by Carrie Marsh
Privacy fences encompassed some of the backyards, while others allowed their occupants free range. Cadillacs, Lexus, Mercedes, and the likes gleamed in the driveways.
On this particular evening, there were a number of neighbors roaming about walking dogs or pushing strollers. Just as Mary turned on Vineyard Lane, where she knew the Hulkas lived, she saw a familiar car parked in front of their driveway. An even more familiar person was coming down the drive with what looked like tubs of ice cream in her arms.
“Dawn Williamson,” Mary muttered, shaking her head. “Don’t think I wouldn’t recognize that triple-G bra size.”
Before Mary could catch up, Dawn had gotten in her car and hit the gas. She was already out of sight as Mary pulled into the driveway.
It was a beautiful home. Quite a lot of room for just the two of them. She put the car in park, shut off the engine, and climbed out with the bread in one hand and the sun-catcher in the other.
A huge lavender bush gave off the sweetest aroma as Mary passed and on the porch were two rustic-rocking chairs, a vintage milk container, and a wooden box with the word eggs in faded lettering on the sides.
“Everything is picture perfect.” Mary pressed the bright orange light that was their doorbell. The double oak doors were a rich coffee color that set off the white brick with striking contrast. Beveled glass windows with Frank Lloyd Wright etchings flanked the door, allowing only a shadow to be seen peeking out them and not the person’s face.
The right door opened with what Mary thought was some effort. Before she could utter a word, Mr. Ray Hulka was standing in front of her with a kind smile on his face.
“Mrs. Tuttle?” he asked, looking at her for confirmation.
“What an excellent memory you have. Yes. But please, call me Mary.”
“Mary. Please call me Ray. What a super surprise.” He nodded. “Would you like to come in? I was just about to make myself a double caramel macchiato.”
Mary nodded and stepped over the threshold. As much as she wanted to give them her little offerings, she was also interested in seeing what the house looked like from the inside. She had envisioned a grand piano, a sunroom filled with exotic vegetation, a state-of-the-art kitchen and grand pieces of art hanging on the walls. She was one hundred percent wrong.
The home was actually a lot smaller on the inside. Unlike the perfectly pared lawn and front porch, the furniture could have been passed on from a previous owner, a few smudges on the walls, chipped paint around the windows and a spattering of dust-bunnies peeking from the corners of the staircase.
“Please join me for a treat and tell me. What can I do for you?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets while they stood in the foyer. So far, he wasn’t exhibiting any behavior Mary would call odd. Eccentric? Perhaps. But not unusual.
“I’d love to. Truthfully, this is just a wellness check.” She smiled. “Here, some bread from my friend Grace Deitz’s bakery and this is just a little something from my store. Your wife might like to hang it in a window.”
Ray took the bread and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“Yum! This is fresh. What a kind gesture.” He looked at Mary with grateful eyes that had wrinkled into crescent shapes from his smile. “Another woman, Dawn Williamson, just stopped by, bringing us a pan of lasagna.”
“Well, isn’t that something. I know Dawn. Just spoke with her yesterday, as a matter of fact. That was kind of her.”
“I guess some of those old country traditions are still alive and well in the suburbs.” Ray waved Mary on and she followed him to the heart of the house. The kitchen.
“May I ask how you and your wife have been doing?” Mary asked, noticing she was feeling so at ease and comfortable with Ray she took a seat on a barstool perched underneath his kitchen counter.
“We’re up to scratch.” He leaned against the counter. “It’s still kind of sinking in. I still keep expecting Summer to call. Every time the phone rings, I assume it is her and then I remember. No. It won’t be Summer on the other end.” He bonked his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“That’s completely natural,” Mary soothed and casually looked across the counter. In a meticulous line in front of an espresso maker were carefully measured out coffee grounds, a half cup measurement of milk, almond syrup, and melted caramel for the topping. Everything looked as neat as the stainless-steel instruments laid out for a surgeon to perform brain surgery. “These things take time and how much time is as varied as our fingerprints.”
