by Nic Saint
I was about to give up, when the window was suddenly pushed open, and a head peered out. The head belonged to Stanley Chariot, and we suddenly found ourselves staring right at him. He opened his mouth to speak, so I held up my library card and said, “This is official neighborhood watch business, Mr. Chariot. We’ve been authorized by the Mayor of New York to conduct this investigation, and you can be charged with obstruction of neighborhood watch justice if you don’t let us in right now.”
He closed his mouth with a click, shooting me his best glare, then heaved an exasperated sigh. “You are just the most obnoxious person I have ever met, Miss Flummox.”
“At least she’s not precocious, like Stien,” said Strel.
Stanley’s head disappeared, then reappeared in the window we were holding our vigil at, and he opened it to let us in. “Let’s make this brief, shall we?” he said when we very ungracefully scrambled into his office and dropped to the floor before springing to our feet again and dusting ourselves off. He eyed us dubiously. “I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as obstruction of neighborhood watch justice.”
“Oh, I can assure you there is,” I said.
“You just invented that, didn’t you?”
“No, I most certainly did not!”
“I’m pretty sure that was a library card you just flashed at me.”
“No, it’s my badge. Neighborhood watch members have full jurisdiction and get to carry a badge.”
“Ugh,” he said, and plunked down on a swivel chair. It looked like one of those very expensive ergonomic chairs. He was dressed in silk pajamas, his feet in nice leather slippers, and he looked like we’d just awakened him from a very pleasant dream. “Shoot,” he said. “And make it quick.”
We smiled and yelled, “Spreconestio!” waving our hands just so. Smallish sparks shot from our fingertips and hit the accountant before he could duck. He keeled over and dropped to the floor.
We hurried over to him. “You killed him!” Stien cried.
“We didn’t kill him,” I said. “I’m sure that’s the right spell.”
“You must have read it wrong,” said Stien. “He’s dead!”
I felt his pulse, and when I found one, I was relieved. “He’s not dead. He’s just knocked out.”
As if to prove me right, Stanley suddenly gasped and jerked up into a sitting position, his eyes wide and just a little crazy. “I did it!” he screamed. “It was me! All me! Me, me, me, me, me!”
Now we were getting somewhere!
Strel quickly took out her phone and clicked record. This confession would seal the deal.
“What did you do, Stanley?” I coaxed the accountant.
He buried his face in his hands. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I couldn’t help myself! The urge—the urge was too powerful to resist!”
“Just tell us all about it,” I said, checking if the recording was running. Strel gave me a thumbs up and I nodded.
“I’d told my mammy I would never do it,” he said, hugging himself and rocking. “She told me it was an urge I had to learn to resist. But when she went on her Caribbean cruise I couldn’t resist any longer. I know I should have been strong, but I couldn’t! Besides, if it’s so wrong, why did it feel so right?”
He gave us a pleading look. “It’s all right, Stanley,” I said soothingly. “You can tell us what happened. We won’t tell your mammy.”
“You won’t?” he asked in a feeble voice.
“Of course not. Your secret is safe with us,” I said. And with the NYPD.
“Well, Flavio and Erick had told me about the Poisoned Oyster from the moment it opened its doors, of course. They go there all the time. And they’ve invited me countless times.”
‘The Poisoned Oyster?’ Stien mouthed. I shrugged. Maybe that’s where he saw Johnson Junqueras and followed him home?
“Last week was my birthday—the big three-oh—and I was feeling particularly weak, so… I decided to give into the temptation. I dressed in my best sequined shirt, my glitter pants, and my nicest pumps. I put on my yellow wig, the one with the silky pink strands, and went down to the club. The place was packed, and…” He hung his head in shame. “I had a ball! It was so wonderful. I finally felt like I’d come home. Have you ever had the feeling that you simply.… belong? Well, I had that at the Poisoned Oyster. I even mounted the stage at some point—after I’d imbibed a few Pink Flamingos—and sang Dancing Queen live on stage. To a thunderous applause! The manager even approached me and asked me to open for his big star, Divine Grace, when she’s doing a show next week. I can’t imagine how much fun that’s going to be. It’s going to be me, Divine Grace, Conchita Wurst, and of course Agnetha Fältskog, who’s the main attraction. We’re going to have a blast!”
