by Delia James
I wanted to ask how I was supposed to clear my mind with Julia and Grandma B.B. giving each other the mutual stink eye, but in a rare moment of good sense, I kept my mouth shut. Unfortunately, Grandma didn’t.
“She is doing her best, Julia,” said Grandma.
“This is hardly Anna’s best,” replied Julia. “As I have reason to know.”
Val glanced at me. I did my best not to wince. No, please, I begged silently to whoever might be listening. Do not let them start this up again. I’d really hoped the events at the old drugstore were the beginning of a genuine reconciliation.
“Yip,” Max shoved his nose against my ankle.
“Yap,” pointed out Leo.
Great. Not only were Grandma and Julia still butting heads, but I was failing Witching 101 and being critiqued by dachshunds. This was so not my night.
“Merow,” added Alistair, who had not been there a moment before. He sauntered forward and gave Max a head butt, clearly indicating that my ankles were his personal property.
“Yip!” warned Leo, but Julia picked him up before anything more could happen.
“Thanks loads, cat,” I muttered to Alistair. “Where were you earlier when I needed the magic help?”
My familiar blinked and yawned, closing his mouth with a click of cat teeth, indicating his deep concern for my human problems.
“All right.” Julia sighed heavily. Leo whined and wriggled in her arms and she set him down next to his brother. “I can see cleansing is not happening this evening.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I also stood up. I hadn’t been to yoga class in a while and kneeling was not as easy as it should have been. “It’s just that I’m so worried about Jake and Miranda.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” said Val. “We know Pete and Kenisha have spoken with Shelly Kinsdale. They must know about the new development.” Before we started the lesson, I’d told everyone about the interview over a dinner of Chinese takeout.
“Has Kenisha said anything new?” I asked.
Julia shook her head before I could get any further. “Kenisha has plenty to do without risking a reprimand for trying to pass us extra information.”
“I know. I just . . .” I waved my hand vaguely toward the outside. Alistair circled my ankles and I picked him up.
“I’m worried,” I said. “From what Frank said, Lieutenant Blanchard really wants to make the case that Jake killed Jimmy over some kind of drug deal. If he finds out about Chuck and the marijuana, it’s just going to feed into that theory.” I snuggled my cat close and he graciously permitted it.
“You’re right,” said Val slowly. “It’s only a matter of time. We have to have the truth before then.”
“But what can we do?” Grandma asked. She was, I noticed, looking very pointedly at Julia. “We have to proceed so very cautiously.”
Max looked pleadingly up at Julia, wagging his tail so hard his entire hindquarters wiggled. Val had also turned toward Julia with a surprisingly similar expression, but no wagging.
“Anna could try her automatic writing,” Val suggested.
I’d been debating whether to try to bring this up. Automatic writing, or drawing, was a type of clairvoyance, a way to see something hidden by time or distance, and it turned out I was kind of good at it. Unfortunately, this particular talent had a few little drawbacks.
“You do remember that last time, Anna passed out for over eight hours?” remarked Julia acidly.
“Anna!” cried Grandma B.B. “You never told me!”
At this, much to my surprise, Leo’s hackles came up. He growled right at Grandma, low and hard. His brother yapped in warning.
“Leo, Max,” murmured Julia. “Quiet.”
The dogs obeyed, but reluctantly. But Grandma was staring at Julia now; so were the rest of us.
“That other time wasn’t anybody’s fault,” said Val quickly. “Anna just wasn’t ready for it.”
“Exactly,” said Julia without taking her eyes off Grandma B.B. “Unready and on her own.”
“How careless,” said Grandma. “Especially when there are so many established methods for testing the strength of the talents of a witch of the bloodline.”
“Yes,” said Julia. “Someone was very careless.”
“Merow!” Alistair stretched, extending all his claws. He also stalked across the circle to Grandma B.B. and hunkered down on her toes, putting his whole self between her and Julia and the dachshunds.
