The Rosemary Creek Police Station looked like it was straight out of small-town America – which, well, I supposed it was - tucked away past the main slew of shops and businesses on the creek, between some weeping willows. When we stepped inside I fully expected to see some rascally hound dog moping around with its long ears and short legs, or a round-bellied police officer asleep at his desk with his cap pulled down over his face.
Instead, a woman with a gray beehive and horn-rimmed glasses sat casually behind the long front counter watching a fuzzy episode of Days of Our Lives on a tiny black and white TV, completely enraptured. She didn't even seem to notice us standing there until the couple on screen faded into a vitamin commercial.
"Oh, oh my. Sorry, ladies, I didn't see you there," she fumbled, standing up all at once and twisting the old-fashioned dial on the television until the screen flickered off.
Karen smiled sweetly at her. "Hi, Mrs. Maberly. I wanted to see if I could come talk with my mother for a few minutes."
Mrs. Maberly blinked at Karen, then looked at me as if I were going to answer for her. "Yes, well, it does seem that your mother is currently, um, well, I’m sorry that she’s here, I’m sure that…" Mrs. Maberly’s voice trailed away; she was obviously extremely uncomfortable about the whole situation.
"Yes?" Karen said.
More blinking.
"Diana, is that my daughter out there?" A familiar voice floated from around the corner. "I'm sure she's worried to bits. May I please see her? Just to calm her nerves a little?"
Even though she was clearly torn between letting us back there to see Barbara, and probably doing her duty by not letting us back there to see Barbara, Barbara’s soothing tone must have won out in the end because Mrs. Maberly sighed and let herself out from behind the front counter, beckoning to us.
"All right, all right. Just follow me, ladies. Not a word of this to Chief Benson, mind you."
Karen and I exchanged a quick look before we were led around a corner and into a large holding area where two holding cells, lined with old bars that could have used a fresh coat of paint two decades ago, sat on opposite sides of the room from one another. Inside one of them was Barbara, sitting patiently. Not a single hair was out of place, and she looked positively serene — not at all like someone who had been arrested and thrown into jail for a crime she hadn’t committed.
"Thank you so much, Diana. Truly." Barbara gave her a genuine smile and waved to her as Karen and I approached her holding cell. "Just a few minutes with the girls, please?"
But Mrs. Maberly was already on her way out, muttering something about keeping her head, or keeping her job, not being sure which one was going to go first.
"What was all that about?" I asked Barbara, still making sure that the woman wasn’t coming back anytime soon. "Are you not allowed to have any visitors?"
Barbara chuckled. "Hardly. If I were, then I would've easily sent for you two. But Chief Benson seems to have everybody on a short leash around here, and I haven't been able to figure out why. He's generally a good man, but something about this is just off. He doesn't seem to want to keep me here, and yet here I am.”
"But that doesn't make any sense, Mom! How did they even come up with the grounds to arrest you in the first place?" Karen asked, placing her hand between the bars to hold her mother's hand. "I hate seeing you in here like this."
"I know, dear. I'm not a fan of it myself, either. They claim that it's because I don't have an alibi. Or at least one that works for them. I was in San Francisco for the day, remember? Unfortunately, when Henry was killed, I’d just left town, so there was no one to vouch for my whereabouts for the two hours or so it took to drive to San Francisco."
A thought occurred to me. "What were you doing in the city, anyway? I don't think you ever told me."
Barbara let go of Karen's hand and sat back down, smoothing over her skirt. "I was in town to speak with a few friends. Sadly, I arrived far too late for them to be able to give me an alibi. We were actually meeting at my friend Elizabeth's shop. Where she sells, well, curiosities of the mind and such."
"Huh? What do you mean?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion. I’d never heard of curiosities of the mind, or whatever.
This time it was Karen who spoke up, though she kept her voice purposely low. "It's basically a magic shop. Normal humans love that sort of psychic stuff, but for us, a lot of it has a bit of extra meaning. And with Rosemary Creek being as small and gossipy as it is, the last thing my mom wants is anyone talking about her whereabouts. Especially now that it's piqued everyone's interest. But Mom, how are you still in here, though? I figured you would've been out of here the second they tried to lock you up?"
