by Mary Bowers
I checked my watch and saw that it was after two in the morning. Apropos of nothing, I realized that soon it would be about the same time of night that I’d gone running up cemetery hill with King just five days before. I shivered, and in spite of myself I stood still and listened. Nothing. There were no strange noises; the dogs were quiet.
“Taylor, you do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Why in the world would you want to kill Vanessa?”
He hesitated a beat too long, then said, “Exactly.”
Suddenly, Bastet was at my feet. As I looked down, she gazed up coolly for a moment, then started to rub herself against Michael’s ankles. He reached down and picked her up and she rested in his arms, purring and staring at me.
My feelings were too strong and confused for them to simply fall away like a dropped cloak, but it did reassure me. The police, unfortunately, were going to need something more than a purring cat if the evidence began to stack up against Michael, though. I wished I had more.
I figured I’d start with the cake.
Chapter 12
Saturday is our busiest day at Girlfriend’s, so I sometimes go into town to help Florence out if I get the chance, but my first stop that morning was going to be at The Bakery. It was their busiest day, too, so I planned to get there after the morning rush, about a quarter after eleven.
Silly me. Of course The Bakery had been invaded by the Florida Division of Hotels and Restaurants. The food police SWAT team, no doubt. Somebody who’d taken a bite of one of the cakes from The Bakery had just keeled over and died, and they needed to look into it. I walked in anyway and was greeted by an inspector who explained the situation.
“Where are the owners?” I asked her.
“Upstairs. They live in an apartment on the second floor. I haven’t seen them come down this morning. Are you a friend?”
I told her I was, and said I’d go around and use the back entrance to get to the apartment.
After dodging through Girlfriend’s so I didn’t have to walk the length of the block to get around, I was allowed to go in and up to the apartment by a cop I happened to know.
Rosie let me in, breathing, “Thank God,” when she saw me. She waved me through a short hall into the kitchen, and there at the table was that champion of fairies and elves, Purity LeStrange. She looked up, smiled sadly and said, “Ah! There you are. I summoned you. I hope you don’t mind.”
Nobody had called me, but that wasn’t what she meant and I knew it. Purity had probably used a crystal ball or a magic mirror.
“Always happy to oblige,” I said, letting it go. “I came to see how Rosie and Poppy were doing, but it’s always nice to see you. Is Poppy here, by the way?”
“Oh, I summoned her too. She’ll be joining us. I should have done it sooner; she’d never have left for Publix if I had, but I naturally assumed that the twins would be consoling one another at home this morning. We simply must put our heads together. You know what I mean, of course.” She stared at me, as serious as a baby-faced middle-aged woman with big blue eyes can look. Her long blond hair was forming loose banana curls and her bangs were hanging down almost over her eyes. I had to restrain myself from pushing them aside; I can’t stand seeing anybody’s hair sticking into their eyes.
“Oh, sure.” Ready for anything, that’s me. “Don’t you have any activities this morning at ParaCon? Who’s manning the potions booth?”
She shrugged. “I summoned Ariel. She’s very competent, especially at the time of the full moon, which, of course, is tonight. We all come alive a little when the moon is full.”
I nodded knowingly. I had no clue who Ariel was, but I hoped Purity had summoned her by phone, and not by whatever method she’d used on me. It was purely an accident that I happened to show up at The Bakery when “summoned.” I was not in the grip of some strange compulsion; I was there for reasons of my own.
“The Crystals and Potions Emporium can wait,” she said. “If any really tricky questions come up, Ariel will just give them my card and I’ll consult with them later, unless they mention the Wee Folk. In that case, she’s to call me right away. The Folk are much more important just now than making a little money selling potions. It’s sometimes very hard to make Edson understand, isn’t it?” she said, girlfriend-to-girlfriend.
“It sure is.”
Rosie came and sat at the table, saying, “Poppy’s on her way back. I texted her, so she wouldn’t go goofing off all over Flagler County instead of coming straight home. She couldn’t stand seeing our business under siege, and I was afraid she’d stay away the rest of the day. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“How are you two doing?” I asked.
