Witch's Jewel

by Kater Cheek

  I shook my head, unconvinced, but I got a Coke out of the refrigerator anyway. “I just don’t see Monica as being a penny loafer kind of woman. Dress heels, maybe. Strappy little sandals in summer, but not penny loafers. That’s way too librarian for her.”

  He opened the Coke and drank one sip, probably for the principle of the thing. He wasn’t really a soda drinker. “Then it wasn’t her.”

  I sighed. It would be so much easier if I only had a known enemy to worry about. “Okay, so plan B, investigate the members of the committee of the museum Uncle Fred tried to start. They all would have seen the bindi, and they might have heard Uncle Fred brag about its powers.”

  “You have a plan B. That means you already figured it wasn’t Monica.”

  “Yeah. It’s too soon for her to figure out she stole a fake. That replica was pretty convincing, even if I do say so myself.”

  He leaned over to read what I was tapping on the yellow legal pad. His chest touched my shoulder blades. “These are the names that Virginia gave you?”

  I cleared my throat. The closeness of his body had distracted me. “Yeah, these are the names. Of the original twelve members of the museum committee, only five are still alive.”

  And it had taken several hours of surfing and phone calls to find their addresses. I hadn’t wanted to let James know about the kappa attacking someone, but since my roommate was dating his best friend, it was a hard secret to keep.

  Fenwick took the list from me. “Only five? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “It was thirty years ago, Fenwick, and some of these people weren’t spring chickens to begin with.” I grabbed the Coke and drank some of it, then used an orange crayon to tap the names again. “The name of the woman who died was Beatrice Thorn. That leaves Olivia Walters, Grant Holzhausen, Francis Jackson, Lee Quinn, and Mary Strede. I figure we should ignore the two men and just check out the women.”

  “You mean three men.”

  “No, Lee’s a woman’s name.”

  “No, it isn’t, it’s a man’s name.”

  “Okay, so just check out Mary and Olivia. Will you do that for me?”

  “I’ll check them all out,” he said, “but what exactly am I checking?”

  “I just want you to sniff around and see if either of them were the ones who got bitten by the kappa.”

  “I’ll give it a try, Kit, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who it was just by the blood smell.”

  “Got any other ideas?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  I carried the papers back to my bedroom and put them down on the upturned milk crate that served as my bedside table. Fenwick sat down Indian style on the rumpled futon and lifted the sheet. Finding nothing, he rooted through the blanket, then picked up the pillow.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Trying to find out if you sleep with a teddy bear or not.” He grinned and tossed the pillow at me.

  “I’m too old for teddy bears.” I held the pillow on my lap with my arms around it. “I had a stuffed alligator in high school that I used to sleep with, but my mom’s probably thrown it out by now.”

  Fenwick looked around the room, as if searching for incriminating evidence of a secret identity. There wasn’t anything to find. One wall had a calendar, and the wall above the bed had an orange batik hanging from Heidi’s Bazaar. My clean clothes were kept in a chest of drawers rescued from an alley. The dirty ones were either in the laundry hamper (a gift from Elaina, who found the empty apple box an affront to her domestic sensibilities) or sprawled across the musty carpet around the hamper, like men who died of thirst just inches from the oasis.

  “Tell me about before you moved here, Kit. You never talk about your past. What were you like in high school? How did you start making trees?”

  “I’d rather hear your story of how you became a were-bear.” My fingers itched to put the clothes away, to straighten up so he wouldn’t know how much of a slob I was.

  “I asked you first. Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine later.”

  There was a good reason why I didn’t talk about my life before coming here. I wanted Seabingen to be a fresh start, to leave the rest of me behind as I’d left the name “Mildred.” I stood and walked to the other side of the room, picking up my jean jacket from its nail under the window. There were only four cigarettes left in the pack I had bought on Monday. The previous pack had lasted a week. “You mind if I smoke?”

  “I thought you quit.”

  “I started again.”

