. “What are you saying?” Her voice was getting louder and high-pitched. “Oh my god. What’s a set screw?”

  Maris maintained an even tone. “It keeps the doorknob from falling off. Someone loosened it to keep Fritz in the sauna.”

  Kaitlyn took a step back, eyes wide and her jaw dropped open. She held up both her hands. “Wait. You think that I killed Fritz?” She shook her head so hard that her hair tossed one way and then the other. “No way,” she said, her voice trembling. “No way.” She stared at Maris. “He was going to make me a star,” she said, her voice pleading now. “I was going to be in his next movie.”

  “All right,” Maris said soothingly as she stood. “Take it easy, and try to calm down.”

  Kaitlyn visibly tried to do just that, taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes. “Okay,” she muttered, then opened her eyes. “I do not know anything about any screwdriver. I swear it.”

  Maris inclined her head. Either Kaitlyn was telling the truth or she’d just seen an Oscar winning performance. “I believe you.”

  Kaitlyn flopped back down in the chair. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “This is so awful. It was supposed to be a fun cruise.”

  “I know,” Maris said, her voice full of the sympathy that she really felt.

  Kaitlyn shook her head. “A screwdriver under my pillow,” she muttered. She looked into Maris’s eyes. “What does the sheriff think?”

  Maris gave her a reassuring smile. “He doesn’t jump to conclusions. He’s having it fingerprinted.”

  For the first time since the conversation started, Kaitlyn actually smiled a little. “Oh thank goodness. Because it will not have my fingerprints on it.”

  24

  At the top of the stairs, Maris heard Nadia out on the side balcony, on the south side of the Victorian home. It sounded like she was talking. Kaitlyn had followed her upstairs but crossed straight to the bathroom and peeked inside.

  “Good,” the young actress said. “I need to soak my head under a good hot shower.”

  Maris watched her go to her room before she turned to the sunny balcony. Nadia was on the phone, but said, “Gotta go,” and hung up. She beckoned for Maris to join her, and showed her the phone. “Just checking on the crew.”

  “How are they?” Maris asked, coming to the railing. The view to the south took in the jagged coast, its verdant hills rising above the rocky points that fronted the sea.

  “Good,” Nadia said, putting the phone in her back pocket. Her sleek black hair was still damp, but she’d changed into jeans and a blouse. She hadn’t done her makeup, but then again, she didn’t really need it. “It seems to me that the last I heard, you were in Hong Kong.”

  Maris looked across the ocean in that direction. “You heard right.”

  Nadia leaned on the railing with her elbows. “Then how did you end up here? It’s an awfully long way from those glittering resorts where we used to work.”

  Maris told her the story of Aunt Glenda and her sudden death. Coming from so far, she’d arrived too late for the funeral. But she and Cookie had fallen into a routine of sorts, even in those first early days. It just seemed natural. And since Glenda had not had children of her own, Maris had inherited the B&B and the lighthouse.

  “I’d spent so much time here,” Maris said, “that it just felt like home, so I decided to stay.” She smiled at her friend. “Not much of a decision really.”

  “No, not really,” Nadia agreed. “It can all be such a grind sometimes.”

  Maris looked at her. “So you don’t like your job?”

  Nadia frowned a little and tilted her head. “I do and I don’t. You know what I’ve decided?” Maris shook her head. “It’s the small fries that are the worst. The ones who aren’t really that famous—but want to be.”

  Maris laughed a little. “It doesn’t change then, land or sea.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “We had some composer on board on a ‘special diet’.” She used air quotes. “He needed six small meals per day, and each one had to be prepared according to his nutritionist’s guidelines. Then one day in port, he’d been shopping ashore and dropped his bag coming up the gangway. Three candy bars, a bag of potato chips, and beef jerky spilled out. I could have throttled him right there and then.”

  Maris laughed. “Good grief. I’d have served him that, six times a day.
”

  As their laughter died down, Maris said, “But Fritz Falschung. He couldn’t have been that easy to work for, the way he threw that towel on the floor in front of you.”

  Nadia shrugged. “You know the type,” was all she said.

  “And the captain? Hazelwood? I’ve yet to hear something genuinely nice about him.”

