by Iris Kincaid
Holy crap. They were loan sharks. Family business? Organized family business, perhaps? All of a sudden, John Goodman was starting to look a bit more like James Gandalfini. Not that Margo had ever seen a full episode of The Sopranos. It was too scary.
“These troublemaker people who didn’t stick to your agreements. Is it possible that one of them might have somehow been involved in the . . . poisoning?”
“Don’t see how that would be possible,” Carson scoffed. “It was that restaurant owner. They caught him red-handed.”
“Oh, no doubt. But . . . maybe he was in cahoots. Maybe he was used by someone else. Did Julian have any enemies?”
“He was a saint,” Trudy insisted. “Lester, you and Rowena ought to name the baby after him. You really should.”
Lester shook his head. “I don’t think that is a good idea, ma. You’d cry every time you heard his name. It would make us all sad.”
He may have had a point. Trudy burst into tears.
“I should probably go,” Margo said, rising to her feet.
“That’s it? Don’t you have more questions?” Carson wondered.
“I already know the most important things. He was a well-loved man who was devoted to his family.”
Everyone nodded, momentarily silent in their agreement.
Margo couldn’t keep up the ruse any longer. She didn’t want to learn what Julian Meeks’s favorite colors or books were, or the fraternities he belonged to, or how much he loved football. She had far more important questions and a far more urgent interrogation to conduct.
*****
Russell was happy to see Margo again. Always good to see a friendly face, except . . . right at that moment, she wasn’t looking quite as friendly as he had anticipated.
“So, Russell, you were able to start a terrific restaurant. That doesn’t sound easy. I could never have started my business without my great-aunt leaving me her estate. I can’t help but wonder, forgive me for saying so, but your family didn’t have a lot of money. Which just makes starting your own restaurant even more of a tremendous accomplishment. I don’t mean to pry, but how on earth did you raise the money to do it?”
“I borrowed it.”
“From whom?”
“What?”
“From whom did you borrow it?” Margo cocked her head and stared Russell down, daring him to lie.
“Okay, okay. I knew the dead guy. I borrowed thirty thousand dollars from him. And I had twelve months to pay it back, with interest. Fifty thousand was the amount that I had to pay back.”
“Russell!”
“It was doable. I mean, I had to make it work. It was the only way. Only, there was this huge snafu with my liquor license. They said I filled the application out wrong and they’d sent me a notice about that. But I never got it. And eventually, I had to re-apply. That cost me three months. My second application—same thing! How does that happen? I was frantic. I worked it out eventually, but I opened the restaurant six months later than expected. And it wasn’t enough time to get fifty grand together.”
“What did they say? The loan sharks?”
“I went to Julian Meeks myself to ask for more time. He asked me if I had fire insurance. I said, of course. And he said, ‘if we don’t get our fifty grand on the agreed upon date, your place will burn to the ground. You’ll collect the insurance, and you’re gonna hand over that check to me. In its entirety. Then, no broken bones. No trip to the hospital. Not everyone’s cut out to be a businessman.’ That’s what he told me.”
“Russell, you knew him. You lied.”
“’Course I lied. Everyone is just going to see this as . . .”
“Motive? Ya think?”
Russell flinched. “My lawyer told me not to tell anyone. He said no one would be able to see past it. Was he right?”
Margo shook her head in unhappy confusion. Why was it so difficult to accept what was so glaringly obvious right before her? No doubt, it was because of the years of guilt she had carried from that day so long ago when she was unable to help him. The case against Russell hadn’t made much sense to her, previously, because it was lacking motive. She had to get away from those sad, pleading Ewan McGregor eyes before they turned her into a sap.
“I’ve gotta go.”
Russell slumped back in his seat, defeated.
*****
Russell’s secret was unlikely to remain one for long. The fact that he lied to the police about his connection to the victim—after than became known, neither the police nor jury would have any doubts about his guilt. Nor should she. Margo was well and truly bummed out. She hadn’t had a clear idea about how she could help Russell, but she had wanted so badly to believe in his innocence.
She wandered distractedly down a cheerful retail street past shops like She Sells Sea Shells and Pirate Mania, with its life-sized devilishly handsome pirate mannequin greeting guests at the entrance with a drawn sword—not exactly historically correct, but the tourists didn’t care. A glance across the street rewarded her with the sight of Walter Knox and a woman Margo assumed to be his wife heading into a fish and chips pub.
Walter, who had impressed her as a horribly vindictive guy, was willing to let his brother rot in jail. Margo had completely pegged him as the villain. But now, she didn’t know what to think. What if she got it all wrong? At this point, she had to entertain the possibility that Russell was lying to her. Was it possible that Walter Knox might be able to supply the truth?
By the time she entered, Walter and his wife were already seated, munching on chips and chugging down tall beers. Walter was also on his cellphone. Margo quietly slipped into the adjoining booth. She wouldn’t interrupt their meal but would wait till they were ready to leave. Which meant she should order something.
“Lunch special?” The waitress asked.
That would be fish and chips—fried food, which had always been a no-no. The old heart demanded a pristine diet. But Lilith Hazelwood’s heart could certainly handle a little fish fry from time to time. Besides, she was hungry, and the smell from the kitchen was mouthwatering.
