by Nic Saint
Alice’s lips quirked up into a grin. “Because the new owner is none other than… Cassandra Beadsmore.”
Twin gasps from Bianca and Bettina told Chazz the name should ring a bell. Unfortunately, as he hadn’t followed the conversation too closely, it didn’t. “Who’s this Cassandra Beadsmore?” he asked peevishly.
“She’s the grandmother of Estrella, Ernestine and Edelie Flummox,” said Fee, and everyone’s eyes darted back to the screen, where images of the three being welcomed by the President in the Oval Office were now being shown.
“Oh, God!” cried Chazz. “Tell me it isn’t so! Those three are moving to Happy Bays?!”
“Look like,” said Fee, and she, too, was smiling now.
“Wait till they make Bell’s disappear,” he warned. “Or turn this entire town on its head!”
“I think it’s great,” said Alice, displaying a wide grin now.
Her fiancé Reece Hudson seemed to agree. “This place could use some livening up,” he said approvingly. “Been pretty dead around here lately.”
Bianca and Bettina shared a quick look of understanding. “We better get over there to welcome this newest addition to our town,” Bianca said.
“I’m coming too,” Fee quickly added, and soon, it seemed, the entire company agreed they should say hi to this Cassandra Beadsmore.
“I’m not doing it,” announced Chazz to anyone who’d listen. Unfortunately no one did. They were all excitedly chattering about what the presence of three so-called witches would mean to Happy Bays.
Nothing good, he gathered. What it meant was that even in his home away from home he wasn’t going to be able to relax. But soon he was alone with his apple crumble and cup of coffee, Bell’s Bakery quickly emptying as even Rick couldn’t wait to meet these Flummoxes. So he heaved a tired groan, and finally decided to join them, dragging his feet a little. He might not like the fact that the witches were coming, but at least he should be prepared.
Chapter 30
It didn’t take us long to go from Washington back to New York, and so we arrived at the restaurant where Susan Gnash was last seen in what was probably a record time. Of course we had a private presidential plane to transport us, and another motorcade from the airport into Queens, stopping traffic at all the intersections as we came blazing through. Pretty impressive for three girls who’d been accused of an act of terrorism only hours before! Things were now moving so fast they made my head spin!
Buck’s Diner was located on Jackson Street and was a family-owned restaurant. Susan had met with a friend, accompanied by a bunch of Secret Service agents as usual. She’d taken advantage of a trip to the bathroom to escape her entourage and slip out the back… and hadn’t been seen again.
CCTV cameras had picked her up when she’d crossed the street but had lost her when she disappeared around a corner into a dead-end street.
We walked from Buck’s, following in Susan’s footsteps, while trying to pick up any sign of the girl, Sam following a few yards behind with Pierre.
We walked in silence, focusing on the sights and sounds of this busy shopping street, and then crossed the street exactly where Susan had.
Why had Susan decided to run away? Her friend said Susan was the one who’d invited her here, apparently anxious to meet her. She was a childhood friend from her old school, before Jack Gnash became the president and the family moved into the White House, and they’d chit-chatted about this and that, having a great time, when Susan said she needed to go to the bathroom.
She’d seemed nervous, but in an exhilarated sort of way, as if excited about something. Or someone?
I glanced at the corner, but all I could see was a barber shop, and when we reached it there was nothing out of the ordinary. Had Susan seen the shop and wanted to check it out? But why? Didn’t she have her own hairdresser?
I pointed at the store, and Sam said, “We talked to the owner. Susan never set foot inside, and she can’t remember seeing her walking past either.”
Of course. Susan was a perfectly ordinary-looking girl. Blond-haired, like her mother, and blue-eyed, like her father, and for the occasion dressed down in a simple pair of jeans, a sweater and Converse shoes, just like any teenager. She obviously didn’t want to stand out when she met her friend for drinks. Or when she planned to run away and disappear into the city.
We rounded the corner and found ourselves in a different and uglier world. The street contained houses and stores that were either boarded up or busted up. Even the road was a mess, the asphalt full of holes and the pavement a graveyard of uneven stones, moss and grass visible through the cracks. A car wreck was haphazardly parked and a row of dumpsters lined the back wall, where the alley abruptly led to a dead end. Obviously this part of Queens needed some attention from city planners and urban developers.
We walked into the street, and I felt a marked chill grip my heart. My sisters must have felt it, too, for they both clutched their hands to their hearts as we proceeded. The sun was unable to reach between the buildings, and the cul-de-sac was soon cast in shadows, making it even more creepy than it already was.
“These houses and stores have all been condemned,” Sam said from behind us, like a running commentary. “Only squatters live here now. The entire street is scheduled to be razed to make way for a new development. But there was a problem with the permits and then one of the developers went bust so the project’s been on hold for the last couple of years.”
We walked on, careful not to trip over the jutting stones and the garbage that was strewn everywhere. I couldn’t imagine Susan Gnash voluntarily wanting to come here. Why would she want to step into this street? Was she meeting someone? Had she arranged to meet a boy, and was this whole arrangement with her friend just a set-up to get rid of her entourage?
