by Carrie Marsh
“Oh, no.” Mary began to clean up the ashes and carefully replaced the stones in their appropriate containers. She blew out the little candles, folded the white scarf, and stuffed it into the copper bowl and tucked everything in her purse, including the spell book. “There is a simple locator spell in the book at home. You know it as well as me. I can find her.”
Alabaster looked intently at Mary from halfway across the room. His huge gray body bulged over the considerably smaller box he had decided to rest in.
You forget that using a locator spell also means she can see you. That may not be safe.
Mary thought for a moment and then smiled at Alabaster.
“She’s not a witch. If she sees me in her mind’s eye, she’ll just think it’s a memory or something. In fact, if could actually work to our advantage. If she envisions me and then sees me, she might be more willing to talk. To her, it will be a weird de ja vu thing. Fate. Kismet. To us, it will be another key to the puzzle.”
You need to flip the OPEN sign over and unlock the front door. I hear someone out there.
“My goodness! I almost forgot.” Mary hurried to the front door, snapped the lock, and flipped the sign while pulling the door open.
“I thought you opened at nine,” Dawn Williamson snapped, looking down at her watch. It was three after. “I was about ready to leave and go to the big box store on the other end of town for my beads.”
“I sure am sorry about that, Dawn. I got a little carried away getting things in order.”
“It stinks in here,” Dawn continued to complain. “I’d leave the door open if I were you and get that smell out of here.”
“Oh, it’s just a little sage. It’ll dissipate in no time.”
Dawn picked up a flat, velvet-covered bead tray and began walking around the tables, her nose pulled so high up it made her face as wrinkled as a pug dog.
“I just wanted to say thank you again for getting such a nice group together for the beading class,” Mary said as she walked behind the register, scratching Alabaster behind the ear as she passed by him. “It really turned out well, don’t you think?”
“It was good for a first class.” Dawn didn’t look up as she spoke. Her eyes were downcast as she studied every bead size, shape, and texture. Woe be to her husband as Mary was sure he probably went through the same kind of scrutiny every day. “But I’m sure you’ll get better in time.”
Mary rolled her eyes. That was as good as she was going to get from Dawn.
“I’m thinking you should probably label your classes for beginners and for experts. I am quickly becoming an expert and would love to master a new pendant technique or the tubular peyote stitch.”
“Wow. You must really have a knack for this kind of stuff,” Mary said politely. Although she didn’t care for Dawn, she couldn’t deny she was talented and she was proving to be an excellent customer.
“You don’t have a six-foot by ten-foot wall covered in blue ribbons just by having a knack for something.” She had yet to look at Mary while she talked. “I’ve been crafting my whole life. I have to express myself. I can’t help it if I take it more seriously than most people.”
Mary nodded but was really just trying to avoid telling her to get off her high horse, just buy some beads, and go.
As if on cue, the door rattled open and Grace came busting in balancing two bright green cannolis on a paper plate. Her head was covered by a snake-skin patterned scarf that was an exact match to her boots.
“Hey!” she shouted, looking at Mary but suddenly distracted by the movement out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, hello, Dawn. Had I known you were here, I would have brought a cannoli for you, too.”
“I don’t eat those things,” Dawn snapped, adding another handful of beads to her tray.
“I do!” Mary cried out, laughing. “How did you know I didn’t have breakfast this morning?”
“Just a gut feeling,” Grace joked. “What’s that smell?”
“Oh, just a little sage. I burnt it to… cover up that weird new carpet smell. It’ll disappear in no time.”
“It doesn’t bother me. I like it.” Grace set the cannolis down on the craft table, pulled another plate from underneath the one she was carrying, and pulled two paper napkins from inside her shirt. “Sorry but I don’t have any pockets on my skirt.”
Mary laughed as she came around the counter, scooped up her plate, and took a bite out of the tubular treat. She shook her head and licked her lips.
