by Sharon Pape
Travis clicked off his call and looked up as I reached his booth. The tension in his face instantly softened into an easy grin.
“Hi,” I said, sliding in across from him before he had a chance to stand and greet me. It seemed like the least awkward way to handle things, since I didn’t know him well enough for a kiss, and a handshake would have been too formal.
He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I see you’re a fan of punctuality.”
“Always have been,” I said.
“Me too. Irritates the hell out of some people, though,” he added with a laugh.
“Sounds like you enjoy doing that.”
“Irritating people? You don’t? Be honest now.” He skewered me with his eyes, daring me to lie.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe a little.” Sitting there with him, I remembered why I’d first been attracted to him that day in my shop. You could read all the magazine articles and self-help books about not judging a man by the way he looks, but you can’t help what attracts you. And I was attracted to him like crazy. He had a sly, confident smile like he’d read the ending of our story and was waiting for me to catch up. But his eyes also showed elusive flashes of the boy he’d been. I was glad he’d chucked the on-air suit to go with a polo and chinos again. I definitely preferred this casual Travis to the up-and-coming TV journalist. I could picture him on the deck of a sailboat, hair streaked lighter by the sun. Seriously? I asked myself. Have you forgotten that this is the man who scoffs at magick and essentially considers you a fraud who earns a living by duping people, including his mother?
My internal rant was cut short by the young waitress who’d come to take our order. I’d never seen her before, but college kids from neighboring towns often found jobs in New Camel when the tourist trade spiked in the summer. I asked for a Morning Glory muffin and tea. Travis wanted coffee, black, and after a moment’s hesitation, seconded the muffin.
“Their Morning Glory will knock any others you’ve had out of the water,” I said.
He shrugged. “This is going to be my first one. Figured I’d give it a try.”
“Ah, so you’re impulsive as well as punctual.”
“It’s important to be open to new experiences.”
“As long as it’s not magick.” The words slipped out before I knew they were on my tongue.
“It’s not exactly a proven science,” he said wryly.
“In the right hands, it’s actually more of an art.”
“Touché.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I propose a truce. Let’s agree to disagree for now. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you too much to spend the time sparring.”
How could I say no when he put it that way? “Truce,” I agreed, although it seemed like we were merely kicking the ball farther down a bumpy road. Sooner or later we’d have to decide if our opposing views were a deal breaker. But I decided to live in the moment and enjoy the time with him. It wasn’t as if I was signing on for the long haul; it was nothing more than tea and a muffin. “You never mentioned you were a big shot TV newsman,” I said to steer the conversation into more benign waters. Anything he asked about me was bound to lead right back to magick.
“Hardly a big shot up here in the boonies,” he said in an aw-shucks tone. He paused for a moment. “I know this is going to sound really awful, but the truth is, the Harkens murder has been a huge break for me.”
“You’re right; it does sound awful,” I said, although I hadn’t intended to make it sound quite so harsh. After all, he hadn’t pulled the trigger or hired a hit man in order to further his career ambitions. “Sorry,” I murmured, “I guess that hit too close to the bone.”
“No, I’m sorry. I get it. Too soon after such a traumatic event to be talking about personal silver linings. Especially when I don’t know if you were close to the victim.”
“Jim Harkens was our family’s attorney, but I’ve always been a lot closer to his wife, in spite of our age difference.”
He nodded. “I should have asked, before opening my big mouth.”
“Apology accepted.” I didn’t know what more to say. Apparently neither did he. The silence was piling up between us like bricks building a wall. I glanced around the restaurant as I tried to come up with a new topic, but we had no history to fall back on. No, “hey, remember the time” or “how’s old so-and-so?” Travis was staring out the window, probably engaged in the same futile exercise. Luckily the waitress arrived with our breakfasts.
