“Now, now,” I say aloud. “Let’s all be friends. Turkey, this is Blueberry Muffin. Blueberry, meet Turkey.”
Blueberry barks. I might be imagining things, but I think it’s a happy bark.
“Aw, Turkey, she likes you!” I say, as I hold my cat up to the carrier.
Is there room in this thing for both of them? I wonder, as I eye the carrier strapped to my chest. It is built for a human baby, and the little Chihuahua only weighs a couple of pounds. Turkey was the runt of his litter, and never grew to be very big.
Yes. I’m sure there’s room in here for both of them.
Turkey is used to riding in my messenger bag, so this carrier shouldn’t be too far of a stretch for him.
I begin loading him in.
“I am not going to ride in this thing with a dog!” Turkey transmits, haughtily, as I tuck his furry behind into the carrier.
“You’ll like it,” I tell him. “I promise. Just relax. Blueberry is really nice.”
“She’s a dog!” Turkey protests, still squirming.
Blueberry is yapping away happily. She’s wiggling too.
“And you’re a cat!” I tell Turkey.
“What’s your point?” Turkey asks me.
“I don’t know! What’s yours? You said she’s a dog like there’s something wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with dogs, Turkey. Dogs are great.”
“No, they aren’t,” Turkey says. “They slobber and drool and sniff each other's bottoms.”
“Oh, don’t be so judgmental. Just give her a chance.” I can’t believe I’m arguing with my cat.
I start walking towards the door, and on my way out I spot a pair of my sunglasses on the edge of the countertop. Marley gave them to me. They’re oversized, with dark black lenses and red, green and yellow frames. Marley has a thing for Rastafarian colors.
I pick up the glasses and place them on Turkey. At first they slip off, so I undo my ponytail and use my hair tie to fasten the ends of the glasses together. When I put them on Turkey again, they stay on—even when he shakes his head.
“You are torturing me!” Turkey complains as he uses a paw to try to get the glasses off.
“No, I’m not,” I respond. “This is for your own good. You don’t want to get macaroni generation, do you?
“Macaroni generation?” Turkey says. “What is that?”
I open the door, and step out onto the walkway. “Never mind,” I say. “Just wear them. The sun is really bright up here at elevation. I promise you, it’s better this way. We’re going to be outside for two hours.”
“Two hours!” Turkey moans.
“Three times a week,” I tell him. “So get used to it.”
“Can’t I walk on my own?” Turkey asks. “I feel like a fool crammed into this carrier with a dog.”
“Just relax, I say. You’re going to like this, I promise.”
As we begin walking down the stairs, Blueberry starts barking. These aren’t just little ‘yip yaps’ sprinkled here and there. This is a full-blown cacophony of barking.
She must need something.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs, and begin opening pockets. I find the toothbrush first, and then the treats, but no bottle. The next pocket has the earmuffs in it.
“My ears!” Laments Turkey.
I pull out the earmuffs and place them on Turkey. They’re bright pink, and fuzzy with fake fur.
“Better?” I ask.
“I suppose,” Turkey answers.
I keep opening zippers, in a frenzy to find the bottle. Blueberries barking ricochets off every corrugated tin wall around me, and it sounds more like I’m standing amidst a pack of little lap dogs, not just with one.
Finally, I find the water bottle.
I hold it up in front of the dog’s mouth, and she begins lapping at it.
“There, that’s it,” I say, as she drinks. “You were just thirsty, weren’t you?”
I keep holding the bottle out in front of her as I start walking again.
“I think you dropped something,” says a voice behind me.
Oh, great. Chris.
I turn and come face to face with Chris. He’s holding up a bag of dog treats.
He jiggles them up and down. I feel myself blushing. “Yep, those are mine,” I say.
“No-rawhide chew treats?” he asks. Then, he eyes the pet-daycare center I have taking place on my chest.
