Magick & Mayhem

by Sharon Pape

  When I was a child, the shop had seemed older than time and full of delightful, ancient mysteries. Although I was no longer in awe of its secrets, I still felt cosseted and safe within its walls. Built of fieldstone, with a wonderful, arched wooden door, Abracadabra stood out from the other quaint shops of New Camel like a diamond in a display of dull quartz. My favorite part of the shop had always been the mullioned windows on either side of the door, the panes of glass separated into diamonds by black wooden dividers. Being there was usually enough to center me. But that day, my mind kept rocketing back and forth between Jim’s murder, Elise’s grief and the fact that Tilly and I were suspects.

  There was a time not long ago, when the shop was always bustling with customers and keeping busy wasn’t a problem. I looked around me, needing some distraction. There wasn’t a mote of dust to be cleaned away. All the bills that were due had been paid. I peeked in the connecting door to Tilly’s shop. If she wasn’t with a customer, I’d ask her to brew up a pot of tea for us. She made her own special blends, and the one she called the soul soother I’d found helpful in trying times. But my aunt was be-turbaned and absorbed in reading someone’s palm. Truth be told, Tilly didn’t need palms, crystal balls, head bumps, or tarot cards to give someone a reading. They were merely props that set the stage and added drama to what would otherwise have been a simple, straightforward reading that took five minutes or less. No one wanted to pay a hundred dollars for a five-minute soliloquy. They wanted the whole shebang. Almost everyone who came for “the show” also stayed for the proper English Tea she served at an additional price. It came complete with tiny crust-less sandwiches, scones with jam and clotted cream, imported from England, and an assortment of little pastries. The odds were Tilly would be busy with her client for another hour or more.

  As it turned out, I shouldn’t have worried about keeping myself occupied. As soon as I returned to my desk, the doorbells jingled. I looked up to find Beverly Ruppert marching toward me with the look of a woman on a mission. Beverly considered herself a friend of the family, although none of us have ever shared that opinion. She was also a regular in the shop. She swore by our neck cream and the fine line-erasing balm, but that morning she didn’t look at all like a happy customer.

  “Hi Beverly,” I said, wondering what had put her in such a dour mood. “How are you?”

  “Not well,” she said. “The last bottle of erasing balm I bought isn’t working. There must be something missing from the formula. Look.” She leaned across the counter and turned her head so that I could see the problem for myself. What I saw were tiny lines radiating from the outside corner of her eye. Since I hadn’t seen her at such close range when the balm was supposedly working, I had no means of comparison. “Have you been sticking to Morgana’s formula?” she asked before I could explain that to her.

  “I certainly intend to, but the bottle you’re using was made by my mother. I haven’t run through enough of her stock yet to make a new batch.”

  Beverly was clearly unsettled by this news. “Oh,” she said, momentarily at a loss for words. “How . . . how is this possible then? I’ve never had a problem with any of your products before. Could Morgana have made a mistake with the formula? Could one of the ingredients be ineffective or expired?”

  “I wish I knew,” I said. The complaints we’d been getting involved different products at different times and appeared to be so random that we’d all been stumped. That was why my mother had started looking for a new familiar. It wasn’t the kind of thing we talked about with friends and customers. Although some may have wondered if we were actual sorcerers, no one had ever asked us point-blank, which probably meant they didn’t really want to know. “If you’d like to try a different bottle, please help yourself,” I offered.

  “Thank you,” Beverly said, immediately going off to grab one. “I suppose I shouldn’t be focused on such a trivial problem,” she went on when she returned to the counter. “It seems like everything is going wrong in this town lately. First that horrible accident that killed your mom and grandmother, and now Jim murdered right in his own office.”

  “The ME hasn’t made that determination yet,” I pointed out.

