“Okay,” I said. “That’s interesting, but we’re not dealing with magicians here. I need an answer I can use.” I drummed my fingers on the table and made a disgusted sound. “Herb.”
“What about him?” Adele asked.
“He said he knew a guy who could bind the bells better than he had.” I hated to waste money, but I had promised Slate I’d try to fix this. Then I perked up. Idea! I could hold a public binding ritual. Invite the papers. Yeah, that could work. The bells had already been in the news. Local reporters might go for a follow-up story. “But how can I make it Christmas-themed?” I muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Adele asked.
I explained about the public binding ritual.
Harper groaned and braced her forehead on her fist. “This museum is turning you into a marketing monster.”
“Christmas comes but once a year,” I said. “I need to make the most of it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Harper said.
ten
“Come again.” I smiled, handing the customer her black paper bag. She jingled out the front door and passed in front of the sidewalk window. A thick fog obscured the street outside, making for a suitably spooky winter morning.
I scanned the street for suspicious cars, then the main room for impending disasters. GD stared intently at a trio of three creepy dolls on a pedestal. Tourists snapped pictures of him “detecting ghosts.” People meandered into the Fortune Telling Room, milled about the main room, exclaimed over the Christmas fairies in the Gallery.
Leo bustled behind the counter brandishing a red-and-green-striped fairy with sparkly wings. “We’re going to need to restock these fairies.”
“I’ve already contacted the artist. She’s going to make a delivery tomorrow.”
“Have you called Herb about the binding thing?”
I’d been avoiding it. But I owned a paranormal museum, so it was time for me to cowgirl up. “On it.”
I turned to the wall phone and made the call.
“Yes?” Herb whispered.
“Hi, Herb, it’s—”
“Don’t say my name! Someone could be listening.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s Maddie. I wanted to follow up about that specialist you mentioned, the one who binds cursed objects?”
“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. The cowbells are driving me crazy. Every time I hear one, I nearly jump out of my skin. Mother is furious.”
“Your mom?” I edged closer to the bookcase behind the counter, giving Leo more room as he rang up a deck of tarot cards for a portly woman with red hair and a broad smile.
“I’ve already broken a crystal platter and two water glasses. My colleague can come by the museum tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I yelped. “But that’s in one day.”
“Exactly.”
“But I want to invite the press, make this public.”
“Oh,” he said, “I don’t think he’ll agree to that.”
“He has to. The whole point of this stupid ritual is to calm things down.”
“Stupid? With that attitude, how do you expect the ritual to succeed?”
“But if people don’t know the curse has been removed—”
“Bound,” Herb corrected.
“Whatever. The panic will continue.”
“My colleague’s leaving for Belize on Monday. We do the ritual Sunday or not at all.”
“There must be someone else who can do it?”
“Not as well as he can.”
GD slunk across the checkerboard floor and hopped onto the counter.
I blew out my breath. “All right. It’s only the local press. I’ll get them here.” I could make this work on short notice.
“I told you, he won’t like it if the press are there.”
“Does he want to get paid?”
There was a long silence. “And speaking of getting paid …” Herb named a figure high enough to give me a nosebleed.
I squawked. “Are you kidding me?”
“If you want him to come tomorrow and conduct the ritual before an audience, yes.”
GD butted his head against my elbow braced on the glass counter. I ruffled his fur.
“Fine,” I said. “Can you get him here by four?”
“That is not a problem.”
“I’m trusting you, Herb,” I said warningly. “He’d better be on time.”
“Have I ever let you down?”
I stared at the ceiling. “No.” Herb was loopy and paranoid and overpriced, but he’d never left me hanging.
“Tomorrow at four o’clock then. Expect him to arrive at three thirty to prepare for the ritual.”
“Will do. And thanks.”
I hung up and called my mom.
“Hello, Madelyn. Laurel was very upset yesterday. What did you say to her?”
“Laurel?” I shifted, uneasy. “Why were you talking to Laurel?”
Two customers strolled inside.
“She stopped by the house to ask more questions about the Christmas Cow assault and the bombing.”
My eyes narrowed as I rang up two tickets, bumping elbows with Leo behind the counter. He struggled with wrapping paper and tape.
“What kind of questions?” I asked, making change.
“Oh, you know. And the police are still outside my house. They say they want to keep me under watch for at least another day or two.”
My scalp pricked with alarm. Only a day or two? Did they think they’d have the bomber in custody by then? Because that did not seem typical of police work.
“Was there a reason you called?” she asked.
“I need your help.” I handed the customers their tickets and a museum brochure.
“Of course, dear. Have you learned anything new in our investigation?”
“Not since the meeting with Dean. Cora said she’d fill you in.”
“She did, dear. But I was hoping you would.”
GD meowed. Absently, I petted him.
He nipped my hand.
I jerked away, smothering a curse. When would I learn?
“Sorry,” I said, checking my hand. As usual, he hadn’t left a mark. “It’s been a little crazy. People are taking the cursed cowbells seriously, and it’s causing panic.”
