When I glanced into the bedroom, four pairs of glowing eyes looked back at me, but none of the cats left the warm bed to join me on the couch. Neither of my parents stirred either.
Our temporary living arrangement couldn’t go on forever, but until we had a better idea what Chesterfield and the Strigoi Sisters were up to, I preferred having my folks in Briar Hollow. Little did I know that Monday morning would visit us with a secondary problem — or maybe I should say the continuation of a problem I thought we’d already dealt with involving ghosts, baseball, and the town’s dead mayor.
“Excuse me, are you the shop owners?”
Tori looked up from the counter in the espresso bar and into the heavily kohled eyes of a young woman dressed completely in black. Masses of bangle bracelets rattled at her wrists, and one nostril sported a delicate gold nose ring.
“I’m one of the owners,” Tori said. “This is my mother, Mrs. Andrews. Can we help you?”
“My name is Mindy Mathis,” the young woman said brightly, “and I just love your place. Are you Wiccan?”
Glancing at Gemma, Tori said, “Uh. No. We’re kind of . . . what are we Mom?”
With a perfectly straight face, Gemma said, “Orthodox Druids.”
Mindy frowned. “What does that mean exactly?”
“We only talk to oak trees, dear,” Gemma said seriously. “Reform Druids revere any old shrub that comes along.”
Coughing to cover up a giggle, Tori said, “How can we help you, Mindy? Did you want some coffee?”
“Huh? Oh. No,” the girl said, as if she was struggling to remember why she’d even started the conversation. “I don’t want to drink coffee, I want to make it. For you. For money.”
Translating on the fly, Tori said, “You’re looking for a job?”
“See!” Mindy said. “We’re already totally on the same vibrational wavelength! Me working here is karmic. Tomorrow is Monday. I can start first thing.”
The girl’s enthusiastic outburst rendered Tori temporarily speechless. Stepping in to give her daughter time to recover, Gemma said, “I thought I knew everyone in town. Are you new here, Mindy?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said. “Me and my friends, Nick and Kyle, just moved to Briar Hollow. We’re living in this cool old house that belonged to some dead guy named after a fish.”
That kicked Tori’s brain back in gear. “Fish Pike?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Mindy said. “That’s it.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “You know he was murdered by a total psychopath, right?”
“I do know,” Tori said drily, “since his body was found right outside our front door.”
Mindy gasped. “Get. Out!” she said. “Really? Is it true the body was all arranged in a casket?”
“No,” Tori said emphatically, “it is not true. He was just sitting on the bench.”
“Well, what about . . . ”
Before Mindy could share another wild rumor, Tori steered her in another direction. “Did you and your friends buy the Pike house?” she asked.
Clearly disappointed that Tori wasn’t willing to share any grisly details about Fish’s murder, Mindy said, “Oh, no. We couldn’t afford to do that. We were just looking to rent some rooms or something, but then the realtor showed us the house. She said no one wants to live there because Mr. Pike was into weird stuff online. They say he met his killer in a chat room for people who think they can turn into mountain lions or something.”
Not bothering to ask the identity of the ubiquitous ‘they,” Tori said, “That didn’t bother you?”
“Oh no!” Mindy said. “We hope the place is haunted. That would totally kick our production into overdrive.”
Gemma and Tori exchanged a sidelong glance.
“What are you producing?” Gemma asked.
“The HBH Files, Season 1,” Mindy said proudly.
“And that stands for what?” Tori said.
“Haunted Briar Hollow,” the girl replied. “We’re planned to start with the courthouse ghost. They say he’s this guy who used to be the town mayor. He killed himself with a fishing trophy.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Tori muttered.
“Excuse me?” Mindy frowned.
“Nothing,” Tori said. “My business partner, Jinx Hamilton, isn’t here right now. I can’t consider hiring you without talking to her first. Why don’t you come back in the morning and we’ll see what she says.”