  “Maybe not, but I talked to Lou, from the cleaners across the street from Jim’s office, and he saw the cops and crime scene investigators carrying tons of stuff out—computers and boxes full of who knows what. They don’t do that when a person dies of natural causes,” Beverly summed up with an air of authority. “And you and poor Tilly—” her voice lurched to a stop with dramatic angst. “I can’t begin to imagine how you’re coping, after finding him like that. It must have been so awful.” There was a definite, question-like uptick at the end of her sentence.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it,” I said.

  “Well sure, I understand completely.”

  I gave her a little smile of appreciation, although she’d sounded more disappointed than understanding.

  “Jim was my attorney at one time, but I also knew him and his family from church. This has to be so hard for Elise and the kids.” She looked at me with eyebrows arched as if once again hoping I’d share. “Jim was such a nice man,” she went on when I didn’t rise to her bait, “a pillar of the community, as they say. I can’t imagine who would have wanted to kill him. I don’t suppose you heard anything around town recently that might point to a possible killer?”

  I shook my head instead of saying what was on my tongue, namely that any rumors of that sort would most likely have originated with her. I was trying to think of a polite way to end our conversation when dear Aunt Tilly arrived by way of the connecting door. She shambled up to the counter where we stood, sans turban and barefoot, in deference to her corns. Although my heart lifted at her appearance, it went into freefall once I saw her expression. It looked like another problem was about to wash up on my already overcrowded shore.

  She and Beverly exchanged perfunctory greetings. I knew Tilly wasn’t fond of her for a laundry list of reasons, not the least of which was the way she always tried to grub a free reading whenever she bumped into my aunt.

  “There she is, the poor dear,” Beverly said, reaching out to put her arm around Tilly’s floral-print shoulders.

  Tilly foiled the attempt with a nimble enough side-step to the right. “Hello Bev, how are you?”

  “Shouldn’t you be telling me?” she asked, chuckling at her own cleverness. The line might have been funny the first time she’d used it, but by time ninety-four, it had definitely lost its luster.

  Tilly’s brows lowered over her eyes in a dark frown that was rare for her. “I get the feeling there’s some kind of electrical trouble at your house,” she said ominously. All that was missing were some ominous chords in the background.

  Beverly’s eyes widened. “Oh no, oh my goodness; I’d better get back home. Thank you,” she said, plucking her free erasing balm off the counter before running out the door.

  I turned to Tilly. “Is there really a problem at her house?”

  “I have no idea; I just needed to get rid of her.” The grim line of Tilly’s mouth kept me from laughing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It happened again. I wasn’t able to do a proper reading on my last client.”

  It had happened once before, five months ago. “Do you think it’s being caused by the same thing that’s been messing with our mojo here?” I was still finding it difficult to say my instead of our, when talking about Abracadabra.

  “I hope not,” Tilly said with a sigh. “If it keeps happening, rumors will start spreading, and I can kiss my reputation, clientele, and income goodbye.”

  “Everyone has an off day now and then. You can always say you were fighting a bug.”

  “I suppose,” she said without much conviction.

  The first time the problem cropped up, my mother and grandmother had tried to remedy the situation. And for five months it seemed like they had. “Maybe the spell they used wore off and
you’re in need of a booster shot,” I suggested. I didn’t mention the possibility that the last time the problem may have gone away on its own and not because of their help. That would mean having to wait it out, and patience was not Tilly’s strong suit. “Do you remember what spell they used the last time?”

  Tilly wagged her head dismally. “I meant to write it down, because Morgana and Bronwen were awful about keeping their files updated. But I guess I was so relieved to be functioning properly, I dove back into work and never quite got around to it.”