The corner of Barbara's mouth quirked up for a moment. "I’m rather interested in knowing how the case is playing out, and you'd be surprised by just how loudmouthed some of the police officers are in this town, I swear! I can only imagine what a fly on a wall in this place would have heard over the years. But don’t you worry, I’ve spoken with an attorney and I'm sure I'll be released very soon," Barbara told her, settling back against the wall.
"So, I have to admit, I’m curious. How would she be able to just get out whenever she wants? I mean, I realize you witches – er, us witches – probably have an easy spell to use to unlock things, but then Barbara would be a fugitive, right?" I asked Karen, looking between the two women.
"Remember when I told you every witch has a special, unique power of her own?" Barbara asked me carefully.
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re right, of course. I couldn’t use a very simple unlocking spell and just walk out of here, since they’d immediately declare me an even more wanted woman, and this time I would definitely be guilty. But my special power is that I can manipulate and feel other's emotions and feelings. Let's just say I'm a very persuasive person when I choose to be," Barbara finally admitted, not quite meeting my eyes.
All of a sudden, everything made sense. The ease in making my decision to even come to Rosemary Creek in the first place, how I was questioning myself and then suddenly felt fine with the decision. Every time I thought I had just been following my own intuition, but maybe I wasn't.
"That was you?" I hissed. "You're the one who made me come? This wasn't even my choice, was it?" I didn't like how the words tasted in my mouth. I wanted to be angry and I knew I had every right to be, but standing there looking at Barbara, I couldn't find it in me to be mad at her. But now I didn't know if those were my real feelings, or just whatever Barbara wanted me to feel.
"It's not like that, Taylor. I know I can’t make you believe it, but I felt in you that you were lonely and you wanted freedom from the life you were living. I thought it best to give you that," Barbara said softly, standing back up and walking up to the bars. "I understand if you're upset with me, but please know that I would never manipulate you to do something I didn't know you would ultimately want to do."
"But what about—ouch!"
I was interrupted by an elbow to the side from Karen, who hissed at me, her voice low. "Shh! Someone's coming!"
I rubbed at my ribs as heavy footsteps made their way towards us, and I turned to see who was coming. This definitely wasn’t going to be Mrs. Maberly.
The man standing in the doorway had his police cap tilted up enough to show off a pair of bushy dark eyebrows that contrasted with the tufts of white hair sticking out on either side of the cap. Judging by the way he folded his arms across his chest, he wasn't exactly thrilled with our being here.
"Karen Mortran? Didn't realize you were back here. I guess Diana didn't tell you, but your mother isn't taking visitors at the moment," he told Karen, his voice surprisingly somber. Maybe it was the way he kept sneaking glances at Barbara, but I had a feeling he really did feel bad about keeping her behind bars.
Karen frowned. "Is there a reason why, Chief Benson? I just don't understand how you can keep her here without—"
"Now, now, Karen. Let the man do his job.
He doesn't need you two interfering and making matters worse, now does he? I'll be fine, and I'm sure we'll have this whole thing sorted properly in no time," Barbara cut her off, her voice practically dripping with honey. "What I would like to ask you to do, though, is to look in on the shop. Everyone's going to be wondering why it's not open today, and well, you know how news travels around this town. Ruthie has the day off to visit her grandchildren, and I don't want to cause her any bother. Would you mind?"
"Sure, Mom. But please let me know if you need anything, okay?" Karen replied, grasping her mother's hand through the bars one more time, even under Chief Benson's watchful eye.
"Thank you, ladies," Chief Benson murmured as we bid Barbara goodbye for now. As much faith as I had in her abilities, especially having witnessed them firsthand, I was still worried about her. After all, even though she looked like she was doing fine, she was still in jail, under arrest for murder, for goodness’ sake.
