by Sharon Pape
“Did you find out if he can restore your powers?” I asked, in case she hadn’t thought of it. It didn’t seem like an unreasonable request in exchange for his food and lodging.
“I did mention it,” she said, “but I think he was too deep into culture shock to hear me. I’ll bring it up again later. I’m really calling to tell you that Merlin can stay here with me if you’re planning to go into your shop today.”
I did have to open the shop, since I’d been closed most of yesterday. There was also the matter of cleaning up the mess in the storeroom and making a list of what needed to be replaced. Restocking certain items in my inventory was going to be the hardest part. Thinking about it made my head spin. I was happy to accept her offer.
“Smart girl. I can guarantee you wouldn’t get anything done with Merlin there.” She sounded as proud and exhausted as the mother of a two-year-old, exploring the world around him. What we all took for granted was as new and different to Merlin as if he’d come from another planet entirely. “I’m enjoying having him as a house guest,” Tilly went on. “Can you believe it? I’m actually hosting the greatest sorcerer who ever lived.” She went on about him for a full five minutes, gushing like a teenage girl over a rock star. Merlin probably didn’t know it, but he had his first groupie.
I put the TV on in the bedroom to hear the morning news while I got ready for work. I was brushing my teeth when I heard the ABC anchor say they were going live to a press conference in Schuyler County for the ME’s report on the shooting death in New Camel. How sad, I thought, that it had taken murder for our little town to hit the big time. I washed the toothpaste out of my mouth and ran into the bedroom to watch. I was perched on the edge of the bed when they cut away to a reporter who was standing off to one side of a room crowded with journalists and cameramen, all jockeying for position. Whoever had estimated the size of the turnout and chosen the room had failed miserably. Between the jostling, bobbing heads, I caught a glimpse of a low stage at the front of the room. It was not more than two feet off the ground with a podium front and center.
The din of dozens of voices made it difficult to hear what the reporter was saying, though he was practically eating his mike. He was still talking when the cameraman cut away to focus on the stage. A large, florid man, in a police uniform, his hair piece slightly askew, had stepped up to the podium. The room hushed. He cleared his throat and patted down the too-black toupee as if he felt something wasn’t quite right up there. Since he couldn’t very well adjust it in front of the cameras, he let his hand drop and started speaking. “For those of you who don’t already know me, I’m Police Chief Donald Gimble. For starters, I want to assure all of you that we are doing everything in our power to find the killer and bring him to justice as swiftly as possible. At this point, I can’t give you any particulars on the case, because I don’t want to jeopardize the investigation. I do want to emphasize that if anyone has information that might be helpful, I urge you to call the hotline we’ve set up. Throughout this broadcast the number should be at the bottom of your screen. You can also find it in the newspaper. Rest assured that you can remain anonymous. Now I’d like to introduce the man you really came to hear today, Schuyler County ME, Dr. Roger Westfield.” A flurry of voices accompanied the ME as he walked onto the stage. Seeing him with a white lab coat over his clothes, he looked a lot more like an ME than he had at the wake. He and Gimble exchanged a few words before the police chief clapped him on the shoulder and left the stage.
Westfield adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, then consulted the tablet he’d placed on the lectern. “There are still a couple of tests pending,” he began, looking out at the audience, “but I feel comfortable telling you today that Mr. Harkens died of a single gunshot wound to the head. The bullet passed through and destroyed several critical structures in the brain, before exiting the skull. Death would have been instantaneous. After the remaining tests are in, I will be able to provide a more complete report.” Once it was clear that he had nothing more to add, the reporters launched a barrage of questions at him. Clearly startled by the onslaught, he backed away from the podium, stumbling over his own feet and nearly going down. At the last moment, he won the battle with gravity and regained his balance. Gimble hustled back onto the stage like the cavalry coming to the rescue. He held his arms up, then slowly brought them down, hands open in a gesture that said, “Calm down, quiet down.” At least that’s what it said to me. Not all the reporters seemed to get it, or they got it and weren’t ready to give up. I’d seen it happen before. Throw enough questions at someone and they might answer a couple just to get you to shut up. Not this time. Westfield stepped off the stage and vanished into an anteroom. The camera cut back to the reporter, who repeated the ME’s statement for anyone in the audience who hadn’t understood it the first time. I turned off the TV, trying to decide what my next move should be. Although I had lambasted Beverly for gossiping about Jim and Elise at the wake, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to her remarks. I had no intention of calling her to find out. If Elise had known about Jim having an affair, I was sure she would have told me. But what if he was having an affair and Elise didn’t know about it? There was one person I could ask, and after I closed the shop for the day I intended to do that.
Chapter 9
When I called Ronnie, she suggested meeting at the Soda Jerk Café. I figured she was probably concerned about a possible tap on our phones too. The café is an adorable throwback to the soda shops of the 1950s, complete with poodle-skirted waitresses, green Formica table tops, and an old-fashioned juke box. They serve the basics for breakfast and lunch, but are best known for their over-the-top sundaes and ice cream sodas. Tourists love stopping in there as much as we townies do, often making it difficult to get a seat. With no bus tours scheduled for that day and less than an hour until closing time, the café was barely half full. I found Ronnie in a booth in a back corner, sipping a cup of coffee. We exchanged quick hellos as I slid in across from her. A teenage waitress immediately appeared to take my order.
