by Sharon Pape
“Actually I thought I’d stop by your shop on my way home,” Ronnie was saying. “If that’s all right.”
It took an effort to yank my mind back to our conversation. “Oh . . . sure,” I said, more disappointed than I had any right to be. “Whatever is easier for you.”
“Great, I’ll be there about four.”
After we said goodbye, I lingered over my cooling coffee, convincing myself it didn’t matter if I couldn’t get back into the crime scene right away. I could still take an active role in investigating the case. Surely I’d learned a thing or two from all those mystery books, a sort of reading osmosis. In any case, I couldn’t see any downside to giving it a try.
I spilled the dregs of the coffee into the sink and went upstairs to get dressed for the day. If there wasn’t exactly a spring to my step, there was at least a more hopeful feeling in my gut. By the time I was ready to leave the house, Sashkatu had finally roused himself. I found him in the kitchen, lying beside his bowl with the disdainful look of a sovereign whose needs are not being met. He narrowed his eyes at me and uttered a raspy “meow,” which I figured was “off with her head.” I decided to take his food out to the shop with us, because the other cats would expect to be fed again if they saw him eating. Besides, he’d become a slow eater in his dotage, and I was already late in opening for the day. I doubted there would be customers ready to knock down my door, but it hadn’t always been that way, and I still had hopes of turning things around.
It occurred to me that I still hadn’t summoned a familiar of my own. How many cats did it take to make one a crazy, cat lady? I suspected I was already teetering on the brink. Maybe I should try for another species. Maybe a dog? I’d pined for a dog as a kid. Now that I didn’t have to please anyone but myself, why shouldn’t I have one? I would have to wait until the moon was full for the spell to work, though. I hadn’t been paying much attention to the night sky lately, but I knew I could find the answer on the Internet. If Morgana or Bronwen had been privy to my thoughts, they would have pointed out that computers made us lazy and alienated us from nature. If I’d been monitoring the night sky, instead of my computer screen, I would already know the answer. I conceded that imaginary round to them.
I commuted the fifty feet across my front lawn and the road to the back of the shop, the grass dense and springy beneath my sandals. Sashkatu ambled behind me like a lazy shadow. Although he’d always been, first and foremost, my mother’s cat, we’d had a lot of good times together back when he and I were younger. Whenever I sat down to read, he would curl up in my lap and I’d read aloud to him. I know he enjoyed hearing the soft drone of my voice, even if he didn’t understand the words. He’d purr and preen and sigh deep, peaceful sighs that resonated inside me. The memory brought with it a bittersweet, nostalgic ache for what had been and would never be again. Back then my family had been whole, although minus the men, a protective circle within which I didn’t have a care in the world. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. In my teens, I’d raged against my mother’s injustices, feeling like I had no options in my life. That I’d been born into my family for one reason—to continue the lineage. But Morgana was smart. She let me go to college in Vermont to “find myself.” I changed majors five times, spent my junior year in England, and finally graduated with a bachelor of science in botany. Still searching for myself, I found my way back home. From what my grandmother told me that first day back, I’d followed my mother’s journey to a surprising degree.
I unlocked the back door of the shop, turned off the security system, and waited for Sashkatu to saunter in. Then I set the bowl of cat food on the floor behind the counter, because he’d always preferred dining in private. When I opened the front door for business, no one trampled me in their rush to come in.
Abracadabra was located in an ideal spot on a corner of Main Street at the center of town. According to Bronwen, it had been there long before the rest of the town, which slowly grew up around it over the years. Across the narrow side street, Lorelei Donovan, known to us all as Lolly, was sweeping the sidewalk in front of her fudge shop. We waved to each other. I’d always thought she was the perfect proprietor for a candy store. She was in her seventies now, with a ready smile, rosy cheeks, and an ample roundness from sampling more of her stock than was strictly necessary. She also taught classes in making fudge, which Tilly and I had once attended. What I remember most from the experience was how much we laughed.
