This Magick Marmot

by Sharon Pape

  Sidestepping my embarrassing attempt at conversation, she answered the last question. “I’m still in Maine. It’s quiet – folks there mind their own business.” She spoke softly, slowly, as if the whole cadence of her being had been transformed by the pace of her life there. “Turned out college wasn’t for me. I went to baking school instead and found my niche. Now I have my own little bakeshop.” There was satisfaction in her tone. Who’s to say that didn’t qualify as happiness? “Are you still here in New Camel?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Still working in Abracadabra.” I decided not to mention that Morgana and Bronwen had died. I didn’t want our conversation to be about death.

  “I used to love browsing in your shop,” she said wistfully. “All the great natural cures and the best makeup. I’ve never found products anywhere else that measured up. Plus yours didn’t cost a fortune. I have to make time to stop into Abracadabra before I head home.”

  “Great. I’ll show you all our new merchandise.” We smiled at each other. I tried to think of something else to say, but came up empty. Our smiles were wilting and the silence was growing awkward. Ashley finally rescued us both.

  “So tell me, what do you do when you’re not running the shop?”

  I could tell her about Travis, but that might be like rubbing salt into a wound, albeit a ten year old wound. Besides, she’d meet him on Saturday night. “Well, I’ve been hunting down killers in my spare time.” And just like that I shoved my foot in my mouth and halfway down my throat—what my grandmother used to call hoof in mouth disease. When I made a social blunder, I didn’t do it by half measure.

  I heard Ashley’s breath catch in her throat. “Seriously? Are you good at it?”

  “I’ve done okay, but I’ve only tackled a few cases.” I knew what was coming next. I’d set myself up for it. Was my brain back home snoozing with Sashkatu?

  “Have you looked any further into Scott’s death?” Like me, she believed there was more to his passing than the official version.

  “I haven’t,” I admitted. “I doubt I could find anything after all this time. And Duggan, he’s the head detective now, he would never give me access to the old files. We’re not exactly on good terms. In fact he’d like nothing better than an opportunity to lock me up and throw away the key.”

  “Would you try—as a favor to me?” Ashley’s voice wobbled. “No, forget me. Do it for Scott and what his friendship meant to you.”

  I don’t like being manipulated. Attempts to handle me that way are usually doomed to failure. But I told her I’d do what I could, because there was a chance that with more information she might finally be able to put Scott’s death behind her. And maybe I could too.

  The lights flickered a few times and as the room quieted, the maitre d’ invited us into the adjacent room for dinner. There were no cards telling us where to sit. The reunion committee had wanted it to be more organic, letting the alums decide on the spot with whom they wished to eat and reminisce. As a result, there were several chaotic minutes that resembled the Oklahoma Land Rush. Since the tables only held six, many of the alums had to settle for seats wherever they could find them. There was almost a skirmish between a group of cheerleaders and a group of computer nerds for possession of one table. The maitre d’ came to the rescue by setting up an additional table before things got out of hand. The reunion committee would have been wise to take note, if they had any intention of presiding over another milestone event in the coming years.

  I headed straight for the table Green Love had staked out. They were holding the last seat for me. I made my way around the table saying a proper hello to all the members, since I didn’t have the opportunity earlier. I’d worked so closely with them on issues that were often emotional in nature that the bonds we formed were easily reclaimed.

  The evening flew by too fast. We were all groaning about overeating and simultaneously wondering what was for dessert. Charlotte stopped at my table to hug my neck on her way to the bathroom. “I love you. You’re like the sister I never had.”

  “You have two sisters,” I reminded her.

  “Wow, you’re right—I do! How about that?!”

  I grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “Charlotte, promise me you won’t drink any more tonight.”

  “I promise. Just coffee. Strong coffee.” She kissed my cheek and teetered off to find the restroom. Less than a minute later, a horrific scream ripped through the air. I knew that scream—it was Charlotte. I jumped out of my seat and ran through the lobby toward the sound of her cries. When I reached the restroom, I had to elbow my way through the growing crowd outside.

  I’m sure I got a lot of nasty looks, but I wasn’t paying attention. I burst through the door into the ladies room.

  “Get out! Get away,” Charlotte yelled before she realized it was me. She was sitting on the porcelain tile, shaking. Beside her Genna lay face up, her head in a dark pool of blood. I sank to the floor.

  “I think she’s dead,” Charlotte sobbed. A siren screamed in the distance. Whoever was manning the New Camel police substation was already on his way. The paramedics and detective Duggan wouldn’t be far behind. I steeled myself to take a better look at Genna. Foam oozed from her mouth and down her chin. Her dark eyes stared back at me as if she too were wondering what on earth had happened.

  Chapter 2

  After leaving the hotel, I called Travis so he could scoop the other networks with news of another possible murder in New Camel. It was a vague report at best. Although I gave him the victim’s name, he couldn’t divulge it until we were sure her family had been notified. And he couldn’t say it was definitely murder, until the Medical Examiner came to that conclusion. He kept asking me if I was all right. By the fifth time, I threatened to hang up on him. He said he was anchoring the morning news, but he’d come by in the afternoon for background on Genna and my take from inside the reunion on the way things went down.

