by Harper Lin
“You men should be ashamed of yourselves,” she spat at the officers after she reassured her husband everything would be all right.
I stretched my neck to see what the police were doing outside with Mr. Wayne and was shocked to see the paramedics pull up. Of course, after getting popped in the face, he had to be put on a stretcher and examined if he was serious about filing a lawsuit.
One police officer led Mr. Mavery out of the café. The other approached Min and some of the people who were still in the far corner of the dining area to get their statements. After, he approached Bea.
“You’re the owner?” He took out his pad of paper and a small pencil and looked at Bea. Her bright-red hair and blue eyes were captivating, and it was something to see how some guys would ask the silliest questions just for a chance to chitchat with her.
“No.” She shook her head and jerked her thumb behind her. “My mother is.” And she stepped aside, letting Aunt Astrid take center stage.
Aunt Astrid told him everything.
Mr. Mavery and his wife had come into the café looking as if they hadn’t had a good night’s sleep. Their eyes were downcast, and Mrs. Mavery yawned widely as they took a seat next to the window.
“Yes, right over there,” Aunt Astrid said to the officer, pointing to the area of the room where several of the tables and chairs had been shoved aside. “Something outside caught Mr. Mavery’s attention.”
He had been looking out the window as his wife was speaking to him. When she reached for his hands, he took hers and squeezed them tightly.
“I thought he was going to cry, and that led me to think that maybe there had been an unexpected death in the family. But when I saw him jump up, I knew something was wrong.”
Just then, Aunt Astrid said, the bells went off over the door and a man had walked in. He looked familiar. She recognized his face from the recent newspaper articles.
Bibich High School was the biggest high school at Wonder Falls, sitting at the edge of town. The girls’ volleyball team was regional champ three years ago.
But now Bibich High School was in the newspaper for another reason. Several children, both boys and girls, had come forward, accusing Mr. Gale Wayne of a varying range of offenses, from indecent exposure, to lewd and lascivious behavior in front of a minor, to sexual assault. Their ages ranged from thirteen to seventeen years old. Mr. Wayne had been arrested, but he was released when he made bail. The preliminary hearing was set to take place in the next few weeks.
I hadn’t paid much attention to the story. I know it might sound selfish, but I was busy trying to figure out what to get my boyfriend for Christmas. I didn’t go to Bibich High School, I didn’t know anyone who did, and I didn’t have any teenagers in my life who attended that school that I could be worrying over. It was a scandal that didn’t apply to me. But now it had literally barged in on my family and me.
“Mr. Wayne walked in. Everyone knew who he was from the paper,” Aunt Astrid said. “Mr. Mavery made it pretty obvious that he was the father of one of the boys who had accused Mr. Wayne of… you know.”
“Did Mr. Mavery approach Mr. Wayne?” the officer asked.
“No, sir,” Aunt Astrid had replied. “It was Mr. Wayne who approached Mr. and Mrs. Mavery. I don’t know what he said to them. I couldn’t hear. But whatever it was left Mrs. Mavery with her mouth hanging open and Mr. Mavery grabbing hold of Mr. Wayne’s collar.”
“That isn’t what Mr. Wayne reported.” The officer looked at my aunt skeptically.
“I saw the whole thing, Officer.” Min stepped up. “I was right here at the counter.”
The officer nodded and finished taking Aunt Astrid’s statement before moving on to Min. Bea and I admitted we had come in after the ruckus had already started and were mostly interested in keeping Aunt Astrid safe.
When the police left, the patrons settled down, although the conversations buzzed louder than usual.
“Jeez, Aunt Astrid. Bea and I go out to do a little Christmas shopping together, and this is what happens,” I teased. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
“My gosh, Mom,” Bea said as she helped me move all of the chairs and tables back to their proper places. “Maybe I’ve been living in a cave, but I don’t know anything about that situation at the high school. Jake hasn’t said anything to me. How did you hear about it?”
“It’s a recent development,” my aunt replied with a tired voice. “I don’t know whether it’s true or not. I can’t tell yet.” Her eyes roamed our faces then looked out the window. “But something strange is happening.”
