Spell or High Water

by Gina LaManna

  “If you were there to check on the girls, why didn’t you go into the cottage?” I struggled for Edwin’s explanation to make sense, but nothing was clicking. “I don’t understand why any of this had to be a secret if you’re innocent.”

  “How would it look if I was there talking to Mary a few minutes before she was murdered?”

  “It looks a lot worse now that you lied.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about our ... .” He trailed off, peering at my face. “Forget it. Yes, I was there that morning. I ran into Mary, we had a chat and I left. It was stupid Susanne who saw me, wasn’t it? The psychotic runner chick?”

  “She’s not psychotic, and you’d be a runner too if your mother hung over your shoulder watching your every move,” I said, feeling defensive. “And this is not about Susanne, so don’t go punishing her. She wasn’t tattling on you — she didn’t even suspect you did anything wrong. All she did was mention running past you when she left that morning. You’re the one who’s turning this into a whole big thing.”

  “It’s not a whole big thing,” he snapped. “Leave it alone.”

  Edwin closed the conversation by slipping past the bouncers. Unfortunately, I had to stop and show my ID, which meant that by the time I eased into Coconuts he had long since vanished into the crowd.

  Kenna should be happy, I thought, coming to a stop just inside to the door. Everyone was here. If anything, murder was good for tourism — though nobody should tell Kenna that. She was so enthusiastic about her director of the tourism board position that she might just poison a few of her enemies to get annual visit counts up. I’m kidding, of course — mostly.

  I scanned the bar and took stock of the hustle and bustle. Abigail, of course, was up on stage with her breasts pressed to her chin and her dress hugging her hips, belting out some unintelligible song and gyrating her hips.

  “That’s our medical examiner, ladies and gents,” Skye whispered in my ear as she slid next to me. “Dang if Eternal Springs shouldn’t be proud.”

  “You know, I actually don’t mind her up there,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “The longer she swings those hips, the longer I have to fight off Kenna.”

  “Then put your boxing gloves on,” Skye advised. “We’re up next.”

  “What? No!” Panic instantly flooded my chest. “No, that’s impossible. I’m not mentally prepared. What song? What is this we business?”

  “Kenna organized a little tribute for Mary. She wants everyone in the bar to dissolve into tears.” Skye rolled her eyes. “Not exactly the way to liven up a party, if you ask me.”

  “Someone needs to get control of that witch.”

  Skye laughed. “I’m just warning you. I call the dysfunctional microphone.”

  “No, that one’s mine! You know I always choose that one!” I hated pleading with Skye, but it was worth it for the dud microphone. “I need the broken one because if people actually hear me sing, they might die.”

  Skye shrugged. “More murders equates to more ratings for your show, more readers for my newspaper and more visitors for the tourism board. Don’t tell Kenna, though, or she’ll begin offing us all.”

  “I had that same thought!” My face felt caught between a laugh and gaping horror. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  Skye glanced my way. “I know you’re not used to covering such tragic things what with your fluff job, but you can’t take everything so personally. Take it from me, the expert.”

  “Skye, you report on the opening of new ice cream shops and the mowing of the median.”

  “I had that one concussion I did a story on, and what about the theft of Bernie’s button?”

  “Hi, what are we talking about?” Zola asked as she joined us. “Tell me Kenna didn’t rope us into doing some stupid song. By the way, any news on Bob?”

  “Bob?” Skye asked. “What have I missed?”

  I filled them both in on the story of Bob the Slug, and then continued on to the rest of my afternoon. Just when I was getting to my odd interaction with Edwin in the alley, Kenna found the three of us with our heads together and wedged her long skinny nose into the party.

  “So,” she said. “What’s the gossip?”

  “Evian has a pet monster named Bob,” Skye summarized, “and she’s going to kill people with her singing.”

  “What?” Kenna took a deep breath. It appeared she’d taken up yoga or something because she managed to keep her voice somewhat calm. “I’m not going to ask because I don’t want to know. No killing people, all right? And leave Bob out of this. We have a tribute to focus on.”

