Midsummer Night's Mischief

by Jennifer D. Hesse

  Mila furrowed her brow. “This sounds serious, Keli. Maybe we should do a protection spell first.”

  I didn’t protest as she stood up to gather a few items from the bureau, including a black candle, a smooth obsidian stone, a crow’s feather, and an ebony goblet, which she filled with water from a nearby pitcher. She placed the items on the table, one at each compass point, then proceeded to walk around the table, sprinkling salt on the floor and murmuring an incantation as she went.

  After casting the circle, Mila opened a small vial of sage oil and wet the tip of her finger with the oil. Then she touched her finger to each of the elemental objects on the table. Next, she dabbed some oil on me: on my shoulders, the back of my neck, and my forehead. Finally, she lit the candle, sat down, and reached for my hands.

  “Close your eyes, Keli, and take a deep breath.”

  I did as she asked.

  “I want you to visualize a soft golden-white light surrounding you like an aura. Now see the white light growing brighter. The light radiates around you and moves with you, repelling all negative energy. Imagine yourself completely shielded by this powerful, magical light. You are in its protection.”

  After a moment of silence, Mila told me to repeat these words after her:

  Within this sphere of sacred light,

  No threat may pierce nor foe may bite.

  To keep all danger far at bay,

  I call the Goddess Hecate.

  With Darkness banish, fire defend,

  Cross her path, and she will rend.

  I am safe and I am free,

  As I will, so mote it be!

  Mila clapped her hands to seal the spell, then gave me a minute to absorb and ground the crackling energy around us. I took a few calming breaths, while she began shuffling the tarot cards again.

  “Feeling all right?” she asked.

  “I do. I feel . . . more confident.”

  “Good. You should repeat the words of the spell in your mind at least six times a day. And before you leave, I’ll give you an amulet for extra protection. Now then, it’s time to think about what you want to ask the tarot.”

  As I watched Mila deftly handle the cards, I was reminded of the River Queen Casino. Was Rob’s gambling problem really at the root of the mystery? Or was I shaking the wrong apple tree?

  “I need guidance,” I said. “As kids say, I need to know if I’m hot or cold.”

  “Okay. Got it. This calls for a simple three-card spread representing past, present, and future. The first card will show you where you’ve come from, what you bring to this moment. It will tell you whether you’re on the right path. The second card will illuminate the present situation, highlighting where you are in the journey and whether you really are nearing the end. The third card will predict the outcome based on the path you’ve chosen.”

  Mila set the cards in front of me.

  “Place your left hand on top of the deck and silently ask your question. Then cut the deck into three piles, while keeping your question in mind. When it’s time, I’ll turn over the first card and read it before revealing the next one, and so on. This will ensure that each card gets its due without the distraction of the other cards.”

  I did as Mila asked, eager to see what the cards would reveal. I was familiar with tarot, having used it for spells and divination in the craft. But I was no expert. I trusted Mila to interpret any messages the cards would have for me.

  She took the three piles I had created and stacked them on top of one another. Then slowly, like opening the first page of a sacred book, she turned over the first card and placed it on the table, facing me.

  It was the High Priestess, which in this version of the tarot took on the guise of a Professor of Divination, a beautiful goddess-like woman sitting at a small table next to an open window. She was reading cards by the light of a full moon and a flickering white candle.

  “Are you sure this is my past and not my present?”

  Mila smiled. “This shows what you’ve brought with you from the past into this present moment. The High Priestess is you. As you can see, she’s associated with the moon and psychic energies. You have the same gift of insight. This is a message to listen to your dreams and trust your intuition—which, apparently, you’ve been doing.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, studying the imagery on the card.

  “Oh, and see the pomegranate design on the curtain? The High Priestess is also associated with Persephone, who ate a pomegranate seed in the underworld. Another link to your recent past, no?”

  “That’s right.” I laughed, remembering the finding spell Mila had given me. “Well, this is reassuring.”

