by Noel Cash
She’s the sister of the V.P. of Myth. A natural target.
Deep in thought, I nodded. “You’ll catch him, sir.”
“You’re damn right I will.”
He pivoted and strode down the corridor.
I opened my mouth to tell him of my mother’s dream but clapped it shut. Many people ridicule the second sight, especially coming from an elderly woman. She didn’t need exposure to their disdain. If they did believe her, why subject her to M.I.C.U.’s questioning? She had enough worries.
I had faith in Max Brady’s competence, but none in M.I.C.U.’s.
I’d pursue my own line of questioning. I could not allow the man who had hurt Kix to get away.
I opened the door to the dimly lit room. Kix lay flat on her back with no pillow. I thought she slept, but her hand moved.
“Who is it?” she whispered. “Max?”
“No. It’s Rory.” I walked to her side, alarmed by the paleness of her skin, a purple bruise blooming on her forehead. My heart constricted. Why had this happened to her?
“Oh, Rory.” She didn’t turn her head.
The lack of pillow and her stillness alarmed me. “What’s wrong?”
“Headache,” she said with a vague wave of her hand. “Whenever I try to sit or turn my head, I get dizzy and feel sick to my stomach.”
“The doctors said that it’s normal after a concussion.” I moved closer so she could track me with her eyes.
“That’s what they say.” She smiled, a tentative gesture. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Yeah, it’s been too long.” I ached to hold her hand, but I had to take baby steps in reestablishing our relationship. “I’m sorry it took a mugging to bring us back together.”
“My mistake,” she said with a sigh.
“Water under the bridge.” I leaned over her. A stranger glancing in would take me as a looming, threatening menace.
“I don’t remember what happened,” Kix said, answering my next question. Her brow furrowed, then she winced at the pain.
“Temporary amnesia is normal as well. I’m sure the memories will return. Do you remember why you were on Harbor Row?”
Kix cleared her throat. “A class.”
“During a storm?”
“You know us Shoreliners. We don’t let bad weather get in our way.”
We’re a hearty bunch, but schools and classes cancel if the weather gets too severe. “It must have been a heck of a subject.”
“I started studying at The Mythic Path. I thought it would be fun to learn a few spells, get in touch with my inner myth.”
“You’re a pixie, not a witch.”
“Magic is magic, it all stems from the same source.” She frowned. “Maybe I should have learned a spell for healing.”
“Hugh has the best myth doctors working for him, and they’ll use healing spells to get you back on your feet in no time.” I didn’t like seeing her this way—helpless, fragile, inert. The Kix I knew was always on the move, both physically and mentally.
“You’re going to be okay,” I said, useless at helping her.
“I know.” She closed her eyes. “I’m kind of tired, Rory.”
“Right.” I stepped back. “I’ve taken too much of your time.”
“Not enough.” Kix opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile. “Rory . . .”
I stopped her before she said something she might regret.
“We’ll talk later.” Had she thrown me a sliver of hope with that last word? However small, I’d take it.
“All right.” She closed her eyes again.
So many words begged to be said, but not now, not here. We’d have time to hammer out our differences.
I backed away, my mind in turmoil. Once again, my life had exploded down unknown paths. Someone’s life was in peril. My family had taken a hit and might not recover. And Myth had stretched out its tentacles to ensnare me.
As questions bubbled to the surface, the most important grew larger. What was I going to do?
Chapter Eight
A quick internet search on The Mythic Path led me to the correct address on Harbor Row. Two days after speaking with Kix, I stood before it, no less dodgy in the daytime than at night. Even while carrying a gun, as Kix often did, I didn’t know how she dared visit the neighborhood.
A century before, most of West Haven’s trade had originated here, on the shores of Lake Odawa, but a deeper bay had shifted the wharves nearer Lake Michigan, two blocks from Myth, Inc. Neither area had benefited.
The hand-lettering on the plate-glass window read Harbor Bakery, with The Mythic Path scratched beneath it. I opened the door to the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and demerara sugar, used as a topping on muffins, scones, and cookies. The scent of freshly baked bread, one of my favorites, joined them. A long speckled tile floor led to glass display cases that ran the width of the store. Four bistro tables and chairs, original and worth a small fortune in today’s market, occupied most of the front area.
A bell jangled on the door, and the woman behind the front counter looked up and smiled. She was dark-skinned with a gypsy air about her, though I’d not heard of any gypsies in West Haven.
“Good morning,” she said, a lilt in her voice. “How are you today?”
My stomach rumbled at the smell of doughnuts the size of softballs, Danish, muffins, scones, and cinnamon rolls. I counted ten varieties of cookies and a dozen types of bread.
“Hungry, I guess,” I said, embarrassed by the grumblings of my stomach.
“Here, try some of this.” She handed me a sliver of an apple and almond tart, still warm from the oven.
I swear my eyes rolled back the moment the confection touched my tongue.
“Bliss,” I said. “You, madam, are a master.”
She laughed and held out a hand. “Delanna Storm, master baker, at your service.”
I leaned across the counter to shake it, picking up the clean, sharp tang of lemons from her personal scent.
