Spell or High Water

by Gina LaManna

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  “For the next twenty-four hours,” she said with a thin smile, “Darren Whiting will be under a love spell. We’ll have a pillow sent to his room, and he’ll be convinced it’s ‘the one.’ He won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” I said. “You won’t regret this.”

  “After that, poof!” Margaret warned. “He’ll snap out of it like Cinderella’s pumpkin.”

  “Understood,” I said. “Thank you again for —.”

  Margaret disappeared with a small crackle of magic, leaving me talking only to my reflection in the mirror.

  “Thanks for your help,” I muttered. “Nice chatting with you all.”

  I quickly got dressed, my mind clicking through the to-do list I needed to accomplish before the love spell on Darren broke. I needed to go to the police — I owed them the information I’d uncovered so far. Maybe they could follow Darren to Jersey. Then I needed to prepare for the opening night of the beauty pageant at Coconuts. The pageant’s first official day was tomorrow, and Kenna had scheduled a huge kickoff karaoke event for tonight. Checking the clock, I realized it was only a few hours away. Everyone would be there, so it would be the perfect place to keep an eye out for interactions between my suspects. It’d be more interesting to see if anyone was conveniently missing from the festivities.

  But before I did either of those things, I needed to have an adult conversation with Paul.

  “You snitch!” I accused, finding him tucked under the covers on the porch. “I can’t believe you ratted me out to the coven.”

  I didn’t have a choice, Paul whined. They threatened to take away my ability to talk to you if I didn’t tell them everything I knew about the portal activity.

  “But we don’t know for sure what you saw was portal activity.”

  You’re in denial, I know what I saw, woman. I saw a portal monster.

  “Fine,” I said. “Then you can help me track it down. Get your raincoat.”

  You know I hate getting wet. And mud? Paul shuddered. I think I’ll stay in bed.

  “Get dressed,” I ordered. “I’m going to the police station first, and when I come back you and I are going on a monster hunt.”

  Seventeen

  It was an odd sort of day.

  I’d chased down a murder suspect, gotten reamed on the radio and sprinted a mile through a raging storm — and this evening’s agenda wasn’t looking any better. If I’d calculated correctly, I’d be headed to the police station first, then off to hunt a swamp monster and choose a crowd-pleasing karaoke jam.

  Dressing for such an occasion was nearly impossible.

  I finally settled on jeans, flats and one of my favorite T-shirts that said Resting Witch Face on it. I’d bought it because Kenna had one, and it always annoyed her to match. Then I’d shrugged on a dandelion yellow raincoat, because really, what other color looked good in that weird plastic material?

  That is how I found myself standing outside the police station decked out in a raincoat on a perfectly sunny afternoon. Apparently the storm had blown briefly over the island. It’d stayed just long enough to make me look like a complete moron. By the time I reached the station it was a gorgeous, perfect-golfing-weather afternoon.

  I shrugged out of the coat before heading inside. I asked at the front desk to speak to whichever cop was available. It wasn’t as if Eternal Springs was large enough to have a large force.

  I was eventually shown to an interview room and given a seat, offered coffee — which I accepted — and was told to wait. As I waited, I reviewed what I wanted to tell the cops. Everything from my interviews with the girls to my chase of Darren to the mystery man (most likely Edwin) at the crime scene.

  “Good afternoon, Evian,” Burt, one of the handful of rent-a-cops on the island grinned as he entered the room. “What brings you here today?”

  “I have some information I want to share with you regarding Marilyn Johnson’s murder.”

  “I heard the show earlier.” Burt winced. “Ouch, am I right?”

  “Yeah, thanks. It feels really good that you’re reminding me about it right now.”

  “That Tarryn is a firecracker, all right.” He gave a low whistle and completely missed my sarcasm. “Almost makes a guy wonder if she was capable of offing her friend. She’s projected to win the whole pageant, I hear, now that Mary’s gone.”

  “So they’re saying,” I said. “Well, look. I’ve been asking around some in my spare time —.”