When Tori pulled me into the storeroom early the next morning and told me about Mindy I did not react well.
“The last thing we need to be dealing with is some Goth-wannabe ghost hunter,” I said. “Hiring her would be a bad idea.”
“Maybe,” Tori said, biting into one of Darby’s bear claws, “but wouldn’t it be easier to have Mindy here where we could keep an eye on her?”
Before I could answer, the brownie reappeared with a steaming pot of coffee. As he poured the fragrant liquid in my over-sized mug, I had one of my bright ideas. I’d rely on an unlikely ally to get me out of this one.
“Darby,” I said, “did you hear what we were talking about?”
Regarding me with a scandalized expression, he said, “Mistress, I would never eavesdrop.”
“Of course not,” I said, “but did you accidentally hear what we were talking about?”
Cutting his gaze back and forth between us, Darby said, “Maybe the girl in black who was here yesterday?”
“You saw her?” Tori said.
“Yes, Mistress Tori,” Darby said. “I saw and heard.”
Darby isn’t one to snoop, but if I had the power of invisibility like he does, I’d dang sure make use of it.
“Great,” I said. “So what do you think? Should we hire her?”
The brownie looked shocked. “Mistress would like my opinion?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, “I would. Do you think we should hire her?”
Even though he seemed to have a lot of trouble working up the courage to speak, Darby said, “Yes, Mistress. I think you should.”
Okay. That was a total backfire. I expected Darby to say no since I don’t think he’d ever disagreed with me one time since I met him.
“You do?” I said, trying not to let my mouth hang open.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said, appearing to gain confidence in his answer. “I agree with Mistress Tori that it would be better to have the girl here.”
From the triumphant grin Tori shot me, she knew I had been counting on Darby’s support. “Looks like you’re outvoted on this one, Jinksy,” she said.
I could have pulled theoretical rank and said no, but that would have crushed Darby and sent him into a panic that he’d done something wrong — which Tori also knew.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Hire her. But Mindy and her ghost hunting buddies are totally your problem. That means Howie, too.”
The corners of Tori’s grin wilted. No one liked dealing with the town’s deceased chief executive Howard McAlpin who haphazardly haunts the courthouse. He’s such a politician, he gives politicians a bad name.
Never one to be daunted, however, Tori rallied quickly. “No problem,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
File that under “famous last words” and stay tuned.
After Jinx and Tori finished their breakfast and left the store room, Glory and Rodney emerged from the shadows on the shelf behind the couch.
“Darby!” Glory called. “Can you come here a sec?”
The brownie jumped at the sound of her tinny voice. “Mistress Glory!” he said. “You frightened me!”
“Shhhh!” she hissed. “Keep your voice down. Come closer.”
Since he was too short to reach the shelf on his own, Darby carried a step ladder across the room and wrestled it open. When he climbed to the top, he was on eye level with the mini witch and her rodent companion.
“Hello, Rodney,” he said. “Mistress Glory. Do you have a problem I can help with?”
“We don’t have a probl
em,” Glory said, her face going chartreuse with excitement. “We have an opportunity.”
Beside her, Rodney nodded vigorously.
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Darby said. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of all the others having the adventures and fighting the bad guys?” Glory asked.
“No,” Darby said honestly. “I am afraid of the bad guys.”
Glory put her hands on her hips. “I’ve seen you be plenty brave when you need to be,” she declared.
“When my friends were in danger,” Darby said earnestly, “but not because I wanted to be brave.”
“Nobody wants to be brave,” Glory said. “People are always brave because they have to be. I’m terrified of Mr. Chesterfield, but I think he likes that I’m terrified and that makes me mad.”
“Surely you do not want to face Mr. Chesterfield!” Darby gasped.
The glow on Glory’s face faded a bit at that suggestion, but she still plowed ahead. “No,” she said, “of course not, but I think it’s time the three of us showed the others that we can pull our weight around here.”
Darby frowned. “You want me to pull my weight. Pull it where?”
