by Sharon Pape
I found Sashkatu an hour later when I was watering the plants in the living room. He was sleeping, curled around the trunk of the potted ficus, his black coat great camouflage on the dark soil. When the first drop of water hit his fur, you’d have thought it was hot oil by his reaction. He jumped up hissing, back arched, ears flat against his head. Admirable reflexes for a cat of his years. I felt bad about his rude awakening, but he had brought it upon himself. When he followed me into the kitchen looking for his dinner, I gave him some leftover salmon with his kibble. He took it as the olive branch I meant it to be and, after licking the dish clean, he climbed up on the couch where I was sitting. In his absence, the other cats had come to snuggle with me. He glared at the tabby in my lap, until she left, then took his rightful place in my lap with a grumble of contentment.
Travis was anchoring the evening news from Watkins Glen. Hearing about all the troubles and cross-purposes in the world didn’t seem quite as bleak coming from him. I assumed no one else felt that way or he would be anchoring the news in a market like the New York City tri-state area. The few times he’d been afforded that opportunity, his demographics were high. Just not high enough to knock the competition off the ladder. I admit to being sorely tempted to use a little magick to smooth his way, but I always came to my senses before I did anything that foolish. Helping Travis would have meant derailing others in their career paths—black magick no matter which way you tried to spin it.
The news had barely faded to commercial when my phone rang. I didn’t have to look at the Caller ID to know Travis was on the other end. I rolled out the story of my turn as Elvis Presley in great detail and he laughed until he was wheezing. I had to hold on while he went in search of water. “And the motorcycle?” he asked, back on the line.
“The same one Lolly described. But it gets better. Lena is Stubbs’s niece.”
“The CP’s secretary?”
“The very same. And she must know Biker Dude, because Stubbs said she liked to borrow the bike now and then. No mention of any guy, though.”
“Sounds like Stubbs doesn’t know she’s been lending the bike to a third party.”
“That would be my guess. I’m planning to go back up there to check out Stubbs’s alibi,” I added.
“His bar cronies aren’t the most reliable people to confirm his story. Odds are they were under the influence at the time, which makes their testimony worthless.”
“But bartenders aren’t allowed to drink on the job,” I pointed out.
“Kailyn,” he said with a laugh, “you’re a little naive. We’re talking about a hole in the wall bar in Burdett, off-season. I wouldn’t be too sure about how strictly they comply with the liquor commission’s regulations.”
I stopped listening at naive. If I were a cat, my hackles would have spiked. “Is that how you win a point?” I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“Win? I don’t follow.” He sounded completely lost—men.
“Calling me naive is a putdown. It’s a way to invalidate my opinion, my thoughts, me.”
“I swear I didn’t mean it that way, Kailyn.” He was clearly taken aback.
“How did you mean it?”
“Like it’s sweet that you trust everyone to play by the rules.”
“You’re not helping yourself,” I said.
“Then please accept my apology, before I dig myself into a deeper hole.” He sounded a little desperate, and I was finding it hard to stay mad at him anyway.
“Okay, apology accepted. But you might want to think about what you say before you say it in the future.”
“Right, got it.”
“Listen,” I said, “do you want to hit that bar together?”
“I’m off tomorrow night if that works.”
“Tomorrow night it is.”
* * * *
We arrived in Burdett at a quarter past eight. In Manhattan, people were just getting ready for an evening out, but in Burdett most of the businesses were already shuttered for the night. The only places with their lights on were a pizza and pasta joint and the Longhorn Saloon—apparently the owner had a sense of humor. The name brought to mind old Westerns with honky-tonk piano music and corseted women in flamboyant dresses. Inside, this saloon was just a run-of-the-mill bar without pretensions. The sour smell of old beer and liquor hit us when we opened the door. The lighting was dim, possibly for ambiance, but more likely to mask the bar’s deficiencies, like walls that needed painting. They were lucky most people don’t have great vision. A few men were watching football on the flat screen above the bar. Two others were playing darts at the far end of the long, narrow space. They all looked middle-aged and older.
Travis and I sat down a few stools away from the TV watchers. The bartender came right over to us, blatant curiosity on his face. He was up there in years like the other men. I had the crazy thought that he might ask to see our ID and then demand that we leave, because there was a strict fifty and older policy. Travis ordered whatever beer they had on tap. I asked for tea. The cold damp of the day had left me chilled. The bartender wasn’t sure if there was tea, but he went in the back to check. When he returned, he was carrying a mug of steaming water with a teabag afloat in it and Travis’s beer. He found some sugar packets for me under the bar. “You folks visiting here or passing through?” he asked.
“I’m Travis Anderson and this is my partner, Kailyn Wilde. We’re here investigating a murder.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you now? There haven’t been any murders in Burdett for as long as I’ve been living here.” The TV watchers had turned their attention to us as soon as they heard the word murder. The bartender asked them, “Any of you guys know what he’s talking about?” They all shook their heads.
