Home for a Spell

by Madelyn Alt

  I just hoped this project for the PD went quickly, so it wouldn’t interfere with his class schedule.

  I had spent all of forty minutes with my virtual crush Magnum, trying to be good but scarcely hearing a word he said, not even noticing when he sidled up to the curb in his favorite piece of red hot rod, before I decided I would check on Marcus’s progress.

  I got up as quietly as I could and made my way on crutches down the carpeted hall.

  “I hear you.” Marcus’s voice drifted out through the open door.

  I appeared in the doorway and stood on one foot, cast in the air behind me. “I wasn’t trying to sneak,” I denied. Okay, fibbed. With a straight face, even.

  “Good thing. It wasn’t working. By the way, you’re dribbling glitter on the carpet.”

  I looked down. “Oh. Heh. You’d think it would be done coming off by now. The girls really went to town with the glitter and bedazzling, though. I find it everywhere.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said, grinning. “At least I can always find you from the trail of sparkly stuff you leave behind.”

  “Ha-ha.” I crutched my way to the desk and hovered peering over his shoulder. “So. How are things going?”

  “Curious, are we?” He laughed. “I’m going to have to do a little work on it before we’ll know one way or the other whether the thing will even be accessible by any computer.”

  “Oh.” I tried to hide my disappointment, but it didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. “So, probably not tonight, then?”

  His smile teased me for my impatience, but at least it was indulgent. “We’ll see. If you’ve given up on following doctor’s orders for the day, you could go throw my dinner together, woman.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Or you could just go sit down and I’ll throw in a frozen pizza for the both of us.”

  “Hm. I’m not an invalid, you know. I’m perfectly capable of throwing a frozen pizza into the oven.”

  So I did. With Minnie’s help. She helped me enjoy my Magnum marathon, too, purring away in a compact black ball as Marcus worked late into the night.

  Marcus was still playing around with the thumb drive when it came time for him to drop me off at the store in the morning. He and Liss had arranged that she would start picking up and dropping off on Monday, his first day of class. He was a bit behind because he had convinced himself that he would just put everything off, and I was little worried about that—he still needed to buy books, for instance—but he was a big boy, and I knew he would find a way to work everything out. He didn’t need me to nudge or remind him.

  Still, it was hard to get through my day without wondering, what was he doing, had he had any success, was he pulling up files right at that moment? A curious mind is a terrible thing to waste.

  Liss walked over to Annie’s for lunch, leaving me to cover the counter. “I’ll just pop over and get us some soup, how does that sound?” she said. “I could use the fresh air. A walk is just what I need to get my creativity flowing.” She was still putting the finishing touches on her brand-new serenity space. It looked perfect to me, posh and cozy and delicious, but Liss was a perfectionist, and for her final details she would need to find her zone. For that she required some fresh air, some activity . . . and maybe a fresh-from-the-oven double fudge caramel cheesecake brownie. Hold the guilt.

  I was just packing up the last of the white chocolate cherry cookies that had been fresh that morning for Devon McAllister, who had dropped by to get Liss’s advice on a situation that had come up at Grace, the religious college his father had insisted he attend despite the fact that Devon was a square peg to the school’s round hole. He was without a doubt one of the most informed young men of his age that I had ever met, a true scholar of anything paranormal, and he had never come across a conspiracy theory he didn’t see some merit in. Once upon a time, I had thought conspiracy theories were modern fairy tales that bored people told to spark some intrigue in their very colorless, insipid existences. I had since revised my opinion, but I certainly didn’t embrace the conspiracy-theory magnum opus the way Devon did. But that didn’t make me more right than him. In fact, his devotion to his cause and the underground newsletter that thrived because of his energy both amazed me and put me in awe of his dedication. I was also put in awe of his ability to down a cool dozen of Annie’s large specialty cookies in one sitting, but that was just part of his charm.

  “I brought the latest newsletter, by the way,” he told me, slapping one down on the counter. “You really need to read it. Awesome stuff in there.” He patted the top page like a proud papa.

  “Thanks, Devon. You know I will. I have lots of reading time these days.”

  “Still with the cast?”

  “Still with the cast.” I resisted the urge to sigh. It was what it was. It would be off soon enough. I just had to be patient.

  The front bell jangled with its usual brassy cheer. Liss came barreling down the main aisle toward us with far more speed and forcefulness than she usually employed. Her eyes were bright, her hair was windblown, her cheeks were pink, and she was breathing heavily. “Ducks! I ran all the way. With any luck the soup is still in its containers. Hello, Devon, how are things?” She pushed the paper sack over at me, using the countertop for support as she tried to regain her breath.

  “Things are great!” Devon enthused. “I brought a few copies of the latest for you. Maggie’s got them. But I wanted to talk to you about something. I’ve been spending a lot of time at the library lately, digging through some of the historical tomes for the area. There is some fascinating stuff in there. Enough to make me kind of think people here have always been whacked.”

  Liss laughed at the unsympathetic viewpoint. “That’s lovely, dear.”

  “No, really. I also found a history of my family’s roots in Stony Mill that had been left to my father through his grandmother. Some of it is written as a diary type of entry. And the things she writes about—in so many words—could have been written today.”