Rodney put a paw over his eyes and shook his head, which only made Darby frown more.
“Did I misunderstand, Mistress Glory?” he asked.
“‘Pulling your weight’ is just an expression,” Glory explained. “I want us to do something that shows everyone we really are part of the team.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Operation Stowaway!” Glory said. She leaned toward the edge of the shelf. “Here’s what I have in mind.”
13
When Chase and Festus arrived at Anton Ionescu’s office they found a funeral wreath on the door and a tearful secretary named Miss Frobisher dressed in black waiting for them.
“Mr. Ionescu was a great man,” she said mournfully. “I’m devastated by his death.”
“Our condolences on your loss,” Chase said. “We appreciate that you agreed to help us at such a difficult time.”
“Mr. Ionescu’s cousin explained that this is a matter of utmost importance to the family. I’m happy to do everything I can,” she said. “Please follow me.”
The woman led them down a hallway paneled in dark, expensive wood. Removing a key from her pocket, she opened a door to reveal an opulent office filled with baronial leather furniture and expensive works of art.
“If you need or want anything,” she said, “just press Ext. 42 on the phone.”
After Miss Frobisher excused herself, Festus reached up and jerked the knot of his tie down, undoing the top button on his shirt. “Scratch what I said about never wearing a collar, boy,” he muttered. “These damned nooses are worse.”
Loosening his own tie, Chase said, “For once, I agree with you.”
Venturing deeper into the office, Festus let out a low whistle. “Would you get a load of this joint! Wonder what Ionescu was charging Chesterfield by the hour?”
“I think it’s safe to say Anton wasn’t doing any pro bono work,” Chase said. “How do you want to tackle this?”
Spotting the overstuffed leather desk chair, Festus’ eyes lit up. “Why don’t you take the file cabinets?” he said. “I’ll go through the desk drawers. We wouldn’t want to miss anything.”
“Of course not,” Chase said drily, opening the top file drawer. “I am in awe of your thoroughness.”
Festus made a point of ignoring his son, plopping down in the chair and giving the rollers an experimental push instead. “What are we looking for anyway?” he asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Chase said, thumbing through the files before deciding to lift a double handful out en masse. “I guess we’ll know it when we see it.”
The men fell silent as they began to go through Ionescu’s paperwork and possessions. After about an hour, Festus said, “Boy, you have any interest in a locked drawer?”
Chase, who was sitting on the floor with a stack of documents in his lap, looked up. “I do,” he said. “Which one?”
“I almost missed it,” Festus said, sliding the chair back and pointing toward the left side of the desk. “It’s this little skinny thing here in between the top drawer and the file compartment. Can’t be good for much more than a few sheets of paper.”
“Interesting,” Chase said. “Why am I guessing Miss Frobisher doesn’t have the key to that one?”
“Oh,” Festus said, rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation, “that doesn’t matter. Let your old man handle this one. It’s been awhile, but sometimes fingers do come in handy.”
As Chase watched, Festus bent two large paper clips. “These desk locks aren’t good for much,” he said, inserting one of the wires in the top of the mechanism. Grimacing, he twisted the other wire and was rewarded with a solid click. “Ha!” he said triumphantly. “Told you! I’ve still got it!”
“Yeah,” Chase said, getting up and joining his father, “but I’m worried about what ‘it’ might be.”
“Mind your manners or I’ll get furry and box your ears,” Festus said, opening the thin drawer and removing a single manilla folder. “What do we have here?”
He placed the folder on the desk blotter and opened it. The top sheet was a glossy 8” x 10” photograph of an intricate necklace.
Chase picked up the picture and studied it while Festus scanned the letter lying underneath it.
“Anton was negotiating to buy the necklace,” Festus said. “From a Mr. John Smyth. Spelled with a ‘y’ no less.”
“That screams alias,” Chase said.
