by Kelty Kells
Why is the motor running? What is she even doing?
Well, whatever it is, I just hope it doesn’t involve me.
Sometime around one, I decide I need to call in a favor from Paul. Not one related to the cufflinks, though. I want access to the old case file from Leon’s murder. If I’m lucky, maybe there’ll be something useful inside.
My reason for asking will be hard to explain.
I sincerely doubt he’ll let me near any files, but the case is so old that I just might have a chance at getting to review the evidence. At the very least, maybe I can read the witness statements. There should be some of those, right?
Actually . . . that’s not a bad thought. The case isn’t cold, as far as I know. Great Grandpa Edmund might never have been tried for the murder, and yeah, Angus was acquitted, but that doesn’t mean that it’s still open. If the tarot cards aren’t any help, then that’s my next step.
Like I said, I’m determined to avoid talking to Millie if I can help it. She’s been idling across the street from the shop most of the day, too, which only puts me off talking to her more.
Doesn’t she have a paper to run? What is she even doing out there?
Regardless, my determination to avoid her seems to have opened plenty of doors. Just because the Mooring Cove Sheriff’s Office has the cufflinks doesn’t mean there aren’t other avenues to solving the mystery of Leon’s murder.
“I need to review the case file,” I mumble as I scan a pile of books for Darcy Alexander, a woman I went to school with who works at the local garden center.
“Pardon?” she asks, leaning forward.
“Oh, sorry. Nothing. Will this be all for you?”
She gives me a quizzical look, but nods. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Excellent. Your total today’s eighteen fifty-three.”
As I count the change, I can’t help getting more excited. Paul might have said no to me seeing those cufflinks again, but I’ll bet dollars to donuts he’ll give me access to the old case file if I ask nicely enough.
Five finally rolls around, and Dr. Elea heads out after helping me usher the last of the customers out the door. He stayed later than usual today, which I profusely thank him for. The idea of working the Christmas rush alone like yesterday has my head reeling. I can only do so much on my own.
At long last, I’m alone in the shop. I brush through the handful of orders we got during the day, boxing everything up to go out first thing in the morning. Form responses are sent out to those asking for Christmas delivery—which we obviously won’t make—and I wrap up the rest of my front-end duties.
Because of the heightened foot traffic today, the carpets are a disaster. Toys in the children’s corner are strewn all over the place, and the shelves near the register with chocolates, mugs, and other items are in complete disarray. By the time I finally finish straightening everything, it’s getting close to seven.
I rush into the back after clocking out.
“Okay,” I whisper, pulling the box of tarot cards out. “Show me your secrets, little guys.”
The first card I touch is one I’ve already completed, the Three of Swords. My eyes roll shut, and the vision I caught from the tiny flake of pigment comes screaming back at me.
“Angus! Get in the car! Now!”
The car door slams shut, just like last time. But then I get something else, something I didn’t catch before.
“I can’t believe how poorly that went.”
The voice doesn’t belong to my great uncle. It’s male, though, and my stomach twists at the realization that this is very likely either my great grandfather or Cole’s granddad speaking. If I had to guess, judging from the cadence of speech, I’d say it’s Leon.
“Weren’t that bad.”
Ah, that’s definitely Uncle Angus.
“We got out all right, anyhow,” he continues.
“Shut up, Angus,” snaps Leon.
Something thumps lightly, reminding me of someone smacking their head back against a car’s headrest. It’s followed by a string of curses.
“Now, now. Calm down, Leon.”
There are three of them in the car, at the very least. This third voice belongs to my great grandfather, if the accent is any indication.
“Ain’t no one got hurt,” he says. “We just gotta be more careful, is all.”
“Careful? Careful?” Leon blows air from between his lips, the sound loud and hard. “Careful, he says! Fine. We’ll be more careful.”
After that, the vision fades.
I set the card aside, frowning. One by one, I pick through the pile of cards and check them each for visions and memories. Most of them just show me the same scene. It’s frustrating, but it’s almost like the cards have a cohesive memory. Each one remembers the same thing, like they’re all part of the same unit. Anything else from that car ride is obscured by age.
Simply too much time has passed.
By the time I finish sorting through the cards, it’s nearly nine o’clock. I need to get home and get some sleep, but I can’t help thinking I’m missing something. The cards are helpful, less than I wanted but more than nothing, but it’s not enough. I don’t even know if the conversation they hold takes place the same night as the murder.
Finally, I set them all back in their protective tissue and pack them away.
As I head out to my car, I shoot Paul a text.
Hey, if I need to see a file from a forty-year-old case, would that be possible?
It’s late, and I don’t expect a reply. The most I can do tonight is ask and wait. I probably should have reached out sooner, but I didn’t want to ask for a favor if I didn’t need one. Since the cards didn’t offer me any smoking gun, so to speak, I have little choice but to see if Paul will help me out.
The drive home is quiet. Most everyone is already bundled up in their homes. Christmas lights blink and wink everywhere, belying the wakefulness of the townsfolk. Main Street is a sight straight from a postcard, and the houses surrounding downtown look like the perfect holiday village.
