A Charmed Death

by Madelyn Alt

  “I’d like the card to say, ‘Merry Christmas from your most brilliant daughter, with love . . . Amanda,’ ” she told me. “My mom will just die when she gets this.”

  Under her breath, Tara muttered, “Too bad it couldn’t be her ‘brilliant daughter’ instead.”

  The other girls exchanged amused looks and sang out in unison, “Oooh.”

  Slowly Amanda turned. “What did you say?”

  With the situation sinking quickly in the direction of debacle or worse, I was relieved when Evie reappeared with the box. “Thanks, hon. Why don’t you take Tara back to the office while I finish up here? Do you mind?”

  Evie shook her head. “Tara?”

  For a moment I thought our Goth customer would refuse. She whipped her head toward me in wordless fury, her eyes shooting sparks. It occurred to me that she assumed I was in league with the three, that I was banishing her from the room as I might a naughty child. Knowing that the others could not see, I closed one eye in a quick wink. A flicker of surprise cooled the heat of her glare, but my countermovement worked like a charm. With a rude sound, Tara turned on her chunky boot heel and stalked off toward the purple velvet curtains that separated the storefront from the office in the rear, leaving Evie to scurry along in her wake.

  “What a little bitch. Or should I say, witch?” Amanda was saying to her friends, just low enough that Tara was certain not to hear. “Can you believe that?”

  “Not worth the time or the trouble,” the perky brunette chimed in, tossing her curls. “She’s just jealous, you know.”

  “Well, of course she’s jealous,” Amanda sneered, causing her friend’s cheeks to flush prettily. “You know, I could almost feel sorry for her, if she wasn’t such a head case. I can’t believe they let people like that walk the streets without attendants. I mean, anyone can get Prozac nowadays. It’s obvious she’s completely mental.”

  The dark-haired girl laughed quickly with Amanda, but for a moment the sleek-headed blonde hesitated. “Maybe,” she almost whispered, “but . . . you know . . . maybe we should just leave her alone. It’s not worth—”

  Amanda silenced the blonde with a nail-sharp gaze, and she lowered her eyes immediately. I had a feeling things were rarely calm in Amanda Lynn Roberson’s neck of the woods. Probably she’d never heard of that old adage, Live and let live. Amanda seemed more the type to seek and destroy.

  Before another catfight could erupt, I decided to forgo a fancy ribbon and slapped a large bow on the package instead before turning to the register to ring up the sale. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Gen at the lotions display shelves. From her stance, I could tell she was listening in. “That’ll be four eighty-nine ninety-two.”

  Amanda pulled the cash from her wallet. I couldn’t help noticing that the purchase was nowhere near to cleaning her out. I sighed, wistfully.

  With her change I included the receipt, which she carelessly tucked into her pocket. “Thank you. Happy holidays,” I told her. Ignoring me, she picked up the box and her friends headed for the exit. I breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed with a jangle that parodied my nerves.

  Gen headed over almost immediately. She set two glass pots of Herbal Treasures hand cream on the counter, as well as a soft wrap in a shade of deep rose. “I couldn’t resist this,” she said, running the back of a work-roughened finger along the downy fabric. “Reminds me of my granny’s shawl. Hers was crocheted, of course. I used to wrap up in it on cold winter days and lie on her divan for hours, reading and daydreaming. Lordy, that was a long time ago.” With a tip of her head, she indicated the door, where the bell was still swinging wildly back and forth. “What was up with all that?”

  “The usual petty teenage power wars. Egos run amuck. Pay no attention.”

  She nodded sagely. “That girl’s sure got her mean on.”

  Truth be told, I was feeling a bit uneasy as well, but I was more willing to write it off as that stale bagel I’d eaten that morning. “You mean the little Goth girl?”

  Gen shook her head. “Not her. The other one. I’ve seen it a thousand times, if I’ve seen it once. There’s trouble there. Bad trouble. I could smell it.”

  “She’s a real piece of work, that’s for sure. A diva in the making.”

  “Making? Something tells me she’s already there.” She wrote out a check while I packed up her purchases. “Listen, honey, I know I don’t need to tell you, but be careful, ’kay? There’s something in the air lately.”