  “Ugh,” Nadia said. “Captain Bligh we called him. But what was really insufferable was the way the two of them warred. It was some kind of strange competition to see who could be more demanding. ‘There’s only one wheel on a ship, because there’s only one captain.’ I can’t count the number of times I heard that from Hazelwood.”

  “The first time I met Fritz,” Maris said, “he was wearing a captain’s hat. It seemed a little ridiculous.”

  “Petty is what I’d call it,” her former colleague said.

  “How did the captain manage to keep his job then? I assume Fritz could have fired him and hired someone else.”

  Nadia acknowledged that with a nod. “Mind you, I haven’t been aboard for a long time, but from what I can gather, Hazelwood was safe. He’d prided himself on having no accidents of any sort.” Nadia looked down the coast. “It’s hard to argue with safety. Sometimes out there, in the middle of the ocean, you realize how much your life depends on the sailors knowing how to do their jobs.”

  As Maris was considering how difficult that might be, she heard a car on the drive and recognized the Magnuson’s SUV.

  25

  Maris and Nadia headed downstairs as the Magnusons came in from their day out. Dressed in their hiking outfits and carrying their broad hats, they wore big smiles as well.

  “Good afternoon,” Maris said with a smile. “Looks like you’ve had another successful adventure.”

  “Oh it was wonderful,” Gayle said, camera slung over her shoulder.

  “Couldn’t have asked for better weather,” Mark agreed.

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Maris said, but tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen. “But I think I hear a pitcher of lemonade calling our names. Hold that thought?”

  Mark grinned as he clasped his hands and rubbed them together. “Holding.”

  As he and Gayle moved to the living room, Nadia said, “Can I help you?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “That’d be great.”

  If this morning’s kayaking had shown anything, it was how taking a break had done Nadia a world of good. But at the same time, Maris knew that part of what made them both good at hospitality was having a genuine desire to provide it.

  In the kitchen Maris took a loaf of gingerbread that Cookie had baked from the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

  “If you want to cut a few slices of this,” Maris told Nadia, “I’ll get the pitcher and glasses.”

  In short order, they were able to bring two trays to the living room, where they found that Kaitlyn had joined the Magnusons. Maris was relieved to find her smiling and seemingly back to her old self.

  “I was just telling Gayle and Mark about our kayaking,” the young actress said to Nadia, who set down the gingerbread.

  “It was as easy as you said,” she agreed, “and we had a truly marvelous time.”

  Nadia used a pair of tongs and put a slice of gingerbread on a small plate. “Gingerbread?” she said, offering it to Gayle.

  The older woman’s eyes lit up as she took it. “Why, it looks homemade.” She broke off a bit and tasted it. “Oh, it has to be homemade.”

  As Maris poured a lemonade and handed it to Mark, she said, “Cookie is that rare combination of chef and baker. They don’t always go together.”

  Nadia had to laugh a little. “To be sure,” she said offering a slice to Mark.

  “Just half a slice for me,” Kaitlyn said, when Nadia turned to her.

  In another few minutes, everyone had their lemonade and afternoon snack. In an effort to battle the bulge, Maris opted for just a glass of lemonade—a perfectly thirst quenching one. Standing next to the fireplace, she smiled a little to herself. You could always count on Cookie.

  “What have you two been doing today?” Nadia asked the older couple, as she took a seat.

  Gayle hefted her camera. “I couldn’t resist the Pixie Point Petal Farms. What a complete and joyous riot of color.” She put down her lemonade. “Care to see?”

  “Well, with that kind of endorsement,” Nadia said, “I can hardly wait.”

  Gayle turned on the camera and, even from where Maris stood, she could see that the screen on the back was bathed in the rich colors of rows upon rows of flowers.

  The older woman handed it to Nadia, who sat next to Kaitlyn on the settee. “Just hit that button to scroll through.” Maris came to stand behind them as Nadia began to look through the images.

  “Stunning,” Nadia murmured.

  “Oh look at that,” Kaitlyn gasped.

  As with her photos in the redwoods, Gayle had captured up close and panoramic views that were simply astonishing. In one image, a striped sea of tulips stretched to the horizon. In the next, dew clung to the petals of a white flower but each watery orb held a tiny image of a flower behind it.