“I swear. Your Irish husband makes the best Italian desserts,” Mary said with a mouth full of pastry.
“I’ll tell him you said so.” Grace took a bite and rolled her eyes. Before she started with her own conversation, Dawn sauntered up to the register, ready to make her purchase.
“So, when will you be having another class?” Dawn asked.
“That’s a good question,” Mary answered. “The topic of conversation revolving around Summer Moran’s death seemed to be too much for Carlie Boxsetter. She won’t commit to any more classes. Looks like I’ll have to find someone else.”
“You’d think that once the body is in the ground that things would go back to normal.” Dawn shook her head while handing the little plastic bags with the item numbers and prices on them to Mary. “But Ray has really gone off the deep end.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LESSON AT DAWN
LESSON AT DAWN
“Ray Hulka? Her cousin. How do you mean?” Mary set her cannoli down on the paper plate and looked at Dawn.
“It’s really sort of peculiar,” Dawn replied, still studying the beads she was about to purchase. “You’d think it was his wife who died by the way he’s been behaving.”
“Well, people all grieve differently,” Grace said. “Perhaps this is his first experience with death. Maybe he’s never had anyone close to him die before. Take Mary and me. How many funerals have we been to in the past six months?”
“Two.” Mary nodded.
“Two is right. And at one, we were laughing and telling stories.” Grace pointed her cannoli at Mary for emphasis. “The other we were distracted by the blatant disregard of funeral attire etiquette by some of the guests.”
“From what I’ve heard, things are a little more intense than just normal grieving.” Dawn looked toward the door before she continued. Satisfied she would not be interrupted, she finally looked up at Mary and Grace and began her story.
Dawn’s neighbor Linda had a close relationship with Hillary Hulka. They had actually met in college and become good friends. Graduation sent them on their separate ways but just four years after that they found out they both settled in Morhollow with brand new husbands just a hop-skip-and-jump from each other.
“Linda said that she always enjoyed being around Hillary and Ray. Ray was a born salesman. He could charm the rattle off a snake and sell snow to an Eskimo. The man was blessed with the gift of gab.” Dawn took a step closer. “Hillary also told Linda that Ray was very close with his cousin Summer.”
At this point, Dawn’s eyes narrowed.
When Ray was sixteen and Dawn was fourteen, they were spending the summer together with Ray’s family at their summer home in Cedar Lake. It was a dreamland for kids that age. There was a perfect manmade lake to swim in every day just down some rickety wooden steps off their back porch. The woods were full of old tree houses built by kids from summers long past. Thin dirt trails snaked their way through the forest and always seemed to lead back home.
At night, Ray’s father would start a bonfire so the kids could roast marshmallows or hotdogs or just sit and watch the flames lick up at the night and send embers shooting off like tiny fireworks.
The summer-home was a few bare rooms that held just the necessities. There were beds, blankets, and pillows. Two bookcases filled with books and board games sat in the front room. An old dusty pink couch and love seat with faded flowers on them faced the stone fireplace with a roll-top desk to keep them company. The kitchen had a card tab
le and four mismatched chairs around it. The fridge was old and creaked and shuddered when it kicked on and off and the sink was deep for washing fresh veggies and fruit picked up at the dozens of farm stands between Cedar Lake and civilization.
“Ray would compare every summer here to summers he spent with his cousin.” Dawn adjusted her bra strap underneath her blouse before continuing her tale. “According to Linda, he’d get a dreamy look in his eyes and getting him off the subject was like pulling a stubborn tooth.”
“So, he was stuck in those years of no responsibility and fun.” Grace grimaced. “Henry will talk about his football career in high school for days on end if I let him. Can I hear one more time how he turned down the head cheerleader to take me to the playoff game where he scored the winning touchdown? Sometimes I wish he did take her instead. Four children later.”
“What was her name?” Mary started to laugh.
“Connie Barbantini,” Grace said as if she had just bitten into a lemon.
