“That’s so creepy!” Clarissa exclaimed.
“When you were a kid you thought my powers were fun,” Matilda reminded her.
“I was like, four. I didn’t know any better.”
“You’re still every bit as feisty now as you were then, I see. So what’s up?”
“Uh, my broom,” Clarissa replied. “Tonight it seemed like it had a mind of its own.”
“It doesn’t,” Matilda replied calmly. “You control the broom, just like you have the power to make objects levitate. It’s all you, my dear. But the level of concentration required to perform your magic varies considerably depending on the time.”
“Um…what does that mean?”
“When there’s a full moon, you’ll find the broom far easier and less taxing to maneuver. The same goes for lunar eclipses – and if I’m not mistaken, there was a lunar eclipse tonight.”
“How can you talk about this stuff so nonchalantly?” Clarissa demanded.
“I live it every day,” Matilda replied, sounding unconcerned. “To me, it’s normal.”
“So you’re telling me I can fly on a broom just like witches in the cartoons do?” Clarissa asked incredulously. The thought was absurd. Even though she had witnessed traces of magic here and there for herself, sometimes she still wondered if her eccentric aunt was completely insane.
“Well not exactly like the witches in cartoons. Cartoons aren’t real, silly.”
“Witches aren’t supposed to be real either,” Clarissa couldn’t resist pointing out.
“So I’m not real? You’re not real? Give me a break,” Matilda laughed. “I really do have to be getting back to sleep. I have an early morning class to teach at the college tomorrow. Promise you’ll be careful with the flying broomstick, okay? Don’t go too high until you get a feel for it. And steer clear of power lines – I nearly made that mistake myself once!”
With that, Matilda hung up.
Clarissa stared at her phone in utter disbelief. Her aunt had claimed she would guide Clarissa in her pursuit of magic, helping to ease her into the world of witchery. Yet Matilda had a bad habit of neglecting to tell Clarissa Very Important Things.
How did Matilda teach college courses for a living when she was so scatterbrained?
With a sigh, Clarissa stood up.
She briefly contemplated going back to bed, but she couldn’t justify doing so when there was so much to be done. Besides, the sudden and unexpected impact of eggs hitting her house had jolted her wide awake. Trying to fall asleep would probably be an exercise in futility.
After putting on a pot of coffee, Clarissa found herself pacing. Her thoughts were all over the place, so the likelihood of her solving Greg’s murder right then and there was slim-to-none. And the last thing she felt like doing was working on the newspaper. A break was in order.
“Hmm, what should I do now? Ooh, I know. Here Cat!” Clarissa called, picking up the cardboard box the kitty favored over all its toys. “Come here! Let’s play!” She stuck her hand inside the box and scratched against the side of it in an attempt to garner interest.
Though Clarissa hadn’t particularly wanted to be a cat owner, she was actually glad this one had barged into her life. Besides, technically she wasn’t really a cat owner. It was more like she was owned by the cat. But at the moment, Clarissa’s owner seemed completely disinterested in playing hide-and-seek with the box.
“Why is it that cats only want to play when you’re busy? Then they want nothing to do with you when you have time for them. Are they doing it on purpose, just to mess with us humans?” Clarissa wondered aloud.
Cats, she decided, were like the universe’s idea of some big cruel joke. And worst of all they were too cute and fluffy to be called out on their obnoxious behavior. It meant they could get away with pretty much anything.
She grabbed a cup of coffee and a whole fistful of baked goods. After setting them on the coffee table, she flopped down on the couch dramatically. “I wish I was cute and fluffy,” she told the cat jealously.
The cat, of course, paid her no attention whatsoever. It would most likely continue to deny her existence until deciding it wanted food. Then, suddenly, it would do an about face and stalk Clarissa relentlessly until she catered to its every whim.
Cat behavior was completely absurd, yet strangely effective.
***
The next time Clarissa was jarred awake, it was by a knock on her door. She sat up with a start. Then she stumbled over to the door in a half-asleep haze.
Parker stood outside. He was dressed in dark slacks and a sophisticated, masculine black trench. One of his signature scarves was draped around his neck in a manner that was both fashionable yet effortless. He looked very put together and professional, in a subdued sort of way.
He was holding a brown paper bag, the contents of which smelled like heaven. Well, heaven and freshly baked blueberry muffins. Yum!
He held the bag up. “Breakfast,” he said.
“How did you know that was the magic word?” she smiled, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied, pausing at the door to remove his shoes.
“You can leave them on,” Clarissa told him. “I…really need to vacuum,” she added apologetically. “I’m still getting used to life with a cat. I know this may sound dumb but I honestly had no idea they shed so much!”
“It’s time you introduce me to this demon cat of yours!” Parker exclaimed, the enthusiasm in his voice evident. “I’m beyond curious after all your horror stories. Where is the little beast?”
Clarissa looked around and spotted the little black fur ball curled up in a chair. She pointed.
“The cat doesn’t look very evil,” Parker mused.
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
Parker snapped his fingers and made a chirping noise. “Come here, kitty!”
The cat sat up and looked at him.