“I’ve heard.”
“You have?” I asked, surprised.
“Ladies Aid was involved in the original Christmas Cow. Our president and a member of the committee were at the airport to accept the bells from our Swedish sister city.”
I frowned at Leo. His hand encased in tape, he handed a bag to the red-haired woman. They struggled briefly as he attempted to peel the tape from the paper, and the bag came away with a faint tearing sound. The customer smothered a laugh and walked out.
“I’d like to talk to you more about that later,” I said into the phone. “But in the meantime, I’ve hired someone to remove the curse. At a public ritual.”
She tsked. “Are you certain this is the right approach?”
“I know there’s no such thing as curses, but people believe it, so we need to set their minds at ease.”
“What if your ceremony feeds their delusion?”
“At least it will be the delusion that the curse has been bound,” I said. “It’s a happy, harmless delusion.”
Two more customers walked in.
“Hmm,” she said. “How much is this going to cost you?”
I rang up the tickets. “More than I’d like, but if I can get some press to attend, then not only will word get out that the bells are curse-free, but I can get publicity for the museum.”
“And you need my help getting the press there.”
“Would you mind?” I handed over tickets and a brochure to the middle-aged couple.
“Not at all. I’m going stir-crazy cooped up at the house. I can’t go anywhere without those police officers. They’re lovely young men, but you know how it is.”
“Not really.”
“So to keep myself busy, I’ve been baking up a storm. The policemen outside are happy, but I’d rather be doing something more useful.”
“So you’ll do it?” I asked.
Bored, GD slunk off the counter and into the Gallery.
“Certainly,” she said. “This town is important to me. I want to see this silly curse business put to rest.”
“Here’s the challenge.” I cringed, making a face. “The curse removal will happen tomorrow.”
She sucked in her breath. “Tomorrow?”
“At the museum. Four o’clock.”
“All right. I think I can get some local reporters there. But you need to talk to Laurel. I don’t know what’s happened between the two of you now, but she’s very upset.”
“Sure, right. We’ll sort it out. Thanks!”
“I know you will, dear. Merry Christmas!” My mom hung up.
Smiling, I turned to Leo. “So that’s that. The curse guy will do his thing at four, and the press will be here.”
“So how do we prep for the event?” Leo asked, peeling tape from his hand.
“Prep?” I said blankly.
“There will be people standing around watching, right? Do we need to have food? Chairs? Should we rope off the area? Put a flyer in the window? What about the people on our electronic newsletter list? Do we invite them?”
I groaned. I’d just created mounds of extra work for us during the busiest month of the year. “No food. No chairs. Yes to the cordon. Adele used those velvet rope things for her grand opening. Could you ask her where she got them? I’m assuming they were rentals. And I’ll pull together the flyer and the e-newsletter invite.” It was such short notice, I doubted many people would come. But as long as some press showed up, this could work.
“On it.” Dropping the wad of tape into the garbage bin beneath the counter, Leo slipped through the bookcase and into the tea room next door.
I got busy on the computer. Between handing out tickets and making change for purchases, I typed up a flyer and email announcement.
Leo returned with a photocopied invoice. He slid it across the counter.
Silent, the cat leapt onto the counter and sat on the paper.
I pulled the warm invoice from beneath his furry butt. GD meowed, indignant.
“That’s the contact info for the rental place and the cost,” Leo said.
I scanned the invoice and nodded. “Looks good. Can you take care of this?”
“Sure.” He grabbed the paper, pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his black jeans, and dialed.
The front door opened, bell tinkling. I straightened, pasting a smile on my face. “Welcome to the …”
Craig’s mother, Tabitha Wilde, hesitated in the open door and scanned the throng of visitors.
My stomach knotted. I hoped she wasn’t still upset by our last encounter.
She walked inside. Beneath her chic electric-blue parka, she wore a narrow cream-colored skirt and ankle boots. “Hi, Madelyn. I’d hoped to speak with you, but this looks like a bad time.” Her olive skin darkened. “Somehow I lost your phone number. Maybe we can make an appointment for later?”
“We don’t need to do that.” Something cold wriggling in my chest, I motioned to Leo. Town councilwomen rarely dropped into the museum. Had Craig confessed to his mother? “Now is fine,” I assured her. “I was ready for a break. Maybe we could pop into the Fox and Fennel, where it’s quieter?” It was still early, so it wouldn’t be too crowded.
Her shoulders dropped and she smiled. “That sounds fine.”
I slid off my high seat behind the counter. “Leo? Do you mind?”
He nodded, still on the phone, and took my place.
We walked through the bookcase door into the tea room. Women crowded tables covered in elegant white cloths. Twinkle lights coiled around the curtain rods, setting the gauzy, vanilla-colored curtains aglow. Glittery pale aqua, green, and pink ornaments hung from artfully arranged boughs of long-needled pine. Mistletoe hung in clumps along the walls on pale green ribbons.