Rosie shrugged. She tries to be tough, but I could see the strain. “Poppy unraveled when the cops showed up, but somebody’s got to be strong. Maybe this will get her to stop thinking up new ways to capitalize on the alien craze that’s going around.”
“Oh, it’s not aliens,” Purity said calmly. “It’s the Wee Folk. I’ve been seeing them out in Spuds, too.”
I nodded broadly. I wasn’t surprised. “Aren’t they always running around in the woods?” I asked.
“Of course. I haven’t made myself clear, I’m afraid. They’re always there, but at this time of the year they stay close to their burrows and don’t move around in the open much. But with this machine thing running around, they’re very upset. I’m worried they may start playing tricks on the town folk and the potato farmers. They’re very touchy.”
“Wait – what?” Rosie and I both stared at her and were still gaping when Poppy came in the door spitting fire. We didn’t pay any attention to her.
“You mean you know it’s a robot?” I said.
“Of course.” She looked at me like I was simple. “It’s that Sparky Fritz. The other two aren’t so bad. Phineas and Ricky. They’re just harmless boys, kind of nice, really, but Sparky’s a real devil. He eggs them on until they start acting as badly as he does. I’ve known them for years. Ricky is very nice, if you get him by himself, and Phineas is a true gentleman. But when Sparky gets ahold of them, look out. They turn into juvenile delinquents. The minute Ed told me they were coming to ParaCon, I knew Sparky would be out playing tricks on me. He thinks I’m funny. But I never imagined he’d roam around Tropical Breeze causing trouble for everybody. Tell me, Taylor,” she said, homing in on me, “how are the Wee Folk out at the Cadbury Estate taking it?”
“Uh, I dunno.”
“You don’t see them,” she said complacently, sitting back. “It doesn’t matter. How have the animals been? Have they been upset at night?”
“Well, actually . . . .”
“Yes, I heard,” she said, nodding her curls around. “Sunday night. You awoke to the dogs trying to warn you. They understood. If only they could talk.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said. Now that I could agree with.
Poppy had put her purchases away, listening to us and frowning, and finally she poured herself a cup of coffee, came to the table and said, “What’s all this?”
I sat back and let Purity explain things in her own special way. I was beginning to feel that I had nothing relevant to say anymore.
“Wee Folk?” Poppy said flatly when Purity had finished. She gazed at her sister, and her sister gazed back.
“Well, that’s one explanation,” Rosie said, “because I can’t explain everything that’s been going on around here by blaming it on Sparky’s robots anymore.”
“Oh? What else has happened?” I asked her.
The twins consulted one another silently, and Rosie said, “You tell them,” with an air of defeat. “I’m not up to this anymore.”
“When did the tricks begin?” Purity asked sharply.
The twins looked at one another again as if they hadn’t thought of that. Then Poppy said, “After Rosie saw the thing in the alley.”
“Yes, yes,” Purity said. “Naturally that would’ve started it.”
&nbs
p; “Started what? Stolen cookies, something like that?” I asked.
“No,” Rosie said. “Weird stuff. Missing shoes. Strange markings on the back door.”
“What kind of markings?” Purity said excitedly.
Rosie waved a hand. “I cleaned them off. It wasn’t spray paint or anything. It seemed like . . . chalk or something. One time it was just a mark made in the condensation of morning dew on the door. But it was something upsy-downsy, like a design.” She was making gestures with her hands, outlining what she was trying to describe, and Purity pounced.
“Runes,” she said. “It’s a shame you didn’t take pictures of them. Could you make a drawing?”
Rosie shook her head. “It was just, like, pretty designs. Like Celtic knots, or something.”
“Yes, yes,” Purity said, nodding. “I would have been able to read them. Next time please take a picture.”
“Don’t talk about a next time!” Rosie said.
