by Madelyn Alt
There was a moment of awkwardness as we stepped out of the car and were faced with good-byes. Overhead in the sky, the afternoon sun was being overtaken by a fast-moving wall of clouds. Front moving in. At the pace those clouds were traveling, we'd have rain before nightfall.
"I want you to call me," he told me, "if you decide to go anywhere. Do anything. Not that I don't trust you. I just really think cops were on to something when they decided to work in pairs. Promise me."
I promised. The promise was an easy one to make—I didn't anticipate anything more dangerous than the odd paper cut as I sorted through several knee-deep piles of receipts.
He strapped on his helmet and threw a lanky, leather-clad leg over his bike. The motor surged to life beneath his touch with a growl that made the cement vibrate beneath my feet. He revved it a time or two, grinning as I rolled my eyes at this overt display of the male affinity for power. Then he sobered.
"Be careful, Maggie. The veil between the physical world and the spirit world is thinning as we speak. Darker forces never need much encouragement to try to affect the actions of humans. A thinning veil makes it that much easier for them to accomplish their goals."
I nodded, touched by his sincerity even though the very concept of a conscious spirit world remained a difficult thing for me to swallow. It was so much easier to pass it off as the result of an overstimulated imagination.
"Come over here, would you?"
I moved next to him, too worried about Felicity even to wonder what he wanted.
"Close your eyes."
Okay, well, that caught my attention. I lifted my gaze, but his eyes were now hidden behind dark sunglasses, impenetrable in the shadow of the building, and his face gave away nothing. It's all right, I told myself. I didn't fear him. Well, maybe a little bit. But I found myself trembling as I obeyed his command. Moments ago I'd called him nice, and he was that… but there was an edge to Marcus I sensed but didn't truly understand, and it had been in stark evidence today. He was not a man to be trifled with.
My eyes closed. I had only a moment to prepare myself before I felt the touch of his fingers on my forehead. "What—?"
"Shh. Just breathe."
His fingers traced an intricate pattern on my forehead. Breathe, he'd said. My breath had caught in my throat at the first delicate touch of his fingertips. I forced myself to relax, to draw air inside my lungs, to allow him this moment. He repeated the pattern over and over on my skin. Hushed words tumbled from his lips in a tone so low and resonant as to be indecipherable. I might not be able to understand them, but I could feel them, buzzing along my nerve endings, filling my head. In my mind's eye I began to see a light. Just a dot at first, a twinkling star in a void of shadow. The tiny light expanded into a circle of whirling, twinkling light, a hurricane of stars. I could almost feel it encompassing us, encasing us in a blur of radiance.
"Now hold out your hand."
I felt him press something hard and warm and smooth into my palm. Then he brushed his fingertips across my cheek, the barest whisper of a caress.
Knowing somehow that the ritual had run its course, I let my eyes flutter open. Whatever spell Marcus had cast had left me feeling vibrant and alert, almost jittery. My blood was sluicing through me like spring flood waters along a creek bed. It was almost a sexual feeling, but not quite. It was, for lack of better terminology, raw energy. I looked down at my still-open hand. In my palm rested two stones: a piece of turquoise and another silver-black stone the size of a quarter, irregularly shaped, its finish reflecting my face like a fun-house mirror.
"I know the turquoise. What is the other one?"
"Hematite. Do you know anything about stones and crystals?"
I gazed in fascination at the stones, rolling them back and forth in my palm. Silver and blue. Sky and water. "Not much. What do they do?"
"The turquoise is a protective stone. It guards against danger and physical mishap. The hematite reflects negativity and prevents it from getting through to you. The mirrorlike surface, you know. It also promotes courage and mental clarity."
Amused, I asked, "Do you think I need protection, courage, or mental clarity?"
"After what I witnessed this afternoon at Harding's office, do you really need to ask that question?" He reached out and folded my fingers over the stones. "Humor me. Keep them in your pocket. I'm serious, Maggie. I have a feeling something is going to happen. At this point it could go either way. You don't want to get yourself caught up along with it, trust me. And call me if you go anywhere. Promise?"