“That is so right,” Ray agreed with wide eyes as if he’d been thinking it for some time and just needed some kind of validation. “Summer and I were as close as brother and sister. At least we were until… I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” He looked down but peeked up at Mary as if he were hoping she would offer an invitation for him to speak about his cousin. She was not about to deprive him of the opportunity.
“You’re all right, Ray. Tell me about Summer. I feel I was robbed of the chance to get to know her.”
With a sigh of relief. Ray dove right in. “She was a good person. She had a good heart. But there is a bad element in this town.” He shook his head. “That element offered her drugs and money and well, the love of a brother-type just can’t compete with that kind of lifestyle.”
“I certainly don’t mean to pry, Ray.” Mary leaned a little closer as she watched him add all the ingredients in their proper order and measurement like he had done it a hundred times. “But did you ever try a rehab or an intervention of some kind?”
“I hate to tell you how many times I tried to step in and get her to wake up.” His shoulders slumped. “I talked until I was blue in the face.”
“What about your wife?” She inhaled the sweet smell of the specialty drink and thought Grace might have to accompany her on her next visit if this concoction tasted as good as it smelled. “Did she ever talk to Summer?”
The back door in the kitchen burst open and Hillary stepped in, lugging a gym bag and looking down at her phone.
“Hey, hon.” Ray’s voice was higher than normal. “We’ve got company.”
Hillary looked at Mary to Ray and then back again, flashing a quick smile.
“She was kind enough to bring us some bread and here, this is for you.” He handed his wife the box without really looking at her.
“It’s just a little something, Mrs. Hulka, to make you smile.” Mary grinned innocently. “I’m sure things have been hard.”
Hillary took the box, adjusted her bag on her shoulder, and walked through the kitchen.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she snapped. “I’m sweaty and need a shower.” She left the room, and Mary could hear her pounding up the steps and the sound of the shower kicking on.
Before Mary could ask Ray how his wife was doing, he turned on the espresso machine with his back to her. The grounding, gurgling sound drowned out anything she could have said and made her chest vibrate. This was awkward and she wished she hadn’t accepted the offer of the caramel macchiato no matter how wonderful it smelled.
She thought she’d climb down off the chair and before Ray could argue tell him she’d take a rain check. But before she could do anything, with a flourish and a wave, he set the clear glass mug down in front of her, filled with a mocha-colored liquid halfway to the top. The rest was covered in a crisp white froth, crisscrossed with the golden caramel and a chocolate-covered cookie straw sticking out the top.
“Oh, my,” Mary gasped. It was beautiful. “Perhaps your wife would like this. You could take it to her. I really don’t mind.”
Ray shook his head and waved his hand in Mary’s direction. “She’s trying to get back to the size she was in high school. She doesn’t touch this stuff.” His voice no different than if he had told Mary that it was caramel on top of the froth.
Ray continued to talk about his cousin in short little anecdotes. The time she broke her leg when they were kids playing on some abandoned railroad ties and he carried her back to h
er home to call 9-1-1. How pretty she had looked when she went to her first formal dance. She went with Ray because her parents were so strict about her dating. And there were the memories of the Cedar Lake lake house.
It all sounded like a bit too much togetherness for Mary’s taste but certainly nothing she’d call odd or even interesting. Truthfully, Ray Hulka was a boring man.
If it weren’t for the caramel macchiato, she’d have already made her way to the front door and been in her car at the stop light on Burgundy Road and Main Street.
Shrugging her shoulders and certainly not wanting to appear rude, Mary took a sip through the cookie straw. It was heavenly.
“Where on earth did you learn to make this?” Mary asked.
“It really isn’t hard.” He put his hand on the top of the fancy espresso machine. “You just need the right equipment.” Mary watched as he started to clean up.
“Aren’t you having one?”
“Oh, uh, I just remembered that I needed to go into town for a few things.” He looked around as he set the small measuring cups in the sink and pushed the espresso machine back into a corner on the counter.
