by Sharon Pape
“You have naught to fear,” he told me. “Your aunt has instructed me in the usage of credit cards, debit cards, and the like. If you ask me, barter was a much simpler system. You either had a goat to trade for a laying hen or made do without the hen.”
“Just remember—nothing is free. Even if it says it’s free, it’s not.”
“Baffling times,” he mumbled, installing himself at the computer. “I don’t know how anyone can be expected to keep it all straight.” With some difficulty, Sashki managed to climb into his lap and curl up for a snooze. I picked up my pad and a pen and got to work on the list of potential candidates for the role of Amanda’s killer.
I’ve heard there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but I disagree. Crime isn’t the kind of advertising that attracts tourists to a quaint, family-friendly destination like New Camel. Although no one could undo what had happened, capturing the killer as quickly as possible would be the best way for the town to move forward. The sooner the story stopped making headlines, the sooner it would fade from the public’s memory. It seemed wrong to think that way, as though I were also trying to erase Amanda from our minds. But she was well beyond anyone’s help. Pursuing justice on her behalf was the best I could do.
Chapter 5
Beverly occupied first place on my list of suspects. It was more a formality than any real suspicion I had. She didn’t strike me as a killer, but then I didn’t know her very well. Like an extra in films, she’d inhabited the background of my life as far back as I could remember.
But even if I were better acquainted with her and knew her to be of sterling character, I couldn’t dismiss her out of hand. The fact remained that she had discovered Amanda’s body. Of course, Tilly had supposedly arrived at the scene of the crime at the same time, the difference being that she was my aunt and I knew her as well as one person can know another. She had trouble killing any living being, with the exception of spiders. Even then she had to enlist someone else to do the dirty work while she stood screaming a safe distance away. What’s more, the spider killer had to swear on all things sacred that the beast was dead. Tilly was certain that if the spider was captured and released outside, it would find its way back in and would lie in wait for her, plotting eight-legged revenge.
I had no idea how Beverly felt about spiders or killing, in general, but talking to her seemed to be a logical way to start my investigation. And the sooner, the better. I didn’t want to give her a chance to regroup and regain her equilibrium. The more vulnerable she was, the more easily I could catch her in a lie. When I called to ask if I could stop by, she was wary.
“I want to hear what it was like for you when you found Amanda’s body.” I tried to sound like someone on the gossip hotline.
Beverly went for the bait. “I bet you’re helping that handsome reporter of yours?” she said. “Did he ask you to get some points of view and local color for his report?”
“Am I that transparent?” I said, all innocence. It wasn’t actually a lie, I told myself, more like a bit of harmless misdirection, but I felt a twinge of conscience anyway.
“When do you want to stop by?” she asked. “I’ll be home all day.”
That’s what I was counting on. The woman loved the sound of her own voice. Add a pinch of gossip to it, and the possibility of her name being mentioned on TV and you were in like Flynn. I had no idea where the expression came from, but I’d heard Morgana and Bronwen use it often enough that it was a part of the family lexicon.
I waited for Tilly to finish with her client so I could return Merlin into her keeping; then I set the hands on the I’ll Be Back sign to two o’clock and put it in the front window. With my business not fully back on track, I couldn’t afford to be gone longer than a traditional lunch hour. Even so, I risked missing potential customers. On my way out, I grabbed a bottle of our best-selling skin rejuvenator to pave my way into Beverly’s good graces. She didn’t sound like she still blamed us for her vocal distress, but it couldn’t hurt to bring along a peace offering.
Beverly answered the door, wearing red capris and a red-and-white-striped T-shirt, her blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail with just the right bit of curl at the end. There were plenty of negative things you could say about her, but her skill as a hair stylist wasn’t one of them. She had a half-eaten chocolate cupcake in her hand and a ring of chocolate icing around her mouth that she tried unsuccessfully to lick off as we exchanged pleasantries.
I presented her with the skin cream, saying I hoped it would cheer her up after her ordeal the previous evening. Her eyes lit up when she realized it was one of her favorite products from my shop. Reaching for it, she lost the cupcake to the floor. She thanked me a number of times as she scooped up the fallen cupcake. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped the chocolate off the floor. It was all so efficient I wondered how often she did it.
“I was having a cup of tea,” she said, turning the cupcake over in her hand as if trying to decide if it was clean enough to eat. “Can I make you a cup?”
“That would be great,” I said. I wasn’t actually in the mood for tea, especially what my aunt disparagingly called “teabag tea,” but it was the sociable thing to do, and my relationship with Beverly needed all the social niceties at hand.
She led the way into the kitchen, running on about how she hadn’t slept a wink all night what with grieving for Amanda and fearing that every creak in the house signaled an intruder sneaking up the stairs to kill her too.
I took a seat at the glass-and-chrome table in the corner of her newly renovated kitchen and watched her put the fallen cupcake on the counter. I suspected she was saving it for after I left. She filled the teakettle and set it on the gas range to boil. There was a six-pack box of cupcakes on the table beside her teacup. Half the box was empty. Anxiety eating was something I could understand, but my food of choice was usually ice cream.
