“Okay, I’ll be right inside.”
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” he asked.
She made a face. “The cat won’t come inside,” she grumbled.
“Do you need some help?”
“No, no…I’ll be inside in a moment,” Clarissa promised.
“Okay. The roast smells delicious, by the way. You forgot to tell me your mother is apparently a culinary genius. Don’t take too long or there may not be anything left for you to eat,” Parker joked before retreating back into the house.
When Clarissa glanced down, the cat was nowhere to be seen. She looked around and spotted the temperamental feline sitting on the porch beside the front door. It was staring at her and flicking its tail impatiently.
“Did you change your mind about coming inside?” Clarissa asked as she climbed the steps.
“Enough chitchat! Hurry up and open the door!” the cat ordered, as demanding as ever. Then, in an accusatory tone it added, “You didn’t tell me there was a roast inside!”
Chapter 04
The second Clarissa opened the door, the cat charged into the house. It nearly crashed into a wall as it followed its nose, scrambling to get to the kitchen. Clarissa barely caught it before it leapt onto the table and tried to devour the entire roast.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she scolded gently. “You know better than to get up on the table.”
“That’s your cat?” Clarissa’s mother asked. All the color had drained from her face.
Before Clarissa could ask what was wrong, her father reached out and scratched the top of the cat’s head. “It’s good that you have a cat,” he told Clarissa. “I don’t like the thought of you living alone. Maybe you should get a guard dog.”
“Over my dead body,” the cat muttered under its breath.
“Yes, this is my cat,” Clarissa said as she set the indignant feline down on the floor. “I’m sorry it isn’t a more polite houseguest,” she joked. “All it cares about right now is having some of the roast Mom cooked!”
“I can’t blame it,” Parker said, taking a deep, appreciative breath. “It smells amazing!”
“You don’t mind if I feed the cat before we sit down to eat, do you?” Clarissa asked.
“Go ahead,” her dad said. “It will give me a chance to go wash up. Your mother just informed me that I smell like the lake! I didn’t think that was such a bad thing, but what do I know? Happy wife, happy life! I’ll be right back.”
As Clarissa got the cat its roast along with a dish of water, she couldn’t help but notice how quiet her mother had become. That was unusual. Normally it was difficult to get her chatty mother to pause to take a breath! Something was definitely wrong.
Shortly after the cat began to inhale its food, Clarissa’s dad returned from washing up. He and Parker sat down at the table. They began to talk about the luxury rental vehicle Parker was driving. Clarissa listened for a moment, on pins and needles.
She had worried her father might think the car was too flashy with its heated leather seats, state of the art GPS system and various other upgrades. She had feared her father might wrongly assume that Parker was a braggart who only cared about showing off his wealth.
Thankfully, that didn’t seem to be the case at all.
As Clarissa eavesdropped, her father began asking all sorts of questions about how the car handled. When Parker offered to take him for a drive in it, Ed enthusiastically agreed. And when Parker complimented the sporty little purple convertible parked on the driveway, the older man’s face lit right up!
The two men were getting along wonderfully, it seemed.
Clarissa took the opportunity to usher her mother into the living room. They needed to talk.
“What’s going on?” Clarissa demanded once they were alone. “You seem upset.”
“Your cat is black,” her mother snapped, as though that was a problem.
“Why does that matter? Are you being superstitious?” Clarissa asked, struggling to understand.
Constance shook her head. It seemed like she was on the verge of tears. She took a deep breath. “Clarissa. I know you said you’ve been in contact with Matilda. I didn’t think it was a good idea. I should know. She’s my sister, after all. You’re an adult so I held my tongue, but…”
Clarissa’s mother trailed off then. It still seemed like she was struggling to choke back tears – and perhaps she was losing the battle. She seemed completely distraught.
“Mom…?” Clarissa asked in bewilderment. “What is it? Why are you acting so strangely? Why do you care that my cat is black and why did you bring up Aunt Matilda? None of this makes sense. Say something.”
