By Familiar Means

by Delia James

  The men’s room. I clapped my hand over my mouth before I could laugh—or swear. That was why I hadn’t been able to pick up a Vibe about where Jimmy had been killed. He’d died in the one place I was not even going to think of searching.

  “What you don’t seem to realize, Anna, is that I saw it happen.”

  42

  The last piece dropped into place, cold, hard and very, very bad.

  The fixer. There’s one in every family. I’d just been wrong about who it was for the Hildes. Rich was the one who got them into trouble, by always wanting to be the good guy. But it was Dale who got them out.

  Dale smiled softly and sadly. “That blood they’re going to find on the stairs to the tunnel? That’s from when the body was dumped into the tunnel. The problem is, it’s not Rich’s.” He pushed back his sleeve, showing the long, ragged scab on his forearm. “It’s mine.”

  My knees were shaking again and the room wavered.

  “You helped move the body,” I said. “Whose idea was it to use the tunnel?”

  Dale ran his hand over his scalp again. He looked old and deflated, and for a moment, the fear rising in me cleared enough to feel sorry for him.

  “Do you know what it’s like to see your brother doing something unforgiveable? Do you have any idea? He’s a family man. He’s got kids! He’s . . . I all but worshipped him growing up, and then I come in and he’s . . . he had Upton by the neck; he was holding him down . . .” He choked on the last of the words. “I stood there. It took forever, and I just stood there the whole time.” He was shaking from the sheer force of the memory and the emotions.

  “You must have been terrified,” I whispered. It had been three in the morning. Nobody would be around. Jimmy had cleaned out his locker. Gretchen was in her room, her heart breaking all over again because somebody else she’d counted on was walking out on her. Rich found his mother crying and went looking for some way to make it better.

  “You have no idea,” Dale said again. “You can’t even begin to imagine.”

  “Listen to me, Dale,” I said softly. “You are not helping anybody by covering this up. You’ll only make it worse for Rich and your family—”

  “How?” he demanded. “How does it possibly get worse than this?”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked into my eyes. I reached deep. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t done any kind of invocation, and my wand was over in my purse on the nightstand. But I was a sister. I had siblings and parents and a grandmother whom I’d do anything and everything for. I understood. I really did, and I let this small, frightened, confused man see all of that. At least, I tried to.

  “If you come with me, Dale, we can go to Detective Simmons. He’s a good man. He’ll listen to whatever you have to say. It won’t be easy, but it will keep anybody from getting hurt any worse.”

  “His kids,” whispered Dale. “My nieces and nephews. Oh, God, my mother.”

  “She suspects one of you, Dale,” I said. “It’s better if it’s in the open. Then she won’t have to hurt herself anymore trying to protect you.”

  He was listening. Even in the room’s dim light, I could see the resistance draining away. I breathed. I focused.

  There was a knock at the door. “Housekeeping,” said a soft voice.

  Dale answered before I could. “Come in.”

  My throat clamped tight around my breath because I knew who it was going to be before I saw him. But I couldn’t run. There was nowhere to go. Dale was between me and the door.

  The key card rattled on the other side of the door, and Richard Hilde pushed the laundry cart inside. He saw me standing there with his brother.

  “Dale?” Rich breathed. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s over, Rich.” Dale stepped back. He was trembling as he turned. “She knows.”

  Sharp, slim hope pressed against the back of my sore throat. But then I saw the frantic look on Rich’s face, and it vanished just as quickly. “If she can’t tell anybody, it won’t matter,” he said.

  “We can’t do this, Rich.” Dale spread both hands, pleading. I stared at the brothers, and the laundry cart, and then past them, trying desperately to measure the distance and the tiny gaps between them and me and the door. “She’s not like Jimmy. She’s got friends. Her grandmother . . . If she vanishes . . . we’ve got no explanation.”

