Midlife in Glimmerspell

by Addison Moore

  A breath hitches in my throat as I glance down at our conjoined hands, and he quickly pulls away.

  “And I also want you to rest assured that the sheriff’s department is more than well-equipped to bring Griffin Barker’s killer to justice.” He nods as he says it as if trying to convince me. “I realize you’re here to speak to Vera, but I’m imploring you not to do it.”

  “And if I do?” I shake my head at him.

  “And if you do, I might be moved to arrest you.”

  “On what grounds?” My voice hikes a notch while looking at this brute who wields a badge.

  “On obstruction of justice,” he flatlines as if he doesn’t believe it himself.

  “Look, as much as I appreciate the fact you’ve taken an oath to serve and protect, I’ve spent the last nineteen years listening to a man tell me what to do, and I don’t think I’m at the place in my life where I can take your suggestion to heart. Besides, Vera and I are practically old friends. She stuck her hand down my blouse when she miked me and touched me in places I haven’t been touched in months.” I cringe once the words leave my mouth. “That didn’t come out right.”

  Elliot starts in on some diatribe about how following the rules isn’t just for my safety but for the safety of others when a rush of heat floods from my chest to my head in the space of a nanosecond, and suddenly I’d give anything to rip off my sweater right here in this booth. I reach out for my ice water, but the seat beneath me begins to bounce and the room begins to spin.

  “Oh no,” I whisper as I look up and Elliott’s face seems to be rocking back and forth. I can’t let him see me up and disappear into thin air—not when he’s sitting here hoisting his authority around. If he’s threatening to cuff me over a simple hello to an old questionable friend, then who knows what lies in store for me for dissipating into the atmosphere?

  “Hold that thought,” I say. “I think I lost an earring.” I slip from my seat down under the table, and before I can fold myself in half to crawl to the ground, the scenery changes and I’m standing in the Haunted Book Barn once again.

  Music gently flows from the speakers, and the store is crowded to the hilt with a bunch of twenty-somethings running around in Dexter sweatshirts. The Haunted Book Barn is bustling much the way it was the first day Harper and I arrived in town.

  “This is so freaking cool!” a familiar voice says from behind and I turn to see Harper and me stepping into the store with our eyes full of wonder.

  It’s the day of the murder! This is perfect. I can solve the crime simply by keeping an eye on Professor Barker.

  Hey? Maybe this is my calling? I’m a lean, mean, time-traveling crime-fighting machine? Okay, so maybe not lean, per se, but I’m definitely mean when I have to be.

  I quickly jump behind a small crowd as Harper stalks off toward the back, and I spot the old me watching Griffin Barker and the petite redhead having what looks to be a verbal tussle as the woman tugs at his tie.

  The old me takes a moment to frown at the two of them before taking off for the book table, but I’m not interested in the old me. Instead, I tiptoe my way over to where Griffin and the redhead are still going at it. But no sooner do I get close enough to listen in than the redhead gives him a firm shove and takes off deep into the crowd.

  No sign of her coming at him with a needle, not that I think he was given the lethal injection at this point in time.

  “There you are,” a woman chimes and I turn to see Vera Henley stalking on over with her orange glowing skin and her hair parting in greasy chunks. She bypasses me and I take a step toward the wall of books behind me and quickly pluck one off the shelf, pretending to be interested as I do my best to keep an eye on them. “You’re not avoiding me, are you?” Her tone is curt as she looks to Griffin, and there’s a definite tension brewing between the two of them.

  Griffin pulls his chin back, his features suddenly stone-cold.

  “I’m not doing this with you here. And I ask that you not utter a word regarding the things you’ve learned about my life. This is for me to handle, Vera. I don’t want our past to complicate my future.”

  Her chest bucks as she holds back a laugh. “You don’t have a future, Griffin. In fact”—she takes a moment to glance back at the crowd— “life as you know it ends today.” Her hand presses to her stomach before she stalks off like a woman on a mission, a woman on a deadly mission.