  “Interfering with the investigation, I hear.” Burt gave a chuckle. “You know that’s our job, Miss Brooks, don’t you?”

  “I just felt bad. After all, I was the one who discovered the body.”

  Burt’s face went somber. “I understand. Do you want to amend your initial statement from the crime scene?”

  “Sort of,” I said, “though it’s not only my statement. Like I said, I’ve talked to a few people who knew Mary and, well ... .” I sighed. “You might want a notebook for this.”

  “Better yet, how about we do this?” Burt set a small digital recorder on the table before me. He flicked it to on and the red light blinked. Quickly, he recorded the date, time and our names, and then gave me a nod. “Go ahead, Miss Brooks.”

  I laid everything out for him in one long — hopefully organized — stream of consciousness. I started with my suspicions of the medical examiner, which made Burt frown. Nobody liked to think one of “our own” had participated in a murder. Abigail might not be an ME by choice, but she was supposed to help the police, not cover up evidence.

  I followed up my thoughts on Abigail with her link to Mason, and Mason’s link to Mary. Then I filled Burt in on my chats with Edwin, Carl and the beauty pageant contestants, including the newest tidbit that Bertha might have seen Edwin at the cottage around murder o’clock. I concluded with my thoughts on Tarryn and my breakthrough with Darren. I obviously left out the part about calling the coven and requesting love spells.

  Burt quickly thanked me as I finished and then switched off the recorder. “Look, Evian, it’d be nice and all if the Jersey cops worked with us, but things ain’t that easy. I’m not sure that we can do anything to hold up Darren.”

  “This is a murder investigation and there’s a very real chance that he’s our guy. He has a temper,” I said, thinking of the metallic clang that had lingered in the air after he lost his cool this afternoon. “I saw it.”

  “I’m not saying this guy did or didn’t hurt Mary, but we don’t have any real evidence.”

  “He was there! He admits to being at the house around the time of the murder.” My fingers clenched the edge of the table. “Did anyone question him?”

  Burt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, you see, we were busy that morning. There’re only two of us.”

  “A woman was murdered! I understand there aren’t many crimes on the island, which is all the more reason we can’t let this one go,” I said. “We have to hunt Darren down and question him at the very least.”

  “Miss Brooks, I would like you to know on behalf of the department that we appreciate your help, but there are certain limitations to what we can do with a force of two people. Unfortunately, Buddy’s golf cart can’t drive across the ocean, or I’d send him.”

  “It doesn’t feel like you’re even trying.”

  “Of course we’re trying.” His eyes narrowed, darkened. “It seems to me, Evian, that you’re forgetting you don’t have a badge. None of us have complained about you playing Nancy Drew and asking around, but we could really get on your case about it if you push things too far. I’m going to say this one more time: Thanks for your help, Miss Brooks. We’ll take it from here.”

  I sensed my time at the station had come to a close. Nothing more would be accomplished by sticking around and forcing my hand. However, if I left on decent terms there was a good chance I could continue asking questions around the island. If I uncovered more evidenc
e on Darren in the next twenty-four hours I’d contact the Jersey police myself.

  “Thanks, Burt,” I said. “I appreciate you listening.”

  “There we go. I knew you’d see things my way.”

  It was all I could do to shake his pudgy hand and follow him out front. Burt whistled as he walked me out, and if I wasn’t mistaken he slammed the glass doors just a little too hard as I walked down the front steps.

  I sighed on the sidewalk, thinking that if someone would just give me a badge maybe I could actually accomplish something around here. Buddy gave himself awards all the time, why couldn’t I turn myself into a cop?

  Glancing down, I realized I was still holding the cup of coffee that someone had delivered to me in the interview room. I chugged it, then dumped the cup in a garbage can while debating where to go next.

  “Howdy there, Evian,” a voice boomed behind me. “What are you doing here at the station? Out looking for trouble?”

  The telltale sounds of a golf cart combined with the clacking of knitting needles signaled the mayor’s arrival. “Hi, Buddy, Mitzi,” I said, forcing a smile and greeting the couple. “No trouble here — just checking in on things. What brings you around?”

