Spirits, Pies, and Alibis

by Nicole St Claire

  Before leaving, I walked out to the hangars just in case Larry happened to be around. The first building was empty, though the expensive plane that had landed while I was in the office had been pulled inside the hangar next to the one where I stood. At first, I didn’t see any sign of the pilot, but just as I was about to step back outside the hangar, I heard muffled voices coming from nearby. Instinctively, I stepped backward where I would be hidden from view by the hangar wall.

  A man in a suit stepped from the adjacent hangar into the bright noontime sun. He wore the type of expertly tailored suit that screamed money and carried a briefcase of supple leather. If this was one of the summer folks, as Kevin had called them, who was visiting the island for vacation, he hadn’t dressed the part. He was talking to someone, and though I couldn’t see who it was or hear what they were saying, the man appeared to be very agitated. After an intense exchange of words, the man tossed the briefcase onto the ground and strode back inside the hangar. An engine fired up, and soon the fancy plane was pulling out of the hangar, headed for the runway. When the plane was in the air, I ventured to leave, but once more, the sound of movement outside stopped me in my tracks. The unknown person with whom the man in the suit had been arguing stepped into the sunlight. As he bent to retrieve the briefcase, I saw his face, and my heart leaped into my throat. It was Curtis Strong.

  I retreated as far into the hangar as I could, standing against the far wall until I heard the sound of a car starting up and rumbling along the gravel driveway back to the main road. I had no idea what Curtis was doing at the airfield or why he’d been arguing with the man in the suit. All I knew was that for some reason, I couldn’t quite put my finger on, I didn’t want him to know I was there. Finally, when there had been no sound or movement outside for at least a full minute, I turned to go.

  As I did, my attention was caught by a bright yellow banner behind me on the wall that read Summerhaven Flying Club Centennial 1917-2017. Beneath it were several framed photos that appeared to picture the membership throughout the years. In the one that was dated June 1927, I found what had by now become a very familiar face, the single woman standing in a group of men beside a classic biplane. Her name was printed beneath: Lillian Bassett.

  Lillian. Yet another L name. Given her last name and general appearance, we had to be related. I had never heard the name before and had no idea who she was. Then something else struck my brain with the force of a brick to the forehead. There was an airplane in the photo. The letter L and an airplane. What if a spirit was responsible for the crash? Or what if the vision Madame Alexandria had shared had nothing to do with Doug Strong’s killer after all? I was more confused now than I’d ever been.

  Chapter Ten

  As I retrieved a box of old clothing from the trunk of the car I had borrowed from Aunt Gwen, there was no denying I desperately needed to get Miss Josephine fixed. However, with the real possibility I was about to prove that the island’s best mechanic was a murderer, I was holding off. What if Larry Sloane realized I was onto him and cut my brake line? A girl couldn’t be too careful.

  The near encounter with Curtis at the airfield was still on my mind, and try as I might, I simply couldn’t figure out what he had been doing there, nor could I shake the lingering sense that something was amiss. I glanced toward the clinic building before crossing the street in the direction of Sybil’s shop. Noah would be working there all day, I knew, but whether I would venture over to speak to him about his cousin was still up in the air.

  The mannequins in the window at Rags to Riches had been dressed since my last visit, and a Grand Opening banner hung on the wall above the cash register. The store was not yet open for business, but I could tell the big day was just around the corner. “It looks amazing,” I told Sybil as she greeted me at the door and relieved me of the heavy cardboard box I’d been carrying.

  “Thanks! I can’t believe opening day is a week away.” She carried the box to the back counter and set it down, pulling on the top flap to see inside. “Are these the dresses from the attic?”

  “A few of them. I haven’t even opened most of the trunks up there yet, but these are the ones I wanted you to take a look at first.”

  “From the trunk where you found the bracelet?” Sybil asked, and I nodded. “Oh, speaking of that, I got it all shined up for you. Take a look.”