  When the phone rang at five thirty in the morning, I wasn’t surprised to hear my aunt’s pained question. “Did you lose my number?”

  “I didn’t forget to call you, Aunt Tilly. I was so shell-shocked last night, I thought you’d understand if I waited till morning.” Playing on her sympathies had worked back in my childhood, but she didn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood.

  “I should have heard what happened from you, not from Beverly, who called and woke me at five fifteen. She was absolutely gloating, because you hadn’t told me.”

  “I am so sorry you had to deal with her. I can’t believe she called you that early. It’s my fault—I should have told you last night. I really am sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she relented. “At least Beverly didn’t know the victim’s name or the cause of death. She wanted me to let her know if I learned anything more – do you believe the audacity? She’d better not hold her breath.”

  I told Tilly everything I knew—the deceased was Genna Harlowe. Tilly had known her for as long as I had.

  “We’re going to catch whoever did this!” she vowed with tears in her voice.

  My aunt had helped out with my earlier investigations, sometimes inadvertently, sometimes on purpose. I did my best to keep her out of danger, but I wasn’t always successful. At that moment, she needed to be part of the case, so I didn’t try to dissuade her. She was always the sweet, funny one in the family, deferring to the stronger personalities of her mother and sister. But during the years since their untimely deaths, she’d come into her own.

  After we hung up, I was too wide-awake to fall back to sleep. Besides I expected company before too long. I jumped in the shower, brushed my hair and teeth, put on a touch of makeup, and was dressed, with two cups of coffee on board, before the doorbell rang.

  When I made the decision to leave the Waverly before detective Duggan arrived, I was fully aware that he would not look kindly on my absence, or on Charlotte’s. I took he
r with me when I bailed. She was far too drunk and hysterical to have been interrogated or left on her own. I’d shoulder the blame for both of us. There was no doubt in my mind that Duggan would be coming by early for his pound of flesh.

  I opened the door, surprised to see who was on the other side. Instead of Duggan’s ruddy face and narrowed eyes, I was met by Paul Curtis’s good-natured, but solemn, expression. A woman in her thirties, dressed in a gray pantsuit, stood next to him. She wore what my aunt would call sensible heels, had her badge clipped onto her belt and her gun holstered beneath her jacket. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a steely gray blue. She looked every inch the professional.

  “Morning, Miss Wilde,” Curtis said in police business mode. “I want to introduce you to detective Mary Gillespie. She’s filling in while detective Duggan is on vacation.” Duggan was away? I would have broken into a dance if the circumstances weren’t so grim.

  Gillespie acknowledged the introduction with a nod. “We want to speak to you regarding the death of Genna Harlowe. May we come in?”

  “Of course.” I held the door open and led the way to the living room. Once they were settled in two armchairs, I sat on the couch across from them.

  Gillespie withdrew a small notepad and pen from an inside pocket of her jacket. “Do you happen to know the whereabouts of Ms. Charlotte Greene? She checked into the New Camel Motel yesterday, but was not in her room this morning. No one there has seen her.”

  Before I could answer the question, Charlotte came into view, making her way slowly down the stairs as if each footfall was reverberating in her head. She was wearing a pair of my pajamas that were essentially shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair looked like it was styled by Medusa. Her eyes were streaked with red, lids puffy from crying. Shock, grief, and a bad hangover made one nasty combination. I’d had the benefit of Morgana’s elixir to make me look all right even though I also spent most of the night awake and crying. I’d give Charlotte our hangover decoction after the police left. For now the worse she looked, the more innocent she would seem.

  She didn’t notice us until she came off the stairs. “Kailyn?” she said, squinting in the daylight. She sounded like a lost little girl. I went over to her.

  “The police are here to talk to us about Genna,” I told her.

  She shook her head. “I can’t…not now. My head is screaming and my stomach is doing flips.” She sounded like she was about to dissolve into tears again.

  I put my hands on her shoulders. “Charlotte, I know you want them to find out what happened to Genna. If she was murdered, every minute that goes by gives the killer more time to slip away forever. We can’t let that happen.” She didn’t say anything, but she followed me into the living room and sat beside me on the couch like a dutiful child. I introduced her to the detective and Curtis.

  Gillespie started with me. “Why did you leave the Waverly last night before speaking to a detective?”

  “Charlotte and I both spoke to officer Curtis,” I said.

  “Didn’t officer Curtis instruct you to wait for me?”

  “He did, but I should explain that Charlotte, Genna and I have been close friends since we were little kids. We’re practically family. After Charlotte found Genna, she was hysterical and she’d had a lot to drink. All I could think about was getting her out of there before she got sick or passed out. She wasn’t in any shape to answer questions. You can see for yourself she’s barely with it today.”

  “My condolences to both of you,” Gillespie said without emotion. “I didn’t know the extent of your relationship. As long as you cooperate with us, I won’t charge either of you with leaving the scene.”

  “Sorry about your loss,” Curtis murmured.

  “Ms. Greene,” the detective continued, “please take us through the moments before and after you came upon your friend in the bathroom.”

  Charlotte looked at me as if for permission to speak.