“Good kitty!” He approached eagerly.
“It’s not very friendly,” Clarissa began – but then stopped midsentence. To her amazement, the cat responded positively to Parker’s attention. In fact, it immediately began purring and butting its head affectionately against Parker’s hand.
“What’s this little guy’s name?” Parker asked as the two of them bonded.
“Cat,” Clarissa replied.
He turned and looked at her.
She reddened. “I know, it’s a terrible name,” she blushed.
“I like it,” Parker told her earnestly. “It’s very to-the-point.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Clarissa asked. “I have a pot on.” That was when she glanced down and noticed she had coffee stains and cookie crumbs on her t-shirt. Why did she always have to look like such a slob when Parker was around?
“Coffee sounds great,” he replied. “I’ll get it.”
“Mugs are in that cupboard,” she advised, pointing. “I’ll actually be right back.”
“Okay, sure thing.”
As Parker helped himself to coffee and continued making friends with the cat, Clarissa raced to her bedroom. There, she quickly changed into clean, slightly more stylish clothes. She also ran a brush through her long dark hair and dabbed on some concealer to hide the dark spots under her eyes.
Her efforts wouldn’t win her any beauty pageants, but they would have to suffice.
Clarissa returned to the living room feeling slightly more put together than before.
“You have a great house,” Parker told her. “It’s a far cry from my condo.”
“I bet your condo is fantastic,” Clarissa predicted.
It was no secret that Parker’s father, Elwood Tweed, was a highly successful businessman. He had built a media empire over the years. He had also amassed a sizeable fortune. Parker probably had access to the kind of money Clarissa could only dream about.
“My condo is very cookie cutter,” Parker replied. “Don’t get me wrong – it’s a great location. When the weather
is decent I can walk to work, which is why I chose it. But it’s very cold and sterile. I guess that’s my own fault for not knowing how to decorate it,” he chuckled. “I should get you to decorate for me. I like this.”
“I can’t take the credit,” Clarissa admitted. “My parents did most of the decorating. I bought the house from them when they decided to retire to Florida,” she explained. “Call me sentimental, but I couldn’t bear to see my childhood home sold to strangers.”
“Lots of good memories, huh?”
“Yeah,” she smiled wistfully. “You know how it is.”
“I wish I did. My parents weren’t really around much,” Parker confided. “My father was busy with work – and golf. My mother was busy keeping up appearances and socializing. I was raised by a revolving door of nannies and boarding schools.”
“Oh.” Clarissa had no idea how to respond to that. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” Parker said dismissively. “But yeah, hold onto this place. It’ a keeper.” He paused to inspect the floor. “This hardwood is gorgeous. And the built-in bookcases are perfect for the space. It’s clear a lot of thought and care went into this home.”
“My parents would be pleased to know you think so.”
“How do they like Florida?”
“Oh, they think Florida is fabulous. They love the sun! I’m not so sure they’re sold on retirement, though,” Clarissa said with a giggle. “Apparently all that free time is making them get on each other’s nerves.”
“Ah, the joys of marriage,” Parker grinned.
“Not the marrying type, huh?” she asked, reading between the lines.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied.
“So are you ready to go talk to Greg’s mother?” Clarissa asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m dreading it. But let’s go do it anyway.”
“My thoughts exactly,” she nodded. “Hang on a second.”
Clarissa ran into the kitchen and rummaged around. She always tried to keep emergency goodies on hand. But sometimes in a fit of guilt, usually after a sugar binge, she would hide them. They had turned up in all sorts of places: the back of the junk drawer, on a chair underneath the kitchen table and even inside the rarely-used stove.
Thankfully most things stayed delicious for a long time. Truthfully, Clarissa probably wouldn’t mind stale cookies or donuts either. A treat was a treat! But when offering them to someone else, it was important that they remained soft and fresh and amazing.
She found her emergency supply of chocolate chip cookies in the cupboard above the fridge.
“Aha!” she exclaimed in triumph.
Quickly, she arranged the cookies nicely on a paper plate. She even put a pretty paper napkin underneath them to fancy it up. It wasn’t the sort of arrangement that would be featured in a lifestyle magazine, but it was nice enough. Besides, it was more about the gesture than anything.
When she was satisfied, she returned to the living room with the plate of cookies in her hand.
“Are you planning to eat those on the way over?” Parker asked, looking entertained.
“No, they’re for Greg’s mother,” Clarissa replied. “We’re about to show up unannounced and ask painful questions while she’s mourning the loss of her son. I think at the very least she should get some cookies out of the deal.”
“That’s really thoughtful of you.”
“It’s no big deal,” Clarissa muttered bashfully. They stepped outside and she locked the door behind them. “You can drive today,” she added, glancing over at Parker’s expensive, luxurious sports car.
“I can? You have no idea how relieved that makes me,” he teased.
“Careful or I might change my mind!” she threatened as they walked toward Parker’s car.
“Why do I feel like every time I’m in your car, it’s a hostage situation of sorts?” he mused.
“Oh it is not. You like it, admit it.”
“No way!” he insisted.
“Not even a little?”