“What do I do now?” I mumble, stopping at the light on Fourteenth. I rap my thumbs against the steering wheel and suck on my lower lip in thought.
I suppose the answer’s obvious enough. The next step is to try and get my hands on the case file and any evidence that was collected that night. If I can do that, then maybe I’ll finally be able to make sense of this whole mess.
I can’t sleep.
It’s not all that surprising, if I’m honest. Considering all of the crimes I’ve witnessed and been involved in, rest just doesn’t come easily anymore. Gunshots always make me jump, even when they’re just ghosts. Any and every small sound has me alert and awake within seconds.
Stupid gunshots. I hate this. And they were just so loud . . .
My eyes widen when a realization hits me.
“Oh, dang.” I bolt upright, brushing my frizzy hair out of my face. “If the tarot cards were there that night, I probably would’ve heard gunshots! Just like with the cufflinks!”
For whatever reason, they seem to consistently be some of the loudest noises in my visions—and the most often recalled. Every case I’ve had with a gun has always, always included a gunshot imprinted on the object’s memory.
“So . . . the cards weren’t there that night.”
I hadn’t heard an argument leading up to the murder, just one on a normal day between the three of them.
Frustrated, I sigh, burying my face in my hands.
That’s not the news I need. I really, really hoped that the cards had been in the car—or wherever they were—that same night, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.
“I guess that means I’m still at square one.”
Fantastic.
I pull my phone over and check the time. It’s almost four in the morning, and I’ve barely slept a wink. Today’s going to be an absolute nightmare, even if I do manage to get any sleep. Considering how fast my mind’s going, though, I don’t th
ink that’s going to happen.
I rub my fingers up and down the bridge of my nose, trying to force myself to relax, calm down, and go back to bed.
But I just . . . can’t.
This case is part of my uncle’s past, part of his life. He’s one of my best friends, one of the people I love and cherish most in this world. Resting feels wrong when he’s involved.
“So what can I do?” I adjust my pillows so I can sit more comfortably. I click on the lamp next to my bed and stare down at my phone.
Kiwi stretches beside me, upset at being disturbed. Strawberry’s probably curled up on one of the heating vents somewhere in the house.
I offer Kiwi some apologetic pets and settle in to do some more research on the murder.
Maybe I can come up with something helpful. Maybe I’ll be able to catch something new, something that seemed innocuous at the time but is actually super useful.
I doubt it, but hope is all I have right now.
As I scroll through various articles—none of which seem all that useful—I finally give in and text Cole. It’s almost five, so he’s likely awake by now. Heck, he’s probably at the café already.
Hey. I can’t sleep. Do you have time to chat this morning?
His reply is shockingly fast.
Sure. Swing by whenever.
With that, and without an ounce of sleep, I slip out of bed to get ready for my day.
It’s going to be a long one.
Chapter 14
The café is almost eerily quiet when I arrive. Only one other customer is there, a local writer set up in his usual corner, a cup of coffee steaming next to him as he dives into his work.
Ah, to be a writer.
I could never do it, of course. I just don’t have the drive.
Ash is alone behind the counter, scrolling on her phone as she waits for customers to start showing up. It’s barely five thirty, a whole hour before I normally arrive. She raises an eyebrow as I approach.
“Early today, aren’t we?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Can I get an extra-large peppermint mocha?” Maybe the sugar-caffeine combo will jumpstart my brain.
“Sure thing.”
I pay and head over to a chair to wait. While Ash makes my drink, I text Cole to let him know I’m out front.
A few seconds later, he emerges from his office. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
It’s good to see him. After our meet up with Uncle Angus, I was worried he wouldn’t want to see me, let alone talk with me. This isn’t the first time I’m wrong, and it definitely won’t be the last.
“What’s up?” he asks, taking a seat across from me.
“We might wanna talk about this in your office,” I say, glancing over at the writer.
He’s not paying us any mind, but that doesn’t mean much. For all I know, he could be recording everything we say.
Paranoid much?
You better believe it. This whole ordeal has me itching from the inside out. Besides, I know Ash and Alice are at least somewhat friendly, and this isn’t a conversation I want getting back to Millie.
“Sure.”
“Karen! Your order’s up!”
Ah, just on time.
On my way back to Cole’s office, I snag my mocha. “Thanks, Ash.”
“Sure.” She flops back against the counter, pulling her phone out to resume whatever social media scrolling she was doing before.
The office is small and just as messy as last time I visited. A desk covered in papers is pressed near the back wall. Twin monitors attached to a laptop sit on the desk, though this time, I’m glad to see an IN and OUT set of boxes. The single rolling chair he has is pushed out, like he was in the middle of working when he got my text.
Cole motions to an empty stationary chair across from his desk, and I plop down, grateful for the chance to sit. Oh boy. If I’m already tired from walking twenty feet, today’s going to be worse than I thought.
“So, what’s up?” He drops onto his own chair and leans forward, elbows resting on a pile of bills and other documents.