  “Go ahead.” Fenwick stood and walked to the casement window, grabbing the painted aluminum frame with his fingertips. With a groan and a snap of splintering paint, he managed to open it enough to admit a faint breeze. I took a drag of my cigarette and tapped the ash into a spider web just outside the window.

  “I was seventeen when I moved out of my mom’s house. My brother had moved out by the time I started high school, which was good, because Mom didn’t yell as much when James wasn’t around.”

  “Your dad was already gone by then?”

  I nodded. “Long gone, off with his new family. Mom was dating losers who weren’t much better than my dad. The worst was this guy named Dave. Anyone could see he was an asshole, but Mom always thought the love of a good woman could fix him. Dave could be charming when he was trying to get money from her to buy booze, and he could be charming when he was making up, after kicking the shit out of her. But except for that he either ignored her or abused her. Me, he pretty much ignored all the time, and that’s the way I liked it.

  “Soon after he moved in, I started learning karate, mostly to get out of the house. I worked hard in school so the teachers wouldn’t know anything was wrong at home. When I wasn’t at school, I went to the dojo. When I wasn’t there, I went to my boyfriend’s house. I only went home to get a change of clothes and to make sure Mom was okay.”

  Fenwick finished the Coke and offered the can to use as an ashtray.

  “Thanks.” I tapped my ash and continued. “One day I came home and Mom was unconscious on the floor. It wasn’t the first time he had beaten her, but it was the first time she had to go to the hospital.

  “I hoped she would call it quits with Dave, but no. Dave showed up at the hospital, full of sympathy, as if he wasn’t the bastard who put her in there. He brought her a dozen roses, and Mom was totally taken in.

  “He was all, ‘I brought something to make it up to you, honey.’ Then he gave her a little velvet box with an engagement ring in it. There she was in the hospital, hooked up to an IV and unable to move, because he got drunk and used her as a punching bag, and he thought asking her to marry him would make it all better.

  “They asked me to leave the room so they could talk in private, and when I came back he walked out with a smug look on his face. Mom was wearing the ring on her finger and looked happy.

  “Happy?” Fenwick asked.

  “Yup.” I wiped tears from my eyes and pretended the itch in my throat was from cigarette smoke. “I still remember our conversation. I was like, ‘You said yes? After what he did to you?’ and she was all, ‘Well, honey, I’ve wanted this for a long time, you know that. Things are going to be different now. He says he’s sorry and he’s really going to change.’”

  “And did he?” Fenwick asked.

  “I don’t know. I told her that I loved her, but that I wouldn’t stand by and watch her go through with it. I went straight home, packed up my stuff, and moved in with my boyfriend, Rolf.”

  “And you never went back again?” Fenwick asked with surprise. He went to see his parents every weekend.

  “I saw her briefly at high school graduation. Dave wasn’t there, but she had fresh bruises, so I knew she was still with him, or some other loser. I don’t know if they ever got married, but she still had the ring, so I guess at least he hadn’t pawned it for booze yet. I miss her, and I wrote her a couple times, but she never wrote back, and I don’t know if she’s even alive. I hope
she is. I hope she dumped him, went sober, got her life back on track, and is looking me up right now. I seriously doubt it, though.”

  “Now I understand why you don’t talk about your parents. Have you ever told Rob this story?”

  I shook my head.

  “What about this Rolf guy? Was he your high school sweetheart?”

  “Sweetheart? He was just my boyfriend, you know? We all had boyfriends. If you didn’t have one, it was like you were a freak or something. He was kind of an asshole, but he’s the one who got me started on the tree-making.

  “Rolf had a job with a guy who sold stuff out of his truck. He sold cheap paintings, neon signs, car seat covers, fake plants, and that sort of thing. You know what I mean. He’d get these boxes of fake ficus from China or somewhere and we’d assemble them and spruce them up to make them look nice.

  “We stood on the corners to sell the stuff and moved on if the cops asked about permits. It wasn’t a bad living, better than flipping burgers, so after I graduated, Rolf and I pooled our money, bought a van and some inventory, and hit the road.

