by Nic Saint
Ronny was staring at her with interest, eyes wide and mouth curled into a wicked grin. He was licking his lips as he rose from his seat and watched with relish as Cassandra struggled to get up. But the stones quickly morphed into three hoops as strong as steel and tightened themselves around her, pinning her arms to her body and preventing her from moving even an inch.
“That’s what you get for trying to turn Ronny Mullarkey into a pig,” Ronny said softly as he stood over her. “A little taste of your own medicine.”
Her eyes fluttered closed then, and soon she knew no more…
Chapter 10
The three sisters were seated in their favorite spot at Brigham Shatwell, Edelie having managed to induce Ginger to give her a short coffee break. Estrella and Ernestine had shown up within seconds of each other, and they now sat ensconced in the corner, the coffeehouse buzzing with coffee lovers.
Edelie waited until the others were settled in before dropping her voice to a low murmur to share her tale of the bird and rubber ball incident.
“He said his name was Tavish Mildew, and some bad man called Joshua is going to try to take away our powers if we don’t get to him first!”
“I’ll bet it’s the same guy I met!” Estrella broke in, and regaled them with the story of how she met this man dressed in black from head to foot on the bus. “And he told me the same thing,” she concluded breathlessly, “about Joshua! And he also told me he used to know our parents!”
“I met him, too!” Ernestine gasped. “He was a fruit fly but then he wasn’t, and he told me this weird story about this Joshua person coming after us!”
After the threesome finished telling the stories of their weird and outrageous mornings, they shared meaningful looks. They didn’t need much more to figure out that what was going on was extremely sinister to a degree.
“This… Tavish Mildew guy, what did he look like?” Edelie asked, and when both Ernestine and Estrella gave the exact same description, it was obvious they’d been approached by the same person, either in the guise of an eagle, a fruit fly or, as in Estrella’s case, as the actual man himself.
“And he said he knew our parents?” Edelie asked.
Estrella bit her lip. “He said he did, but that I wouldn’t remember him. He did look familiar, though. Maybe I recognized him from an old picture?”
“Let’s go through Gran’s picture albums,” Ernestine suggested.
“Good idea,” Edelie agreed. Even as engrossed as she was in the conversation, she kept an eye on Ginger. She couldn’t take too long on her coffee break or there would be hell to pay, especially after arriving late.
“Or why don’t we simply ask Gran?” Estrella said. “She must know him.”
“Listen, you guys,” Edelie now said, “I can’t get out of here for a bit, or at least not until my shift ends. Maybe you can go home now and talk to Gran?”
“I had the same idea. It’s just that…” Ernestine hesitated.
“You don’t have to tell her about Hugh Laurie,” Estrella assured her.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t tell her about any of that if I were you,” Edelie chimed in. “Just like I’m not going to mention turning myself into a fat pigeon.”
The three sisters laughed. By now they’d broken so many rules it was hard to keep track.
“Tavish did say Gran wouldn’t be any use to us,” Estrella reminded them.
“He didn’t mention that to me,” Edelie said.
“Or to me,” Ernestine added.
Estrella frowned as she tried to remember the man’s exact words. “He said Gran can’t help us because…” Her eyes widened. “Gran is Joshua.”
“What?!” Ernestine cried, startling two men who looked like hedge fund managers, almost inducing them to spill coffee on their power suits.
“That’s impossible,” Edelie hissed. “How can Gran be an evil person?”
“Yes, she would never hurt us, or take our powers,” Ernestine said.
“Well, she would like to take our powers sometimes,” Edelie amended, “especially after the kind of morning we all had.”
Ernestine shook her head. “That’s different.”
And it was different, of course. Edelie, too, couldn’t imagine Gran ever doing anything against her three girls.
“She wouldn’t even want to take away our powers,” said Estrella. “Not really, I mean. She just wants us to be better witches. Not to abuse our powers or accidentally hurt people or create a mess like we usually do.”