“Axel Stubbs,” Travis said.
“I’m afraid you’ve got your facts wrong. Axel overdosed on drugs. And that’s gotta be three, four years ago by now.”
“And good riddance,” one of the TV watchers muttered.
“We have reason to believe the ME’s report was wrong on one point,” I said. “It’s possible Axel didn’t OD; someone just made it look that way.”
The bartender shrugged. “What do you think I can tell you about it?” He sounded annoyed.
“We’re not here to accuse anyone of anything,” I said quickly. “We just want to verify an alibi.”
“And whose alibi would that be?” the bartender asked.
“Austin Stubbs,” Travis said. I watched the faces of the men and found it interesting that there was no push back, no how-dare-you from any of them. No one called us out for investigating a lifelong friend, a fellow townie. Apparently, Austin wouldn’t win any popularity contest.
“Stubbs claimed he was here the night Axel died?” the bartender asked.
“When was that again?” This from a TV-watcher with a scruffy gray beard.
“July third, 2014,” Travis replied.
“Kinda hard to remember a particular day that long ago,” gray beard said.
“If it’s any help,” the bartender said, “Austin used to stop in most nights when Axel was alive.”
“The more he drank, the more he’d ramble on about the hardships of raising a teenager alone,” gray beard said with a grunt.
“And in the three years since then?” I asked.
“He doesn’t come in that much anymore,” the bartender said. It sounded like once Axel was gone, Stubbs senior no longer had much to vent about. “Hold on,” he said, “I think maybe I can help you. It just struck me—the day before July fourth three years ago I had to close the bar for my dad’s funeral. Austin couldn’t have been here.”
“Why would Stubbs have lied to the police, if not to cover up a murder?” I said to Travis on our way back to the Glen.
“Could be he was home alone the night his son died and he was afraid the truth wouldn’t keep him
out of jail. Seems like enough people heard him complain about Axel over the years, which gave him a motive. So he played the odds. According to the bartender, Stubbs was a regular there for a long time. Who would remember that he wasn’t there for one night that long ago?”
“Except that he happened to pick the one night the bar was closed,” I said.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a little thing like that took down a criminal.”
“I can see Stubbs killing his son in a fit of rage,” I said, “but I can’t picture him in the role of a caped crusader who suddenly feels the calling to eliminate other people who are potential threats to society.”
“From everything you’ve told me about the man, I’m inclined to agree,” Travis said. “He doesn’t sound like an altruist. But facts don’t lie. Lena is his niece, she borrows his motorcycle, the same one Biker Dude rides and you caught her sneaking into town hall and stealing Epps’s files.”
“Now if we could just connect the dots.”
Chapter 39
New Camel was undergoing its annual holiday makeover. Town workers were draping green garland between the old-fashioned lamp posts that were already decked out with shiny red bows. Tiny lights were sprinkled throughout the garland. They were difficult to see in daylight, but at night they twinkled like reflections of the stars. Holiday music was once again coming from the speakers secured to trees and lamp posts. The weather had moderated enough for me to step outside without my coat to admire the full effect of the decorations. A half dozen other shopkeepers were outside too, all waving to each other. The cold made groundhogs of us. We hunkered down in our own little burrows. It took the holidays to draw us out.
Lolly was taking in the view and beaming with delight. She waved when she saw me and came across the street. “No matter how old I get to be, holiday decorations always make me feel like a kid again,” she said.
“I know what you mean. I definitely need a little joy and this always does the trick.”
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been away from your shop a lot lately.”
“This investigation is a tough one,” I said. “But we’re all good.”
Lolly put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Hang in there — something’s going to break soon, mark my words.”
I laughed. “Are you trying to compete with my aunt?”
She looked stricken. “Heavens no, it would be a fool’s errand at best. How is my favorite psychic baker these days?”
“Tilly’s fine, probably in a baking frenzy for today’s readings and teas.” The cool air had made its way through my sweater and was nipping at my skin. Although the temperature was above freezing, it was miles from warm. When my shoulders quaked from the chill, Lolly sent me back inside with grandmotherly insistence and I obeyed. Up until my mid-twenties, I would have chafed at being told what was best for me. Maybe I was officially a grown-up.
The people on that day’s bus tour were every bit as happy as we were with the moderating temperature and festive look of the town. Some of them had been to New Camel and my shop before, but many had not. It was easy to tell them apart. Those who were familiar with Abracadabra grabbed a wicker basket and made a beeline for their favorite products. The rest wandered in tentatively. Two women blocked the doorway, just poking their heads in, trying to decide it they wanted to venture farther. One of my more exuberant repeat customers saw the queue forming behind them and took it upon herself to go over to talk to them. “Don’t be silly geese. Come on in. There’s nothing in here to be afraid of. The beauty products Kailyn sells are better than anything I’ve ever tried and they don’t cost an arm and a leg. Perfect for holiday gifts too!” Her last remarks did the trick.