  The mayor looked beyond me into the building with a longing expression. It would appear Buddy wanted to go inside the station, but after careful consideration had decided the idea of leaving his golf cart throne was much too exhausting. “I thought I’d check in and see how the investigation on Mary’s murder was going. Have you heard anything?”

  “Not all that much,” I said. “I was just talking to Burt about it, so I’m sure he can give you the lowdown.”

  Buddy gave a hefty sigh. “Never mind. I guess I’ll catch up with Burt tonight at the event. Did you hear I won the best-dressed last week at karaoke?”

  “I did not hear that, Buddy. Congrats. Who gave you the award?”

  His cheeks turned red because obviously it was another self-given accolade. “Will we be seeing you at Coconuts, Evian?”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it — everyone will be there!” I said with false cheeriness. “What about you, Mitzi?”

  “Yep,” she drawled. “Got my song picked out and everything. Didn’t you listen to the show last week? I talked about it for half an hour!”

  “Oh, er, right. I was busy. Sorry.” I winced. I always told Mitzi she did a wonderful job, and then promised myself I’d listen in at some point. That point hadn’t yet arrived.

  “What are you singing?” she sniffed. “I didn’t hear you talk about it on your show. That’s right, I listen to you.”

  “Oh, I don’t sing,” I said. “That’s Kenna’s thing.”

  “She does have a good set of pipes on her,” Buddy said with admiration. His wife showed her displeasure at the compliment by nearly slicing her fingers off with the click, click, click of her knitting. He coughed. “Forget it. I suppose we’ll be seeing you then, Evian.”

  The mayor’s foot must have slipped and hit the gas pedal because the cart lurched forward and Mitzi’s needles nearly poked the mayor’s eye out. I briefly wondered if it had actually been an accident or if she’d aimed there after Buddy’s crack about Kenna.

  “Well, we’re off!” The mayor chortled over his shoulder. “See you tonight, Evian! Don’t forget your tunes!”

  My walk back to the house was not as sunny as the walk to the police station. The bright rays of sunlight had dissipated behind a thick covering of clouds, and if I wasn’t mistaken, another storm was brewing in the distance. Highly unusual weather for this time of year, which made me think it wasn’t all natural. Both Paul, the coven and the snarky trees seemed to agree.

  My depression reached a new low as I realized Kenna would be shoving me up on stage in just a few hours. There was no such thing as refusing to sing karaoke at Coconuts when one was pretend friends with Kenna. Being pretend friends helped keep our witchiness under wraps, because most locals thought we were four weirdos who hung out together. It worked for us.

  But I couldn’t ditch tonight’s event. Everyone would be there. It was my one chance to watch everyone close to Mary interact under one roof. The chance the murderer would be in attendance was almost one-hundred percent.

  I thought through the list and marked down mental RSVPs: Abigail would be there, certainly. She never missed the chance to flaunt her newly inflated fake chest. The beauty contestants would also be in attendance vying for media attention — the pageant started tomorrow, after all. The coaches and coordinators would be chaperoning the girls, and the townsfolk would flock to a bar that promised beautiful women. Yes, that included Mason.

  By the time I reached home, the raincoat turned out to be an effective choice. I shrugged it back on as droplets started to fall on my shoulders. Pulling the door open, I yelled for Paul. He ignored me the first few times until I threatened to make him sleep outside.

  At my empty threat, he hopped onto the porch and sat looking fat and adorable. I didn’t normally describe a toad — even a familiar to whom I was obligated to feel fondness now and again — as adorable, but in this case, it was accurate.

  Paul had dressed in a matching bright yellow raincoat and tiny little hat. He even wore little booties that made his leaps completely ineffective. He and I matched perfectly. Kenna would be horrified.

  Keep your mouth shut, Paul directed, and pick me up already.

  I smothered a laugh as I reached for him. With a gentle scoop, I plopped him on my shoulder. “Come on, Paul,” I said. “We’re going on a monster hunt.”

