The Trouble with Magic

by Madelyn Alt

  "You know, as much as I would like for things to be different, I have to say it's a relief to me that Auntie is behind bars. Not that I like having to admit that there has been a murderer in our family tree. But better to have her behind bars, safe and sound, than out here with the rest of us."

  I gritted my teeth, wondering why I was doing this. Why was I forcing myself to listen to this wholly self-absorbed creature? "Your aunt is innocent, you know."

  She waved her hand at me. "Yes, yes. You would say that, wouldn't you. Auntie Felicity always was good at picking up strays." She ignored the look of indignation on my face to continue, "But when faced with two evils, the lesser always seems the better choice to have around, don't you agree?"

  I didn't know what to think, but I was rapidly tiring of her presence. I set her cup down on the counter. "I don't think I'll be having any after all," I told her. "I'm suddenly not feeling well."

  "You really should. Didn't Auntie tell you? Tea is wonderful for the digestion. My mother was a great tea drinker, too. Several cups a day, starting first thing in the morning. The key to her girlish figure, so she said. I always hated her for that."

  So the mourning attire was a sham. Good to know my instincts had been right about that much.

  I wanted her out of there in the worst way. There was something about her that set my very skin to crawling. "I'm going to go back to the files, if you don't mind."

  The smile again. "Be my guest."

  Much to my regret, she trailed behind me again, brimming teacup in hand, as I returned to the office.

  "Of course," she droned on as I started riffling busily through the receipts, "at least Auntie knew how to love. I believe she did truly love Uncle Gerald. Shame about that, but I suppose it can't be helped. I think Uncle Gerald loved Aunt Felicity as well, but my mother… Well. Water under the bridge." She set her cup down on the boxes and gave a cry as she accidentally overturned it. "Fuck! Well, don't just stand there, get something, why don't you!"

  The F-bomb sounded so strange coming from her lips that under other circumstances I might have laughed. As it so happened, I was too busy scrambling to grab a towel from the broom closet as the tea ran down the sides, but with any luck not inside, the boxes. Annoyed, I began daubing at the cardboard with vigor. The top box, I knew, was a case of books, new releases from the publisher. Sure, they were just paper, but they didn't come cheap, and I didn't like Jacqui well enough—as in, at all—to want to help her, nor did I want to give her a reason to stick around longer.

  "Forget about the stupid box. What about my coat?"

  Assured that the books would survive, I tossed her the tea-stained towel. I'd had enough of her high-handed attitude. "Have at it."

  Caught off guard, she lurched to catch it, but dropped her coat in the process. She shot me a dirty look, then stooped to swipe it from the floor. As she did, something metallic jingled as it fell to the floor from the deep pockets.

  Felicity's keys.

  Except on closer examination, they didn't appear to be Felicity's keys at all. I'd wielded Liss's keys myself and knew she only carried keys to the store, her car, and to her back door. This key ring held at least ten keys too many, and nowhere to be found was the elaborate silver Celtic symbol Liss was so fond of.

  Something clicked into place inside my head.

  Jacqui had lied about the keys. She lied. Could she have lied about other things as well?

  She grabbed the keys and shoved them back into her pocket. I pretended not to notice. "Look at this mess. I hope this doesn't stain, for your sake."

  "Sorry," I said, even though I wasn't.

  "Apology accepted."

  "So," I said, starting on the June stack. "What did Felicity say, when you spoke with her?"

  She darted an annoyed glance my way as she slapped at her coat with the towel. "What does it matter, what she said? She asked me to get some things for her, and I said I would. End of story."

  "What things?" I pressed, determined to draw her out. Her continued evasiveness had convinced me that she was using Felicity as an excuse to be here… but why? She hadn't expected to see me here; that much had been evident.

  She didn't answer as she gave her wet coat a final daubing. Carefully she hung it over the back of my chair, then dropped the tea-soaked towel on the center of the desk with a grimace of distaste. Right on top of my neatly stacked receipts.