“That’s fine.” Dawn interrupted our stroll down memory lane. “Remembering a big event like that is normal. But whenever Hillary or Linda asked what was so special about those summers, Ray would only say they made him feel young. He’d go on about how good Summer could swim, or hike, or climb trees. She was the sun, and he revolved around her.”
“So, if Summer was with her family all summer long, how is it that she came to be so wild? What went wrong?” Mary leaned against the wall, her cannoli still in her hand. “Did Ray ever say?”
“Hillary told Linda that Ray and Summer didn’t spend any more summers at Cedar Lake after he had turned seventeen. But he said they wrote letters. Well, Ray wrote letters and Summer sometimes responded. Sometimes, she’d call and Ray would rush to the phone to talk to her. Hillary assumed they were just gabbing to catch up on things.”
At this point, Dawn’s eyes narrowed and she clicked her tongue.
I hate to admit it, but Grace and I were on the edge of our seat with this story. We knew it couldn’t all be true or even partly true. The chances of the whole thing being a one hundred percent piece of fiction was probably more like it. But we were enthralled nonetheless.
“Until she heard them talking.” Dawn paused for affect.
“No!” Grace barked. “Please don’t tell me!”
“Ray was begging, begging Summer to come to Morhollow. He was promising her a place to live and that she’d be safe and could start over fresh.”
“Well, wait a minute.” Mary’s B.S. meter started going off. “That doesn’t sound all that scandalous. Everyone in town was aware of her reputation. If they were as close as you say, why wouldn’t he beg her to come to Morhollow if he thought she’d be safe here?”
Dawn didn’t like Mary’s commonsense rebuttal. “Mary, if you want to be Pollyanna about it that’s fine. But what husband begs his cousin to come stay with him and doesn’t tell his wife he’s doing that?” Dawn put her hand on her hip.
“One who’s married to Hillary, I guess,” Mary joked. “She never struck me as a very approachable person. She doesn’t talk to you much even though you and Linda are close. She might just be a little on the needy side.”
While looking down at her beads, Dawn began to nod her head.
“Could be,” she surprisingly agreed. “But either way. She and Ray are not getting along these days as a result of Summer’s murder. Linda said they aren’t even in the same bed anymore.”
“Consider that a blessing and enjoy the rest is what I’d tell Hillary,” Grace joked, licking the powdered sugar from her fingers. “He’ll be back. There was a death, after all, and it was a gruesome one. People need to deal with things in their own way and none of us should be judging it or looking underneath rocks for the gross stuff. Speaking of which…” Grace stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “Back to the ovens.”
Mary waved and Dawn gave Grace a polite goodbye as she left the store.
“I’m sorry, Dawn. Let me get my act together and ring these up for you.” Mary took all the beads and rang them up, putting the little plastic pouches into one pretty white bag with a jute handle and the initials B&B in black on the sides. “That’s $101.00.”
Dawn Williamson was a great customer, even if her stories were questionable at best. It made Mary wonder what kinds of things she was saying about her and Grace.
Peeling out the money in big bills, Dawn clicked her tongue. “You’re right, Mary. There probably isn’t anything more to Ray’s behavior than normal remorse. I just wish he’d get back to his hobby. That I really miss.”
“What is that?” Mary asked more to be polite than out of real interest.
“He makes his own ice cream.” Dawn’s eyes glazed over as if she was staring at paradise. “The craziest combinations you could ever imagine and every one of them good. Linda gets me a couple of pints at a time. They don’t last long in my house.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He has his online business where he sells jewelry and antiques. I hear that isn’t doing too well either these last few weeks,” Dawn mentioned out of the side of her mouth. “And he sells this ice cream. It’s very expensive. But to me it’s worth every penny.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by there with a casserole or something,” Mary mused out loud.
“Why would you want to do that?” Dawn snapped. “You don’t really know those people. You said so yourself.”
