“I’m telling you, Chris, those papers are valuable. It makes total sense that someone would want them so desperately. The words on those pages have the power to turn humans into witches.”
I turn and look out the window at the buildings that pass by. As I watch, I begin thinking aloud. “Besides, it’s a good thing that the book is missing. That means that I can stop worrying so much about Silas Switchback.”
“The new guy in town?” Chris says. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“Hiroku was working on a case that would have ripped Silas’s dream right out of his fingertips. Hiroku was going to file paperwork that would have slowed down Silas’s building plans—maybe even stopped him from building altogether. She was hired by the Historical Society.”
“But how would Silas know about that?” Chris asks.
“Cora,” I say. “She and Silas are getting married. Cora always talks about work. And you can bet she would have talked to Silas—she is having his baby after all.”
“They’re pregnant?!” Chris says, shocked.
“I know—it’s fast, right?” I say.
“Very,” Chris says. “You and I dated for longer than them. We didn’t get pregnant. We didn’t get engaged.”
“We were taking things slow,” I say.
“Very slow,” Chris says. He seems to be deep in thought. “So Silas knew that Hiroku was working on slowing down his building project. Maybe he broke in and killed Hiroku.”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I say. “That wouldn’t explain the missing photocopies.
Chris doesn’t answer me. He turns the car down Blackbear Road.
“I had no idea Cora and Silas were getting married,” he says, softly.
“I think they’re keeping it kind of quiet,” I say.
“Hunh.” Chris turns again, and soon we’re right in front of my apartment complex.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, as I step out of the car.
Chris does, too.
While he unloads my bike from the trunk, I say, “It was good to talk with you about this case. Maybe if both of us are on the lookout for the person who stole those photocopies, we’ll be able to track them down faster. My book, too. It’s the original that the copies were made from – it’s green and hardcover with kind of yellowish pages. Really thin.”
“Green... okay, got it,” Chris says, handing me my bike. He seems distracted. “Thanks for talking, Penny,” he says.
With that, he pulls away from the curb. I watch his tail lights disappear.
I am seriously so hungry now. I’m sure my cat is, too. With visions of a ham and cheese sandwich in my head, I push my bike into the shed and then hurry up to my apartment.
Chapter Ten
I spend most of the next day in my office, trying to piece together the clues that I have.
I even draw up a ‘mind map,’ which is something that I learned about in PI school. It’s a chart full of bubbles connected by little lines. Inside the bubbles, I’ve written in fragments of information. ‘Azure—dark circles under eyes,’ says one bubble. Another reads, ‘Silas—canceled dinner plans with Cora, Tuesday night,’ and another says, ‘Azure—applying to be yoga instructor?’
The more I stare at those little bubbles, the more my head spins. By four in the afternoon, I’m practically crawling up the walls of my office. I know that a big part of being a PI involves thinking, but like I said, I’m more of an action girl.
I’ve used about every ‘focusing’ trick from Jumper Strongheart that I know. I’ve done deep breathing, stretching, and meditation breaks. I’ve set my intention on focusing on my case. I even knit furiously, to help me concentrate. I finished the front panel of my sweater, but didn’t get any closer to figuring out how the clues fit together.
On top of that, as the afternoon stretched onward, I’ve become more and more anxious about my dinner date with Max.
It is a date, isn’t it? I mean, he said ‘we’ll light some candles.’ Friends don’t usually eat dinner by candlelight. Friends eat in front of the television, or out at a noisy bar.
I’m going to be in Max’s apartment—alone with him. What should I wear? Should I go home and shave my legs? How should I do my hair?
Whew. Hold up. I need to just chill out. It’s just dinner—with Max Freaking Shire. Ahh!
I’m starting to hyperventilate.
I scoop up my messenger bag, and head for my office door. I need some fresh air.
That, and I need to go home and shave my legs.
