The White Magic Five & Dime (A Tarot Mystery)

by Steve Hockensmith

  Logan gave his head another sad shake. “This is crazy…”

  “At least the tape thing makes me think you didn’t come here to kill her,” I went on. “You probably thought you were just dropping by for your monthly cut—your investigation into phony fortunetelling had really paid off. But then Mom tried to turn the tables on you. Too bad for her you figured out where she had her camera hidden.”

  Logan had gone on shaking his head, pouting, looking hurt. But now his eyes suddenly widened and he jumped to his feet and practically threw himself on the big crystal ball on the bookshelf by the table. He fumbled with it a few seconds, then simply threw it hard into the hallway.

  It shattered against the wall, sending shards of glass and plastic—just glass and plastic—flying everywhere.

  Damn. Up till that moment, the romantic part of me still had been hoping I was wrong.

  Your romantic parts can be really dumb.

  “Give me some points for originality, please,” I said. “I’m not going to pull the same gag as my mother. Thanks for confirming that you knew where the camera was, though. It’s obvious why you took it and the tapes. I assume taking the PC was just playing it safe. It’s not like you’d have to work that hard to make it look like a robbery, given that you’d be investigating a murder that you actually—”

  “That’s enough.”

  Logan reached under his jacket and pulled out his gun.

  “Whoa whoa whoa!” I cried. “We’re still having a conversation here!”

  “Where’s Clarice?”

  The gun was aimed at me.

  That had been happening a lot lately, but I still wasn’t used to it.

  “Just take it easy, huh?” I squeaked. I swallowed, and my voice dropped an octave. “Why don’t you point that thing at something else so we can keep this nice and relaxed? We’ve got more talking to do if everyone’s going to come out of this with what they want.”

  Logan did as I asked and found something new to aim at.

  Instead of pointing his gun at my chest, he pointed it at my forehead.

  “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “What goes around comes around, Josh. My mom was blackmailing clients, so you started blackmailing her, so she tried to blackmail you, so you killed her. And now I’m going to blackmail you for it, only I’ve learned from my mother’s mistake. She was running her game solo, and that made her vulnerable. Once you took her out of the picture, it was Game Over. Almost.”

  “Where’s Clarice?” Logan asked again.

  I nodded. “Now you’re getting it. Clarice. I’ll tell you where she is: 721 Fulton Drive.”

  Logan blinked. His aim wavered.

  721 Fulton Drive was his address.

  “She won’t find anything,” he said, his voice sounding strained, weak.

  “Really? You didn’t keep any of it? My mom’s tapes? Her computer? I mean, for a guy who’s partial to blackmail, those would be a treasure trove.”

  “She won’t find anything,” Logan said again. Firmly this time.

  “Okay. You destroyed the evidence. Good for you. That was smart. That means you only kept one thing. But that’ll be enough.”

  “I didn’t keep anything.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Josh, you did. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t.”

  Logan stared at me blankly.

  “Geez, dude—the money!” I said. “I don’t know if you stuffed it under your mattress or just put it in the bank, but either way it’s out there somewhere and it can be found. I’m guessing you made it a lot easier than you should’ve.”

  Logan’s jaw clenched. His face twitched.

  I’d guessed right.

  I shrugged sadly. “Crime’s a job for criminals, Josh. Now would you please—?”

  I looked pointedly at his gun and fluttered my hands downward.

  He finally lowered the gun.

  “What is it you want?” he said.

  “Not much. Just fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars and you’d let me get away with killing your mother?”

  “Hey, I hated the bitch, remember? If I hadn’t run away when I did, I might’ve offed her myself. And if either of us is entitled to trust issues, it’s me. At dinner tonight I tell you my mom was paying someone off, then you give me a kiss and wheeeee—I get a little ride out to the country. That’s what your ‘work call’ at dinner was really about, wasn’t it? Bringing the hammer down?”

  “So I’m supposed to trust you to stick to a deal because you and your mommy didn’t get along?”

  “You’re supposed to trust me because you’re going to give me fifty grand, and money and I get along great.”

  Logan looked dubious, unconvinced. But I saw something new in his eyes. Behind his eyes. He was busy back there.

  He was running the numbers.

  If I kill her now, I can be home in fifteen minutes to find and kill the girl, after which I should have seven more hours of darkness to clean up the mess, and if I do it right it’ll be at least twenty-four hours before anyone reports them missing, which will buy me time to get the money somewhere safer and really cover my ass…

  vs.

  I’m out fifty thousand dollars to someone who might never let me off the hook and who might just be angling for proof of my guilt anyway.

  Logan was no criminal mastermind, but this math was easy enough for a first grader.

  He hadn’t brought up his gun again yet, but he would.

  “Meatloaf,” I said.

  “Meatloaf?” said Logan.

  “Yeah. Meatloaf. Meatloaf meatloaf meatloaf.”

  Clarice appeared in the doorway with a gun in her hand.

  “It’s our safe word,” she explained.