The moment we connected, an electric jolt raced up my arm, down my spine, along the backs of my legs, and through the soles of my feet.
Once before, a woman had instantly had an impact on me, but hers had originated in blatant sexuality. She now rested in jail, serving time for kidnapping an innocent child. At the time of our meeting, I knew she meant trouble. I got a different vibe from this woman.
I pulled away without changing the expression on my face. “Rory Harper,” I said as the residual shock dissipated like fireworks in the night sky.
Looking for a distraction, I glanced at the display racks of bread loaves behind her. “Remind me to buy raisin bread for my stepfather.” He’d had hip surgery the day before. I’d left my mother at her insistence and planned to go back after this visit and a trip to my office.
“One raisin loaf on order,” Delanna said, her dark brown eyes twinkling. “What else?”
I shifted to peer into the case. “One of those tarts, and a dozen assorted doughnuts.” I figured I could make friends and influence nurses by dropping off the doughnuts at the nurses’ station. “And some information, if you don’t mind?”
Delanna Storm reached for a box. “Of course. What do you need to know?”
“About The Mythic Path. Does it operate out of here?”
Her hand paused as she lifted a doughnut with chocolate frosting and coconut flakes. “I own Mythic Path.”
“And you offer classes?” The web page had listed half a dozen classes from divination to dowsing.
She scanned me. “You have elf blood. Vampire, troll, and, oh, my, human.”
My cheeks heated with embarrassment. No one in the family talked about that aberration. “A small percent.”
“Oh, we all have a little somewhere.” She picked up a bear’s claw and added it to the box. “I daresay you have wizard and brownie as well.”
“Brownie? Really? I’ve never heard that before.”
She glanced at me. “Oh, yes. It shows in your eyes. Are you eas
ily insulted?”
Using the last six months as a roadmap? Yes. “Not particularly,” I lied.
My palm itched, and I rubbed it against my thigh.
“You should tap into your brownie blood. It’s very powerful.” Her eyes scrutinizing me, she moved near the register then motioned me close and raised her hand toward my face. “May I?”
Dumfounded, I nodded. What did she have in mind?
Delanna’s hand stopped short of touching me. She moved it up and down and across the air separating us, creating a fission of energy.
“Hmm,” she said after a few moments. She lowered her hand. “Yes, definitely brownie spirit. If you accessed it, many areas of your life will prosper.”
Did she speak the truth?
I nodded. “You have classes for accessing your inner brownie?”
“I have classes to access the inner you. They’ll be most beneficial.”
I knew the schedule from the website and angled to join the one Kix had attended on Monday. “When is the next one?”
“Tomorrow night. Mondays and Fridays at six o’clock. You’ll only have missed two classes, so you won’t feel left behind.”
“You held one this past Monday during the storm?” Did I sound casual enough?
“If I had to close every time it snowed, I might as well not offer winter classes.” She turned away to add a chocolate doughnut with chocolate frosting and sprinkles to the box. I smelled the high quality baking chocolate she used and nodded. Cheap ingredients make inferior products.
Still acting the casual Joe, I asked, “Did anyone not show up for the class because of the weather? How many participants are there?”
She rearranged the box’s content to make room for a doughnut that looked like a gigantic S’more. “Eight, though I have room for ten. You’ll make the ninth if you want to join. I had one no-show, an elderly gentleman. Elf. British, like yourself.”
I’d lived in America so long, I didn’t think my accent showed.
“I was born in Liverpool.” I pointed to a monster confection with cherry frosting, and she added it to the box. “Are there women?” I’d like to get her opinion of Kix.
She stared at me for a moment. “Five, three of whom are of marriageable age. Are you in the market for a wife?”
I held out my hand. The palm had begun to itch again. “My mother would say yes, but I’m not looking.” Not to sound conceited, but the ladies always found me, whether I wanted their companionship or not.
She closed the box and sealed it with tape. “One never knows where love waits.”
“True enough.” I pulled out my wallet. I couldn’t think of any other questions.
Delanna bagged my apple and almond tart and two loves of bread—raisin for Da and a mixed grain for myself. As I paid, I thought of Hugh’s theory that his wife had run off with a baker. I’d forgotten his assignment in the chaos of Da’s fall and the attack on Kix. I should tail his wife again.
Had he confronted her about her nocturnal ramblings? How could he have avoided it when she wasn’t in the house when he received the call about his sister?
I paid for my purchases and registered for the following evening’s class. As far as I could tell, Delanna didn’t suspect my motives. I knew M.I.C.U. would have interviewed all the players, but I gambled on the truth that people don’t always tell the police what they wanted to know. By posing as someone searching for my inner myth, I might uncover a valuable clue.
Or Kix was a random victim.
My nose said otherwise.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at six,” Delanna said as she handed me three paper bags with sturdy handles. “You’re welcome to bring a sack dinner if you wish.”
I’ll bring a sack full of questions.
I left the bakery, wiser than when I’d entered it, but still in the dark. What had happened to Kix? Who was the mysterious Delanna Storm? And did the bake shop have anything to do with Margo Burrowes?