I slid back into the little hatchback's passenger seat and pulled out the spare napkin I'd written Phil Cosgrove's name and information on earlier. "Okay, is it just me or is that Chief Benson guy a little off?"
Karen shrugged before putting the car into reverse and turning to look over her shoulder. "It's hard to say. We've never really had a problem with him before. I feel like the way he's acting is because of something else to do with my father's death. I just wish we had more facts to go on."
I nodded. "I bet your mom has plenty, the way she was talking. But there's no way to know what she knows until she's out of there. Where are we going now?"
"Well, Mom wanted us to check in on the shop, so that's exactly what we're going to do. She was right—it'll look suspicious if she's not there to open it as usual, and with Ruthie off today, someone has to be there. I'd hate for her to miss out on a day's worth of money. Especially since this is all kind of my dad's fault."
"You sure it wasn't you who went and did him in?" I asked, shaking my head at how casual she sounded.
"What?" Karen chuckled as she rolled her window down, the air catching wisps of her brown hair and sending them flying all around her face. "I bet that he deserved it, whatever the case. Okay, okay," she added, seeing the incredulous look on my face. "I'm not happy he's gone, and no one deserves to die. It's just weird, because I know I should feel totally depressed, but I'm more irritated than anything else. This whole thing has now managed to involve my mom somehow and I'm not okay with that."
It took a few minutes to find a good parking space, but we finally did, not too far from Creekside Trinkets' little front sign that looked just like the business card Barbara had given me. When I thought of Barbara's shop, I imagined an adorable cottage with flowers and knickknacks littered in front and a little front porch full of rocking chairs and garden gnomes. You know, the cute, kitschy look you’d expect from a shop run by a woman in her fifties. In reality, the little shop was actually a windowed storefront sandwiched between two other businesses—a seamstress and a pizza parlor that smelled absolutely heavenly. At least when the time came for a lunch break, I knew exactly what I was ordering.
Karen pulled out a small, funny-shaped key and shoved it into the lock, giving the door a good shove as she unlocked it. "Well, here we are," she said as she flipped on the lights.
While the outside may have been lackluster, the inside more than made up for it. Barbara had decorated every inch of the souvenir shop with the very same knick-knacks and baubles I had first imagined, but then so much more than that as well. Gorgeous little succulent plants and bright green vines grew out of pots hanging from the ceiling in macrame planters. There were whole themes of treasures along the walls, from vintage French prints, to San Francisco mugs, and even the garden gnomes I'd imagined, although the cute little Elvis gnome decked out in his traditional white pantsuit and sideburns was something even my imagination could never have imagined.
It was overwhelming, but in a good way. "Whoa."
Karen was already behind the cash register, pulling a long black tray out. "Yeah, I know. It's a lot to take in." She sighed and shoved the tray inside the cash register, before slamming it back shut.
I batted at a little Hawaiian hula dancer on the laminate counter, making her sway back and forth. "You okay?" I called after her as she headed toward the back, where I assumed the storage area was.
When Karen returned, she was unzipping a long gray pouch and pulling out cash, using it to fill the register. "Not really. There's just a lot going on right now and I haven't had much time to process it." She looked at me for a moment, the hard expression on her face softening. "But I bet you're probably feeling the same right about now."
I shrugged. "Sure, I just learned that I'm secretly a witch which is a thing apparently, and I picked up everything and moved to a stranger's home after quitting my job and forfeiting my room at the apartment, but you just lost your dad. And say what you want, that's still a big deal, even if you didn't really like the guy."
Karen hopped up on the tall bar stool seated behind the cash register and leaned forward, her bony elbows on the counter. "I hate all this sitting around and not knowing. I feel like, well, like we need a plan of action or something. We had one lead, but that fizzled out pretty quickly."
"You heard your mom. She said she'll be out of there soon."
