by Ava Day
“Well, Detective, I must ask. Why wasn’t it for you?”
“Look. The last people that owned that place, really owned it, not just those out of town vultures who bought and abandoned the place… And I’m old enough to remember them because I’ve lived here my whole life, didn’t just move here with my pension from my big city job and drive up housing prices…”
I’m really not interested in his speech about gentrification right now, but I don’t have much choice. “Who were they?”
“They were just a couple of hoarders. Shut-ins. Kept to themselves, didn’t offer much to the community. Probably mentally ill. And sometimes sweetheart, hoarders fall victim to, well, their hoard, I suppose you’d say.”
“Come again?”
“Last year we had an old man die when he got pinned underneath a pile of old phone books that must of reached up to the ceiling,” the young deputy recalls. “They don’t put that part on the TV show. Maybe if they did, people would throw stuff away.”
“I’ll handle this, Jones.” The detective waves him off and turns back to me. “Darling, you can’t let yourself get worked up about it. These things happen.”
“So you’re not going to investigate at all?”
“There is nothing to investigate. We can’t charge an old armoire with murder, now can we?”
“Do you even know who she was?”
The detective sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but no. We don’t. There’s a gap in the property records. I’ll admit that doesn’t make a lot of sense in this electronic age, but mistakes happen.”
“Doesn’t mean somebody killed her though,” Deputy Jones offers.
“Now rest assured, we are going to figure out who she was and notify her family.
“Not that they’ve come looking in the past twenty years…”
“Jones, show some respect.” Detective Sheffield shoots him a glare. “I’m going to ask around town tomorrow at a decent hour if anyone remembers her name. Ask the old timers, not all these retirees we have clogging up the streets.” Here we go again. “I’ll get Irene down at the clerk’s office to start pulling records. All we need is a signature on an original document, it has to be up there somewhere. These things take time.”
“I guess there is a lot of old junk in the place…” I trail off.
“Exactly. Focus on that. You have a lot work to do.” The kindly detective puts his hand around my shoulders and spins me to face the door. “And don’t you worry your pretty little head about that old woman. We’ll figure it out.”
With a sigh, I exit the station before he can use another unwelcomed term of endearment. If we get around to him calling me ‘baby’ I might kick him in the shin and then Joy will have to come bail me out.
I just don’t buy the whole hoarder explanation. The shelves of vials and book clogging up the theatre are way too organized. These aren’t stacks of old newspapers and pizza boxes that someone can’t bring themselves to throw away.
Coming down the street, I stop and for the first time see the Beacon marquee lit up. The E is pretty much all burnt out so the sign reads as Bacon. Perfect. I laugh it off and head up to the apartment above the lobby. There's a lot of cleaning to do. I grab a broom and start sweeping up the dust. We really should be able to move in here fast. At least we’ll save money on rent and our commute to work should be really quick.
I wonder if she lived up here. Aside from furniture, the apartment is completely empty, not a single personal affect in sight. When I get back to the motel, I'm not sure if Joy is already awake or if the squeaky hinges wake her up.
“Hi, did you have fun with Brent?” she asks.
“I didn’t see him, but I brought you some pizza. It's got a long way to match what you're used to but it's good nonetheless.” I say as I set it down on the table. Joy tosses the covers off and sits up in bed.
“We have to figure out who she was, Penny. It's just so awful that she was down in that basement, hidden for so long.” Joy surprises me with her quick resolve.
“Yea, I can’t stop thinking about her. I went down to police station to make sure I wasn’t contaminating the crime scene.”
“That was smart. We don’t want to derail their investigation. How long will it take though?”
“There isn’t an investigation.”
“What?”
I fill Joy in on Detective Sheffield’s hoarder theory and she’s just as dumbfounded as I am. “But don’t worry. Tomorrow I am going to go over the basement with a fine tooth comb. There might even be answers in all of those racks of mysterious vials and trinkets.”
“I'm still in if you're still in,” Joy replies.
“I'm still in, Joy,” I say sitting next to her on the bed. She throws her arms around me and cries into my shoulder while I hold her.
Chapter 8
The next morning, both Joy and I sleep late and are sluggish to get going so we don’t get out of the hotel until after noon. When we arrive at the Beacon I find three pickup trucks parked out front and recognize one of them as Brent's. We venture inside to find men moving about briskly. The door to the apartment is open and I hear Brent's voice as he descends the stairs.
“What the heck is going here? I thought you were just going to stop by and give an estimate?” I keep my voice calm but internally I'm fuming. Who does he think he is?
“Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you.” Brent says sheepishly.