  So Gen was feeling it, too. And Evie. I did not need to know that.

  When she had gone, I took a few deep, calming breaths to clear out any residual negative threads that might still be lingering before making my way to the store office . . . good psychic hygiene is always important, as I was beginning to find out. At least Evie had been able to keep Goth Girl, a.k.a. Tara, in the back until I could chase the girls from the store. Thank God for small favors. That much chaotic energy in one room was just a bit too much for me to handle at this stage of the game.

  I pulled the velvet curtain aside. The sudden movement startled Evie, who nearly fell out of her chair when her elbow slipped off the edge of the desk. She righted herself quickly, looking sheepish. The laptop was open on the desk, angled away from me. Surfing the Web, I supposed. Tara was nowhere in sight.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling at her. “Where did our Dark and Dangerous friend go?”

  “Oh, she left,” Evie said, reaching out a hand to quickly press the laptop shut. “Out the back. The girls really got to her, I think. I mean, Tara and I, we’re not what I would call friends or anything, but I kind of feel sorry for her.”

  I glanced around the office. “Did she leave the books somewhere?”

  “Ohmigosh.” Evie looked stricken. “She still had them when she left.”

  I sighed. “Well, don’t worry about it. It’s not like she’s going to leave town over something like that.”

  “I’m really sorry, Maggie. I should have thought—”

  “Hey, no worries. It’ll all work out.” Not that it was any of my business, but I couldn’t help wondering what else Evie knew about the feuding girls. Their exchange had been so heated, it took catty to a whole new level. Clearing my throat, I said, “So, what was all that about? Someone steal someone’s boyfriend?”

  “You mean those girls? I don’t think it’s anything that complicated. Amanda is always picking on Tara. Well, she picks on a lot of people—she kind of thinks of herself as SMHS royalty, you know?—but I think she likes to torture Tara best of all. The other day at lunch, it was so bad that Tara totally lost her cool and Amanda’s boyfriend had to peel her off before she pummeled her.” She shook her head. “It’s awful, really. Tara never stood a chance when she moved to town.”

  I’d been through much the same scene myself in school. I decided to cut Tara some slack. It sounded to me like she could use it.

  Chapter 3

  If Saturday came in with a bang, at least the rest of it went off without a hitch. We’d done a brisk business the entire day, owing in part, no doubt, to the fact that Christmas was less than three weeks away. Since I needed to reconcile the books for Felicity’s upcoming meeting with the accountant, I took the store laptop home with me, along with a portable case full of files. I figured if I was going to be working on a Saturday night rather than enjoying a hot date with (a.k.a. interviewing) a prime candidate for the role of future father of my children, at least I could do it in my PJs and bunny slippers with Thomas Magnum, PI (a.k.a. the love of my life) to keep me company.

  Hey, it’s my life, and I can cry if I want to.

  Dusk had more than fallen by the time I pulled Christine to a halt at the curb beside the Willow Street Victorian I called home. It had dropped toward earth like a hungry predator dive-bombing its dinner. Little more than a sapphire glow glimmered in the soft fringe of the horizon; the rest of the night sky was a void, a black so dense even the stars couldn’t seem to penetrate. I shook off that vague s
ense of uneasiness the night never failed to instill in me as I lugged the file case, the laptop, and my purse toward the sunken entrance.

  Now, a basement apartment might not fit everyone’s notion of the ideal apartment for a hip young woman on the go, but beggars cannot afford to be choosy. The apartment had three things going for it: It was semiaffordable, which for a girl who hasn’t managed to win the state lottery is a Very Good Thing; its size meant I was never going to have to host my family for dinner; and finally, my best friend Steff lived on the upper level, which made for some really fun times on those evenings when Steff tired of her usual action-packed nightlife. Generally speaking, I was pretty happy there.

  The spirit or spirits inhabiting my apartment notwithstanding.