“What about… Johnson Junqueras?” I asked, more than a little surprised by this confession.
“No, he’s not going to perform. He died, you see. Besides, singing was never his strong suit.”
“But… you were mad at him, weren’t you? For attacking you?”
He licked his lips. “Well, I was mad at him for a bit there, darling. Until you told me he was my childhood hero. The man had such a scrumptious front bump! You know who also has a bump to die for? Flavio. That man is di-vine! Don’t tell Erick I told you this, but I’m totally crushing on Flavio. In fact each time we have a meeting, I secretly hope he will come alone, so I can have a one-on-one with the gorgeous man.” He clapped his hands. “I invited him to the show and he promised me he was going to come! He’s going to be cheering me on from the first row! Isn’t that amazing? My first-ever show and the queerest queen I know is going to be there!” He flicked an invisible speck from his pajamas. “I just hope he leaves Erick at home this time. All he does is cramp my style. Big time.”
“So… you didn’t kill Rico Torrent?” asked Strel.
“Of course I didn’t. Why would I want to kill him?”
“Because he scratched your Prius,” I said, and now I realized how silly that sounded.
The accountant laughed. “Oh, darling, if I had to go and kill every person who touches my Prius I’d have to become a serial killer! No, I did not kill him, nor would I want to. One does not kill one’s childhood heroes!” He lightly touched my arm. “And now let me tell you all about the costume I’m going to wear. I was thinking… feather boas! Lots of feather boas! Won’t that be simply divine?!”
Chapter 33
I have to confess we felt a little deflated when we left Stanley Chariot’s loft an hour later. It had been very hard to tear ourselves away, as Stanley, under the influence of the spell, simply could not stop pouring his heart out, and we didn’t have the heart to stop him.
We dragged ourselves home, slouched up the stairs, and fell into bed.
It had not been a great night for the neighborhood watch.
The next morning, I was in a pretty lousy mood as I descended the stairs. We were still nowhere on the investigation, and we’d broken one of Gran’s cardinal rules: never practice magic outside of the house. Well, actually she’d extended this rule to never practicing magic anywhere, anytime, anyhow.
I picked up a cup of coffee in the kitchen and walked out into the garden, hoping some fresh air and the sight of Gran’s floral delight would do me some good. Gran’s garden is her great pride and joy. She has her own greenhouse and likes to spend hours gardening and tending to her growing crop of flower beds. A small path leads through the garden to the back, where a cozy little nook has been organized, with rose trellises and a bench placed underneath a modest pergola. It’s all very romantic, and Sam and I like to come out here from time to time and sit and smell the roses.
Today, I found Auntie Leigh seated on that bench, and… Mona Oats! Mona was staring before her, lips pursed in disapproval, while Auntie Leigh was talking a mile a minute, apparently sharing some stories from her checkered past with the other woman.
“Oh, for the love of Mike, Mrs. Shamrock,” said Mona finally. “I don’t give
a hoot about your begonias. Nor do I care one bit about the affair the vicar is rumored to be having with his housekeeper Mabel Brooks. Why don’t you save those off-color stories for someone who cares?”
“Well, did I tell you about this one time the vicar decided to try one of Master Dam’s meditation techniques and threw his back out?”
“I don’t care about your masters and your vicars! I simply wanted to come out here and enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet. But oh no. You had to come and spoil things for me, as usual.”
“I just have this strong feeling we are going to be best friends, Mrs. Oats,” said Auntie Leigh.
“We’re never going to be friends, Mrs. Shamrock. Why don’t you get that through that thick skull of yours?”
Auntie Leigh smiled, then did the most amazing thing: she waved her fingers just so, and muttered, Abreviaso.