I added sweetener to my tea and spent a ridiculous amount of time cutting my muffin into quarters. How was it possible that two intelligent people couldn’t think of anything to talk about? Then it hit me—Travis’s coverage of Jim’s death could be a silver lining for Elise and me too. If he was good at his job, he probably knew more about the case than anyone beside the police and the killer. And if he didn’t, at least it would serve to break the silence. “Have you done a lot of research on the Harkens case?” I asked.
“I’m still at it,” he replied, grabbing for the lifeline I’d tossed him. “I need background material on all the players to add color and filler to my reports.” He broke off a piece of the muffin and studied it. “What’s in this thing?”
“Walnuts, carrots, raisins, coconut, and sometimes pecans and dates. Bakers add different things. Your basic kitchen-sink recipe.”
He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s good.” He sounded surprised. “I don’t normally go for a hodgepodge like that, but it really is good.”
“Has your research turned up anything interesting?” I asked to get him back on topic.
“Possibly.” He stopped to drink his coffee. “I don’t usually talk about a story I’m working on,” he said, when he realized I was waiting to hear more. “Okay, can I can trust you to keep your lips zipped?” I nodded. “Here’s what I know—your ME, Westfield, made it to the top in the Manhattan medical examiner’s office at a young age. His resume was impressive, Ivy League, consistently placed in the top two on every civil service exam he took. He was definitely on track for Chief ME of the entire city. So why pack it in and move to a little backwater up here?”
“To get his family away from the crime in the city, the threat of terrorism, the overcrowded schools, the pollution?” I said. It made perfect sense to me.
Travis frowned as if he’d caught me cheating on a test. “That’s his response, almost word for word, every time he’s asked the question.”
“I think he did the right thing for his family. And I wouldn’t be surprised if his wife played a major role in the decision. Not everyone needs money and fame to be happy.” I thought of telling him how Tilly had turned it all down too, but I suspected he’d discredit the source.
Travis finished his coffee and beckoned to the waitress for a refill. “You think I’m looking for intrigue and melodrama where none exists?” his voice was oddly hollow. It was as if I’d taken a pin to his balloon and all his enthusiasm had fizzled out.
“Look,” I said, “you asked my opinion, so I gave it to you. But you’re the one in the news business. Your instincts are bound to be a lot better than mine.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Yeah, you’re right. What was I thinking?” The waitress came by with the coffee and hot water carafes. She refilled Travis’s cup, but I declined more water for my tea.
“Did you uncover anything else in your research?” I asked, catching him with a mouthful of muffin. While I waited for him to finish it, I picked at the second half of mine. I always took a piece home with me and this time would be no exception. They were as filling as steak.
“I don’t know if you’ve already heard this,” he said, “but it seems the guy who monitors the camera for Harkens’ building told police he was called away on a bogus emergency and when he got back, he realized someone had shut down that camera.”
“Do you know the guy’s name?”
“No. The police said he didn’t want to be identified. A smart move on his
part. Not so great for those of us in the news business.” He drank his coffee. “Now that you’ve picked my brain, how about a little reciprocity? Anything you can tell me about this quiet little town of yours? Aren’t little towns supposed to have dirty secrets? How about some lurid details that could pump up my ratings?” This time his smile made it all the way to his eyes.
“If there’s any lurid stuff going on around here, no one’s thought to include me,” I said. I was sure Travis would love to hear about the bad blood between Duggan and the victim, but I’d promised to keep the material on the flash disk confidential, unless and until Elise needed it to prove she was not the most likely suspect. I didn’t take that vow lightly and I certainly didn’t know Travis well enough to trust him with such sensitive material. Although I’d made no such promise to my aunt concerning Beverly’s unrequited love for Jim, it felt wrong to put a reporter on her trail when I had no proof she’d done anything more than try to erase him from a photograph. Besides, Tilly had invaded Beverly’s right to privacy in her own home, which made me feel dirty about passing on the information, no matter how much I disliked the woman.
