Witchy Worries

by Nic Saint

  It was a testament to Glenn’s disguise that even this hobo thought he was a hobo, though maybe that was not how Glenn had envisioned his role, as his next words indicated. “I’m not a hobo. Did you think I was a hobo?”

  “You clearly look like a loser, pal. Now beat it. You’re cramping my style.” The hobo turned to me. “What about a fiver? You can spare a fiver, can’t you?”

  “Hey, get away from them,” said Glenn. “These are my friends.”

  “Yeah, right,” said the guy. “They’re my friends, too. How about you, honey?” he asked Ernestine. “You look like you have a heart. Wanna spot a vet a dime?”

  So he’d gone from a twenty to a ten to a fiver to a dime. Deflation at work.

  The interaction seemed to give Glenn an idea. “What made you think I was a bum, bum?”

  “Hey, who are you calling a bum, bum?” asked the bum.

  “Is it the hat? The chin? The mustache?”

  “It’s your ugly mug, chum,” said the bum. “You look like you were hit by a bus.”

  Glenn grinned, and the bum reeled back. “Wow. Nice choppers. Where did you get those?”

  “Incarnate Dental Clinic in Los Angeles, Cal. Cost me a fortune.”

  “Huh. So you’re not a bum?”

  “Nope. My name is Glenn Kerb, and I would very much like to hire you as a consultant.”

  The old wino frowned. “Are you joshing me?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m looking for someone who will make me look totally unrecognizable.”

  “You want me to beat you up?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Glenn, taking a step back. “I was thinking more along the lines of my wardrobe, if you see what I mean.”

  I was pretty sure the other guy did not see what Glenn meant, but then a customer entered the store, so I reluctantly dragged myself away from this interesting interaction. Five minutes later, the customer left the store with a dozen red roses and a happy smile, and Glenn entered, also smiling.

  “I think I just solved the problem of how to remain incognito in New York. William gave me some gold tips.”

  “In exchange for some actual gold?” I asked.

  “He gave him a hundred bucks,” said Ernestine. “Imagine that.”

  I could imagine that.

  “I think I’ll keep him on retainer. If he can make me look like him, I’ll never have to worry about paparazzi ever again,” said Glenn.

  I shook my head. It’s crazy that actors will do anything to become famous, and once they’re famous, they’ll do anything to become anonymous again, even bankroll the first vagrant they meet.

  “So did you ask him about Dolphus?” I asked Ernestine.

  “Ooh! Totally forgot!” She turned to Glenn, who was studying his face in a small pocket mirror. “Glenn, could you do us a big favor?” she asked.

  “Sure. Ask away.”

  We told him about the feud between Dolphus Wooler and Johnson Junqueras and he nodded. “’I remember they had some huge fight or something.”

  “What was it about?” I asked.

  “No one knows. They refused to tell. All I know is that it must have been serious. They couldn’t be in the same room together. I once worked on a movie where they were both hired. Some big production. And I remember their scenes had to be taped separately. They weren’t on speaking terms, and the director did everything he could to keep them apart.”

  I exchanged a look with my two sisters. Sounded like the perfect candidate to gun down Johnson in a fit of rage.

  “We would like to talk to Dolphus,” said Ernestine. “Could you help set up an interview? We know he’s at the film festival this week, so…” She gave him her best pleading look and he laughed.

  “Honey, it’ll be my pleasure. In fact, why don’t the three of you join me as my dates tomorrow? That way I can introduce you to Dolphus Wooler and you can have your little chat with him.”

  “Would you do that? That would be wonderful!” said Ernestine, giving him a grateful smile.

  After Glenn had left, probably to try out the tips William the Wino had given him, I noticed that Estrella was looking distraught. She was chewing her lower lip and giving me a look of panic.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “What do you mean what’s wrong?!” she screamed, flapping her arms. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve got nothing to wear tomorrow!”

  “You can wear something of mine,” said Ernestine.

