by Ami Diane
“I know. If it hadn’t been for Jasper, I don’t know what would’ve happened. It’s something I’m too scared to think about, honestly.” Libby took a long sip of her latte and let the silence linger before breaking it. “Jasper’s actually why I came by.”
Marge clicked her tongue. “Oh, no you don’t. He’s your problem now.”
“Relax, I’m not trying to pawn him off. Although, now I have a gift idea for you if I ever need one.”
Marge glared at her harder than Libby’s mother had when she’d broken her mother’s favorite snow globe.
“I got the Pet Whisperer potion to work. I talked to Jasper. Well, rather, I understood him when he talked back.” She paused then said more to herself, “Is talk the right word?”
Then, she added, “He was mostly doing a lot of squawking. Seriously, he sounded like a high-pitched garbage disposal.” Licking her lips, she took another swig of latte. She was stalling again.
“I knew you could make it work.” Marge beamed at her. “Was it the base ingredient?”
“Yep.”
The corners of the older potionist’s mouth turned down. “But why did you talk with Jasper? I thought the point was to see if Orchid had seen your mother’s killer?”
“It was. It is. But, funny story, the darn cat was nowhere to be found, and I really wanted to see if it worked with your suggestion. So, now I have to whip up another batch with a base layer from Orchid.”
Setting her cup on the desk over an ancient ring left behind by a previous cup, she leaned forward.
“Jasper told me about the night Arlene died. She wasn’t alone.”
Marge was still as a statue.
“Someone killed her.”
The clock on the wall ticked, beating like an old heart. It filled the air, the gaps in conversation, and syncopated with the pounding in Libby’s own head.
Marge still didn’t move. It was as if she’d frozen in time.
“You okay?” Libby was just reaching across the ocean of desk when the woman stirred.
“I’m fine. It’s just a lot to process. I can’t say as I’m surprised, though. What exactly did Jasper say?”
Settling back, Libby repeated her conversation as verbatim as she could, minus all of the cawing. Well, she threw in some to lighten the mood.
“Nest head? That’s what he said?”
Libby nodded. “Remember, I’m more getting impressions, pictures in my head, than actual words. Also, given the size of his brain, well, it’s not a surprise that the conversation was a bit disjointed.”
Marge repeated the two words to herself before finally shaking her head.
Tapping her chin, Libby said, “What if he was describing the intruder’s appearance?” She warmed to the idea. “Yeah. What if, say, it’s someone with frizzy hair?” A certain face floated before her. “Someone who’s been after Arlene’s house. Someone who knew Arlene was a potionist because she’s one herself.”
“You think Stacy might have killed her?”
“It makes sense. I think she was hoping to come across Arlene’s book. I think it’s why she wants the place so badly.”
Things started to click together, and Libby found she couldn’t sit. Standing, she paced the five feet from one wall to the potion cabinet then back again.
“You mentioned Arlene was working on an important potion,” she said. “Marty told me that in the days leading up to her death, Arlene was buying up all sorts of ingredients without discretion—”
“Wait, how do you know this?”
Libby waved aside the intrusion. “He told me. He was assigned to follow her. Actually, he showed me the list of ingredients he saw her gather. Get this: they’re the same ones that were nabbed from Caroline’s pantry.”
“He showed you that?” A frown tugged at the edge of Marge’s expression. “He’s not very bright, but I wonder what his angle is?”
“Don’t you see?” Libby placed both hands on Marge’s desk, hovering above her. “Someone is trying to duplicate Arlene’s potion. Who else would do that but another potionist?”
There was just one problem.
Her hands dropped to her sides as she straightened. “I just can’t figure out what the potion was. The ingredients, as a whole, don’t match any of the recipes in her book.”
Behind Marge, a ray of light broke through the window, lighting the older potionist from behind, silver spikes of hair limned with gold like flames. She seemed to have aged a couple of decades in the last half-hour.