“Coffee for me too,” I said. She shrugged her shoulders and turned away. I was pretty sure that if her shoulders could talk they would have said “whatever.”
“What’s up?” Ronnie asked once we were alone.
I decided not to beat around the bush; it took too much time and energy. “There’s a rumor making the rounds that Jim was having an affair. Do you know if there’s any truth to it?”
Ronnie sighed. “I’ve heard that too. For all the years I knew Jim, he was the quintessential family man. He always made time to be at his kids’ athletic events, plays, you name it. He put a lot of thought into what he bought Elise for her birthday, their anniversary, Christmas. Never asked me to do it instead. He was my role model for the perfect husband. It may be his fault that I’m still single,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “To answer your question, no, I don’t believe the rumors.”
The waitress stopped at our table long enough to set my coffee down, before going on to drop a check at another table. “I’m really glad to hear that,” I said, adding a splash of milk to the coffee. “If there’s any hard evidence Jim had a girlfriend, the police would have a motive to pin on Elise. A lack of motive may be the only reason they haven’t arrested her yet.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
I took a sip of my coffee. The Soda Jerk was definitely not known for its robust brew, but I’d forgotten how weak it was. I should have ordered an ice cream soda. “There is something else I wanted to ask you,” I said.
“Ask away.”
“It occurred to me that one logical suspect is the dentist who shared the building with Jim. How well did they get along?”
“They were friends in the beginning,” she said. “They had dinners out with their wives, invited each other to their homes. But about five years ago they had a falling out.”
“Do you know what it was about?”
“Do I ever. Edward Silve
r offered to pay me more if I left Jim and went to work for him.”
“Whoa, that’s a surefire way to sour a friendship.”
“Oh yeah. When Jim found out, he went ballistic. I heard that he stormed into Silver’s office in the middle of the day—with a packed waiting room—and demanded to see him. When the front desk couldn’t calm Jim down, Silver finally came out. He ordered Jim to leave or he’d call the police. Jim left, but not before calling Silver a backstabbing thief, only in much more colorful terms. Everyone in the office heard him.”
I understood Jim’s anger. Trying to steal an employee was a crappy thing to do to a friend. But apparently it didn’t end there. Silver started doing spiteful little things. Keying Jim’s car, puncturing his tire. Jim was sure Silver was behind it, but he couldn’t prove it. He was so sick of the whole thing, he talked about relocating, even though he still had a couple of years left on his lease.
I sipped my coffee that was now tepid as well as weak and pushed it away “I guess you never know what you’re going to find when you look under some rocks. Does Duggan know about their history?”
“He does now, because at that first interview he asked me if Jim had any enemies I knew of.” She pushed her cup aside too.
“What’s your take on Silver?” I asked.
“To be honest, I doubt Silver has it in him to commit murder, but then I’m continually surprised by human nature. And not in a good way.”
I’d hoped to hear something more definitive, but given Ronnie’s ambiguous answer, the dentist was going to stay on my list of suspects for now. “Once the police get a look at Jim’s client files, maybe they’ll find a few more suspects, people who had axes to grind,” I said. “No matter how great you are at your job, it’s impossible to please everyone.” If the police, or I, couldn’t come up with more suspects, Elise was going to be the logical choice for scapegoat.
“They can’t look at those files without getting each client’s permission,” Ronnie pointed out. “Attorney/client privilege survives death. At most, they can demand a list of Jim’s clients, which they’ve already done.”
“Promise not to laugh,” I said, feeling a bit foolish over what I was about to admit, “but I’ve decided to do some investigating of my own.” I could tell by the way Ronnie’s eyebrows lifted that I’d taken her by surprise. “Patiently sitting and waiting for the police to find the killer just isn’t in my nature,” I went on, “especially since Elise seems to be the primary person of interest right now. For that matter, my aunt and I are considered persons of interest too. What if every other suspect has an alibi that checks out, except for Elise, Tilly, and me?”
“You won’t hear any laughing from me,” Ronnie said. “Too many people spend years in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.”
Her words were a vote of support, as well as a scary reminder of what can go wrong in the justice system. I made a conscious effort to push away the dark thoughts and focus on the positive. Not that there was an overabundance of it at the moment. But working with magick required the right spells and potions, as well as the right mind set. Morgana and Bronwen had drummed that into my head right along with my ABCs. “Since the police don’t have easy access to Jim’s files,” I said, “at least they won’t have a ridiculous advantage over me.”
Ronnie gave me a sly smile. “I know how you can have the advantage.”
“I’m listening.”
“Jim kept a thumb drive of client files at home, so he could work on them at night and over weekends. I have a feeling Elise will be glad to let you have it.”
