“And you think Yvette Prime has something to do with it?”
“Well, I don’t know. Probably not. But she’s been after Mila to sell the place, and she won’t reveal who her client is. I thought maybe the client could be trying to drive Mila out of business.”
I unlocked my car, and we climbed in and buckled up. I started the engine and cranked the heat.
“Sounds like a long shot,” said Farrah. “Now, if you’ve got the itch to solve a mystery, you should take a look at all the burglaries that have been happening downtown.”
“Oh, yeah, you said you had a theory,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Okay. There are two things, actually. The first is about the timing,” said Farrah. “I think I’ve uncovered a pattern. There have been five burglaries so far. Two were near the end of November and two were at the end of December. Now we’ve had one at the end of January. If the pattern holds true, there will be another burglary in the next six days.”
“Interesting,” I said. We were just approaching the downtown business district, and I suddenly didn’t feel like going home. “Do you want to stop off for a drink someplace and then tell me the rest of your theory?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Farrah. “The Loose will be too loud. How about if we go to Gigi’s?”
“The scene of the crime,” I said, grinning. “Sounds good to me.”
As I drove four more blocks to Gigi’s Bar and Grill and found street-side parking, Farrah and I reminisced about our first foray into detective work last summer. Now that I was on the other side of that stressful episode, I could appreciate the fun we had.
We were still laughing as we entered the dimly lit establishment. The dinner crowd had largely dispersed, so we didn’t have to wait to be seated. As we crossed the wood-plank floor toward the back of the restaurant, I noticed the walls were covered in wood paneling and the tables were fashioned from a heavy scarred wood.
“I never realized how woody this place is,” said Farrah, with a giggle.
“I know, right? At least the seats are vinyl,” I said, sliding into the booth.
The waiter, a short man with a ready smile, appeared at our table with menus in hand.
“Cute pigtails, ladies. Here for dinner, or just drinks?”
“Just drinks,” said Farrah, touching her braids. “I almost forgot about our matching hairstyle.”
After we ordered our drinks—an Irish coffee for Farrah and a Black Russian for me—I asked Farrah to continue telling me her ideas about the burglaries.
“Check this out,” said Farrah, pulling her iPad from her purse. “I made a list of all the places that were robbed and plotted them on a map of downtown Edindale.”
“Wow,” I said. “Slow day in software sales?”
“Very funny,” said Farrah. “Do you notice anything about all these places?”
I looked at the list on Farrah’s iPad:
1) Harper’s Drugstore
2) Elena’s Boutique
3) Handbags and More
4) Junior’s Electronics
5) Gigi’s Bar and Grill
“Hmm,” I said. “They’re all specialty shops? Well, except for the restaurant. I guess they’re all private establishments that aren’t part of a franchise or chain?”
“True,” said Farrah. “They’re also all pretty old. These businesses have been around for at least twenty years, and the buildings even longer. I have this booklet at home on Edindale history that a client gave to me a couple years ago. The chamber of commerce had it made to celebrate the new millennium. Anyway, it has all these cool black-and-white pictures of downtown Edindale—including some of the places on this list.”
“So, what does that tell us?” I asked.
“Well, since there was no evidence of a forceful entry at any of these places, I think somebody has a key. Either that, or we have a master lock-picker on the loose.”
“Huh.” The waiter returned with our drinks, so I handed Farrah her iPad and sipped my cocktail as I considered what she had said. My mind drifted back to the vandalism at Moonstone Treasures. Apparently, there was no evidence of a break-in there either. Could there be a connection between Mila’s harasser and the burglaries?
“There was merchandise stolen from all of these businesses, right?” I asked Farrah.
“Yep. I think one of the places had some cash stolen, too.”
“What about from here?” I asked, tapping on the table.
“Bottles of liquor. According to Ted, the bartender I was telling you about, they lost more than a thousand dollars’ worth of inventory.”
“Jeez. We must be looking at a team of burglars, don’t you think? One person couldn’t very well cart off that many bottles by himself or herself.”
Farrah shrugged. “Maybe a second person drove the getaway car.”
I stirred the ice in my drink and took a second look at the map Farrah had made.
“None of these stores had security cameras?”
“No. Not cameras with very good coverage, anyway. That’s what made me realize these are, by and large, older mom-and-pop stores. I also figure the thief or thieves are entering from alleys out back.”
Remembering the dark alley behind Moonstone Treasures, I again wondered if the crimes could be related somehow. However, nothing was stolen from Mila’s shop. And, as far as I knew, the burglary victims hadn’t received any intimidating notes.
I was on the verge of telling Farrah about the notes, when she leaned forward, a gleam in her eye.
“I have a plan,” Farrah whispered.
“Oh?” I said, my stomach tightening already.
“So far, the burglaries have always occurred early in the week, from Sunday to Wednesday. Maybe because there are too many people out on the other nights. Anyway, I figure the next chance for the burglar to strike will be this Sunday.”
“And?” I said, not liking where this was going.
“And, I think you and I should take a walk Sunday night. We should patrol the downtown alleys and see what we can see.”