I nodded.
The store was still and empty, just as I'd left it. Restlessly, I went up to the front and made sure that the closed sign was prominently front and center, then returned to the dark office. I stood for a moment, staring at the piles of paper and wondering if it was all for naught. Felicity was in jail, and as far as I knew, she still hadn't hired a lawyer to get herself out of this mess. She needed my help, whether she knew it or not. I wondered if Marcus had given her any stones. I hoped so; as far as I was concerned, she needed them more than I did.
I settled down on the carpeted floor, the flood of papers in a half-circle around me. I had just grabbed a new stack when the phone rang. Sighing, I eased the papers off my lap and stretched for the phone.
"Enchantments Antiques and Fine Gifts."
"Police think your boss is a murderer," a quavering female voice intoned. "You like working for a murderer, missy? Ought to be ashamed of yourself, staying there. If you know what's good for you, you'll quit that place of shame and get yourself to church. Consortin' with killers, that's what you're doing. Ought to be—"
I dropped the phone in its cradle with a resounding rattle, my hands shaking. Just an old nutcase, I told myself.
The second nutcase was slightly less sane. At least, I hoped insanity was the reason for the irrational depths of venom and hatred the caller spewed into my burning ear. My eyes were watering and I could feel my own temperature rising with anger that a few well-meaning individuals could make me feel so used. Whatever problems they were suffering through in their own lives did not mean they should take them out on the nearest easy target.
When the third call came in, I was better prepared. I would wait for the caller to commence the attack, then stop the tirade in its tracks with a stern lecture about Sunday school lessons of tolerance and benevolence toward your fellow man. And what about those good old American values of a person being innocent until proven guilty in a court of law?
"Maggie, is that you?" a breathless female asked.
I frowned, trying to place the voice. "Annie?"
"Maggie, I just heard about Felicity. It's ridiculous, of course. But listen, honey, don't worry about Liss. She's a tough old bird and as wily as they come. If I know her at all, she has a half-dozen tricks up her sleeve to help the boys put things into proper perspective. Ten to one, she's gotten them to bring in her silk PJs from home, not to mention her pillow, a down comforter, and other necessities. By tonight they'll be laughing over a bottle of wine and sharing war stories. Just wait and see."
She meant to comfort me, but I could hardly bear to listen to her upbeat litany of goodness and light. Annie might well believe what she was saying, but Annie was a newcomer to Stony Mill. I was a lifer, so I knew better. Hoosiers were good people, but they could be as tenacious as pitbulls when their peaceful, ultraconservative lives were threatened. The best way to handle a problem was to root it out, isolate it, then eliminate it in whatever way necessary. I'd seen it happen before. "They wouldn't even let me see her, Annie."
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll go together. They wouldn't dare refuse the both of us."
It was useless to argue with her; that much was obvious. "Fine. Great. Tomorrow."
" 'Kay. And Maggie? Are the doors locked?"
Surprised by this sudden change, I looked up. "Uh, I think so."
"Make sure, okay? I'll see you tomorrow, hon."
It wouldn't hurt, I told myself, rising stiffly from the floor
to accommodate Annie's request. Actually, considering the phone calls I'd just received, it was probably a damn good idea.
The stones Marcus gave me had been digging into my hipbone. I fished them from my pocket and laid them on the desk, then made my way up to the front of the store. As I thought, the lock was shot. I tested the door, remembering how it had given way under my weight the morning I'd first met Felicity, but today it seemed to be doing its job. I returned to the office and checked the back door as well. With both entrances secured, I sat down again and picked up my discarded stack.
I'd only eliminated about thirty receipts when the phone rang again.
"Don't these people have anything better to do?" I grumbled under my breath. I snatched up the handset. "Enchantments Antiques and Fine Gifts, and if you're calling to commend me to the legions of Hell or to pray for my immortal soul, or even to offer me a subscription to Women's Wear Weekly, I'm just not interested."