  “Whatever any of them know, it’s too late.” Rich said. “It’s all taken care of, Dale! They’re going to find the stash of pot under in her back yard, and we’re going to be able to point Blanchard straight at the Luces. Blanchard’s going to kiss us, Dale! We’re going to solve all his problems at once!”

  “Right, you said you didn’t want to hurt Jake,” I murmured. “You said—”

  “I know what I said!” Rich snapped. “I didn’t want to hurt anybody I didn’t have to. But we’ve got no choice; don’t you see that?” He was saying this to Dale.

  “We have to stop, Rich,” whispered Dale. “We have to think.”

  They weren’t paying attention to me. The way out was blocked by the two men and the laundry cart. But my purse and my phone (I hoped) and my wand were all behind me.

  I took a step backward.

  “And we will stop,” Rich was saying. “This is it. I promise. After today, all the loose ends are wrapped up.” Rich grabbed both of Dale’s shoulders. “I need you, little brother. I can’t do this without you.”

  I watched Dale wavering. I held my breath. I curled my hand around the edge of the laundry cart. I couldn’t help noticing there was a roll of duct tape on top of the pile of towels inside.

  “Not going to help, Miss Britton.” Rich turned to me. His white teeth gleamed in the room’s half-light. “There’s two of us and one of you. Right, Dale?”

  Dale licked his lips. He looked at me and at his brother. “Right.”

  I shoved the cart forward, hard. Dale threw himself sideways. Hands grabbed the back of my neck.

  That was the last thing I remembered for a while.

  * * *

  “Hurry up!”

  The words brought the world back, but that world spun and slammed against my back. I tried to scream but my mouth was sealed shut. My hands were trapped behind my back. I had just time to look up at Rich Hilde, grinning down over the edge of the laundry cart, before a soft bundle dropped on top of me.

  Towels. I was covered in towels, and they’d used that duct tape on my mouth and my wrists and my ankles, too.

  I was trapped in the bottom of the laundry cart. Now they were pushing me forward. I felt the cart lurch as it banged against the wall.

  I squirmed; I wriggled. I tried to scream around the gag and almost ended up choking myself. I tried to ignore the tears streaming down my cheeks and think. It was stifling in here and the smell of bleach was working its way down my throat, and I had a towel draped over my head and I couldn’t shake it loose.

  Then I heard a familiar sound.

  “Merow!”

  Alistair!

  “What the . . .” Dale swore. “Where’d that cat come from!”

  “Ignore it! Ignore it!”

  The cart jostled again.

  “Aragh!” shouted Dale.

  “Let’s go!” Rich shouted back, and the cart jolted forward.

  “Meeeyooowwww!” wailed Alistair. “Merrroowwwwwwww!”

  I heard the sound of doors opening.

  “What on earth is that caterwauling!” cried a woman.

  “Oh, so sorry, ma’am. A stray cat got in through the back door. We’re trying to catch him now.”

  “Merow!”

  I wriggled. I kicked. I tried to scream. My throat burned. So did the skin around the edges of the tape.

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty . . .” Dale’s wheedling wouldn’t have worked with a normal cat on a good day, never mind Alistair right n
ow.

  Doors opened. Doors closed. People were talking and offering suggestions. Someone laughed.

  “Some help here, Dale,” said Rich through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, of course, just let me—”

  I was shoved roughly forward and I heard the sound of a door closing. I had no idea where I’d been put, but I couldn’t hear anybody else in here with me. Okay. Okay. Alistair had got them away. I strained all my stomach muscles. This time I got my knees under me. The towels slid off my head and around my shoulders as I wriggled around. I clamped my teeth down tight, and with all my strength, I threw myself sideways against the side of the cart. The wheels shifted. I did it again, and again.

  And the next thing I knew I was toppling forward. I screamed around my gag as the world turned over. My chin hit concrete and I just managed to avoid biting my tongue.

  The next thing I knew clearly, I was sprawled on my front on the stairway landing with the laundry cart on my back and towels scattered around me.

  And my purse beside me.

