Magick & Mayhem

by Sharon Pape

  “Agreed,” I said, not ready to let him leave yet. Not with my heart and hormones still demanding answers. I rose up on my toes to kiss him goodbye. At the same moment he bent to kiss me. We banged heads hard and dissolved into silly laughter fueled by fatigue and awkwardness.

  “Okay,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “how about we try that again, with you standing still this time?” Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine and, in spite of my throbbing head, it was clear that my heart and hormones were definitely on to something.

  Chapter 25

  I went to bed, but sleep eluded me. Between my evolving relationship with Travis, the meaning of our new partnership, and my fears for Elise, my mind was ablaze. Although Travis never spelled it out, I knew he expected me to be careful and patient while he shouldered the bulk of the investigation. But even though I’d promised to keep him in the loop, I hadn’t agreed to sit idly by. That would be a short drive to crazy. There had to be something I could do from my end, while he was in the city chasing down other leads. What if I could sneak in to see Westfield again? Maybe he wouldn’t mind telling me the story of why he moved his family to New Camel. Really, Kailyn? Are you basing that on how pleased he was the first time you snuck in? I could say I was doing an article for the local newspaper about why people move to Schuyler County. Most people like to talk about themselves. Unless they’re guilty of murder. Even if he declined my offer, he might slip and inadvertently give me information. Back and forth I went, arguing both sides of the question well into the early hours of the morning, before finally succumbing to sleep.

  * * *

  I opened my eyes to the first light of dawn seeping in around the edges of the window shades. The idea of going to see the ME popped right back into my head. I was definitely still game for the trip to Watkins Glen. No surprise. I’ve always preferred action to inaction, apprehension to boredom. I threw back the covers with hearty determination, upsetting the two cats on whom it landed. You’d have thought I poured ice water on them instead of a light summer quilt. They leapt up and ran for their lives, trampling the other cats, as if they were nothing but inconvenient speed bumps. Rudely awakened, the others jumped up to join the mass exodus. Sashkatu, curled on the high land of his pillow, slept on, undisturbed by the fray.

  After showering, I dressed in beige capris, a beige T-shirt and an old pair of flat, beige sandals I found in the back of my closet. I liked beige well enough when paired with other colors, but a solid uniform of beige was not at all my style. That day I wasn’t dressing to impress. I was dressing to get lost in the background. For that same reason, I didn’t put on makeup and I pulled my hair back in a simple brown elastic band that virtually disappeared against the brown of my hair.

  I was too wired to be hungry, so I made myself some calming tea and fixed the cats’ breakfast. One by one, they left their hidey-holes, slinking into the kitchen, wary of what other terrors awaited them. Once their bellies were full, they seemed to regain their equilibrium. I left them to their morning ablutions and drove over to the shop, where I set the clock in the window to let customers know I’d be opening at noon. Then I locked up and headed for Watkins Glen. I wanted to be at the ME’s office shortly after it opened, to minimize the chance of missing Westfield if he took a coffee break or left for an early lunch. I would still have to contend with the receptionist gatekeeper, but I’d already decided to use a little harmless magick to get past her.

  A spell of invisibility is difficult to pull off at the height of one’s powers and under the best circumstances, even more so with the problems I’d been having. The one time I’d performed the spell, I’d gotten into big trouble. I was in the fifth grade at the time and had forgotten to do my homework, because I’d been caught up in a Nancy Drew mystery yet again. I was afraid the teacher would call on me with a homework question I couldn’t answer, prompting her to send another note to my mother. I figured I had nothing to lose by giving the spell a whirl. At the time, I’d read the spell once, over my grandmother Bronwen’s shoulder, but I’ve always had a great memory. Except for homework, that is. The spell had worked better than I could have hoped, until my teacher actually thought I’d gone missing. The principal had come running to the classroom, only to find me in my assigned seat, where I’d been all along. Laughter had done me in. My concentration faltered and the spell was broken. There I was, plain as day. To my teacher’s dismay, and my regret, the faculty and students had teased her about it for the rest of that school year and for several years afterward. Although it had pained me to be the source of her discomfit, admitting the truth would have incurred far-reaching consequences. To say that Morgana and Bronwen had not been pleased with me was the understatement of the century and the reason I never thought of trying the spell again. Until now. I briefly considered taking Merlin along as a sort of backup battery, but after tallying the pros and cons of enlisting his help, I’d decided to go it alone.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous on the drive to see the ME. But what, I asked myself, was the worst that could happen? Westfield could call security and have me thrown out or he could get an order of protection to keep me away in the future. The fact remained that the last time I snuck in there, he had come around and answered my question. It was enough to keep my foot on the accelerator.

  I parked in the same municipal lot I’d used on my first trip there and walked the two blocks to the forensics building. On my way, I started working on the spell. It required intense concentration, blocking out all the sights and sounds around me. I focused on drawing light particles to me and through me. I imagined the feeling as they passed through my body, until I didn’t have to imagine it anymore. In my head, I chanted,

  Light pass through me.

  No one see me.

  Light pass through me.

  No one see me.

