by Meg Muldoon
I just hoped that Maddy was having more luck talking to Penelope’s ex-husband, I thought, watching the clouds roll in off the whitecaps.
Chapter 40
Nancy Wallis closed the door behind us as we entered one of the library’s sound-proof study rooms. The 60-something woman looked through the door’s small window, glancing from side to side, as if worried somebody was spying on her. She brought the blinds down with a swift motion and turned to us.
Nancy Wallis had always been an odd bird. She had a debilitating fear of driving, and took the bus to and from work, even in her younger days. She wore the same outfit every day, just in different colors – a blouse, a pair of polyester slacks, and a string of pearls. But the thing that made Nancy a contender for kookiest lady of Broomfield Bay was the fact that many people heard her talking to her husband, a fisherman lost at sea over 30 years ago.
I didn’t know about any of that, but what I did know for sure about Nancy Wallis was that she was unpleasant and sharp as a knife’s edge. When I was a kid, spending rainy days at the library, I’d gotten harassed a time or two by her. Once, I had ended up in the metaphysical section, drawn to it by my desire to find out more about the powers of persuasion I had inherited. Nancy had caught me there, ripped the book I was looking at out of my small hands, giving me a stern lecture that such books were the devil’s work and that no little girl should be reading them.
I was so scared after that incident that I spent half the year believing Aunt Viv was in cahoots with the devil – a fact that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
“Ms. Wallis, we just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Penelope Ashby’s book club,” Eddie said.
Nancy didn’t sit down in the empty chair. Instead, she nervously reached across the table and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her bag. She brought one up to her lips and lit it. As her hand trembled, a cloud of smoke drifted up into the air.
I was certain smoking was forbidden in the library. But the woman obviously had something on her mind, so I didn’t point that fact out.
“Yeah, I figured that’s what you wanted to talk about,” she croaked.
“Well, can you tell us about the last meeting?” Eddie said. “The one at the mayor’s house?”
Nancy Wallis looked visibly agitated at the question. She took another drag.
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” she said. “I know I didn’t belong with those people. The only reason she let me into her pretentious little book club was because it made it sound all official to have a librarian as part of it. Plus I regularly submit articles to the state’s Librarian Quarterly, and Penelope of course wanted me to write something up about Nigel visiting the group. Otherwise, I’m sure that old Penny wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
“We heard that some strange things happened at that last meeting,” I said. “You know, the one with Nigel Parks?”
“Strange is one word for it. Delusional is another. Locking people in her house until they solved a fake murder mystery? Never a good idea to get rich folks angry at you like that.”
Eddie scribbled in his notepad.
“Can you think of anyone who would have been angry enough to cut the brakes of Mayor Ashby’s car?”
The question didn’t seem to surprise her.
She took another drag from her cigarette, looking at us coyly.
Then she glared at me.
“I thought that was all squared away. Didn’t the witch do it?”
“No,” I said, giving her a glare right back through the curling smoke. “Which means whoever did is still out there.”
She paused.
“Hmm, all I can say is that those people in that snobby book club of hers? They wouldn’t know a headlight from a rearview mirror. They have the help take care of such things. Which, of course, they could do. Cut the check for whoever cut the brakes.”
“So you don’t think any of them had the expertise to do something like that on their own?” Eddie asked.
“I’m saying that everyone there had perfectly manicured nails,” she said. “Including the men. They might have been angry with Penny, but the rich take care of business with their lawyers. Not with a pair of bolt cutters, or whatever the murderer used to sever the brake lines.”
Nancy still looked nervous to me, though I didn’t know why exactly. But then again, she always looked nervous.
“Did you know if Penelope might have had, I don’t know, might have had sort of a crush on somebody?” I asked.
The librarian’s lips turned up at the edges. Then, out of the blue, she began laughing, her whole body convulsing with the effort.
“I, uh, I guess we’re not in on the joke,” Eddie said.
The laughing soon turned to hacking on the cigarette smoke, and soon, and finally, she settled down.
“I guess you’re not,” she said, glassy-eyed and red-faced. “It’s just, I thought it was obvious to everyone. But maybe I’m the only one who put it together and knew.”
“Knew what?” I asked.
“About Penny’s obsession with him.”
“With who?” Eddie said.
The librarian smiled again, pleased with herself.
“Have you seen Penny’s library?”
I furrowed my brow, then glanced at Eddie.
Something sparked in his eyes.
“Leather bound books signed by Nigel Parks,” he said, echoing what Maddy had mentioned back at the house earlier.
My mouth dropped open.
Nancy grinned like a school girl and started cackling again.
Chapter 41
Now it was clear who Penelope wanted the potion for.
And who she had bought all those Wiccan love spell books for, too.
The same man that had half the town swooning. The same man who caused people to spill their coffee and knock over their sandwiches at exactly 12:45 p.m. every day.
Nigel Parks.
Mayor Ashby had been in love with the millionaire romance mystery writer.
Naturally, his mansion was our next stop.
