Magic & Mayhem

by Annabel Chase

  "Well, let's go find these trash pixies," I said.

  Raoul shook his head in disgust. I'm sure they prefer sanitation pixies. Where are your manners?

  I got into the car and was surprised when Raoul climbed into the passenger seat.

  "What do you think you're doing?" I asked. I watched with interest as he settled in beside me.

  What? I'm coming with you. We’re a team.

  "We are not a team," I insisted. "Sometimes I work with the sheriff, but that's the only furball I'm willing to work with."

  Why? Because you’re hungry for the wolf? Lame." He made the L sign with his claws.

  “First of all, the song is Hungry Like the Wolf,” I corrected him. “If you’re going to reference Eighties music, get it right. Second of all, I do not need a raccoon trailing me all over town. It looks strange.”

  If it weren't for this raccoon, you wouldn't have this lead.

  I sank against my seat. "Fine, but you have to wear your seatbelt. I'm not getting a ticket because of you. Deputy Bolan would be thrilled to cite me.”

  I waited to start the car until he snapped himself in. As his claw reached for the radio, I smacked it away.

  "I control the music," I said. "Radio, play…"

  Welcome to the Jungle, Raoul interjected.

  "Hey! This radio won't respond to you because…” I didn't get to finish my sentence as the beginning strands of Welcome to the Jungle began to play. "How did you do that? I thought I was the only one who could hear you."

  It's your magical radio system, Raoul said. You and I have that psychic connection, so the radio can hear me, too.

  I started the car and inched down the driveway. "Great," I grumbled. It was bad enough sharing the radio with Marley, who objected to my love of Eighties and Nineties music. Now I had to compete with Raoul, too. At least he'd chosen an Eighties song, even though the band wasn't one of my favorites.

  We drove all around Starry Hollow, scouring the streets for the pixies in question. We caught up with them as they began their daily cleanup of Balefire Beach, appropriately enough.

  I parked the car and observed the pixies zipping around the beach, collecting debris. They were incredibly fast. The perfect paranormals for a job like this. I cast a sidelong glance at Raoul.

  “Are pixies faster than fairies?" I asked.

  No question, Raoul replied. Pixie wings are designed for speed. Fairy wings are more decorative, although they can fly with them.

  I observed the pixies for another minute before venturing over to the beach. I slipped off my shoes and carried them in my hand. It was such a pain to get remnants of the beach out of my car. There had to be a spell for that.

  I waved to the pixies. "Hey, guys," I called. "Got a minute?"

  They halted in midair and looked at me suspiciously for a brief moment. Then they sped over to me with such force that I worried the breeze would knock me over. Luckily, I managed to stay upright.

  "Hi," I said. "I'm Ember Rose and I'm covering the sand sculpture competition for the weekly paper."

  The blond pixie rolled his eyes. "This stupid competition is the bane of my existence right now."

  “Mine too,” the other pixie said. “It’s the pits.”

  "Is that so?" I asked. "What's the problem?"

  "The cleanup is taking twice as long every day," the pixie explained. "We’re falling behind on our daily schedule. The boss doesn't like that and we keep getting in trouble. Joel here had his pay docked because he was caught taking lunch when he should have been working.”

  "And Billy here has had to work overtime every day since the competition started," Joel added.

  I looked from one pixie to the other. "Wait. Your names are Billy and Joel?"

  "That's right," Billy said. "We've been on the same sanitation team for five years now."

  I broke into a broad smile. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

  "I already thought you were weird for walking around with a raccoon," Billy said. "Now I'm convinced."

  I squinted at them. "You guys have never heard of Billy Joel?"

  The pixies exchanged confused glances.

  "Nope," Joel said. "What team does he play for?"

  I clutched my heart. "He's not an athlete. He's a musician. Piano Man? We Didn't Start the Fire? Uptown Girl?” They gave me blank looks. "Oh, this is a genuine tragedy." Never mind the murder I was investigating. "I'll fix this in a few minutes. First, I need to ask you a few questions."

