by Dani Corlee
"It is indeed strange. What did he want to find? Perhaps he was aware of some treasures that he wanted to get his hands on."
"I doubt it." Mabel replied thoughtfully.
"Bah!" Randy moved the chair away from the desk with a push, continuing to look at the computer screen. It seems there isn’t anything else of use here. I checked other emails between the two. It appears that in the beginning things went very well. Then your aunt started to complain that he was always out and that she no longer had time to experiment with new recipes because she had to follow things that he hadn’t completed and finishing with the email I told you about. But this doesn’t help us as to why this man was killed.
Mabel sank into the armchair while Kendra returned with a satisfied nod making the thumbs up sign, then sat on the armrest next to her. “Our aunt was no a fool." Mabel said. "If legally, part of the company was Mr. Hopkins, why didn’t she mention it in her will? It was as if Mr. Hopkins had nothing more to do with the company." She was silent for a bit. "As if she knew that something was going to happen to him." she muttered to herself.
"What?" Asked Kendra.
"No, I was thinking out loud. It almost seems that our aunt knew he would not be able to take care of the company. She left him a book saying something like it would be useful if he had time to read it. I assumed she meant the time left between other things he had to do, but what if she meant that he had not long to live?"
"Don’t tell me that she could predict such things?" Randy asked, having listened to the conversation between the two cousins.
"Well, actually... forget it." Mabel smiled at him. She certainly couldn’t admit to him that her’s was a family of witches and warlocks. "There seemed to be more and more questions than answers." She said instead.
"Exactly. We have checked all these documents, and we know very little more than before. There is nothing here that explains why Mr. Hopkins was killed. Yet I still think the company has something to do with it."
"Maybe we should talk soon with Uncle George to know what he wanted to take."
"But while we're here, I would also like to speak to the gardener and his wife. Then quickly home. It's getting late."
CHAPTER 8
It was already afternoon when Mabel and Randy met the next day.
"So, let me quickly go over what we concluded yesterday while on our way to the hotel where your uncle and his son are staying," he said, waiting for her to close the door of the shop. "Why your aunt has excluded Mr. Hopkins's from the future of the company, we know little. As far as we are aware there are no documents proving that she bought back the shares of Hopkins, or that Hopkins meant to sell them to her.
The coroner has confirmed that Mr. Hopkins was killed with a mixture of different, commonly used weed killers. The gardener, on the other hand, told us that he keeps those same herbicides for the garden and also remembered having taken them to the factory. He said that the flower beds at the main entrance were infested by weeds and your aunt had asked him to tend to them. He didn't remember when it happened; it was a few years ago. But he says that what remained he left at the factory together with fertilizer and instructions so that any employee that was asked by your aunt could keep the flowerbeds in order. I've already sent a team to check it out and they’ll let me know soon. I feel that we are getting closer to a solution."
"Let’s hope so ..." she said. She put her keys in her purse and adjusted her scarf to better protect her from the cold. "Looking for clues is interesting but sometimes I almost forget that a person died and, above all, that I could go to jail for life." She shivered and not only from the stinging air. "But maybe it's better just not to think about it." She bundled herself in her coat, cursing the fact that she had wanted to wear such high heels. She had started dressing, in a way that wasn't really her, already for quite a while now. She looked around. The street was crowded with passers-by intent on their purchases. No one was watching and no one, she hoped, would notice that her heels were suddenly lower. She recited a magic formula mentally and with her hands in her pockets she made some magical gestures hoping that the three-inch heels of her beautiful boots would become only half an inch. But once again her magic failed, and she found herself suddenly barefoot. She made an enormous mental effort and immediately succeeded in making appear on her feet a pair of shoes, this time completely without heels.
"What relationship do you have with your ex-uncle and his son?" Randy asked turning towards her. Then looking at her he frowned and checked her from head to toe.
"I could have sworn ..." He began.
“What?" She asked with an innocent air, but afraid to become red because she was caught in the act.
"Nothing, nothing." He resumed, shaking his head. "We were talking about your uncle."
If Isidora knew that I had done a spell like that in public... she thought fearing her punishment as much as she feared prison.
"No, no relationship. After the divorce, I have seen him once, maybe twice. And I had never seen his son before the funeral."
They entered the hotel, one of the best in town, with a prestigious clientele. Intimidated by the elegance of the main hall they waited for a moment, looking around.
"I never came in here. What does your uncle do for work? He must have money to afford a luxury like this."
"Frankly I don't know ... I didn't, however, think he had quite such economic possibilities."
"I will check that as well. For now, while I speak with the concierge, you try to see what the bartender has to offer."
"You think he will talk about customers with a stranger?"
"Give him a big smile, men are susceptible to the charms of a beautiful woman."
