by Nancy Warren
Chapter 7
I got home to the smell of freshly-baked gingersnaps. Gran took one look at my face and said, “Oh, my poor love. What is it?”
“Rafe will explain. I have to call the hospital.” They were unable to release any information since I wasn’t a relative. I hated not knowing anything. I called Ian, finally, and he said she was still alive, which was a good sign but hadn’t regained consciousness. That didn’t sound like a good sign at all.
I slept poorly, worried about Gemma, and wishing I’d done more. I felt certain that I could have prevented the attack if I'd been a better friend.
I woke in the early hours of the morning, knowing I wouldn’t get back to sleep. Nyx was a warm presence curled against me and I took comfort from her small, purring body as I stroked her and told her how worried I was. Nyx was a cat of few words, but great quiet empathy.
I got up about six, being as quiet as I could since Meri was sleeping in the other room. The vampires had left, though the pile of freshly-completed stockings proved they’d worked all night as usual. I made a pot of coffee. After the first few sips, I called the hospital again. Once more I was told there was no information available. I couldn't stand it. I’d found the woman strangled half to death last night, didn't I at least deserve to find out if she’d survived the night?
I knew that Ian had probably worked late into the night but I also knew that he was a caring and dedicated police officer. Also, he no doubt had a do not disturb function on his phone. I forced myself to wait until seven and then I called his mobile number.
He answered immediately, sounding perfectly wide-awake. Even so, I said, "I'm sorry to bother you so early. It's Lucy."
"I know. I have call display."
"Right. I've been calling the hospital and they won't tell me anything. How's Gemma?"
There was a tiny pause as though he was looking for the right words. My heart sank. Good news he would've told me right away. "She still hasn't regained consciousness."
My heart sank like a stone thrown into a still pond. Down and down and down. "What do you mean she hasn't regained consciousness? What does that mean? Is she in a coma?"
"I'm not a doctor, Lucy. It means she hasn't regained consciousness. I'm sorry. I'll let you know if there's any change."
"Ian, does she have some kind of protection?"
"She's in the hospital. She safe."
"You don't know that. Whoever did this to her might go back and try and finish the job."
I heard him take a breath. He said, gently, "Lucy, I know you're worried. She's in good hands. And we’re trying to find out who did this. The best thing you can do is try not to worry too much."
"Can I visit her at least?" I hated to think of Gemma lying there, all alone, with no one even to hold her hand and talk to her.
"That's a question for her doctors."
"But you could put in a good word. You could tell them that I'm her friend. She doesn't have any family close by. Her mother passed away last year. I don’t think she has siblings, and she didn’t seem close to her father. I’m her friend. I want to help.”
“I know.”
“You have to make sure that her ex-boyfriend doesn't get in to see her. I'm convinced he did this."
"At this point, no one is allowed to see her except doctors. I'll see if I can make an exception for you."
"Thank you."
I don't know what Ian said, or how he managed it, but he called and told me I could visit Gemma on Saturday afternoon. I tried to put myself in her place and I imagined that I would want a friendly presence by my side.
No doubt they’d be trying to contact her father, though from the little she'd said about him I suspected he wasn’t a very big part of her life.
I walked down to the market early, in time to see the forensics people finishing up. There was no note, or any kind of indication on the door of the shut up chalet that it would not be opening. I recalled that moment not so many months ago, when I had arrived at the door of Cardinal Woolsey’s expecting to see my grandmother and been greeted by a note that said, "Cardinal Woolsey’s will be closed until further notice."
Maybe it was better just to leave the chalet shut and locked with no explanation. Poor Gemma. I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Mabel and Hester were running the booth this morning, and, probably at one of the older vampire’s urging, Hester had abandoned her usual black shroud and was wearing a pretty green jumper and jeans. For once, she seemed to be in a good mood.
Among the customers who came to Timeless Treasures were more than a few that I recognized from my shop. So, I was able to chat to them about the current projects and advise them on gift ideas. I was much better at selling completed projects then all the bits and pieces that went into actually making them. I could say, "Yes, I think your ten-year-old grandson will love that navy blue jumper," or "These extra long stockings are proving very popular this year. I think if you got them for the whole family, they'd be a nice heirloom purchase."
And they would be heirloom purchases. The vampire knitting club had outdone themselves. The little friendly competition seemed to have turned quite fierce when I looked at the amazing amount of work that had gone into some of them. I was hoping they wouldn't all sell out because I intended to keep a few for myself.
And, in between serving customers at Timeless Treasures, I kept an eye on the sad, closed chalet that should have been Bubbles. In a way, it was as though the shop had never existed. The streams of shoppers glanced idly at a shut up booth and just kept walking. No one seemed particularly interested in why it wasn't there.
Until about eleven o'clock in the morning. That's when I saw him. It was the same guy I’d seen staring at Gemma the day she was attacked. He was in his early thirties, with a lean face, intense eyes, and shaggy hair that curled away from his face. He wore old jeans, a sweatshirt advertising a British beer and a black leather bomber jacket. He stopped in front of Bubbles, his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels as though he might open it with the intensity of his gaze.