“Well, I wouldn’t pass out this time, would I?” I said. Grandma was already drawing herself up, and I could tell from her expression that whatever she was about to say was not going to help defuse the situation. “I mean, this time you’re all here. I’d be grounded.”
“And shielded,” added Val. “There wouldn’t be any risk of her overstretching her powers.”
“There’s always risk with someone who has not been properly trained,” said Julia directly to Grandma. Grandma’s mouth hardened to a thin line, and I felt how very hard she was holding herself back. Something in her attitude and expression must have finally gotten through to Julia, because she rubbed her eyes. “However, under the circumstances, it might be worth a try. But only if you’re sure, Anna?”
I admit, I hesitated. That whole blacking-out-and-falling-over thing was exactly as much fun as it sounded. Besides, even if I could get this to work, it wasn’t going to produce anything anybody could use as actual evidence in an official investigation. But maybe, if we were lucky, it could point us in the right direction.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“Annabelle?” Julia faced Grandma B.B.
“Oh, of course,” said Grandma coolly. “I’ll go along with whatever you think best, Julia. As you have pointed out, you are her mentor.”
Julia ignored this, mostly. “Very well. We’ll close off the circle and cast a fresh one,” said Julia.
“I think I’d better be on my feet for this.” Val heaved herself out of the chair. She also pulled out one of the drawing pads I’d started keeping in the attic bookcase and handed it to me along with a fresh pencil from the box on top.
Grandma didn’t say anything.
I sat cross-legged in front of my altar with the pad on my knees. Witches’ altars come in all shapes and sizes. Mine was a low table covered by a length of green velvet decorated with gold pentagrams. It had all the magical elements represented on it—with wine in a cup symbolizing water, salt in a silver dish for earth, a lit white candle for fire and a brass dish of dried aromatic herbs and flowers from the garden for air. My wand lay at the center on a white cloth, waiting for me.
I tried to ignore the fact that Grandma B.B. was watching me, and not in a happy/proud grandma kind of way. There was something sad and a little deflated in her attitude that I didn’t entirely understand. I just focused on the candle flame and breathed deeply in and deeply out. I pictured a blanket of light spreading across the floor. The others, including Max and Leo, moved around me, clockwise, then counterclockwise, releasing the energies and reshaping them into a fresh, and stronger, circle of protection. I kept breathing and kept focusing. This was important. This was what I wanted to be doing. If I could keep my magical stuff together, I’d be helping Jake and Miranda.
I just wished I could stop wondering how we were going to finally put things back together between Julia and Grandma B.B.
“Merow.” Alistair climbed into my lap, shoving his way under the drawing pad. I sighed. Cats. I decided to bow to the inevitable and put the pad on the floor and my free hand on his back.
Julia took up her position at the southeast. “We invite to this circle the spirits of protection, wisdom, healing and clarity. We ask that the truth be shown and nothing be hidden. In need we call, in hope we ask, an’ it harm none, so mote it be.”
“So mote it be,” answered Val and Grandma.
I waited. I breathed. I stared at the candle flame. I did my best to clear my mind and focus entirely on Jimmy Upton, on who he had been, on what had happened. I tried to open my mind to the truth, whatever that truth turned out to be. We needed to know what had happened to Jimmy Upton, the good, the bad and the ugly.
So mote it be.
Julia repeated the chant, and the others took it up, turning it into a steady cadence. The room filled with the scent of warm wax and herbs. The shadows cast by the tree branches outside shifted in the autumn wind. Alistair purred, and we all waited and waited.
I tried to stay focused on Jimmy and the murder, I really did, but the truth is, I was starting to get bored. The other women’s chanting droned heavily around my head. I wanted to stretch. I wanted to move. I had places to be. Things to do. People to meet. This was the time. Finally. The stars were all aligned, and this time I wasn’t going to let anything mess it up.
My hand was moving, the pencil was scratching against the paper, but the movement of my hand seemed entirely divorced from the thoughts filling my head. My motions were quick, practiced, broad. My thoughts, though, were tiny, hard things, dropping like pebbles from an open hand.
