That Olde White Magick

by Sharon Pape

  I relieved Merlin, who was disgruntled because no one had come into the shop during my brief absence. “We’ll have to try this again sometime,” I told him, which seemed to brighten his mood.

  An hour later, Ingersoll kept his promise and called with Davies’s information. I thanked him, and he reminded me that ski season was only a few months off. If I was serious about taking lessons, I should make an appointment soon because his schedule filled up quickly.

  It turned out I was right about the manager living in Hassetville. Visiting his mother would take too long for a lunch hour, though. I’d have to go after work, but first I needed to call the woman and convince her she wanted to see me.

  Chapter 18

  “I don’t want to upset Mrs. Davies,” I said to Tilly. “She’s elderly, and she already had to go through the whole thing when she filed the missing persons report.” We were seated at her kitchen table with cups of tea after having stuffed ourselves with her legendary shepherd’s pie. She’d decided I was looking a little pale and in need of some home cooking. And she knew shepherd’s pie was one of my childhood favorites. Morgana had tried to make it for me on several occasions, but Tilly’s always won hands down.

  “Do you know of a spell that will prevent my words from hurting her? From making her grieve all over again?”

  “You’re operating under the wrong premise,” Tilly said. “Talking to you couldn’t make her grieve again unless she’d somehow managed to forget about him, let alone his mysterious disappearance. Trust me when I tell you that she has not forgotten, that the pain has not receded, though she might have learned to hide it better. Her son is with her every minute of every hour whether she’s awake or asleep. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have a child of my own, but I know in the deepest level of my soul that losing a child is a wound that never heals. Talking about him may be the only real pleasure left in her life. Friends, even relatives, reach their saturation point. It’s natural for them to want to put the sadness behind them and move on with their lives. Your being there to listen to her will be a gift.”

  Every now and then, my often-silly aunt surprised me with her wisdom, and this was one of those times. What her words told me was that a spell wasn’t necessary and probably wouldn’t work even if I found one. There are some things beyond the ability of even the most accomplished sorcerer.

  “I’m hankerin’ for some dessert,” Merlin said, coming into the kitchen. “How much longer are you hens gonna be jabberin’? A fella could starve to death around here.”

  “Why don’t you nibble on the mashed potatoes stuck in your beard?” Tilly said, trying not to laugh but not entirely successful.

  Merlin was too fixated on dessert to care if he was the subject of her mirth. “What are we havin’ anyway?”

  Tilly pushed back from the table. “Fresh peach tarts. Probably the last ones of the season.”

  * * * *

  It was eight o’clock when I got back home, not too late to call Mrs. Davies. She answered the phone on the first ring as if she still sat by the phone waiting for her son’s call. I explained who I was and why I was interested in hearing more about her son’s disappearance. I asked if she could spare me a few minutes.

  “I have more time on my hands these days than I know what to do with,” she said. “You’re more than welcome to come by.” We settled on four the following day. It meant closing the shop early, but weekdays in the late afternoon in August were notoriously slow for business—my business anyway. Magick isn’t quite the staple groceries, pharmaceuticals, or chocolates are. Lolly never seemed to lack for customers. The forecast of a blizzard brought people to her door in droves. Chocolate can make the unpleasant a lot easier to bear.

  Before going off to bed, I went online to pay some bills and check my e-mail. A notice from the mayor’s office caught my attention. The rescheduled town board meeting would be held in two days. Less than forty-eight hours! I checked the date of the e-mail, thinking I must have overlooked it days ago, but the notice had been sent while I was having dinner at Tilly’s. Mayor Tompkins waited until the last minute, no doubt hoping fewer people would show up to attack the zoning issue and further prolong the process. Not only had he pushed a like-minded ringer onto us in the form of Patrick Griffin; he also failed to notify us about the rescheduled meeting in a timely manner! I, for one, had no intention of missing that meeting. I put it on my calendar in the slot next to my visit with Mrs. Davies. My evenings were getting busy. I was a real jet-setter.

  * * * *

  Travis called to touch base when I was on my way to Hassetville. We’d agreed to talk every day, even if it was only to say we had nothing new to report. With several suspects, his busy schedule, and my day job, it was the best way to keep each other in the loop. Forgetting to relay one detail might not mean much, or it might mean a delay in putting the pieces of the puzzle together. As Travis had reminded me, it could also mean the difference between life and death.