Min came by after he finished chatting with the fellow who had helped him hold Mr. Mavery back.
“Well, I hate to witness a brawl and then run. I just stopped by to wish you all a wonderful Christmas. I’m leaving with my parents to go visit some relatives in Hawaii while I do a little business.”
“Hawaii for Christmas?” Bea smiled. “Now that sounds wonderful. Safe travels, and a very Merry to your folks from us.”
“Well, now, who am I going to drink eggnog and count ugly Christmas sweaters with?” I said. “Hawaii. There’s no snow there, huh?”
“Have you ever been?”
“No. And yes, I am terribly jealous. I’m just trying to find the negative side of Christmas in Hawaii to make myself feel better.” I laughed and gave my friend a big hug. “When you get back, you might be able to make yourself a couple of extra dollars playing bouncer for Aunt Astrid if the Brew-Ha-Ha continues to live up to its name.”
Bea and Astrid said their good-byes to Min.
It would be two days before Bea and I remembered to tell Aunt Astrid what we’d heard about Bruce Lyle. It came rushing back to us when his mother, Melissa, came into the café late one evening.
Missing
Melissa Radke, previously known as Mrs. Bruce Lyle Sr., had gone back to her maiden name as soon as she found out about her husband’s indiscretions. When she walked into the Brew-Ha-Ha, my heart broke just looking at her.
Her eyes were weighed down with dark circles, and the rims were red as if she’d been crying. She wore no makeup, and her hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail that offered no complement to her round face.
“Hey, Melissa,” I greeted her quietly when she came into the café for her usual black coffee on the way home from her job as a nurse at St. Joe’s hospital.
At the café, we had decided to try something a little different this year and stay open until midnight for the two weeks leading up to Christmas Eve in order to accommodate some of the later-evening shoppers.
Normally we’d see her at three o’clock as she worked the afternoon shift and would be home in time for her son, Bruce Jr., but that had changed. Now she was working the graveyard shift. It was a poor choice of words, but that was what it was.
“Hi, Cath,” she said quietly. “Just a black coffee.”
“Coming right up.” I smiled and bumped Bea to get her to turn around for a second. She might be able to help. She caught on and greeted her.
“Hi, Bea. Say, would you girls do me a favor?”
I nodded, and Bea said, “Of course.”
“Would you put this up in your window?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a flyer from a huge stack. It was a picture of Bruce Jr. with the word MISSING across the top.
“Oh dear.” I didn’t know what else to say. I certainly couldn’t say, “Oh yeah, heard some ladies gossiping that your kid went missing. So it’s true. Truthfully, I forgot about it up until just now. But yeah, we’ll put this in the window.” Instead I just followed Bea’s lead.
“Dear God,” Bea said sadly. “I’m so sorry, Melissa. When was the last time…?”
“I haven’t seen him in nine days. He hasn’t called. None of his friends have seen him. Or should I say his friend.” She swallowed hard. “Bruce is alone a lot. He says he prefers it that way, but I’m not so sure.”
Just then, Aunt Astrid came from the kitchen and immediately
narrowed her eyes at Melissa, who didn’t notice.
“With everything that’s been going on at the high school… Bruce was one of those children that said Mr. Wayne…” She couldn’t choke out the words. Bea handed Melissa her coffee and quickly took hold of her hand. But Melissa gently pulled away. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I know you mean well, but I just can’t stand being touched right now. I only want to hug my boy.” Her eyes welled up.
“I understand,” Bea muttered kindly. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Bruce hated school,” Melissa continued absently. “He was having a spot of trouble with another boy. Actually, it’s boys. Those kinds of children always travel in packs.” She grimaced. “Bruce just wanted to get through high school. His uncle, my brother, had a job waiting for him at a factory in Chicago. I thought it would be great for him to leave the state and go stay with them for a while and get some real life experience on his own. He acted like he couldn’t wait. But these kids at school…”
Unfortunately, this story was hitting a nerve with me. Melissa was right. These kinds of children always travelled in packs. They picked on anyone they considered weaker. That was how Darla Castellan did it. She and her best friend, Ruby Connors, the same Ruby Connors whose brother tortured my friend Min, used to hassle me something fierce. There were many times I contemplated running away.