  Over and over, I repeated it, until I became as one with the photons and could no longer feel them as an outside force. Maintaining my concentration was the hardest part. I reached the building as two men in suits were exiting. Instead of holding the door open for me, they let it slam shut in my face. So far so good. I risked a quick glance at the reception desk. It was occupied by the same young woman as the last time.

  Light pass through me.

  No one see me.

  I moved slowly, staying close to the perimeter of the lobby. I avoided any sudden movements, kept my arms as still as possible, and my eyes riveted to the ground because eyes are the hardest to conceal. Someone walked toward me, a man, judging by the trousers and shoes. He was coming too close. I automatically made a quick course correction. He called out a goodbye to the receptionist, causing her to look in my direction.

  Light pass through me.

  No one see me.

  “Take care, Steve,” she said. I held my breath. A second passed, then another and another. I’d dodged a bullet. A few more steps and I reached the farthest corner of the lobby, where it intersected with the hallway. I turned right. I had to resist the temptation to drop my guard and consider myself safe. The hallway held as many opportunities for failure as the lobby, maybe more. The last time a woman had popped out of an office doorway. She’d assumed I belonged there, but someone else might not. Focus.

  Light pass through me.

  No one see me.

  Westfield’s office was the fifth one down. I’d considered the possibility he might be in the autopsy suite. An additional set of problems. Door one, door two, three, four—

  “Hold it.” The voice came from behind me, male, deep, and reeking with authority. Could he be talking to someone else? I looked down the hallway and saw no one. I knew precisely where I went wrong. I’d lost my focus the second I started thinking about how to find the autopsy room.

  I pasted a pleasant expression on my face and turned around. The man was tall, with wide shoulders and substantial girth, maybe an ex-football player gone to seed. He was in the gray-and-black uniform of a security guard. There was a gun holstered on h
is hip. His hand hovered over it, at the ready.

  He stopped a few feet from me. “Who are you here to see?” he asked.

  I hadn’t heard an alert from the receptionist, but she might have pressed a silent alarm. It didn’t track right, though. If she’d seen me in the lobby, she would have questioned my presence back there. I decided the guard must have happened upon me by luck, good for him, bad for me. If I played this right, I might still have a shot at seeing Westfield.

  “Hi, Officer,” I said. “I’m Kailyn Wilde.” He wasn’t a police officer, but it never hurt to pump up someone’s ego before requesting their help.

  “Ms. Wilde,” he said, “what is the nature of your visit today?”

  “I’m here to see Dr. Westfield.” I held my chin high and dug deep for every bit of confidence I owned. I could tell he was weighing my answer, my potential for making trouble.

  “I’ll be happy to see you to his office.”

  Not the answer I wanted to hear. I knew the office was ten steps away, but I allowed him to lead the way. He rapped on the door. Westfield’s muffled voice said, “Come in.” The guard cracked the door enough to accommodate his head. “A Ms. Wilde is here to see you, Dr. Westfield. Are you expecting her?”

  I heard the muted noise of a chair being pushed back on carpeting. Moments later the door was opened from inside and Roger Westfield was standing in the doorway. “Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew. Groupies are such a problem in my line of work,” he said sardonically.

  The guard seemed unsure about how to react. “Do you want me to escort her out?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Yes, Gus, please do. If I took time out for every fan, I’d never get any work done.”

  Gus gave him an appreciative chuckle. “You’ve got it, doc. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  Westfield gave me a hard look. “I’m a happily married man, Ms. Wilde. Don’t let there be a next time, or I’ll call the police and press charges.” The guard hooked his hand around my upper arm.

  “One question?” I begged the ME. “Just one. I swear.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “Why did you leave the city and move up here?”

  “That’s your big question? That’s why you snuck in here?” He shook his head. “It’s simple. I didn’t want to find my wife or kids on the autopsy table,” he said, tilting his head in a sign to the guard, who promptly marched me away. I’d no doubt have the imprints of his big fingers on my arm as a souvenir of the trip.

  Chapter 26

  Lolly was the first one into my shop after I turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN. One of her signature pink aprons was tied around her waist and a smudge of chocolate accented her rosy left cheek. The ruffle-edged aprons, available in every pastel of the color wheel, sold almost as well as her fudge. Seeing her in the apron was usually enough to make my mouth start watering for her candy. Pavlov would have loved me. But that day, not even my favorite fudge would have cheered me up. My trip to Westfield’s office hadn’t netted me much more than his irritation and possibly an order of protection against me. Although he’d confirmed my guess as to why he moved his family up to Schuyler County, there was a good chance he said the first thing that popped into his mind in order to get rid of me. And now, in the spirit of my partnership with Travis, I would have to tell him about it. I shoved my misery to the back of my mind to stew and dredged up a smile for Lolly.

  Sashkatu had barely installed himself on his windowsill throne, but when he saw her come in he didn’t waste any time trotting back down his stairway and executing a small leap onto the counter to greet her. They shared a brief session of scratches and cuddles while he licked at the candy on her cheek. He’d always had a soft spot for her, or maybe it was a sweet spot.