  "We heard about the elf,” Joel said, "if that's what you want to ask about. We weren't here when the body was discovered, though."

  "No," Billy said, "I heard it was some nutjob with the hots for the sheriff."

  I balled my fist. "I think your informant is inaccurate. I heard it was a beautiful young woman with the voice of an angel."

  Raoul choked back laughter.

  "Is something wrong with your raccoon?" Billy asked. "Maybe he's got a hairball."

  I am not a cat, Raoul objected vehemently.

  It's no use, I said to Raoul telepathically. They can't hear you. To the pixies, I said, “He's fine. He just needs more fruit and vegetables in his diet."

  "Have you complained to your boss about the volume of work that's been created by the competition?" I asked.

  "Can't," Joel said. "He'll just replace us with another team. Balefire Beach is the best gig. We don't want to give it up."

  Billy nodded. "We had to wait a couple years until the last team got fired so we could get this section of town. We don't want to give it up, but the sand sculptures have been a real headache."

  I studied him. "How much of a headache?"

  “Me and Joel have both said we hope it flops, so that they don't do it again," Billy said. “We want to discourage it however we can.”

  "Is that so?" I asked. "And how would you make sure that it flopped? I guess a dead body in one of the sand sculptures would take care of that."

  The pixie cocked his head at me. "Man, that's a dark statement, lady. I guess you see a lot of bad stuff as a reporter." He looked at his friend. "Maybe she's got the PTSD."

  I stiffened. "I do not have the PTSD. That's not even how you say it."

  Joel gave Billy a knowing look. "I think you might be right. We’re talking about docked pay and overtime and she's talking about murder. Cray cray.”

  "There are all kinds of motives for murder," I said hotly. "Maybe you didn't even murder the elf. Maybe you found the body in a dumpster somewhere and decided to move it to the sand sculpture in order to solve your own problem instead of notifying the authorities.”

  Raoul elbowed me. That's a really good theory. They could totally have found a body in a dumpster.

  I ignored him. "You never know what someone is capable of. Everyone's limits are different."

  Billy and Joel inched away from me.

  "The worst thing I ever found in a dumpster was…Well, you don't want to know," Billy said. "It was disgusting."

  "The worst thing I ever found in a dumpster was a body, but he was alive," Joel said. "He was beat to a bloody pulp, though. I took him to the healer's office in my truck."

  A good sanitation Samaritan. It figured. I got the distinct impression these pixies were not willing to go to deadly lengths to stop the competition. "Do me a favor, will you? Keep an ear out when you're cleaning up. If you hear anything suspicious about the elf's death, let me know, okay?"

  "Sure thing," Billy said. "And I'd like to have a listen to that guy's music that you mentioned. What was his name again?"

  I stared at him. "Billy. Joel."

  Joel burst into laughter. "That's us."

  I sighed inwardly. "Come over to my car for a minute, so I can enlighten you.”

  The pixies fluttered beside me as Raoul and I returned to the car. I slipped inside the driver seat and turned on the engine. "Radio, play Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.”

  The upbeat song began to play and the pixies listened eagerly. Their express
ions brightened as the song continued.

  "I like it," Billy said, once the song finished. "It's real peppy and it has a story. I like stories in my music.”

  Joel nodded. "Puts an extra flutter in your wing."

  "You should listen to more of his music when you get a chance," I said. "He would be great for singing along to while you're working." I remembered how often I sang along to Billy Joel when I was working as a repo agent, waiting for my moment to strike. Billy Joel got me through a lot of menial tasks in life.

  "Thanks for the introduction," Billy said. “I’ll definitely let you know if we hear something."

  "As much fun as this has been, we've got to head out," Joel said. "We've been in enough trouble this week and we need to head back to the dump now."

  I saw Raoul's face light up at the mention of the dump. "Hey guys,” I said. “Would you do me a huge favor and let my friend ride with you? He's a huge fan."

  Billy chuckled. "Trash heaven for the trash panda, am I right?"