  “On your way to see Mrs. Davies?” he asked.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me,” I said.

  “It’s all in the name of efficiency and safety.”

  “Let’s not go another round on the safety issue,” I said. Travis had brought it up for the first time when we were investigating the death of Jim Harkens. “I’ve already proved I’m capable of taking care of myself.” Before he could squeeze in another word on the subject, I told him about the email notice I received from Tompkins.

  “The man’s really overstepping. The Waverly people must be dangling a big chunk of cash over him to get the zoning passed right away. I’ll have to get over there for a follow-up on my initial report. I guess I’ll see you there?”

  “You couldn’t keep me away.”

  * * * *

  Jane Davies lived in a tidy white Cape Cod with black shutters and a red door. The only thing that hinted at neglect was the Boxwood hedge that ran along the perimeter of the front yard. I could tell by the height of the new growth that the bushes hadn’t been trimmed for the past few months. Dwayne must have been his mom’s gardener and maintenance man, a good son.

  Mrs. Davies opened the door and welcomed me in with a tremulous smile that seemed ready to break down at a moment’s notice. I put her to be in her seventies, and I could tell she was used to keeping up her appearance. She’d applied brown liner to her eyelids, but the lines had been drawn with a shaky hand. And the blush on her cheeks was too round and rosy against the pallor of her skin. The most telling sign of her stress was the thick line of gray rising from the roots of her otherwise brown hair. Like the hedge, it hadn’t been touched up in months. Things like that stop mattering when your life has fallen apart.

  She brought me into her small living room. The furniture was fussy, the fabrics faded. A glass-front cabinet against one wall was filled to the brim with a collection of small owls. Owls of every shape and material. Dozens more resided on every flat surface in the room. For all I knew, the birds had colonized the other rooms as well. Dusting had to be a nightmare.

  We sat on armchairs a few feet apart. I expressed my condolences again and thanked her for seeing me.

  “Forgive me,” she said, “my mind isn’t what it once was. Why do you want to know about my son?”

  “I’m a private investigator,” I told her. “I became interested in your son’s disappearance while I was investigating another case in New Camel.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Dwayne works at the ski resort...” Her voice trailed off.

  “Winterland,” I supplied.

  “Yes, that’s right. May I ask what sort of case you were working on?” She probably wanted to grab me, turn me upside and shake me, until everything I knew about her son fell out like loose change. But she maintained the polite restraint that was a hallmark of past generations when the social graces were observed regardless of the circumstances.

&n
bsp; “A woman by the name of Amanda Boswell was recently killed in New Camel,” I said. I’d wrestled with how to present this subject to her if she asked. Apparently there was no tactful way to speak about murder when her own son was MIA.

  “I heard something about that on the news,” she said. “Horrible. Just horrible.” I watched her expression start to crumble as she made the inevitable connection. “You don’t think the killer may have also—”

  “No, no,” I said, interrupting before she could get the difficult words out. Did I really believe that if I stopped her from verbalizing them, she would also stop thinking them? Had Tilly been there she would have rolled her eyes at me and given me a demerit. “That’s not what I meant. I’m simply trying to locate anyone who may have known the woman or witnessed the murder.”

  Jane didn’t say anything. She searched my face for reassurance I couldn’t give her. Although I’d tried to do right by her, I’d made a muddle of it. Since I was the one who scared her into thinking about a serial killer, it was up to me to turn down the fire under that possibility. Not an easy thing to do when the purpose of my visit was Amanda’s death and her son’s disappearance.

  “Keep in mind that Amanda and Dwayne traveled in very different circles,” I pointed out. “There is nothing about them that is even vaguely similar. A dating service would never have matched them,” I added, hoping to elicit a smile from her and failing. “The odds are they weren’t even acquainted.”

  “I don’t recall hearing Dwayne mention the name Amanda,” Jane said, latching onto the fact like it was a life vest I’d thrown her. “But then New Camel isn’t around the corner from here. I can count the number of people I know there on one hand and still have fingers left over. But Dwayne did work there, so their paths may have crossed. Of course, Dwayne has always been painfully shy around women—pretty women especially.” She paused and seemed to gather herself before going on. “Do you think my son could have been murdered?”