  “Things such as the family’s social and community life?”

  Devon shook his head, his dark eyes shining with a curious zeal I recognized. The hunger to understand. To know. “No, ma’am. Odd things. Things they couldn’t explain. The dead rising. End-of-days kinds of things. At least, that’s what they attributed it to. The Devil living and playing amongst them.”

  “Well, glory be,” I half joked, though truthfully I was fascinated by the find. “Looks like maybe I should put my reading time to better use.” Anything that could shed some light on the state of the town’s eternal soul was a good thing in my eyes.

  “Indeed,” Liss said pensively as she took a seat next to Devon. “It never really occurred to me to look into the town’s history for anything more than a reason for the disturbances. Never once did I think that perhaps some of this had happened before.”

  “Do you think maybe your dad would mind if I borrowed that family history of yours when you have read your fill?” I asked. “I’m going to have an awful lot of free time in the evening in the next few weeks, with Marcus going back to school.”

  “Sure,” Devon said. “I mean, he’d probably say no . . . but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’ll just tell him I’m not done with it yet if he asks. He probably won’t ask, though. He spends more time at his special lodge meetings after he finally does leave the bank than at home, since Mom left. How anyone can spend so much time with buddies playing cards, I’ll never understand. It’s not even for money.” He shook his head, baffled.

  Lodge meetings . . . I wondered if it was the same lodge that Uncle Lou belonged to. Stony Mill was small enough; there couldn’t be too many of these special brotherhoods around . . . could there? Maybe I’d ask Lou.

  Devon made his good-byes, saying he had to get the rest of the issue to the post office and still needed to grab some lunch before getting back for his afternoon class.

  When he’d gone, Liss gave up on all pretenses of feminine decorum and respectability and pushed he
r hair back off her forehead where it had flopped down over one eyebrow, fanning herself with the nearest stack of napkins. “Good Goddess, it is warm outside.”

  Which reminded me. “So, why did you run all the way from Annie’s? Feeling the need for a stronger form of exercise?” I teased her as I picked up the paper sack and pulled out the cups of soup, still intact despite their jostling.

  “Oh! My dear.” Her hands made a dramatic flair. “I took a moment to speak with Annie while I was there, and she was quite distraught, I must say. Her niece evidently has been put on suspension from her teaching position, just yesterday. Something about inappropriate behavior, or the suspicion thereof, which Annie says is complete and utter bollocks. She said Angela is the soul of propriety and very aware of her place as role model for her impressionable students. Now she has to wait for a formal hearing by the school board in order to state her case.”

  “Poor Annie!” Poor Annie’s niece, for that matter.

  “And now her niece’s boyfriend is being questioned in connection with the murder of your apartment manager fellow as well.”

  The movie screen in my memory flickered to life and I pictured Tyson Hollister getting physical with Locke right in front of me. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “Annie is quite fond of the young man and is certain he isn’t involved. Just as certain as she is about her niece’s innocence. She is worried, also, because this is a small town . . . well, she is afraid that racial bias might come into play among certain representatives of our bureaucracy, with Tyson being . . . you know.”

  Racial bias was an ugly secret in Stony Mill, as it was in many other small towns throughout the Midwest that had never been remotely integrated in their entire history. Or maybe, just maybe, it was prejudice against being new or different, as much as it was about the color of one’s skin or the place of one’s birth. Around here, the same families were born, lived, and many died within the spatial confines of this area. Sure, some moved away, and occasionally others moved in (though they would always be considered outsiders), but by and large, people stayed to themselves here, marrying into each others’ families, raising their kids together, occasionally divorcing and marrying someone else who had grown up right here as well. It was the way that small towns worked. But... “I don’t think she has to worry about that with Tom. I really don’t. For what it’s worth. I just spoke with him last night, and they haven’t focused on anyone in particular. I’m sure they’re just questioning the boyfriend, the same way that they would any other person who had dealings with Locke in the days before he was killed.”

  Liss’s expression sharpened with interest behind her half-moon glasses, which she had just slid into place. “You spoke with Tom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Last night, you say?”

  “Yeah . . . oh, hold on now, wait just a minute. He stopped by Marcus’s place to ask Marcus to help the PD out with a technical aspect of the investigation.”

  Now she looked even more interested. “Oh, really? Now that is something, isn’t it? When only a few weeks ago they could scarcely bear the sight of each other. Time does heal all wounds.”

  “Well, I don’t think they’re likely to be found sitting around a campfire tossing back beers and comparing the local football stats anytime soon.”

  “I can’t believe Tom found the wherewithal to ask our Marcus for help.”

  “Well . . . technically speaking it was more the district attorney. And Chief Boggs and Sheriff Reed,” I amended. “But DA Ledbetter was probably the driving force.” I told her about the work Marcus had done for the DA’s office and how that job had turned into this one.

  “So, what goes around, comes around?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And what does that mean for the investigation? What type of work is Marcus doing for them? Something computer related, obviously. Hm.” She tapped a fingertip on her chin. Suddenly she angled a direct look at me over her glasses. “You did say the new computer was demolished, didn’t you?”