  I snatched the cloth away, but I didn't let myself show my irritation in any other way. I tried again. "How did she look? I've been terribly worried about her."

  "She looked the same as she always looks. Auntie Felicity has always been a rock. Nothing ever fazes her. I imagine she'll be just the same on the witness stand."

  "You know, when I went to see her, I was told I'd have to wait for the arraignment. You're very lucky to know Judge Hardcastle."

  "He was only too happy to help. As soon as I told him they wouldn't let me see her, he called them then and there while I waited on the other line. He offered to come down with me, but of course I refused. His housekeeper was holding dinner for him."

  Another lie. Judge Hardcastle was out of town. There was no way she could have spoken with him. Why was she here tonight? And how did she get a key? I had to know. In the off chance Jacqui knew something that would help Liss, I had to find out.

  All the same, I couldn't help wishing I'd kept Marcus around after all. Just the thought that Jacqui had withheld information about her mother's death was really starting to creep me out. "Why don't I help you gather her things?" I suggested in an attempt to steer the situation back to what had prompted her visit.

  She waved away my offer. "Not just yet." She went up front to the coffeemaker to pour herself another cup of tea in a fresh cup, leaving the other on its side on the carton. "You know," she called back to me, "I've always been curious. Mother told me Auntie practices here. Upstairs. Call it morbid curiosity, but I've wanted to see it ever since. I don't suppose you'd show it to me?"

  I hesitated. The loft was special, to both Felicity and her faithful customers. And for some reason, the thought of Jacqui invading that sacred space set me on edge. "I don't think—"

  She reappeared in the doorway. "It will only be a minute. I'm sure Aunt Felicity wouldn't mind. I am family, after all."

  I didn't dare hesitate too long. Much as I'd have liked to bar her way, I knew I needed to keep her talking to find out what she knew. Whatever the reason for the lowering of her guard, I couldn't allow this opportunity to slip away—I might never get another. But I slid the letter opener from the desk and into my sleeve just the same. Better safe than sorry. "Well… all right. Just for a moment or two."

  I began to lead the way upstairs, cringing at the intrusion of our footsteps, sharp raps that echoed clear up to the rafters.

  I softened my own. "You know, I've been wondering about something," I said, trying to sound as conversational and non-threatening as possible. "I think you told your aunt that you were out of town when your mother was… killed."

  "That's right."

  "That must have been terrible, coming home to such news."

  "You can only imagine."

  I made a sympathetic sound. "Had you driven out to… where was it?"

  "Just north of Chicago. No, I flew. Puddlejumper from Fort Wayne, which I do not recommend, but it couldn't be helped. I had a very tight schedule."

  We were almost to the top. I had to force myself not to double up the last steps. I would feel so much better once I had the reassuring safety of the loft beneath my feet. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. My imagination was getting to me again. Best to get this over with and get her out of here. Tom… I was certain if I mentioned the car rental bill to Tom, I could somehow persuade him to ask a few questions. He might be stubborn as hell and a little biased, but he was a cop, and he did want justice to be served. Whatever that might entail.

  I turned back as she rounded the bend at the top of the stairs. "Well, this is it," I said,
stepping out of her way. A look or two, just to make her happy, and then we could go.

  She was silent as she stepped onto the loft, her smallish eyes taking in every last detail. At last she frowned. "It's not at all what I expected." A self-conscious laugh. "It really looks very ordinary. Maybe Mother was right. Maybe Auntie can't do anything to us with her magic. I used to worry about that, you know. A childish fear, but one does wonder. Now I know."

  I frowned. "Felicity wouldn't harm anyone. It goes against everything she believes in."

  Jacqui shrugged as she walked along the gallery rail, head tipped back as she gazed up toward the skylights. "Whatever."

  I knew that nothing I could say would change her mind, but her disloyalty to her own family rankled. My family might irritate me, but they were mine and I would do everything I could to protect them if I had to. Her views were too alien for me to comprehend; best to avoid difficult topics.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself and tried again. "I've never rented a car, but six hundred-plus dollars for a two-day trip. Wow. Too rich for my blood."