  “We drove from town to town, selling fake trees and car seat covers along with whatever pot Rolf sold on the side. He was pretty high most of the time, and I did a fair share of pot too, but I told myself it wasn’t as bad as drinking. Rolf was no prize, but he didn’t drink as much as my stepdads and he didn’t hit me.

  “After a while I decided I didn’t want the wandering life anymore. For about six months, some of the money we were making found its way to a secret stash, so Rolf wouldn’t blow it all on pot and booze.

  “I called it saving for our future. Rolf didn’t see it that way. One day he found the wad of cash while looking for something. He was all, ‘Where the hell’d you get this?’ and when I said I had been saving it from the profits, he said I was stealing from him. Then he started to hit me.

  “That’s when I realized I had made a stupid choice, just like my mother did. I fought back against Rolf, but it had been a year or so since quitting the dojo, and he was strung out on something other than pot. He acted like he would never stop hitting me.

  “Finally I managed to find the gun he kept under the driver’s seat. I shot at him once, and missed. I was taking aim for another shot, but Rolf decided he had taught me a good enough lesson, so he just walked off with the cash.

  “I wasn’t sorry to see him go. What really hurt was seeing him take the money. I think there was over a thousand dollars there.

  “That doesn’t seem like much, but for me it was more money than I had ever seen. It took me so long to save, and it seemed like he was walking off with my entire future.

  “When I was sure he had gone, I looked at the mess in the van and tried to decide what to do next. Rolf had left the keys above the sun visor, so I started driving west. When I ran low on gas, I sold Rolf’s pot stash for more, and when that ran out, I sold our stereo and CDs and the gun. I drove for three days, only stopping to sleep and use the gas station rest rooms.

  “By the time I reached Seabingen, I had sold everything of value but the van itself. James had told me about Ishmael’s, and by asking around I found it.

  “When James answered the door and saw me standing there he didn’t say anything. It was like he just knew what I had been through. He just stepped forward and held me while I cried. It felt like coming home.”

  Fenwick listened carefully the whole time, and when I was done he reached over and squeezed my hand gently. “Thanks for telling me that story.”

  “Yeah, now you know my glorious upbringing.” I started to slide out another cigarette, but instead put the pack back in my jacket pocket. “Hey, um, it’s okay to tell Rob, you know, if he asks about me.”

  “He won't. And I'm not going to tell him.”

  I must have looked upset, because Fenwick touched my shoulder, cupping the muscle with his long fingers. “I don’t mean it that way, I just mean … well, I guess I’m selfish. I like the idea that I know something about you that no one else knows.”

  “Yeah. Only you and James have heard those stories. Why is it so easy to talk to you and so hard to talk to Rob?”

  “Because I’m just like a brother to you,” he stated flatly.

  “Yeah,” I replied, puzzled by his tone. “Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wednesday afternoons were my favorite at the dojo because Rob was there. I was working on a kata when Rob and Fenwick entered, ten minutes before class began. Fenwick never came in this early, because of work. That should have tipped me off.

  Rob had a brightness about him, the cheerfulness of a guy who wants to share excellent news. That really should have tipped me off, but oblivious me, I continued the kata as if nothing were wrong. Both my friends came over as soon as I finished.

  “Hey, Rob, you look happy. What’s going on?”

  “Dude, this is so cool, you’ll never believe it!” Rob beamed. “Julie said yes!”

  “Yes to what?” A dull sinking feeling crept into my stomach.

  “I popped the question. We’re gonna get married the June after I graduate.”

  “So, it won’t be for five or six years, at least.” Fenwick’s joke went over like a wake without whiskey.

  “You’re getting married? To her?” Impossible to pretend to be happy about this.

  “Yeah, but you’re supposed to say, something like ‘congratulations’.” He turned to Fenwick. “What’s with her?”

  Fenwick looked at me sympathetically. “She’s been in love with you for years now, and you were too stupid to notice.”