  I felt my way step-by-step down the dark stairs, muttering under my breath that I really needed to invest in a motion sensor for my light one of these days. The dead bolt presented a moment’s irritation, but it took only a moment of wrestling with the key in the worn lock before the tumblers clicked into place and the door swung soundlessly inward. I took a deep, centering breath and counted to ten.

  No fear.

  Stepping over the threshold, I dropped everything into a chair and flipped the nearest switch, my eyes touching everywhere in the living room-cum-foyer-cum-kitchen at once. So much for no fear. But the room was empty, the lights shone steadily, and the shadows in the corners were just pockets of darkness and not the hidey-holes of some nameless fear. Relaxing my guard, I decided that dinner was the first order of the evening. That, and the blinking message light on my answering machine. I punched the flashing red button and listened to the familiar warning that I had one new message.

  “Margaret, this is your mother speaking,” her voice intoned, phone-formal as always. “Not home today, I see. I don’t know if you’d received a letter like the one I received or not, but I wanted to be sure to let you know that Dr. Phillips is closing his practice. I wish him all the best, of course, but somehow I don’t think he realizes he’s leaving all of his loyal patients in the lurch. Anyway, dear, I took it upon myself to schedule your yearly. Dr. Phillips’s receptionist let it slip that they’d had a couple of cancellations for Tuesday, and since I knew you probably hadn’t thought to do it yourself, I claimed one for myself and one for you. Yours is at eight o’clock. Melanie has a specialist in the city now, so she wasn’t an issue. I didn’t think you’d mind—it’s so much better to get it out of the way with someone you’re familiar with, I think. Anyway, call me later to let me know you’ve received this message. Your father says hello, and Grandpa Gordon says to tell you that his teeth have been bothering him and he’s thinking about changing his adhesive. Well, that’s all for now. Don’t forget, Tuesday, eight A.M. Good-bye.”

  One new message, and it was a doozy. Only my mother would take it upon herself to schedule an annual physical for her nearly thirty-year-old daughter.

  I sighed and pressed the DELETE key with a little more force than was probably necessary. To distract myself from my motherly woes, I dialed Steff’s number as I rummaged through the refrigerator.

  “Hello?”

  Steff’s voice sounded in my ear, as low-pitched and self-assured as ever. My best friend of nearly twenty years was my emotional opposite. Confident where I was insecure, settled in her career as a nurse, whereas mine had always seemed in a state of flux, and petite and delicate where I was, well, not, she represented everything I’d always wished I could be . . . and yet she loved me just the way I was, and I loved her like a sister. “Hiya, neighbor.”

  “Oh . . . hi, Mags! What’s up?”

  “I, uh, couldn’t help noticing that the good doctor’s Jag is conspicuously absent this evening,” I said as I hauled a box of processed cheese and a tub of margarine out of my refrigerator. Dr. Danny Tucker was a resident at the local hospital and the latest love interest in a long line of the same that had found their respective ways to Steff’s doorstep. The two had been going hot and heavy since October, as evidenced by the ever-present antique Jaguar usually parked at our curbside, and I had the unwatched episodes of Magnum to prove it. “In light of that, I don’t suppose you’d care to indulge in a little bit of harmless ogling of our favorite guy.”

  There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. I heard it. “Um, sure. Yeah, I can come down for a little while.”

  It didn’t take a genius . . . “Danny’s on his way over,” I guessed, knowing I was right.

  “Well, yes . . .” Steff admitted. “You know how crazy his schedule is. He pops in for a bite or a little shut-eye whenever he can.”

  It made sense, really. Our Victorian was only two blocks away from the hospital while Danny’s condo was on the south side, across the river. But knowing that didn’t stop the little dart of jealousy that accompanied her words. “Oh. If you don’t want to . . .”

  “No, it’s okay. Just let me jot him a note and I’ll be down in a sec.”

  I laid out a pair of plates and quickly put together a matching set of grilled cheese sandwiches with sliced tomatoes. The sandwiches were toasting on the griddle when Steff poked her head inside my door. “Knock knock!”

  I held out a plate of the not-so-gourmet fare. “Pour vous, mademoiselle. Bon appetit.”