“Bruce’s father didn’t make things easy for us.” I could tell Melissa was holding back from saying what she really thought about her ex-husband. “Things spread all over town, and somehow what my husband did became my son’s fault and shame. I tried to tell him that high school was just a blip in his life. That it would be over after one more year and then he’d never have to see any of those people again. But then he said that he had problems with Mr. Wayne, and that hit the headlines. ”
She looked up at us from her coffee.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to smile. “I don’t mean to prattle on.”
“Please, Melissa.” Aunt Astrid came up to the counter. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry for being a mother. Leave as many of those flyers as you can with us. We’ll get them out. Let Bea make you a tea to take with you. A good night’s rest can lead to an idea or solution in the morning. Please.”
Before Melissa could put up a fuss, Bea was fixing one of her special elixirs with a few drops of honey, a sprinkling of lavender petals, and a little hocus-pocus. She presented a tall takeout cup to Melissa.
“Thank you.” Melissa sniffed, keeping most of her tears back as she handed me a stack of flyers. “What do I owe you?”
“Oh, it’s on the house.” I waved my hand as if shooing a fly. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll just take it from Bea’s paycheck.” I winked.
“Melissa.” Bea put her hand gently on Melissa’s arm and was nearly knocked off balance by the overwhelming feeling of sadness and desperation. The weight was so heavy I was sure she’d collapse right there, but she held tight. “We mean it when we say if there is anything we can do to help, let us know. Even if you want to just come and prattle on.”
I saw the sweat forming on Bea’s temple. Whatever she was absorbing was worse than she thought it would be. But still, she held on to Melissa’s arm. It looked like nothing more than a simple exchange between friends. But I saw Melissa stand a little straighter as just a small bit of relief came to her spirit.
“Thanks, ladies. I may just do that.” She patted Bea’s hand before pulling away. Taking her coffee and special tea, she left the café.
“I’ve got you,” Aunt Astrid said as she put her arms around Bea and helped her to the chair at the end of the counter.
“That poor woman.” Bea held back tears. “I’ve never seen that kind of pain before. It’s like a flowerbed overrun with thorny, sickly weeds that keep cropping up and choking the new sprouts. Her hope is giving way to despair, and I’m just afraid what will happen if Bruce isn’t found.”
We sat there for a few minutes, not saying anything but thinking the same thing. Finally, in the most tactful and gentle way I could, I asked the worst question.
“If Bruce Jr. was one of the kids accusing Mr. Wayne of something and Mr. Wayne is out on bail, do you think he could have offed the boy?”
“Offed?” Bea looked at me. “Are you in the Mafia all of a sudden?”
“If I were, I would have said whacked. Get with it, Bea.”
“It’s a possibility.” Aunt Astrid’s serious tone made my cousin and me stop our bantering. “I can’t imagine a teenager willingly running away from home just two weeks before Christmas. Not with the prospect of presents and special dinner and all the stuff that goes with the holiday.”
“That’s a good point.” Bea took a deep breath and smoothed her hair back from her face. She nodded to her mother that she was okay to stand up. “Cath, would you lock the door? I think we’ve had enough customers for tonight.”
“I agree,” Aunt Astrid said as she walked to the café windows. “It looks like we might be in for a few flurries tonight.” I watched her as she looked outside, and thought she was looking for something or someone. Then I felt a cold chill rush over me.
“Did you guys feel that?” I murmured as I snapped the lock on the door, turned the Yes, We’re Open sign to Sorry, We’re Closed, and flipped off the front lights. The café was eerily lit by the lights at the back of the café and made it look like an unfriendly, foreign place. Normally, closing up shop never made me nervous. But I felt an urge to hurry up and get going.