  A breath hitches in my throat as the book I’m holding bounces out of my hands.

  Griffin turns my way and our eyes lock for a moment.

  A seductive smile creeps up his lips as he gives an affable nod my way before taking off into the crowd himself.

  At least he’s consistent.

  I’m about to take off and find a place to hunker down and watch the murderous show when my body floods with heat, the ground begins to bounce, and the room begins to spin.

  “So much for getting to the killer nitty-gritty,” I pant. “Here we go again.”

  The scenery changes and I find myself on all fours underneath a booth with far too many legs underneath it for my comfort. The caustic scent of a steak left on the grill a moment too long alerts me to the fact I’m right back in Wolfgang’s Bistro, right back on the floor.

  I’m guessing right day and time, wrong table. I attempt to crawl out and whack my head on the table as I struggle to get up, and much to my horror, four perfect strangers stare back at me.

  “What the hell?” one of the men barks out.

  “Oh my goodness, I bet she’s a thief!” An older brunette quickly grabs her purse and does a quick inventory of its contents.

  “No, no,” I say as I stumble backward. “I was just looking for an earring.” I glance to my left and there’s no sign of Elliot, but I see my purse unattended so I trot over and quickly snap it up. As I turn to leave, I see the exact greasy-haired, orange-faced, surprisingly jovial woman knocking back shots at the bar so I head on over.

  “Vera?” I try my hardest to match her enthusiasm as I scoot in next to her. “We met the other day. You’re a friend of Morgan’s. You miked me up before her show?”

  “Oh right,” she says, plucking at her blouse as if she were cooling herself off. And judging by the sweat beading at her temples, I have no doubt she hopes to do just that. “How’s business down there?” She winces. “I feel bad for you guys. It’s one thing to film a show about a murder, and another to have one happen on the grounds.”

  “So far so good regarding business.” I knock on the granite counter as if it made a difference. “How are you holding up?”

  She flinches. “Fine, I guess. I’ve only had Professor Barker for one semester.”

  Nice try.

  “But Griffin mentioned he knew you well.” I don’t mind one bit manufacturing the lie.

  “He did?” She blinks back as the bartender slides another drink her way.

  I nod as I double down on the lie. “I just so happened to be standing next to the two of you while you were greeting him—that is, if you could call it that.”

  “Greeting him?” She surveys the ceiling a moment as if reliving the conversation between them and takes a quick breath.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “I won’t say a word. Although, let’s be honest, that exchange between the two of you looked a little abrasive.” As were her words. But if she’s the killer, and I suspect she is, then she might be moved to bolt before an arrest can be made.

  “Oh”—she tips her head back—“that whole conversation isn’t what it looked like.” She blows out a hard breath. Any hint of jubilation has long since left her face. “Griffin had a secret. He thought it had the power to destroy him.” She shrugs. “He might have been right.”

  “What was it?” I lean in a notch, suddenly very interested in what this secret might have been.

  She shakes her head. “It’s not my secret to tell.” She closes her eyes a moment too long. “If you really want to know what that conversation was about, yo
u’ll talk to a woman by the name of Silvia Arden. She was there that day surprisingly.” She shakes her head as if she were still in disbelief. “She’s a redhead, on the shorter side. If it looks as if she’s holding a grudge, it’s because she is.” She shrugs as she cradles the shot before her.

  “The redhead? I saw her there that day. She was having a rather intense conversation with Griffin.” As were a lot of people evidently.

  She nods. “Yup. They certainly had things to get heated about.”

  “And how about the two of you? I may have heard a rumor that you knew him a little better than you’re letting on.”

  A choking sound croaks from her. “Okay, so we did. So what? We were over a long time ago.” She glares at the amber bottles that line the bar in front of us.

  “Vera”—I lean in—“years ago, when I was in college, there was a professor—”

  A tall, dark, and brooding shadow enters our midst—not that shadows can brood, although I’m fairly certain his is perfectly capable.