  Her face froze in a pained grimace. “Oh. Well, that’s really nice, honey, but . . .” Her voice trailed off. Finally she shrugged in embarrassment. “You see, I have a couple of steaks marinating upstairs. Hey, why don’t I bring you one down later? It’s really too much for me, and God knows I’ve put on ten pounds since I met Danny anyway. All those romantic dinners aren’t exactly conducive to feeling the burn. Well, at least not that kind of burn.”

  She tossed her curls with a saucy grin, and I laughed, ready to forgive her. Ah, well. This guy, too, would pass. Unless he was The One. But the likelihood of that . . .

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught Steff trying to sneak a glance at the clock on my stove. My heart sank.

  I set her plate on the kitchen counter and bustled around the living room trying to look busy. “I think we’ve missed about eight or ten episodes altogether, but . . .” I peeked back at her while I pawed through the tapes, and my heart sank even further. I turned to face her. “Steff. Your heart’s not in this. It’s all right, you know. I don’t mind if you don’t want to do this now.”

  “Really?” She actually looked relieved. That hurt.

  “Really,” I said firmly, pushing the green-eyed monster firmly down in the hole he was trying to crawl from. “Really really. The Magnum reruns will keep. Danny’s important to you.”

  She bit her lip. “Oh, but you’re important, too . . . but, well, to be completely honest, I was wanting to get those steaks on, and it seems like I never have time anymore to get the apartment really clean, and—”

  “Consider me the human version of TiVo. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

  She gave me a tight hug. “Thanks for understanding, Mags. What would I do without you?”

  I patted her on the shoulder, doing my best not to let her see my misgivings. But damn, she was serious about him. Scarily serious. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for Steff—I was, really and truly—but only that Steff falling in love heralded the end to an era. Our entire adult lives had been spent going from one dating experience to the next, taste-testing men, so to speak. Some of them had been the male equivalents of sour milk, some fine wines, and still others faint disappointments, like a failed soufflé. For Steff, at least, that journey might soon be over. And we all know what happens then: Best Friends Forever somehow turn into former best friends who send out annual Christmas cards that are somehow meant to be a substitute for once-a-week lunch dates, promising to “get together soon to catch up.” Could minivans and soccer mom bleacher butt be far behind?

  I watched her go with a troubled heart before making a nest of my favorite chair, a deep-seated monster wingback that once belonged to my grandparents. True, it was barf green in color, but it was
the most comfortable chair you could ever hope to sit in. Therefore, it had survived the young adulthood of my twenties whereas my occasional boyfriends had not.

  It all came down to proving worthy.

  With my grilled cheese on the end table next to me and work files on a TV tray to the right, I plugged in the laptop’s power cord and settled it on my knees, Indian style, before hitting PLAY on the remote.

  But tonight I couldn’t seem to get into the Hawaiian beaches and tropical waters. Not even Magnum’s trademark dimples or sparkling blue eyes could hold my attention. My mind drifted as I sorted canceled checks, marked them in the accounting software, recorded bills of sale against the list of store inventory, and entered the new inventory that had arrived that week. Even my dinner lay forgotten with only two bites taken from it. I didn’t know the reason for my jitteriness and lack of focus, but I knew if I waited long enough, the universe would present it to me.

  The explanation came in the form of the Internet browser.

  I flashed back to this morning, when I’d surprised Evie after the Troublesome Trio had vacated the building. Evie had been in the office with Tara, the little Goth Girl, presumably surfing the Internet. You know, come to think of it, Evie had looked a little funny when I’d pulled back the curtain. She’d nearly fallen out of the chair, and then—was I making too much of this?—had most definitely and purposely closed the laptop before I could see what she was doing. Had the two girls surfed their way into someplace they shouldn’t have been?

  There was one way to find out.

  It was something my mother would have done, but I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. How else was a girl supposed to know what was going on in the world around her? Resolutely I opened the browser to “Work Offline” status, then clicked on the Web History icon. A list of websites accessed that day immediately popped up. I wasn’t surprised to find that there was but a single entry under Saturday—we’d had nonstop business the entire day—but I was a little surprised to find that it was only the innocuous and oft-visited www.SunnyStonyMill.com.