“Yup,” I say. I’m not all that excited to tell Chris that I took on a new part time job. Also, I haven’t seen him since he left my apartment the other night.
We both eye each other for a minute. He’s waiting for an explanation about my get-up, and I’m not giving it.
“Did you... get a dog?” he asks.
“Something like that,” I say.
“Okay,” Chris blows out some air. “What’s going on. Are you mad at me or something?”
“You didn’t exactly leave on the best terms, last night,” I say. “And I haven’t heard from you since.”
“And whose fault is that?” Chris asks. “You said you needed some time to think. I was giving you space.”
I’m silent.
“Don’t do this,” he says. “Whenever things start to get even just a little bit serious between us, you pick a fight.”
“Just a ‘little bit’ serious?” I say, raising my voice and flailing my arms. Drops of water squirt out of the bottle as I pull it free from Blueberry’s mouth. “You said you might want to marry me!”
Some of the water lands on Chris’s cheek, and he wipes it away.
“Might, Penny. I said, might. And what’s wrong with that? When people date, it’s usually because they enjoy being with the other person. Sometimes that leads to marriage.”
I stay quiet. If I didn’t have a zoo on my torso I would cross my arms over my chest. As it is, I jutt my hip out to the side.
Chris continues. “I’m thirty-one,” he says. “Dating isn’t just a game to me. I’m not saying I’m in a rush to get married or anything, I’m just saying I like thinking that it’s a possibility.”
“I don’t want to talk about this!” I say. My heart is racing. “Chris, this really isn’t a good time. I have alot on my mind.”
“Penny, it’s never a good time for you.”
There’s a silence between us again, and all that can be heard is a sucking sound as Blueberry licks the water bottle that I’ve returned to her lips.
“I really have work to do,” I say. “Joe Gallant’s niece Molly might have some information for me. Maybe she’s been cleaning out his house and found a travel itinerary or something. Who knows?”
There’s a knot in my stomach. I know I shouldn’t be talking about work right now, but it seems a whole lot safer than talking about marriage—with Christopher Wagner.
Chris sighs. “Right,” he says. “Joe Gallant. That’s what’s important right now.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. “It is! Melanie is missing, Chris. She didn’t come home from her nail appointment, and the quiche she was supposed to bake got all sweaty on the counter!”
Chris looks at me like I’m crazy. I am waving my arms again, and I have dressed my cat in Rastafarian glasses and bright pink earmuffs. But I’m not crazy.
I just don’t want to talk to Chris about our relationship, right now. Or ever.
“I know this scares you, Penny,” Chris says, softly.
Gulp. He does?
He goes on. “How about this. I’ll tell you how I feel, and you don’t have to say anything.”
I like the part about me not saying anything. I stand still, waiting for him to go on.
“Okay,” Chris says, slowly. “I like you, Penny. Alot. I mean, alot alot. I liked you from the minute you entered police academy. You were funny, and nice, and smokin’ hot. I remember you in high school too. You were always in the front row of the bleachers, cheering me on. I liked that.”
Blueberry Muffin finally finishes drinking from the bottle, and I let my
arm fall. I’m captivated by Chris’ words. Smokin’ hot? Me? I wait for him to say more.
He does. “When I’m with you, time seems to fly by. When I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you. I messed up, all those years ago... and I’m not going to let that happen again.”
I swallow, hard. My throat feels dry and parched. I have half a mind to yank out Blueberry’s water bottle and take a sip for myself.
Chris isn’t talking anymore. He said that I didn’t need to talk, but now I feel like he’s waiting for me to reply.
How can I respond to that?
My younger self would be doing summersaults right now, flipping out that Christopher Wagner was this into me. But I’m older now. More mature—I guess you could say. I’ve lived through a breakup with Chris, and I won’t allow myself to let the sun rise and fall with him again. Then there’s the fact that I’m becoming someone brand new, the more I learn about the magical abilities that I possess.