Hillary came down the stairs. As she turned into the kitchen, it was as if she had forgotten Mary was there and stopped short just before crossing the threshold.
“Mrs. Hulka, I was just telling your husband how much I enjoyed his coffee drink.” Mary smiled, taking a big gulp of the sugary treat, scalding her throat in the process. The room seemed to have dropped a couple degrees with the wife suddenly there.
Hillary nodded and forced a smile.
“I was just telling Mary that I needed to go into town. Perhaps you could sit with her until she’s finished with her drink.” Ray spoke to Hillary as if he were instructing a rebellious teenager they had some chores before they could go have fun.
With quick, blinking eyes, Hillary walked up to the counter and took a seat. She had changed from her black yoga pants and turquoise tank top to a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. She didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on her body.
As Mary’s eyes climbed reluctantly up to Hillary’s face, she couldn’t help but notice the necklace she was wearing.
“My, that is an unusual piece of jewelry,” Mary said, leaning slightly forward. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she lied. She had seen it twice before. Once on the late Summer Moran’s neck when she interviewed at Beads and Baubles and once around Regina’s neck at the biker’s picnic. It was something the Governor didn’t really like. “May I ask where you got it?”
“Ray gave it to me,” she said, tilting her head to the right and looking squarely at her husband. “I don’t know if he told you while you guys were gabbing but he sells jewelry online. In addition to his antiques and ice cream.”
Mary turned and looked at Ray, who was busy stuffing his wallet in his back pocket and picking his car keys off a hook that read KEYS. The pleasant, almost kidlike enthusiasm that had met her at the door was gone. He was a man, now, with responsibilities and worries.
“Yes, he buys fine jewelry from estate sales or random vintage sites online and negotiates a bulk rate. Sometimes, you get a couple of real gems that make the whole thing worthwhile. Sometimes, you get lemons.” She never took her eyes off Ray for a second as she spoke.
“Well, that purchase definitely looks like it was worthwhile,” Mary chirped happily, hoping maybe Hillary’s frozen outer coating would crack and the gooey, soft center of a devoted wife might come through.
“I’m really not a jewelry person,” Hillary snapped. “Ray knows that but he said he thought this was pretty. So, I wear it. To make him happy.”
That was enough for Mary. Mocha caramel delights or not, she was getting out of that house.
“That sure is nice of you. Yup. The things we do for our husbands.” Like wearing pretty jewelry? I’m in the presence of a crazy lady. I know it. “Well, I wish I could stay but I’ve got my own errands to run. Ray, thank you so much for the coffee. It was delicious.”
Ray stopped what he was doing and bore his eyes into his wife. “Mary, thank you so much for the bread and the sun-catcher for my wife. Right, Hill?”
“Yes, thank you. It was a lovely thought.” Hillary’s voice sounded robotic.
Mary eased herself off the stool, pointing her toe until it touched the flat linoleum floor. Pulling herself down, she smoothed out her blouse, straightened her own beaded necklace, and reached out her hand to Hillary.
“I hope to see you again, Mrs. Hulka,” Mary said softly. “Please, stop by my store some time.” I’d love to pick your brain and find out what’s going on up there.
“I’m not very crafty.” Hillary stopped that train of thought before it got out of the station. “But it was nice seeing you.”
Mary nodded, waved to Ray, and saw herself to the door. Neither one of the Hulkas made any attempt to see her out. With her keys in her hand, she let out a deep breath and headed toward her car.
Ray had said he had an errand to run. While backing her car out of the driveway, Mary pulled down the street, performed the most crude and awkward three-point turn in the history of driving, and peeked at the Hulka home, waiting to see what direction Ray was going.
It got darker and darker and finally, after almost forty-five minutes, Mary decided Ray wasn’t going anywhere.