“Sure, and a mango sparkler.”
Most people tend to raise their voices on a cellphone. Walter was no exception.
“Well, we can’t pull the plug till next Wednesday. Have to wait for ten days after signing the papers. Then the doctor says he can’t possibly last more than forty-eight hours after that. Which puts us at Friday. No, no. I got medical power of attorney. So all that’s going to go off without a hitch. I just want to make sure there’s no delay in the reading of the will, and how soon I can get a check from his estate. Could take a few weeks to sell his house. That’s the big payoff for sure. But how soon can we get cash up front? Okay, I leave that in your hands. Don’t let me down. Talk to you next week.”
He hung up and clinked beer mugs with his wife.
“So, we good?” she asked eagerly.
“Just a few things to iron out. Harry’s a good lawyer. He’s on top of it. You know, the sooner the better. The important thing is that Grandpa kicks the bucket, and then you and I are on easy street.”
His wife nodded. “Yeah, but what if your brother is innocent?”
“Say that happens. He goes to court and he’s found innocent. Good for him. But Grandpa’s six feet under, his estate is mine, and Russell is out of luck. That works for me.”
Behind them, Margo had been becoming increasingly livid. So, this was the devoted grandson who had scolded Russell for wanting to stop the life-support and was so indifferent to whether his brother was guilty. Just as long as the matter was decided after the grandpa was no longer around to change his will. What sort of family loyalty was that? If there were one person in the world Russell should have been able to rely on, it was this greedy, selfish, insensitive, loutish, disloyal, poor excuse for a brother.
This final grim thought was accompanied by the unexpected shattering of Margo’s dinner plate and glass. Heavy ceramic and glass, filled with food and drink, just exploded
on the table, untouched by anything or anyone! Margo’s mouth dropped. What just happened? She looked around sharply. Earthquake? There had never been an earthquake in their neck of the woods, but if other people’s plates were shattering, then perhaps there was some rational explanation.
The waitress hurried over and looked as confused as Margo felt. “What on earth happened?” She looked accusingly at Margo, who was obviously suspected of having a tantrum and destroying property.
Margo pulled $25 out of her purse, and mumbling apologies, got out as quickly as possible. Good explanation. Reasonable explanation. Rational explanation. Because the irrational and intuitive explanation was completely berserk. Her anger at Walter Knox . . . had become the shattered glass. Which made so little sense, she would never be able to mention it to anyone, not even Bette.
And then out of nowhere, a memory of something someone said recently that she hadn’t been able to make head nor tails of at the time. “My dear, I had no idea you were one of us.”
Margo awoke after a near-sleepless night. “My dear, I had no idea you were one of us . . . one of us . . . one of us. Her new heart beat wildly. She was about to be faced with the mother of all red pill, blue pill choices, a scene she was only familiar with secondhand, as she had previously deemed The Matrix as one of those films that was too heart-pounding for her.
CHAPTER SIX
Delphine was not surprised to see Margo at the entrance to her boutique. “So, you are here at last.”
Margo got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What you mean?”
She knew that this was the last chance to hear something that would turn her world right side up again.
“You’ve come to find out who you are. What you are. Am I right?”
Margo nodded wordlessly.
“I think I’ll close up shop for a little while. Why don’t we take a little walk along the beach?”
Delphine put out a little sign on the door with an adjustable clock hand that said she would be back at two p.m. She took note of Lilith hovering nearby.
“It’s about time.”
“Patience,” Delphine responded. “She is almost there.”
The sandy beach was littered with red and white umbrellas and a rainbow of striped lawn chairs that were easily obtained from one of the local rental stands. The beach crowd was not as large as it would be on the weekends, but there was still a joyful buzz in the air, typical of children who are free from the classroom and adults untethered from their offices.
Margo and Delphine made their way to the waves in diametrically opposed states of anticipation. Delphine was more than happy to welcome Margo into the fold. Margo wanted to be reassured that she was the victim of hallucinations. Perhaps she should have gone to see the doctor instead of Delphine.
“What I tell you should be held in strict confidence, at least, for now. Even your nearest and dearest would be overwhelmed by it. Inside you beats the heart of the most powerful witch Oyster Cove has ever seen. Possibly the most powerful in all of New England.”
“Hah, east of the Mississippi is more like,” Lilith sneered proudly.
Delphine examined Margo’s shock. “Her abilities exceeded my own by a mile. I am heavily reliant on enhancers and conductors—those would be amulets, talismans, wands, and familiars. Those are items that concentrate one’s power, much like a magnifying glass. Lilith was so powerful, she seldom needed them. And while most of us are limited to proximity magic, Lilith could cause great consequences at significant distances. Her body was the only enhancement she needed. Her power coursed through her veins, burst out of every pore, and was contained in every molecule of her body, every organ. Power so potent, it has outlived her.
You have her heart, Margo, and all the power it contained has taken root in you. I sensed it that day in her home. It was irrefutable. You were one of us. You are one of us.”
Margo pulled away. “I’m not a witch. That’s impossible.”
