by Sharon Pape
“In ten years, my business will have grown tenfold, although that’s probably low-balling it. Personally?” He produced a laugh that was more like a grunt. “Did you really think you could slide that one under my radar? You know I don’t talk about my personal life.”
“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying,” Travis said, clearly hoping some boyish, aw-shucks charm could win him points with the billionaire.
“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” Fletcher replied darkly.
He hit a button on his phone. Ms. Robbins opened the door so quickly that she must have been waiting outside with her hand on the knob, ready to rescue her boss at a moment’s notice. As Travis and I stood and headed out, I looked for the fly. It hadn’t moved from its spot on the wall. “Tilly,” I said, reaching out to her with my mind, “you have to come with us, or he may kill you. Tilly, please.” I was so preoccupied that I walked straight into Ms. Robbins. I apologized, but she looked over the top of my head as if I wasn’t there.
“Anderson,” Fletcher called out as we left, “ditch the girl. She’ll only hold you back.”
Chapter 16
I called my aunt the second we were out of Fletcher’s building. I sweated out four rings, panicked that she had been the fly on the wall. Just before her voice mail kicked in, she picked up. “Thank goodness.” I exhaled the words, relief making my knees give way. Travis grabbed me around the waist in time to keep me upright.
“Thank goodness to you too,” Tilly said. “Is that some new kind of greeting? I’m falling hopelessly behind with social customs.”
I explained about the fly, which sent us both into gales of laughter that left her gasping for air and me with a sore belly. When we’d recovered enough to speak, I asked how she was faring in my absence.
“Everything is under control,” she said in a way that told me everything had not been under control at some point.
“We’ll talk when I get home,” I said. The crisis, whatever it had been, was apparently over, and I couldn’t have done a thing about it in any case. Travis and I still had a five-hour drive ahead of us.
Traffic in and around Manhattan was a nightmare of snarls and gridlock. I wanted to discuss our interview with Fletcher, but I didn’t want to distract him from the job at hand. An hour later we were finally on the highway, where fifty-five miles an hour felt like we were flying.
“Did you catch the change in Fletcher’s demeanor when I brought up Davies and asked if he knew what happened to the man?”
Travis, who’d been singing tunelessly along with Celine Dion, stopped. “It was hard not to. He nearly dropped his mask.”
“Exactly. He thought he was home safe until I started poking him on the subject.”
“Which is probably why he told me to dump you.”
“Sure, he’s worried about me,” I said, grinning.
“Just don’t let it go to your head, though I suspect I’m already too late with that advice.”
“Very funny,” I said. “Getting back to Fletcher, if he ordered the hit on Amanda, and Ingersoll wasn’t the henchman, Davies becomes a likely contender for the job and best employee ever. In fact, he’s probably enjoying his ill-gotten gains on a tropical island as we speak.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Travis said. “Fletcher wouldn’t take the chance on Davies getting drunk one night and running his mouth about it.”
“You think Fletcher planned to have him killed too?” As awful as it was, it made sense. If Fletcher had no scruples about targeting a woman because of a zoning vote, why would he lose any sleep over eliminating her killer? Maybe in his warped mind he even considered it a kind of justice. “So if Davies turns up dead, he was probably Amanda’s killer. But what about his killer?” My head was spinning. How many deaths would it take to make Fletcher feel safe?
“Let’s not jump the gun,” Travis said. “It’s worth keeping in mind that we have other suspects with equally strong motives.”
“You’re right,” I said, feeling a bit silly. Travis was kind enough not to press the point. Instead, he regaled me with funny stories from earlier in his career when he’d been an overeager rookie reporter.
We were hours late arriving in New Camel, thanks to roadwork on the highways and the eventual need to stop for food and drinks. On the last leg of the trip, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. Travis’s bed had been comfortable enough, but the very fact that I was in his bed made me think about how it would be to have him there with me. That led me to reexamine our relationship and its chances for survival over the long haul. If that hadn’t been enough to keep me staring at the ceiling, I was also amped up about the morning meeting with Fletcher.
When we pulled to the curb in front of my house, Tilly’s red Mustang was parked in the driveway. I invited Travis inside, but he begged off, claiming exhaustion—a reasonable excuse, given the endless drive back. I hated the doubt that immediately pricked at my mind. Was his reluctance fueled in part by the prospect of being in the company of not one but three sorcerers? I wondered if there would ever come a time when I wouldn’t question his mindset.
I walked into the house and dropped my overnight bag in the foyer. A welcoming committee was assembled at the entrance to the living room. Tilly, Merlin, and Sashkatu were there along with the other cats. Although they were crowded around Merlin, when they saw me, they came right over to take turns, winding their way between my legs and purring contentedly. It was lovely for the minute it lasted before they sprinted back to the wizard. Sashki alone remained at my side with a haughty look on his face as if to say, “What fools are the young.”
Tilly embraced me, and Merlin took my hand and kissed it. “It’s so wonderful to have you back here,” Tilly said, beaming at me. “Did you have a good time? What did you find out about Hugh Fletcher? I’m dying to hear all of it.”