  “I’d rather be dead,” said Estrella, causing Stien to gasp in shock. “No offense, Stien, but your taste in clothes isn’t what I call suitable for a red carpet event.”

  “My clothes are fine,” Stien huffed.

  “Fine for a flower shop. Not for a red carpet event,” Strel insisted.

  “What about something of mine?” I suggested.

  She gave me a look that said, ‘Are you serious?’

  “Oh, I’ve got it,” said Ernestine. “Why don’t you ask Auntie Leigh? I’ll bet she’s got some great outfits, brought over from England.”

  “She’s, like, a hundred years old, Stien!”

  “She’s not. She’s a very original dresser.”

  I’d noticed that. Auntie Leigh always wore a kind of kaftan, like something she’d picked up in India, where she used to spend her holidays when her husband was still alive. Not exactly Strel’s style.

  “Why don’t you rummage around in Gran’s closet?” I suggested.

  This seemed to give Strel an idea. “Why don’t I rummage around in the Book of Secrets?”

  “You know we can only use that if it’s absolutely necessary, Strel,” I warned her.

  “Well, it’s absolutely necessary now. I’m going to Manhattan in Motion and I’ve got nothing to wear!”

  “We can only use those spells when it’s a matter of life and death!” said Stien.

  “Duh. This is a matter of life and death!”

  “Look, we’re just going over there to interview this Dolphus character,” I said. “Not to pose on the red carpet for the world press. We’re not celebrities, Strel. Nobody is going to pay attention to us.”

  “Not in these clothes, they’re not. Look, we’re going as Glenn’s date. We have to dress appropriately. The press is going to snap pictures and I don’t want to look like some idiot.”

  “So it’s all right for us to look like idiots but you can’t?” asked Stien. “Have you ever thought that I would want to look my best for Glenn, too? I like the guy!”

  “So? All the more reason to find the Book of Secrets, dig up some old spell that turns us into the belles of the ball, and we’re set!”

  The offer was tempting, though I knew Gran would never let us use witchcraft for a dumb thing like this. Then again, it wasn’t as if we could afford to buy the kinds of dresses that warranted a walk on the red carpet. “Why don’t we simply ask Gran?” I suggested. “Maybe she’s got a solution.”

  “Are you crazy! Gran will never understand. She doesn’t even want me to spend money on the tanning salon. Claims it’s bad for my skin. Something about Melanie someface.”

  “Melanoma. She’s right. Those UV rays can seriously damage your skin.”

  “Don’t you start, too. I like tan. I’m not like you, who likes to look like a vampire.”

  “I don’t look like a vampire! I’m just… naturally pale.”

  “Look, I’m going in there to find that book and I’m going to glam up. If you two want to look like two idiots next to me and Glenn, that’s fine with me.”

  Stien gave me a look that said, ‘Why not? What could possibly go wrong?’

  And I gave her a look that said, ‘Are you kidding me? Everything!’

  In the end, though, we decided that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I mean, it wasn’t as if we were going to hurt anyone with our spells. We were simply going to apply witchcraft to provide a solution to a pressing problem. And since we were going to interview a potential murder suspect, it was all for the greater good.r />
  “All right,” I finally agreed. “Let’s apply a little magic to glam ourselves up.”

  “Yay!” Strel cried. “You won’t regret it.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that.

  Chapter 15

  We were still discussing how we were going to get our hands on the Book of Secrets, when Sam walked into the store. “Hey, Sam” said Strel. “Did you find out who threw that rock?”

  “Not yet.” He stared at the window, then pointed at it. “Wasn’t there a hole there before?”

  “There was,” I said. “The guy came in already and replaced the window.”

  “Wow. Fast worker,” he said appreciatively. “Well, I dropped the rock and the note off at the lab. They’ll try to figure out who was behind the attack. In the meantime…” He threw me a hopeful look. “I was on my way to talk to Lacey Gobbler, and I was wondering if you wanted to tag along.”

  “Who’s Lacey Gobbler?”