  “Okay,” said Mila. “Let’s look at your present.” She turned over the next card in the stack and placed it to the right of the first card. It was the Eight of Cups. Mila pointed at the card as she described the illustration. “In the foreground, you can see eight cups stacked somewhat precariously. It would appear there’s one missing from the arrangement.”

  “Well, this is obvious, right? Something’s definitely missing. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Beyond the cups,” Mila continued, “is a boy walking away from them. He’s carrying a walking stick, as if he’s going to be gone for a while. For some people, this card represents change or leaving something behind.”

  “Leaving something behind? Like my job?” I asked, feeling a twinge of alarm.

  “Remember your question,” Mila said soothingly. “Something is missing, and you’re looking for it. The retreating figure could be setting off to look for the missing object.”

  “Oh,” I said, relieved.

  “As this is the eight card—which is toward the end of the cards numbered one through ten—I would say you’re nearing the end of your search. We also see an autumn landscape, which is another indication of a cycle nearing completion.”

  “Good to know,” I said, though the thought made my stomach jumpy.

  “One more thing,” said Mila. “The suit of Cups is associated with our emotions and feelings, as well as love and relationships. Perhaps you’re turning your back on something in that realm? Or something is missing from your life as you conduct this search?”

  “Humph,” I snorted. “Let’s move on.”

  Mila laughed. “Very well. Let’s see what the future has in store.”

  My heart started to thud a little faster as I watched Mila slowly turn over the third card. I frowned when I saw what it was.

  “Interesting,” said Mila.

  “I’m not sure interesting is the word I’d use. This card doesn’t look so good.”

  “I just meant it’s interesting that it’s another Cups card.”

  It was the Five of Cups, and it depicted a sad-looking girl wrapped in a cloak, gazing forlornly at some toppled cups that were spilling their contents into a stream or river.

  “This is a card of loss and disappointment, isn’t it?” I asked, biting my lip. “Does this mean I won’t be successful in my search? Or that I won’t like what I find?”

  “Now, now,” said Mila. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Take a closer look. There are five cups, but only three are knocked over. Two are still standing. That means all is not lost.”

  Small comfort, I thought. But I let her continue.

  “And remember what the cups represent. I would say you are emotionally invested in this search. Perhaps some of your emotions have yet to spill over.”

  “But you said cups also represent relationships,” I countered. “So this could mean I’m going to lose a relationship?”

  “It could,” Mila responded gently. “There could be some regret. But the flowing river indicates that life will go on. You’ll move on. Whatever happens.”

  * * *

  After the comfortably temperate atmosphere of Moonstone Treasures, the blazing heat outside felt like a punch in the gut. I walked a few blocks under the noonday sun, brooding over my unpleasant future, before deciding I needed to drop in som
eplace to cool off. I wasn’t too far from the Cozy Café. But when I neared the restaurant, I had a sudden notion to visit the library around the corner instead.

  The Edindale Public Library was housed in a solid three-story limestone structure built around the turn of the century. It was a peaceful, old-fashioned Carnegie library with a sizable collection. As I ascended the stone steps and entered through heavy double doors, I thought to myself that I really should come more often. The hushed coolness inside was especially welcome on a day like today.

  Without quite knowing what I was looking for, I headed to the fiction area and scanned author names. Nothing jumped out at me.

  As I wandered through the quiet stacks, I once again recalled my vision of books. What was the Goddess, or the High Priestess, trying to tell me? I walked to the English literature section, found two whole rows of Shakespeare, and stared at the books, as if they would speak to me. After a minute, I did hear something—the squeaky wheel of a book cart on the other side of the floor. I peeked my head around the shelves and stared, experiencing the strange sensation that I was having another psychic vision. Why did the library worker look like Wes?

  I jumped back behind the shelves, ducked down, and peeked through an empty space between books. By Goddess, it was Wes! He stopped the cart, placed a book on a shelf, then moved the cart up another row.