  She handed me a slim cardboard jewelry box with Rags to Riches printed on the lid. Inside was the silver bracelet, sandwiched between two layers of cotton padding. The tarnish was gone, and the engraving was now clear and easy to read.

  “It looks like names,” I said as I examined the writing on the links. “Frannie, Ruth, Annabel, Flo, Hannah, May, Eleanor, Daisy, and then the initials in the middle link are LB and the number twenty-eight.”

  “It’s a friendship bracelet,” Sybil explained, taking the bracelet from me and fastening it on my wrist. “They were very popular as gifts up through World War II. Each person would buy a link and have it engraved with their name. Then they’d put them all together to make a bracelet. I think the middle link is a date, 1928, and the owner probably had the initials LB.”

  “LB?” My breath caught as I remembered the photo I’d found in the hangar. “Lillian Bassett.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ve seen her in a couple of old photographs around town, both from around the nineteen twenties. Sybil…” I had to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat before continuing. “She’s the one I saw in my dream. The one who looks like me.”

  Sybil nodded as if what I’d said made perfect sense to her. “Let’s have a look in the box.”

  She pulled out the top dress, the gold party dress that I’d worn in my dream, and spread it out on the counter to get a look inside. After studying it for a moment, her face lit up. “Ha! I thought so. Here’s the label from the designer, Jeanne Lanvin. That was a couture house in Paris. And see here, where it says Printemps-1928? That means it was part of the spring collection of that year.” She removed another dress from the box and spread it out next to the first one. It was black and white with embroidered flowers on the bodice and skirt hem. “This one’s missing its label, but the style is from about the same year, and you can tell by the quality of the embroidery that it was made in Paris.”

  “It’s just like what I saw in the dream,” I said. “The seamstress who was working on the hem seemed very impressed by the dress.”

  “I would imagine so, although it’s a little odd.” A line formed across Sybil’s brow as her face settled into a frown.

  “What’s odd?”

  “Well, usually if a lady was having dresses made in Paris, she would travel there for fittings. They’d make a dress form that was a perfect replica of her body and would have a detailed sheet of measurements to work from. When the dresses were delivered, there wouldn’t be any reason to have them hemmed. Altered a little, maybe, if she’d gained or lost some weight, but assuming she was an adult, it’s unlikely her height would change that much.”

  “Huh.” I knew nothing about dresses or how rich women had shopped for them almost a hundred years ago, but when she put it that way, it did sound strange.

  “I have an idea,” Sybil said, scooping the gold dress off the counter. “I think you should try this on.”

  “Me?”

  “This is the one you wore in your dream, right?”

  I nodded, my palms growing slick at the thought of putting the dress on for real.

  “There has to be a reason you saw it. I have a spell in mind that I’d like to try, a way to connect you to the history of the dress and its wearer. Are you willing to give it a try?”

  I drew in a shaky breath. “Okay. Let’s see what happens.”

  After Sybil muttered an incantation over the dress, she handed it to me. I stepped into the changing room and removed the cut-off denim shorts and T-shirt I’d thrown on that morning. The air-conditioning turned my bare skin to gooseflesh on contact, and the
chilliness only intensified as I slipped the smooth, silky fabric of the dress over my head. Although there were some hooks I couldn’t reach, I could tell it fit as though it had been made for me. I wondered if that was part of the spell Sybil had cast on her shop or something more. The coldness surrounding me intensified.

  “Wow.” Sybil gave the dress an appreciative look as I emerged from behind the curtain. As I stood in front of the full-length mirror, she closed the fasteners I had missed. “It fits perfectly.”

  “I know. Was that your doing?”

  She shook her head. “The spell I worked wouldn’t affect the fit.”

  “How does it work, then? Because I don’t feel anything happening.”

  “No, not yet. There’s a second half of the spell that couldn’t be said until you were wearing the dress. Are you ready?”

  I hesitated. “What’s supposed to happen?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never done it before.”

  Great. What could go wrong? But it wasn’t like I had any better ideas.