“You better be sorry. We didn't agree to any of this,” Joy interjects.
“How much is this going to cost us?” I ask.
“Hold on, let me explain. I talked to the local chamber of commerce and there is a government grant available to help fund the restoration of this historic building. It's been an eyesore for a long time. They're excited to help reinvigorate it.”
“Ok, so who put you in charge of public relations?” Joy asks.
“Um, I guess I did, huh?” Brent replies. “Sorry.”
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head in exasperation. “I appreciate what you did, I really do but you have to talk to us first. This is our business.” I explain.
“Alright, I understand. No more decisions without you. Let me show you what we've done so far though. I hope you'll like it.”
“We'd better. Or else,” Joy scolds him. Brent leads us upstairs. The smell of fresh paint is strong. I can hear the sound of a heavy machine whirring. As we enter the apartment, I find a pair of men sanding the floors with a large machine.
“We painted all of the walls. Made sure the plumbing and electrical were up to code. Now we're sanding the floors. You two could move in tomorrow if you wanted.” At least he's working on the living space. We do need somewhere to permanent to stay.
“We'll be around if you need us. It looks good, but that doesn’t mean you're off the hook yet,” I say as we tour the rest of the apartment before heading downstairs.
Joy goes into the balcony to sort through the books, hoping she can find some clues up there. I decide to clean up the shelves in the auditorium and see if anything pops out at me. There are large boxes and small boxes. Big bottles and little bottles. Inside the boxes are all sorts of strange objects from feathers to what looks likes ashes. I even find a container that appears to be filled with dirt, very fragrant but still dirt, at least I think. I dust for hours until the shelves are in better shape, but I still don't know what to do with all of these odds and ends. It seems wrong to just throw them away. Joy comes down from the balcony with a puzzled look on her face.
“Penny, I think all of these things are for witchcraft. Like, for real witch craft, not teenage girls standing in the new age section at the book store Witchcraft,” she says, reminding me of one of our favorite things to do back in high school. “Look at this book I found.” I take it from her hands. A Beginners Guide to the World of Magiks.
“This has to be a joke. Right?” I'm trying to convince myself more than Joy. All of the items I sorted today woul
d totally fit with the whole witch thing.
“I don't think so, Penny. Almost every book is written in the same odd language as the labels on those items you were sorting. This is the only book in plain English.” Joy gives me a worried look. “What if there's more to that woman's death than we think? What if it had something to do with magic?”
“We both know that magic doesn't exist,” I reassure her but Joy doesn't look convinced as she glances around the auditorium.
“Enough about the impossible. Want to go get dinner and see how the apartment is coming along?”
“Definitely. I'm still so pissed that Brent went ahead and started work without telling us. I think his heart was in the right place though,” I reply.
“If you mean he's in love with you, then yeah I'd say it's in the right place.” Joy laughs as she tucks the old book under her arm.
Surprisingly, when we exit the auditorium we find that all of the workers Brent brought with him are gone. I peek outside and don't see any trucks parked out there. I hear the secret latch popping open and return to the lobby and find Joy walking up the stairs. I hurry after her and enter the apartment on her heels. The smell of fresh paint hangs in the air and the sound of fans whirring cuts the silence. They sure did a great job of making this place look nice. In the kitchen I find a note on the refrigerator.
Joy runs ahead of me and snatches it off to read it aloud as she bats her eyelashes at me. “Penny, I'm sorry that I over stepped your boundaries and I hope that you don't stay angry at me forever. I would still like to see your art.”
“Joy, you're a real character sometimes,” I say rolling my eyes at her.
“What? Someone has the hots for you and as your best friend it's my job to make sure he's good enough for you.”
“Enough about Brent. Do you think this place is ready for us to move into? I can deal with the smell of paint as long as we have the fans going,” I ask.
“Totally! I need to get out of that fleabag motel we've been staying in, like yesterday.” she laughs. We each pick a bedroom and the first thing Joy does is jump onto her old, rickety bed, causing a cloud of dust to billow out and envelope her. “We need new mattresses though.”
She jumps up sneezing and coughing. I push open the window and grab a fan, sending the dust whirling into the afternoon breeze. Joy recovers herself in the hallway while I beat the rest of the dust out of the mattress for her. I then go over to my room and do the same.
Joy and I come up with a shopping list of things we'll need to stay here. Cleaning supplies, some food for the week, and wine, definitely wine. We lock the front door before leaving but as I'm walking past the alley, I see the basement door standing wide open again. Stalking down there angrily, I slam the door and curse under my breath. Whoever keeps doing that is going to get an earful when I find them. Or a restraining order. Joy beeps the horn from the car and I hurry back to the street.