I tried to be alert for any sign, anything that was going on beneath the superficial level or everyday reality, and then, from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a figure. But when I looked over, there was nobody there. But I knew what I’d seen, and I’d recognized him. It was Julius, Tavish’s beggar persona. So I prodded Ernestine in the ribs. “I think I just saw Tavish.”
“You did?” she asked. “Where?”
I pointed at the sagging storefront across the street, and she looked over.
“I don’t see anything,” she said.
“I’m sure I saw him. He was in his Julius persona.”
“He’s trying to get in touch with us,” said Estrella happily.
“Finally,” agreed Ernestine.
“Do you think he knows where Gran is?” asked Estrella hopefully.
“Let’s find out,” I said, and purposefully crossed the street.
When we arrived at the store, which had once been a convenience store, it was obvious no one had been here for a long time. The storefront was boarded up and liberally sprayed with graffiti tags. I frowned as I stared at the spot where I was sure I’d seen Tavish. Nothing indicated he’d ever been here, but I knew it was him. Even though I’d only seen a glimpse in my peripheral vision I was sure I wasn’t mistaken.
Sam came jogging up, along with Pierre. “What’s going on?” he asked.
I gestured at the boarded-up shop. “Did you check out this store?”
Sam stared at it, a little stupidly. “I’m not sure. Why?”
Without responding, I stepped up to it, and pushed at the particleboard. It easily gave way, and I stepped inside the dilapidated store, careful not to touch the shards of broken glass that were dangling from the window frame.
The fact that Tavish had appeared was a definite clue that something was going on here. He was pointing us in this direction, I thought. Helping us.
The others soon followed on my heel, and as I headed deeper into the store, I took out my phone and brought up the flashlight app. The store was now home to crackheads, for there were needles everywhere, littering the floor, and discarded old clothes and blankets, as if people had squatted here.
Sam touched
my arm, and whispered, “Let me go first!”
I saw he’d taken out his gun, and so had Pierre, and now they proceeded deeper into the building, Estrella, Ernestine and I following closely behind.
“Be careful, Sam,” I whispered. I knew this was the place, if not where Susan Gnash was being held, then at least where we would find a clue.
And as Sam and Pierre headed from the front part of the store into the back room, which looked like a small larder where goods had once been stored, I thought I glimpsed Julius again, and I gasped as I froze.
He was staring straight at me from a room to my immediate right. So I headed there, pointing my smartphone. Only, when I stepped into the room there was no sign of him. I searched around, and saw a table and a couple of upturned chairs, a kitchenette and a few cupboards. Probably a small kitchen where the store owners used to eat their lunch. Now it was home to more druggies, as I saw more needles, spoons, rubber bands, and a sleeping bag.
And that’s when I saw it. Two eyes… staring at me from beyond the wall. They were like the eyes of some feral animal, and they were watching me—observing my every move! But when I shone my light on them, they disappeared the moment the light hit them. What was going on?!
Something was here. A presence. And judging from the chills running up my spine and the hairs standing up on the back of my neck… this was no ordinary presence. This was clearly a malevolent presence.
I retraced my steps, my feet crunching broken glass, and then I bumped into something and I stopped. Whatever was behind me wasn’t the wall but a person. And when I whirled around I caught a glimpse of the person just before something hit me on the head and I went down, darkness quickly enveloping me. But before I passed out I knew I’d seen… Tavish Mildew.
Chapter 31
Sam headed deeper into the dilapidated shop, wondering if it had ever been popular with the locals. It sure was popular with the drug-abusing crowd now, he thought as he checked the telltale signs of drug use littered all over the pace. And as he sidestepped a crack pipe, he wondered if this was the answer to the baffling mystery of the Mummifier: he drugged his victims and used some special chemical concoction to turn them into mummies.
It was a definite possibility, and he was just about to suggest his theory to Edelie, when he saw that she was… gone! And so were her two sisters!
“Edie!” he called out, his voice echoing eerily in the small larder.
“They’re not here, Sam,” supplied Pierre helpfully. His partner was right behind him, his gun poised, though he was sure the man had never fired a gun in the course of duty in his life.
“Where are they?” he asked irritably, figuring they’d stepped out again, having discovered yet some other clue that had led them someplace else.
They’d reached the back of the shop, a modest city garden visible through broken windows. It was completely overgrown with weeds, though once upon a time must have been nice little patch of green for the owners of the store to relax and have a smoke.
He started picking his way back through the store and quickly found that the three girls were nowhere to be found. They’d simply vanished!
“Christ!” he cursed loudly, then stepped into the street again. He searched around, but found no trace of the sisters. “Where are they?!”
“Beats me, Sam,” said Pierre. “One moment they were right behind me and the next…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but from the worried look on his face it was obvious he thought something really bad had happened.
“What?” he asked. “You think they’ve been snatched?”
Pierre nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“But how?” he cried, looking up at the old store. “There’s no one there!”
But Pierre shook his head. “I… I don’t know, Sam.”
He might be one of the quietest people on the force, never raising his voice or imposing his opinions, but he was a very intuitive officer, and had often provided Sam with the definite clue that cinched a case. So he turned to the man now. “What do you think happened, Pierre? Your gut instinct.”