When that didn't work, he walked ahead a few feet, turned around and walked back.
Ian had accused me of jumping to conclusions. Sure, I had never been introduced to Gemma's ex-boyfriend, but I was making a not-terribly educated guess that this was him.
Had he returned to the scene of the crime?
A sensible woman would've ignored him, or pretended she didn't see him. I had already proved more than once that I was not a sensible woman. I was an angry one. Someone had hurt my friend and I had a very strong feeling it was him.
Before good sense could prevail, I'd stalked across the short distance and said, "Can I help you with something?"
He looked at me, somewhat surprised. Certainly, there’d been no friendliness in my tone, quite the opposite. If words were hailstones he’d just been pelted. He seemed a little taken aback by my cold hostility but he said, "I'm looking for the girl who’s usually here. Do you know where she is?" I wasn’t very good with English accents yet, but he sounded like a Londoner.
"Who are you?" I wasn’t going to give him any information, not about Gemma or business or anything else, but I very much hoped I could get some information out of him. I tried to warm my tone. "She's not open today, but I can take your name if you like, and your phone number." And text it straight to Ian.
His brows drew together in a frown. His eyes looked intently into mine. "Is she okay? She sick or something?"
Oh, like he didn't know. I shrugged. "I have no information, but, as I said, I can take your contact details if you'd like."
"No. That's okay. I'll try again later." And then he ambled off.
I phoned Ian immediately. And, quickly explained what had just happened. "If you get here now, I bet you can catch him."
He said, "You want me to arrest someone because he hovered around Gemma’s booth and said he’d come back later?"
"Can’t you put a tail on him or something? Find ou
t where he goes, and what he does?"
"Lucy, even if I had that kind of manpower, I can't have someone followed because you didn't like the look of him."
I understood he was right but the frustration was a burn in my chest.
"Fine." I said. "Sorry to trouble you."
"Lucy, don't be like that. You must see that I have to follow procedure. Hunches are great, I'm sure you're right and that is the ex-boyfriend who she thought she saw yesterday. It doesn't mean he attacked her."
"Well, somebody did. And he's the only one who's been hanging around looking interested."
We ended the call and I stood there, thinking. Maybe Ian couldn't do anything, but I had other friends who weren't constrained by the laws and rules governing the police. My second call was to Rafe. He sounded groggy when he answered and I realized with chagrin that I had woken him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd be sleeping. Never mind, I'll call you back later."
He yawned. "I'm awake now. What is it?"
I went through what I’d just seen and he agreed it was most likely Darren. "Do you want him followed?"
I'd been thinking about it, and I said, "I think I need to get inside Gemma’s room. The police need evidence before they can do anything. Maybe we could find some?”
"That should be easy enough to do. Where’s she staying?"
I told him she was staying in a budget hotel in Botley. He said, "I'll pick you up in an hour."
Rafe didn’t mess around with rules or regulations. And he tended to be available, day or night. I liked that in a man. Or a vampire.
The hour wasn't quite up when the black Tesla slid to a stop beside me and I got in.
I didn't need to direct him, I suppose because he’d lived in Oxford so long. In about ten minutes we drew up in front of a very modest budget hotel. He said, "What room is she in?"
This was the moment I'd been dreading. "I don't know."
“That could be a problem.”
"You always seem to slip in and out of doors. I thought you could get us in."
"I can, soon as I know which room she was staying in." He looked at me. "But I'm a vampire, not a magician.” There was a significant pause. "Or a witch."
"I'm only a baby which. And the last time I tried a spell I pretty much destroyed a circle of ancient standing stones. It’s sort of thrown my confidence."
"Can you think of a human way you might find out the room number?"
I thought for a moment. "As a matter fact, I do."
I had a few paper bags in my handbag with the Cardinal Woolsey’s logo on them. I’d brought them in case we needed extras at Timeless Treasures and forgotten to leave them. I pulled out an empty bag. Then, with a sigh, I took my knitting out of its tapestry bag. I carried an extra ball of blue chunky wool in the optimistic hope that I might one day progress to needing it. I slipped it into the bag and wrote Gemma’s name on the front. I handed Rafe the bag. He raised his eyebrows at me. I said, "Go into the hotel, and tell the person at the front desk that you’re leaving this for Gemma."
"And then?"
"Then, I'm going to go and pick it up, pretending I'm Gemma. The chances are pretty good that whoever's at the front desk won't remember one customer from another. And, even more likely, they'll write the room number on the bag."
He took the bag from me. "All right. But if this doesn't work, you’ll have to resort to magic."
Oh I really, really hoped it worked. I was way too nervous that if I tried magic I’d end up shifting the architecture of Oxford around. The way I was going, the dreaming spires could end up dreaming in Glasgow.
Rafe disappeared into the hotel with the bag and moments later he reappeared. He got into the car and drove around the corner until he found a place to park. He turned to me. "Would you like to get some lunch while we wait?"
"Why would you think about lunch at a time like this?" Not to mention, that I’d never seen him eat much food.
He smiled slightly. "I can hear your stomach grumbling. It would be good for you to eat something; you're going on nerves. Also, it's going to be pretty obvious, if I drop off a bag and five minutes later you come to collect it."