Beautiful? Mabel thought feeling her cheeks become inflamed.
Neither the son nor the uncle went to the bar and the chat with the bartender ended with nothing new.
Mabel reached Randy, who told her "Your uncle isn’t here, but the son has just returned. I had him called."
Darren White soon arrived in the lobby. He stood in disbelief when he saw them, greeted them with a nod, looking at Mabel out of the corner of his eye. "I thought I was to talk with the deputy of the investigation." He pushed back his hair, and they both noticed that his hand was shaking.
"Exactly. We would like to ask you some questions."
"But ... I don’t understand." He stepped back. "Is it normal that the suspect is involved in the conversation?"
The lump that Mabel suddenly felt in her throat took her by surprise. It was what people thought? That she really was a killer? Confused, she looked at Darren, searching for a contact with his eyes, but he looked like he was trying to avoid her.
"Miss Norwood is assisting me in the investigation. Let's sit on that sofa." Randy replied instead, indicating one of the lobby lounges used by guests.
Darren sat down on the armchair farthest from where Mabel sat. He seemed to caress the soft velvet of the upholstery, but the deputy didn’t miss the print of sweat his hands left.
"Might we know where your father is?"
"I'm sorry, he went out early this morning, I don't know where he is." He replied in a low voice leaning toward the deputy as if to talk only with him. "I didn't even want to come here, and it's even worse than I had thought."
"What do you mean?" Asked the deputy. "I don’t understand."
"I don't like it here. I would return home if he hadn't threatened not to pay my college anymore. At least he could have taken me around a little in these days."
"He hasn’t?" Mabel interjected. "There are so many beautiful things to see." She said a little spitefully that her town wasn’t liked by someone. Counting with her fingers she listed: "the ruins of the old castle on the hill, the lake with the abbey, the Museum of Natural History, the... eh." She stopped realizing it was inappropriate while Darren paled and looked at her, almost holding his breath.
The deputy noticed the strange behavior but pressed on. "The other days you haven’t gone out together?"
"Not at all." The other replied a bit more calm, always toward the deputy. "He was always out, from early morning. He returns only in the evening. We were never close, but here he comes back only for dinner and then is too tired to go out. He is also always so anxious... I know that he has often met with some Percy because I heard him talking to him on the phone, but I don't know who he is."
Randy and Mabel exchanged a quick glance.
"And about Mr. Hopkins what can you tell us? Did you know him?"
"I had never seen him before the funeral. What I do know is that he had a fight with my father that day."
"What about?"
"I don't know. I found them just outside the hotel, and they were discussing in a very agitated way. I heard them use the word brother several times, but I didn't know who it’s about. Now that I think about it, even talking on the phone with that Percy he mentioned the word brother. However, when my father and Mr. Hopkins noticed that I was looking at them they shut up and, without even saying another word, each one went his own way." He looked at Mabel. "So you know who killed Mr. Hopkins, isn't that right?" He continued, with his lip trembling.
Mabel sighed slowly. Darren thought that she was a murderer, no doubt. He was so convinced that he wasn’t afraid to put a bad light on his father because he thought that sooner or later they would find the evidence to put her behind bars.
"One last thing. This hotel is extremely luxurious and very expensive for sure. May I know how you can afford such a thing? As far as I am aware your father owns a shop of ... Let me see." He said running through his notebook. "Construction materiel. Is it so profitable?"
"I don't know. Maybe there were some lucky investments. But even here I can't tell you any more. My father never spoke to me about this either."
"Well, thank you for your time." Randy said standing up to say goodbye.
Darren also rose and while Randy was walking away he leaned towards Mabel and slightly wide-eyed he whispered, "Why haven't you found evidence to clear yourself? I don't understand it. Can’t you create it?"
“What?” Mabel looked at him alarmed.
"You're a witch, aren’t you? My father always told me that you are a family of witches."
Mabel breathed a sigh of relief. That's why there was fear in Darren’s eyes. He didn’t consider her an assassin but knowing she was a witch frightened him!
She tried to pull off her most reassuring smile.
"Darren, witches do not exist. I do not deny that your father with a failed marriage may have considered his ex-wife a witch, but it's just a figure of speech."
"No," he said, "he told me so many things. Of magic potions, formulas, a flying broom..."
"Flying broom?" Reassured, Mabel tried to laugh. "Trust me, Darren, your dad was teasing you. And then do I look like a witch?"
Darren continued to look at her with fear in his eyes while she, after a brief goodbye, tried quickly to catch up to Randy.
"What did he say?" He asked her. "Something useful to the investigation?"
"No, he told me that ..." Mabel tried to invent something quickly. "He apologized for saying that the town is not to his taste; that’s all."