Purity reached across and took her hand, and though Rosie stiffened a little, she didn’t jerk her hand away. I was surprised. The twins are tough old birds. They’re never huggy or kissy, and they’re not demonstrative. Rosie was pretty badly shaken.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Poppy asked Purity. “We’re not responsible for the alien sightings. We can’t stop them.”
“But I think I can,” Purity said. “In fact,” she said firmly, “I’m going to.” She stood up suddenly, and if it hadn’t been for the cobwebby shift and the antique lace and the bouncing banana curls, she would have had an air of grim determination. She was so focused on the mission that she forgot to say good-bye as she left.
We sat there watching her go, all three heads turning to stare, and when she was gone we sat back and blinked for a while.
Then I pulled myself together. I hadn’t come to talk about bots and Wee Folk. I’d come to talk about the cake they’d made for Orwell Quest.
* * * * *
“Heck no, we didn’t give him a container of extra frosting!” Poppy exploded at me when I asked. “The police already asked that. They found the container sitting next to that woman’s bag.”
“I know. I saw it too. For some reason, somebody added frosting to your cake.” I didn’t feel like getting into the whole bread-cake-frosting thing again.
Poppy was nodding. “The police asked if we’d given it to the customer when he picked up the cake. What a stupid idea! If they’d wanted extra-thick frosting, we would’ve put it on the cake, not in a container. Why would anybody want to put extra frosting on an already-frosted cake?”
“Who cares?” Rosie said. “Obviously, somebody tampered with our cake. Now we’re getting somewhere. Who got their hands on the cake after it left here?”
“Well, Gavin said he picked it up.”
“Right,” Rosie said. “Tall guy. Undertaker type.”
“That’s him,” I said. “Then he gave it to a girl from his entourage that they call Pixie, and she says Vanessa Court took it away from her, went into the kitchen with it and locked the door behind her. But we have no way of knowing if that’s true. Pixie’s already proven she’s a liar. In fact, practically the first thing she ever said to me was a lie.”
“So somebody poisoned the cake, and this lady Vanessa died after taking only one bite of it,” Poppy said pensively.
“I repeat, who cares? It means we’re in the clear,” Rosie said. “They’ll analyze the cake and see that it’s all right, and that the poison was in the frosting that came out of that container. That frosting didn’t come from here, obviously. If we’d wanted to poison the frosting – which why the heck would we? – we wouldn’t have put it in an extra container and said, ‘Here, plaster this on the cake when you get home, will ya?’ Doesn’t make sense.”
“No, you’re right.”
The food police apparently came to the same conclusion. After confiscating all the frosting on the premises, they told the twins they could re-open and left.
“Now we just have to hope people will even want our stuff anymore,” Poppy said mournfully as we watched the authorities leave.
* * * * *
After that, I decided to go over and help out at Girlfriend’s. The shop had been so busy when I’d buzzed through on my way to the alley earlier, Florence hadn’t even noticed me. When I came in an hour later, there was a lull. Only one customer was in the shop, inspecting glassware, and I could tell from the long string of charms hanging from her neck that she was part of the ParaCon crowd.
I told Florence quietly that I’d been over to see the twins, and she asked me how they were. I said fine, and made a quick decision not to tell her about Purity and the Wee Folk. I did ask if anything odd had been happening at the resale shop, however.
“Oh, you mean aliens running around?” she asked wryly. “No.” Then she got a funny look on her face.
“What?”
“We may have had a break-in. Oh, don’t worry – there was no damage. It was just . . . odd. Some of the clothing was disturbed when I got in on Wednesday morning. Things had fallen off their hangers and were lying on the floor. At first, I figured a customer had done it the day before and I just hadn’t noticed it. But then I realized some gloves and scarves were missing. We don’t have that many; most people around here don’t bother with them in the winter. It doesn’t get that cold.” When she saw the look on my face, she said, “Why do you ask?”
We had forgotten the customer, and suddenly she was beside us.
“So they’re after clothes. I’m not surprised. It’s been a warm autumn, but the coldest part of the year is setting in.”