I stole a glance at my watch, thinking I should make my exit while the conversation was easy and before one of us managed to put a foot in a mouth again. I was glad to see it was nearly ten o’clock. Travis wouldn’t think I was making up an excuse to run. In spite of the awkward period we’d muddled through, I wanted to see him again. The heart wants what the heart wants, or more accurately, what the hormones want.
Travis consulted his watch too. “I didn’t realize it was that late. I know you have to go. I’ll take care of things here.” I thanked him and slid out of the booth. “Kailyn,” he said with his off-kilter smile. “I think I enjoyed this. Maybe we can get together again?”
I laughed. “I think that might just be a possibility.”
Chapter 22
The phone startled me awake at eight a.m. The woman on the other end was speaking so rapidly that I didn’t catch her name or the reason for her call.
“Excuse me?” was all I could manage as I tried to extricate myself from a convoluted dream in which I was stuck back in Merlin’s time.
“I’m sorry. Let me start again,” the woman said, clearly making an effort to slow down and speak more distinctly. “My name is Natalie Catapano. Your aunt Matilda and her companion drove onto my front lawn the other day?”
Uh-oh. I’d given the Catapanos my phone number instead of Tilly’s, in an effort to stay on top of things. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Catapano,” I said, “how can I help you?”
“It’s beautiful, absolutely magnificent,” she blurted out. “Tony and I, well our mouths fell open when we looked outside this morning. We can’t get over it. How on earth did your aunt arrange all this? And in so little time. She must have had a crew of elves working here all night. Didn’t even wake us. Or any of our cranky neighbors. It’s nothing short of magic.”
“I’m so pleased to hear you like it,” I said, thinking they’d hit the nail on the head. No one could have set the Catapano’s landscaping to rights so fast without a healthy dose of magick. “I’ll be sure to let my aunt know.”
Natalie wasn’t ready to let go of the subject yet. She gushed on for another few minutes in mind-numbing detail, ending with a request for the name of the company Tilly hired.
“I’ll ask her to give you a call,” I said. New Camel was about to have another murder to solve. But this one would be a cinch.
* * *
I left for work early, intending to stop first at Tilly’s house. I didn’t call to say I was coming, because I wanted to catch her off guard. Instead I was the one surprised that no one was home. I drove on down to Main Street where I found her car parked in front of our shops. At least she and her accomplice weren’t off somewhere getting into more trouble. I pulled up behind her mustang and played a brief, but spirited, game of “catch the cat” with Sashkatu, who was feeling unusually chipper. After opening Abracadabra, I set Sashki on the floor and the two of us marched straight back and through the connecting door to Tilly’s place. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t immediately noticed the smells of baking. Baking was my aunt’s go-to when she was overwrought, worried, or depressed. Over the years, the level of her baking frenzy had proven to be a fair measure of the state of her nerves. That day I put it at seven out of ten.
There were trays of pastries and scones cooling on every available surface. Merlin was watching the action from a stool at the entrance to the kitchen. Sashki rubbed his face against the sorcerer’s pants leg, then curled up around his feet, the smell of baked goods making his tiny nose twitch with anticipation.
“Good Morning, Mistress,” Merlin greeted me as if nothing were amiss. But then his perspective with regard to magick was worlds apart from mine.
“Is it?” I replied, sidling past him to enter the kitchen at the same moment the oven timer started to chirp. I stepped into Tilly’s path as she turned away from the sink to answer its call.
“Kailyn,” she said, clearly not as delighted to see me as she usually was. The timer kept chirping for attention. “Excuse me, dear, I have to see to the strudel.”
I stood my ground. “I got a phone call from Natalie Catapano this morning.”
“Oh really?” Her voice was a full octave above its normal range. She looked from me to the oven and back again, like a criminal trying to decide if she should make a run to save the strudel. When had she started baking strudel for her teas anyway?
“She’s thrilled with how beautiful her yard turned out,” I said.
“Isn’t that nice?” Tilly stepped to the side to get around me, but my reaction time was too good. “Kailyn,” she said impatiently, “the strudel is going to burn.”