“I think someone keeps messing around with the basement door,” I say as I get into the car.
“Maybe the lock is just bad?” Joy replies.
“That might be the case but I saw someone standing back here the other day.”
“Eww, creepy. Maybe ask overly-involved Brent about it? I'm sure he can fix whatever is wrong with the door.” Joy does have a point.
“I guess that's as good of an idea as any. I don’t really want to depend on him for everything, though.”
“Good thing he owes us one, then.”
The next morning we pack our things and load them into Joy's trunk. The clerk at the front desk is polite about us checking out early and offers to refund the rest of the money we paid. This time I step in front of Joy and politely decline. Joy gives me an admonishing look, but we did have plans to stay for the entire week and it wasn't their fault that the plan changed.
The clerk stops us before we leave and asks, “You're the two ladies that bought the Beacon? Are you going to show movies there again?”
“We are the new owners, but we intend to turn it into a coffee house and bakery. Maybe in the future we will show some old movies or art films,” I reply.
“That would be real nice. Can't get a decent cup of coffee in this town since Erma's Diner closed out there on the highway.”
“What about Edna’s?” That’s the little café a few doors down. I figure she’s our biggest competition and I’m reluctant to step on her toes, so any information I can get on her helps.
“Edna’s,” the clerk scoffs. “Her and Erma were sisters that had a falling out years ago. Edna got the good location, but Erma had all the recipes. The town sided with Erma, God rest her soul. Only retirees and tourists go to Edna’s. You ladies have a nice day.” The older man waves to us as we exit the tiny office.
Our first stop is the grocery store. We split up and are in and out quickly. Afterward, Joy drives us over to the theater and I tell her to park in the alley, directly in front of the basement door. She does such a good job that she has to climb over the passenger seat to get out of the car. It's a good thing we put everything in the truck of her tiny car.
Together we haul the bags inside and dump them in the lobby. Joy starts making us a late lunch as I do some light cleaning. The old refrigerator is disgusting and needs a good scrubbing, but it’s super cold. We finally sit down to eat and Joy looks like she has something to say, so I tell her to spit it out.
“Don't get mad at me Penny, but I looked through that book of magic and there's an interesting spell in there. That is if you believe in that kind of thing.”
She totally still believes in that kind of thing. “Ok, I'm listening,” I say, trying not roll my eyes too hard.
“Supposedly it unlocks the caster’s magical potential. Wouldn't it be cool if we could use magic?” Joy smiles like a little kid. She's always been into the supernatural more than me but like everything with Joy, a little bit of her enthusiasm has worn off on me over the years. I'll admit that I am interested, but it just can't be true.
“Are you asking if we can try to cast this ‘spell’?”
“Just for fun,” she pleads.
“Alright, do you even know what we would need?” I ask.
She jumps up giddily and runs into her new bedroom, emerging with the book. Flipping through the pages, she finds the one she is looking for and hands it across the table to me. I have to laugh because while it is all in English, how are we going to find the ingredients we need when everything is labeled in that strange symbol language?
“Joy, how are we going to figure out what we need to find? There are a lot of ingredients down in the auditorium.”
“I know but it will be like a treasure hunt.”
“Did you see any books that we might use to decode these symbols into English?” I ask.
“I went through a lot of books, but it's possible. I didn't look at every single book.”
“First things first, let’s both go search for a book to help us or this little project could take all night.”
“I say the first thing we should do is get some wine to make this whole process a little bit more interesting.”
All we have are plastic cups so they will have to do. We head into the auditorium and upstairs to the balcony. I pick a row and Joy picks a different row of books to sort through. Some of the titles are written in plain English even if the inside is some strange cypher. The more of these books I find, the more I have to agree with Joy that whoever owned the Beacon before us really did believe in magic. That might help us discover who the woman in the basement was.
Time goes by quickly as we search and drink wine. Finally, I find a book that seems like it might help. The Ancient Runic Languages Primer. Those strange symbols we've been trying to decode are under the title.
“Hey, Joy! I think I found something!” I call out as I flip the book open. It has an alphabet in English and under each letter is its corresponding symbol. Jackpot!
“Way to go, Penny!” Joy throws her arms around me and we stumble together.
Joy takes half of the list and starts searching. We work quickly now that we know what we're looking for. She comes back with a couple of jars and one of the boxes that was filled with ashes. I have a crystal pendant and some strange black liquid. Now that we have everything we need, I'm getting kind of scared of the outcome. What if all of these things when mixed make some kind of poisonous gas or explode?