  “Okay, go ahead,” I told her, holding my breath and shutting my eyes. I heard a whisper as Sybil quietly recited the rest of the spell, and then I felt the sensation of air circling around me, almost as if the words of the incantation were traveling around my body on a light breeze. When I opened my eyes, the shop and Sybil were gone.

  The space around me had been transformed into a restaurant, with crisp, white linen on the tables. Men and women were seated all around, dressed in fashions that felt impossibly antiquated to me but would have been commonplace in the 1920s. Along Main Street, Model-T Fords vied for space alongside horse-drawn carts. It was so real that I could hear the honk of a horn and the clink of silverware against plates, and as a waiter walked past me with a tray, the pungent smell of onions tickled my nose. The next moment, it was replaced by the cloying scent of rose perfume. My head began to spin, and I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, I was back in the shop, and Sybil was staring at me with her mouth agape.

  “What just happened?” I asked, my entire body trembling.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Sybil replied. “One minute you were standing there, and the next minute, you were gone.”

  “Gone?” If I’d felt cold before, it was nothing compared to the chill that overtook my bones as I repeated what she’d said. “How could I be gone?”

  “I don’t know.” Sybil’s voice shook. “I closed my eyes, and you vanished. I was about to call my grandmother for help. I looked down for a minute to find my phone, and when I looked back, there you were again, like nothing had happened.”

  “Something did happen,” I assured her. “I closed my eyes when you started the spell, and when I opened them, I was in a restaurant, and it was like I’d stepped into the nineteen twenties.”

  “This used to be a restaurant,” Sybil whispered. “You don’t think you might’ve actually…”

  “No way. It was just some sort of dream or illusion, like before.” I wanted to believe it. I truly did, despite the fact I could still detect a hint of roses in the air. All of a sudden, I had the distinct feeling that the dress was tightening around my body, suffocating me, and I clawed at the fabric to get it away from my skin. “Get me out of this thing.”

  “Stop,” Sybil scolded. “That’s no way to treat a designer dress.”

  Sybil’s expert fingers quickly undid the back and I darted into the changing room as soon as I felt the last hook open. Only the prospect of Sybil’s extreme disapproval kept me from leaving the gown in a heap on the floor. I pinched the fabric between two fingers, holding it away from me while touching as little of it as possible. “Here, I don’t think I want it anymore.”

  “I can’t keep this. It’s too valuable.”

  “Hang onto it for now, then, would you?” I pleaded as I booked it toward the door.

  “Wait,” Sybil called after me. “We still need to get the coven back together. What about tonight?”

  “Uh, maybe,” I mumbled, not turning around. “I’ll have to see.” In all honesty, though, after the weirdness I’d just experienced, I wanted to stay as far away from magic as I could, and for as long as possible. My quiet life in Cleveland had done nothing to prepare me for any of this.

  Outside the shop, it was warm and humid, and for a moment I was aware of nothing else but how good it felt against my clammy skin. My insides still quivered from the strange experience I’d had, but the familiar sights and sounds of modern-day Summerhaven were immensely soothing. I shut my eyes and breathed in the salty sea air. It felt so normal, yet I couldn’t bear to open my eyes quite yet, just in case when I did, I found the streets filled with antique cars again. They were still closed as I took a timid step onto the sidewalk along Main Street, only to find my path blocked and my nose pressed into something solid that carried just a hint of bay rum aftershave. I opened my eyes and saw a navy-blue polo shirt approximately three-quarters of an inch from my face.

  Hurriedly, I took a step backward, my cheeks burning like I’d just lit them with a match. Why hadn’t I remembered to open my eyes before walking? Such a basic thing to forget.

  “Tamsyn, we really must stop running into each other like this,” Noah joked.

  “Very funny,” I said, channeling as much annoyance as possible to cover my embarrassment. “Actually, I was meaning to look for you today.”

  “Well, you found me,” he quipped, rubbing the spot where my nose had plowed into his chest.