“Yes, all she’s ever wanted is to turn us into better witches,” Ernestine agreed. “So she can’t be Joshua. You must have misheard, Estrella.”
“I don’t think so,” Estrella said, shaking her head.
Ernestine pursed her lips. She’d had enough of this idle talk. “We’ll talk to Gran and let her figure it out. She’s the most competent witch we know.”
“She’s the only witch we know,” Edelie muttered.
“And she’ll be able to help us figure out what’s going on.”
“We don’t even know if we can trust Tavish Mildew,” Estrella pointed out. “For all we know he could be bad news, and Joshua doesn’t even exist.”
“Could be,” Ernestine allowed.
“I did get the impression he was for real,” Edelie said hesitantly, then caught Ginger’s wave and sighed. “You guys, I have to get back to work. Talk to Gran and let me know what she says, all right?” And as she hurried away, she added, “Oh, and don’t mention—”
“The ‘incidents’?” Estrella smiled. “Don’t worry, hon, we won’t.”
Edelie didn’t like this. She wanted to be there when they talked to Gran. She wanted to see the look on their grandmother’s face when she listened carefully. The look that said, ‘I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I know all about Tavish and Joshua. I’ve got their number.’ And the smile that indicated, ‘I love you guys and whatever you do, I’ll always be there for you.’ For deep down inside she knew that Gran was aware of what they’d been up to. She always was. And as she took her place behind the counter and took an order of Mocha Frappuccino with Cream and Chocolate Sprinkles, she watched her sisters leave and returned their wave.
Somehow she had a feeling that Tavish Mildew hadn’t been lying, and that something very bad was about to happen. Something very bad indeed.
Chapter 11
Estrella shared her sister’s sentiments. She had a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach that told her things weren’t on the up and up, and it had nothing to do with the fact she’d lost her job or that Ernestine had scared a client half to death. No, for some reason she was feeling anxious and sad at the same time, something that rarely happened to happy, peppy Estrella.
Twenty minutes after leaving Edelie, they stepped off the bus and hurried from the bus stop on the corner of Nightingale Street to their house. Ernestine hadn’t stopped talking about Lyndon Bloom and how his wife had treated him horribly, and about the look Spear Boodle had given her when he saw her with that terrible expression on her face.
Estrella didn’t care one iota about Lyndon Bloom or Spear Boodle or anyone else for that matter. All she cared about was talking to Gran and putting this whole weird episode behind them as soon as possible.
Finally, she caught a glimpse of Safflower House as it rose up behind their neighbor’s conifers. All the houses on Nightingale Street had the luxury of small patches of front yards, and most people had turned them into miniature oases of greenery and floral delight. The moment she caught sight of Gran’s forsythias, she felt a sudden peace and calm soothe her anxiety. Whatever the Tavishes and Joshuas of this world might be up to, they were no match for Cassandra Beadsmore, she knew.
The windows of Safflower House were stained glass, depicting colorful scenes of courtships and births—Fallon Safflower had been a midwife—and of course flowers in full bloom. Flowers were Gran’s passion. She’d worked at a flower shop when she was young, and when the owner retired had taken over the store a
nd had turned it into a small franchise of very popular flower shops called Flor et Bloom. When she sold the franchise to a national chain, it had given her the opportunity to retire young and devote the rest of her life to creating new flower species—and to raising three hell-raising young witches. Her flowers had won her many prizes and carried the names she’d given them. They were as much her babies as the triplets were.
Finally, they arrived at the house and hurried up the stone steps to the front door. Estrella inserted her key anxiously. The moment the door swung open, she called out, “Gran? Gran! We’re home!”
The sense of foreboding that had held her in its grip throughout the journey home suddenly returned in full force, and she simply knew something terrible had happened to Gran.