"Well, let me see. Legions of Hell, nope. Immortal soul, huh-uh. And I'm afraid I don't know what Women's Wear Weekly is. Hi, Maggie."
My lips tightened and I narrowed my eyes. "Deputy Fielding. Calling to gloat?"
"I guess you heard, huh?"
"I guess I have."
He fell silent a moment, cowed, I hoped, by my refusal to let him off the hook. "Listen, Maggie, I have a job to do. I'm sorry it gets in the way of your friendship with Felicity Dow, but there's not much I can do about that except to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry it had to be this way."
"Sure," I said. "You have a job to do, and you're doing it. You're doing everything you can to find out who really killed Isabella Harding rather than just listening to your own preconceptions about someone you don't like."
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Dammit, Maggie, a woman was killed. Right here in my hometown. I don't like that. In fact, I take that as a personal offense. And I will do everything in my power to see that the person responsible for the crime pays for the crime."
"And you think that person is Felicity?" I laughed coldly. "If only you knew how funny that really was. Felicity wouldn't hurt a fly. In fact, it goes against her code of ethics to hurt anyone, even herself. If it harms none, do what you will. Harm none, Tom."
"Now you're spouting her psychobabble? Listen to yourself, Maggie. Your folks'd be horrified to hear you talking like that."
I stiffened. If he was only interested in cheap shots, then there was no point in furthering this conversation. "I have to go. Unlike you, I have work to do… like looking for a receipt for that tea you found in Isabella's home. I know you're not interested, but Isabella and Felicity had a falling-out over a year ago. There is no way Isabella would have Enchantments tea in her house. And unless she was irretrievably stupid, Felicity would never have implicated herself if she was intent on doing her sister in. So where did the tea come from? That's what I want to find out. And by the way, why don't you tell me what made you search her house for the gun?"
"That information is—"
"You had a tip," I guessed.
"Maggie—"
"Of course you did. Anonymous, too, I'll bet."
"Maggie, it was for her own good…"
"Oh, please. How much wrong has been done to the world by well-meaning individuals who set out to save us from ourselves?"
"We need to talk about this."
"I don't think so."
"Look, I get out of here in about an hour…"
"Don't bother. I won't be here." It was a lie, because I didn't have any intention of leaving until I had gone through every last receipt I could find, but at that point I didn't feel I owed him the truth.
"Maggie—"
"Good-bye, Tom."
Amazing how calm I felt, considering that I had been locked in a torrid embrace with the man less than forty-eight hours ago. I patted myself on the proverbial back as I quietly went back to the receipts, not realizing how much Tom's betrayal upset me until the print on the receipts swam before my eyes and a tear trickled down my cheek. He was a good man. An honorable man. A man who believed in law and order and justice. I trusted that. How could such a man fall so short of his ideals?
I waited a moment for my vision to clear, sniffed, then bent my head again. Nose to the grindstone. Work for what you believe in. Work will set you free, even when your heart is aching.
Sage wisdom from my Grandpa Gordon. God, I love that man.
I sat that way for hours, hardly noticing the crick in my back from sitting on the floor for so long. There had been no further telephone interruptions. After my conversation with Tom I'd decided to take the bull by the horns and switched the ring toggle to Off. Outside, afternoon turned to twilight. I didn't notice that either until I was forced to switch the desk lamp on in order to see the ink on the page. I transferred the current stack of receipts to the desktop then eased with a bone-weary sigh into Felicity's comfortable leather chair. It felt heavenly. I tried not to think about her sitting alone in a cold, utilitarian cell. Perhaps Annie's way of hoping for the best possible outcome was the right way after all. At the very least it helped to ease a woman's heart.
Night fell. I yawned over the stacks and paused to rub the weariness from my eyes. The hands on my watch pointed to nine-oh-four. From the height of the remaining piles, I estimated I had another two to three hours of sorting ahead of me—the summer's receipts. It disappointed me that I hadn't yet found what I was looking for, but I'd known it was a long shot to begin with. And although there were still two piles to go, maybe it was time to prepare for the ultimate disappointment of not finding anything at all.