  She paused, her hand on the railing. "How did you know that?"

  "Oh! Well, I, uh, happened to see a copy of the invoice on Ms. James's desk when I paid a visit to your father this morning." I paused, then added, "I overheard a little of your conversation with Ms. James as well. Accidentally, of course."

  Get ouuuuuuuuutttttt…

  The strange, whispered voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Tiny hairs jolted to attention all over my body. Another message from beyond? But somehow different from the bodiless voice I'd experienced at the cemetery. That voice had been full of regret, and anger. This one sounded urgent—even desperate—and it was enough to set my teeth on edge. Not now! I pleaded with the night at large. Please, now was not the time for otherworldly communication.

  Jacqui walked back to the landing at the top of the stairs and faced me, her whole demeanor changed. "It was an oversight. Nothing more. Jetta would spend days fighting a single charge, when she knows full well there's nothing to be done if a person signs for it. Mistake or no mistake, right or wrong, it doesn't matter."

  I took an involuntary step backward, toward the circle, warning bells clanging in my head. "I was just thinking that the total mileage must have been pretty high, with a bill like that."

  "I already told you. It was a mistake."

  "But if you signed the receipt, that signifies that you could have driven it. Which presents a problem. By signing for it, didn't you also relinquish your alibi for the day your mother was killed?"

  She looked at me sharply. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "Of course it was a mistake. But you know how the police are."

  Get oooooouuuuuuuuuutttttt!

  I froze as the voice came again; I couldn't help it. Not a whisper this time. A cry in the night. And then I saw Jacqui's face. The instant the voice sounded, she turned white as a sheet and clutched at the railing for support, her eyes stretched wide with fear. And I knew…

  She'd heard it, too.

  "M-Mother?" she whispered.

  Her shock lasted only a moment, then she turned on me, her face a mask of fury. "What is this, some kind of a trick?" She began to pace the floor in front of the stairs, her gaze searching out the rafters. "Where are they?"

  I gaped at her. "Where are what?"

  "The speakers," she said, agitated. "Where are the freaking speakers?"

  I stared at her and took another step backward, onto the braided rug. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  She snapped toward me. "Oh, no? All the questions. The creepy voice. Do you think I'm stupid? That you could get to me with your silly little games?"

  That terrible sinking feeling in my stomach? Just my self-respect with a fear chaser. "I'm not playing games, Jacqui." Something told me now would be a good time to take some protective measures. Slowly, cautiously, I let the letter opener slip down my sleeve and pressed it flat against my thigh. "I'm sure this is simply a misunderstanding. Listen, why don't we just get the things Felicity needed. I'm sure all of this can be sorted out. I'll get a bag from downstairs to put them in, and—"

  I stopped short as she withdrew a ridiculously small gun from her pocket. The size of the gun, I decided, didn't matter. I didn't know a revolver from a pistol from an Uzi, but I knew I didn't like being on the wrong end of one. Especially when it was being waved at me with the same level of caution with which one waves a flag at the annual Memorial Day parade.

  "You can hand over the letter opener. Don't look so surprised. You couldn't have been more obvious when you took it from the desk. Come on." She gestured with the gun. "Unless you'd rather I took it by force."

  Regretting the loss, I tossed the stainless-steel opener at her feet.

  "I was worried something like this might happen. And here I'd planned so carefully. First Jetta, now you. What is the world coming to nowadays? Doesn't anyone mind their own business anymore?"

  She pointed the gun at me.

  Oh shit.

  That fear chaser? It had just taken the lead. "Jacqui—"

  "You strategize. You prepare. You plan ahead, down to the smallest detail. It doesn't make a damn bit of difference. Life refuses to be controlled, by even the strongest of wills."

  She wasn't going to confess, was she? Oh boy. That was it. Curtains for me. I'd watched enough movies to know that a confession always precipitated the death of the woman who wasn't smart enough to use the cell phone in her purse to call for backup before she wandered into the dark forest when there was a psycho on the loose.