But Karen continued to fidget, twirling a long strand of her brown hair around her finger. "Yeah, but even once she's out, there's just so much I don't understand. And you're right, I didn't like my father, but I don't like the idea of some murderer running around town, either. And if Chief Benson is out there locking my mom up when we all know she would never do anything like this, it just makes me wonder, you know? Are they really handling this case that well, to be making a huge mistake like that? Are they competent enough to actually find the real murderer?"
Drumming my fingers along the counter, I looked all around us at the assortment of things you'd only find in a souvenir shop. One run by a witch, no less. "Then maybe we should find out, ourselves. We're witches, right? Can't we, I dunno, use that to our advantage somehow?"
Chapter 10
"Here you go, ma'am," I said, handing the older lady with the nearly blue-white hair her bag of bobble-heads. "Have a nice evening!"
Karen followed after the lady and quickly flipped the hanging plastic sign on the front door to read 'Sorry, we're closed!'
I slumped against the counter, yawning. "Holy cow, that was intense. Way more demanding than I think a single souvenir shop has the right to be."
There had to have been at least one hundred different people filing inside Creekside Trinkets between the time we opened up at noon, and the time we closed up, at seven, but it was especially busy during everyone's lunch hour, the first couple of hours we were open. Talk about on the job training; Karen had me stuffing bags full of knick-knacks of every sort and manning the cash register while she had to continually run back and forth to help people find things since I had no clue where anything was. Luckily, I was pretty sure I hadn’t messed anything up too badly.
It had finally slowed down enough for us to take turns taking a quick twenty-minute break, but since there hadn’t been much time to order any pizza like I had hoped, I was stuck eating a heated-up TV dinner that had promised to be lasagna, and not the rubbery flap of “noodle” covered in red sauce I had ended up with. Oh well, I was sure there’d be plenty of time to thoroughly investigate the pizza shop when we weren’t inundated with customers.
Karen told me in between customers about how she planned on getting more information about her dad's case, and between mentioning spells and powers, I was dying to know more.
"I’m not surprised we’re so busy. That's what happens when the word gets out in a small town like Rosemary Creek. You have everyone and their mother coming up here like they're trying to see a ghost. Doesn't matter that it was Henry who died." Karen shook her head and shuffled over to me. "I'm exhausted. But during the break I had some time to go over the spell agai
n, and I think it'll work. We should probably go ahead and get that out of the way."
I tried to stifle another yawn and nodded. "Before I pass out, for sure. I'm ready when you are."
Luckily for us, the sky had gone from a deep rosy gold to darkening twilight in the time it took for Karen to close up the shop.
"I think it's probably best if we walk to the station instead of driving. It's only five blocks down at the end there, and if we go ahead and perform the spell before we leave, no one will be the wiser. With the car still here in the parking lot, it'll give us a solid alibi, just in case," Karen whispered.
I looked around. "Uh, why are you whispering? We’re alone in the shop," I whispered back, giggling when Karen rolled her eyes.
"Just follow me, all right?"
So, I did. We went into the back office that hung off the end of the building. Karen held up a small leather book, waving it around before flipping it open to an old, wrinkled page.
"Right, here it is. I need you to stand right there," she said, pointing to a spot right in front of her, less than a foot away. "We're going to need to hold hands and you need to repeat after me, okay?"
I nodded, suddenly feeling a rush of anxiety flooding through me. What if I was terrible at this sort of thing? What if I ended up being a second-rate witch after everything I'd dealt with so far?
Karen, too wrapped up in the book to notice just how flushed my cheeks were, mumbled something to herself, nodding once before turning to me with her hands outstretched toward me. "Ready?"
I swallowed hard and drew in a sharp breath, holding out my hands to her.
"Sure," I said in a voice that sounded way shakier than I had hoped, but was definitely an accurate reflection of how I felt at the moment.
"Don't worry, Taylor. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Karen drew in a deep breath, and began chanting in some weird language that I decided to name Witchese until I was told otherwise. "Partio mei magicae. Diffindo mei magicae. Tribua mei magicae. Invisibilia abscondoroa. Invisibilia abscondoroa. Invisibilia abscondoroa. "
Witches and Wine Page 6