"Good point." And I was hungry.
We went into a Costa coffee shop and he bought some kind of a cold-pressed smoothie while I got a cheese and ham toastie and a cappuccino. He was right. I wouldn’t do Gemma any good if I fainted from hunger.
After I’d finished my meal, he returned to the car and I walked back to the hotel and went up to the front desk. The reception area wasn't much to boast about. There was a coin-operated coffee machine, a rather sad plastic plant that needed dusting and a fake wood desk. Sitting behind the desk an older man was doing a crossword puzzle. He looked up when I entered. I tried to look confident. "Good afternoon. I'm Gemma Hodgins. Did anyone leave a package for me?"
He looked at me as though he’d never heard the words ‘Gemma’ or ‘package’ in his life and then, with a rumbling sound in his throat, turned around and looked on a set of shelves behind him. I could see my bag sitting there, but I held my patience while he picked up and put down various items. Finally, he retrieved the one I’d come for and handed it to me.
"Thank you."
I walked out feeling extremely pleased with myself. As I’d hoped, when Rafe left the package, they’d written Gemma’s room number on the front of it. She was in Room 411 and I'd used human intelligence and cunning rather than magic to find that out. Once I was certain the man was deeply engrossed once more in his crossword puzzle I headed to the back entrance and let Rafe in. He carried a battered leather briefcase, like a professor might use and it made him look so respectable, who would question our right to be here?
This wasn’t the kind of hotel where you had to use a key to get the elevator to work. Partly because there wasn't an elevator. There wasn’t much security, either. We climbed up three sets of stairs and when we got to the top, I was puffing. Rafe, of course, was not. There wasn't a soul in the corridor, which smelled of cheap disinfectant. We got to the door of Room 411 and stood there. Then Rafe turned to me. "Lucy?"
I had seen him go through doors that were locked on many an occasion. But he merely looked at me with his eyebrows raised.
“I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d known you were going to make me do all the work.” I felt huffy and nervous. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall looking at me.
I had practiced an unlocking spell, and, in fact, had helped save my mother's life by invoking it during a tense moment. But that was then. I wasn't sure I could do it now. Or, worse, I was afraid I’d split the hotel in two, or cause an earthquake.
“You can do it,” he said softly and I tried to believe he was right.
I took a deep breath. I intertwined my fingers, closed my eyes, and as I recited the simple spell I opened my two hands. I think I held my breath. Then I heard the lock mechanism make a whirring sound. I turned the handle and pushed on the door and it opened as though I’d used my key card.
Like magic.
Chapter 8
Rafe followed me inside as the door shut. "Well done."
I was ridiculously pleased with myself, but I played it cool. I looked around the room. "I want everything we can find about Gemma's ex-boyfriend. His name, his address, what he does, anything.”
Rafe nodded. From the pockets of his overcoat he withdrew a pair of cotton gloves and handed them to me. I hadn’t thought that the police might come here and take fingerprints, but he was right to take precautions. I took the gloves and slipped them on. He had a second pair for himself.
Before I did anything, I stood and looked around the small, shabby room. The space smelled like Gemma, somehow. A bit like her soap ingredients, like lavender and essential oils.
The double bed was neatly made, and covered in a cheap polyester throw. There were two pillows leaning against an imitation-wood headboard. A TV was bolted to the wall. There was a fake wood desk, a three-drawer dresser, a beaten up loo
king armchair, and a single bedside table. A tiny bathroom off the room completed the amenities.
Rafe looked at me. "What do you think? What do you feel? What do you sense?"
I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes. I knew he was right and I should call on my witchy senses. I had to trust them, to find a way to manage my powers without fear. I’d experienced similar feelings when I was learning to drive a car. I was supposed to be in control of a motorized vehicle that weighed several tons, even though half the time I was either stalling the car or accidentally going too fast, or too slow. But, I did learn to drive in the end. I could do this.
What was the room trying to tell me? I tuned into my intuition. "I feel sadness. I feel anger." I opened my eyes. "What I don't feel, is fear."
Rafe nodded and scanned the room. "So, she wasn’t frightened of the ex-boyfriend. At least, not when she was last here."
That she’d been using this hotel room as a makeshift soap factory was evident in the number of boxes stacked in the corner. They were all neatly labeled with the varieties of soap, her bath salts and bath oils and creams. On the desk was a cutting board and several knives, plus the handmade paper she used to wrap things in. Like Timeless Treasures, I felt that she'd been caught off guard with the amount of success she’d achieved. She’d clearly brought extra stock just in case, but hadn't done all her packaging when she arrived. I could picture her there, in the evening, wrapping, labeling, packaging. Maybe with the TV playing in the background, or some music.
She’d hung some clothes in the wardrobe and a suitcase sat in the corner. Her laptop had been pushed to one corner of the makeshift desk. Rafe looked to me. "Laptop?"
"I feel awful, going into her private things."
He quirked one brow. "You didn't mind breaking into her hotel room. Now you're going to be squeamish about searching it?"
"Okay, I don't always make sense. I'm just telling you what I feel."