“You feel it, too?” Bea asked as she took the receipts from the register along with the deposit that would be dropped off at the bank tomorrow morning. “Kind of feels like we’re being watched, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Aunt Astrid said as she closed the blinds. Before I could ask her what she saw or what she was thinking, my aunt turned and smiled at me. “Cath, let Bea take you home tonight. Don’t walk by yourself.”
“It’s okay, Aunt Astrid. You know I like to feel the cold and smell the fireplaces that cut through the air. I don’t mind…”
“No. Not tonight,” she kindly ordered. I looked at Bea, who shrugged.
“All right, Aunt Astrid. Bea, you mind?”
“Of course not. Why don’t you come by for some hot chocolate?”
“It’s real hot chocolate, right? It’s not some weird, chocolate-ish herb or nut that is healthier but tastes like feet?”
“I’ve never given you anything that tastes like feet,” Bea snapped. “Of course, I never tasted feet, which apparently you have.”
We laughed like schoolgirls. We did that often but this time stopped short when Aunt Astrid didn’t chuckle along with us. She was nervous about something, but my cousin and I knew better than to pressure her into talking. Aunt Astrid would tell us what was on her mind when she was good and ready, and not a moment sooner.
“Just make sure you and Jake walk her home. Don’t go by yourself.”
“Why?” Bea asked.
“No reason except to play it safe.” Aunt Astrid smiled. She was hiding something. We both knew it but said nothing.
It was really no bother at all to go to Bea’s place. We lived just across the street from each other. Aunt Astrid lived on the same block a couple houses over. A perfect equilateral triangle if you had a bird’s-eye view.
“Do you want us to stay and walk you home?” I asked. “If you think we should be playing it safe for some reason you aren’t telling us? I’m not trying to be a smarty-pants. I’m just saying that…”
“I’ll be fine. In fact, I’ve got a few things to do in the bunker. I probably won’t be leaving for another hour or two.”
The bunker was a small room off the kitchen that from the outside looked like a supply or utility closet. But when you opened the door and descended the cement steps, you were in a tiny nook filled with some of our favorite spell books and witchy histories.
I was about to protest my aunt staying alone, but judging by the look on her face, I decided
I’d better trust her. She didn’t look as if she wanted company.
Truthfully, Aunt Astrid was a super-witch compared to Bea and me. She was the last person we really needed to be worried about since she had the gift of seeing what was coming before it arrived. Not to mention the years of experience in spell casting and good old-fashioned charming when necessary. Still, she was my aunt. I loved her and worried anyway.
White Precipitation
“So why do you think your mom asked us to stick together like this?” I asked Bea as we sat in her kitchen.
Bea had a lovely kitchen that had an island. I sat at one of the barstools and watched her make our hot chocolates.
“I’m not sure,” Bea replied. “But I wasn’t going to argue with her. Sometimes it’s better just to nod and agree. I’m assuming you want mini marshmallows in your hot chocolate.”
I nodded. In addition to being an empath, Bea also had a knack for cooking. The only problem with her cooking was that it was usually some odd vegetarian weirdness that included kale and sunflower seeds and a host of things I usually don’t think of when deciding what to have for dinner.
My mind is usually on a big, juicy cheeseburger with everything on it and greasy fries on the side. But that doesn’t stop me from coming to Bea’s house. In fact, I hate to admit that what she usually concocts, despite it being healthy, is delicious. This homemade hot chocolate with real whipped cream was no exception.
“That smells wonderful,” I said, inhaling deeply. The chocolate smell gave the house a warm feeling that was the perfect contrast to the wind that was picking up outside.
Bea’s cat, Peanut Butter, hopped up on the barstool next to me, and my hand instinctively reached out to pet her.
“Treacle was here.” Peanut Butter had no problem interrupting my conversations with her thoughts. “He said he’d be back, but I haven’t seen him yet. It’s getting bad outside. Do you think he’s all right?”
Since Bea was just telling me what she had used in the hot chocolate, I looked at the golden-yellow cat and scratched behind her ears.