“On Monday, I was given a set of old tarot cards to restore,” I say. I take a sip of my mocha, the hot, rich liquid setting a fire in my stomach. I resist the urge to sigh, but man, this coffee is worth it. “Oh man, that’s good.”
“Ash makes a mean coffee.”
“The best.” After another sip, I continue, “Anyway, these tarot cards. They apparently belonged to your mom’s side of the family, the Knowelses.”
“Yeah. Okay?” He doesn’t seem all that impressed or surprised.
So much for shock value.
I press on, determined to get him to understand what I’m pushing at. “When I first started working on them, I managed to get a brief reading from them. The reading showed me someone telling my great uncle to get into a car. I’m pretty sure it was your grandfather.”
Now he’s interested, leaning forward, eyes widening slowly. “Really?”
“Yup. I can’t get my hands on those cufflinks again, unfortunately, but I did manage to get more readings from the cards last night. I don’t think they were in the car or in your grandfather’s possession the night he died, but I do think they caught something useful.”
“How? If they weren’t there for his murder, I mean.”
I set my coffee on my thigh and drum my pointer finger against it. “The conversation they imprinted was about something obscure. An event that didn’t go according to plan.” I frown. “Wish I could record my visions, honestly, but I can’t. Obviously.”
“Can you give me specifics?” he asks, rapping his knuckles against the top of his desk.
It’s a habit I’ve noticed in him, one that means he’s anxious or excited. That’s a good sign. Maybe he knows the set I’m talking about.
“From what I remember, it sounded like they were trying to run away from something that went poorly. No one got hurt—my uncle said as much. But your grandpa seemed really upset. Mine didn’t, though.”
“Wait, your grandfather was there?”
“Edmund,” I clarify. “Both him and Angus were there, I think. Not sure if anyone else was, but . . .” I shrug, shake my head. “It’s all so confusing. Normally, I don’t get clips that long. Memories that last this long on an object are usually super impactful. Short. Quick. Like . . . bam! And that’s it. So this . . . it had to have been important.”
He’s quiet for a while. “Do you think they tried to hurt anyone?”
“No. It was kind of the opposite. My uncle seemed glad no one was hurt.”
“And my grandfather?”
I lean back, thinking over the question and what I remember from the reading I took last night. “No, I think he was more frustrated at whatever happened than anything. Didn’t sound like he wanted someone to get hurt.”
Silent alarm bells ring at his question, though.
Uncle Angus said that Leon and Stefan killed their fair share of people, right? Maybe no one got hurt, but that doesn’t mean much. Maybe they were out to get someone. The fact that Stefan wasn’t in the memory gives me a little ray of hope.
Cole rubs a hand over his face. “Do you have any idea where they were?”
“No. None. I can’t, like, see things. Since objects don’t have eyes and all. The most I know is that this took place before Leon was killed. I don’t even know how long beforehand, either.” heck, for all I know, Stefan may not have even been alive yet. Dr. Elea said the cards came from the turn of the last century and weren’t gifted to the university until the nineties. Considering Uncle Angus was born in the nineteen twenties, that gives me a long, long timeframe to work with.
“That’s not very helpful. Any sounds outside the conversation?”
“A door shutting. A car door, if I’m specific. And a thump, like . . . like your grandpa was smacking his head against a car headrest.”
Cole leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk again and clasping his hands together. “Anything else
?”
“What else would there be?”
“Running water? Wind? Trains? Cars outside? Small things like those might give us a better idea of where they were when that conversation took place.”
He’s not wrong. I just hadn’t thought to check. “I’ll try again after work tonight, see if I can get anything more useful.”
“Okay. Have you tried asking Angus about it?”
I shake my head. “Do you think he’d remember something from so long ago? A quick conversation like that?”
“If the cards did, he might.”
That’s a pretty good point.
“Yeah, I’ll . . . I’ll ask him, see what I can come up with.” I lift my coffee for another sip. My next question may not go over so well, but it’s the other reason I wanted to see him in person. “I . . . I’m gonna try to go to the police station tonight and review the old case file. I’m waiting to hear back from Deputy Richards for permission, but I can’t see why I wouldn’t be allowed a peek.”
“Oh? Not a bad idea, actually. You think there might be something useful in the file?”
“Maybe. But . . . I was hoping you’d come with me.”
Cole blinks like a drowsy cat. “Me? Why?”
“One,” and I lean closer to whisper it, “maybe you can see where the cufflinks are being stored.”
His eyes widen, and he nods. “Oh. Yeah! Definitely. Good idea.”
“Yup. Thought it might be.”
“What’s two?”
“Oh! Two, I thought you might be able to help me sift through some of the reports and evidence.”
“My, uh, ability isn’t really useful for that sort of thing.”
“No, but an extra set of eyes would be helpful. You’ve already helped me realize I wasn’t paying attention to the right parts of the vision from the cards. There’s no telling what I might miss.”
A slow smile stretches over his lips, making the dimple in his cheek pucker. “Okay, yeah. Sure. What time should I meet you there?”
“How about six? That should give me plenty of time to wrap things up at work.”