  “Wow,” Nadia and Kaitlyn whispered together.

  “One thing Gayle hasn’t mentioned,” Maris said, giving the older woman a wink, “is that she’s a professional.”

  “Ah,” Nadia said, nodding, but still scrolling through the images. “I should have guessed.”

  “Retired,” Gayle added after she finished a sip of her lemonade.

  “But never better,” Mark tacked on, and his wife playfully batted his arm.

  Kaitlyn pointed at the screen. “Aww, who are these kids?”

  Maris peered down at the image. Two freckle-faced girls seemed to be hiding behind a wall of red flowers. Sunlight glinted off their curly auburn hair, and seemed to dance in their blue eyes.

  “They’re adorable,” Nadia said.

  Mark took another slice of gingerbread. “We ran into a few families there.” He craned his neck to look at the camera screen before he sat back down. “They were picking some flowers for a bouquet for their mom when Gayle spotted the shot.”

  “Oh, are these the farmers?” Kaitlyn asked. Various men and women in big straw hats, long sleeved shirts, and gloves held baskets full of freshly picked blooms. Their ready smiles as they stood among the rows really made it seem as though they loved what they were doing.

  “Yes,” Gayle said. “That particular farm was a family owned business.”

  Maris went back to the fireplace. “You could shoot their business brochure,” she said. “Or at least take some shots for their web site.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kaitlyn said, reaching to her back pocket. “I’ve got some photos.” She took out her camera. “And I wonder if I could get your opinion.”

  She swiped to the photos that Alan had taken of her, and handed the phone to Gayle. Mark leaned in closer for a look as well.

  “I need a new head shot,” she said, and glanced at Maris, “especially since it seems I’ll be out auditioning soon.” She sighed a little before she looked over to the older couple. “Fritz’s cinematographer shot these. What do you think? Is there one that’s better than the others?”

  But as Gayle swiped from one photo to the next, and then back to the beginning, she didn’t say a word. Instead she frowned, and Kaitlyn looked from Nadia to Maris and then back to Gayle.

  “Am I that unphotogenic?” she asked.

  Maris picked up the pitcher and poured for everyone all around.

  Gayle shook her head. “You’re as pretty as the day is long. But maybe cinematography is different than still photography. If it were me, I wouldn’t use any of these.”

  Although Maris had been about to fetch more lemonade from the kitchen, she stopped.

  Kaitlyn frowned as she held out her hand for the phone. “None of them?”

  Gayle stood up, and brought the phone to the young actress so they both
could look. “Here,” she said, pointing to the image. “You’re backlit. The sun on the water is so bright, that your face has fallen into shadow.”

  “But,” Kaitlyn said, studying it, “isn’t that always how these kinds of shots look?”

  “Oh no,” Gayle replied. “Having a photo that looks natural means never actually doing what is natural.” She pointed to the face in the image. “This needed some fill flash, or a bounce from a reflector.” When Kaitlyn shook her head, Gayle added, “Your face needed some extra light.” Then the photographer swiped to the next one. “Poor composition,” she said. “Your eyes should be on one of the golden thirds.” She went to the next image. “These little hexagons of yellow? That’s lens flare.”

  “Oh,” Kaitlyn said, “I thought that was pretty.”

  “It is,” Gayle agreed, “if that’s what you want. But I wouldn’t recommend it in a portrait.”

  As the retired photographer continued, Maris got a tingling feeling along her spine. Cinematography and photography were different, but that different? As she listened to Gayle’s analysis, Maris thought that any one of them could have done a better job. It was as if Alan hadn’t really cared about how they came out.

  Maris went still.

  She picked up the empty pitcher. “I’ll be right back.”

  26

  Once Maris was in the kitchen and sure that she was alone, she tapped her temple and brought up an image of the script she’d seen on Fritz’s tablet. She flipped past the initial pages, where the text was all black. When some of it became blue, she paused. When they’d searched his room, she hadn’t really concentrated on the details of the manuscript. It’d just struck her as interesting that people who ‘gave notes’ as Kaitlyn put it, would get different color fonts.