  “Whatever you say, captain,” I said with a salute that brought a smile to Skye’s face. Zola turned away, probably hiding a similar expression that seemed lost on Kenna.

  “Get your rear ends on stage. After Little Miss Elvis gets done grinding with herself up there,” Kenna said, thumbing over her shoulder, “we’re up. I have a short announcement and then I’ll flick the song on.”

  “What song?” My heart thumped a panicky sort of beat. “I really think I should watch and cheer from down here. Maybe I can get the clapping started? Or what about the tambourine? I think that might make a nice accent.”

  “If I’m dragged up there,” Zola said, “you’re dragged up there. No exceptions.”

  Skye agreed with a nod and Kenna cemented it with a smirk of her own.

  “Then that’s settled,” she said. “I’ll see you onstage.”

  “I’m getting a drink,” Skye said, and Zola doubled it by holding up two fingers. “Yeah, all right,” Skye amended. “Let’s make that a few drinks. Evian, you coming with us?”

  “Er — not now. In a minute,” I said. “I’ll — don’t worry about me.”

  “Don’t you dare sneak out on us,” Skye said, “or I’ll blow you into the mainland and Kenna will burn the ends of your hair. Do you remember when she did that to me? You don’t want that, trust me.”

  “No.” I shuddered, recalling Skye’s horrifying hairdo after she’d offended Kenna’s organizational skills. “I just have to say hi to someone.”

  The truth was that I’d seen Billie Jo enter the bar, and as she was both a familiar face and a resident of the Beauty Cottage, at this point she might be my best option to procure a few more details about Edwin. Even if she didn’t have the answers, she might know who did. It was obvious she took pride in knowing everything and everyone at the cottage, so I said a quick prayer to the water gods that she’d be in a chatty mood tonight.

  Chatty she was, I realized, the second I touched her shoulder. Her eyes were just a bit unfocused and her words came out a little too loudly.

  “Billie Jo, are you feeling okay?” I asked. “You seem off balance.”

  She giggled in a high-pitched whine and took a tottering step toward me. “Some of the other girls and I shared a bottle of wine to get ready for tonight. We thought we’d need the courage, you know?”

  “Courage for what?”

  “Oh, the tribute and whatnot. That anal-retentive organizer of yours —.”

  “Kenna?”

  “Yeah, that one. She came over and gave us the rundown of the evening in a minute-by-minute itinerary. She told us we couldn’t miss the tribute because we’d all bawl our eyes out.”

  “Oh, Kenna. I’ll talk to her, Billie Jo. And I’m sorry. I promise you she only meant well. She wanted to recognize Mary for all of her successes and the wonderful person she was.”

  “No, no ... .” Billie Jo raised a finger and tried to smoosh it against my lips, but she missed and nearly clawed my nostril. “I’m just saying it’s sad. I think the tribute is nice. Just don’t tell her that a few of us are four sheets to the wind.”

  “I think you mean three sheets, Billie Jo.”

  She held up her fingers and made a serious effort to count. “One, two ... .” She paused, stuck up two fingers to make four. “Three? You’re right.”

  I patted her head. “Say, I think we should get
you a water and a seat. Come over here, sweetie.”

  I led Billie Jo to a table, elbowing out some kids who looked as though they’d used fake IDs to get into the bar. They barely grunted with annoyance. As they moved, they didn’t bother to break eye contact with Abigail’s chest. If there was anything good about our medical examiner, it was her ability to distract a crowd.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting down next to Billie Jo. “Drink this, and then eat this. You’ll feel better.”

  I grabbed a fresh basket of bread from an older couple at the table next to us who didn’t notice — they were also transfixed on Abigail — and I wrestled a dinner roll into Billie Jo’s hand.

  She took a bite and grinned. “Yum.”

  “I know, it’s gourmet,” I said. “It’s also probably been weeks since you’ve eaten carbs.”

  “Months,” she corrected. “Stupid beauty pageant.”

  “Exactly. And speaking of the stupid beauty pageant, I need to ask you something about Edwin.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Okay.”