“Did you have trouble sleeping last night too?” she asked once we were settled with our tea.
“Actually, I was so tired I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow.”
“You’re not at all worried the killer could still be around here?” Her words had an edge to them, as if she begrudged me my peace of mind.
“Of course I’m concerned. I just don’t think worrying or running around like Chicken Little is going to keep me any safer. I’d rather focus on trying to solve the case. Then we’ll all be able to sleep better.”
Beverly sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. “Under the circumstances, a healthy amount of fear is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I wasn’t calling you Chicken Little,” I said. “I was using it as a figure of speech.” I’d forgotten how touchy Beverly could be. She gave a little nod that I took as forgiveness. “What I meant to say is that I assumed from the get-go the killer is from New Camel and is most likely still here. Who else would be invested enough to kill over such a local issue? The killer may be at home right now, lying low in hopes of getting away with his crime.”
“That’s precisely the reason I’m worried. If I thought the killer was on the run, I’d be a lot calmer about the situation. Beverly turned the box of cupcakes around to face me. “I’m not big on store-bought, but these aren’t bad.”
“Thanks, maybe later? I’m interested in hearing about what you went through last night.” With the clock ticking on my lunch hour, I had to steer her in the right direction, or I’d be leaving without a single bit of useful information.
“Well, after that trouble with my voice...” she paused, her brow wrinkling.
Was she remembering her suspicion that the Wilde clan was to blame? I wondered if I was about to be shown the door. She must have decided she didn’t want to lose my good will or the prospect of more free merchandise because she picked up where she’d left off.
“I went out front to get some fresh air. I thought a quiet stroll around the school grounds
would help me restore my composure. As it turned out, walking on grass is not easy in three-inch spikes, especially when the grass is damp. I guess the sprinklers were on earlier. Anyway, I cut the walk short and headed to the emergency doors. It was a good thing I was looking down, or I might have stepped right on Amanda with my spikes. Of course I didn’t know it was Amanda at the time.”
Beverly quaked at the thought. If she wasn’t innocent, she was doing a convincing job of pretending to be. “How long was it before Tilly showed up?” I asked.
Beverly reached into the box and helped herself to another cupcake, a vanilla one with strawberry frosting. She peeled off the paper holder. “She must have gotten there at that very moment because we screamed at the same time.”
I realized that estimating the time Beverly came upon the body based on the scream wasn’t necessarily accurate. Some people coming upon a body might start to scream instantly, whereas others might be momentarily frozen by the discovery, unable to issue a sound. More important, if Beverly were the killer, she wouldn’t have screamed unless someone else came along. Why call attention to the crime you’ve just committed? Maybe Tilly could shed more light on the timing.
“When you were walking around that side of the building, did you pass anyone?” I asked. “Did you see anyone in the area?”
The cupcake was halfway to Beverly’s mouth when her hand stopped. “Wait. You think I might have seen the killer leaving?”
“It’s a possibility. Didn’t Detective Duggan ask you about that?”
“Maybe.” She lowered her hand to the table, frowning. “He asked me so many questions...one after the other, so fast, and my head was already spinning....”
“Did you see anyone else?” I repeated to nudge her back on track.
“I suppose there could have been other people walking around. It was a warm night. I was focused on trying not to snap off a heel.” She stopped to sip her tea, the cupcake still in her other hand. Before the cup reached her mouth, she set it down abruptly, causing the tea to slosh over the rim. “Oh good Lord, if I’d been there a minute earlier, I could have been killed instead of Amanda.” Her voice was hollow with dread.
“I doubt it,” I said. “I don’t think this was a random act. Whoever killed Amanda had an agenda. They were after her, specifically.”
Beverly heaved a shaky sigh. “Do you really think so?”
I assured her I did.
“I suppose that does make more sense.” She remembered she was holding the cupcake and nibbled on it distractedly. “Do you think the killer wanted to get rid of Amanda because of her position on the hotel?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out.” It was my first thought when I saw her lying there with her neck slashed open. But I also knew it would be shoddy investigating to start out with my mind closed to other possibilities. The killer’s motive might not have had any connection to the hotel at all. He or she could have chosen the high-profile venue to hide their true motive.
“That means anyone who feels like she did about the hotel could also be in danger,” Beverly said.
“Do you know if she was for the hotel or against it?” I asked. No harm in making sure Rusty had heard her correctly. Although Beverly was hardly the most reliable source, at the moment she was the only game in town.
“Oh yes, she was gung ho for it, and she wasn’t shy about making her opinion known.”
“Do you share that opinion?”
“I’ll be keeping my opinion to myself from now on, thank you very much, and I plan to talk to the mayor about having a secret ballot when the time comes for the board to vote. If he refuses, he can find himself two replacements instead of one.”
It was a pretty good bet that Beverly was in favor of the hotel. I had one more question for her before I excused myself to get back to work. “Any thoughts about who the killer might be?”
