Magick & Mayhem

by Sharon Pape

  The drive to the county seat took less than an hour. I hadn’t called ahead to find out if Dr. Westfield could see me, because I didn’t want to be told he couldn’t. If I simply showed up at his office, I could pretend ignorance about needing an appointment and try to worm my way in. At least that was my strategy, until I found out that the ME’s office didn’t take appointments. I entered the building that housed Westfield’s office as well as the county crime lab and made my way over to the reception desk. I wasn’t by any means stealthy with my high-heeled sandals beating a tattoo on the stone floor, but the receptionist didn’t look up until I was standing directly in front of her.

  “Oh hi,” she said, immediately sitting up straighter in her seat and affixing a smile to her mouth. “How may I help you?” She was young and pleasant and, as it turned out, bored. From where I was standing, I could see over the high countertop to her work station below. I caught a glimpse of her cell phone before she had a chance to flip it screen down. She’d been playing Words with Friends. I wondered if she’d learned the hard way that it was easier to hide a cell phone screen than a computer monitor if one of your superiors happens to walk by.

  “Hi Jessica,” I said, reading the nameplate on the counter. “Is Dr. Westfield in?”

  There was hesitation in her voice when she said “yes.”

  “I’m Kailyn Wilde. I was hoping he could spare a minute to see me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied, her smile toned down to rueful, “but he doesn’t really meet with the public. Just the police or like, government officials.”

  “That’s okay,” I said with more confidence than I felt, “I’m not the public. He knows me.” I didn’t mention that I’d only met him briefly, or that we’d exchanged maybe a dozen words. Or that he might not remember me. “In fact I saw him a few days ago.” I really hoped he had a good memory for names.

  “I’d like to help you,” she said, “really I would. But I’d get into trouble.” Her cell phone beeped, and she sneaked a peek at it.

  “You should be careful,” I whispered. “I got caught playing games like that at work and it wasn’t pretty.” Okay, not at work exactly, but in an economics class so boring it regularly put students to sleep.

  “Yeah, I bet it happens to a lot of people.”

  “Especially that game. It’s addictive.”

  “I know, isn’t it?” Jessica agreed. She was beginning to sound less like the guardian at the gate and more like my co-conspirator.

  “Do you think maybe you could buzz him and mention my name? Give him a chance to decide about seeing me?”

  She shook her head. “He made it very clear that he’s not to be disturbed unless the building is on fire or there’s an emergency in his family.”

  I tried a different tack. “Do you get any bathroom breaks?”

  She laughed. “Well sure. I could never sit here for eight hours straight without one.”

  “Does anyone cover the desk for you while you’re gone?”

  “No, I’m not gone for very long. And as you can see,” she added with a sweep of her arm, “we’re not exactly mobbed with visitors.”

  I could see by her expression that she had no idea where I was going with this new line of conversation. I’d have to spell it out for her. “I was thinking you might need to take one of those breaks pretty soon. No one can blame you for what happens when you’re not here, right?”

  Her face brightened. “Now that you mention it, I think I will need a break in about . . .”

  “Fifteen minutes should do it.” I’d noticed the security cameras when I walked into the lobby. Returning that soon might make me look suspicious, but it was probably enough time for her to be cleared of any collusion. I didn’t want to be the reason she lost her job, but I couldn’t afford to spend half the day loitering around the town either.

  “You’ll need the hallway to the right,” she whispered after we’d coordinated the time on our phones.

  I used the fifteen minutes to find a donut shop where I bought a cup of coffee and a glazed donut. My willpower is lousy when I’m stressed. The minutes dragged by. To prevent myself from buying another donut, I left the shop and spent the time exploring the town. If you’d asked me what I saw, I couldn’t have told you. I was too preoccupied with my little foray into crime. I was back at the ME’s building at the appointed time. Before entering I gave myself a quick pep talk: Walk with purpose, if you see anyone don’t make eye contact, look like you have important business on your mind. I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin and went in.

  The reception desk was empty. I walked past it to the hallway. Jessica had told me to go right, but I suddenly realized she might have been using her position at the desk as her reference point, in which case I would need to go left. The longer I stood in the lobby, the greater the risk I’d bump into someone who’d ask a lot of questions. Once I reached the hallway, I had a better chance of looking like I belonged there. I decided to take her at her words. After all, she was there to help people find the office they needed.