  At this point, Logan was supposed to freeze, Clarice was supposed to tell him to put down his gun, and I was supposed to explain our trap. Gloat, in other words. I’d really been looking forward to that part in particular.

  Logan didn’t stick to the plan.

  He started to swing his gun toward Clarice. There was no time to reach out and grab it; my hands were in my lap. So I just pushed up as hard as I could.

  My side of the table flipped up and hit Logan’s hand. There was a deafening blast; suddenly plaster and tarot cards were flying everywhere. Through the ringing in my ears I could hear Clarice scream.

  Logan started to turn the gun on me.

  We were less than three feet from each other in a glorified closet. There was nowhere to turn, nowhere to run.

  Sometimes the best defense is a good offense, Biddle used to say. And make it as offensive as possible.

  There was no way to go for a knee to the crotch with an overturned table between us. So I threw myself forward and punched Logan in the throat with all my might.

  My mother had taught me that one, actually.

  Logan staggered back, his hands instinctively going to his throat. I twisted his gun from his grip as he slid toward the floor, back against the wall, gasping.

  I turned toward Clarice. There was a new hole in the wall just to the left of her chest.

  “You okay?” I asked her.

  It was hard to tell if she nodded yes or was just trembling so hard her chin dipped. Whichever—she was alive and unharmed.

  Logan’s ass had hit the floor by now, and I could see he’d finally noticed what I’d been fiddling with in my lap, under the table. It had landed a few inches from his splayed-out feet, and I checked to make sure it was still working before turning it around and adjusting the screen so that he could see it.

  Clarice’s laptop. With two programs running.

  Oh boy! I’d get to gloat after all!

  “Can you believe anyone woul
d still use a camcorder to bug a room?” I said. “Mom was so twentieth century.”

  I hit stop and save on the audio-recording program.

  “Show’s over. Good night,” I said to the computer. And I logged off the video chat room at foxyladydating.com. My mother’s old account there had come in handy. Pervs around the world had heard Logan’s confession. It wasn’t much of a backup in case things went horribly wrong, but it was better than nothing. At least I’d have died knowing my murder was about to go viral.

  Logan wheezed at me, trying to say something. His hands were still around his throat and his face had turned an unflattering shade of blue, but it looked like enough air was getting through to keep him alive.

  “In…ad…missible,” he was saying.

  “Sure it is. But it’ll get the ball rolling. And it’ll justify this.”

  I turned toward the doorway. Clarice was half in, half out of the room, swaying slightly, hands shaking. Gunfire will do that to some people.

  “Go ahead,” I said to her. “For Mom.”

  Clarice took in a deep breath and managed a wobbly smile.

  Then she steadied her aim and shot Logan in the face.

  I don’t know about your world, but mine doesn’t include any floating heads or baton-twirling majorettes dressed in nothing but dirty scarves. So ignore all that for the moment and just focus on what the World, the last and highest card of the Major Arcana, really represents: the finish line. The Fool’s journey is complete. You’ve done what you set out to do, and all is in balance, all is well. Congratulations! If you want to strip down, break out the batons, and dance your happy dance for the cloud-heads, go for it. You’ve earned it.

  Miss Chance, Infinite Roads to Knowing

  “Ow,” Logan said.

  A BB might not look like much, but it can really hurt if it hits you on the cheek.

  Clarice and I wouldn’t be shooting any cats with Ken Meldon’s air gun, but we’d managed to shoot a cop. I got the feeling the old man would like that even better.

  Logan tried to spin Mom’s death as self-defense. An argument turned violent, he put her in a sleeper hold—as Berdache police are trained to do—but she kept struggling and asphyxiated. Oops!

  Judge Crowell didn’t buy it. The man was one of the hardest hardasses in Arizona, after all.

  He denied Logan bail. I’m sure Anthony Grandi didn’t mind losing out on the business. He had other things to worry about, like what Logan would say about the Grandis once the bargaining with the DA began in earnest.

  They found the money in that American classic, the duffel bag in the attic. More than seventy thousand dollars in cash. I guess Logan hadn’t figured out how to launder it yet. He was amateur through and through, but maybe prison would change that—assuming he survived it. A cop wouldn’t exactly be Mr. Popularity on cell block H.

  The Sedona newspaper dug up Logan’s dad, the retired highway patrolman. My favorite quote: “My son is 100 percent innocent, and we’re going to prove it in court.”

  Now there’s a parent for you. Standing behind his kid to the bitter end. It made me feel a little better about my mother.

  “How about that?” I said to her. “Maybe I would’ve turned out this screwed up even if you hadn’t been awful.”

  At the time, my mother was in her TCC—her temporary cremains container. A white plastic box about the size of a loaf of bread stood on end. Tupperware for people.

  Clarice and I hadn’t decided what to do with her yet, so she was just sitting on the kitchen counter beside the flour and sugar. I kept suggesting that we bake her, but Clarice stood firm.

  “Alanis, that’s gross,” she’d say. “We’re vegetarians, remember?”

  After everything hit the papers, people stopped by to check on us and make sure we were okay. That was new for me. And nice.