  “Not to worry,” I said, managing to keep my tone light, although the odds of my finding it had plummeted to the sub-basement. I didn’t have anything close to the experience that my mother and grandmother had had. I was like an intern suddenly left in charge of a complex corporation when the auditors are about to arrive. There was always a chance my efforts could make matters worse. “I should be able to figure it out,” I went on in the spirit of positive thinking. I had to try. I couldn’t bear to see my usually buoyant aunt so despondent. My one ace in the hole was the possibility that one of our dearly departed might pop in for a chat or a rant. Either would do as long as I had the opportunity to ask about the spell they’d used. I’d tried summoning them a couple of times since they’d been gone, but never received a timely response or a visit. “Is it possible the client was blocking you?” I asked. It wouldn’t make much sense, but I wanted to be sure we covered all the bases. I was constantly amazed by the things people did.

  “I’ve never had a client come in for a reading who had something to hide.”

  “You can tell the difference between your loss of ability and someone blocking your ability?”

  “Absolutely. That first time and again today, it was like an electrical brownout in that part of my brain. But when a person blocks me, my mind feels as if it’s hit a stone wall.”

  Last resort. “Have you ever tried the spell to make a malady disappear?” I asked.

  “You don’t mean the Abracadabra,” she said as if I’d suggested an old wives’ tale. Although it was the name of our shop, we’d never had much success with the spell. I’d once proposed changing the name, but was quickly shot down by my three elders, who reminded me that the name had been handed down through countless generations. It was sacrosanct. End of discussion.

  “It can’t hurt to try it,” I said, “until we come up with something better.”

  “I write the word on a piece of paper, then go to the next line and write it again, leaving off one letter. I keep doing that until there are no letters left.”

  “Right. It should look like an upside-down triangle.”

  “Then I roll up the paper and wear it in a locket around my neck,” she said in a monotone, like a child reciting something learned by rote. “And the problem is supposed to disappear the way the word did.”

  “Exactly,” I said trying to rouse her enthusiasm. Spells don’t work if you don’t believe in them. “Why don’t you go home, put your feet up and give it a shot.” She was clearly in no state to help me search through the haystack of papers that passed for my mother’s filing system. Years ago, Morgana had bought a cabinet and folders to organize everything, but she’d never actually gotten around to transferring any of the paperwork into it. Stuffed into plastic bags, it was all still crowded into the narrow coat closet in the shop.

  Tilly, who was generally quick to volunteer for any project, ambled off without argument, which told me my instincts about her state of mind were correct. A moment after she disappeared into her shop to close up for the day, my front door opened and Elise walked in.

  She was the last person I’d expected to see in my shop. “Is anything wrong?” I asked, grabbing her in a hug. “Sorry, talk about a stupid question.”

  She gave me a lopsided smile. “I know you meant is anything else wrong? Thankfully no, but I needed a few minutes of sanctuary. I’m exhausted.” She let herself fall back against the counter. “There are too many decisions to make at a time when I’m not thinking clearly. You went through it with your mom and grandmother, so you understand.” I nodded. “And my house is in a whirlwind. I can’t tell from one minute to the next how many people are there. Family from my side, family from Jim’s. They’ve been driving in and flying in since early this morning. More are arriving all the time.”

  “Do you want to go into my house where you can sit? Or there’s the desk chair behind the counter.” One of these days I really had to get another chair for the shop.

  “This is fine. I can’t stay long.” She put her hand to her mouth as if she’d realized we might not be alone. “Is there anyone here?” she whispered.

  “Nope.”

  She sighed. “On top of everything else, Duggan came back this morning with more questions. Did I know if Jim had any enemies? The only one I could think of was Edward Silver, the dentist. They weren’t friends anymore, but I hardly think he would kill Jim.”

  “Did Duggan think it could have been a robbery gone bad?” I asked.

  “As far as I know, Jim never kept cash or valuables in the office, but a random thief wouldn’t know that. Duggan wanted me to go over there with him to see if anything was missing. Ronnie offered to go instead. She has a much better idea of what’s supposed to be there and she wants to tie up some legal odds and ends anyway. To be honest, I’m not ready to face the office yet.” Easy to understand. Jim was murdered there. The blood-stained carpet would still be there to mark the spot where he’d died. She was quiet for a moment. “Did the office look to you like it had been ransacked?” she asked. “Like the killer was looking for something in particular?”