Chris steps backwards, and then to the side. He’s moving around me. I can’t let him go, without saying something.
I clear my throat.
He stops moving.
“Chris—that’s really flattering,” I say. “I mean it. A few years ago, I would have died on the spot if you told me that.” I laugh, nervously.
Chris doesn’t join in.
“And I like you too,” I say. “I really do. We have so much fun together. But—” Oh, goodness, this is hard to say.
I swallow, and clear my throat again. Chris looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. “But—we’re really different, Chris.”
I can almost hear Max’s words, playing through my mind: ‘Humans and magical beings don’t make good couples.’
I avoid Chris’s eyes as I continue. “We’ve always been different, Chris, but now we are, more than ever.”
I can’t bring myself to tell him that I’m now practicing witchcraft. I just can’t. Not now.
Chris hangs his head. He begins nodding. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’m glad we’re talking about this. I guess this is what I wanted. To talk.”
I bite my lip.
“Well,” he says, lifting his head. “It’s good to know how you feel. I—I like how different we are. I didn’t know it was a problem for you.”
“It’s not a problem,” I mumble.
“It sounds like it is,” Chris says.
I sigh. “I don’t want to stop hanging out with you,” I say. “But it’s best if it’s just casual right now.”
He shakes his head. “Penny, I don’t know if I can do ‘casual’ for much longer. Not with you. I like you too much. I can’t pretend otherwise”
“Then where does that leave us?” I ask.
He looks sad. Really sad. I hate this.
With wide eyes, he says, “I guess, if we’re going to do this, I want to know that you’re all in. I’m all in, Penny. You know how I feel about you. I want to know that you feel the same way.”
I feel my eyes widen too. This is happening. This discussion went so much deeper than I expected it to or wanted it to. Part of me knew it was coming, but that didn’t stop me from avoiding it like the plague.
I’m frozen. Petrified. Unable to speak.
Chris is backing away from me. “Think it over,” he says.
Then, he’s gone.
Turkey’s voice emanates through my mind. “Thank goodness that’s over,” he says. “That was painfully awkward. Will you get these muffs off my ears? They’re driving me crazy.”
I reach for the earmuffs. I feel like I’m operating on autopilot. Though my arms are moving, I’m not conscious of anything except the lingering energy of my conversation with Chris.
Did we just break up?
Have I just pushed him so far away that I won’t be able to get him back, if I want him?
Do I want him?
My questions overwhelm me, and as I tuck the earmuffs and the dog treats Chris handed me back into their zipped compartments, I struggle to regain a sense of control.
Yes, my relationship with Chris feels overwhelming at this moment, but there are other things in my life that I’m totally on top of.
Like the little fur balls under my care. I can take them out into the forest and Shinrin egg yolk the heck out of this afternoon.
And before that, I might even squeeze in a quick bit of detective work.
Molly Gallants house is right in the middle of town, right on my way towards a bunch of trails I could choose to take into the forest. I could stop-by to ask her some questions on my way out into the woods.
Ha! Look at me. A detective and a dog nanny. Totally on top of things.
Without another thought about Chris and his big, blue-grey eyes, I march off in the direction of Molly Gallant’s house.
Chapter Fourteen
I walk so fast, due to my anxiety and frustration over what’s just happened with Chris, that I make it to Molly Gallant’s house surprisingly quick. The baby carrier and my messenger bag make me feel like a pack horse as I hustle along, and I find myself wishing more than once that I was whizzing along on my bike. I stop to catch my breath once I reach Molly’s front gate.
Molly’s house is pink, with purple shutters. The ‘picket fence’ around her yard is made of old skis. I spot Molly’s rusty, yellow town cruiser on her front porch, which makes me hopeful that she is home.
I make my way up her walkway, and flinch when a giant German shepherd starts going bonkers inside. He’s jumping up and down in front of the window, just off to one side of the door. His jumps are so high that he almost looks like he’s bouncing on a trampoline.