  “And here you are,” Elliot says with a note of exasperation in his voice. “How the heck did you get out from under that table?” He glances to Vera and his eyes widen a notch. “Never mind.” He glowers my way. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

  “Not if there’s a pair of shiny silver bracelets involved in that conversation.”

  Vera moans, “Oh honey, if you know what’s good for you, take the cuffs.”

  “Do you mind?” Elliot says tersely my way.

  “Yes, I mind,” I say with a note of frustration. “I was just having a perfectly good conversation with Vera here.”

  “About?” His brows rise a notch and I can practically see the handcuffs spinning in his eyes.

  “About the Coddled Chef’s winter line,” I say. “Sunny is doing so well with it, I thought I’d give it a go myself. And you’ve ruined what would have been a perfectly good sales pitch.”

  “Oh?” Vera pulls her purse strap over her shoulder as she rises from her seat. “I’m actually in a dorm that doesn’t even allow a hot plate. Tell Morgan I’ll see her soon. If you’ll excuse me, there’s a party starting without me.”

  She darts past me, and I rock back on my heels as I look to Elliot.

  “Well, Detective, I think we’re getting closer to our killer.”

  “My killer,” he says without hesitation.

  A spiced breeze blows our way as that comely, yet woman-hungry man I met the other day pops up.

  “Sheriff Cash Archer,” I say as a smile expands over my face.

  I can’t help it. The last time we met, Sheriff Archer seemed to have the ability to infuriate the big oaf before me, and whoever infuriates Elliot, inadvertently pleases me.

  Besides, what’s not to smile about? Sheriff Archer is a hot commodity, and I’m willing to bet those bedroom eyes he’s giving me have escorted quite the harem of ladies to his private chambers.

  “Well, well.” He looks from Elliot to me. “Is this a thing?”

  “No,” Elliot and I answer in unison and that frustrates me all the more.

  “Good.” Sheriff Archer sheds a greedy grin, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I can’t get over how much alike Elliot and Cash look. With the exception of their eye color, they could be mistaken for twins. Brothers in the least. His dark hair is slicked back, he has dark stubble taking over his face, and his blue eyes shine like beacons—horny beacons, but I don’t see any women complaining. In fact, there’s an entire cluster of coeds and waitresses combined panting in this direction at the two of them. Elliot is just as scrumptious to look at, but to know him is to get lost in a fury with him.

  “You’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night.” Sheriff Archer picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Does that work for you?”

  I give a sly glance to Elliot, and he looks fit to kill.

  “Oh, that works beautifully for me. I can hardly wait.”

  “Perfect. Then it’s a date. The first of many, I’m sure. Fae Gardens at seven. I can hardly wait.” He nods my way before darting out the door.

  “I guess I have a date.” A tiny laugh bubbles from me at the thought as I look up at Elliot. “Who knows? Maybe Sheriff Archer will be the one who finally spills the secrets this town is holding so close to the vest. And I don’t doubt Glimmerspell has them. And you can bet your shiny little pistol we will be discussing Griffin Barker’s murder. I can’t wait to share my suspects with him and all that I’ve gleaned thus far in my investigation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the Haunted Book Barn.”

  I start to take off and Elliot blocks my path a moment.

  “Billie.” His brows swoop low and his lips form a perfect knot.

  Our eyes lock and those electrical impulses he has the power to invoke are doing things to me that should never be done in public.

  Oh, who the hell cares. It’s happening, and it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It feels as if I’m alive, in that enchanted state of falling out of my mind. It feels like magic.

  He lifts his chin a notch. “Have a good rest of the day.” He stalks off in a fury and I take a much-needed breath.

  Of all the people in the world, I wish I had never met Elliot Greenly. I don’t appreciate the way he makes me feel out of control. And that’s one thing I’m determined to harness now that Harold is out of my life—control.

  One thing is for sure. After Griffin Barker’s killer is behind bars, I never want anything to do with Elliot Greenly again.

