by Mara Webb
“Too big!” I wheezed as my body continued to grow. I climbed out of the car quickly and in the window, I saw the reflection of an extremely tall and muscular man in a tight leopard print leotard. I was bald with a thick curly moustache, looking like a strongman from an old-time circus.
Inside the car I saw Granny Sponks creasing with fits of laughter. I bent down and glared at her. “Are you kidding me?!” I shouted, a deep booming voice coming from my throat. “What happened to normal?!”
“Oh honey, it was an accident!” She said through fits of laughter. “I was thinking of a regular joe, but then the image of your grandfather came into my mind! God bless his soul.”
“My grandfather was a strongman?”
“The very best!” she said vehemently, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “Sorry kiddo, but you’re stuck with this now! Can’t do the spell more than once a day!”
“Yeah, and I’m not going to get inside looking like this, unless—”
An idea suddenly came to mind and I shut the car door and walked over to the tall iron gates that bordered the studio. No one else was currently here, so I decided to try something quickly. I grabbed a bar in each hand and pulled them apart. To my delight they bent with ease given my new strength, opening until there was a gap wide enough for me to climb through.
I ducked inside and bent the bars back behind me. Granny Sponks was on the sidewalk, her spectral form walked over to the fence and passed through it easily.
“Now you’re thinking on your feet, girl! Your Grandpa Eustice used to be the strongest man on Pendle Island! Gosh, I’ve missed seeing those muscles work!”
“Wow, this just got very weird. Can you go back into the ring now? I think I’m done with the help, thanks!”
“And miss out on those tree trunks Eustice called legs? I don’t think so! I’m sticking around for a bit!”
“Great, that’s not distracting at all. Thanks.”
“Ouchy mama!” Granny said, walking behind me. “Eustice sure was a catch in his day!”
“Kill me now, kill me now, kill me now,” I whispered under my breath while heading in the direction of the studio.
“What did you say?!” Granny shouted.
“Just be quiet and stay out of my way!” I said, taking notice of her for the last time.
I had broken in somewhere on the outer edge of the studio, so it took a minute or two of random twists and turns to get into the action. I felt extremely self-conscious of the way I looked, but when walking past one of the studios I saw an old time circus set inside. A young man in a headset and glasses ran up to me, seemingly out of breath.
“There you are!” he said. “Why aren’t you on your mark? We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“I um, had to use the little boys’ room,” I said, my grandpa’s voice booming from my mouth.
“Just get back to your mark and stay put, we’re going to need you in a few minutes.” The runner pointed to a taped ‘X’ just off the side of the stage. I intended to head over and then duck out, but a sign on the wall caught my eye. It said, ‘Dead as a Dodo, Scene 29’.
“Wait a second,” I said to the runner. “This is another scene from my mom’s book? I thought the producers made it into a sci-fi flick.”
“Oh they did,” the runner said, “this is a flashback scene for Captain Collins, played by mister prima donna over there.” He pointed to a man sitting in a chair, there was a name stitched into the back of it: Sam Lopez.
“I know him, he’s the hot guy from those toothbrush commercials.”
The runner gave me a funny look and I reminded myself I now had the appearance of a giant burly man. “Yeah, and he’s also a right pain in the butt. These actors are all the same, the moment someone puts their name on a chair they think they’re god’s given gift to mankind. Just because he’s the leading man in some cheesy TV movie.”
“Ah, why are the pretty ones always scumbags?”
“That’s not even the half of it,” the runner said. “I saw him stumbling out of his trailer the other day with his co-star, the one that was dating that knucklehead Bryce.”
“Wait… Winnie is having an affair with her co-star?” I said, mostly to myself.
“Yeah, and by the way, I shouldn’t have told you that. Keep it to yourself buddy, we don’t need any more drama on this set. Now do me a favor and go stand on your mark.”
“Sure thing captain,” I said and headed in the direction the runner pointed. As soon as I saw him turn around I ducked left and out of the studio.
“What happened in here anyway?” Granny Sponks asked me while we walked. “Why do you keep breaking in here?”
“Someone killed a producer, and mom is one of the suspects. I’m trying to solve things.”
“Lorelai? That wicked little thing. I always knew she wasn’t right in the head. Why did she do it?”
“Honestly, I don’t think she did, it was just bad timing. This guy was a real piece of work, everyone hated him.”
“Catch me up to speed,” she snapped. “Who do you suspect?”
“There’s a writer he ripped off, fired, and publicly embarrassed. A director with money troubles, and then there’s mom. I think this actor could potentially be a suspect too. He’s having a secret affair with his co-star, the young actress that was dating the dead producer.”
“I don’t follow,” she said.
“Well this young actor could have got jealous that he was the other man. Maybe he thought it was time to get the producer out of the picture. Literally.”
Granny Sponks’ forehead knotted with wrinkles as she tried to follow the various threads of thought. “All this mystery business, it doesn’t make any sense to me. My sister, your Great Aunt Beatrix, she was a dab hand at problem solving in her time. Maybe you inherited it from her. She was the clever one, Griselda was the scary one, and I was the tough one.”