“How long have you known?” Constance finally blurted out, wringing her hands.
“How long have I known what?” Clarissa asked, puzzled. “And why don’t you think it’s a good idea for me to be getting close to Aunt Matilda? I know you two had some sort of feud years ago, but she’s your kid sister. Besides, I like having her around. It’s like having a big sister.”
“She’s a witch,” Clarissa’s mother said angrily.
To an outside observer, it may have sounded like Constance was simply calling her younger sister a rude name. But Clarissa knew better. Her aunt actually was a witch. She could cast spells and fly on broomsticks and everything!
What shocked Clarissa was that her mother seemed to know all about it.
“You know?” Clarissa gasped in disbelief.
“Of course I know. But you weren’t supposed to know! When did you find out?”
“There was a lightning strike,” Clarissa began, her thoughts scattered. “After that, things just started happening. I could move objects with my mind – it was freaky. That was around the time Aunt Matilda turned up on my doorstep. She said she had a feeling I needed her.”
Clarissa’s answer was quite jumbled. But she didn’t know how to begin to tell her mother about what had happened. How could she explain it clearly when she still didn’t understand it herself? The whole situation was absurd, so of course Clarissa’s recollection of it was convoluted!
But her mother seemed to get it.
“That makes sense,” Constance nodded, acting as though her daughter’s ramblings were logical. “Usually if one’s powers aren’t used in childhood, they atrophy. But I can see how a sudden surge of energy could awaken what’s lying dormant within you, even as an adult.”
“You can?”
Constance nodded. “Let me guess: the cat showed up around that time too.”
“Yes, how did you know?” Clarissa asked in astonishment.
“It wasn’t a coincidence.”
“Aunt Matilda said something about the cat being my protector,” Clarissa recalled. “She said –”
“That’s enough about your aunt!” Constance snapped.
“Why? What’s your problem with her?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try to explain,” Clarissa urged.
Constance sighed. “Matilda has dabbled in witchcraft ever since she was a child. When she was a teenager she got really into it. By then I was married with two kids. That’s why I had to cut her out of our lives! To her, witchcraft was reckless teenage fun. But I was older, wiser…I had a family to think about. I was trying to protect you and your sister.”
“Protect us?” Clarissa repeated in astonishment. “Protect us from what?”
“Magic isn’t something to be messed around with,” Constance replied, her face contorted in a scowl. “I know it seems exciting in the beginning, but it can be really dangerous.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I know I need to start out slow and build up a tolerance. Aunt Matilda made sure to warn me about pacing myself. I started out casting tiny, insignificant little spells and have been slowly working my way up to more complex ones.”
“No magic in this house, you understand me? I won’t have you casting spells here!” Constance informed Clarissa sternly. “If you were wise, you would stay a
way from witchcraft all together. You’re playing with fire, and you know what that means: sooner or later you’ll be burned.”
“Wait a second,” Clarissa said, struggling to understand her mother’s ominous warning. She looked over her shoulder to make sure her father and Parker were still safely out of earshot. Then she asked, “Mom, are you a witch too?”
“I’m in recovery,” her mother replied sharply. “I haven’t cast a single spell since you were a baby, and I’ll never cast another one for as long as I live! No good can come from dabbling in that nonsense. It’s bad news!”
Clarissa begged to differ. After all, magic was what had helped her and Parker narrowly avoid a gruesome car accident. Had she not cast a spell, they’d both be dead. In her view, magic could be a very good thing if harnessed properly and used appropriately.
She wanted to tell her mother that, but she also wanted to avoid an argument. It had been so long since she had seen her parents that she wanted to enjoy their company, not get into a screaming match. And she certainly didn’t want to engage in World War Three with her mother while Parker was there!
Besides, Clarissa was still reeling. The revelation that her mother was a witch had shocked her to her core. It was something her aunt had most definitely failed to mention. Clarissa needed some time to absorb the jaw-dropping information.