There was no response, and as she glanced into the parlor, she saw to her surprise that a tray with cups and saucers was placed on the side table, along with a plate of cookies. She hurried over, and saw that the cup was half empty, a cookie half eaten, but when she looked around, she found no one there. She placed her hand on the teapot. Still warm. Then she caught sight of a small purple pouch. She picked it up. It was empty. She gripped it to her chest, fear puckering up her brow. “Gran,” she murmured. “Where are you?”
Just then, Ernestine stepped in. “No sign of her,” she said with a frown.
“Did you look in the garden?”
“And the greenhouse. She’s not here, Strel.”
Estrella pointed to the cups and saucers. “That tea is still warm.”
“What’s that pouch doing there?”
“No idea.”
“Looks like something that would hold a gem,” she muttered.
Estrella shook her head. “Something happened to Gran, Stien!”
“You don’t know that. All we know is that she was here, had tea with a guest, and left. She could be next door with Renée for all we know.”
Renée Reive was their next door neighbor and a good friend of Gran’s.
Estrella nodded. “So let’s try her cell.” She took out her phone and tried Gran’s number. The telltale sound of little tinkly bells had them gasping in surprise. The sound came from somewhere in the parlor! Ernestine was quick to drop down on all fours and search beneath the cabinet that stood next to the door and carried pictures of the three girls. She suddenly cried, “Got it!” And as she fished the phone from beneath the cabinet, she muttered grimly, “Must have fallen.”
And as the two sisters’ gazes locked, Estrella was the first to suggest, “Let’s call the police. Something happened to Gran.”
And for once in her life, Ernestine immediately agreed with her.
Chapter 12
Inspector Samuel Barkley was a big man. Tall and imposing, his mere presence told people not to mess with him. As a member of New York’s finest, he’d worked his way up through the many departments that made up the NYPD and was very proud to be a homicide detective and a damn good one at that. He wasn’t merely tall, he was also broad and muscular, built along the lines of a linebacker, and his square face, anvil jaw and piercing blue eyes spelled trouble to the bad guys that crossed his path.
He arrived ten minutes after Ernestine had put in the 911 call, his partner Pierre Farrier in tow. Ernestine had told the dispatcher her grandmother had been the victim of foul play and had given her to understand a murder had taken place at Safflower House.
It was enough to put Sam Barkley on high alert and arrive in record time.
Since Estrella Flummox had indicated her grandmother had been murdered, he’d decided to step on it. He didn’t believe in wasting time. The sooner a murder case was underway, the sooner it was solved was his personal experience. It was with extreme disappointment, therefore, that when finally he arrived, he found no dead body waiting for him in the parlor.
He gave the tallest of the two sisters a dark frown. She was a dark-haired beauty with black-rimmed glasses. A real looker—not that that mattered. She seemed to be the one taking the lead and was therefore the one subjected to his opening question. “So where’s the body?”
The woman gave him a rather nasty stare. “There is no body. Gran is missing, not dead.”
“Missing person, huh?” he grumbled. “I’m a homicide detective, lady.”
“We believe our grandmother was abducted,” the woman said primly.
“And you’re basing this on… what, exactly?” he challenged. The woman—according to the file one Ernestine Flummox—had folded her arms across her chest and was watching him with less warmth than a dead fish.
“Based on the fact that she isn’t here, that none of her friends have seen her, nor any of the neighbors—yes, we checked. And that we found her phone under that cabinet where it must have fallen when she was attacked.”
“Attacked, huh? By whom?”
Ernestine pointed to two cups and saucers on the side table. “She was entertaining a guest. My guess is that this guest must have attacked her.”
He sighed. Civilians. You had to hand it to them, their petty little minds never stopped working overtime. He blamed it on all those cop shows. It got people all hot and bothered about the smallest little thing. They saw a tea cup and a cell phone and immediately assumed the worst.
“Look, lady, I’m pretty sure your dear old Granny will turn up any moment now,” he said. “Where does she usually hang out?”
“She doesn’t ‘hang out,’ Inspector.”
“Detective.”