Then, the sun shifted, and so did Marge. The years melted away from the lines in her face. “Stacy is aggressive and ambitious, and I’ve never been fond of her. I’ll give you that. But a murderer? I’m not convinced. Not yet.” Her eyes gleamed. “However, if we want to know what Arlene was up to, that we can find out.”
“How?”
Marge stood, squeezing between the desk and a fat bookcase full of more cat figurines than books, then hefted her purse off a hook attached to the wall. As she did, the hook rose an inch back into place, and Libby guessed it wouldn’t be long before it worked its way out of the sheetrock altogether.
Bottles clinked inside the purse’s abyss, and Marge pulled out a rubber snake.
“What the… why?” Libby picked up the faux reptile and held it at arm’s length.
“Because I don’t want to have to deal with the real thing,” Marge said distractedly, pulling out more items.
“Yeah, that didn’t answer my question.” Libby set the snake aside.
“Where is—ah ha!” Marge held up a vial filled with a clear-ish red liquid, bubbles clinging to the insides, looking very much like watered down strawberry soda.
Marge stared at Libby with an expectant expression.
“Uh, woohoo? You’re going to have to give me more. I have no clue what that is or how it’ll help. Is it some kind of truth serum? It looks like a truth serum.”
Marge’s expression became crestfallen a moment before she shrugged it off. “I call it Pathfinder.”
“Like the NASA rover?”
“Huh? Sure, whatever. How it works is, we go to Arlene’s last known location, pour a couple of drops onto the ground, then there’ll be a path of light tracing Arlene’s movements backward in time.”
“Really? That’s fantastic. I can think of several applications for that, namely losing car keys, but I have a couple of follow-up questions. First, how bright of a path are we talking?”
“Well, it’s not a path so much as a string. But String Finder doesn’t roll off the tongue.”
Libby agreed, thinking it sounded like the name of a knock-off version of a Disney fairy. “But we can see this string, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then, so can others. How would we explain this bead of light all over town?”
“They can’t see it because we’ll be wearing special glasses. The potion’s only visible with them on.”
“But I see the potion now.” Reaching over, Libby tapped the carbonated-looking potion in Marge’s hand.
The apothecary let out an exasperated sigh. “It works, okay. Just trust me. No one can see it but us if we’re wearing the Specter Scopes.”
Libby pointed her ear in Marge’s direction. “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘Specter Scopes’?”
Marge bypassed the question, although, her cheeks were turning a funny shade of pink. “What was your second question?” By the flare of her nostrils and the edge in her tone, she really wanted to be done with this conversation.
“Why can’t we just ask Marty? He’s got all those notes about where she went in those final days.”
Marge’s lips parted and closed a couple of times as if remembering how to speak. “We can’t just ask him. He’s AWC. He was stalking her. I know he seemed straightforward to you, but you can’t trust him, Red. You can’t trust any of them.”
“You said he was harmless.”
“He is. But he’s also a schemer. He’d do anything to make his name known and get ah
ead.”
“Alright, we won’t ask him. The long, laborious, completely unnecessary potion way it is.” Eager to get started, Libby rubbed her hands together. “When do you want to do this?”
“Now?”
“Don’t you have customers and a store to run?”
“A few and yes, but I can close up for the day.”
“Why not have Julie—never mind. I knew it was silly as it was coming out of my mouth. Why don’t we meet up after you close?”
Marge consulted her watch. “How about we meet at three? Closing a few hours early will be fine.”
Libby rose, saying that was perfect. As anxious as she was to use the potion and retrace Arlene’s movements prior to the woman’s death, she really wanted to get back to her place and have a long-awaited chat with a certain feline.
“Orchid, I’m home!” Libby stepped into her foyer. At seeing the entryway staircase, she couldn’t help but tense up. How long before she felt safe in her own home again? Of course, she was still getting used to this being her home.