Before I could open my mouth, Merlin jabbed her in the ribs, making her yelp. “Keep those pointy elbows to yourself, old man, or you won’t even get a taste of my pie.” She turned to me, her irritation melting into a smile. “I made you that mixed-berry pie you adore.”
“But it was I who insisted we procure the vanilla ice cream to accompany it,” Merlin added with the modified bow dictated by his faltering equilibrium. As expected, he dealt with this new indignity of aging with little grace and an abundance of grumbling.
“Thank you both,” I said, glad to be home. “Let’s dig into that pie and ice cream before I fall asleep standing here.” While we ate, I filled my aunt in on the meeting with Fletcher and managed to pry out of her what happened while I was away.
Apparently Merlin had decided to try his hand at baking while she was at my shop. He claimed he wanted to surprise her with a treat the way she did for others. Unfortunately, he’d always been more focused on the results of her baking than on the details of the process itself. He set out to make a blueberry pie, working under the assumption that if some sugar was good, twice the amount was better. Ditto for the blueberries, which Tilly had purchased for an upcoming tea at her shop. She arrived home to a blueberry pie that made her teeth ache and an oven overflowing with dripping blueberry goo. Of course, it had leaked onto the floor, and of course, both Merlin and Isenbale had stepped in it and trailed it all over the house, including the beige carpeting in her bedroom. Listening to her describe the mess and how long it took to clean up made my own fatigue worse. I thanked them again for the warm homecoming and saw them out the door, thinking I might never be able leave home again.
Chapter 17
As tired as I was, it was too early to go to bed. I tried to get interested in a TV show, and when that failed, I sat down at my computer and searched the Internet for an address or a phone number for Dwayne Davies. When I came up empty, I Googled his name and found thirty men in the state of New York sporting that moniker. Narrowing the search parameters to Schuyler County, I whittled the number do
wn to a more manageable four. The one who lived closest to the Winterland Resort was the Dwayne Davies of Hassetville. But even Hassetville wasn’t around the corner. Davies would have had a forty-minute drive to and from Winterland, certainly doable but not an easy trip in snow, sleet, and ice. He’d either been desperate for a job at the time or loved the work. People don’t usually walk away from a job they need or love unless they come into enough money to make working no longer necessary. A winning lottery ticket or an inheritance came to mind, as well as a hefty bonus from Fletcher for removing the Amanda thorn from his side. There hadn’t been any million-dollar lottery winners in Schuyler County for a long time, so I lopped that one off my list.
I logged onto my e-news subscription and scoured the death notices going back two months. If Davies had come into a life-changing sum of money from a relative’s passing, he hadn’t paid for even the most basic death notice to honor his benefactor. Maybe he wished to keep other relatives from sniffing around for a piece of the pie. In the end, all of this was supposition on my part. I couldn’t even be sure I had the right Dwayne Davies. For that I needed a phone number, a street address, and a road trip. I could try sweet-talking Ingersoll into giving me the manager’s info or ask Travis to use his connections. I pushed back from the computer, too tired to make even that simple decision. It would have to wait until morning.
* * * *
I was awakened by a chorus of off-key cat vocals and the tickle of whiskers on my face. The clock on the nightstand read eight fifteen. I’d forgotten to set the alarm. I dragged my sleep-logged body out of bed. I had cats to feed and a shop to open.
Sashkatu was stationed at the top of the stairs. I followed him down to the kitchen, the other cats hard on my heels. The house had gotten chilly overnight, and my light cotton nightgown wasn’t up to the challenge. But I didn’t want to waste time going back to the bedroom for a robe.
When my bare feet hit the cold tile floor in the kitchen, I instantly went from cold to freezing. Morgana should never have changed out the old hardwood. If I ever had the time and money, I was going to change it back, or maybe I’d have radiant heat installed to keep the floors toasty all winter. The cats would surely love sleeping on a warm floor, but then I’d have a hard time navigating the kitchen without stepping on anyone.
I fixed their breakfasts in record time, my freezing feet and goose-bumped arms proving to be good motivators. I couldn’t wait to get into a warm shower. The hot water felt wonderful, but it slowed me down. It was hard shutting it off and harder still leaving the steamy warmth of the bathroom. With my terry robe tied snugly around me, I rummaged through my closet until I found jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I stuffed my feet into sneakers, ran a comb through my hair, and grabbed my denim jacket. Not a land speed record but impressive nonetheless.
Then I spent five minutes looking for Sashkatu. I’d decided to come back for him later when I stumbled over him. He was asleep on the braided doormat at the front door. He clearly didn’t want to be forgotten in my mad dash to work. It was a plan he may have regretted when I woke him with a shriek as I fell onto my side to avoid stepping on him. He gave me a look that said, “Stupid human.” It was a look he’d perfected over time. He yawned and stretched each arthritic leg as if he were in no hurry. I suspected he knew that I was.
The two of us went off to the shop, at least one of us grateful for the ten-second commute. Sashki was installed on his windowsill and I on the chair behind the desk when the clock chimed nine and Lolly came through the door.
“Welcome back,” she said. “I have to talk to you.”
I came out from behind the counter to exchange quick pecks on the cheek. “That sounds mysterious.”