  “Go ahead,” I urged her.

  “Like Kailyn said, I’d been drinking, which meant I had to go to the bathroom a lot. The last time was when I stumbled over Genna. I went down hard on my knees and just missed landing on top of her.”

  I caught Gillespie looking down at Charlotte’s knees that were both bruised.

  “So as far as you recall, you didn’t touch her except with your shoes?”

  “No.”

  The detective looked up from her notepad. “You did touch her?”

  Charlotte frowned. “No, I didn‘t touch her.” She turned to me. “Isn’t that what I said?” I gave her a little nod.

  “What did you do after stumbling over the victim, Ms. Greene?”

  “I called her name and shook her like I thought that would wake her up.”

  Gillespie held up her hand. “Excuse me. I thought you didn’t touch her.”

  Charlotte bit her lip. “Oh—I guess I did, but only on her clothes.”

  The detective crossed out a part of what she’d written and sighed. I was beginning to wish Duggan were there. I didn’t like him, but I knew his buttons and which ones to avoid.

  Gillespie looked up. “Please continue.”

  Charlotte took a moment to remember where she left off. “Okay…so when I saw the foam on her mouth and chin, I knew she was gone—I’ve seen movies where poison makes that happen—but I didn’t want to believe it.” Her eyes filled with tears again at the memory. I handed her a tissue from the box on the end table.

  “We’ll leave the cause of death for the ME to decide,” the detective said crisply. “Did you see anyone else in the bathroom?” Charlotte shook her head. “Did anyone come in while you were there?”

  She shook her head again. “When people tried to come in, I told them to leave. Except for Kailyn.”

  “Do you ever experience blackouts when you’ve had a lot to drink?” I knew where Gillespie was going with that question, and I wasn’t going to let her turn things around to make Charlotte appear guilty.

  “She doesn’t have blackouts,” I answered for her, though we hadn’t lived in the same town for a decade.

  “I didn’t ask you, I asked Ms. Greene.”

  Charlotte backed me up. “I’ve never had a blackout.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to kill Genna Harlowe?” The detective looked from Charlotte to me.

  “No…no,” we replied, slightly out of sync.

  “Did Genna confide in you that she was worried about her safety?”

  “No…no.” We were beginning to sound like lousy backup singers in a musical performance. I hadn’t had two words alone with her before she was killed. I kept that explanation to myself. Anything extra I volunteered might come back to bite me—a lesson Travis had drummed into my head.

  The sound of a key turning in the front door lock made us all look toward the foyer. “Are you expecting anyone?” Gillespie asked.

  “Well sometimes my aunt—” the door flew open and Merlin went sprawling on the hardwood as if he’d been leaning his full weight against the door. The detective was on her feet in a split second, her hand hovering near her shoulder holster.

  “Do you know this person?” she demanded without taking her eyes off him. Charlotte was looking at me with alarm too, but Curtis and I were finding it hard not to laugh. Leave it to Merlin to provide some much needed comic relief.

  “He’s my English cousin,” I said as I went to help him up.

  “He’s a harmless old man,” Curtis assured the detective, whose hand was still poised over her gun.

  By the time I reached the wizard, he was up on his knees. I put my arm under his and helped him stand. I was never more grateful that Tilly had finally tossed out the threadbare garments he’d been wearing since the day he crashed into my storeroom over a year ago. At least he didn’t look homeless or crazy in his new clothes
, with his beard trimmed and his long white hair tethered by a leather thong, the one item she let him keep. Of course a simple conversation with him could easily undo a person’s belief that he was sane. The word eccentric often came in handy when we had to explain his appearance or behavior.

  “Your aunt is on the warpath,” Merlin grumbled as I steered him into the living room.

  “What did you do?”

  “Me? Why do you always take her side of—who are these people you’re entertaining at such an early hour? Ah, Officer Curtis, I’m glad to see that you’re here to safeguard my niece in whatever foolishness is happening.”

  “Merlin,” I said, turning him toward the detective. “I’d like you to meet detective Gillespie.” She held out her hand and the wizard took it and brought it to his lips. “A beautiful lady such as yourself should always be clad in dresses and finery. I will never understand the mixed up notions of this modern age.”

  “Nice to meet you too.” The detective withdrew her hand, looking as if she wished there was hand sanitizer available.

  When I introduced him to Charlotte, he was clearly taken aback. “What horror has befallen you? Tell me the name of the blackguard who dared assault you in such a fashion and I will see that he pays dearly!”

  “It’s okay, Merlin, I’ll explain later. Why don’t you go watch TV up in my bedroom until we’re finished here?”

  “Call if you need my help and I will be at your side in a jiffy.”

  He made his way up the stairs just before the front door flew open again and Tilly came raging in. “Where is he? He can’t get away with this. It’s past time to draw a line in the sand!” Her red hair was in rollers and she was wearing one of her faded old muumuus and the stretched out slippers that accommodated her bunions and arthritic toes. When she saw the four of us in the living room, she looked mortified, but too curious and concerned to run back out.

  “What’s going on here? Oh—Officer Curtis—hello.”

  “Another family member?” Gillespie inquired.