I rush home and then spend over an hour in the bathroom, building my confidence for dinner. This includes performing the Power Spell, reciting all of my affirmations ten times in a row, and singing Shania Twain’s ‘Man! I Feel Like a Woman’ into my hairbrush at the top of my lungs while dancing around the small bathroom.
This combination of things does the trick.
By six p.m., I’m feeling about as ready for this dinner date as I’m ever going to be.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” Turkey says, as I walk into the living room.
He has the Hillcrest Town Crier spread out in front of him, but he’s looking at me.
“Do I?” I say, giving a little spin.
I’m wearing a black cocktail dress, my cowboy boots, and a little black sweater. I’ve straightened my hair so it doesn’t look quite as messy as it usually does, and I’ve put on a touch of shimmery grey shadow over my eyelids. Hopefully, the makeup will be visible despite the thick plastic frames of my fake glasses, which I’ve added on as my final accessory. I don’t even consider leaving those at home. I always wear my glasses. They may not be the prettiest thing I own, but they make me feel smart, so they’re non-negotiable.
Instead of carrying my messenger bag, I have a shiny black purse with pink piping over my shoulder. It used to be my mother’s. I’ve packed it with my phone, some lipgloss, and a stick of deodorant—because I might just need to freshen up at some point, right?
“Will you be out late?” Turkey asks.
“I’m not sure,” I answer. “I’ll fill your bowl now so you won’t have to wait for dinner.”
“That’s not why I’m asking,” Turkey says. “Although, that would be great. Do that.”
I laugh and move to my little kitchen. I pull open the pantry door and reach for Turkey’s dry food.
As I pour Kitty Kibbles into his bowl, Turkey jumps off of the couch and strides over towards his feeding station.
I place the bowl down on the counter, and then move over to the fridge. “Then why are you worried about when I get back?” I ask. “I’ll be quiet. I know how you like your sleep.”
“That’s not it either,” Turkey says. “There’s something I want to show you. I’ve been working on a little bit of magic today, while you were out.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yes,” Turkey says.
“Without ASBW?” I ask.
“I have some notes,” Turkey says. “I typed them on the computer.”
“You typed notes? Turkey, that’s great! Did you take down any notes about the Desire Spell?”
“Possibly,” Turkey says. “I’ll have to check.”
I push a wet hunk of gourmet meaty Finicky Feline Feast on top of the heap of dry food, and then I place the dish down onto the little placemat next to the fridge. “There you go!” I say.
I glance over at the clock on my oven. It’s now 15 after six. I’m late for my dinner date—or whatever it is. “Turkey, what kind of magic did you work today?” I ask.
“A little spell that will help us keep an eye on the portal,” Turkey says. “I thought it might be helpful. You know, if the person who stole your book is trapped here, they might try to escape. I thought it would be good to keep an eye on the pass.”
“And you figured out how to do that? I am so impressed!”
Turkey’s positioned next to his food dish, but I scoop him up before he can take a bite. He gives a loud yowl of protest.
I laugh as I kiss his forehead. “Alright, alright,” I say, setting him back down to his feet. “I’ll stop bothering you.”
“I don’t pull you away from your dinner right when you’re about to dig in,” Turkey says.
“I thought you were going to eat later,” I say.
“I was. But now that the food is served, I’m rather hungry.”
“Okay, Turkey Werky,” I say with a chuckle. I’m still laughing as I leave the apartment and lock the door behind me.
A few short minutes later, I arrive at Max’s door.
I smooth down the skirt of my dress, and then spend a minute fussing with my hair. Lastly, I push my glasses up on my nose and whisper “I am strong. I am smart. I can do anything I put my mind to,” a few times under my breath. Then I lift my fist and knock.
I wait.
Nothing happens.
I wait some more. Where is he? The apartment isn’t that big. He should have answered by now.
Did he forget about our date?
Is this even a date?
I should knock again.
I can feel myself starting to sweat. Oh, great. Just great.
I lift my fist to knock again.
Just then, the door opens.