* * *
I stopped at the Harkens’ house before heading home and caught Elise in the middle of making dinner. When I asked her about the thumb drive, she didn’t hesitate. “Sure, anything that could possibly help. Besides, only you, Ronnie, and I know these duplicate files exist. The police never asked, and I never volunteered the information.” She led me into the family room, opened the single drawer on the end table to the left of the couch and took out one of several TV remotes. I couldn’t imagine what she was doing, but in less than a minute it became clear. She turned the remote over and slid off the little back panel that covered the batteries. Then she put her index finger inside and popped out a tiny thumb drive, catching it in her other hand. “I’ve been worried the police might get a warrant to search the house,” she said. “If that happens, I don’t want them to find the drive. If the killer was a client of Jim’s, maybe the files can help us narrow it down.” She handed me the drive. “If you want to speak to any of the clients, you’ll have to be very careful about what you say and how you say it,” she cautioned me.
I let her get back to preparing dinner. I still had to stop at the local market to pick up a few essentials like cat food, a salad from their salad bar, and a rotisserie chicken. Everything else I needed would have to wait for another day. On the way there, I was so preoccupied that I drove right past the mini mart and had to double back. When Ronnie had suggested I ask Elise for the drive, I’d been buoyed by the prospect. But now that I had it in my possession, I was having second thoughts. Although reading the files might not be a crime, it seemed at least unethical. I kept telling myself it was for a good cause. For a good cause. Focusing on that mantra, I grabbed what I needed in the mini mart and headed home.
When I unlocked my front door, I heard the cats yowling from the direction of the kitchen. By my watch, it was half an hour past their dinner time, but they all sounded as if they were starving. I dropped my handbag onto the table in the entry and toted the groceries into the kitchen to see what was going on. The cats were assembled on the floor looking up at Sashkatu who seemed to be leading the protest from the counter top. If the cats ever unionized I’d be in serious trouble. I made their dinners, still trying to convince myself there was nothing to feel guilty about. My intentions were pure, if not noble. I vowed that no one would suffer, because of anything I learned. Well, no one but the killer. I was more or less back on an even keel when the phone rang.
* * *
Five minutes later I was in my aunt’s house with a hysterical Tilly and a befuddled Merlin. Tilly had been so incoherent over the phone that I’d raced right over to find out exactly what was going on. It took a few minutes before I was able to calm her down enough to explain the problem. We were sitting on the couch in her family room, while Merlin paced up and down and around in circles, eyes focused on the floor, lost in a world of his own. I wasn’t sure if he knew I was there.
“It’s my Isenbale,” Tilly said, breathless and hiccupping her sorrow.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t come to greet me. Unlike Sashkatu, he was a friendly cat, with no delusions of grandeur, and seemed to enjoy the company of humans.
“Merlin turned him into a bird,” she said forlornly. As if on cue, a larger than average green parakeet flew into the room and perched on Tilly’s shoulder. She absently put her hand up to pet his feathers. “I have nothing against birds, mind you, but I want my Isenbale back.”
“Merlin,” I called to get the wizard’s attention. It took five tries before he finally stopped moving and looked up at me. I realized, for the first time, that his hair was no longer a tangled gray mess. It had been washed and combed, so he didn’t look like a vagrant. With the proper clothing, he could actually pass for a citizen of the twenty-first century.
“Ah Kailyn,” he said. “I was not aware of your arrival.”
“Can you tell me what happened to Isenbale? Why is he a bird now?”
Merlin shook his head. “I was attempting to restore Tilly’s powers to their full extent when the cat jumped into her lap and must have been touched by the spell I was casting. Why it would have transmuted the animal into another species is as baffling and upsetting to me as it is to your aunt.” I somehow doubted that, but nothing would be helped by debating the point.
He went on. “I’ve been working on the problem, but have not as yet happened upon a solution. If you wi
ll excuse me, I’ll get back to it.” Without waiting to hear if I had more to say, he started his pacing again.
Apparently I was once again the cause of the problem. If I hadn’t pressured Tilly into asking for Merlin’s help, Isenbale would still be a big, furry cat. I turned to my aunt, who was sniffling beside me. “Tilly, don’t worry, I’m sure Merlin will figure out how to reverse the spell. He’s the most accomplished sorcerer ever born. Just think about how much experience he’s had.” I didn’t remind her that he might be suffering from the same malady that had been playing havoc with our powers lately. If she hadn’t made that connection on her own, she would soon enough.
“In the meantime at least you have the bird to keep you company,” I added brightly. The words were barely out of my mouth when the parakeet issued a catlike yowl and promptly pooped on Tilly’s shoulder.
She went into her bedroom to change into clean clothing, and I headed home. With Tilly now calmer in her misery, and Merlin on the problem, there was no point in my hanging around. Besides, my stomach was demanding to be fed.
Chapter 10
The moment my eyes opened the next morning, I had a kind of epiphany. While I’d slept, my subconscious had apparently been hard at work on Jim’s murder and it had come up with a way to potentially take some of the suspicion off Tilly, Elise, Ronnie, and me. It would mean going to speak to Dr. Westfield and opening Abracadabra a little late, but if I was successful, it would be well worth any loss of revenue. I dressed quickly and fed the cats before running out the door. Sashkatu protested the fact that I’d left him behind. His disgruntled yowl followed me into my car. Since I couldn’t explain that I’d be taking him with me later, he’d probably be in a feline snit when I did. My mother had done a fine job of spoiling him.