Screw this. I should just go now.
Not this time. Chance like this won’t come again.
Need to try.
Better get out now.
My hand moved faster. Impressions tumbled through my mind, crowding together, practically fighting to be poured out onto the page. I felt love and hate and desperation. I felt steam heat and greasy paper rolled against my palm. I felt triumph, and the furtive hope that came from clutching secrets too close for too long.
I was sure I could do this, but at the same time, I was terrified it would all fall apart again.
Stay. Go. Stay.
I was so sure.
I was so scared.
I was . . .
I was . . .
23
Something strong and soft banged against my hand. My pencil skittered from my fingers.
Someone was saying my name, a long way off.
“Annabelle Amelia Blessingsound Britton. Your sisters call. Come back to us. Come back to yourself, Annabelle.”
I blinked heavily. I was right where I had been, in my attic, in front of my altar. Julia was still here, and Val, and Grandma B.B. And Alistair, of course. Alistair was kneading my stomach with his paws and mewing with concern. He must have knocked the pencil out of my fingers. Slowly, the pain of the writer’s cramp filtered into my fuzzy brain. Normally, my hand felt like this only after hours of frantic sketching.
“Merow?” said Alistair. “Merp?”
“I’m okay,” I said or, rather, croaked. My throat felt like I’d been swallowing sandpaper.
“Annabelle,” said Julia to Grandma B.B. “We need to open the circle.”
“Yes, of course,” said Grandma B.B., and this time there was no hidden sarcasm under the statement.
They walked the edges of the circle, opening the spell the same way they’d closed it. I sat in the middle with my cat on my lap and tried not to shake.
I swear I felt the energies flowing out like the whole house had been holding its breath.
“Here, Anna, drink this.” Val shoved a cup into my free hand and I took a long swallow of lukewarm peppermint tea. It was a good thing it was lukewarm, too, because suddenly I was gulping it down like there was no tomorrow.
“Are you all right, dear?” Grandma crouched down next to me.
“Merow!” said Alistair, which I took to mean, I’d have told you if she wasn’t.
“I will be; just give me a second.” I had to use my hands to push myself up off the floor. I glanced at my watch. It had been less than an hour since we started. It felt like a month. “I . . . did we get anything?”
“Did we ever.” Val held out the sketch pad.
I took it from her, and I stared. It had been a fresh pad when I started. Now the first three pages were covered with drawings. They weren’t consistent. There were some rapid, sloppy sketches and some more detailed drawings. And I didn’t remember making a single one of them. I just remembered the feelings, and I shivered, because those feelings hadn’t been mine.
“I think I need to sit down,” I said.
“We should go downstairs,” said Val. “What you really need is something to eat.”
The only surprise there was that she said it before Grandma B.B. could.
* * *
Julia took charge of the sketch pad. She informed us that we would be able to look at the results once I had been taken care of. Nobody was willing to argue with her, not even Grandma B.B.
In short order, we were all gathered in the kitchen. Valerie and Grandma, after making disparaging remarks about the lack of actual food in my refrigerator, fixed up a plate of sandwiches and leftover muffins. Julia brewed more tea, while Alistair and the dachshunds alternated between supervising the humans and stalking around the house in case of unauthorized entry or stray negative energies.
I downed most of a ham-and-cheese sandwich and a glass of orange juice and felt a lot better.
Apparently satisfied, Julia set the sketch pad down in the middle of the table. Alistair jumped up on the table and took a personal cat-moment to look smugly down at the wiener dogs whining and wagging below.
I set my tea mug down, held my breath and flipped back the cover on my sketch pad.
The first page showed a drawing of a young man wearing a chef’s jacket.
“Jimmy Upton?” said Julia.
“Jimmy Upton,” I agreed. It looked a lot like the photo that had run with the Seacoast Times article and the resemblance to his sister was striking. I’d spent a lot of time on the portrait. All the aspects were clear and distinct. His dark hair was slicked back under a bandana, and his wiry arms were folded over his chest. His face was detailed enough to catch his movie-star looks and the way he looked out of the page like he owned the place and didn’t think much of the rest of us cluttering it up.