“You sure you weren’t the scary one?” I muttered.
“I heard that!”
I walked around the corner and bumped into a small man with silver hair. From my sheer size he stumbled back and hit the ground. It was Marty, the director, the very same person I was looking to talk to.
“Sorry sir,” I said and held out a hand to pick him up. “Say, aren’t you the director?”
“I am.” He looked me up and down, taking in my ridiculous get up. “And aren’t you meant to be on set?”
“Yes… they actually just sent me here to find you. There’s a young girl on set, Chelsea something or other. She’s been looking for you.”
Marty paled. “She what? How did she get in?! This is ridiculous.”
“Stalker?” I asked.
“What?” he said, trying to look around my frame. I sensed he no longer wanted to go to set. “No, some crazy busybody that runs around the island wasting everyone’s time!”
“Oh, she’s looking into the murder from the other night?” I said cluelessly. “I thought they arrested her mother for that though.”
“They did, so she has no reason to be sniffing around here any longer!” Marty glanced at his watch and shook his head. “We’ll never get this shot in time. I might as well go back to my trailer at this point. Go back to the stage and tell Sylvia I went back to my trailer. I’m not coming out until security finds that girl and escorts her off the premises!”
“Sure, sure,” I said, nodding quickly. Marty turned to leave but I called after him.
“Hey, Mr. Miller!” I whispered. He looked back at me. I needed to get him talking somehow and get answers without giving away my real identity. I had to think of something fast.
“What?!”
I hurried towards him. “Well, listen, I uh… the acting gig doesn’t always pay that reliably, so in between jobs, my resume… well…”
“Will you hurry up?!”
“Let’s just say it has some questionable moments. Some back of the van type jobs if you will.”
He stared at me blankly. “What in blaz
es are you trying to say?!”
“I’m saying if you’re hard up for cash, I could put you in touch with my employer, a few legally questionable jobs here and there, they help put the bread on the table.”
“Excuse me? Are you offering me work as a career criminal?” Marty looked incensed. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?!”
“Hey, chill out man. I just heard rumors on the grapevine, that’s all. You seem like a good guy, and you’re a great director, I’d hate to hear you went bankrupt.”
“I’m not going bankrupt, but thank you very much for the unwarranted concern. A piece of advice Mister…”
“Sadler,” I said, making up the first name that came to mind.
“Stop poking your nose in other people’s business,” he said, turning to leave again.
“It’s just,” I continued, “if you needed help cleaning up any evidence you might have left behind, I could help. Throw the police off your scent.”
He looked back at me again, his eyes narrow with suspicion now. Marty turned his head. “Maybe I’m misunderstanding, are you suggesting that I killed Tyson Bryce? They already got his killer! It was his crazy psycho ex!”
“Come on sir,” I said, throwing in a fake laugh for good measure. “I’ve done time. I know a culprit when I see him.”
Marty let out a flabbergasted breath. “I can’t believe I’m actually wasting my time on this, but here we are. Do you know how Bryson died?”
“The police said it was a bowling ball to the head, a prop from the set.”
“Do me a favor,” he said. “Lift those big arms of yours above your head.” I did. He then lifted both his hands up until they were just about parallel with the ground. There was obvious strain, his face red and running with sweat.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Rheumatoid arthritis in both shoulders,” Marty said. “Extremely advanced, basically no cartilage left. Constant agony and pain carefully managed with prescription painkillers. Just lifting a cup to my mouth is an exercise in extreme patience. You think these are the arms of a man that can lift a bowling ball and kill someone?”
“…No,” I said, completely floored by the revelation.
“Me neither,” he said. “Now get back to set and tell Sylvia I’ll be in my trailer until that darn busybody is gone. And Mr. Sadler…”
“Yes?”
“Pack up your things and get off my set. You’re done.”
“Just like your hopes of solving this mystery!” Granny Sponks laughed from behind him. I watched helplessly as Marty turned around and walked through the see-through specter, oblivious that she was there. She also disappeared a second later in a shower of sparks, leaving me alone on some unknown corner of the studio.
I knew one thing for sure. It was time to get out of here.
10
I was getting nowhere with this mystery, so I decided to get as far away from the studio as I possibly could and headed back to my Buttercup. Once on the other side of the gates I made sure the coast was clear and let the spell fade, taking back my regular appearance once more.
Buttercup started with a rusty splutter and I put my foot down, not knowing where I was heading to as I drove through the streets of Pendle town. It was as if I was driving on autopilot for a few minutes while I let my mind wonder over this case and its curious lack of answers. So far, the only real piece of evidence had been on the ground for a few split seconds, and it was gone again before anyone else had seen it.
“MM…” I muttered to myself as I remembered the embroidered handkerchief. For the first time it occurred to me the initials matched those of the director, Marty Miller, but after my most recent run in with Marty it seemed highly unlikely he was the killer at all. Leonard Bell suggested Marty didn’t have a squeaky clean past, but Marty wasn’t a convincing suspect given the fact he couldn’t even lift the murder weapon.