  Marsha Riggs I walked down the street to meet Eugene Wheeler.

  “He’s a little weaselly, but what good lawyer isn’t? I think you two could find a lot to talk about, Marsha. Current events, the weather, divorce proceedings, restraining orders. Whatever. If it ends up being billable, have him send me an invoice.”

  Josette Berg I teased about her poor showing as a prophet.

  “The first day I’m in town, you do a reading for me, and what do you see?”

  “Death,” Josette said.

  “Yeah, that was in there. But I was thinking of the lovey-dovey card. The lovers at Oktoberfest. You know—with the giant mugs?”

  “You mean the Two of Cups?”

  “That’s it! When you saw that, you practically promised me a boyfriend—and then the first guy who takes me out tries to kill me.”

  Josette shrugged. “Maybe I was seeing a different kind of love. Or maybe the man with the cup wasn’t Josh Logan.”

  “Or maybe you were just plain wrong.”

  “We’ll see,” Josette said with a smile.

  Victor Castellanos I showed my veal parmesan. Which is to say, I pulled the jewelry from its hiding place in the freezer and gave it to him to take to his mother. Whatever she thought was hers, she could keep. The rest Victor could bring back.

  “I’m sorry I was so hostile when we met,” he said. “It’s just that after what happened with my mom—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not offended. You were right to be suspicious.”

  “Thanks, but still…I feel horrible. I wish I could make it up to you somehow.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. It was like patting a ham. The guy obviously didn’t just hang out in a gym all day. He hit one at night, too.

  “You’ll think of something,” I said.

  Anthony Grandi never dropped by with cookies and balloons, but I did see him around town from time to time.

  I waved. He glowered.

  You’d think he’d be more grateful. I hadn’t started recording Logan till I was done talking about the Grandis, and I’d been coy about them with the cops, too. I owed his mother one.

  I got the feeling Anthony thought he owed me one. But not a good one. The payback kind.

  You escape from your would-be-murderer, and he’s mad at you. Go figure.

  It made a certain sense, though. I was still a threat to the family because of what I knew and who I was. The longer I stayed in Berdache, the greater the odds that the Grandis and I were going to have another run-in. And the second time around, the cards might not come up in my favor.

  The smart play was obvious.

  Leave. And don’t come back.

  Arrangements were made.

  Eugene Wheeler would find a renter for the White Magic Five & Dime (for a small percentage).

  Clarice would stay upstairs (because she didn’t want to trade Berdache—and Ceecee—for the Chicago suburbs).

  And I would fly back to Chicagoland, nothing parenthetical about it. Just:

  the end

  The three of us drove into the desert: Clarice, me, Mom. Taking our first and last family trip.

  A group of tourists was already at Devil’s Ridge when we arrived, up at the edge of the canyon communing with the Great Whatever. Clarice and I waited at the foot of the hill, sipping Snapples under the afternoon sun until the pilgrims finished holding hands and chanting and started streaming back down to the black bus that had brought them. The words the magical mystery tour were splashed on the side in huge, groovy-shimmery letters so aswirl with color it looked like a rainbow had barfed them.

  That was a nice angle for a business, I thought. Help true believers become one with the universe while infringing copyrights at the same time.

  There’s crime everywhere, even the astral plane.

  Clarice and I threw away our bottles and started up the trail. I was carrying our Mom-in-a-Box. Clarice had our Bible: Infinite Roads to Knowing by Miss Chance.

  I’d been surprised
when she said she wanted to read something from it. I was even more surprised when I heard it.

  It was from the last chapter of the book. I’d only skimmed that part, as what I was interested in—the nuts-and-bolts how-to stuff—had ended the chapter before.

  This was what I’d missed:

  Cards can’t tell you what to do. Nothing and no one can tell you what to do. Every decision is yours to make. The trick is knowing who you are. Are you the kind of person who’d do this, the kind of person who’d do that, or the kind of person who’d do the thing the first two people would think was nuts? The tarot isn’t a window you look through for an answer. It’s a mirror. It offers seventy-eight paths to self-discovery in thousands of possible combinations. Existence offers an infinite number more if we open our hearts and minds to them, which isn’t always easy. Life can be a bitch, they say, but she’s beautiful, too. Love the beauty without limit, and the bitchy you might learn to love…even if you never understand it.

  Clarice closed the book.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Clarice nodded. “Deep, huh?”

  “It really says ‘Life’s a bitch, but she’s beautiful, too’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Biddle used to say that.”

  “Who’s Biddle?”

  “An old friend. Mom’s partner back in the day.”

  “Oh. Well, that makes sense. She stole half the book from other tarot guides. Why not steal from people she knew, too?”

  I felt my forehead. It was warm there on the edge of the gorge, but not broiling hot. Plus, I’d just had a Snapple. It didn’t seem like the time for heat stroke.

  So why couldn’t I understand anything Clarice had just said?

  “Huh?” I ventured.

  “Didn’t you know? I assumed you’d figured it out by now.” Clarice gave Infinite Roads to Knowing a little shake. “Athena wrote this.”

  I switched up my approach.