  Now that I thought about it, aside from the hideous bloodstain, the office had looked as clean and tidy as on my previous visits. No one had rifled through drawers, upended furniture, or strewn papers around. There was a good chance the intruder had come to Jim’s office with nothing less than murder in mind. I shook my head. “No, it was the same as always. Did the detective say if they found any clues? Anything useful?”

  Elise put her hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you right away. My head is a sieve. They found a gun in the garbage bin behind the building. Once forensics has a chance to run their tests, they’ll know if it’s . . . if it’s the murder weapon.” Elise stammered over the last words.

  It had to be the right gun. What were the odds it was another random gun someone happened to throw away behind Jim’s office on the day he was shot to death? “If it is the murder weapon, it should lead the police in the direction of the killer, instead of focusing on you,” I said. At the very least, the forensic results should put us all a bit lower on Duggan’s suspect list. Then why wasn’t I feeling more upbeat about the discovery?

  Elise looked at her watch. “I’d better get home before my family sends out the militia to find me. I turned off my phone when I left the house. By now I’m sure someone’s noticed I’m missing.”

  * * *

  Business dropped off a couple of hours before closing. It was a perfect time to search for the spell my mother had used on Tilly in the past. I went over to the closet and dragged out the first of five large plastic bags. After I dumped the papers onto the counter, I started picking my way through the hodgepodge. There were receipts, recipes, spells, ideas for recombinant spells, photos, and scraps of paper with random numbers and names. I felt as if I was rifling through the attic of my mother’s brain. This was going to take a lot longer than I’d originally thought, and there was no guarantee I would ever find what I was looking for.

  I was well into the sorting of papers when it struck me why I wasn’t more pleased to hear about the gun that was found.

  Its location bothered me. What self-respecting killer would casually toss a murder weapon into a garbage bin so close to the scene of his crime? After giving it some thought, I came up with three possible reasons that would make sense. The killer panicked and wanted to get rid of the gun before the police caught up with him; or he was on an ego
trip, daring the police to find him; or he was trying to frame someone else for the crime. The third option seemed the most likely to me. If I was right, any fingerprints found on the gun wouldn’t belong to the killer, but to the person he wanted to frame.

  Chapter 4

  Ronnie Platt called at eight the next morning, with profuse apologies for the earliness of the hour. I assured her we’d been up for a while, with the exception of Sashkatu, who was on the fast track to setting a Guinness world record for most hours slept by a cat. The rest of my clowder was assembled in the kitchen with me, busy licking out the remnants of each other’s breakfast bowls, while I worked on my second cup of coffee.

  “I asked Detective Duggan if I could go into the office this morning to tie up some things now that Jim . . . isn’t there,” Ronnie said with a catch in her voice. “He wasn’t thrilled, but I explained that a law firm isn’t like a dry cleaners or a grocery store. Legal matters have to be addressed in a timely manner. I need to file court papers, contact clients, give them their files, and recommend other attorneys in the area.”

  “Then they’ve finished investigating the, uh, the scene?” I asked. We were both avoiding the more specific words, as if Jim might somehow return to life if we didn’t say dead or murder aloud.

  “No, they’re sending Officer Curtis along to make sure I don’t disturb things.”

  “Do you want me to come in with Tilly to sign those papers?” I asked, thinking that was why she’d called. I wouldn’t have minded taking a closer look around the place now that Jim had been relocated to the ME’s office. Maybe I’d find a clue that had escaped everyone else’s notice, a clue that would bring the case to a swift conclusion. To my mother’s and grandmother’s chagrin, I’d grown up with my nose buried in mysteries. When I wasn’t reading about detectives, I was on the lookout for a mystery I could solve, a search that went woefully unfulfilled. So it came as no surprise that the prospect of trying my own hand at detective work immediately appealed to me. Besides, where could I find a more motivated sleuth?