“Okay, I might like it a little. Your driving gives me a massive adrenaline rush. It’s a like riding a roller coaster, except with the constant fear of imminent death,” Parker quipped. “It’s a blast.”
“Do you want to walk?”
Parker laughed. “Okay, you win this time.”
“I win every time,” she shot back.
He smiled and opened the passenger side door of his car for her. “Whatever makes you happy.”
In her sleep-deprived state, Clarissa nearly said “you make me happy” in response. Thankfully, she caught herself at the last minute and managed to keep her mouth shut. It was a good thing. Saying something like that would have been completely mortifying!
Clarissa did her best to keep her mind on the case.
But she kept sneaking looks at Parker out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help it. She was supposed to be the witch and yet there she was, under his spell! Something was very wrong with that picture…or perhaps very right.
When Parker and Clarissa arrived at the Klassen residence, a feeling of dread washed over her.
She loved investigative journalism. In fact, she lived for it. But no amount of enthusiasm could overshadow how painful and awkward it was to interview someone whose life had recently been turned upside down by a tragedy.
It was, however, part of the job.
Reluctantly, Clarissa walked to the front door of the small, modest bungalow. Parker was right beside her and that helped a little. But even so, when she rang the doorbell, she had to fight a sudden urge to turn and run away.
A tired-looking young man of about twenty opened the door.
Clarissa blinked and took a step back. She was sure she recognized him. He had dark hair, pale skin and a heavy build. He wore thick glasses, khakis and an ill-fitting button up shirt. Then Clarissa’s gaze fell on his pocket protector.
Suddenly she knew where she had seen him before.
He had been at Liana’s place the night of the party. He had been standing out front smoking! And unfortunately, it seemed his nerd costume hadn’t been a costume after all. But right now, that was the least of Clarissa’s worries.
“Can I help you?” the young man asked.
“I hope so,” Clarissa stuttered. “I went to high school with Greg,” she explained clumsily. “This is the Klassen residence, isn’t it?” she asked as the telltale sweet scent of fresh flowers wafted out of the house.
“Yeah…my mom’s inside if you want to come in.”
“You’re Greg’s brother?” Clarissa asked.
“Uh huh, I’m Shane,” the young man confirmed.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” Clarissa told him earnestly.
He shrugged and looked visibly uncomfortable. He lowered his head and said nothing for a moment. Then he shuffled his feet and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “I need a smoke,” he mumbled. “Go on in.”
Clarissa and Parker entered the house, leaving Shane outside with his pack of cigarettes. The interior was much like the exterior – simple and unsophisticated, but comfortable enough. The Klassen family, it seemed, wasn’t wealthy. Furnishings were sparse and the walls were bare. But it was homey.
Several large, fragrant bouquets sat on the kitchen table along with cards of condolence. Clarissa set the plate of cookies she had brought down beside them. Then she glanced at a few of the condolence cards. The names she recognized were all older people her parents’ age – they were likely friends of Greg’s mother.
“Hello?”
A bleary-eyed woman of about sixty startled Clarissa and Parker as she came up behind them. She had the same round face and almond-shaped eyes that Shane did. She had to be his mother. And it seemed she was struggling to place Clarissa and Parker.
“Hi Mrs. Klassen,” Clarissa said.
“Were you friends of Greg’s?” the older woman asked.
“I went to hig
h school with him,” Clarissa replied, dodging the question. She didn’t have the heart to tell Mrs. Klassen she hadn’t known Greg that well – and that back in high school, he hadn’t really had friends.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Klassen,” Parker said.
“Thank you,” she said emotionlessly.
Clarissa heard the faint murmur of voices in the other room. Then a chubby grey-haired woman of about sixty-five and a tall, broad-shouldered young man in his thirties walked into the kitchen. They seemed surprised to see that Greg’s mother wasn’t alone.
“Remember you have an appointment with the funeral director,” the grey-haired woman said gently. “I’ll drive you. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet, have you?”
“No,” Greg’s mother admitted. “I’m not really hungry.”
“You have to eat, Mom,” the thirty-something year old man said.
“I know, Teddy. I will. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll take her out for a bite when we get done,” the grey-haired woman assured him.
“Thanks Aunt Linda,” he said gratefully.
Clarissa cleared her throat. “I hate to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could spare a few moments to talk to me? I’m Clarissa Spencer,” she added. “I write for Sugar-free. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s Sugarcomb Lake’s new newspaper.”
“It’s very good,” Parker chimed in.
“We’re investigating the um…what happened to Greg,” Clarissa said. “We want justice for him and are determined to get to the bottom of things. If we could just have a few minutes of your time, we’d like to ask you some questions. It won’t take long.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no time,” the young man interjected. “My mom and aunt have to leave to go to an appointment. Funeral arrangements,” he explained. He looked over at the two women. “Do you want me to come to the funeral home with you?”
“No, we’ve got it under control,” his aunt assured him in a businesslike manner. Then she softened momentarily and smiled at him. “You’re a good kid, Ted, you know that?”
He smiled and dutifully hugged both women before they left.
A Hint of Magic Page 7