“I hope we get a good crop today,” Lolly said, beaming with her usual good humor.
“Crop?” I repeated.
“We have that bus tour due in at eleven.”
“Wow, it completely slipped my mind.” It was a good thing she’d reminded me or the tour group might have caught me in the middle of an avalanche of my mother’s papers. I’d planned to go through more of the bags, but that would have to wait until the bus left. With the current financial state of my business, I couldn’t afford to put off a single potential customer by appearing less than a hundred percent attentive.
“With all you’ve been through lately, my dear,” Lolly said, “it’s a wonder you remember to put one foot in front of the other.” She wagged her head in sympathy.
“Thanks for the heads-up. I hope it’s a good day for both of us!”
Lolly wished me the same, and I hurried back inside to straighten up. How could I have forgotten about the bus tour? A substantial part of the shop’s revenue came from the busloads of people who came to New Camel on one-day excursions. They helped spread the word about our town and that brought in more tourists. Abracadabra and Tea and Empathy were always two of the most popular shops. In fact, it was rare for anyone to leave without making a purchase from me. At the very least, anything procured in an “authentic magick shop,” which was how we were listed in the tour guides, would serve as a great conversation piece when the tourists returned home.
My spirits buoyed by the prospect, I nearly flew around the shop, straightening jars and bottles, wiping away dust and spider webs that had appeared overnight as if by a magick of their own. Having licked his bowl clean, Sashkatu was enthroned on his tufted windowsill, watching me with what I could swear was amusement. The ends of his tiny lips were canted up, and there was a definite twinkle of mirth in his eyes. If he could speak, he’d surely be quoting Shakespeare to me, something along the lines of, “Lord what fools these mortals be.”
“You should be glad you don’t have opposable thumbs,” I told him, “or I’d have you cleaning to earn your keep.” Never the fool, himself, Sashkatu closed his eyes and snuggled deeper into the eiderdown. By the time the bus arrived, the shop was sparkling, and I was ready to be a cheerleader for all things magickal.
This time the tourists were middle-aged and older women, part of a church group that hailed from Buffalo, which was east of us. They were chatty and curious, remarking to one another about the beauty products, which they hadn’t expected to find in my shop, and asking me countless questions about the uses of the more esoteric items like dragon sticks and pulverized lodestones. At least a half dozen of the women were sorely disappointed to learn that Tilly was ill, which is what she’d instructed me to say when she’d decided not to open her shop again until she was healed. No pressure, Kailyn.
The women told me they’d made the trek to New Camel primarily for the purpose of having a reading with Tilly. I guess it was a good thing that my aunt never made appointments in advance and took clients on a first-come-first-served basis. No guarantees meant fewer complaints. And since she was “ill,” they all seemed to realize that complaining would hardly be the productive or generous way to handle their dismay.
The bus was scheduled to depart promptly at three o’clock, and I was grateful it wasn’t an hour later. After ushering the last customer out the door, I collapsed into the chair at my desk. There was no denying how much the day’s revenue was going to help my bottom line, but I hadn’t known that standing at the register could wear you out this way. Watching Morgana an
d Bronwen from the sidelines, or working alongside them, the job had seemed like easy money for a minimum of effort. But since they’d been gone, I’d been given a crash course in reality. And the store’s hours were only one part of the business. There were books to reconcile, bills to pay, and products to prepare, some of which required ingredients only found in the wild. Our shop had long been considered the source of essential elements by other, “lesser” witches, wizards, and sorcerers, as Bronwen had always referred to them. During my rebellious years, I’d called her out for being so pretentious. “It’s not pretension,” she’d replied, “it’s simply a fact.”