But when we arrived at Cliffside Manor that evening, we were politely told by a man dressed in a full on butler’s get-up that the esteemed Mr. Parks had flown to Los Angeles to meet with his agent and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. He handed Eddie a card for Nigel’s secretary and suggested to make an appointment.
Try as I might, I couldn’t quite picture Nigel Parks – the author who liked his Ginger Lemon Bar and coffee just so – getting his hands dirty by killing Penelope. It all seemed so, well, un-Nigel Parks. Too much of a bother for his lifestyle. Besides – why would he want to? Being as famous as he was, Nigel must have had his share of admirers whose feelings went farther than just admiration, and he must have perfected his abilities in letting those admirers down easy. He didn’t go out and murder all of those women, now did he? Maybe he wasn’t even aware that Penelope had feelings for him. Maybe Penelope never told him.
Whatever the relationship between Penelope and Nigel really was, it was information that we needed. And even if it ended up not being important, Nigel still might know something. Something that could help.
Reaching a dead-end with the day’s investigation, Eddie and I decided to call it. We’d gone through half the book club list and would revisit Nigel’s house and finish up tomorrow.
We drove in the rain, first to pick up some clam chowder and garlic bread to-go from The Chowder Bowl and then back home, where Maddy was going to meet us for dinner.
I left Eddie downstairs for a minute and jaunted up to my bedroom. The house felt cold, and I changed out of my blouse and into a cozy wool sweater.
And then I let out a sigh.
Christopher always wore wool sweaters, even when the weather was warm.
I thought about the way his face had gone pale earlier when he’d come to and realized what he had done with the plate of brownies. And then I thought about the things I’d said to him. Terrible things. I’d
asked Christopher what kind of friend he was when the real question was, what kind of friend was I?
I’d gotten better at controlling my emotions over the years, but obviously I still lost control sometimes. And those moments when I did were disastrous.
I looked out the window.
The storm had rolled in off the ocean, bringing a fierce whipping wind with it, as well as the rain. This wasn’t going to help the old Victorian’s peeling exterior any. The nice weather had disappeared nearly as quickly as it had come.
Laughter drifted up from downstairs. Maddy had arrived. She’d spent the afternoon trying to track down Jerry Ashby, Penelope’s ex-husband. Maybe she got lucky and found him.
I went over to the full-length mirror and stared at myself, fixing my hair and listening to Maddy and Eddie talk. The house was still a mess, but at least we’d put some furniture back in place and spruced up where we could. And despite the wreckage, it felt good to be here with the two of them. I felt safe, somehow.
Eddie always had a way of making me feel safe—
A huge gust of wind railed against the house, and a split second after, the lights in the room went out.
I was left in complete darkness.
But such things were not so unusual on the Oregon Coast.
“You okay up there, Ging?”
I smiled.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Eddie,” I yelled back. “How about you guys?”
“Yep,” Maddy shouted. “But do you know where any candles are?”
That was one advantage of being in a house of witches.
Candles.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
I felt around in the top drawer of my old dresser, one of the many places Aunt Viv kept a healthy supply of them. I lit a tall tapered one and grabbed a couple more boxes to get us through the night.
Chapter 42
“Well, I’m beat, you guys,” Maddy said, lifting her arms over her head, stretching. “I better head home.”
“No way. Not in this blackout,” I said.
I checked my cell phone.
It was half past two. I had no idea how it had gotten so late.
We had lit the candles around the dining room and eaten the creamy and delicious clam chowder and garlic bread. We’d also had a little of Aunt Viv’s favorite peachy white wine that she always kept on hand in her fridge.
Well, maybe more than a little, I realized as I scanned the empty bottles on the coffee table.
The three of us being back together again in Aunt Viv’s house was its own kind of magic. Maddy, Eddie, and I spent the evening talking and laughing and drinking like a trio of teenagers without parental supervision. Eddie told us about college and work, some funny stories he had covered, and about how he had come close to marrying a woman he met at the office a few years ago, but how it hadn’t worked out. Maddy talked about what it was like being a cop in Southern California, and about how her last boyfriend turned out to be a real mama’s boy with no room in his life for a relationship. I told them about my customers at the shop and even a little bit about my side business as a witch alchemist, the spells that worked and the few that didn’t. I even accidently mentioned Christopher, probably because the plate-shattering event earlier had been on my mind for a lot of the evening.
The night had drifted right on by without any of us aware of what the hands of the clock had been doing.
It’d been so nice. An evening like this, with old friends, was just what the doctor ordered. And for a few moments I even forgot about Penelope’s murder, Aunt Viv being in jail, and how it felt like the whole town had turned against her.
Maddy stood up from the table, taking her plate to the sink, navigating through the living room by candlelight.
“I’ll be okay driving,” she mumbled. “It’s only a few blocks to my house.”
“No way, Mads,” I said. “You’re not driving home. Not after all this wine.”
She came back to the table and sat down.
“Okay.”