I’m hoping that he won’t come tearing out of the house when Molly opens the door, but just in case I ready myself to run as I reach up to knock. My body is positioned for a sprint back down the walkway, in case the German shepherd should come after us. I can feel Blueberry Muffin quake a little bit each time the beast within the house barks.
After a few minutes of tense waiting, Molly comes to the door. I hear her yelling at the dog before she opens up, and then she squeezes through the door and out to the front stoop, without letting her dog free. Thank goodness!
She’s wearing a tie dye shirt and ripped jeans, with a blue apron over the top. The last I knew, Molly was teaching ceramics at the art co-op in town. By the looks of her outfit, she’s also working on her art from home.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Charlie is still a puppy. Visitors make him excited. He also likes to chase cats, so...” she eyes Turkey, who is just visible by the tips of his ears, because he’s cowering so far within the baby carrier.
“Do you see why I like to stay indoors?” Turkey asks me, telepathically. “That thing could eat me in two bites.”
“I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t eat you,” I respond mentally.
I’m not sure.
Molly wipes her hands on her apron. Streaks of gray clay form fingerprints on the blue fabric. “What’s up?” she asks. “Is this some kind of outreach visit from the animal shelter? I didn’t know you volunteered there, Penny.”
“No,” I say. “I know I look like I work at the animal shelter right now, but I’m actually visiting as a private investigator.”
“Oh. Is this about the art co-op? I totally thought I locked up, but I must have forgotten. Otherwise, I don’t know how that homeless guy could have gotten in there. I know I should have called the cops, but I was—”
“It’s not about the art co-op,” I say, cutting her off. “I’m actually here to talk to you about your uncle.”
“Oh.” Her face falls.
“I’m so sorry about his passing,” I say.
“Thanks. It was really unexpected.” She wraps her arms around her torso, giving herself a hug.
“You’re his next of kin, right?” I ask.
She nods.
“Have you been cleaning out his house?” I ask.
“Yeah... why?” Now she gives me a funny look. “Why do you care about his house?”
> “Look,” I say. “I don’t know anything for certain, but I have the idea that foul play may have been involved in your uncle's death.”
“What? Why do you think that?” Molly asks. “Uncle Joe was a good guy. Everyone loved him!”
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, Molly says, “What are the police doing about this?”
“Hold on,” I say.
I wait a minute for her to calm down. Charlie is still going bonkers inside, which isn’t very helpful in creating a calming environment. Despite my beat of silence, I can tell Molly is still struggling to process what I’ve just told her.
“It’s just a theory,” I say. “Like I said, I don’t know for sure. The police are pretty sure it was an accident. But some things have been coming to light—related to another case—that are making me think otherwise. If I can collect some evidence to prove that foul play is involved, then the police will have to open up an investigation. That’s why I’m here.”
“Good,” Molly says. “If someone killed my Uncle, I want to know.”
“Then you’ll help me with something?” I ask.
“Anything,” Molly says.
“I need to know if you found any travel itineraries or flight confirmations, when you were going through Joe’s stuff,” I say. “Maybe from a company called Express Travel?”
Molly thinks this over, but then shakes her head. “Not that I can think of,” she says. “Uncle Joe didn’t have a lot of papers around. I think he took care of most of his business—you know, bills and that kind of thing—on his phone.”
“Do you have his phone?” I ask.
She nods.
“Could I borrow it?” I ask. “I’d like to check out his emails. It would also be helpful to see the calls that he made.”
Molly hesitates. “That seems awfully private,” she says. “I don't’ know if he’d want someone looking through all that.”
“Would he want his killer to get away with murder?” I ask.
This does it. “I’ll be right back,” Molly says.
There’s another tense moment when she opens the door. I think Turkey, Blueberry Muffin and I all half expect Charlie to come bolting out. He does try, but Molly catches him by the collar. “Oh, no you don’t!” she says.
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 13