“Then why did you come to see me? Something happened. Something you couldn’t explain? In a moment of anger, perhaps?”
Margo looked at her wide-eyed, not even wanting to confirm.
“Anger does not need to be feared or suppressed. It is like fuel. I’m sure it was the driving force behind Lilith’s power.”
“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Margo said miserably.
Delphine chuckled. “I don’t think that anyone ever accused Lilith of being nice.”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Lilith bristled.
Delphine shrugged. “It’s true.”
“But that is not the standard she is to be judged by. Lilith was a force of nature,” Delphine continued.
“You were friends?”
“No. Although . . . I wouldn’t have minded that. I’m sure I could have learned a great deal from her. I don’t know if I had anything equivalent to offer . . . except for my crab cakes. They are divine, if I do say so myself.”
Lilith was taken aback. She was certain the other witches in town regarded her with fear and jealousy. Hmmph!
“But, but . . . I don’t want to be a witch.”
“Why ever not? That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. Who would renounce their natural abilities? Do people who are scientifically brilliant or athletically gifted wish that their abilities would vanish? Witches aren’t bound by the limited comprehension and powers of commoners. Oh, that is how people outside our community are usually referred to. A bit derogatory, I’m afraid, but descriptive. Why choose to become one? To be fenced in by gravity and physics and the paltry reach of your six senses? Why would you want to be less than powerful?”
“But . . . what do witches do with all that power? What did Lilith Hazelwood do?”
“Anything she wanted. Surely, you can think of things that you want for yourself, your family, and your friends. Life beyond the limits of your imagination. I can help teach you everything I know.”
“Are you a powerful witch?”
“Average, which is plenty.”
“Maybe you can help me. I’m having trouble understanding how to find the truth and help out a friend. If he’s innocent, then he needs my help, and if he’s not, then I just need to be sure.”
“Is this important to you?”
Margo nods.
“Good. I can think of no more perfect motive to uncover and develop your powers. Afterward, you will be in a far better position to decide whether you want to be a witch.”
“It’s not a decision,” Lilith fumed. “You can’t decide not to be a witch!”
“That she must discover for herself.”
“Make haste, Delphine. I grow impatient.”
Threats were second nature to Lilith. Delphine thought it better not to remind her that her capacity for retaliation wasn’t what it used to be.
Witchcraft. Powers. Exploding glass. It was a dilemma that Margo would have to hold at arm’s length. It sounded like a road from which she would never be able to turn back. When it came to Russell and the murder, perhaps she would find the answers she needed without the need to pursue these alarming new powers. Perhaps she could find all the answers she needed to find—everything, in fact, that she wanted in life—without being dragged into this strange new world.
No time like the present. If someone else had committed the murder, then they had been at the restaurant that night. How to find out who had been there? She couldn’t ask Russell. If guilty, he would lie to her. If innocent, he was obviously clueless or he would have mentioned the suspect. The police were unlikely to share information with her. It was time to go to the restaurant and see what she could find out.
*****
It was the first time Margo had ever seen it. Barcelona was a beautiful place, Mediterranean-style with the pink adobe covering and burgundy shutters and canvases. There was patio seating at either side of the entrance and a large area to the side. At full capacity, it could hold quite a crowd.
But there was no crowd there today, although the place was clearly o
pen, and it should have been a busy lunch hour. Margo peeked in to look about for customers in a place with about sixty booths and tables. Without the distraction of customers, it was easier to see the striking Gaudi tribute inside, with photos and colorful murals of the revolutionary artist’s otherworldly work on every wall.
A young woman who looked frazzled and unhappy came to seat her.
“Welcome. Table for one?”
There was something about her that hinted this wasn’t really her regular job.
“I’m Margo, a friend of Russell’s.”
“Oh, thank you so much for supporting us in this difficult time. It’s been impossible to get customers to come in with all these terrible lies flying around, you know, poison in a restaurant.”
“I believe that part was true,” Margo reminded her gently.
“Well, yes . . . but Russell didn’t have anything to do with it,” the woman said emphatically.
“And you are . . .?”
“His fiancée. Wendy Phillips. We were planning on getting married in November. You know, when the season’s over. Everything was going so well. The opening was incredible. The place was packed every night. And the food is amazing, you know. Everyone seemed to think so.”
“And you work here with him?”
“No, not usually. I just do the office stuff—inventory, payroll. Russell was the chef, the visionary. This place was his beautiful dream.”
Margo thought about the pride she took in her own business. What a great life Russell had created for himself. And what a mess it had become.
“Wendy, I need to talk to everyone who was working that night. Do you have that information?”
“Sure. But why?”
Margo shrugged. “Just wondering if the police missed anything.”
Wendy scoffed. “After they found the arsenic, they acted like there was nothing else to look for.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Thank you for even trying.”
Margo took a seat in the corner table. One by one, the employees came to speak with her. Some had to be summoned from their homes since so few were needed to attend to the reduced clientele. But it was not an unpleasant wait for Margo. Wendy was so grateful, that she kept a steady supply of tapas headed in Margo’s direction, who was more than happy to sample the garlic prawns, the mushroom and Gruyere quiche, and the spicy potato wedges.