Max is standing in front of me, a grin on his lips. He’s wearing a black tee shirt that fits tightly over his muscular biceps, shoulders, and chest. His jeans hug his narrow waist. He’s barefoot.
“Penny,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.” He leans against the doorframe, studying me. “You look beautiful,” he says at last.
“Thank you,” I say, blushing. And then, “Why wouldn’t I make it?”
“I thought I saw you last night... with Christopher Wagner. Embracing. Come in, come in.” He steps aside, but I hesitate. How can he mention something like that so casually?
Maybe Max doesn’t care if I was embracing Chris. Maybe this isn’t a date. Maybe I’ve read this situation all wrong.
“Wait—was that you I saw running last night?” I ask. “Did you run past Itsu Law Offices and see something?”
“I was out for an evening jog,” Max says. “I glanced inside the law offices as I passed, and I saw you... in Chris Wagner’s arms. I had no idea you decided to get back together with him.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?” I ask, lifting my brow. “I mean, you’re smiling...”
Max waves me in. “Penny, come in. I do love cold air—a little cold exposure can go a long way in terms of the body’s health—but only in the right circumstances.”
“Oh.” I step inside. Max leads the way towards his living room.
There’s opera music playing softly throughout the apartment. The lighting in the living room is dim. There are candles lit all over the place. A bottle of wine on the coffee table, and two glasses.
This definitely has the feel of a date. But—
“Max,” I say, as I carefully perch on the couch. “I’m not back together with Chris. I just slipped on the floor and he caught me. We weren’t ‘embracing,’ but I have to admit—your reaction to what you saw last night isn’t what I’d hope for.”
He pours red wine out into two glasses.
“Oh,” he says, holding one out for me. “Right. You’re used to human men. Here. How’s this...” He furrows up his brow and purses up his lips. It’s so odd to see the lines on his face as he contorts it. It makes me realize just how serene Max’s brow usually is.
In an overdone, faux angry voice, Max says, “Penny, what were you doing with Chris? You’re mine! All mine, because I have feelings for you and I said so. You’re breaking my heart, girl! You’re destroying me!”
Then, when he’s done with his little act, his face melts back into perfect calmness. His lips curve upwards in a relaxed, knowing grin. “How was that?” he asks.
“Umm... well... kind of disturbing, for one. Yeah. Please don’t do that again. That’s so not you. But... is that true? That you have feelings for me? So wouldn’t you be upset to see me with Chris?” I still can’t wrap my head around this one.
Max tilts his chin back and laughs.
“Penny, you are so adorable. Really. You amuse me.”
“Thanks...?” I say. I take a sip of my wine. Mmm... it’s good.
I’m starting to feel better. Max’s sincere laughter, the soft lighting, the music, and the wine in my hand are all helping me relax.
“Let’s get something straight,” he says. He’s sitting on the couch, turned towards me, holding his wine. Candlelight flickers off of his handsome features as he speaks. “When I see something good happening to someone else—like, for example, you embracing Chris, which I would have to assume is what you wanted—I don’t feel upset. That’s not in my range of emotions. I’m like a finely-tuned instrument. I only play certain notes.”
“Not to toot your own horn or anything,” I say, sarcastically. It’s my attempt at flirting, but can using the word ‘toot’ ever really be attractive? My attempt falls short.
“I’m not trying to brag,” Max says, easily. “I’m just stating the facts. I used to play all of the notes—so to speak. I experienced jealousy and hatred and anger and frustration and anxiety...” He looks off into the distance and his voice fades, as if he’s fondly remembering a scene from his past. Then he looks back at me and meets my eye. His eyes are dark, rich pools of espresso brown. “But after years of playing this game called life, I started to realize that some notes were much more enjoyable than others.”
He sips his wine.
“Okay—so you can see something like me in Chris’s arms, and not care?”
“It’s not that I don’t care. Here—I know where we can start. A little vocabulary lesson. Have you heard of the word ‘compersion’?”