Sashkatu stepped down from his soft perch onto my shoulder and from there jumped into my lap, making me realize I’d better cut back on his food now that he wasn’t getting much exercise—make that any exercise. He’d slept through the hectic day, opening his eyes occasionally to survey his domain and see if he was missing out on anything important—like food. Sitting for the first time in hours, I was aware of how thirsty and hungry I was. My morning coffee was the one thing I’d consumed all day. Under normal circumstances, I would have popped into Tilly’s shop for a quick scone, but she was elsewhere awaiting her cure. I stroked Sashkatu’s silky coat, wondering if there might still be some leftovers from her last day at work. No harm in looking. The cat’s ears pricked forward as if he’d read my thoughts. I set him on the floor, and he led the way to the connecting door. I flicked on the lights and went into the small kitchen where Tilly often prepared the goodies for her teas. There was a paper plate on the counter holding two scones. My stomach gurgled as I peeled back the plastic wrap covering them. One blueberry, one cranberry pecan. I took the plate. No point in having to come back. Sashkatu was delighted with my decision. He serenaded me with his entire repertoire of sounds on our way back to Abracadabra. How could I put him on a diet today and then eat the scones right in front of him? His diet would have to wait until tomorrow. I was clearly an enabler. We were almost done sharing the second scone when Ronnie Platt walked in.
I brushed the last crumbs into the wastebasket as she came up to the counter, carrying a large messenger bag. Without her usually flawless makeup, she looked like a faded copy of herself. I’d never actually met her until after Morgana and Bronwen died, although I had answered the phone once or twice when she’d called from Jim’s office to talk to them. I knew through the small town grapevine that she’d started working for Jim straight out of college. And there she’d stayed for the past fifteen years. Although she hadn’t been related to him by blood or marriage, she’d probably spent as much time with him as his family had. His sudden death had to be tough on her too. I offered my condolences.
She managed a thin smile as she hoisted the messenger bag onto the counter. It landed with such a thud that it might have been filled with rocks instead of papers. “Thank you, Kailyn. You’re the first person to acknowledge my loss. Jim wasn’t only my employer, he was also my mentor, my friend”—she gave a self-conscious laugh—“my work husband. I believe that’s the phrase they use these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I should be treated like part of his family. But it’s nice to know that someone realizes this is hard for me too.”
I nodded and waited an extra moment out of respect before changing the subject to business. “You need me to sign those papers, right?”
“I know you had an appointment with Jim to do that,” Ronnie said, opening the messenger bag. “The problem is that I’m not qualified to go forward with much of anything on my own.” After a few seconds of rummaging through its contents, she withdrew a manila folder with Wilde typed neatly on the tab. “This is your mom’s paper file and there’s a thumb drive in the pocket with the information on it as well. I included the names of a few attorneys in the area, ones Jim knew and recommended in the past when he couldn’t take on more work. I’m sure any one of them will be able to handle your legal affairs properly.”
I thanked her and took the folder, stowing it on the shelf behind the counter where I kept my handbag. “It must have been uncomfortable for you at the office today,” I said to make conversation, because she didn’t seem ready to leave now that she’d taken care of business.
“It felt all wrong without Jim there,” she said. “Almost like I was trespassing where I didn’t belong. And Curtis—I know he had a job to do—but he was watching me like a hawk. No, make that a vulture. I think he would have followed me into the bathroom if it hadn’t been off the public hallway.”
“Duggan interviewed me and my aunt right after we found Jim,” I said in the spirit of commiseration. “I’d never even gotten a parking ticket before and suddenly I was one motive away from being accused of murder.”
“When he came to my house that night to tell me about Jim, I was in a state of shock,” she said. “But he started right in asking me all these questions. I couldn’t think straight. I mean, what if he misconstrued something I said? I was afraid he was going to slap on the handcuffs and cart me off to jail.” I could feel the confusion and panic of that night rolling off her as she spoke. It was a good thing she was venting it. She needed to calm down before she got back in her car. The distracted driver who’d killed my mother and grandmother was still fresh in my mind. “I’ve already got one strike against me,” Ronnie was saying. “Opportunity.”