“Clarissa. Promise me! No magic in this house,” Constance urged.
“Fine, I promise.”
“Or even better, no magic anywhere – ever.”
Constance stared at Clarisse expectantly.
“I…can’t promise that,” Clarissa admitted. She had only just found out about her gift. She was reluctant to give it up simply because her mother seemed to have an aversion to it. That was asking too much.
Her mother threw her hands up in frustration. “Darn kids, always think they know best.”
When Clarissa and her mother returned to the table, the tension between them was noticeable. The conversation between Parker and Clarissa’s dad came to an abrupt halt. The two men looked perplexed.
“Is everything alright?” Clarissa’s father asked.
“Fine,” Clarissa’s mother replied curtly. “Will you pass the peas?”
“Mrs. – I mean Constance, this meal is delicious,” Parker said. “You’re an amazing cook.”
“Isn’t she?” Ed agreed proudly. “That makes one of us. I always joke that if it wasn’t for my Constance, I’d starve to death! I’m great at bringing the fish home but I’m useless when it comes to cooking ‘em,” he declared. “Clarissa takes after me, I’m afraid. Right, dear?”
“Huh?” Clarissa was completely distracted, to the point where she wasn’t even listening to what was being said. It was difficult to focus after her confrontation with her mother! “Sorry Dad, I missed that.”
“I was just telling Parker that you inherited my cooking skills – or lack thereof.”
“Oh, he’s well aware,” Clarissa replied. “I’m surprised I haven’t given him food poisoning!”
“Your cooking isn’t that bad,” Parker protested unconvincingly.
There was a pause. Then Clarissa’s dad began to laugh. So did Parker.
Clarissa and Constance were slower to join in. It was very obvious to Clarissa that her mother was still upset. She wished they could sit down and talk about things in more depth, but with Parker there it was difficult to find the opportunity.
Come to think of it, Clarissa wasn’t even sure how much her dad knew. Parker was in the dark about the situation. Could Ed be clueless, too? It seemed absurd to think in all his years of marriage, he hadn’t figured out that his wife and sister-in-law were witches…but at this stage Clarissa wasn’t about to rule anything out.
“So I was thinking we should take you kids to the bingo hall tonight,” Ed said.
“Bingo?” Clarissa repeated, struggling to focus on the conversation.
“Yes. Bingo is a big deal here – why, I think the bingo hall is bigger than most churches. Your mother plays at least once a week,” her father explained. “Sometimes I tag along too.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Clarissa murmured.
“I thought it would be fun for the four of us to go play bingo tonight!” Ed said excitedly. Apparently he was oblivious to what young adults found fun…but his intentions were good.
“Bingo sounds great,” Parker said politely. “Right, Clarissa?”
“Sure, I guess,” she agreed with a shrug.
Bingo sounded pretty boring to her, but she supposed they could go for a while. Maybe she would be lucky and win a little money. That would be exciting. Well, as exciting as hanging out at a bingo hall could be, anyway.
Chapter 05
The bingo hall was bustling with activity.
Clarissa’s parents led the way inside, pausing to say hello to folks they recognized. The large hall had row upon row of tables lined up. People had spread their bingo cards out on top of them, and some had bought coffee and snacks from the concession stand.
The mood was jovial as everyone chatted while they waited for the games to begin.
After purchasing tickets, Clarissa and Parker sat down across the table from her parents.
“How is your back?” she whispered, concerned.
“I’ll live,” Parker replied.
“Constance! Ed! Is this your daughter?” a woman’s voice asked loudly.
Clarissa turned around to see a petite lady in her late sixties standing there. She wore blue eyeshadow that went all the way up to her penciled-on eyebrows. Worse yet, her sequined clothing looked like it belonged onstage at a show in Las Vegas.
“I’m Betty,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Are you Clarissa?”