  I was torn. Should I step out and say hello? Or sneak down the back staircase before he reached my row? It was so odd, seeing him restock books here, out of the blue. Then my phone buzzed inside my purse, making the decision for me.

  Once in the stairwell on my way down, I answered my phone. “Hey, Farrah,” I said quietly. “What’s up?”

  “Please don’t hate me.”

  “What?”

  “Please, please, please don’t kill me. Don’t de-friend me. I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

  “What’s going on? What are you talking about?” By this time, I had reached the first floor and had exited the library. I crossed over to the shady side of the street, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

  “I can’t be there tonight. This guy at work broke his leg and can’t present at this bar association conference in Chicago . . . tonight. The boss asked me to go in his place.”

  “Oh, man.”

  “I’m on my way up there now. I am so, so sorry. You know I’d never do this to you if I could help it.”

  “I know,” I said.

  I knew Farrah had no choice. I wasn’t mad at her. However, now I was more nervous than ever. Without my partner in detection, I was going to be the lone woman in the spotlight. How was I ever going to pull it off?

  CHAPTER 24

  The conference room was full, and all eyes were on me. Outside the plate-glass windows, the trees along the boulevard appeared as dark shadows against the evening sky. Conversation stopped when I took a seat at the head of the table. It was Beverly’s usual spot, but I hardly felt like the Queen Mother. More like the royal jester maybe, about to make a fool of myself.

  Keep it together, Milanni. Stick to the plan, and you’ll be fine.

  I cleared my throat and turned to Pammy, who sat on my left. “Pammy, would you mind passing around these copies of the will?”

  Then I turned to Darlene on my right. “Is everyone here who’s coming?”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together, appearing as tense as I felt.

  I looked around the table at all the expectant faces. Sharon smiled at me encouragingly, while her husband looked slightly bored. Wes, who sat next to Kirk in the farthest chair from Rob, winked at me when he met my eye. If he harbored any annoyance about me rushing off from our date on Saturday, he didn’t show it.

  We’ll see how long that lasts, I thought unhappily.

  Directly across from me, at the other end of the table, Crenshaw, wearing a trim brown suit, sat upright, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. I looked at the empty chair next to Pammy and then glanced at the clock. It was 7:15 p.m., and Jeremy still hadn’t arrived.

  “Okay, well, I guess we’ll go ahead and get started. You all should have a copy of the will before you, if you’d like to follow along. Oh, and I’ll be making arrangements to see that all of the beneficiaries who couldn’t be here tonight receive a copy, as well. So no need to worry about that.” I nodded toward Kirk, whose youngest daughter was back in California and whose eldest daughter was home with her baby.

  I cleared my throat again. “When Eleanor was in my office a few short weeks ago, she certainly didn’t expect we would be reading her last wishes so soon. But, of course, she knew we would be reading them at some point. And I want to tell you that it was very clear to me how much she loved each and every one of you.” I paused, glanced at Eleanor’s children and grandchildren, and for once felt I was doing right by my late client.

  “While there won’t be any surprises tonight about how she divided the bulk of her estate—equal percentages to each of her children—she did leave special bequests, special gifts, to all of her relatives. Now, as you may or may not know, reading the will aloud like this is merely a formality. However, Darlene, as executor, felt that it would be consistent with her mother’s wishes to gather together and read the list of gifts for all to hear. And I agree.”

  I took a sip of water from the glass in front of me, then proceeded to read Eleanor’s will. I was on the second page when Jeremy slipped in, a sheepish grin on his face. He ducked his head and waved apologetically at everyone in the room, though I noticed he didn’t look directly at Rob. If I wasn’t mistaken, Rob seemed slightly surprised to see Jeremy but kept his mouth shut.

  Jeremy clapped Crenshaw’s shoulder as he walked by and winked at Pammy when he took his seat. “Sorry,” he whispered loudly. “Please, continue.”