“Dark forces are at work here, Sam,” said the man softly.
“Dark forces, huh?” he asked skeptically. “Like what?”
But Pierre shook his head. “They’re long gone, Sam. I can feel it.”
“Oh, don’t start with that crap. Not you, too,” he growled.
“I just know they’ve been taken,” Pierre said stubbornly. “By the same person who took Susan Gnash and the others. I can feel it in my bones. And if we don’t find them soon they’re going to end up just like the others.”
The prospect filled him with marked dread. “Where did he take them?”
Pierre thought hard, then narrowed his eyes at Sam. “We found Sofya Craib in Central Park, maybe because that’s where she liked to go jogging. I’m pretty sure we’ll find Edelie, Estrella and Ernestine in whatever place they like to go in their leisure time.”
“But why? Why would he take their bodies there?”
Pierre placed a thoughtful finger to his lips. “To add insult to injury, I should guess. These are the places these women felt most alive, most energetic, so what better place to bring their desiccated remains than there?”
“So where is he taking Susan Gnash?” asked Sam, now also trying to put himself in the mind of this Mummifier.
Where did Susan Gnash like to hang out? Was she the sporty type? He thought she was. He remembered seeing pictures of her jogging in some park near the White House, surrounded by a posse of Secret Service men.
But Sofya Craib hadn’t been murdered in Central Park, and neither were the others. So where had they been killed?
Pierre was obviously following the same brainwave. “What did forensics have to say about Sofya Craib’s apartment?”
“Why? Do you think she was murdered in her own apartment?”
Pierre nodded slowly. “Murdered at home and then brought to the place where she was most alive.”
They’d gone through the victims’ apartments with a fine-tooth comb, and had found no indication they’d been killed there. Still, if this was Pierre’s theory… “Let’s get to Safflower House,” he suggested. “If your theory is correct, the Mummifier will have taken the girls there. Though I can’t imagine how he did it, without us noticing a thing. He must be a magician.”
Pierre still looked thoughtful, a frown marring his usually smooth brow. “It seems to me we’re not dealing with a normal killer here, Sam.”
“No, that’s a given,” he said. “But if your theory is correct, he would have taken Susan Gnash to the White House, and there’s no way he did that.”
“Where did the Gnashes live before they moved into the White House?”
He stared at the man. “Just around the corner from the Flummoxes.”
Pierre eyed him gravely. “Then I’d go there first,” he suggested.
Chapter 32
When I woke up, the first thing I became aware of was a splitting headache. But when I brought my hands to my head, I found they were tied behind my back. “What the heck,” I muttered, slowly opening my eyes.
To my surprise I found myself in familiar surroundings, and when finally memory returned, and I opened my eyes wider, I suddenly remembered I’d been knocked out… by… Tavish? But that simply wasn’t possible!
I glanced around. I was in Fallon Safflower’s old room, on the third floor of Safflower House. But how had I gotten here? And who had brought me? And then I noticed something else. Estrella and Ernestine, also knocked out, lying beside me on the wooden floor of the room.
I nudged Estrella with my foot. “Strel!” I hissed. “Wake up!”
She stirred, and so did Ernestine. Slowly, groggily, they both opened their eyes, and when they saw where they were, they were as confused as I was.
“What’s going on?” asked Strel, shaking her head as if punch-drunk.
“We’ve been taken,” I pointed out.
“But how? Why?” asked Ernestin
e, and groaned as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “I could use an aspirin right now. What happened to my head?”
“You were knocked out,” I said. “We all were.”
“Where’s Sam?” asked Estrella, searching around as if expecting to see the stalwart cop come to our rescue.
“And Pierre?” asked Ernestine, who seemed to have developed a fondness for Sam’s kind-hearted and soft-spoken partner.
“I’ll bet they’re still at that creepy shop in Queens,” I said, trying to wriggle out of my restraints. Unfortunately my hands were so tightly bound that the ropes or whatever they’d used were cutting off the blood supply. I couldn’t even wiggle my fingers, or cast a spell to free myself or my sisters.
“Who do you think did this to us?” asked Estrella.
“Maybe it was Gran?” suggested Ernestine. “And this is all some kind of elaborate punishment she cooked up because we defied her wishes?”
“I don’t think Gran would ever go so far as to knock us out,” Estrella said.
“But where is she?” I asked.
“No idea,” said Estrella as she, too, tried in vain to get rid of her restraints. I saw they were, indeed, ropes, and apparently applied by someone with an extensive knowledge of either macramé or scouting knots or worse.
“Before I passed out I thought I saw Tavish,” I said.
“You keep seeing Tavish, but where is he?” asked Ernestine.
“Didn’t you see who knocked you out?” I asked.
“Nope,” said Estrella as she gave up the struggle with the ropes. “I just remember a sharp pain in the back of my head, and then everything went dark.”
“Me too,” confirmed Ernestine.
We looked around, at the room filled with the paraphernalia of our ancestor. Spellbooks were neatly placed on the bookshelves, the brooms were still where they’d always been, and the room looked as tidy as usual.
“Mummifier!” Estrella now yelled out. “Show yourself, you foul fiend!”