  My eyes widened. Someone had tossed my purse in the cart with me, probably just to get rid of the evidence. But right now, I felt like I was looking at the holy grail.

  As quickly as I could, I got myself into a kneeling position. All at once, Alistair sat on the stair in front of me.

  “Merow!” he said pointedly, and vanished.

  The message was clear. He was keeping Dale and Richard distracted. The rest was up to me. But I was trussed up like a chicken with a gag over my mouth. How was I supposed to get out of here? I was not scooting down those stairs on my butt.

  Instead, I scooted as fast as I could over to my purse and wriggled around until my fingers could fumble for a grip. I closed my eyes and I wished and I hoped. My fingers strained and scrabbled . . .

  “Merowwww!” the sound vibrated through the door up above.

  . . . and closed around my wand.

  Sorry, Julia. It’s an emergency.

  I had no circle. I had no way to create any proper spell. I clutched the wand as tightly as I could and closed my eyes. I tried to picture a circle with the directions. I tried to think of the proper invocation.

  I gave up and just pictured a pair of scissors. Big, sharp scissors.

  In need, I call, in hope I ask, an’ it harm none, an’ it harm none . . .

  I’m not sure how to describe what happened next. I strained my jaw and my wrists, and everything just . . . broke apart. The tape over my mouth, the tape holding my wrists. I fell over from the force of it.

  When I did sit up, I was as weak as a kitten and the world spun. I grabbed the stair rail to keep from falling.

  “Merow!”

  Alistair was right in front of me.

  “Right. Got it.” I heaved myself to my feet and scooped up an armload of towels. Then I started running—okay, staggering—down the stairs. The number 2 was painted on the wall of the next landing. Second floor. Ballroom floor.

  The door banged open overhead. I toppled through the door in front of me.

  “Get her!” It was Dale or Richard—it didn’t matter. I tossed the towels behind me and ducked forward.

  A door opened. “What . . .”

  Behind me somebody shouted and tripped and hit the floor.

  “Stop, thief!” shouted Rich, or maybe Dale.

  “Call 911!” somebody else shouted.

  Yes, please! I found my feet and ran. I couldn’t see straight. My heart was hammering, my head was light, and every part of me was trying to float away. Alistair galloped down the hallway ahead of me. I was out of breath; I was panicking. All I could think was I had to get away, had to get out of here, had to hide.

  Alistair raced up to the ballroom door and vanished.

  I had a split second to make a decision, and I did. I followed my familiar.

  I dashed, or tried to, across the ballroom. The door opened behind me.

  I knocked the ficus sideways and stepped on the switch. The door opened and I staggered through into the dark.

  Rich swore. I shoved the door shut. Alistair meowed. I knew where he was. Exactly. I didn’t need a light. The world cleared, and even though I couldn’t see my hand, I put it on the wall and started down the stairs.

  The door clicked open. Light flashed behind me, filling the staircase. I kept going. The door was right in front of me, and it was open.

  Rich’s hand closed on my shoulder and spun me around.

  “Saved me all the trouble,” he breathed as he clamped his hands around my throat.

  He was laughing.

  No, he wasn’t.

  But somebody was. The loud, raucous sound echoed through the tunnel. An icy wind whirled around us. Rich let me go and we both staggered backward.

  “What?” cried Rich. “What? Who . . . ?”

  That ain’t no way to treat a lady, pally.

  That artic wind blew again and I heard Rich scream. I dropped to my knees and covered the back of my neck like I was in a tornado drill.

  “Freeze!” shouted somebody.

  My head snapped up. There was light all around, and somebody at the top of the stairs, and more somebodies charging up the tunnel. And just for a minute, there was a slim man in a wide-shouldered suit with a fedora on his head and a toothpick in his mouth and a blue-white glow all around him.

  He touched his hat brim to me, and he vanished. Just like Alistair did.