  “You smell like chocolate,” I said appreciatively. “You must be making candy day and night.” I couldn’t imagine how else she kept her display cases full. Her shop drew the largest number of customers by far.

  She smoothed back the wisps of hair that had sprung free of her bun. “I think I’ve even been making chocolate in my sleep. This time of year it’s hard to keep the supply equal to the demand.”

  “Then I’d better get you right back to work or my life will be forfeit when the fudge runs out. What can I do for you?”

  She laughed. “Not to worry. I’ve been meaning to come talk to you, but then I get busy and forget. Mind if I park myself in that chair? I’ve been on my feet for hours.”

  “That’s why it’s here.” How had Morgana and Bronwen managed without a chair all those years? It was fast becoming the most popular item in the shop. As soon as Lolly settled herself there, Sashkatu joined her, curling into a ball in her well-padded lap.

  “When I was watching the ME’s press conference the other day,” she said, rhythmically stroking Sashki’s back, “I recognized the man I’d seen racing out of town the day Jim died.”

  My friendly interest zoomed to intense focus in a split second. “What do you mean?”

  “About four thirty on the day he was killed, I needed my late afternoon coffee. It helps me make it through until closing. I left my niece in charge of the shop and was crossing the street when this car came out of nowhere like a bat out of hell. If I hadn’t jumped back, he would have mowed me down and probably kept right on going.”

  Could it be that simple? Could Lolly have seen the killer leaving the murder scene? “Who was it?” I prodded her when she paused to coo to Sashki.

  “Well I don’t know his name, but at the press conference he was wearing a suit and standing in the background next to Police Chief Gimble. I imagine he’s someone with clout.”

  “Can you describe him to me?”

  “Tall, broad shoulders, gray buzz cut. He looks like an army drill sergeant.”

  It had to be Duggan. “Did you notice the kind of car he was driving the day he nearly hit you?”

  She nodded. “It was a Jeep, a black Jeep. I wanted to get the plate number to report him, but by the time I got my wits about me, he was gone.”

  I’d seen the unmarked car Duggan drove when he was on the job, and it wasn’t a Jeep. What had he been doing in New Camel so close to the time of the murder and why had he been in such a big hurry to leave that he almost ran over Lolly? The answer that best fit those questions was that he’d just shot Jim and was making his getaway. But I needed more proof than Lolly’s memory of a traumatic incident, before I could take my suspicions up the ladder to Gimble. “I’m glad you told me,” I said, the wheels in my head spinning like mad.

  “When I recognized him at that press conference, I was afraid to go to the police,” Lolly went on. “I mean, what if he’s somebody high up in government? But I didn’t feel right not telling anyone. I know you’ve been doing some investigating of your own, so I thought maybe the information could help you.”

  I thanked her, and we chatted about town stuff for a few minutes. Then she made me promise to stop by later to taste her newest fudge sensation—chocolate maple walnut twist. Sashki was sound asleep on her lap, so she took great care to pick him up and place him gently back down in the center of the chair. His snoring barely missed a beat.

  After Lolly left, I couldn’t stop thinking about this major new wrinkle in the case. Although the prospect of paying the detective another visit didn’t fill me with warm, fuzzy anticipation, it had to be the next thing on my agenda. I’d promised to keep Travis in the loop, but if I told him what I was planning to do, he would surely shut me down. He’d say that if Duggan was the killer, the odds of learning anything useful by confronting him were close to zero, whereas the odds of provoking him into killing me also, approached one hundred percent. I wrestled with my conscience. It wasn’t as if I was going to accuse the man outright. I’d be much more subtle. Plus I had the weaponry of magick to protect me, more or less. Hardly a convincing argument. My conscience won out. I’d made a pact with my partner and I was obliged to honor it.

  When I reached Travis, he was on assignment, coverin
g a suspicious fire in the next county. He hadn’t been down to Manhattan yet. “There’s a better way of going about this,” he said, after hearing me out. At least he hadn’t gone all alpha male on me, forbidding me to do it. Maybe he suspected such a tactic would not be well-received.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Most of the businesses along Main Street, including Harkens’s building, probably have security cameras. See if you can get the property owners to let you view the video footage from that day. You may get lucky and find proof that it was Duggan’s Jeep tearing down Main Street, or better yet, proof of him entering and leaving Jim’s office building. Of course Duggan probably had all the video in his hands within minutes of Jim’s death,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Do you think he might have tampered with it? I mean, if he was the killer?”

  “I wouldn’t rule it out. But security video is time-stamped. You should be able to tell if there’s missing footage. It’s definitely worth a shot.”

  How had I not thought of checking the cameras? I was turning out to be more like Inspector Clouseau than Nancy Drew. As long as I had Travis on the phone, I decided to bare my soul and get it over with. I gave him a brief summary of my trip to see the ME, emphasizing the comical aspects of my failure and Westfield’s dust-dry humor. Travis didn’t find it funny. But then neither did I. That might come some months or years down the road. Or maybe not at all. “One more thing,” I said. “Do you think one of your cop friends would check with the DMV and find out what kind of car Duggan drives when he’s not on the clock?”

  “Already on my list of things to do.”

  * * *