  “She runs the Alcoholics Anonymous chapter here in Haymill. Johnson Junqueras was one of her members… until he started stalking her and she filed a restraining order against him.”

  “He stalked her?”

  “I don’t have the full picture yet, but the restraining order mentions some incident that took place last year. I was just on my way to talk to the lady. Ask her what happened. Wanna come?”

  I cast a hopeful look at Estrella, who waved her hand. “Oh, sure, hon. We can hold the fort.”

  I left the store with Sam, and caught him studying the store window. “Incredible job,” he muttered. “It looks as good as new. It even has the same lettering and the exact same logo as before.”

  “We paid him extra,” I said, hoping Sam wouldn’t run into the glazier we’d sent away. “So what have you discovered so far?”

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

  “Well, we talked to Myron McCaughey. He owned the parrot Johnson murdered.”

  “He didn’t actually murder a parrot. He just wasn’t very particular where he dumped his needles.”

  “And then we had a chat with the cleaning lady. Moriah Mockford.”

  “And? What did you think?”

  “A very nice person,” I said, nodding. “I don’t think she did it.”

  “Me neither. Especially since she’s got all of her family vouching for her whereabouts.” He sighed. “So far the only lead I’ve got is some actor named Dolphus Wooler. Apparently him and Johnson had some kind of feud going on. He’s in town for Manhattan in Motion, same as Glenn Kerb.”

  I smiled up at him. “We’ve got that covered, Sam.”

  “How did you do that? I can’t even get past his assistant!”

  “Glenn is taking us to the film festival tomorrow. He’s going to introduce us to Dolphus.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “We’re lucky Glenn is staying with us, otherwise we would never have been able to come within ten feet of Dolphus.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Do you want me to set up an interview with him?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t insult me, honey. I’ll talk to the guy sooner or later. I just have to get past his entourage. Especially since the festival director is keen to keep any negative publicity far from his show. And Johnson Junqueras dying on the eve of the festival is exactly the kind of thing he doesn’t want to be associated with.” He caught sight of one of our flyers. “How’s things with the watch?”

  “No idea,” I said truthfully. “We’re just trying to find our legs, so to speak.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Listen, if you need help, I can always talk to the guy who runs the NYPD liaison program for neighborhood watch committees in the city. I’m sure he can give you some great pointers. Even put you in touch with other, more experienced committees, if you want.”

  “Don’t bother, Sam. We’ll figure it out as we go along. It’s not as if this is our main thing.”

  “I know. The flower shop, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “And your pumpkin spice cookies,” he added with a grin.

  “Double yep. Don’t disparage my pumpkin spice cookies. You said you liked them.”

  “Oh, I do. They’re delicious. It’s just that…”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “It’s just what?”

  He grinned widely. “Don’t give up your day job.”

  I punched him on the shoulder. “I’m a great baker!”

  “Of course you are,” he said, laughing. “Just like Strel is a great singer and Stien is a legal mastermind and your gran is the perfect B&B hostess. Oh, wait, she actually is a great hostess.”

  I gave him my best scowl. He was right, though. Gran did a pretty good job with the B&B. Guests were very happy, on the whole, and if they weren’t, Gran was going to hack the Airbnb website and change all the bad reviews into good ones. I didn’t tell Sam that, though. Sam doesn’t know we’re witches, and we’ve decided it’s best to keep it that way. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  “So how are things between Strel and that Bard guy?” asked Sam.

  “Bard guy? How do you know about Dunlop Bard?”

  “Hey, I’m a cop, honey. It’s my job to know this stuff.”

  “It’s your job to know about my sister’s dating life?”

  “I talked to the guy—he was the last one to see Johnson alive, apparently—and we happened to get into conversation about some of the people we know. Turns out he’s dating your sister. So I told him to watch his step, and he assured me he’s one of the good guys, and he genuinely likes Strel.”

  “You sound more like a big brother than a cop now,” I said with a smile.

