Once she opened the trunk, Gillian hauled the overloaded bag out with a grunt. Half growling now, Carly again came to mind as she began to drag the laundry bag behind her. She didn’t get far. Approaching the pickup truck, she stared down at the little sign next to its license plate. “Remember to be kind,” it read.
She snorted. Talk about a major contradiction…
She was about to move on when her eye caught something else on the ground next to the truck. It was a large toy handgun. Made of black plastic, it had a little red dot on its handle.
“Kids are taking their pretend guns to do their laundry now?” She snatched it up and tossed it into her large handbag. “No way are you going to get this back, kid—whoever you are.”
Stepping up to the door, she fumed about the idea of a family letting their kid bring something like that everywhere. Maybe Mama’s right. Humans aren’t always so great.
She opened up the door, tugging her bag behind her. Inside, it seemed as if all of humanity had descended on the place. As washing machines and dryers loudly hummed, rattled, and chugged, she felt stymied. Would there even be an empty washing machine for their clothes, or would she be stuck there for hours and hours, just waiting her turn?
“Gillian,” a male voice said. Suddenly, Nate was standing in front of her.
Are you kidding me? What message am I getting?
He laughed. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”
In spite of herself, she also laughed. “Yeah, it’s positively cosmic.”
He picked up her heavy bag and motioned toward the back of the room. “I’m over there, and believe it or not, there’s an empty washing machine next to the one I’m using.”
“Now, that’s hard to believe,” she said to his appealing grin.
Both chuckled as they retreated to his staked out area, and while she bent over to open up the laundry bag to remove just the darks, she could feel his eyes on her. Strangely enough, she knew if Adam had done that, she would have bristled, but coming from Nate, she felt nothing but flattered.
He helped her put in her clothes, handed her his large liquid soap, and sat down again to apparently watch her insert her coins and set the temperature. Then she joined him on a hard, uncomfortable bench.
A slight pause grew between them. Say something, Gillian! “I wonder who’s the owner of that truck I just saw.”
“What truck?” he asked.
Why did he just wink?
“It was a pickup truck painted in camouflage. But there was the sweetest message on a bumper sticker next to the license plate.”
“Yeah? What sweet message?”
Why is he smiling?
After she told him, he slowly raised his hand. “Guilty as charged.”
Giggling, she couldn’t help herself. He’s adorable. “You’re the frog’s eyebrows[15]!” popped out before she could stop it.
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “And that means? By the way, I love how you use those 1920’s phrases. Where did you pick that up?”
“It means something nice or fine. And as for my phrases, I guess I’ve always been fascinated with the lingo. Even as a kid. It must have stuck.”
“Actually, I think it’s great. Certainly different.” His eyes seemed to zero in on her. “Like you and your sisters’ names. Do you have a back story on that?”
She nodded. “Back story? Hmmm. My mother loved the old movie, “Bell, Book, and Candle,” with—”
“Kim Novak. I know it well.”
“You do? How do you know that well?” Talk about different.
“I’m a detective. I’m paid to know all kinds of things.” He chuckled. “No, truth is, my mother always watched old movies. I guess that also stuck with me. So, what about your sisters?”
“Stevie is named after Stevie Nicks. And Carly is named after—”
“Carly Simon?”
She chuckled. “Yep.” Without warning, she thought of all the inane conversations she’d had with teenage boys and men in general over the years. They were never like this—comfortable, easy. Like two old friends. Yeah, right. Forget friends. An urge to physically connect with him surged through her. Particularly when he got up to retrieve his laundry out of his machine. As he bent over to pull the items out, she studied his physique. Strong, muscular, bordering on burly, she tried to imagine him naked.
Stop it! Stop it!
She forced her eyes to drift over to a nearby bulletin board. Walking over to it, she recognized a boldly colored flyer. It was for the upcoming Wheelton Book Festival.
All of a sudden, she could feel him behind her, so close it was unnerving.
“Are you interested in that?” he asked, his voice low, melodious.