  I gave him my best glare. “I think I’ve figured out who sent your uncle that threatening note.”

  His joking expression quickly faded away. “You have?”

  “I found an invoice from him for some work he did on your uncle’s plane, and the handwriting was too similar to the note to be a coincidence. I think Larry might be the one who vandalized the Strong Corp. signs.”

  “Whoa.” Noah held up his hands, shaking his head. “You think Larry Sloane had something to do with my uncle’s crash?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “I don’t know.” That his emotions were conflicted was plain on his face. “Larry’s a good guy and a brilliant mechanic. Not just planes. He can fix anything. I’ve had him in the clinic several times to fix equipment, and I have a hard time imagining him doing anything like that.”

  “Look, I’m not saying he did,” I soothed, “but there was some history between them, and according to the invoice, he had access to the plane just days before the crash. Don’t you think the investigators should know?”

  “I guess I could mention it to Joe Grady the next time I see him.”

  My nose wrinkled at the mention of the sheriff’s name. “I was thinking of maybe taking it directly to the NTSB. They’re the ones with jurisdiction, anyway, and no offense, but Sheriff Grady just seemed…” My voice trailed off, failing to describe my impression of the island’s sheriff.

  Noah sighed. “I guess I can give the lead investigator a call later today. Have you managed to make heads or tails out of those financial reports I gave you?”

  I sucked in my breath. With everything else that had happened, I’d completely forgotten about the reports. What better excuse, though, to wriggle my way out of a coven meeting? “I’ll take a look at them tonight. I promise.”

  “That would be great.” Noah glanced at his watch. “I’m heading across the square to meet Curtis for lunch. Would you like to join us?”

  “Thanks, but no,” I said, my insides tightening at the mention of his cousin. I hesitated, wanting to tell him about seeing Curtis at the airfield but uncertain how to bring it up. I could already tell he thought I was half-crazy for accusing Larry Sloane of murder based on an amateur handwriting analysis. Suggesting his cousin was up to no good based on even less evidence would definitely not tilt the scales in favor of my mental health. I decided to save it for another time. “I’d better go. Aunt Gwen’s expecting me back to set up for new guests.”

  Technically, Aunt Gwen wasn’t expec
ting me back, but the rest was true enough. It was the middle of July, and we were expecting a complete turnover of rooms for the arrival of a large family that would be hosting a reunion at the inn. With twenty-six new people descending upon us all at once, ranging from age two to age ninety-five, I had a feeling Aunt Gwen could use all the help she could get.

  When I arrived back at the house, it was filled with the aroma of baked goods, and I could hear the clattering of metal pans coming from the kitchen. Though I poked my head in and offered to help, I knew immediately from the look on Aunt Gwen’s face that she hadn’t yet forgotten about how I’d made the pies explode. I backed myself out of the room as quickly as I could and spent the rest of the day washing sheets, making beds, cleaning bathrooms, and scrubbing floors. By the time the guests arrived on the last ferry, I was exhausted and aching from head to toe.

  Aunt Gwen was soon in her element playing hostess, so I escaped up the back stairs to my bedroom just after the dinner dishes were done. I stretched out on my bed and tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I could see myself standing in the restaurant that had mysteriously appeared around me where Sybil’s shop was supposed to be. I was tossing and turning long after I heard the doors of the bedrooms downstairs closing as the last of the guests turned in for the night. When I was still wide awake at nearly midnight, I walked down the stairs to the second floor and knocked on Aunt Gwen’s bedroom door.

  “What is it, Tamsyn?” Aunt Gwen asked as she opened the door a crack. I could see from her bleary-eyed expression and the darkness of the room behind her that she’d been asleep, and I felt a stab of guilt.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not important.” I turned to go, but she stopped me.

  “You seem troubled, my dear.”

  “I just can’t seem to get to sleep,” I explained, not wanting to go into the reasons why. Even for a witch, falling through a crack in the space-time continuum before lunch felt like it stretched credibility just a bit.