  “You?” Rob looked back at me incredulously, and then laughed. “You had a crush on me? You wanted to date or something?”

  “Is that so impossible?” My stomach crawled around my feet, looking for a place to hide.

  “Dude, you? Like, a girlfriend?” He scratched his head. “But you’re into karate and stuff. You drink beer, wear scruffy clothes, and you don’t even, you know, dress up or wear make up or anything. I always think of you as one of the guys.”

  Rob should have realized by my expression that he had gone too far, but before he could stammer an apology I turned away and headed for the door. Somehow my belongings made it into my hands amid the painful blur of unshed tears and the sharp shards of a shattered heart.

  I went straight to Café Ishmael, fully intending to work my troubles away. James took a look at my tear-stained face, hugged me for a minute and let me go. I threw myself into work, taking every order, making every drink, and cleaning already-clean counters. The pain didn’t go away, but I could push it to the side.

  Eventually James got the short version of that afternoon’s calamity. He gave me another sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and that look which meant he’d grill me later on for the rest of the details.

  Why did it hurt so bad? Why had I wasted my time pining after him? Why was I so undesirable? Why was it so hard to make the switch from friend-and-drinking-buddy to something more? Why had I thought I had a chance?

  Half an hour before the end of my shift, Fenwick came in. At least he wasn’t with Rob. Fenwick didn’t order coffee, just sat down at a table and watched me until Jolene showed up late for her shift. The scene at the dojo still burned, and being in the company of people who saw my humiliation would not help. Screw Fenwick. Screw everyone.

  Fenwick sat unmoving and watched me quietly, waiting.

  No, I couldn’t blow him off, not with all we’d been through. He’d always been there for me, ready with a hug or a kind word when I was feeling down. Maybe Fenwick’s company would make me feel better.

  I tossed my apron on its hook and approached his table, putting my hands on my hips. “Hey, if you’re not going to buy coffee, I think you should be leaving now.” My voice cracked, but I forced a smile.

  “I was going to leave soon, but I’m hoping to have company when I do.”

  “Are you trying to pick up girls in cafes?”

  Fenwick grinned. “W
hy, yes, I’d love to go out.” He followed me out the door and to my van. “Let me drive, okay?”

  I nodded and handed him the keys.

  After we got in the van he said, “Kishimoto-sensei was worried about you. He asked me to make sure you were okay.”

  “It’s just a broken heart.” Nothing but an emotional aneurysm. Nothing I wouldn’t recover from in thirty years or so.

  “I know it hurts, Kit.” Fenwick put his hand on my shoulder.

  I folded my arms and pulled away from his touch. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Okay.” He reached forward to turn on the radio, letting the static-y a.m. carve away at the silence until it grew comfortable again.

  When I could trust my voice to speak normally, I cleared my throat. “So, where are we going?”

  “Dinner.”

  The little bistro Fenwick took me to was the kind of place where tablecloths in coordinating colors bedecked tiny tables, the kind where an appetizer cost more than two combo meals at a fast food joint. The name was painted in script on a wooden sign out front, something Italian and unpronounceable. My feet slowed, unwilling to enter.

  “You don’t like Italian food?” He opened the door for me.

  “I’m not dressed very nicely.” All those women were wearing designer clothes. Couldn’t he smell the expensive perfume?

  “Casual dress is fine.” He took my arm and pulled me along to the plush burgundy carpet of the lobby, where a tuxedoed host waited behind a wooden podium.

  “I can’t, I—” Don’t have enough money with me.

  “Let me buy you dinner for once. Rob treated you badly, I want to make it up to you.”

  “You can’t help it that he’s a bonehead.”

  “Well, then let this be our first real date.” He turned to the host. “Party of two, the name is Fenwick.”

  He made a reservation? How sweet, he planned this? I smiled at him, determined to have a good time even if it killed me. I kept silent until safely hidden behind a menu, (not wanting to cry in the restaurant,) and steered the conversation away from Rob. “Silvara hired me for a big commission the other day.”