I stared at her. I had no idea Auntie Leigh was a witch! The moment she said it, Mona’s eyes went wide as saucers. Next thing I knew, she was wailing like a banshee, and… attacked Auntie Leigh!
“Now, Mrs. Oats!” Leigh cried, warding off the blows the other woman was trying to land on her head. “This was not what I had in mind when I said you should be a little nicer to me!”
“I hate you!” said Mona Oats, thrashing about like a crazy person. “I hate you so much I’m going to send you and your damned Master Dam straight back to the deepest pits of hell!”
“Now, Mrs. Oats!” Leigh said disapprovingly. “That’s no way to speak to your best friend!”
“We’re not friends! We’ll never be friends!” said Mona, now engaging in a regular slapfest.
Luckily, at that moment, Gran arrived. She took one look at the sordid scene and muttered something under her breath. The moment she did, Mona stopped slapping and shook her head, like a dog trying to rid itself of a flock of fleas. “Must… take… nap… now,” she said mechanically, and promptly shot up and trotted off in the direction of the house with surprising speed and agility.
“Where are you going, Mrs. Oats?” asked Leigh. “I thought we were just starting to hit it off!”
“Just leave her be, Leigh,” said Gran. “Isn’t it obvious by now that she simply doesn’t like you?” She took a seat next to her aunt on the stone bench. “That spell did not work out as promised, mh?”
Auntie Leigh shook her head. “I don’t know what it is about me. I can never get a spell to work. At least not like you can, Cassie. You have such great precision and aim. My spells just…” She uttered a whoop and a holler and Gran nodded.
“I know. I’ve seen it happen with my own girls.” She gestured at me. “Isn’t that right, honey? Your spells have a habit of backfiring big time, too, right?”
“Yes, they do,” I admitted with a sigh. “Only last night…” I clamped my mouth shut. Oops. I’d almost revealed our nocturnal adventure.
Gran smiled. “I know exactly what happened, honey. Haven’t you learned by now that there isn’t much you can hide from me?”
“But… did you let us use that spell, or did Fallon?”
“I’m still your grandmother. It’s up to me, as the elder witch in this house, to teach you the ways of witchcraft.”
“So you made the Book of Secrets appear.”
Gran nodded. “Before you use magic, you need to learn to use your head. You know, deep inside, that Stanley Chariot is not a great suspect, and you also know in your heart that there are other ways to get him to confess to whatever he is up to. You don’t need witchcraft to accomplish that.”
“I guess I do,” I said dejectedly. “It’s just that… life would be so much easier if we could practice witchcraft all the time.”
“Oh, no, it wouldn’t,” said Auntie Leigh. “Just look at me. I try to use witchcraft and for some reason I can never make it work.”
“That’s because you cannot make a person like you,” said Gran. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“But I’m sure that Mrs. Oats and I are meant to be great friends,” Leigh said stubbornly.
“No, you’re not. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to get along with her. She’s acting like this simply because you keep pushing her. Nobody likes to be pushed.”
“Wise lessons from Cassie Beadsmore,” said Leigh with a smile.
Suddenly, Gran caught me clutching the medallion Auntie Leigh had given me last night. The one depicting Master Dam. She shook her head disapprovingly. “And about that guru of yours, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the man is a fraud.”
“A fraud? But he lives on sunlight alone!”
“No, he does not. I have it on good authority that Master Dam’s real name is Charlie Cluck and he’s a grade-A con man. Not only isn’t he enlightened, but he’s crazy about Kentucky Fried Chicken.”
“But there is no Kentucky Fried Chicken in the Himalayas,” said Auntie Leigh, puzzled.
“That’s because he doesn’t live in the Himalayas. He’s got a place in Queens, from where he runs his business. And make no mistake, he is running a business. A multi-million dollar one.”
“But I’ve seen pictures—and videos. He does webinars where he addresses his disciples.”
“All filmed right here in Queens, against a backdrop of the Himalayan cave where he supposedly lives.”
“How—how do you know all this?” asked Auntie Leigh.