  “Did you see him the morning of Mary’s murder?” When she shook her head no, I continued. “Some girls saw him at the cottage. He admitted he talked to Mary. I’m wondering if you know what that might have been about.”

  She began to laugh so hard she choked, and I had to clap her on the back and watch as a crumb of bread flew into a neighbor’s drink.

  “Sorry,” I said, before the man could get angry. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  He frowned and handed his drink off to a passing waiter while barely interrupting his gaze at Abigail. This was the most I’d ever liked the woman.

  “Did you find something funny?” I prodded Billie Jo, whose gaze had wandered in the short amount of time I’d been distracted. “Something about Edwin and Mary? Was there something going on between the two?”

  “He wishes.”

  I blinked, the shock settling over me in waves. “What do you mean, ‘He wishes?’”

  “He’s been asking her out for months! I swear, he invites her to dinner, like, once a week.” Tears popped into Billie Jo’s eyes, though whether from sadness or humor, I couldn’t tell. “I’m just glad she got to reject him one more time before she died. What a creep.”

  “Did Edwin do anything else ... .” I searched for the word and couldn’t find a good one. “Er, creeptastic?”

  She shrugged. “I think repeatedly asking out a woman in the pageant he’s coordinating is creepy. But that was the extent of it as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Did Mary ever ... .”

  “Oh, no. She would have never gone out with him.” Billie’s eyelashes fluttered. “As far as I knew, she was single, but she also wasn’t looking — and she especially wasn’t looking at him.”

  I followed Billie Jo’s nod to Edwin, who stood sulking in the corner. As much as I wanted to go over there and really give him something to sulk about, I’d accomplish more by getting to the bottom of this murder. If Edwin had gotten angry and killed Mary, he needed to pay for it — before his temper got the better of him again.

  “You’re sure she wasn’t seeing anyone?”

  “I’m not sure,” Billie Jo revised with a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, she could have been, but it would have been near impossible.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “First of all, it’s hard to hide stuff in the cottage. Everyone knows everyone’s business. And she was never making phone calls, writing notes or sneaking away to spend time with anyone. She was focused on her career and on getting that sixtieth win.” Billie’s eyes genuinely watered up this time. “Poor thing. All her time was spent training with Carl, exercising or practicing the piano. Whatever time she had left was for beauty rest. Really, the girl barely got to socialize. I don’t see how she could’ve possibly taken a lover on the side.”

  “Plus all the travel,” I agreed. “I don’t know how any of you would be able to sustain a relationship. I haven’t dated forever, and I have none of those excuses.”

  “Yeah, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you got in here.” Billie’s head bobbed dangerously close to the table as she nodded at Mason. “You should go say hi.”

  “Thanks, Billie Jo, but I might —.”

  Her head hit the table with a light thunk, and the snores followed shortly after.

  “Oh, boy,” I said, just as Kenna pulled herself up on stage and shooed Abigail off after her fourth standing ovation. I couldn’t leave an unconscious girl alone in a bar per the general female safety code, so I glanced around, looking for one of her friends. Most of the other girls were either chatting with someone or looking in danger of a snoozefest themselves.

  “Need some help?”

  In my haste to find someone to watch Billie Jo, I’d missed Mason’s evacuation of his seat and journey across the room. Turning, I found him standing next to the table with a blasé smile on his face.

  “I can play babysitter if you need,” he said. “She’ll be safe with me. We’ll just sit here together until you’re done.”

  I nodded gratefully. “Thank you so much. Kenna apparently is making us do this tribute, and —.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Mason sat in the chair next to Billie Jo and shooed me away. “Go on. I can’t wait to see this.”

  Kenna’s gaze was just about burning holes in my head by the time I reached the stage and joined my other fake-nun sisters.

  “About time,” Kenna snapped. “Where were you?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said, grabbing for the janky microphone in Skye’s hand. “Please? I don’t even know what song we’re singing!”

  “Dancing Queen,” Kenna said. “But replace ‘Dancing’ with ‘Beauty.’ You know, Beauty Queen, young and sweet … .”