Or maybe I just needed a break. Something to help me think clearly.
Mental clarity.
I glanced over at the stones I'd placed on the corner of the desk. Marcus had told me to keep them in my pocket, but that was all a bunch of mumbo jumbo, right? Stones don't have the power to aid you on your path through life. Stones are just… stones.
Still…
Feeling guilty, I reached over and picked up the pretty silver one. In the low-power light from the desk lamp, it looked like spilled mercury in my palm, fluid and graceful. Lovely. But probably not helpful.
I still had it in my hand when I heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.
It's amazing how quickly adrenaline precipitates fear. My heart leapt to my throat in an instant, but even before that instant, my body had gone on full alert. My hair prickled at the nape of my neck and along my arms, and immediately my eyes darted around searching out an appropriate defense. I seized the sturdy Celtic-knot letter opener from the pencil cup just as the door creaked inward.
My mouth fell open. "Ms. Harding?"
Jacquilyn Harding's hand flew to her throat, her enormous diamond engagement ring catching and reflecting the light with an impressive flash. "Oh, hell! You startled me." She stepped inside and closed the door. "I didn't expect to see you here, Maggie. Aunt Felicity asked me to stop in and gather a few of her things before heading home tonight. She gave me her keys." She held up a set of keys and waved them around. "See?"
I scarcely looked at them. "They let you see her?"
She turned around and relocked the door, tucking the keys into her pocket. She laughed self-consciously at my question.
"Of course. I am family, after all. Besides, Judge Hardcastle is a very old, very particular friend of my father's." She laughed again as she brushed at an imaginary smudge on her sleeve. "Never mind. I'm sure he's probably outside of your usual circle. You understand."
Oh, I understood, all right. I understood she had recovered from the initial shock of finding me here and was back to her usual high-handed self. "Of course," I purred right back at her. "How fortunate for Felicity that you have so many… connections."
"Oh, it's not just any connection. It's the kind of connection and what they can do for you."
She took off her nearly ankle-length black trenchcoat and threw it carelessly over a stack of boxes that stood along the shelving units, wait
ing to be unpacked. She kept her back to me, searching without a word through one voluminous pocket. I was glad for the reprieve—it gave me a chance to check her out unnoticed.
Common sense told me that Jacqui must be suffering over her mother's unexpected death, but her all-black outfit went way beyond mourning, especially since she'd exhibited little in the way of sentimentality before now. She was a reasonably attractive young woman in her mid- to late twenties, but as always she seemed to be hiding behind a cool, almost sexless facade. Witness exhibit A: her straight blond hair, which she had pulled up in a tight, high chignon that was straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Or how about exhibit B: her suit, impeccably tailored and top-dollar expensive, but in a style that was total middle-aged frump.
Serious hair. Serious clothes. Serious attitude problem.
Whatever she'd been searching for in her pocket, she seemed to have found. She turned back to me, a sphinx-like smile on her face as her gaze swept the mess in the office. "And what have you been up to?"
"Searching through the back records of the store," I replied, equally aloof.
"What on earth for?"
I set the letter opener down on the nearest stack of receipts.
"It occurred to me that I might find something in store records that might help your aunt's case."
"Such as?"
"A bill of sale for the Enchantments tea that had been tampered with. You see, it occurred to me that your aunt and your mother hadn't seen each other, hadn't even spoken, for more than a year. Yet the tea that aided your mother's killer was fairly fresh. Date stamped this year, in fact."
She actually looked amused, in a way meant to let me know how far above me she considered herself. "Ah. That sounds reasonable, I suppose. Speaking of tea, would you like a cup?"
"Um, sure."
"Terrific. I'll have chai. I do love Auntie's chai. Well worth the inflated prices."
I guess that meant I was pouring.
She followed me out to the front of the store to where the coffeemaker held a constant supply of hot water for our personal use. I switched on the lamp that rested on the counter beside the cash register rather than using the overheads. I didn't want to draw too much attention to our presence in the event that any of my would-be phone terrorists decided to put in a personal appearance.