Gran smiled. “Honey, I’m a witch. I have the gift of sight. I can see things no one else can. Trust me, it’s not that hard to figure out.”
Auntie Leigh sagged, her shoulders slumping. “Then why can’t I?”
“Because you don’t want to. You’d rather be fooled than use common sense. I mean, come on, honey. Hundred bucks for a bottle of water? Sam was right. The guy is running a racket.”
Auntie Leigh rubbed her face. “Oh, dear. I’ve gone and made a total fool of myself again, haven’t I?”
Gran placed her arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “You are too trusting, Auntie Leigh. You have to remember that not all people are as kind and good-hearted as you are. Sometimes it pays to be a little suspicious. Not too suspicious, but just enough not to be taken for a fool. And as for you, young lady,” she said, with a stern look at me, “you can solve this murder without the use of witchcraft. Yes, you can,” she added when I started to protest. “Just use your brain. God gave you a very good one.”
Auntie Leigh gave me a look of commiseration. “Looks like we’re in the same boat, you and I, pumpkin.”
I nodded. At least now I knew what side of the family we got our disastrous witchy talents from. Auntie Leigh’s side!
Chapter 34
We were walking along the street, the three of us, feeling a little down in the dumps. We were supposed to head down to the store to open it up for another day of brisk business, but for some reason our feet led us in the opposite direction. I’d told Strel and Stien what Gran had told me about using witchcraft as a last resort rather than a stopgap and they disagreed wholeheartedly. Well, Strel did.
“I can’t believe Gran would feed you that load of crap,” she said heatedly. “She uses witchcraft for everything and we’re supposed to use our brains? I haven’t used my brain in ages!”
Stien chuckled, and Strel turned on her. “Spit it out, Stien. Don’t hold anything back.”
“It’s just that I think Gran is right. Before we use magic maybe we should think things through.”
“Well, she doesn’t,” Strel argued, “so why should we?”
“Actually I think Gran uses her powers very judiciously.”
Strel stared at her blankly. “If you’re going to throw a lot of big words at me, count me out.”
“What I mean is, she thinks before she curses people.”
“I’ve never cursed a person in my life!”
“Just because you can’t,” I said. “If you knew a good curse you wouldn’t hesitate to use it.”
“Well…” Strel shrugged. “Of course. I mean, why waste a good curs
e?”
“That’s exactly what Gran meant. We’re not mature enough to use our powers, which means she won’t give them back to us until she decides that we are.”
Strel groaned. “It’s just not fair.”
For some reason, our steps had led us to the civic center, and I saw that a meeting of the Anonymous Alcoholics must have wrapped up, because Sloan Lockyer came walking out of the building, accompanied by half a dozen others, all looking left and right before going on their way.
“Hey, isn’t that Moriah Mockford?” asked Stien.
We looked over to where she was pointing, and I saw that Moriah was opening the door of a Ford Explorer and helping her dad get in. Pyotr Mockford.
“Do you think he’s an anonymous alcoholic, too?” asked Strel.
Moriah’s eyes met mine for a brief moment, and for some reason I got goosebumps. “Um… why don’t you guys go on to the store? I want to talk to Lacey for a minute.”
“What do you want to talk to Lacey for?” asked Strel. “Are you an anonymous alcoholic?”
“No, Strel, I’m not. Don’t you think you’d know if I were an alcoholic?”
She thought about this for a moment. “Not if you were an anonymous one.”
I walked into the building and set foot for the meeting room. I saw that Lacey was the only one there, her members all gone. Chairs stood neatly placed in a circle, as before, and she was checking her phone when I strode in. She looked up when I announced my presence with a cough.
“Oh, hi, Miss Flummox,” she said with a smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I couldn’t help wondering… did Rico Torrent favor a specific drink? I mean, like vodka?”
She frowned. “No, not that I can recall. Why do you ask?”
I shook my head. “Just wondering. So he wasn’t a big fan of a particular brand of vodka?” I took out my own phone and showed her the picture Sam had sent me. The picture of the crime scene with the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter—before it had disappeared.