  “Oh, jeez,” I said. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s creative,” Kenna insisted. “The other girls think so too. Right, ladies?”

  I used the moment of awkward silence to snatch the dysfunctional mic from Skye’s hand and replace it with the working one. The entire bar would be better for it.

  Before Skye could react, the music started. I dodged her ensuing lunge and tiptoed to the other side of the stage. The slight flare of flame in Kenna’s hair silenced us just in time for the lyrics to kick into full swing.

  We launched into the song, performing the most awkward combination of song and dance known to Eternal Springs. I was just preparing a suicidal stage dive when I caught sight of Mason’s whimsical smile in the audience. He looked as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he should be horrified or intrigued at what was happening on stage, and I didn’t blame him one bit.

  One glance at the rest of the crowd told me that Kenna’s short speech in tribute to Mary had worked wonders. People were wiping damp eyes and heaving sobs onto friends’ shoulders. Either that or we were bad enough at karaoke to make the entire crowd cry. I wouldn’t put it past my singing voice to bring tears to a person’s eyes — especially after I’d made Paul weep with my hairbrush solo earlier in the afternoon.

  Halfway through the song, I glimpsed movement near the door. I paused my lip-syncing to watch as Edwin moved quickly to the bouncers, spoke to them under his breath, and then slipped into the night. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes downcast, as if he’d seen something — or someone — that’d spooked him. After what I’d just heard from Billie Jo about his intentions with Mary, my hackles stood to attention.

  My gut told me that he was preparing to run. I’d already lost one of my prime suspects to the ferry; I wouldn’t lose a second — especially not Puff-the-Magic-Dragon-in-my-face Edwin.

  “Sorry,” I called to the other witches above the music. “I’ve got urgent business.”

  I thrust the faulty microphone into Skye’s hand and tried my best to slip off stage unnoticed. From the bar, I felt Mason’s eyes follow me, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave Billie Jo alone after he’d promised to watch over her. Just like the other singing witches couldn’t yel
l at me in the middle of the song. As a matter of fact, I’d picked the perfect time to leave ... though I’d pay for it later.

  As I raced between the tables in pursuit of Edwin I found myself hoping Kenna would feel forgiving and avoid singeing the edges of my hair. I already had unruly dead ends. Fuzzy tips would just make everything horrid, especially in this humidity.

  The bouncers parted to let me barrel through. I launched from the bar into the darkness that had fallen and hesitated, feeling the wash of moonlight splash on my face. The full moon had officially arrived, which meant my powers would be at their strongest. So would Bob’s, but monster hunting had been put on the backburner until after karaoke.

  Edwin was nowhere in sight, but I careened around the corner and found myself hurtling toward the back alley. I couldn’t quite say why I felt the rush, the urgency, save for the fact that the entire evening had started with a single thread pulled when Susanne had mentioned Edwin’s name. The mystery had begun to unravel as I followed that string, and things felt close to a tipping point. One little nudge and the whole web of lies would come tumbling down.

  “Edwin,” I gasped pulling to a stop in the alley. “What are you doing?”

  He raised a lazy hand and gestured to the cigarette drooping from his fingers. “The same thing I was doing the last time you assaulted me.”

  “I didn’t ... .” I hesitated, the sound of soft sobs coming from further down the alley. “Is someone else out here?”

  Edwin rolled his eyes. “Apparently the tribute hit Carl right in the feels. I came out here to check on him, but he doesn’t want to talk.”

  I stepped a few feet further down the alley, where I found Carl huddled on an abandoned set of filthy steps that led nowhere. Normally, I would have sat next to him and offered a one-armed hug, but there was no way I was ruining my nice dress on that filth. The man could stand up if he wanted a hug that badly. Plus, in these heels, it’d be a miracle if I ever stood up again after sitting down.

  “Carl, what’s wrong?”

  “You have to ask?” he moaned. “Weren’t you in there? Didn’t you listen to Kenna talk about Mary during the tribute? And now she’s gone. Forever. We’ll never win that sixtieth crown together.”