“Unless he was faking,” a voice said from the passenger seat beside me. I screamed and almost swerved off the road entirely. Looking over I saw my cat Artemis stand up and stretch on the seat.
“Artemis!” I yelled. “What are you doing here?!”
“I got bored! I haven’t seen you in like two days! Do you know how wild it is now I can leave the house grounds and explore the town again with my own four feet?! Don’t worry, I left a note to let people know I was leaving.”
“How did you get in here?”
“Magic baby,” he said with a toothy grin.
“But how did you even know this was my car?”
“Chelsea I’m your familiar, I can always feel you out. I thought it would be fun to come and tag along with your mystery solving. I never get to be part of the fun; I only get to hear about it afterwards! Plus I recognized Buttercup. There’s no chance in hell anyone else would be seen dead driving this thing.”
“Hey, be nice to Buttercup!” I said and patted my hand on the dash. A cup holder fell off and bounced into the back. “…She’s had a rough life.”
“So have the rest of us. Now clue me in. What’s going on in the world of Chelsea?”
“No offense Artemis, but you have the attention span of a goldfish with ADHD, I don’t expect you to listen to the details of something this complicated.”
Artemis twisted his face in mock offense. “I beg your pardon! I’ll have you know I’m a brilliant attention payer, or whatever the word is. I was listening the entire time while you’ve been driving.”
“I wasn’t talking.”
“Yes you were, you talk to yourself out loud when you’re thinking. You basically told me the entire case!”
“Oh…” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. I hadn’t realized I talked to myself so much. “Well, do you have any hunches?”
“I think it’s the writer,” Artemis said. “It’s always the writer. Or is that the butler? I don’t remember how the saying goes. Is there a butler involved in this story?”
“I knew I could rely on you for such sterling insights.” I sighed and pulled over on the side of the street. I hadn’t meant to, but I’d driven right to Madam Crème’s patisserie shop, one of my favorite places to grab a snack on this island.
“Oh save us all,” Artemis groaned as he saw the French bakery through the window. “Why did you bring us here? Sophia is such a dreary woman.”
“You’ve met her?”
“Sometimes me and the other familiars come down here in astral form to watch her bake. It’s quite hypnotic, but man, she sure can complain with the best of them.”
“Yes, but her baking skills are second to none. You are welcome to stay in the car. In fact, I encourage it.”
“Fat chance! I’m coming!”
I hopped out of the car and Artemis jumped out of the driver door too. It wasn’t currently raining at the moment, but there were puddles on the road from a shower earlier this morning. It was a short walk from the car to Sophia’s bakery, and halfway there a car sped past and ran right through one of the puddles.
“No!” I shouted as I saw a wall of water coming at us. I closed my eyes and turned away, ready to feel a bracing ice cold slap, but instead I felt nothing. Gingerly I opened one eye and then another. I faced the road and saw a wall of shimmering blue light in front of me.
“What the—” Artemis began.
“That could have been much worse!” someone shouted across the road. There was Benny the magical hobo, pushing a trolley down the sidewalk. He’d stopped and was pointing an umbrella in our direction, its tip sparkling with light blue electricity.
“Benny! It’s Benny!” Artemis shouted in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see you!”
The silver-bearded man smiled and waved at me. “Where’s that umbrella I got for you?”
“I uh…” I started, realizing I’d left it in the car. I felt like a child that had forgot her homework. “It’s in the car, sorry!”
He rolled his eyes as if it didn’t matter and kept on smiling, pushing his trolley back down the sidewal
k again. “Look after yourself now!”
“You too!” I shouted back. I looked down and saw Artemis gawping. We glanced at one another. “Are you okay?”
“I’m ecstatic Chelsea, I just met Benny! He’s like the Buster Keaton of Pendle Island!”
“Really? Buster Keaton? I think your references need updating a little.”
“Um, hello, I’ve been trapped in Griselda’s house for literally decades. Cut me some slack!”
“Fair enough,” I said, looking back to see Benny. He had gone now, probably disappearing in another flash of smoke while we weren’t looking. “That’s the third time I’ve seen him,” I said as we carried onto the bakery.
“Three times? You must be really lucky, or maybe crazy just follows crazy.”
“Is he really crazy? He seems like a really nice guy, and he’s helped me out pretty much every time I met him.”
“Crazy and nice aren’t mutually exclusive,” Artemis pointed out. “Benny is a powerful wizard you know, he might look like some crackpot that wonders the streets, but he’s involved with some very serious magic.”
“He is?”
Artemis nodded his head firmly. “He’s a Cepa, that’s an extremely complicated magical position that involves looking after time magic.”
I recalled Benny showing me a glimpse of his power and felt a headache coming on. “He showed me actually. He sees multiple versions of reality all at once. I think I’d go crazy too if I had to live like that all the time. Poor guy, I feel sorry for him.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too, but less chit chat. Let’s get some sugar!”
We hopped up the stairs leading into Sophia’s French bakery, the bell on the door jingling daintily as we stepped inside. Sophia wasn’t at the counter; she was sat at a table reading a newspaper and smoking a long pink cigarette. She didn’t even look over her paper to regard me.