  “I did. Smashed to bits, all over the office. I can’t really say what he’s doing, though. Tom made me sign a confidentiality agreement.”

  She nodded. “I understand. But even without you telling me anything, I suppose I can assume he’s looking for files. What sort of files, I wonder? Was your Mr. Locke known for something of a shady nature? Something someone might have killed him for?”

  I shrugged helplessly, wishing I could tell her more. “As far as Annie’s concerned, the only problem between her niece or her niece’s boyfriend and Mr. Locke had to do with their wanting to break the lease and being held against their will. That was the only thing they argued about when I was there, at least. For Annie’s sake, I hope that’s true. I really do. I know she loves her niece Angela, and she seemed pretty fond of the boyfriend, as well.” I grimaced. “I feel bad. I was the one who had to mention Tyson Hollister’s argument to Tom. When he asked me to describe my dealings with Locke the other afternoon. Their argument did get pretty heated and might have resulted in a few punches thrown if Marcus’s Uncle Lou hadn’t been there to break things up. But to kill someone, over a disagreement like that? I just don’t know. It seems a huge jump . . . but I suppose stranger things have happened.” Boy, had they ever. And Stony Mill was full of such strange happenings.

  The cups of soup were waiting for us. I flipped off the lids. The scents of chicken, cream, carrots, celery seed, and tarragon rose to greet me. “Yum. I’ll just heat these up for us,” I told her, turning around to reach for my crutches. Then turning back and realizing my logistics problem.

  Liss laughed. “How? No, you need to prop your foot up for a bit. Why don’t you go over to the serenity space and ponder the changes for a bit? Maybe you can tell me what the space is still calling for. And then we can have a nice, peaceful, serenity-filled lunch.”

  We did, too. And we enjoyed it.

  Later in the afternoon, the two of us were sifting through voluminous amounts of packing peanuts, trying to track down by touch the precious gems hiding within, when we heard Tara and Evie breeze into the store. “Back here!” I called out to their hellos as they attempted to locate us.

  I felt their presences before I turned to greet them—their energy levels were always raised, which I supposed was probably the natural state of a teenager high on life. “How was school today?” I asked without turning around.

  “Fine. Mrs. Lancaster gave a pop quiz, which utterly sucked . . . for the people who weren’t prepared. I aced it, of course.”

  I heard Evie groan as if in pain. “I read the chapters she assigned, but I guess I was one of the unprepared ones. I’ve been having so much trouble concentrating lately!”

  “It’s no big deal. She’ll let you take a do-over. You’ll ace it next time. And hey! We brought you a surprise, Maggie,” Tara said, all in a quickie blur.

  “Aw, that’s awfully sweet of you,” I said, turning around to find . . . not quite what I would ever have expected.

  Because my surprise was Abbie Cornwall, eyeliner, Chuck Ts, and all.

  “Um, hi,” she said, raising a hand in a shy wave and then biting her lip.

  “Hi,” I said right back, while my gaze darted first to the left to meet Tara’s and then to the far right to peer at Evie.

  “It’s Abbie Cornwall,” Tara said, a little unnecessarily. “Abbie, this is Maggie O’Neill.”

  “Uh-huh,” Abbie said. And then didn’t say much else. Which was only adding to my whole sense of the bizarre about the encounter.

  Liss jumped in to save the day. “Well, hello there, Abbie dear. It’s nice of you to stop in today. Do you like tea? Most girls your age haven’t tasted a good cup of tea. Would you like to try one?” She squinted down at petite Abbie in assessment mode. “You look like a blend of oranges and spice and maybe a little zing that I will keep to myself.”

  “Um . . . sure?” Abbie said, obviously not quite certain what to make of Liss, who today was wearing a dress that was
straight out of the early Edwardian era and probably unlike anything the jeans-and-sneaker-clad teenager had ever seen before.

  Liss tottered over to perform her tea magick, leaving me to stare at the girls, wondering what on earth had brought us to this moment.

  “Abbie has something to say,” Tara finally said, nudging her forward when it became apparent to all that Abbie wasn’t going to say anything without a little prodding.

  She cleared her throat. “S-sorry for all the trouble the other day.”

  “You didn’t know I was there?” I offered helpfully.

  She nodded. “I just wanted to get out of there before the jerk came back out. I heard him stumbling around back there, dragging his knuckles.”

  I laughed at the image. It was probably irreverent of me, considering the knuckle dragger she was referring to had ended up dead the next day. “You didn’t mean to nearly knock me over.”

  “Nope.”

  “I didn’t think so.” The two of us sized each other up while Evie and Tara watched. “You know, Abbie, the police are going to want to talk to you about that day. Not that they’ll think you had anything to do with what happened—um, you have heard what happened?”

  She nodded.

  “Anyway, they’re going to want to talk to you about it—”

  “They already have,” she said. “They called me to my counselor’s office this morning. I thought it was for my annual consult, but nope. I guess you must have been the one that turned me in, huh?”

  “Well, I did mention our brief encounter. Not to get you into trouble, but in the event that perhaps you had seen anything or knew anything. I know the cop who is leading the investigation, and I’m pretty sure that right now they are looking for anything that can help them.”