Turning around, she was almost pressed against him. “Of course, I go every year. My family owns a bookstore, remember? We love books.” In spite of having no real physical contact, she could feel an odd tingling all over.
Stepping back a pace, he said, “I also love to read, so I was planning on going myself. It looks great. Actually, this would be my first time.” He paused. “You wouldn’t want to go together?”
“Is that appropriate? I mean Adam wanted to ask me questions at a bar and that seemed odd.”
The split-second red flush coating his face was somehow touching.
His eyes looked darker than ever, his right hand made a slight stroke down one pant leg. “I shouldn’t have asked. My mistake. If I see you there, fine. But no pressure, Gillian.”
Later, as he helped her fold her clothes, she had the oddest sensation. A sense of calmness spilled over her as she flashed on her father helping her mother fold laundry so long ago. Wow.
When they were both all packed up, like a gentleman, he offered to carry her bag to her car, but she needed a break. She craved the sanctuary of her bedroom, to think about these new thoughts and feelings.
“Thanks, I’m good, I can do it myself,” she said, trying to ignore his intense eyes and pinched eyebrows.
By the time she walked back to the parking lot, it had emptied out quite a lot. That sure was nice with Nate. But dragging the bulging laundry pack toward her car was not, and soon, she gave out a long sigh. Should I have let him carry this thing to my car? Probably, because—
A teenager was standing at her car, fiddling with its lock.
“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” she cried.
Startled, he flipped around toward her—and pulled out a knife.
CHAPTER SIX
Trembling and drenched in sweat, the rail-thin teen was breathing so hard he kept gasping for air. Odd, rasp-like sounds escaped from his throat as he fisted his knife out toward her, muttering, “Gimme your keys.”
She gulped hard. Why did I ditch Nate’s offer to help me? Her own breathing now ragged, she glanced into the laundromat’s large glass window and made a fast search. He was nowhere in sight. Too late.
“Just give me your key,” the kid choked out. When she stayed frozen, he stepped closer. “Give me your car keys or else,” he growled.
Instantly, she released the handles on her overstuffed cloth laundry sack, letting it plop onto the ground. Then, like someone moving in slow motion, she held out her right palm. “Hold on. Let’s just calm down.”
What spell would work here? Think, Gillian, think! She drew a complete blank.
He stumbled forward menacingly, his body swaying and jerking, as spittle trickled out of his mouth and onto his shirt.
A spell. No, too late. Then it hit her—like a smack across her face.
From out of her bag, she pulled the toy gun. Making sure the red dot on its handle was hidden within her grip, she used both hands to hold the weapon then aimed it directly at his face. “You come any closer, and you’re gonna get it, you gink[16]!” she barked.
The teen’s eyes widened as a look of fear washed over his face. Backing up a couple of paces, he stared at the gun, then Gillian, and finally all around them before running away.
Stumbling over to her ca
r, she fumbled to open the trunk. Finally, she managed to also lift up the laundry sack and dump it in before closing everything up. But settling down to drive was not easy, either. With her mind whirling, her hands quivering, she could barely hold on to the steering wheel.
Wow. Thank God I saw that toy gun earlier. Thank God. But wait. She thought of her earlier near miss with the truck and swallowed hard. What’s going on?
“Sarah Good, have you come back from the grave to help me?” she whispered.
* *
That night at dinner, Gillian found it difficult to stay upbeat. No matter how many jokes were made, absurd Joselyn noises voiced, and motherly advice given, all she could think of was her possible near cataclysmique ending. After forty-five minutes, her forced smile was obviously not fooling anyone.
“Gilly, dear, are you all right?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah, you look like crap,” Carly added.
Drawing a very long breath, Gillian said, “No, actually, I’m not feeling great. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed now.”
“All right, dear. Why don’t you take Joselyn with you? She can be a comfort at times like this.”
That’s debatable.
Still, Gillian nodded, and clicking at the cockatoo, waited until Joselyn flew onto her shoulder. Then together, they slowly made their way down the hall to her bedroom.