I thanked her for her help. “I should hire you,” I said.
She laughed. “I’m a city girl. No small town can contain me, but I’m glad to lend a hand when I’m here. If you’re really grateful, maybe you could give me a little discount? I’m buying a ton of stuff today. With winter ahead, I need enough of everything to last me till spring.” How could I say no?
When the bus pulled out of town three hours later, my coffers were full and my shelves were bare. It was going to take hours of work to restock the products before the next group descended upon us. That was the one problem with the holiday season—trying to keep up with the demand. I never had to worry about it when Morgana and Bronwen were alive. My spirits flagged from the loss of them in my everyday life and the weight of the work on my shoulders. How did Lolly manage all by herself at almost fifty years my senior? If only I could figure out how to clone her energy…. I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped when the phone rang. I was surprised to hear Sam Crawford’s voice and hoped he wasn’t calling to ask me when his interview would be aired.
“Miss Wilde, I wanted to let you know that there was an attempt on my life last night,” he said, dispensing with the usual pleasantries. His voice was tight as if he was still dealing with the emotional effects of the life and death situation.
“Are you all right? Did you call the police?” It was all I could think to say.
“I’m a little on edge, but otherwise fine. The police have all the details. I just thought you should know in case this person comes after you.” Considering what already happened to us, Travis and I were always on alert.
“I appreciate the heads up,” I said. “May I ask what happened?”
“I was attacked last night in my own driveway—a man in a ski mask. He must have been hiding in the bushes, because he lunged at me with a knife the moment I got out of my car. He went for my neck, but I managed to block him with my arm and I started shouting for help. That’s when he ran off.”
“You spoke to Detective Duggan?”
“Yes, for what it’s worth. I’ve since hired bodyguards. I have to consider the possibility that this man is the killer you’re after. He may have concluded that the most efficient way to eliminate future threats to society is to remove me from the equation. You may want to take precautions yourself.”
“Did you recognize the man’s voice?” I asked. “Did it sound like anyone you know?”
“He never said a word.”
“I’m glad you weren’t injured.”
“Do you want the number for the agency supplying my security team?” he asked.
“Let me get back to you on that,” I said. No way could I afford private bodyguards. Besides, my wards were better. They didn’t sleep, eat, or demand overtime.
“No problem. And you might want to remind your partner not to sit on my interview too long or it might wind up being my obituary,” he added without humor.
I couldn’t contact Travis until after the evening news. He got to me first. “Did you hear about Crawford’s close call?”
“From the victim himself.”
“He called you?”
“He said he wanted to let me know so I could protect myself. Come to think of it, I really should place wards around you too. I don’t know why I didn’t do it before. When can I see you?”
“Tomorrow? I’m bushed and I’m anchoring the early news in the morning.”
“No, tonight,” I said, leaving no room for argument. In spite of how tired I was, it seemed imperative to protect him as soon as possible. If I ignored the sirens blaring in my brain and something happened to him, I would never forgive myself. Travis agreed, not that I gave him much of a choice. I packed up the items I needed for the protection spell and left the house to the sleeping cats. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought that the Wilde cats had a better gig than we humans.
I jumped into my car that had been sitting in the dark for hours with the temperature dropping, and instantly started shivering. It was the kind of night when there is nothing better than curling up on the couch with a blanket, a book, a cup of Tilly’s tea, and a cat…or six. I reminded myself that
an entire winter season of such nights lay ahead, mine for spending however I chose. And once I placed the protective wards around Travis, he’d be more likely to wind up there beside me. I made it to the Glen in record time. Probably because everyone else was at home, curled up on their couches, my whiny alter ego said.
When Travis opened his door, I had no more reservations about having made the trip. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, no socks or shoes. His hair was tousled as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He looked like a little boy up past his bedtime. “I can’t believe you came all the way here tonight,” he said padding after me into the living room.
“I had no choice. Nothing less than your life is at stake.” I set the tote with the paraphernalia on the coffee table and told him to sit down.
“I think that’s being a bit overdramatic,” he said, dropping onto the small sofa.
I’d started arranging the symbols for the elements on the table, but my head shot up at his words. “How can you, of all people, say that?”
“I know what you’re getting at, but I’m not Ryan. I’m not out there stirring up hornets’ nests and provoking people.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing, poking our noses into everyone’s business—making new friends?”
He shook his head as if he was too tired to argue about it. “What’s my part in this?” he asked, looking at the things I’d laid out on the table.
“You’ll be happy to know that you don’t have to move a muscle. You can watch TV or even fall asleep if you’re so inclined,” I added dryly.
“You’re annoyed,” he said.