“Same with us. But Duggan’s a pro. He’ll find the killer.” Or I will. I sounded a lot more confident than I felt. It wasn’t easy with gloom and doom nearly choking the air out of the shop. “The police still need to prove motive, and none of us had one.” Assuming she was telling the truth.
“I’m worried about Elise,” she said, apparently determined to keep fretting. “I overheard Curtis on the phone with Duggan today. I was busy printing and photocopying, so he probably thought I couldn’t hear him over the noise. They were talking about the gun they found, and I could swear he said, ‘it was Jim’s?’ like he couldn’t believe what Duggan was telling him.”
That hit me hard. If Jim owned the gun that was used to kill him, it begged the question of who’d had access to it. Elise must have popped to the top of Duggan’s leaderboard. “Do you know if they found any prints on the gun?”
“I didn’t hear anything about that,” she said, “but I’m surprised the ME hasn’t issued his findings yet on the cause of death. A bullet in the head seems pretty cut and dry.”
“He must be waiting for all the tests to come back. I’m sure they have a certain protocol to follow.”
“I suppose.” She lifted the messenger bag off the counter. “Do you know if the plans for Jim’s funeral have been finalized yet?”
“I’m glad you reminded me. It’s been a crazy day. I told Elise I’d call some people for her, and you’re on my list.” I gave her the details about the wake, scheduled for that night and the funeral, scheduled for the next morning. Then she left to finish her rounds. I planned to attend both, to support Elise as well as to trawl for clues. It wasn’t often you found most of New Camel gathered in one place.
Chapter 5
After feeding the cats and cleaning out the litter boxes, I jumped in the shower, then changed into a black pencil skirt and white blouse that seemed more appropriate for a wake than the pink-and-green peasant dress I’d been wearing. I exchanged my silver, high-heeled sandals for black peep-toes and drove to the next block to pick up Tilly. After Uncle Albert died, she’d remained in the house where they’d lived. My mother and grandmother had tried to coax her into moving when the house next to ours came up for sale, but she’d stood firm. She preferred to stay where she was—it was home. Besides, it was only a block away. By the time I’d grown into adulthood, I realized she’d made the right decision. The bickering between my mother and Bronwen was bad enough; adding another personality to the mix would have been catastrophic. I think all the cats would have left home, and I wouldn’t have been far behind them. Although I loved and missed the family matriarchs, I didn’t miss the drama. Had they lived, I’d probably be l
ooking for a house of my own about now.
Tilly was waiting for me on her porch swing. She hated wearing black, so she’d opted for her one muumuu in sedate earth tones that did a nice job of setting off her fiery red hair. But the look must have been too minimalist to suit her, because gold bangles bedecked her wrists and gold hoops hung from her earlobes.
Once we were on our way, I primed Tilly to be alert for bits of conversation that might provide clues to Jim’s killer or suggest a path I could follow in my investigation. Tilly thought that was a dandy idea. She’d lurk in the shadows and tiptoe around on little cat toes. No one would catch on to what she was doing. Stealthy would be her watchword. The images her words brought to mind immediately made me regret enlisting her help.
The parking lot of the funeral home was almost full when we arrived. I wanted to believe it was a tribute to how well Jim had been respected and liked by the community, but I knew it was also because of the manner in which he’d died. Nothing newsworthy ever happened in our town, unless you counted the annual Camel’s Day Fair, so I was sure plenty of the people were there to learn more about Jim’s murder and the life that had led to it. For all I knew, the killer himself—or herself—would put in an appearance to deflect suspicion and to find out if he or she was on anyone’s radar yet.
Walking up to the front door of the funeral home, we had to maneuver around groups of middle and high school kids who populated the path and lawns, some laughing and flirting as if they were at a social event. I remembered being their age and believing that death was something that happened only to old people. It was sad to think that Jim’s kids would no longer be carefree in that way. When we stepped inside, the mood changed instantly. There was no doubt that we’d entered a place for solemn ritual. The thick carpeting absorbed the sound of our footsteps and the soft lights were kind to eyes red from grieving.