Too exhausted to take a shower, Gillian barely brushed her teeth before collapsing onto her bed, fully clothed. Closing her eyes, she vaguely hoped she wouldn’t dream about Sarah Good. Please don’t—
Soft, nearby pecking sounds from Joselyn prevented any sleep. Peck-peck-peck, the determined bird went.
Does that bird ever stop? Apparently not, because soon, Joselyn had come out from under Gillian’s bed, flown up onto it, and was now planted on her owner’s stomach.
As soon as she opened her eyes, Gillian saw there was a piece of paper inserted in their pet’s mouth. “What in the world have you got there?” she asked.
Taking the paper away from Joselyn, no sooner had she begun to read the words on it then she froze. It was from her father and was dated two weeks before his death.
Gilly girl,
You know how much I love your mother. In spite of her being a human, she is everything I have ever needed in my life. No witch could have been more loving, supportive, or helpful. At the New Orleans Witch Academy, a few members claim a witch must only marry a witch, but I have learned that is not true. By marrying Mama, I have not lost any of my powers, nor have you or your sisters. Just remember, dear girl, we are all supposed to be with whomever is right for us.
Still, I do wish to warn you of something. Beware of your mother’s need to constantly prove herself as a witch. I fear her nonstop spells, as well as her connections to certain people, might very well come back to haunt us all.
But above all else, remember, Gilly, how much I love and respect you. Love, Papa.
Sitting upright, still trembling, Gillian asked, “What does that mean, Papa? Were you talking about your accident beforehand? And what connections of Mama’s were you talking about?” She paused to watch Joselyn attack one of her toes. “And why did that note suddenly appear after so many years?”
* *
The next day, as soon as Nate and Adam arrived at Rebecca Newell’s apartment building to hunt for any overlooked clues they might have missed, Nate steeled himself. Still somewhat jarred by the lack of any real evidence in the case, this time, he made sure to be ultra-meticulous. He peeled through her bookshelves, her books, her living room credenza, her couch, side tables, and the trunk that served as a coffee table. In fact, he was so thorough, a couple of times he actually heard Adam snicker.
“Man, what’s wrong with you?” he said. “I take back what I said to you recently. Don’t get crazy on me, bro. You’ve already checked out all these things in here once, remember? Interesting. Maybe the brilliant Nate Meeks is actually a flawed human being—like the rest of us.”
“How ‘bout you stop with the sarcasm and check out the kitchen and bathroom?” Nate snapped.
As soon as Adam disappeared, Nate went into the bedroom. Same thing there. He systematically searched under her bed, between her mattress and its box spring. Then came her side table, her dresser drawers, and all her clothes. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he was about to go out of the room again, when he casually glanced over at a Japanese screen slightly jutted out from the wall.
Inserted in the middle of the screen’s printed painting was a large version of Rebecca’s “N” icon. Talk about an ego. She puts her own insignia onto such a beautiful Japanese print?
He recalled glancing at that screen before, but at the time, he had been told by the chief’s “crack” team duo he and Adam were forced to have with them, not to bother looking any further because they had inspected behind it and not found anything important. But this time, he was in full charge. He pulled the screen aside, and to his surprise, there was a large bulletin board on a wall where numerous paper notes were pinned. Some were scribbled onto lined papers, others obviously had been crumpled up into balls then sloppily flattened out again.
“Crack team, yeah, right,” he snarled. “What were you thinking, Chief Hutton?”
He stepped in closer. Along with an invitation to the Wheelton Book Festival, most of the notes were about articles Rebecca was probably working on. One or two of them mentioned her visits to the Gambit House, along with some of the members’ names she interviewed, their witch backgrounds, and just how important they were perceived in the White Magic community.
Taking photos of anything he thought might have even a modicum of importance, he soon stalled, mid-shot. One of Rebecca’s memos had not only included the date, time, subject, and “From Rebecca Newell” on it, a single name was written across the top with a heavy marker: Gillian Good.