“Completely,” Festus said. “The letter says you’re looking at ‘an antique oval amulet approximately 5 centimeters in length and 3.8 centimetres in width on a rose gold chain.’ How big is that in English?”
“About 2 inches by an inch and a half,” Chase said.
“Says here that Ionescu was negotiating with Smyth with a Y on Chesterfield’s behalf to buy the necklace.”
“Does the letter describe the stone?”
“It does,” Festus said, reading again. “‘Dark rowan amber encasing a trio of rowan berries.’ And there’s an inscription on the back.”
“Which is?”
“‘The rejuvenation of that which has faded,’” Festus replied. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“No,” Chase said slowly, “but it seems too much of a coincidence that the Amulet of the Phoenix is also made of amber. Has the sale already taken place?”
Festus scanned the remainder of the document and then flipped through the other sheets in the folder. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Smyth was supposed to call Ionescu on Saturday morning to discuss the terms of the sale.”
“And Anton died Friday night,” Chase said. “What else is in the folder?”
Festus held up a second photograph. The image showed a slender young woman with long blonde hair.
“Who is she?” Chase asked.
“Katrina Warner,” Festus said. “She owns a bookstore on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh up near the castle.”
Laying the two photos side-by-side on the desk, Chase said, “I wonder if she’s somehow connected to the amulet?”
“Well,” Festus said, “I’m just going out on a limb here, boy, no pun intended, but the name of her shop is Rowan Bough Books.”
Taking out his phone, Chase said, “I’m going to photograph all these documents for Lucas and Greer. Then we’re going to look behind every picture frame and book in this room. If Ionescu was hiding anything else, we’re going to find it.”
Just before noon, Anton’s secretary knocked on the office door. Festus hastily shoved the book in his hand back on the shelf and sat down in the desk chair as the woman entered the room. Chase, who had been peering behind an oil painting of a landscape made a show of studying the brush strokes on the canvas.
“Pardon me,” Miss Frobisher said, “but if you gentlemen are still worki
ng, may I order in some lunch for you?”
Brightening at the mention of food, Festus said, “Absolutely. I’d kill for a bacon cheeseburger and a beer.”
“Dad,” Chase said, “we don’t want to be any trouble to Miss Frobisher.”
For the first time since they’d arrived at the office, the sad-eyed woman actually smiled. “Mr. Ionescu loved bacon cheeseburgers,” she said. “There’s a little place around the corner that he swore was the best in the state. I’ll call for a delivery now. Shall I add fries?”
“Two double orders,” Festus said, seizing the moment before Chase could stop him.
While they waited for the food to arrive, Miss Frobisher produced a white tablecloth, which she draped over the coffee table in the office’s seating area. Next she laid out silver flatware and crystal pilsner glasses. “You’ll find a selection of beer in the refrigerator there in the cabinet,” she said, indicating what looked like a bookcase from the outside. “I’ll bring the burgers in as soon as they’re delivered.”
She left again, and Festus eagerly explored the bar fridge. “Gaelic Ale!” he crowed happily. “The Romanian bloodsucker had taste after all.”
“Lower your voice!” Chase hissed. “And could you be a little less gleeful about raiding a dead man’s beer cooler?”
Festus fixed him with a perturbed glare. “I’m not raiding anything,” he said. “The lady gave me permission. You want one?”
“Is there anything non-alcoholic in there?”
Festus extracted a bottle of mineral water. “This suit you, Mr. Straight and Narrow?”
“Yes,” Chase said, catching the bottle that Festus tossed to him. “And as for the straight and narrow part, don’t you think one of us should be sharp when we talk to Miss Shania Moonbeam?”
Twisting the top off his ale and taking a long pull, Festus said, “Better you than me. Sober is the last state I want to be in to meet some crackpot dame named Shania Moonbeam.”
Chase sat down in one of the arm chairs. “Doesn’t it bother you that we’re camping out in the office of a man who hired a psychopath to try to kill us?” he asked.
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