“What? No way, Farrah! Are you kidding me?”
“Come on! Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“It’s with my sense of safety,” I retorted.
“We’ll be perfectly safe,” Farrah said. “We’ll wear black, so we’ll be practically invisible. And we’ll have our cell phones at the ready. We can alert the police the second we see anything going down.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
Farrah grinned and finished off her drink.
“Crazy like a fox,” she said.
* * *
After all the drinks on Friday night, I decided to call a cab and leave my car at Gigi’s Bar and Grill. Late Saturday morning I walked downtown to retrieve it and then met Farrah at Fieldstone Park. We went for a long run down the rail trail and back. She pestered me about “Operation Alley Cat” practically the whole way.
Farrah claimed she was only interested in helping out the town’s small businesses. As proof, she gave me her booklet with the old photos of downtown Edindale. However, I suspected she was really just bored. I suggested she sign up for an adventure cruise instead. She only laughed.
By the end of the day, Farrah had finally given up her scheme. We watched an old movie at her house and made a homemade vegan pizza. Wes was out of town covering a college basketball game for work, so I knew I wouldn’t see him. Around 9:00, I went home, took a hot bath, and turned in. Then I had a dream that convinced me to go along with Farrah’s plan after all.
In my dream, I saw Mila’s cat, Drishti, sauntering down a narrow dirt trail. I followed the beautiful gray cat, worried that she would become lost or hurt. It was dark outside and lightning flashed in the sky. Trees rose on either side of the trail as I walked faster and faster, and then ran, trying to catch up with Drishti, but I couldn’t catch her. She slipped farther and farther away from me until she became a speck in the distance. Then she disappeared.
I w
oke up feeling a profound sense of guilt and shame. I had let Mila down.
As I brushed my teeth and dressed for the day, I couldn’t help thinking there must be some connection between Mila’s cat and Farrah’s “Operation Alley Cat.” I believed dreams were sometimes divine messages. Maybe wandering the streets at night wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Besides, I wasn’t totally defenseless. I did have a protection spell or two up my sleeve.
When I called Farrah, she was stunned at my change of heart. She asked me why I had changed my mind, and I told her I would tell her some other time. She was cool with that.
I spent most of the day Sunday doing laundry, cleaning house, cooking some meals for the week, and trying not to think about what I had agreed to do that night. At one point I gave Wes a call, but he didn’t pick up.
That evening, I did a sitting meditation for fifteen minutes to calm my mind and relax my body. Then I went to bed early and set my alarm for 1:00 A.M. Farrah and I had planned our little recon mission to coincide with the time we thought the break-ins must be taking place. When the alarm woke me, I rolled out of bed and immediately began preparations for a glamour spell.
First, I walked over to the table I normally used for an altar and dragged it to the middle of the room. On the left of the table, I placed symbols of the Goddess: a green candle and a silver chalice. On the right, I placed symbols of the God: a red candle and my ritual knife, or athame. In the center, I placed a round lighted make-up mirror.
When my altar was set, I ran downstairs to the kitchen to collect a clove of garlic. Then I stopped off in the den to find my sewing kit and gather a small square of black cloth and a spool of thread. After returning to my bedroom, I placed the garlic clove in the center of the cloth, tied the corners, and placed my makeshift amulet on the altar next to the mirror.
Next, I lit the candles and cast a protective circle around the altar by walking around it three times while drawing an invisible line with my athame. At each cardinal point, I invoked a deity associated with the corresponding element for each point: to the east, I called upon Aradia, a goddess of air; to the south, I called upon Horus, a fire god; to the west, I called upon Osiris, a god of water; and to the north, I called upon Demeter, a goddess of earth.
When invoking the gods and goddesses, I allowed my heart to fill with gratitude and love. As a Wiccan, I felt lucky to have access to all of history’s deities. I knew they each represented different aspects of the archetypal God and Goddess and, as such, each carried a unique, magical energy. It was an empowering knowledge.
At last, I faced the altar, cupped my hands over the garlic clove amulet, and gazed into the mirror. Softly, I murmured the spell I had written the day before:
“I call now Morpheus, god of night,
Shapeshifter, gatekeeper, guardian of dreams.
Shield me, hide me, vanish from sight,
Concealed in darkness, I shan’t be seen.
Cloaked in mist, bright moonbeam’s light,
This charm I bear will all deceive.”
As I stared at my reflection, I unfocused my vision until the edges of my face became blurry. I imagined I was becoming transparent like the Invisible Man of science fiction. After a moment, I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Then I extinguished the candles, closed the circle, and pocketed the amulet.
Farrah sent me a text when she arrived and told me she would stay in her car to wait for me. Quickly, I laced up my black sneakers and bounded silently down my front steps, then walked to her car. When I opened the front passenger door, she jolted in her seat.
“Jesus! How did you do that? I thought I was watching your front door, but I didn’t see you coming.”
“Good,” I said, as I buckled my seat belt.
The spell had worked.
Chapter 11
The streets were desolate as we made our way downtown. A light fog limited visibility and added to the overall eerie feeling of the night.