“Yes, that’s me! Hello,” Clarissa smiled, reaching for the woman’s hand. “You’re my parents’ neighbor, right? The one who colors my mother’s hair, yes? Oh, this is my boyfriend Parker,” she said, hastily introducing him.
“Clarissa, what time do you have?” Clarissa’s father interrupted.
She glanced at her watch. “Um, five after seven,” she replied.
Her father frowned. “That’s what I have too. We’re late getting started!” he grumbled.
“It’s only five minutes,” Clarissa said, trying to placate him.
“Have you seen Bobby?” Ed asked Betty.
Betty shook her head. Then she scowled. “I haven’t seen him and I don’t want to see him!” she huffed angrily. “If I didn’t love bingo so much, I wouldn’t even want to be in the same room as him! But I’m not about to let that rude old goat ruin bingo for me!”
“You’re not the only one who dislikes him,” Constance said sympathetically. “Jack Walter had some choice words for him the other afternoon when I walked past his place! You two should get together and exchange horror stories!”
“Too embarrassing,” Betty said. “Anyway, I’m going to go have a smoke before we get started.” She reached into her shirt and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her bra. She waved them around and cautioned Clarissa, “Don’t ever start smoking! It’s impossible to quit!”
“What was that all about?” Clarissa asked her parents once Betty was gone.
Her dad snorted.
“Ed!” her mother scolded him. “It isn’t funny!”
“What isn’t funny?” Clarissa demanded.
“Betty had a bit of a crush on Bobby Bates, our bingo caller,” Clarissa’s mom explained.
“A bit of a crush?” her dad interjected. “She flirted shamelessly with him every chance she got!”
“Ed! Be nice!”
“What? I’m only telling the truth,” Clarissa’s dad shrugged.
“Anyway, Betty asked Bobby out on a date,” Constance whispered. “Betty is divorced and he’s a bachelor. She was convinced they would be perfect for one another. But Bobby didn’t exactly share that opinion.”
“He shot Betty down,” Clarissa’s dad clarified. “Now she’s humiliated, so she rants and raves abo
ut him every chance she gets. It’s pretty pitiful if you ask me. Like they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“Ed!” Constance exclaimed in disapproval. “Shush!”
“See?” he chuckled. “Mom just proved my point.”
“I’ll hit you with my handbag!” Constance threatened. She loved making idle threats.
“Better yours than Clarissa’s. Look at the size of that thing!” her dad teased. “It’s a suitcase!”
“It is not!” Clarissa protested. Then she looked down at her gigantic handbag, which she had plunked down on the table next to her bingo cards. “Okay,” she conceded. “It is pretty big.”
Suddenly there was a piercing scream from another part of the building.
Immediately, a hush came over the bingo hall. Everyone looked around in confusion. Then there was a second scream. That caused folks to begin chattering amongst themselves excitedly. Clarissa jumped up and raced in the direction the horrified sounds had come from.
What she found in a storage room just past the washrooms made her blood run cold.
“He’s dead!” a woman who was wearing a bathrobe and had curlers in her hair wailed. She had an unlit cigarette in one hand and a bingo dabber in the other. She waved them both around as she carried on.
“What happened?” Clarissa demanded.
“Bobby is dead! I don’t know what happened! I came back here and found him like this, all slumped over. I can’t find a pulse! He’s dead! He’s dead!”
Clarissa stepped past the woman to get a look for herself.
A heavyset man in his early seventies was slumped over in the corner. His eyes were wide open and lifeless. He wore blue overalls that were tightly stretched over his large belly. His brown hair had white streaks in it, his beard was bushy and his face was very, very round.
He looked like a young Santa Clause.
He looked like a young, dead Santa Clause.
White pills were scattered around the man’s feet, along with an empty medication container. Clarissa noted that the floor was wet, and there were shards of broken glass lying around. It appeared the man had dropped a glass of water when he had gone into medical distress.
The Name of the Game is Murder (A Clarissa Spencer Cozy Mystery Book 6) Page 3