  Raoul danced a little jig. He was so excited, he didn’t even object to being called a trash panda.

  "Look, it's like he knows," Joel said.

  "You're welcome," I whispered to Raoul. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home, singing along to Billy Joel the whole way.

  I sat alone in the offices of Vox Populi, typing up everything I’d learned so far about Grover and the suspects we’d ruled out. I was so immersed in my work, the sound of the front door startled me. A familiar little elf entered the office. She glanced around the empty room warily before her gaze settled on me.

  “Cindy?” I queried. “It’s Cindy, right?"

  Grover's little sister broke into a smile, seemingly pleased that I remembered her. "I was hoping you’d be here,” she said.

  "What can I do for you?" I expected her to mention something about a class project involving journalism, in which case I would promptly direct her to Bentley’s desk to leave a note.

  Instead, she said, “I want to talk to you about my brother.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Oh. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any new information for you yet.”

  Cindy glanced around furtively. “No, but I have information for you.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. I hunched over to listen. “Fire away, kid.”

  “This is off the record," she said somberly.

  “Of course,” I replied. “But if it might help catch your brother’s killer, then why not tell the sheriff?”

  She chewed her pink lip. "Because I don't want to get Grover's friends in trouble. They’re already upset about him. The last thing they need is the sheriff getting involved.”

  Uh oh. I tried to maintain a casual air. “So what kind of bad stuff are his friends involved in?”

  Cindy fidgeted with the bobblehead troll on my desk, a gag gift from Bentley. “I don’t know exactly, but Grover had been coming home late the past few months. I mean really late."

  "And that was unusual?" I asked. For a teenaged boy, it didn’t sound unusual. I knew they were wired differently. Hell, I’d been married to one. Karl used to wake up at two o’clock in the morning, play a quick round of a video game, and then come back to bed. I laughed at the memory. We’d been so stupidly young to be married and have a child.

  Cindy dropped the troll on the floor and bent down to pick it up. "Whoops. Sorry. Yes, he never used to do that. Mom and Dad didn't notice, though. Mostly, he’d sneak out after they went to bed."

  “But you were awake?" I queried.

  "I have sleep issues," Cindy said. "Always have. I take magical melts to get to sleep, but there's nothing to keep me asleep. I usually wake up four times a night, if I’m lucky.”

  “What are magical melts?”

  “Little pills that melt in your mouth. They have a potion inside that tells my body it’s time for sleep, but I still wake up a lot.”

  Ugh. That sounded like torture to me. "There's nothing anyone can do for you?"

  She shrugged. "My parents took me to various specialists over the years. We've traveled to see sleep healers. It seems to be one of those things. The healers say, as long as I’m healthy and functional, that it's not a problem. I just don't need as much sleep as a normal elf."

  "So you’d been hearing your brother come and go in the night," I repeated. "Do you know where he was going?"

  “Somewhere with Jordy, Aldo, and Spencer,” Cindy said.

  I cocked my head. “How do you know which friends he went out with if he came home alone?”

  “I checked his phone one night after he was asleep.” She gave me an innocent look. “What? I had nothing else to do and I wanted to know what he was up to. I’m the little sister. I needed bribery material.”

  I folded my arms. “And?”

  “They talked about some kind of out-of-body experience,” Cindy said. “I think they were experimenting with drugs.”

  That made sense. “Do you know where his phone is now?”

  “Mom gave it to Sheriff Nash,” Cindy said. “But you won’t find any of the messages. They were all deleted.”

  “Again, how do you know?” I asked.

  “Because I’m the one who got it off the front step. I checked the messages before I handed it over to my mom. They were wiped clean.”

  “The front step?” I echoed. “What was it doing there?”

  Cindy splayed her hands. “Beats me. It turned up there after he died.”

  Someone was with him when he died and kept his phone. Why risk leaving the phone on the front step when they could’ve been seen? Why not toss it somewhere it would never be found, like Billy and Joel’s dump?

  “There aren’t any surveillance cameras around your house, are there?” I asked.