  "How did you get a tape of my mother's voice?" she asked. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm not sorry, you know. I'm glad she's gone." She motioned me away from the stairs, indicating the circle's center. "Over there."

  I complied, keeping my gaze locked on the gun as she moved quickly to put herself between me and the only exit. "Where did you get that?"

  "Where do you think?"

  "Gerald Dow's collection?"

  "An amazing bit of deduction. You're too good at those lucky guesses."

  "It makes sense. The keys, you know. I knew someone must have had copies of Felicity's keys. When they said the gun that shot out Ryan Davidson's window had come from Felicity's home, I knew someone had access to her house." Just, keep her talking, I told myself. Whatever it takes. "It wasn't easy, though, by any means. I thought… well, I thought it was your father."

  She laughed. "My father? My father is a dear, sweet man, but he is, after all, a man. He would have been perfectly happy to let mother carry on like the Whore of Babylon, sleeping with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who made the mistake of walking past her. But of course, he had found Jetta by then. Poor Jetta." She laughed again. I wished she wouldn't. The sound sent goose bumps chasing up my spine. "Too bad he won't have her for very much longer."

  I cleared my throat. I had to know, but I didn't want to make her panic and pull the trigger prematurely. I was buying time and, with luck, prolonging my life. "Jetta suspected you?"

  She shrugged with a haughty sniff. "She'd picked up a phone call for me from the company I was supposedly meeting that day. When she asked me about it later, I told her a stupid secretary had logged the meeting for the wrong date, and as I was running a little behind in traffic…" Her face darkened. "She didn't quite believe me, as it turns out. And then that stupid auto rental invoice with all that mileage. North Chicago to Stony Mill and back produces quite a lot more mileage than a day trip around the Windy City, you know. Now that was a mistake on their part, not mine. The bill wasn't supposed to go to Harding Enterprises at all. Dumb luck."

  "And Jetta?"

  "Jetta will suffer a tragic accident. Fell asleep behind the wheel. Can you believe it? She's waiting for me right now. She thinks she's in control of the situation. I let her believe that. She has no idea…"

  She'd lost it. She'd truly lost it. First her mother—her own mother!—and then me,
and finally Jetta. Who next? What if Jetta had told someone, like Ryan Davidson? "They'll know it's not Felicity," I pointed out with a calm I didn't feel. "Your aunt is in jail. They'll reopen the case."

  "I've taken care of that. You know your freaky friend? The one with the motorcycle? Well, everyone knows you were with him today. Everyone knows he's friends with Auntie as well. He was with Aunt Felicity at Mother's that morning. Obviously he was a part of it from the beginning. A whisper here, a mention there. It shouldn't be too difficult to get the word started. People don't like his kind around here. Oh, and I've taken the liberty of appropriating one of his gloves, which I will, of course, leave upon the stairs." She shook her head regretfully. "He really should learn to lock his doors. You can't trust anyone these days."

  "But why your mother?" I asked as I felt her resolve growing. Clear thinking, Maggie. "So she was sleeping around. It's not exactly honorable, but it does happen. I don't understand."

  "Why, because of Roger, of course," she said in a voice that implied it was all too obvious.

  Her fiance? "She—?"

  "You know, you'd think once would be enough. I forgave her that. Justin—my high school boyfriend—was young, you could hardly blame him. Ah, but she must have thought I'd forgotten. She was selfish. She could only see what she wanted. I knew immediately when she started after Roger. She was so obvious," she sneered, her breathing coming fast and shallow, her face twisted with disgust. "She would flirt with him right under my nose. Wear low-cut blouses and bend down in front of him so that she could display herself right down to her navel. Do you know, once she fucked him at a dinner party we all attended together. I watched them. Neither of them ever knew."

  On second thought, that word seemed perfectly right coming from her lips. I'd never heard it sound so cold before. "So, it was because of Roger that you wanted her gone."

  "I wanted her dead. And it was because of the letters. Poor stupid Roger. He needs a strong woman by his side to keep him from making a fool of himself."