“And this is?” Grandma B.B. laid a finger on the paper and we all craned our necks, including Alistair. His whiskers tickled my cheek.
Jimmy held center stage on the paper, but around him was a smaller drawing. It showed a man—Jimmy, I thought—standing between two women; they were standing hand to hand, facing straight out, like a line of old-fashioned paper dolls. Something was passing from the left-hand woman to Jimmy and from Jimmy to the right-hand woman.
The problem was that this drawing had been made a lot more quickly than the portrait, and the figures were little more than outlines. Both women were curvy; one was short; one was tall, with straight hair down to her shoulders. It was hard to tell anything more—hair color, ethnicity—since neither was much more than an outline.
“Anna?” said Julia, but I shook my head. Once I’ve woken up from the trance state, the vision’s specifics fade pretty quickly, like a dream, and I’m left with only a bundle of feelings. And like a dream, it can be difficult to explain in a way that makes any kind of sense.
“There was anticipation,” I said slowly. “And . . . closure. It was like . . . a problem was going to be fixed. Someone, I guess it was Jimmy, was really looking forward to whatever it was being solved. By this.” I touched the square that was passing from the left-hand woman to Jimmy. Alistair, helpfully, pawed at the same spot. “Whatever it is.”
“Money?” suggested Val.
“Papers?” suggested Grandma.
“A ledger?” murmured Julia.
Better not. Better just pay and go. The words popped into my mind.
“Money,” I said, and as soon as I did, it felt exactly right. “It’s that five thousand dollars. He, Jimmy, was meeting her,” I pointed to the right-hand woman again. “To pay her off. One of these has to be his
sister,” I said. “Doesn’t it?”
“One of them could be Gretchen,” added Grandma. “Or what about her daughter, Christine? She’s the hotel marketing director.”
“And then there’s Kelly Pierce,” added Val. We let this fall into the silence, because none of us wanted to say the other name.
Miranda.
“But whoever he was meeting, the deal must not have gone through,” said Val. “Jimmy still had the money on him when they found him. Shelly Kinsdale denied that Jimmy offered her a bribe at all.”
“Merow,” Alistair put his nose to the page.
“Off, cat.” I lifted him onto my lap. He humphed resentfully and slid down under the table.
Grandma B.B. adjusted her glasses. “Could it have been the other way around?” she said. “Maybe we’re reading it backward. Maybe this woman was meeting Jimmy to pay him off.”
“Or maybe it was a setup,” suggested Val. “Somebody said they’d take a bribe, or a payment or something, to lure him to . . . wherever he died?”
“It’s possible.” Julia cocked her head toward the sketches, considering the whole page carefully. “Unfortunately, what we can see here doesn’t give us much clue as to where that might be.”
“We know where it was,” said Grandma. “It was in the Harbor’s Rest, probably wherever that tunnel comes out.”
“The police must have found it by now,” I added exasperatedly. “I mean, that is one honkin’ big door.”
“Anna, have you ever seen the basement of a major hotel?” asked Val. “It’s a maze. There’s going to be a laundry, a dozen different storage rooms, a whole section of walk-in freezers, and that’s just to start with. There’s also going to be the power plant, furnaces, employee locker rooms, and . . . What?” she said, because now we were all staring at her. “I didn’t just up and decide to open a B and B because I was bored one day, you know. I worked a lot of hotel jobs back in the day.”
“It sounds like a great place to murder someone,” I said, but Val shook her head.
“A hotel basement might be huge, but it’ll be full of staff, pretty much around the clock—housekeeping, maintenance, maybe even the laundry, and the kitchen and at least some wait- and bell staff. There might be a little window around three in the morning, but the fresh shift will be in by five at the latest. If I was going to kill somebody, I’d want someplace a lot quieter.”