  Eighteen

  “Which way?” I asked. “Did you see which way the monster went?”

  No.

  “How about a guess?”

  Nope.

  “Gee, you’re helpful,” I snarled, standing at my front gate. Bertha stared me down through her binoculars. “Give me your best estimate. You saw more than I did.”

  I don’t know, and I don’t want to be here. I’m just an innocent victim.

  “Well, you’re stuck with me, pal, so we’re in this together.” I scanned my yard in the hope it would give me a push in the right direction. “I hadn’t realized how bad things have gotten out here.”

  You’ve been busy, and your yard’s not the only thing that’s been neglected.

  While he pouted I raised a hand and gave him a little pat on the head. He wriggled closer to my fingers and gave a low croak of satisfaction. With my familiar slightly appeased, I took a longer moment to study the destruction before my house.

  The yard had turned into a giant mud bath. Even the pale sidewalks were streaked with dirt and mud, as if a child had haphazardly finger-painted along them with soil. The garden beds overflowed with fossils of flowers and remnants of former beauty. It was no more than a vacant cemetery in a sea of muck.

  I wrinkled my nose, aware that Bertha probably saw every line on my skin through her binoculars. Even as I stood there, I heard her window fly up.

  “Are you getting Zola to look at your lawn?” Bertha called out. “I’ve never seen such a disaster in all my life.”

  “Thanks, Bertha.”

  “You’d better watch or it’s gonna eat my raspberries alive, and I’m gonna have to ask you for compensation. Those bad boys took a lot of love and hard work to grow.”

  Bertha meant she’d hired the local garden boys to plunk some bushes along our shared fence. From there, she’d let the rain take care of the watering. The love and hard work must be referring to her spying habits.

  “It’s even creeping up that way!” Bertha swung her binoculars around to the back of my house where a narrow dark path led toward the woods. It hadn’t been there before, of that I was certain. “I imagine the town council isn’t gonna be too excited to see this. If whatever bug got into your dirt wipes out the whole forest they’ll hunt you down.”

  “Not if the coven or a giant destructive slug eats me first,” I said, gritting my teeth. Then, I called to her. “Thanks, Bertha. I’m going to go inve
stigate now.”

  “Your investigating isn’t doing much good now, is it?” Bertha said. “You haven’t found that murderer you’ve been looking for yet. Have you forgotten about that?”

  “No, Bertha, I haven’t. Thanks for pointing out all of my shortcomings.” I followed the sidewalk around the house and picked up the sludge trail in my backyard. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Good luck out there. Make sure to call Zola — she knows how to take care of plants and flowers. These raspberries are from Cackleberries, you know.”

  Of course I knew, but I bit back the snarky comment. I’d had to help the garden boy from Zola’s shop put the raspberries in place while Bertha had watched. And Bertha didn’t even let me have any berries when they were ripe. She wanted to charge me five bucks for a small box of them. And they called me the witch.

  Look at that ugly line, Paul said. I’ll bet he went that way.

  Indeed, there was an odd, squiggly sort of path through the back of my yard that continued out into the field beyond. Luckily, no houses stood between mine and the portal. It was mostly unoccupied wilderness, open fields and walking trails that extended from the main hotel and spa.

  Eternal Springs boasted miles of trails and parks and outdoor fitness activities for those folks arriving in hopes of leaving ten pounds lighter. In reality, the walking trails were mostly used by the locals whose dogs pulled their owners out for fresh air and a stretch of the legs. Eternal Springs was more of a sprucing sort of place, where people wanted to sit around and eat bon bons and lose weight instead of actually work for it — Paul included.

  Paul and I followed the path in the ground through a series of loops and spirals and wiggly lines. I wondered if the monster had no sense of direction and had been hopelessly lost for his entire journey. Either that or he was drunk on dirt, because the path made no sense whatsoever. Maybe he’d gotten into the Babbling Brook — a river that could have gotten him drunk.