Maddy rarely indulged in alcohol. In fact, I’d never seen her drink more than a beer in one sitting in all the years I’d known her. But tonight, not only had she had several glasses of wine, but also two helpings of chowder and bread, and several scoops of Aunt Viv’s homemade Oregon mint chocolate chip ice cream. Delicious fare about as far from her usual tofu turkey and kale chips as you could get.
Clearly we all had our breaking point.
“You can take Aunt Viv’s room,” I said to her, standing up. “It’s mostly put back together now. I’ll get you some fresh sheets and blankets.”
She grumbled, rubbing her eyes, which she seemed to have a hard time keeping open.
“Eddie, you can have my room,” I said. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
He ran a hand across the back of his neck.
“That’s nice of you, Ging, but I was thinking I ought to get back to the hotel. I don’t want to put you out. Thanks, though, for everything tonight. This has been… well, I feel like I haven’t had a night this good in a long, long time.”
I smiled, clearing a few dishes off the table.
“I feel that way too,” I said. “But don’t be foolish. What I just said to Maddy applies to you, too. You shouldn’t be driving now either, and there’s no need. This house is more than big enough for all of us.”
“You sure I wouldn’t be putting you out?”
“Not at all.”
He shrugged.
“All right. Thanks. I wasn’t going to say anything, but the hotel they put me up at is depressing as hell.”
I laughed.
“I’ll only stay on one condition, though,” he added.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’ll take the sofa, right here,” he said. “I’d feel better keeping an ear out downstairs. Just in case the intruder comes back.”
“Deal,” I said. “I’ll bring you some sheets and blankets.”
“Thanks, Ging.”
Over the candlelight, I met his eyes.
He looked happy.
I’d seen that look before on Eddie’s face.
Chapter 43
A strange noise woke me.
I sat up straight in bed, gripping the sheets, my heart racing in my chest.
The wind howled against the side of the house, slamming fat rain drops into the glass panes. It pelted the roof, and I was afraid the old shingles might just give out under the force and that Aunt Viv would have more than just a new paint job on her hands.
But the roof held. At least for the time being.
I glanced over at the alarm clock. It was dark – the power was still out.
There it was again.
The sound.
Crying, like a lost ghost drifting down the halls of the old Victorian.
I slid my feet into my slippers, then fumbled for the matches and the candle on my nightstand. I lit the wick and brought it with me as I left the room.
Aunt Viv’s door was closed over, but I opened it up slowly and heard the gentle sounds of snoring. I could see Maddy on her side beneath an abundance of comforters. I paused, waiting to hear something more, but there was nothing but soft, peaceful snores.
I shut the door over and headed downstairs.
Halfway down, I stopped and took a seat on one of the steps. I peered out through the oak balusters of the staircase into the living room below.
Eddie was lying on the sofa, his chest moving up and down to the rhythm of deep sleep.
I stared at him.
Despite having such a fun and jovial night, my last thoughts before drifting off had been neither fun, nor jovial.
I’d been thinking about Steve, of all people. About the divorce papers that were downstairs in the desk by the foyer. The ones that I still hadn’t signed.
And the text message he had sent earlier this evening.
Not a hello.
Or how are you doing?
Or gee, I hope everything is okay with your Aunt Viv.
>
No, nothing like that.
He had sent exactly five words, and nothing else.
“Have u signed them yet?”
I was sure by now just about everybody in the state, if not the country, knew about Aunt Viv being arrested for murder and my soon-to-be ex-husband would have been no exception. Yet I hadn’t gotten so much as a “sorry to hear about your aunt” from him, let alone any other message until now.
It was bad behavior, even if he didn’t love me anymore. I had half a mind to go downstairs this very instant and sign those papers, giving him the exact thing he wanted.
But something in me held back.
You begin your marriage with pledges of undying love and a passionate kiss, and then kill it with a swift movement of a ball point pen?
It just felt wrong.
If it was going to be done, it felt like it should be done in person. Face to face.
But did it really need to be done at all? Could our marriage still be saved? Was there something more I could do?
I thought of the ruby bottle.
Then I let out a troubled sigh, gazing at Eddie sleeping below.
It was all so confusing.
I’d never felt that crazy, uncontrollable passion for Steve the way I had for Eddie. I always thought that it was because we were so young. But now, staring at him sleeping on Aunt Viv’s sofa, I knew that it was more than that.
Much more.
Suddenly, a cry echoed through the room.
Followed by tender, pleading words.
“No, don’t go. Don’t go. Come back… Don’t leave.”
Eddie’s voice.
It cut right through my skin and down to my bones.
Chapter 44
I grabbed the candle and held it out in front of me as I descended the rest of the stairs.
The cry must have been from a bad dream. But something about hearing him in pain caused an ache that flooded through me like high tide.
I rushed to the sofa and knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder.
“Eddie,” I whispered. “Eddie, wake up.”
It took a few seconds, but eventually his eyelids flipped open and the cries stopped.