“According to Natalie, the work was done so fast and noiselessly, it was nothing short of magick.”
“It wasn’t my doing,” Tilly said with a defeated sigh. “Let me get the strudel out, and I’ll tell you everything.”
I went back to my shop to wait. Sashki stayed with Merlin. Big surprise. When Tilly came to talk, she was holding a plate of apple strudel as a peace offering, wizard and cat close behind her. She set the plate on my counter and collapsed into the chair beside it, looking exhausted. “I meant to take care of the Catapano’s landscaping the proper way,” she said. “I got some estimates, but the numbers were staggering. You’d think we drove a semi through the gardens of Versailles.”
When she paused, Merlin picked up the narrative, no hint of apology in his tone. “Matilda was so upset, how could I not take pity on her? It is simply not in my nature to stand by and do nothing in someone’s time of distress.”
Since it was pointless to argue with the man, I turned back to my aunt. “Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured something out together. Now Natalie will be telling everyone in the county how you transformed her yard overnight. And by the way, she wants the name of the company you hired to do it.” The color drained from Tilly’s face.
“And how would you go about helping her with that?” I asked Merlin, who was clearly stumped.
“I could . . . we might . . . there are a number of spells and potions that can fiddle with one’s memory. But they can be tricky.”
Wow, why didn’t that suggestion calm all my fears? “There’s also her husband’s memory,” I pointed out. “And the memories of all the people who happen to see the property or speak to the Catapanos.” Not even the great Merlin could hope to stuff this particular genie back in the bottle.
Tilly was wagging her head in silent misery, possibly realizing for the first time how deep and muddy a hole she and her Clyde had dug for us. The ringing of my phone provided them with a chance to retreat to the warmth and sweetness of her shop. A tour bus was scheduled to arrive soon anyway, and there was nothing to be gained by rehashing the matter ad nauseam. When I picked up the phone, I found Ronnie on the line.
“Kailyn, I need to talk to you,” she said grimly. “In per
son.”
“I have to speak to you too,” I said, wondering what grave, new problem had landed on her doorstep and, by extension, mine.
“An early dinner at The Caboose?” she suggested. We agreed on five-fifteen at the restaurant, which was technically in an old train car, not a caboose. Of far more importance was the fact that they made the best burgers, fries, and shakes in the county and quite possibly the state. Minutes after clicking off the call, the tour group descended on New Camel. It was a lively bunch of women from the Boston suburbs who kept me jumping, which was exactly what I needed in order to make it through the workday.
Chapter 23
The day had been hectic and profitable, so I didn’t feel guilty about closing up ten minutes early. Besides, the hour before closing was notoriously slow in the touristy part of town. Those few minutes allowed me to drop Sashkatu at home and feed everyone. It also meant I could enjoy my own dinner without constantly checking the time. Driving to The Caboose, all I could think about was one of their cold, thick strawberry shakes. That’s when it dawned on me I’d had nothing to eat since breakfast.
I pulled into the half-filled parking lot. Although five-fifteen on a weekday evening was a good time to eat at The Caboose, a mere half hour later the lot would be full and it would be difficult to get in the door. With six booths on either side of the center aisle, The Caboose had never had enough seating. The result was a booming takeout business.
I parked in the spot next to Ronnie’s car and went inside. The restaurant wasn’t big on decor. When it had first opened in the eighties, its claim to fame was a Lionel train that rode the inside perimeter on a track that went by each table. Several of its freight cars had been outfitted with cup holders, so that shakes and other beverages could be served by train, captivating children of all ages, myself included. Unfortunately, the restaurant was sold a decade later, and the new owner didn’t have the patience for a gimmick that was often in need of repair. He did, however, have the smarts to retain the original kitchen staff and assure their loyalty by giving them a substantial raise. The trains were gone, but the kitchen still turned out consistently great, if not heart-healthy, food.