  I disregarded Jeremy, doing my best to keep a neutral face. As I read each gift Eleanor had selected for her family members, there was some quiet murmuring, a few laughs, and some tears and sniffles. After about twenty minutes, I was finished with the reading.

  Now it was time for the real show.

  With my heart thudding beneath my navy blue silk blouse, I took a deep breath. I so wanted to scrap the whole plan at this point. But Darlene looked at me anxiously, her cheeks flushed and her hands clasped tightly in front of her. I needed to do this, and I needed to do it before people started to leave. Oh, how I wished Farrah were with me!

  Stacking the papers on the table in front of me, I cleared my throat yet again and launched into my rehearsed opening.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have one more matter to discuss this evening, which I think will be of great interest to everyone here. As you know, when Eleanor prepared her will, she anticipated that her estate would be significantly larger than it had been previously. This was, of course, due to the discovery in her attic of a rare collection of Shakespeare’s plays, known as the First Folio.”

  That got everyone’s attention. Crenshaw, not knowing about this item on the agenda, squinted his eyes but remained silent. Pammy and Jeremy also looked at me with interest.

  “As you probably also know, this edition of the First Folio rightfully belonged to Eleanor, because she inherited the entirety of her husband’s estate upon Frank’s death four years ago. And Frank’s claim to the rare book is documented by a certificate of authenticity—a copy of which I have right here.”

  I held up the certificate and tried to note everyone’s reaction. There wasn’t much to see. Kirk leaned forward; Wes raised an eyebrow. Crenshaw jutted out his chin. Darn it. Without Farrah, this was going to be even harder than I’d thought. Still, I pressed onward.

  “The Folio, unfortunately, is missing at the moment. It was taken from Eleanor’s home on the evening of the memorial service. However, I believe it might be returned. As a matter of fact, I’m hoping that the person who took it will voluntarily return it. Tonight. For, you see, that person is sitting here with us in this room at this very moment.”

  Th
ere was a sharp intake of breath. Shifting chairs creaked on both sides of the table. Other than that, it was much quieter than I’d expected. I quickly swept the room with my eyes, looking for any signs of guilt. Everyone looked at me, waiting for me to go on.

  Stalling for time, I took a sip of water. Okay, that bought me exactly one and a half seconds. Ugh.

  “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. The person who took the Folio is sitting here at this table. I know this because the person who took it was seen leaving Eleanor’s house that night, carrying a duffel bag. There was an eyewitness. And I spoke to that eyewitness. But the eyewitness has not gone to the police, and neither have I. Yet.”

  A soft moan escaped Darlene’s lips, and Sharon patted her arm. Rob stared at me impassively, while Wes furrowed his brow. I could almost hear him wondering why I had never mentioned any of this to him before.

  “As I said, I am hoping that the person will come clean. He’s not really a criminal. I think he saw an opportunity. And in a high-stress, misguided moment, he took that opportunity without thinking it through.”

  Silence.

  “But now he has a chance to make it right. A chance for amnesty. Return the Folio now, and all will be forgiven.”

  More silence.

  Damn it. I was going to have to go forward with the accusations one by one, just like in the movies. Crenshaw’s eyebrows were drawn so close together, they were practically touching. As I sat there, looking across the table at him, I suddenly had the wild idea that I would start with him.

  “All right, then. I told you the culprit is in this room. As a matter of fact, it could have been any one of a number of people, right? Take Crenshaw, for example.”

  Now those eyebrows were sky high. Pammy gasped, and Jeremy leaned back in his seat with crossed arms, looking nothing more than amused, while all heads swiveled toward Crenshaw.

  Now that I had begun, there was no turning back. My words tumbled forth. “Yes, Crenshaw. You love Shakespeare, don’t you? You’re a real Shakespeare buff, a devotee. You quote him. You emulate him. Why, you knew all about the First Folio, as you demonstrated to our office that morning when I told you about Eleanor’s find. You also knew that the Folio would have very likely been left unguarded at Eleanor’s house the night of the visitation. You even asked me about it that day at the office. Remember?”