  43

  Rich Hilde was arrested for the murder of up-and-coming chef Jimmy Upton and the attempted murder of Kelly Pierce, food and beverages manager of the Harbor’s Rest hotel. Dale was arrested as an accessory after the fact and for obstructing justice, as well as for assaulting a freelance artist.

  Kelly regained consciousness in forty-eight hours and the use of her voice two days after that to tell Pete Simmons that Rich had come to her house with a bottle of burgundy, which he’d used to hit her over the head.

  Gretchen and Christine rallied around each other and bought the brothers the best legal counsel they could afford. It didn’t do any good, and I don’t think any of the family really expected it would. What I do know is that mother and daughter came out on the other side in a much tighter bond. The hotel did not get sold. Christine did not open her exclusive resort, and the restaurant did not become a destination. But the smugglers’ tunnel did, especially after the historical society and the tourist board started talking it up, along with the jazz weekend and Prohibition New Year’s ball.

  They did also actively try to hire Sean away from the Pale Ale to tend the new Roaring Twenties–themed cocktail bar.

  I slept for twenty-four hours straight, which, Grandma assured me, was not unusual after that level of magical exertion. She brought me chicken soup from Kirkland’s Deli. And ice cream. And lots of tuna for Alistair.

  Julia agreed that I had used my magic under emergency circumstances and said it would not be held against me.

  Two days later, Val gave birth to Melissa Maureen McDermott, seven pounds eight ounces, with her mother’s red hair and a strawberry birthmark on her derriere that Grandma B.B. declared was a sign of a prosperous future. The birth was entirely uncomplicated, except for the part where her waters broke at midnight, and she almost didn’t make it to the hospital because their own car wouldn’t start and she nearly gave birth in the backseat of the Galaxie with her husband holding one hand and Julia holding the other and working birthing chants nonstop while Kenisha gave us a police escort to the hospital. But, you know, that’s comparatively minor. The important thing is mother and baby are doing fine.

  Kelly Pierce entered into negotiations with Jake and Miranda to create a custom blend of Northeast Java coffee to serve at the Harbor’s Rest.

  Northeast Java opened its new location to a huge crowd. The murals were a big hit. But one corner of the café was fenced off by old-
fashioned velvet theater ropes. On the other side stood a bentwood chair and a vintage marble-topped table with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey on it. Framed articles and photos about the history of the building and its role in Prohibition in Portsmouth hung on the wall. We’d even found a picture of one Nate Kelly, bootlegger and ladies’ man. It hung beside a copy of the newspaper article detailing how Nate had been shot during a raid on the Harbor’s Rest when he’d stayed behind to help his moll (who had probably been pickpocketing the rich guests) escape. Café customers could pour a shot for the ghost and have their picture taken in the chair, in the hopes of catching a reflection of the spirit.

  So far Nate had declined an appearance, but Jake swore up and down that that whiskey glass was empty every morning, no matter what. I believed him.

  And when it was all finally over, Grandma B.B. packed up her suitcase and came down into the kitchen for a farewell cup of coffee and a muffin (Roger might be a new dad, but he still found time to bake) with me and Julia and, of course, Alistair and the dachshunds.

  I watched her sip tea and chat with her old friend, and a whole fresh round of feelings welled up inside me.

  “Grandma?” I said.

  “Yes, dear?” She smiled over the rim of her teacup.

  “Don’t go.”

  The smile faded and Grandma B.B. set the cup down. “Oh, Annabelle.”

  “I mean it. Don’t go. Stay here. Why shouldn’t you? I mean, everybody would love it if you lived closer, and now that I’ve got the house, I’ve got plenty of room.”

  “I couldn’t, dear.”

  “Sure you could,” I said brightly. “We’d fix up the front room, just for you.”

  Julia looked out the window. She swirled her tea a few times, but she didn’t say anything.

  “No, Anna.” Grandma covered my hand with hers. “I appreciate what you’re saying, and I know you mean it. But, dear, you have a full life. Having me living in your house would only get in the way of that.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” I insisted.

  “Then stay with me,” said Julia.