His pulse picking up, Nate read on. It seemed that Rebecca was impressed by Gillian’s amazing magical powers, which she had possessed since childhood but now refused to use them as an adult. As the journalist noted, apparently that had created some issues within the Gambit House.
Even more intriguing to him, Nate noticed a handwritten note in the memo’s margin: “Remember, go easy on Gil.”
Interesting. Gillian is a witch.
“What does that mean?” Adam said from behind him.
Flipping around, Nate faced his partner and shrugged. “Well, they were friends, right? Who knows?”
“We’ll just have to interview that Gillian again. Who knew she was considered to be such a powerful bitch—I mean witch.” He snickered loudly. “Glad I decided not to pursue her. Frankly, I don’t want to waste another second on her. So why don’t you do the honors?”
If she’ll even open up to me. Staring at the book festival flyer, he hadn’t realized until just now how disappointed he was that she didn’t want to go with him. Of course, she was probably right in terms of ethics. After all, she was connected to the victim of a murder case. Still, her rejection made him feel empty. What is that about? Sure, she was beautiful. That was a given. But there was something else, something that had drawn him to her right away. And here she is a witch.
* *
Adam and Nate decided as they drove to the Shantytown Club that before they began their discussion on how best to approach Chief Hutton regarding his forensic team’s bungled investigation into Rebecca Newell’s murder, they would each down a round of whisky.
“A shot of courage first before business, I always say,” Adam had said in the car.
Once there, with their first whiskey round tossed back, Nate had to admit, it did help a little. Round two helped even more, and as for round three? That definitely hit the spot.
“Okay,” Nate began. “The coroner said Rebecca had taken a heavy blunt blow to the head. She also had marks around her throat, so probably she had put up a struggle as she was being strangled, so the killer obviously opted for a weapon to end it all.”
“Yeah,” Ada
m said, “but we still don’t know exactly what the weapon was, so we’re nowhere as far as evidence is concerned.” He motioned the waiter for another round. “You up for another?”
When Nate shook his head no, Adam sniffed loudly. “Bottom line? We get what we can get. Some cases are like that, right?” He leaned back. “I know, I know, that’s not you. You’re the flawless clue finder, the one everyone counts on, the one who—”
“Hey, partner, let’s not do this, okay?” Nate said, one hand raised in warning.
Adam shrugged. “Sorry, man.” Downing his fourth shot, he obviously opted for philosophical. “Well, at least you’re smart, Meeks. I’ll give you that. Do you know how many dumb people there are in the world? People you thought you could count on, but then find out they’re into some crazy stuff.”
Nate leaned in toward his partner, his voice hushed. “What people are you talking about, Adam?”
It was as if Adam had an abrupt awakening and snapped out of it. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.” He hiccupped twice then switched gears.
“You know what my real talent is?” he asked with a wide grin. “The ladies. I can walk into a room and feel their eyes on me, undressing me. Do you know how many little slips of paper with phone numbers I have at home?”
Nate snorted. “You actually have kept all of them? What, in a Cuban cigar box?”
Laughing, Adam continued. “Yeah, why not? At least, I know I’m attractive to the opposite sex.” Suddenly, a harshness crept over his handsome face, twisting his lips into a snarl. “All except that Gillian bitch–witch!”
“Come on, man. What’s your problem with her? She’s smart, she’s beautiful, she’s—”
“And supposedly, she’s a witch,” Adam finished. His head wobbled as he fingered one of the empty glasses lined up on his side of the table. “And she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
When Nate smiled, Adam narrowed his eyes. He pointed a finger across the table. “Ah-hah! You want her for yourself.”
“Come on, let’s be professional about this. Sure, I like her. Who wouldn’t? But I would never—”
“Liar, liar.” Adam started to motion the waiter again but stopped when he saw Nate indicate each of the four empty glasses in front of him. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” Pausing, he leaned back against the booth, crossed his arms over his chest, and eyed his partner. “What’s with this witch stuff, anyway? Do you believe in it?”
Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6) Page 5