“She’s usually home, and when she’s not she leaves us a note.”
“She does now, does she? And every single time, unfailingly, huh?”
“She has for the last twenty years,” Ernestine said icily. “So I don’t see why she would divert from that routine now, all of a sudden, unless, of course, something happened to her. Something like an abduction. Or worse.”
He eyed the cabinet. “You’re telling me her phone was under there?”
“It was.”
He went down on hands and knees and inspected the piece of sturdy furniture. No dust. That was a first. Whoever this Cassandra Beadsmore was, she was a clean freak. And that’s when he saw it. Smudges of crimson, and when he looked a little closer… a few strands of hair.
“C’mere,” he grunted to Pierre, a smallish man with a salt-and-pepper mustache of which he was very proud. He pointed to the hair and the spot of crimson. “Check this out, will you?”
Ernestine and Estrella watched the exchange with worry etched on their features. So the moment he stood, Estrella asked, “What did you find?”
“Nothing to worry about,” he said with a grunt. “Just some blood and hair. Could be anybody’s.” Estrella let rip a piercing wail that went through marrow and bone. “Could be anybody’s!” he repeated. “Do you have a dog?”
“No,” said Ernestine coldly.
“Cat?”
“Our grandmother doesn’t like cats or dogs. They mess up her flowers.”
“Weird,” he said, glancing back at the blood and the hair. In his estimation it was fresh. So maybe there was something to the women’s story after all. Then he directed his attention to the side table and saw the pouch. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Something Gran’s guest left,” Estrella said. “We don’t know what it is.”
He pursed his lips, then told Pierre to bag the pouch, the teacups, and the saucers. “And while you’re at it, bag the cookies too.” They looked yummy.
“So what’s next?” Ernestine asked when he strode from the room.
“What’s next is that I’ll get in touch with missing persons.”
“But she’s not missing,” she pointed out. “There’s blood on the cabinet from when she fell, and her phone was found under there. She was taken.”
“For all we know she might have tripped, and this visitor took her to the hospital,” he countered.
“Without giving us a call or leaving us a note? Never!”
“Might be. Stranger things have happened.”
&nbs
p; “Not to us.”
And he could readily believe it. She looked like the type who had a really good handle on things. A tight grip. Too tight, perhaps, judging from that thought wrinkle dividing her brow.
“Look, lady, I’ll ask around, all right? Call the hospitals and see if she hasn’t been admitted somewhere. Meanwhile, stick around and pick up your phone. I’m sure your granny will be home any minute now, a nice big bandage on her head. Old ladies fall down all the time,” he explained.
“She’s not old. She’s only fifty-six.”
“Ah,” he said, indicating that to him fifty-six was old. He walked to the door. “And don’t forget to call it in when she turns up, all right?”
“She won’t… turn up,” Ernestine said, her voice quaking slightly.
“I’ll bet you she will,” he said, then touched his nose. “I’ve got a hunch.”
And lo and behold, even as he spoke the words the doorbell jangled, and when he jerked it open, dear old granny stood on the mat, looking a little the worse for wear, a nice clean white bandage on her head… and supported by a guy Sam knew very well indeed. A guy with a big smile on his face.
“Ronny Mullarkey!” he barked. “What the hell are you doing here?!”
“Inspector Barkley,” Ronny said, his smile faltering slightly.
“Detective. Don’t tell me that after last night you’ve suddenly decided to become Good Samaritan as well as Robin Hood!”
“I—I just wanted to help Cassandra—Mrs. Beadsmore. She took a bad fall and, I, um, I took her to the hospital just in case.”
“I’m fine now, though,” the old woman croaked when she caught sight of Ernestine and Estrella. “Oh, my dears!” she cried and then the whole thing turned into a hugfest and Sam muttered, “Ugh,” and looked away in disgust. There were even tears involved, so he muttered “Ugh” again.
He gave Ronny a long, nasty look. “I’ve got my eye on you, Ronny.”