In the kitchen, she tore into a bag of chips then opened a can of wet food for the Norwegian Forest cat. As predicted, Orchid came running, her tail crooked high over her head like a shepherd’s hook. Other than a small pouch of fat that swayed when she ran, the cat was all fur, with an especially long topcoat.
Libby licked the salt from the chips off her fingers before grabbing a pair of scissors. Unsure how much fur she’d need, she snipped a quarter-sized chunk from Orchid’s belly.
The soft fur in her fingers gave her pause as she wondered how hygienic this was before figuring any germs would be burned up in the process. She slipped outside, on her way to the lab, to distill the ingredient and to create a second batch of the pet potion—this one catered to her cat.
A spot of red on the patio made her stop short. Laying across the concrete was a one-by-one stick cut about four feet long with a bow stuck to it. Smiling, she set the stick inside before resuming her trek to the underground room.
Several times she had to force herself to slow down in the process, especially after she moved a bottle of denatured alcohol too close to a lit Bunsen burner.
Nearly an hour later, she held a vial of the precious potion in her hands. Her fingers shook as she squeezed a couple of drops from the eyedropper under her tongue.
By the time she hurried through the back door of the house, the warm tingle of the potion had spread to her fingers. She quickly located the cat in the library, crouching below an agitated Jasper, her tail swishing back and forth across the floor.
Libby opened the library window to see if the bird wanted out for an afternoon dive-bomb at the seagulls, as well as to have a break from Orchid.
With a shriek that set Libby’s teeth on edge, the raven took flight through the open window. If birds were capable of giving, well, the bird, she was sure Jasper would have.
Once she shut the window, she turned back to the Norwegian Forest cat. Orchid sat on her haunches, licking her silvery fur, as innocent as ever.
Libby’s breath quickened. The moment had finally come.
As an overly paranoid precaution, she shut the blinds. She didn’t need any uniform wandering out back to see her talking to a cat.
The wingback chair let out a sigh as she sat. “Alright, you. Let’s have a chat.” She took a deep breath. “Orchid, can you understand me?”
CHAPTER 15
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND me?” Libby repeated to the cat.
Orchid meowed. However, unlike every other time Libby had heard that sound, images, disjointed thoughts swirled in her head.
Of course. You talk too loud.
Libby was taken aback a moment before she regained her composure. “Are all animals this…” She searched for a more appropriate word than “pricks.”
Beautiful? Orchid preened, showing off her lion mane.
“No.”
Smart?
“No.”
Skilled at hunting?
“No.”
Good at pooping?
“No—what? Why would that be something you’d want to brag about?” Libby sucked in a slow breath, collecting her patience. Where should she begin?
I’m glad you got smart enough to understand me, human. Now we can talk about that dry dirt you make me eat. It displeases me.
“Do you mean your specially prescribed food? It’s not my fault you have a sensitive stomach.” She stopped herself from arguing further with the cat over something so trivial. “Look, I didn’t buy a house to find a recipe to make a potion just so we can talk about your diet.”
Orchid blinked her luminous eyes at Libby before flopping onto her side, her back to Libby as she licked her paws.
Choosing to ignore the obvious slight, Libby said, “Orchid, do you remember your previous—” she stopped herself from saying owner, figuring the tetchy cat would definitely take offense to that “—your previous human before you came to live with me?”
Yes, that human was kind. She tipped her head back, glowering at Libby while upside down. She fed me wet stuff from a can.
Libby, again, ignored the cat’s jab and tried to remember how Jasper had phrased the next part. “Do you remember the day she was no more?”
Rolling back towards the windows, Orchid resumed grooming, really digging between her claws with her tongue. However, her tail flipped with agitation.
Just when Libby thought Orchid wouldn’t answer, the cat meowed softly, mournfully. My human fed me from a can. A shadow came, and my human was no more.
Dropping, Libby gave Orchid a few comforting scratches behind her ears. “What did this shadow look like? Was it another human?”
Orchid resumed licking her paw before her tongue attacked her side. Then, she assumed the full-on bathing position, sitting up, one leg straddled out like a model in a magazine.