"We have to keep an eye on him. That guy is hiding something. Did you see how afraid he was of the questions? And then he took shots at his father as if he were trying to exonerate himself. I will investigate him. Maybe we’ve got our guy, or at least someone who knows more than he wants us to believe."
Mabel bit her lip, unable to explain to him that the reality was very different.
"I left the car near to your shop, are you going there now?"
"Yes, I'm going home. It is already late."
They walked in silence on the main street, by now becoming less crowded. "Look!" Mabel said at one point, indicating the lighted window of a building.
What? He replied not understanding.
"That is the office of the attorney. It seems to me to be his room. He must have returned, didn't you have to talk to him?"
"Perfect! He will certainly be able to explain a lot to us. He said that on his return he would check the possible purchase by your aunt of the shares that were, at the time, sold to Mr. Hopkins. I hope he has already found the time to look for them."
They quickly went up to the floor of Mr. Hayes. The front door of the office was not locked. A sign that the lawyer was probably waiting for a client or, in a hurry, had passed by just to fetch some papers.
They heard some noise and Mabel approached the room of Mr. Hayes. It was ajar but when they opened it wide, they stopped.
"You? What are you doing here? Don’t move!" Randy said to George White, who was trying to open the attorney’s desk drawer with a letter opener. Sheets of paper and pamphlets were scattered everywhere, a sign that the search for whatever papers had been going on for a while.
Instinctively the man pointed the letter opener at the policeman, then realizing that he didn’t have a chance with a man far younger and more athletic than he, threw it on the desk.
"Lean against the wall and don’t move. Mabel, you go home immediately. I'll call you later," he ordered and took his phone to call for reinforcements.
CHAPTER 9
Mabel awoke again with a headache. She tried to go over in her mind the events of the day before. To have found her former uncle in the office of the lawyer had been a real surprise. The fact that he brandished a letter opener as a weapon had scared her a lot and when Randy ordered her to go home she escaped practically running. She realized that she might be in the way and for an instant what crossed her mind was the classic scene of so many movies where the villain grabs the first person he can to use as a shield.
She had been waiting for Randy’s call and when it didn't come she got worried and tried to call him. He didn’t answer but after a few minutes sent a reassuring text. Everything’s ok. I'll call you tomorrow.
While she was thoughtfully looking at the message again, the phone rang. She jumped and replied in a low voice.
"Hey? Are you okay?" Randy asked her.
"I, yes. But more important, what about you. How did it go yesterday? I was quite concerned."
He heard a kind of a chuckle on the other end, and then he said. "It all went fantastically well. We tried to squeeze Mr. White but he didn’t open his mouth. At this point, it is clear he has something to hide, and the Sheriff now has his eyes focused on him, although he hasn’t yet ruled out that you are still involved. On the contrary, he actually thought that you might be complicit. But in any case, with Mr. White in jail the Sheriff calmed down a bit, and I don't think he wants to lock you up right away."
"Right away? Do you mean, however, that he still intends to take me in?"
"Well, yes... but now we can return to our investigation."
Mabel smiled. Our investigation. Our, It was so... intimate! But what are you thinking, stupid!
Then she said. "So what do we do?"
"I would say it's time to talk to that the accountant, Whitmore, whom we haven't seen yet. I got the address. Let's see what he has to tell us. Can you come?"
"I have an appointment in the late morning. If we go now, I should be able to make it, right?"
"I think so. I’ll pick you up soon."
The phone closed, Mabel jumped in the shower and got ready to leave as quickly as possible. She looked in the mirror and with the snap of her fingers she changed her dress several times. She felt agitated, and it seemed that nothing was good enough. With her hands on her hips, she kept on looking. It wasn't the dress, but her face. Puffy eyes made her tired and ugly. The almost sleepless night and the headache were ruining her appearance. She snapped her fingers again, slowly reciting a dirge. Suddenly her face became more smooth, and she no longer seemed tired, while a warm tan made her eyes stand out. Witches did not like to use their powers for personal reasons, futile or not, but once in a while Mabel gave in.
When Randy arrived, he looked at her surprised. "Looks like you're just back from a vacat
ion. Maybe the investigation is doing you good!"
She smiled, trying to hide the blush that was coming to her face.
The drive was rather long because of the traffic of that time of day. Mr. Whitmore lived in a residential area outside of town, nice but unpretentious. His home was a small, well-kept cottage, probably the best on the road. Randy drove up and parked. The driveway was clean, unlike the road which was covered by a thick layer of dry leaves, a sign that the man was very meticulous. At the sides of the front door, there were two pots with green plants and on the windowsill alongside, small pots of chrysanthemums brightened up the front of the house with their vibrant shades of yellow and orange.