Adele, her black hair again in a neat bun, moved behind the counter with its bamboo-paneled wainscoting. A Fox and Fennel apron hung over her neck and was tied about her hips.
I walked to the counter. “Adele?”
She turned quickly, a brushed-nickel tea canister and scooper in her hand. “Oh. It’s you. Hi!”
“Is there a table for two we can grab?”
“If you can find one, feel free to take it.”
Tabitha and I roamed around, finally seizing an empty table squashed into a corner. A teardrop-shaped glass lamp gleamed above it.
Tabitha removed her coat and draped it over the back of a modern-looking wood chair.
A harried waitress also in an official apron bustled to our table. She handed us menus and an elegant card of thick, off-white paper. “Our holiday menu.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha said brightly. She perused the menu. “Oh, this sounds delicious. I hadn’t meant to eat, but … Do you mind?”
My stomach rumbled. “Not at all.” Anxious, I watched her study the menu and wondered what this was all about.
The waitress returned.
“I’ll have the orange cranberry biscuits with the strawberry jam. And … Madelyn, how do you feel about frosted cranberries?”
“I feel confident that I’ll like them.”
“And the frosted cranberries,” she continued. “And the Sugar Plum Fairy tea.”
“I’ll have the crème brûlée tea and gingerbread cake,” I said.
“That comes with orange-nutmeg whipped cream,” the waitress said. “Is that all right?”
Could orange-nutmeg whipped cream possibly be wrong? “That’s fine.”
The waitress hurried away.
“So, Madelyn, how on earth did you get involved in the paranormal museum?” Tabitha asked.
“It’s a funny little job, but I love it,” I said, enthusiasm bubbling inside me. As stressful as self-employment could be, at least my mistakes were my own. And the museum had come a long way since I’d taken it over.
“I saw the fairies in the window. They’re adorable.”
I fiddled with the silverware. “They’re made by a woman in Auburn.”
We made small talk, and I wondered again when she’d tell me why she’d come to see me.
And then the food came, and I stopped caring about her motives. The gingerbread cake was warm and soft, but firm enough to dip into the bowl of orange and nutmeg-spiced whipped cream. I closed my eyes in ecstasy. Adele’s baker had outdone herself.
Tabitha pushed a bowl of sugar-coated cranberries toward me. “Have one.”
I took a sip of tea to clear my palette, then popped a cranberry into my mouth. Sheer decadence.
“You must be wondering why I asked to see you.” Tabitha turned her teacup on its small plate.
“I assume it had something to do with the Christmas Cow.”
She shook her head, her gold hoop earrings bouncing against her neck. “No, it’s about the bombing.”
“The bombing?”
“I feel terrible about what happened. You were nearly killed right in our driveway, and we had no idea someone was tampering with your mother’s car while we were inside. I’ve already made this offer to your mother—if you had to go to the hospital, or you had any damage to your clothing, I’d like to pick up the bill.”
I sat back in my chair. “That’s kind of you, but I couldn’t accept. You weren’t responsible.” The only reason I could imagine for Tabitha to make this offer was that she suspected her son was guilty. “I think everyo
ne’s going on the assumption that whoever blew up my mom’s car was one of the people involved in the attack on the Christmas Cow.”
“And that’s the problem.” Tabitha’s mouth compressed.
“What do you mean?”
“The police seem convinced that Craig was involved in that cow business. He wasn’t,” she said quickly. “Yes, he and some friends of his joked about lighting the cow on fire, but that was all. They never actually did anything.”
“You must be relieved.” But she obviously wasn’t, or she wouldn’t be talking to me now.
“I am. I can tell when my son is lying. He’s telling the truth. He and his … friends had nothing to do with the cow. And he certainly wouldn’t know how to make a bomb.”
But would he? There was all sorts of nasty stuff on the Internet.
Tabitha’s full lips curled. “So he couldn’t have set that bomb. It was simply bad luck that he stormed out of the house when he did. I understand how suspicious the timing must seem.”
It did look suspicious. But Craig wasn’t the only one who’d disappeared during our conversation. Tom had left the room as well.
My grip tightened on the teacup. If Craig or Tom wasn’t the guilty party, then who was? Had someone followed us to the Wildes’? I hadn’t noticed any tails, but I hadn’t exactly been looking either. And even if I had been, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to catch one.
“What’s wrong?” Tabitha asked.
“None of this is adding up. I have a hard time believing the shooting at the Christmas Cow was a prank gone wrong.”
Her hand clenched on the teacup. “So do I! If that awful Oliver hadn’t shot his mouth off …”
“Oliver?”
The councilwoman shook her head. “Oliver Breathnach. He’s always getting into trouble and dragging Craig along with him. Who would have thought his stupid joke would have made such trouble for his friends?”
“Breathnach?” I’d heard that name before, but where?
“He’s Kendra Breathnach’s son. She’s the developer?”
Deja Moo Page 10