  Fortunately the hallway was carpeted, so my footsteps made no noise. I walked briskly, hoping no one came out of the closed doors I was passing. I’d forgotten to ask Jessica if I’d find Westfield in his office or in an autopsy room, but she probably wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. I’d covered half the length of the hall when a door up ahead of me opened and an older woman walked out. She was focused on some papers she was holding. Maybe she would turn the other way and not notice me. But of course she turned toward me. As the distance between us closed, she looked up. I saw curiosity register on her face. If I was going to pull this off, I had to act like I was supposed to be there. I kept up my pace with my eyes straight ahead as if I had weighty matters on my mind. When we passed, she bobbed her head at me. With no time to decide how best to react, I returned the bob, but didn’t slow down. Nothing to concern you here, Ma’am. I kept expecting her to double back to question why I was there. When that didn’t happen, I had an overwhelming urge to peek over my shoulder to see where she was, but I knew that would be a red flag of guilt if she was watching me. When I reached the door with Dr. Westfield’s name on it, I stopped and stole a sideways glance down the hall. The woman was gone, probably into another office. I’d had no idea that making it this far would be so tricky, but there was no time to relax and appreciate my small victory. I could still be booted out by the ME, himself. I knocked on the door, two short raps. No response. Next stop, the autopsy lab, wherever that was. I hadn’t gone ten steps when I heard him say, “Come in, come in.” He sounded gruff and harried, hardly the ideal time to have sneaked in to ask for a favor. Regardless, I was there and all I had to do was open the door. Showtime.

  Westfield was seated at a sleek minimalist desk of Finnish birch and chrome. His computer was the centerpiece. Piles of papers and files were strewn across the remaining surface, making the computer look like it was under siege by the materials it was trying to replace. Several diplomas in simple, light wood frames decorated the walls, but aside from them, the one personal item I could see was a framed five-by-seven of the ME with his wife, three kids, and a Jack Russell terrier. The photo was standing at the edge of the desk, in imminent danger of falling off. Westfield himself looked markedly different than he had at the wake and on TV. His hair was sticking up as if he’d been raking his fingers through it, and his wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, making him look like a cross between Einstein and the Nutty Professor.

  “Hi, Dr. Westfield,” I said, stepping closer to his desk, hoping that the farther I was from the door, the less likely he would be to order me out of it.

  He stared at me, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to place me.

  I smiled. “Remember me? Kailyn Wilde?” No flicker of recognition. “We met at Jim Harkens’ wake.” Still nothing. “I almost crashed into Detective Duggan?” I’d run out of reference points, so I stood there wondering what to do next.

  “Aha, ye
s, I remember now,” he said, but he didn’t seem particularly pleased about it.

  “There was no one at the reception desk, so I sort of showed myself in. I hope you don’t mind. I only need a minute of your time.”

  “I don’t accommodate visitors. If I did, I’d never get anything done.” He looked back at the computer. “Think of it as not squandering your tax dollars.”

  Had I just been dismissed? His attitude got my back up, as my grandmother used to say. “Then I apologize,” I said with some steel to my tone. “But since I’m here, perhaps you can make a small exception this time and permit me to ask you one question.”

  He tapped away at the keys while I waited, trying to decide how long to let our standoff continue before I took matters into my own hands and blurted out the question. According to my watch, almost three minutes passed before he looked up at me again.

  “Fine, will you leave if I answer your question?” he asked with a heavy sigh.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed.

  “I’d ask you to have a seat, but as you can see, there are no other chairs in here. That’s by design. I don’t encourage chitchat, not even with my colleagues.”

  “Clever,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Westfield scowled at me as if he wasn’t quite sure how I’d meant it.

  “Here’s my question,” I said quickly to distract him. “Did the position of the bullet wound indicate if the gun was fired by someone taller or shorter than Jim?”

  Westfield sat back in his padded chair and wagged his head. “Don’t tell me—you’ve always wanted to be Jessica Fletcher.”

  “Actually, Nancy Drew,” I said. When was I going to learn to keep my mouth shut?

  “The answer to your question is very simple. I can’t release that kind of information during an ongoing investigation. So, if you’d please show yourself out.” He looked back at the computer screen.

  “Dr. Westfield,” I said, “My aunt and I are considered suspects simply because we were the ones who found Jim.”

  “That’s not unusual. And while I’m not unsympathetic to your plight, I can’t change the rules for you.”

  “What if your wife were a suspect in a murder case, and you could give her some peace of mind by telling her that the gun had been fired by someone taller than she. Wouldn’t you?”

  For the first time since I’d walked into his office, the ME’s mouth tugged up in amusement. It was far from a big old grin, but beggars can’t be choosers. “You scoped out the place, saw the photo, and played to my weakness,” he said. “And you didn’t back down. I can respect that.”

  My heart lifted. “Enough to help me out?”

  He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, dislodging a pile of papers that cascaded onto the floor. “Even if I wanted to help you, I have nothing to tell you that would ease your mind.” Hopes dashed, I thanked him stiffly and was opening the door to leave when he added, “Think about what I told you, Nancy Drew.” On the drive back to New Camel I puzzled over his words. When it hit me, I smiled in spite of my dismay. Even if he’d been permitted to answer my question outright, it would not be what I wanted to hear. In other words, the trajectory of the gunshot had been upward. The killer was shorter than Jim. Given that Jim was five ten or so, Elise, Ronnie, Tilly, and I were shorter and still very much in the running as suspects.