“Orchid, stay with me.”
The shadow chased her with a claw all around my domain. The shadow swiped her with a claw. Then, my human was no more. Her head turned towards Jasper’s empty perch as she licked her lips. That wretched flying thing looks delicious.
Squinting, Libby massaged her temples. Shadow? Claw? Domain? “Was the shadow a human in dark clothing?”
Orchid didn’t respond.
Libby hissed out a breath between her teeth. Okay, new strategy.
She bolted upstairs, momentarily abandoning the cat to her grooming. A few minutes later, she was back, panting and dressed all in black clothes like she was going to a funeral, incidentally, the same clothes she’d worn when accompanying Marge to her ex’s.
“Orchid.” Libby moved into the cat’s purview, whistling for her attention. “Do I look like the shadow now?”
Yes, human. Now, leave me be. Can’t you see I’m busy?
“Yeah, real busy. You missed a spot.” She pointed to the small section at the back of Orchid’s neck, the place no cat could reach.
Orchid’s claws extended as she glowered at Libby once again.
Ignoring the look, Libby paced the library. Okay, now she knew her mother’s killer had worn dark clothes. That wasn’t earth-shattering, though. Nothing that would point to a suspect.
Her mother’s time of death had been between 1:00 and 5:00 a.m. Cause of death was due to blood loss. She’d been stabbed three times, the fatal blow hitting her carotid artery.
Libby winced at the memory of the detective recounting the details, details he hadn’t wanted to share but she’d insisted upon knowing.
On a hunch, she slipped into the kitchen and returned, holding a butcher knife. “Orchid, is this what you mean by ‘claw’?”
The feline paused mid-lick. The moment she spotted Libby, she jumped to her paws, arched her back, and hissed.
Libby set the knife on the floor and held out her palms. “Whoa, hey. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry.” She took a tentative step forward. Slowly, Orchid’s fur flattened, as did her back, and she allowed Libby to pet her.
Assuming tha
t the cat’s referral to domain meant her mother’s house, she hadn’t gained any new information thus far.
Scratching under the Norwegian Forest cat’s chin, she asked, “Did you see the shadow’s face?”
No.
Libby sank the rest of the way to the hardwood floor and slumped against the back of the chair. None of what Orchid was telling her informed Libby more about the murder.
Nevertheless, she’d done it. She had succeeded in bridging communication with the sole witness to her mother’s murder. This had to work. She would make this work.
She was just asking the wrong questions. There had to be a better way to obtain information.
Orchid’s head nudged Libby’s fingers, guiding her to where she wished to be scratched.
Libby just had to think outside of the box is all. Like with the knife. Maybe more visual props would have to be involved, but creative thinking required time for contemplating. And that would have to wait.
Her phone beeped, the alarm warning her that the potion’s decay time had begun.
“We’ll talk again soon.” Bending forward, Libby kissed her mother’s cat on the head. Despite the anticlimactic conversation, a band loosened around her heart that she hadn’t known was there.
Humming, she stood and scooted into the kitchen to make lunch of chicken and rice and to strategize ways to coax the information from the feline’s memory. While she was cooking, a tap tap came at the sliding door, and she had to pause amid adding spices to let Jasper back inside.
At 3:15, Marge knocked at the front door.
“In the kitchen,” Libby hollered.
The older potionist strolled in. She’d traded her usual rhinestoned attire for a hot pink fur coat. Libby did a double take.
“Holy furry Pink Panther.”
“Great, right?” Marge turned to really show off the gaudy look.
“It’s something, I’ll give you that. Was Julie heartbroken when you told her you wanted to close up early?”
Marge snorted. “I’ve never seen that girl move so fast. Was out quicker than I could blink. Ready?”
Nodding, Libby topped off the food and water in both Orchid’s and Jasper’s dishes, then she and Marge remained in the library while Libby placed the birdseed bag back into its cabinet.