  “No way,” Cindy replied. “Grover never would’ve snuck out all the time if there had been.” She held up a finger. “And don’t mention it to my parents. I don’t want them installing one before I’m old enough to sneak out.”

  I placed my hand over my heart. “I promise I won’t. Any chance you’re interested in a career as a journalist when you’re older?”

  Cindy’s face glowed like a new moon. “I would love that. It’s my dream.“

  “Keep up the nosiness then, Nancy Drew,” I said. “It’s working for you.”

  She scrunched her cute little elf nose. “Who’s Nancy Drew?”

  “You’re not familiar with the mystery stylings of Nancy Drew?” I was aghast. “Your next port of call is the library, Cindy Maitland. Look up Carolyn Keene as the author, even though she wasn’t a real person.”

  “She wasn’t?” Cindy asked. “Was she a paranormal?”

  “No, but I think Bella Forrest might be,” I replied. If Cindy didn’t know Nancy Drew, she probably wouldn’t recognize Bella Forrest either.

  “Ooh, A Shade of Vampire,” Cindy said. “I love that series.”

  “Cindy, you’re too young to be reading those books,” I said. “Do yourself a favor and check out Nancy Drew. There are loads of books. They’ll keep you busy when you can’t sleep.”

  Cindy beamed. “Thanks, sounds great.”

  “Now tell me about Grover’s friends. I’ve met Aldo. Who are Jordy and Spencer?”

  “Jordy is a nymph. She’s super pretty, but doesn’t care about that, which is cool. Spencer is a satyr.” She wrinkled her nose like a bunny. “He’s annoying, but Grover liked him. He was always wearing these dumb crystal necklaces and talking about chakras.”

  “They certainly sound like an interesting circle of friends,” I said. “What do you think they had in common?”

  “Acne and homework,” Cindy shot back, and I nearly choked on my saliva. “That’s about it.”

  “Jordy doesn’t sound like she suffers from acne,” I said. Not if Cindy viewed her as ‘super pretty.’

  “I guess not,” Cindy relented.

  “Where can I find this odd bunch?”

  “Jordy plays matchball most days after school,” Cindy said. “She’s a s
uperstar. Spencer lurks everywhere. I swear that guy has no purpose.”

  “He’s a sheep?” I queried.

  “No, I told you,” she said. “He’s a satyr.” She shook her head in amusement. “There’s no such thing as a weresheep.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “There seem to be shifters for everything else.”

  “No,” Cindy said. “There are no werejellyfish.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” I tried to imagine those wobbly bodies roaming around Starry Hollow and shuddered.

  “Why don’t you know this stuff?” Cindy asked. “I thought journalists were supposed to be smart.”

  “I’m smart in my own special way,” I replied smoothly. Brutal honesty from children was okay in my book.

  She studied me intently. “Did you grow up here?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I grew up in the human world,” I said. “A place called New Jersey.”

  She recoiled. “The armpit of America?”

  “Hey!” I objected. Okay, this form of brutal honesty was unacceptable. “It’s a lovely place.” If you liked traffic congestion, crime, and high property taxes.

  Cindy leaned her elbows on the desk. “What’s it like?”

  “Have you ever been to the human world?”

  “Nope. We talked about going to see sleep doctors in Raleigh or somewhere in Virginia, but Mom and Dad said my being an elf would raise a red flag.”

  “You can say that again,” I said. “Sticking to paranormal towns is a better plan.” An idea occurred to me. “You know what, Cindy? My daughter goes to the middle school and she’s nosy and a big reader. I bet the two of you would hit it off. Would you be interested in coming over after school one day, if it’s okay with your parents?”

  Cindy vibrated with excitement. “I’ll ask them, but I bet they’d say yes. They’re always too busy with work to pay attention to what we’re doing anyway.”

  I winced. Cindy didn’t even sound disappointed when she said that. Apparently, the same problems plagued paranormal and human families.

  “You can always have your mom call and leave a message for me here,” I said. “Tanya is an excellent office manager.” When she was actually in the office.