  Chapter 11

  I went straight home to grab Sashkatu and open the shop, but I had trouble finding the wily old guy. After several minutes of looking under beds, checking closets, and mucking around in the basement clutter, I decided to stop playing the game his way and start using my brain. I picked up my keys with a lot of jangling and opened the front door. Before I could shout “goodbye,” he showed his furry face. Although he was clearly put out at having been left behind earlier, he probably didn’t want to spend the rest of the day with his kindred. He gave me an ingratiating “meow,” but when I tried to pet him, he wriggled away from my hand.

  The phone was ringing when we entered the shop. I turned off the alarm and picked up the receiver. Tilly was on the other end. She sounded more like her cheerful self, but I felt a pang of guilt. I should have called her earlier to find out how the second night with her houseguest had gone. She’d made my life a whole lot easier by offering to have Merlin stay with her.

  “How are you? I asked.

  “Better now that my Isenbale is a cat again. He’s grumpier than usual, but I can hardly blame him.”

  Good news had been in such short supply lately that my spirits instantly lifted. “Merlin remembered how to undo the spell?”

  “No, but it seems to have worn off. I think he’s having trouble with his abilities here like we are. In this case, though, I couldn’t be happier about it.”

  “How is our legendary sorcerer doing?” I’d been so caught up in other matters that I’d relegated the time traveler to the fringes of my mind. If I hadn’t been trying to solve a murder, he would certainly have been front and center.

  “Well, I found a way to keep him occupied and out of trouble.”

  I hesitated to ask her how, a bit afraid she was going to tell me about amorous activities. It wasn’t a subject I was eager to discuss with her.

  “I showed him the internet,” she went on when I didn’t respond, “and I haven’t been able to pry him away from the computer ever since. This morning I found him passed out, asleep on the keyboard.”

  “Does he understand how to use it?” I asked.

  “He already understands it better than I do, although that’s not exactly a high bar to reach.”

  Despite Morgana and Bronwen’s feelings about the technology, my aunt had bought a computer and was willing to learn. Or maybe she’d bought it specifically to spite them. No family is without its inner turmoil and ours was no exception. Before we got off the phone, Tilly invited me to have dinner with them. She was going to order pizza, another first for Merlin. How could I say no?

  * * *

  Felines fed, I walked over to my aunt’s house. It was such a lovely summer evening it would have been a shame to take the car even though I was teetering on the brink of exhaustion. Since business had been slow, or more accurately, nonexistent, I’d spent the afternoon cleaning up the storeroom. I’d salvaged what little I could, tossed the rest, then mopped up the muck and glass. After order was restored, I’d made a list of products that had to be replaced. Too bad there wasn’t a sorcerer’s supermarket. That’s when I recalled Merlin’s offer to help restock my shelves, since he’d helped empty them. Fortunately it was summer and most of what I needed could be found growing in the wild. I could give him the list, and Tilly could ferry him around to find the items.

  I arrived at Tilly’s house at the same moment as the pizza delivery boy. After doing a little riff on “After you, no, after you,” we wound up marching up her walkway together in a weird little wedding parody. While Tilly paid for the pizza, I went inside and found Merlin at the computer in the corner of the living room. He was so engrossed in what was on the screen that he didn’t seem to notice me. Peering over his shoulder I understood why. He was reading about the space race and watching the grainy video of Neil Armstrong taking humankind’s first step on the moon. I put my hand on his shoulder to let him know I was there. The poor man must have jumped three feet. When he spun around, his face had gone pale and his hand was pressed to his heart as if to keep it from popping out. My own heart took a dive to somewhere in the vicinity of my knees. I’d have to be more careful in the future. There was no telling what would happen to history if Merlin died in the twenty-first century. It was bad enough that he would return to his time babbling about computers, aircraft, and men on the moon. I apologized for scaring him, relieved to see the color return to his cheeks.

  “Don’t worry”—Tilly passed by on her way to the kitchen, pizza box in hand—“his ticker is fine. I’ve startled him a number of times too. When he gets involved with the internet, he might as well be in outer space.”

/>   I detected a note of disappointment, or maybe frustration, in her tone. Given her druthers, as Bronwen used to say, she would surely have preferred Merlin to be enthralled by her, not by electronics.

  The heady smell of hot pizza must have reached Merlin’s nostrils, because he rose without urging and followed the aroma into the kitchen. Tilly put the pizza box in the center of the table that she’d already set with paper plates, cups and napkins. Soda, seltzer, and water were on the counter along with an ice bucket. “Help yourselves,” she said, holding the box top open. Merlin didn’t need to be asked twice. He picked up a slice oozing with melted cheese and for a moment held it suspended in midair as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Take a bite,” I said, “but be careful—it’s probably hot.” I took a slice myself and bit off the pointy end. Merlin watched me, then tried it himself. His eyes opened wide with delight, the cheese dripping from his mouth into his beard.

  He didn’t say a word until he’d finished every last crumb of it. “What manner of comestible be this?” he asked, reaching for a second slice.

  “Pizza,” Tilly said, “bread dough with tomato sauce and cheese.”

  “Quite remarkable.” He didn’t speak again until he’d plowed through half the pie. “Never have I had a finer meal,” he proclaimed, patting his stomach and burping with satisfaction. “But now to business. How far be it to London?”