  “So? I like your family. If anyone dares to lay a finger on them…” He didn’t have to complete the sentence to make his meaning perfectly clear. If anyone harmed us, he’d have Sam to deal with.

  “Thanks, Sam,” I said, linking my arm through his. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  “Forget about sweet. What do you think about Dunlop Bard?”

  “He seems nice enough,” I conceded. “And it’s still early days. She just met him. Knowing Strel, she’ll ditch him next week for the UPS guy.”

  Strel’s dating life had always been a little tumultuous. She got bored with guys the same way she got bored with her old outfits: out with the old, in with the new was her motto.

  “I guess you’re right,” said Sam. “Just tell her to be careful, will you? The guy is still a suspect.”

  “I thought he had a bunch of witnesses that place him at his bar at the time of the murder?”

  “He could have sneaked out when no one was watching, killed Johnson, and returned to his bar. The place was packed, and they were working with several servers. No one can guarantee me that he’s got a solid enough alibi. You know how it is.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. He could easily have snuck out to settle a score. And if Johnson was causing trouble to his beloved bar, he might have decided to take matters into his own hands and take the guy out once and for all. I shook my head. “He doesn’t look like a cold-blooded killer, Sam.”

  “Nobody looks like a cold-blooded killer, honey. Just be careful, and tell Strel to watch her back.”

  “I will,” I said, suddenly seeing Dunlop in an entirely different light. Sam was right. What did a cold-blooded killer look like? It could be anybody, even Strel’s latest boyfriend.

  Chapter 16

  The Haymill chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous was located in an old warehouse that had been transformed into a miniature civic center, where local businesses and charities had found a home. From the outside it wasn’t much to look at, but once inside, they had done a great job turning the warehouse into a neat little space with plenty of small business owners setting up shop here. The AA meetings took place on the second floor, a cavernous space that still retained many of the hallmarks of its industrial past. The concrete ceiling was shot through with steel girders, and rusty beams kept everything hoisted up. A small s
tage had been erected where the speaker could address the crowd, and when we entered, a meeting was just winding down, several members quick to leave when they caught sight of the two strangers in their midst.

  Lacey Gobbler was a tall woman in her late fifties, her short hair a shiny russet shot through with streaks of gray, and her face displaying an easy smile. “Detective Barkley. We meet again.”

  Sam shook her hand and said, as an aside to me, “Lacey and I go way back.”

  “I’m what’s called an informant,” Lacey explained, shaking my hand. “Though I rarely have a lot of things to inform the detective about. Usually he’s very well-informed himself.”

  “Thanks,” said Sam with a lopsided grin. “Today I’m hoping it’s the other way around.”

  “Yes, you mentioned something about Rico Torrent.” Her smile turned into an expression of dislike. “Rico was not my favorite person in the world, Sam. Far from it.”

  “You filed a restraining order against him?” I asked.

  She nodded, took a seat, and we followed suit. The chairs were set in a circle, and almost spontaneously I felt inclined to spill my deepest, darkest secrets. Not that I have any deep, dark secrets to spill, but I guess that was simply the power of suggestion.

  “Rico—or Johnson Junqueras as he turned out to be—was not a pleasant man. He was a violent drunk, a raving lunatic when he was strung out on whatever illegal substance he favored, and even when sober he had a very nasty temper. I didn’t like him, and neither did any of my regulars.”

  “What exactly happened that made you file charges against him?” I asked. I knew that the details were probably in the police report but I wanted to hear it from the woman’s lips.

  She raised her hands and dropped them in her lap. “Well, he attacked me. There’s no other word to describe it. One night after a meeting he stuck around, refusing to leave with the others, and confessed to experiencing a powerful attraction to me. Said he’d decided I was his soulmate and we should be together from now on. In the biblical sense. I said if he didn’t get away from me immediately, I would hurt him—also in the biblical sense. He thought that was incredibly sexy, and tried to kiss me. When I told him in no uncertain terms he was crossing a line, he tried his best groping moves on me. At this point I’d had enough so I grabbed a chair and hit him over the head.”