  A shock of heat rips through my body as if maybe I do.

  Good thing I’m headed to see every doctor known to man tomorrow.

  It’s about time my body starts to align with my mind.

  I’m taking control of everything, and those hostile hot flashes that have the power to banish me to eras unknown will be the first thing I’m going to lay dominance over.

  I hope.

  Chapter 9

  “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Dr. Goldman, the general practitioner I’ve seen for years, breaks the news to me as I sit helpless and evidently hopeless in a paper gown.

  “They’re hot flashes, Billie,” he says as he rolls my way on a stool with his white wreath of hair and genteel smile. “It’s your time. But don’t worry. They won’t last forever.” He grimaces a moment. “Speaking of not lasting forever, Harold came in to see me last week. So what do you think?”

  “What do I think about what?”

  “You know”—his head bobs back and forth—“what we discussed.”

  “What exactly did you discuss?” I tip my ear his way. “If there’s something wrong with Harold, I sure as heck want to know about it. I’m his—” I stop myself before saying the word wife.

  “Sorry, Billie. You’ll have to ask him yourself. It’s against doctor-patient confidentiality for me to tell you. I’ve already said too much.” He taps his finger to his nose. “You know what? Regarding you, there’s a great gynecologist in town that’s been stirring things up with some alternative treatments these last few years. He’s been an all-star every year so far in his practice. He might be able to suggest something. Tell you what, I’ll do what I can to squeeze you in with him. Our offices have been working closely these past few years and he’s a good guy.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. Believe me, if he wants me to make a smoothie out of the entrails of rats, I would jump on the chance. You have no idea how trying these hot flashes have been for me. Each time one hits, I want nothing more than to rip off my clothes and jump in the snow.”

  He chuckles. “I’d watch the public nudity if I were you. They’ve locked people up for less.”

  “Trust me, I’m building a pretty good insanity defense.”

  We wrap it up and I hit the dentist, followed by the optometrist, and finally end up with what Dr. Goldman billed as an emergency appointment with the all-star gynecologist—all of which are in my old stomping grounds of Mulberry Lake. Dr. Goldman’s nurse gave me
directions, and as soon as I check into the new office, I see the doctor’s name for the very first time.

  “Dr. Greenly?” I mutter mostly to myself right after I sign in.

  “That’s right,” the receptionist chirps. “He’s the best of the best. Are you having a baby?”

  “No,” I flatline. Normally, I would have eaten up the inadvertent compliment. I mean, young women have babies and I’m forty-five—apparently a young forty-five at least to this poor girl, who I’m guessing has a severe visual impairment brewing.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’s still the best of the best”—she squints over at me—“for whatever it is you need to see him. Fill these out.” She thrusts a mountain of getting to know you forms my way, and I quickly find a seat among a flurry of pregnant women in the waiting room.

  I don’t get past jotting my name down on the very first form than a woman with enough sugary perfume to suffocate all of mankind plops down next to me.

  “Billie Buttonwood?” she coos.

  I glance her way and gasp.

  “Gah!” My entire body bucks at the sight of her.

  Harold’s teen dream Charlene chortles herself into a conniption and her boobs and her tiny belly bounce with the rhythm.

  Great. Just perfect. I get to enjoy an impromptu meet and greet with my blonde ditz of a nemesis right before I get felt up by what I’m guessing is some relative of Elliot’s. Most likely his father.

  So twisted.

  “What are you doing here?” Charlene tosses a hand my way as if we were old friends.

  “Funny, I’m asking myself the very same thing.”

  Her blonde curls are tight and heavily shellacked into place. Her false lashes are far too long, and the one on the left is crooked. Her lips are a shocking shade of pink, and she’s donned a navy dress with a metallic sequin look to it. She screams insanity from head to foot, and honest to God, Harold should be arrested for assaulting a person with obvious behavioral issues. On second thought, I think they both suffer from the very same malady.