Chapter Nine
After dropping off the doughnuts to grateful nurses and checking on Da, I took the stairs and traveled the haphazard architecture of West Haven General to Kix’s room. I wanted her impression of Delanna Storm and if she’d remembered any details of her mugging.
An M.I.C.U. officer, someone I didn’t know, cleared me for admittance. His presence brought back the severity of what had happened to her and the reality that she might not be out of danger.
Kix sat on the edge of the bed and flipped through a magazine. She wore a pair of jeans and a Fair Isle sweater, her feet in ankle boots that looked more fashionable than practical.
“Am I interrupting?” I asked, giving her a chance to toss me out if she didn’t want to talk to me.
“Rory! Not at all. Truth be told, I’m bored out of my mind.” She threw the magazine on the bed and indicated the room’s only chair. “Take a seat.”
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I settled on the turquoise vinyl, a hole patched with green duct tape. “The last time I visited, you lay flat on your back.”
She touched her head. “Much better. The headache’s gone. The dizziness only comes if I move too fast. But now I have an intermittent ringing in my ears. It’s like living with a colony of gossiping crickets. Is that the right word? Colony? Nest?”
It cheered me to see her in better spirits. “I don’t know. They seem a solitary insect, always rubbing their legs together in a perpetual effort to find true love.”
She shook her head. “Poor crickets.”
“It must work. They haven’t died out.”
“Funny little things.” She jiggled her foot. “Tell me what you’re doing. Are you solving any interesting cases in the big, bad world of private investigating?”
I stopped short of asking how her ex-lover, a fellow private investigator, did in his business. Had he phoned her? Had he hopped the first plane from San Diego to check on her? Or had the long-distant relationship floundered and failed?
“A few.” I didn’t mention her brother’s marital woes. “I traced a goblin to Acapulco for skipping bail. That was a rewarding trip. Sandy beaches, sunny skies. It made me wonder why I stay in Michigan.”
“Because of your mother and step-father, of course. How is he doing? Your mother called me the other day and told me what had happened.”
“Better. He had a hip replacement surgery yesterday and, if all goes well, he’ll go home next week. What about yourself? You’re dressed in street clothes.” I gestured to her expensive sweater and boots.
She grinned. “Released from custody and waiting for Hugh to pick me up. He’s late.”
I opened my mouth to offer to drive her home but shut down the idea. I didn’t know where I stood with her and had to keep things on a neutral playing field.
“I’m staying with him,” she said, taking away the opportunity to stick my foot in my mouth. “He insisted I shouldn’t be alone for a few days.”
How would that work with the tension between Hugh and his wife?
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
“I like the idea of someone watching over you. Does he have a guest room, or do you stay in one of your nephew’s rooms now that they’re away in college?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
Oops. Too late, I realized my mistake. I punted for an answer. “He told me the other day. Casual conversation. You were sleeping.” I stopped before I started to babble. Kix was bright. One wrong word on my part and she’d have the whole Hugh-hiring-Rory plan exposed faster than you could say Sherlock Holmes.
“What’s your impression of Delanna Storm?” I asked to distract her.
Kix’s brows furrowed. “How do you know her? Rory, are you investigating what happened the other night? Let M.I.C.U. handle it.”
“If you’d recall, I don’t have a lot of faith in M.I.C.U..” I tamped down simmering anger. “So, yes I am checking out a few things. Did you remember anything more about what happened?”
She frowned but didn’t sa
y more about my involvement. “Just something I smelled, but it might be my imagination.”
I straightened, my nose tingling with anticipation. “Smells are my specialty. What kind of smell?”
“Tobacco. Not cigarettes, though. Something sharper, more pungent. I can’t explain it.”
“A cigar? Why would anyone smoke in a snowstorm?”
“I don’t know, Rory. Maybe they smoke so much their body secretes a tobacco odor, just like Evelyn Fletcher’s killer left behind the scent of cloves. Have you found him yet?”
“Don’t change the subject.” The lack of progress touched a sore spot. I’d found no new clues, and Evelyn’s killer remained free.
Kix glared at me. “Don’t badger me for answers I can’t remember.”
I held out a hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m as frustrated as you about not finding the man who did this to you.” I gestured to her forehead where green rimmed the purple bruise.
“I’m not frustrated because I know M.I.C.U. will find him.”
I blew out a breath. “You say that because you work for them.” They’d mangled the investigations of two murders and a kidnapping. I’d solved two of the cases with my nose, sniffing out clues.
“Things have changed since you left. Max Brady’s in charge now.”
“The great Max Brady,” I said, even though I admired the man. “Things wouldn’t dare cross the line he draws. Forgive me if I sound biased.” I didn’t want to fight with her, but we seemed to keep treading that path.
“Maybe we should agree to disagree.” She jumped off the bed and crossed to the window and the winter scene outside. For the moment, we didn’t have any storms pelting us, but trucks continued to haul away loads of snow from the streets and parking lots.
“That’s probably for the best.” I’d tried to heal the breach between us and had ended up cracking it open wider. What was wrong with me?
“I don’t want to argue with you, Rory.”
“Me, either. That’s not how we work.” I stood and walked over to her, careful to not infringe on her personal space. I wanted her to know I cared but not push my approach into lecherous territory.