“He was just trying to get out of that house. I can’t blame him,” Mary mused. Hillary was hiding something. You didn’t have to be a detective on the Morhollow Police Department to see that. She didn’t hide her contempt for her husband or anyone who had any kind of relationship, it seemed, even if it was a middle-aged lady who she met only once at a funeral.
However, Ray had obviously given the same necklace to his wife and his cousin. But how did Regina the biker get one? Wasn’t it a gift from Bruce McGovern?
“That’s it.” She shrugged her shoulders while she waited for the light to turn green at Burgundy and Main. “I just need to find that girl again, No matter what the toll on my psyche, I’ve got to perform that locator spell.”
Once Mary pulled into her garage and shut the door firmly behind her, she saw the haughty look on Alabaster’s puss.
What are we doing? He meowed.
“A locator spell,” Mary said, dropping her purse on her kitchen table and heading to the closet in her bedroom.
Why are we doing this?
“To find Regina the biker.”
You can’t be serious. Alabaster trotted after Mary then slunk into her bedroom, pushing his way in front of her as she rummaged through some old boxes and bags she had stuffed in the back with the out-of-season clothes and a box of Easter decorations.
“I just came from Ray Hulka’s house. Guess what his wife was wearing?”
A hazmat suit with goggles?
“Funny.” Mary scratched Alabaster under the chin. “No. The exact same necklace I saw on Summer and on Regina the biker. Coincidence?”
Yes.
“No!” Mary scoffed. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know and I won’t know until I talk with Regina. I’ll find her and you’ll see.”
So, you’re going to do this spell now when you know you have to go to work tomorrow. The entire town will think you are hung over and that will be the best rumor that goes around.
“Wonderful. I could use some scandal in my life.”
Alabaster tenderly walked up on Mary’s thigh, put his two front paws on her chest and nuzzled his face into her chin.
Fine. But you’ll need my help. Let me be the conduit and it might save you some pain and agony tomorrow.
“But what about you? I can take a couple aspirin or even leave the shop closed for a day.” She hugged the feline close to her. “Just remember, Ally, you are as out of practice as I am.”
If we work together, we’ll both need a shorter recovery time than if we tried these things alone.
Alabaster was right. As much as Mary didn’t like the idea of him having any magical burnout that sometimes c
ame with these locator spells, she felt she didn’t have a choice.
As things stood right now, Summer could have been murdered by any of the people who were close to her. No one stood out except the bikers but that was only because of rumors on the part of the people of Morhollow. There were no facts to back that up.
While Mary pulled some things out of the closet, including a piece of crinkly wrapping paper that Alabaster quickly sat on, she wondered why she had left these memories in here to collect dust after Ward had died.
The thought of him made her smile. He rarely spoke about her witchcraft. It was no different to him from being Italian or Danish or blood type A-. It was just something that was there.
“I think I’ll put these books out.” Mary looked at the spines of each as she set them behind her on the floor. “I doubt Andrew would even notice and if he did, I’ll just tell him it’s a hobby. I’m not lying.”
She looked at Alabaster for approval. He tucked his front paws underneath him and looked at her with wide eyes.
I’m waiting for my Andrew to come visit. You might want to call him. I haven’t seen him in so long I just know he’s missing me.
“Sometimes I wonder if your attachment to Andrew isn’t something I should be concerned with.”
I love him, Alabaster went on dreamily.
After a few more minutes on her knees in the closet, Mary emerged with a simple little black book. The binding was cracked and the edges were so old they looked fuzzy. The pages were velvety soft and flipping them too quickly would result in an instant tear.
“There you are. I knew I’d find you.” She stood up with a grunt and left Alabaster sitting where he was on the crinkly wrapping paper and took a seat on the edge of her bed.
Gently, she turned the pages until she found exactly what she was looking for.
“Tay wihd-eh-oh.” She stated proudly. “This is it. Are you ready? Do you need to primp or preen before we get started?” She looked at her cat, who stood up, stretched his long, gray legs and made his way over to the bed, jumping effortlessly up onto the mattress.