She appeared taken aback by the question. “How would I know?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Whatever you say stays with me. I’m not going to broadcast it. And you never know—if you’re right, you may help catch the killer.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “If I’m right, would I get credit for it in the news? Or money like a reward?”
Ah, there was the Beverly I knew and disliked. “I could put in a good word for you with Detective Duggan.” As if he would ever listen to me.
“Well okay,” she relented. “I have been wondering if it was Amanda’s almost ex, Alan Boswell. The second time he cheated on Amanda, she threw him out and filed for divorce. But she couldn’t bring herself to sign the divorce decree and sever all her ties to him. She still loved him and felt sorry for him yada yada yada.”
“What kind of ties?”
“If you ask me, it was mostly him coming around to grub money from her. The guy’s a sleaze, a parasite.”
“She told you all that?”
“And more. Bartenders and hairdressers—we know more secrets than the CIA,” Beverly said with a sly smile.
“Did she usually give him the money he wanted?”
“Yeah, when she couldn’t stand his whining anymore.”
“Then why on earth would he kill his golden goose?”
“Maybe he found out his goose was about to sign the divorce papers and cut him off.”
“Was she?” I wished Beverly would stop the teasers and flat out tell me the rest of what she knew.
“Yes, I finally talked her into signing it and changing her will and the beneficiary of her life insurance policy.” Her chest puffed up with pride over her powers of persuasion.
“Did he know his time was running out?”
“That I don’t know. Amanda had an appointment to come in for a cut and blow-dry this Friday. I was going to ask her then. That reminds me. I have to take her name out of the book.”
After politely chatting for another minute, I left Beverly to her cupcakes and drove back to Abracadabra. The trip had been worthwhile. I had Beverly’s account of finding Amanda, which I could compare to Tilly’s, as well as a possible lead to the killer.
Chapter 6
I spent a good part of that night debating whether to call Travis and tell him about the leads I’d gotten. My head told me the information was too vague to pass on. At the very least, I should wait until I followed up on it. My heart told me I shouldn’t squander a chance to speak to Travis and possibly see him. This time my mind won out. If he needed space, as my matriarchs seemed to think, I was going to let him have all he needed. I never mooned over any guy, not even in my teens; I sure wasn’t going to start now. Having made that decision, I awoke the next morning feeling lighter and more energized. I fed the cats, showered, and slipped on a cotton sundress and sandals. It had been a hot summer, and the heat wasn’t showing any signs of letting up. Don’t get me wrong. I love the summer, but I was tired of my summer wardrobe. And this late in August, all the stores were showing winter coats, fur-lined boots, and bulky sweaters.
In spite of the heat, when Sashkatu followed me over to the shop he had more bounce in his step too. He was starting to key into my moods as the months went by without Morgana. The thought warmed my heart but also brought tears to my eyes. It took effort to shut down the waterworks. I couldn’t very well greet customers with red eyes and mascara tracks down my cheeks. After I turned off the security system, Sashki and I walked through to the front of the shop. He hopped up the steps to his window seat and settled in with a little grumble of pleasure. Both of us in place and ready for the day, I slapped on a determined smile and opened the front door.
Since no one bowled me over in a mad rush to get inside, I used the lull to dust the shelves and the myriad products on them. It wasn’t a job I enjoyed, but customers tend to be put off by dust and spider webs. I stopped at the halfway point. There was a finite amount of tedium I could stand. I promised myself I’d tackle the other half later. Bes
ides, I had other work that required my attention.
My grandmother had been urging me to work on my telekinetic ability with the eventual goal of mastering teleportation—moving my body through space with the power of my mind. And although Bronwen no longer possessed a corporeal body, it was never wise to ignore her. Besides, growing up I had bemoaned the fact that I lacked a specialty, a unique magickal skill that set me apart from the other members of my family. My mother had been amazing at developing new spells, Tilly was a preeminent psychic, and Bronwen had been a wiz at creating potions to address nearly any problem you threw at her.
Trying to come up with a game plan, I leaned back against the counter. In the past, I’d experimented with telekinesis in a muddled way. As a result, I could never depend on it to work. One day I could slide a piece of furniture across the floor, but the next I couldn’t budge a paper clip. I told myself it was because of our recent overall problems with magick, but that was just taking the easy way out, and I knew it.
After fifteen minutes of pondering my options, I had only one idea spring to mind, but one was all I needed. I’d handle it like any bodybuilding program at the gym. In essence, it wasn’t all that different; I’d be building my telekinetic muscle. I’d start off with smaller, lighter objects and work my way up to larger, heavier ones. Then I’d add in the variable of distance.
I made myself comfortable in what I thought of as “the customer chair” and set my sights on The Beginners Book of Spells displayed on a table six feet away. I concentrated on lifting it off the two other books there without disturbing them. To my delight, the book wobbled in midair for a moment and then sailed easily into my hand. It wasn’t the first time I’d used telekinesis successfully. Travis could attest to that fact. But it was now a step completed in my training program.