I shake my head. “I’ve heard of compassion. And Persian cats. Are you talking about some kind of compassionate Persian cat? Maybe... the Dalai Lama’s cat?”
Max chuckles. He places a finger to his lip. “The Dalai Lama’s cat. Really, Penny. No—that’s not what the word means. Ha, ha, ha.” He shakes his head. “I’m not surprised you’ve never learned it. That’s because it’s not taught. All you know, dear Penny, is what you’ve been taught. Magic will rearrange all that. It has more to do with unlearning than learning. But let’s not get sidetracked. Compersion... you’ve really never heard the word?”
I shake my head and then take a sip of wine.
Why is it that my visits with Max always turn into philosophy lessons like this? Ah well, at least I get to look at him while he talks. He really is so handsome. I could happily stare at him all night long.
Max continues. “Compersion is the emotion that arises when you see something wonderful happen for someone else, and you feel delighted by it. Excited. Happy. Inspired. You see?”
“Sure,” I say. “I don’t see what’s so great about that. That happens to me all the time.”
“Does it?” Max says, eying me. “Are you sure? Because it’s not your default setting. Think about the word that’s the opposite of compersion: Jealousy. I’m sure you know what that word means.”
I laugh in a self-deprecating manner. “Yep. Familiar with that one,” I say.
“I thought so,” Max says. “That’s what you expected of me. You expected me to be jealous of your embrace with Chris.”
“I swear, I wasn’t embracing him, Max—really. I just fell into his arms,” I say. “I don’t even like Chris anymore.”
“Ah, but if you did like him, I would be happy for you. Because it would be what you wanted,” he says. “Either way, it’s fine with me. Really. You can be with Chris or not. It doesn’t change how I feel about you... it doesn’t change the fact that I want the best for you... that I want your happiness... it doesn’t change my hopes for the future... I have all the time in the world, Penny.” He tosses me a wink.
“Sure, you do,” I say. “But I’m not a vampire like you. How long do witches usually live, anyways?”
A shadow falls across M
ax’s face. It only lasts a split second. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look genuinely upset.
I barely have time to recognize the look before he’s back to being serene and happy. But the little glimpse lets me know that even though Max’s instrument is ‘finely-tuned,’ he’s not perfect.
“We can work on that,” he says. “With a few longevity practices put into place, you’ll be doing just fine. You can study the philosophy of vampirism while still being a witch.”
“Studying is not my strong suit,” I say with a sigh. I sip my wine again. In fact, I’ve about reached my limit of philosophy for the night. I change the subject. “Besides, I’m not even sure that I can become a witch, let alone adopt vampire practices. My copy of ASBW is still missing.”
“You haven’t located it yet?” Max asks.
I shake my head. “Not only that, but the copies that I made for Annie, Cora, and Marley, are missing too.”
“I see,” says Max. “Not good. Not good at all. And where are you with the murder case? Have you found any connections between the books and the dead body? You were about to tell me about Silas... when you left my office yesterday.”
I bite my lip.
Have I found any connections between the book and the dead body?
I shake my head again. “This is where it all gets a bit fuzzy for me,” I say. “Hiroku’s body was found by the filing cabinet where Cora was keeping her book. It makes sense to me that whoever killed Hiroku was in there to get the book. I don’t see it happening any other way. The books go missing, and Hiroku dies... the thief is also the killer.”
“I agree,” Max says. “It can’t be a mere coincidence. And how does Silas fit in?”
“I don't know. I don’t think Silas wants the books. He’s a werewolf. He’s not interested in becoming a witch. Besides, if he wanted access to ASBW, he could have asked Cora.” I pause to think this through for a moment. “Whoever took our books didn’t just want access to ASBW, Max... they wanted to prevent us—the Terra Coven—from having access to it. That’s why they took all of the copies. It wasn’t just a theft—it was a strike against our coven.”
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 45