It was about 3:00 A.M. when we parked in the municipal parking lot near the courthouse. Our strategy was to proceed on foot, up and down the alleys, keeping an eye out for any suspicious-looking vehicles.
“It’s freezing out here,” I whispered. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Come on,” said Farrah, ignoring my complaint. “Let’s go this way and stick to the shadows.”
I followed Farrah down the alley behind Harper’s drugstore. We stuck close together. In our black pants, black coats, and black stocking caps, we really were nearly invisible. If we were to encounter any police officers, I was sure they would think we were the burglars. We walked for ten minutes, my thoughts wandering between how ridiculous we looked and how much I wanted answers.
Tires crunched against gravel up ahead.
“What do we do?” Farrah hissed.
Oh, great, I thought. How could we not have a plan?
I cast around for a hiding place and saw a large green Dumpster. “Let’s hide over there!” I said.
We scurried over to the Dumpster and crouched on the ground. Clasping onto the garlic clove in my pocket, I listened intently as the car went slowly by. When it was past, we dared to peek out and peer down the alley. As the vehicle rounded the corner, we instantly recognized what it was. A police car.
“Well, it’s good to know they’re out patrolling, too,” said Farrah.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Except what would we have said if they found us? I think we should call it a night.”
“Oh, all right,” said Farrah. “But let’s go down another block, and then turn back. I don’t want to run into that police car again.”
At the end of the alley, we crossed the street and hurried down one more alley. Then we turned the corner and walked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot where we had left Farrah’s car. When we reached Main Street, I looked over at Moonstone Treasures, expecting it to be dark.
I froze in my tracks. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Then I looked again and knew they weren’t. I grabbed Farrah’s arm.
“Look over there! There’s a light on.”
Farrah squinted. “You’re right. Maybe it’s a night-light.”
“I don’t think so. Let’s check it out.”
Without waiting for Farrah, I ran over to the shop. By the time I reached the front door, the light had gone out. I peered in the window but couldn’t see anything.
“What’s going on?” asked Farrah, joining me at the door.
“The light’s off now,” I said. I tried turning the doorknob, but it was locked. “Let’s check the back.”
We ran down the block and around the corner to the alley. It was dark and empty, but when we reached the steel door leading to Moonstone Treasures my breath caught in my throat. The door was ajar.
Hesitating only a moment, I pulled open the door and stepped inside. Farrah was right on my heels.
I felt around for a light switch but couldn’t find one. Stepping gingerly, I moved into the darkness and waved my hands above me, hoping to latch onto a cord. Then my toe caught on the edge of a rug, and I went stumbling into the room. I nearly fell again when Farrah ran into me from behind.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Hold on. I have a flashlight.”
After a moment of fumbling in her purse, Farrah pulled out a penlight and switched it on. It cast a small beam, but at least we weren’t in complete blackness anymore.
“I wonder if the vandal has been here again,” I muttered, as I tried to look around in the dim light. Farrah was moving her flashlight so quickly, I couldn’t focus on anything. I was about to tell her to hold it steady so we could find a light switch, when I heard her gasp beside me.
“Oh, my God!”
“What?” I turned around, trying to see what the beam of light had settled on.
“Oh, my God!” she repeated. “There’s someone there!”
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as my body prepared to flee. Then I saw it.
“Oh, no,” I said, rushing over to the lifeless form on the floor. “Farrah, bring the light over here!”
Farrah complied, but the flashlight trembled in her hand. When she managed to shine it on the pallid, immobile countenance of the body on the floor, she screamed and dropped the flashlight.
Dropping to my knees, I covered my face with both hands. Then I took a deep breath and reached out a tentative hand. I had to be sure.
His cheeks were stiff and ice cold. He was beyond any help I could provide.
In the darkness, Farrah crouched down next to me. She felt on the floor for the flashlight, and switched it on again.
“Do you know who it is?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, blinking back tears. “His name was Charlie.”
* * *
Farrah paced the length of Moonstone Treasures, while I perched unsteadily on a tufted ottoman in the book section of the store. We had finally found an overhead light and had quickly surveyed the rest of the shop. Satisfied that we were alone, I pulled out my phone to call 911. I punched “9” and then hesitated.
“What should we say about why we were here?” I asked.
Farrah stopped pacing and looked at me. “You saw a light in the shop, remember?”
“No, I mean . . . this.” I indicated my all-black beatnik attire. “Operation Alley Cat.”
“Oh. Well . . . let’s just say we were out for an early-morning run. We are training for a 10K after all. We have busy schedules, so we have to train when we can.”
I sighed and nodded. “Okay.”
After I made the call, I scrolled through my phone for Mila’s number. She answered groggily after the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Mila, it’s Keli. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but . . . a person has died at your shop.”
I heard a shuffling sound through the phone and pictured Mila sitting up in bed. She was probably trying to decide if she was still dreaming.
“You probably didn’t know him,” I continued. “His name was Charlie. He was an older man who sometimes sat outside the courthouse feeding pigeons.”
Bell, Book & Candlemas Page 8