“I met them at the funeral,” Mary replied, seeing the old familiar Dawn, who didn’t like coming in second to anyone.
“Well, he doesn’t give his ice cream away. So, you probably won’t get any just because you stopped by.” Dawn turned and headed toward the door. “You really do need to prop this door open and get that smell out of here.”
That was educational, Alabaster purred.
“Wasn’t it though?” Mary squinted as she looked out the front window. “That story Dawn told was as full of holes as a slice of Swiss cheese. Why would anyone pass that kind of gossip around when it can so easily be debunked?”
Small towns are full of stories like that. Alabaster stood and walked carefully to the edge of the table, his back to Mary and quickly jumped to the back of one of the comfy chairs at the front of the store. I told you what Chesterton said about some of our very own neighbors. They can’t all be lies.
“Chesterton.” Mary shook her head. “I’m going to ban him from our yard.”
Mary thought for a couple of minutes and wondered why Linda would repeat these kinds of stories without all the information. To deliberately suggest such an inappropriate relationship between cousins, Mary was sure there had to be a motive but if not on Linda’s part then on whose? Hillary?
“I think I’ll create a good energy talisman for the Hulka household.” Mary came out from behind the counter and began to pick up some pink and purple crystals, lining them up in her hand. “And I’ll grab a loaf of bread from next door to bring as well. No one can turn down a loaf of fresh bread. I’ll stop by there tomorrow after we close up shop.”
The pink quartz might be good, too, Alabaster offered.
“Yes. And a hint of Tiger’s Eye to inspire the truth and honesty.”
That doesn’t always work.
“No. I know it doesn’t,” Mary said sadly.
She wasn’t sure what to with the information she had just learned. If Andrew were investigating everything like she knew he was, he would have looked into Ray’s relationship with his cousin. Ray’s name wasn’t on the report she’d just happened upon in Andrew’s office.
“Relatives are always the first to be suspected in a crime like this one. But what could the motive be? Money? Summer was going to work for me. That was hardly striking it rich.”
Revenge? Alabaster whipped his tail against the back of the chair as his eyes focused on a pigeon staring stupidly ahead as its neck bobbed with every step.
“I’m leaning toward that.” Mary tapped her fingers against the frame of the table with the Tiger’s Eye stones in
it. “Someone didn’t like Summer around their man. Plain and Simple. And I’ll bet my last buck it’s someone from that biker gang.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A SWEET GESTURE
A SWEET GESTURE
Once again, business proved to be better than she could have hoped. Beads and Baubles was making very good money with walk-ins. After talking with one of the regular customers by the name of Katie, who had a pierced nose and wore at least thirty bracelets on each wrist, Mary was seriously considering the idea of selling on the Internet.
But tonight, she was focused on something else. Sitting on the counter in a Beads & Baubles box was a beautiful sun-catcher that Mary had strung together to give to the Hulkas. Hilary Hulka would probably just see it as a pretty thing that would look nice in a window, unaware that the healing properties of the crystals might bring some much-needed rest and peace to her house.
Grace had given her a huge loaf of crusty Italian bread, hard and chewy on the outside and soft and buttery on the inside, to give to the Hulkas as well. It was the perfect kind of bread to accompany bean soup or hearty minestrone.
The language of food is one understood by everyone. As she locked up the store, she felt the evening sun beating down on her back while she made her way to her car. Sitting inside, the familiar smell of leather filled her nose and quickly she cracked the window to let some of the hot air escape as cool air came in.
The Hulkas lived in the Brightway neighborhood in Morhollow. Roomy carpets of grass separated each house from their neighbor. The houses were miniature castles in Mary’s opinion, and they all followed a similar architectural plan. Huge double front doors that allowed enough room for a Sherman tank to roll through and capped with a window that showcased either a hanging chandelier or a staircase that could be viewed from the street. A set of garage doors faced the street and the roofs peaked in at least three places, indicating high upstairs ceilings.