Lolly planted herself in the customer chair. “Alan Boswell came in for candy while you were away. Today’s his daughter Kate’s birthday, and he was really down in the dumps. You know, it’s been two years since I lost Martin, and I still get blue at birthdays and holidays. Would you listen to me preaching to the choir,” she chastised herself. “I am so sorry, dear. Morgana and Bronwen are barely gone three months. Martin always told me to spend more time thinking and less time talking.”
“That’s okay,” I said, though Martin was right to some degree. But Lolly was all heart and no harm. “Sometimes it feels like their passing was a lot longer ago than three months.” Then there are the times it doesn’t feel like they’re gone at all, I thought dryly. But the truth was that I did miss their company and advice. I missed the way we laughed at ourselves and each other. The way we stood together, closing ranks if one of us was threatened or troubled. The stuff of families. I was surprised by the tears that sprang to my eyes. It didn’t happen as often anymore.
Lolly reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced a little packet of tissues and a purple foil-wrapped candy I recognized as one of her raspberry truffles. She pulled out a tissue and offered it to me along with the candy. “You can tell I’m a grandma,” she said, chuckling. “I always have tissues and goodies in my pockets.” She had such an infectious laugh that it was hard not to laugh along with her. “Now where was I?” she muttered.
“You were saying that today is Kate Boswell’s birthday.”
“Right, right—Alan’s taking her and her best friends to the Grotto for dinner. He even arranged to have them present her with a birthday cake. And he’s giving her five hundred dollars to spend on clothes or whatever she wants.”
“Don’t forget about the candy he bought for her.”
“That’s just what I said to him, which is when he mumbled that it wasn’t for her.”
“The candy wasn’t for her? Who was it for then?”
“A new lady friend,” Lolly said. “He wouldn’t say much about her, not that I didn’t try to worm it out of him. I’ve dragged information out of better, smarter men than Alan Boswell. I guess he had his guard up, worried about the old rumor mill.”
“He should be,” I said, jarred by her revelation. “He didn’t waste any time.” So much for the grief-stricken husband who unclogged my drains and poured his heart out to me. Would the real Alan Boswell please stand up?
“Pardon the comparison, but money is a lot like magic,” she said. “One moment Alan is a past-his-prime average Joe, and the next he flashes some serious cash, and presto change-o, he can have any girl he wants. Some pretty heady stuff for a loser like him. But then, I’ve never had a high opinion of the man, a natural result of having been Amanda’s friend.”
“Poor Kate,” I said. “First her mother is murdered, and now her father’s idea of mourning is partying like a teenager.”
Lolly sighed. “I imagine she’ll be hanging out with her grandparents as much as he’ll let her.”
“He’s probably too busy to care,” I said, my stomach turning in disgust as I thought about his phony performance at my kitchen table. “You should have heard him whining about how his in-laws are always bad-mouthing him, trying to turn Kate against him.”
“He’s doing more damage to his relationship with her than they could ever do. Uh-oh,” she said, pulling herself up from the chair with some effort. “I just saw a couple of kids run into my shop without their parents. And I left a whole tray of candy cooling on a countertop,” she called over her shoulder as she hustled out the door.
* * * *
I wanted to call Eric Ingersoll, but I didn’t want our conversation to be interrupted by customers. Tilly was busy baking for two readings, one of which was staying for a tea. I considered asking Merlin to cover for me. After all, the call shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes. How much mischief could he get into in such a short time? I threw caution to the wind and asked him. He seemed pleased by the request and promised he wouldn’t do or say anything to cause a problem. He’d be as mute as a monk under a vow of silence.
“I’ll be in the storeroom, but don’t come for me unless the shop is on fire.” I closed the door
to the storeroom and dialed Winterland. The secretary put me right through to Ingersoll.
“The reunion lady. You have those numbers firmed up for the event?”
I’d forgotten about the ruse I used to get in to see him. “Not yet, but that’s not the reason I called.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“Generally a good place to start.”
“I was talking to my aunt from Albany,” I said, picking the first place that popped into my head, “about having the reunion at Winterland. She asked me if Dwayne Davies was still the manager. They met in college, kept in touch for years after graduating, but eventually lost track of each other. She begged me to get his phone number or address so she could catch up with him. To tell you the truth, I think she had a crush on him back then.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t mind helping you and Cupid, but like I told you, Davies flew the coop with no forwarding address. If you call his landline, his elderly mother answers, and she swears she has no idea where he went or why. In fact, she filed a missing persons report with the police after he didn’t come home from work that first night.”
“How awful,” I said. “My aunt knew the whole family. I’m sure she’ll want to contact Mrs. Davies to offer whatever support she can.”
“I guess there’s no harm in that,” he said, followed by an enthusiastic “All right!”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “I’m throwing paper balls into the trash basket across the room, and I made another basket. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
I could picture him leaning back in the padded chair, feet hefted onto the desk, playing the makeshift game. “Congratulations,” I said trying not to sound snide about it. “So you’ll find the address and number for me?”
“Sure, why not.”
I gave him my number and clicked off, figuring I had a fifty–fifty shot of hearing from him.