We gazed at her a moment in silence. I felt sure she was about to start talking about Wee Folk, and I quickly decided to stop her. Girlfriend’s can be Information Central in Tropical Breeze. I didn’t want Florence talking to everybody about Wee Folk. Aliens were bad enough. I didn’t want to get the gossip mill started on pixies and fairies too.
“Are you here for ParaCon?” I asked.
“How can you tell? Actually, I saw you there yesterday. Do you really know Orwell Quest?”
“Even better. I’m a personal friend of Edson Darby-Deaver.”
She looked at me as if trying to figure out if I was joking, and Florence quickly said, “Looking for a special find? If so, you’re in the right place. Resale shops always have all kinds of treasures, and it’s all for a good cause. It helps fund Taylor’s animal shelter, Orphans of the Storm.”
“Oh, I always check out the resale shops, wherever I go. Not for treasures. For souls.”
Florence smiled and I nodded.
“I can see what you’re thinking, but I don’t care,” she said, as if she really didn’t mind. “It’s the old urns and teapots and covered jars. I have to come in and feel them, use all my senses, and see if anything or anybody has been trapped. It’s an act of mercy. You wouldn’t understand.”
“We’re getting more open-minded here all the time,” I said breezily. “If there’s a trapped soul in here, I want it out of the shop as much as you do. Please, help yourself. We’ll even give you a special discount: buy one, get one free. How’s that?”
She found two trapped souls and a sugar bowl that was “disturbed,” so we made it three for the price of two. I’m all for acts of mercy, and more and more I’m figuring out that I know less and less.
After the lady left, we got busy rearranging the jewelry display. We have a lot of it. It tends to get tangled up together, and if we don’t separate the strands and set everything straight fairly often, we end up with one big glittering ball of chains that’s good for nothing but candlelight bowling. While we had our heads down hunting for the mate to a long, fan-shaped earring full of colored chips, we were startled by the sound of the back door opening.
We both froze and stared at the curtains that hung in the doorway to the back room. We didn’t hear footsteps, but in a moment the curtains moved aside and Purity drifted in.
“Ah. I’m glad you’re here. The
y said you were.”
“The twins?”
“No. I consulted the crystal. I was halfway to ParaCon when I realized we have to move quickly. Immediately, in fact. ParaCon will be over tomorrow and Sparky will simply leave. If the Wee Folk are unsatisfied, we’re going to have a problem on our hands. We need to let them see retribution.”
“Huh?”
“We have to catch Sparky and his two friends,” she said. “Catch them in the act. We have to serve justice, blow for blow, and do it where the Wee Folk can see it. I think the most likely place is the cemetery at Cadbury House.”
I had a quick vision of me explaining to Michael that we were rampaging into the night to get retribution for the Wee Folk. So far, with all that’s happened since he’s come to live with me, he hasn’t tried to have me committed. I figured this would be the last straw. Then I remembered . . . .
“If you mean catch Sparky while he’s running one of his robots around, he’s not going to be doing it at Cadbury House. Ed had Sparky set up surveillance there. He won’t do anything where he knows he’ll be caught on camera.”
“Ah.”
“You’re going to have to take care of this yourself, out in Spuds, or wherever you’ve been seeing him.”
“He won’t come to Spuds,” she murmured, drifting over to the scarves and selecting a large, thick one in shades of green and violet, with a long fringe at either end. It looked soft and comforting. She folded it this way and that and played with the fringe, then she stood there contemplating it and thinking for a moment. “Yes,” she said finally, very decisively. “Here. In Tropical Breeze. He won’t return to The Bakery. And as for targeting Ed directly, he lives in a gated community that’s harder to get into, and he’s almost never there anyway. No, it’s Ed’s special connection to you, Taylor, that made him target you last week. And if he can’t strike again at Cadbury House, he’ll play his next prank here, at Girlfriend’s. When do you open the shop in the morning, Florence?”
“If you mean tomorrow, we’re not open on Sunday at all.”