  “Did he have any enemies?” I asked. “Did he ever say he was worried about his safety?”

  “He was bullied by two boys ages ago in high school. I don’t know if that counts. They both moved away after graduation. He never mentioned having safety concerns since then. Miss Wilde, my son is a gentle soul.”

  “How did he feel about his boss?”

  “Fletcher?” Her lips compressed into a tight line. “I don’t think anyone likes that man. I’ve never met him, but from what Dwayne has told me, he’s cold and calculating without a scintilla of compassion for anyone. A tightwad, too, if my son’s salary is any example. You know what he gave him for a Christmas bonus last year?”

  I shook my head.

  “A hundred dollars. That might have been generous back in the thirties, but with today’s prices? It’s more like an insult.”

  “Did Fletcher ever ask him to do any work on the side?”

  “On the side?” She repeated, frowning. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”

  “Did Dwayne run errands for him, attend events, anything beyond his job description?”

  “If he did, Dwayne never mentioned it to me. But if Fletcher had asked him to do other things, Dwayne probably would have obliged. He was always worried about losing his job.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Fletcher doesn’t give his employees a feeling of job security. He likes to keep them guessing, keep them on their toes. Personally, I don’t think being under a constant threat of dismissal builds loyalty in an employee.” She gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “Then again, he’s the one sitting on billions, and I’m the one wondering how she’s going to pay her taxes this year.” Her eyes filled with tears that she tried to blink away. One escaped and spilled down her cheek. She dashed it away with the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  I pulled my chair closer and reached out to put my hand on hers. “Don’t apologize. You’re entitled to your tears with all you’ve been going through.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffled, covering my hand with her other one. It was becoming a weird game of patty-cake. She probably felt the awkwardness, too, because she quickly released my hand to draw a tissue from her shirt pocket.

  “Mrs. Davies,” I said, “do you have any idea, even a far-fetched one, about where your son might have gone?”

  She shook her head.

  “Does he like traveling? Does he visit friends out of town?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Does he ever go on fishing trips or camping?”

  “No. He goes to work, and he comes home to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love his company, but a man of his age should have more of a life than watching television with his old mother.”

  “Does he have friends who might know where he is?”

  “A couple, but I called them when he didn’t come home from work that day. The police spoke to them too. They’re as much in the dark as I—” Her throat seemed to constrict with emotion, cutting off her words. “This is so unlike him,” she continued. “That’s why I’m so scared. He’s all I have. I keep holding onto the hope that he’s okay.”

  “Did you notice anything different about your son’s behavior, his attitude, in the days before he went missing?”

  Jane seemed about to say no but changed her mind. “Now that you mention it, he was acting a little off for days: short tempered with me, not sleeping well, fidgety. When I asked him what was wrong, he blamed it on stress at work. I didn’t pursue it because I didn’t want to make it worse.”

  I couldn’t help thinking that his stress level might have included a little after-hours job of doing away with Amanda, followed quickly by a trip to a place in the sun with fake ID and a hefty bonus in his pocket. Maybe Dwayne wasn’t the angelic son Jane imagined him to be.

  “If you’re not too tired, I’d like to hear about Dwayne,” I said, remembering Tilly’s advice.

  “I’m sure you have more important things to do than sit here and listen to me babble,” she said, though without much conviction.

  “Actually, I don’t have anything to do right now, and I like getting to know the people I meet in the course of my investigations.”

  The muscles in her face relaxed, and I caught a twinkle in her eyes. “That’s my Dwayne,” she said, pointing to a framed photograph presiding over the owls on the coffee table. “It was taken for his college graduation.” The serious young man in the picture was average-looking, interchangeable with any number of others across the country, except in his mother’s eyes. The photographer had posed him at an angle to the camera, looking off into the distance as if he were trying to peer into his future. “Can you believe he weighed ten pounds when he was born?” Jane said as if the fact still amazed her. “I was in labor for twenty hours before they decided to take him by Caesarean.”

  “How was he as a little boy?” I asked. And without further encouragement, she was off and running. Half an hour later, she pressed me into staying for a light dinner of egg salad sandwiches with potato chips and iced tea. She was clearly eager for the company, and with Tilly on tap to feed the cats, I couldn’t find it in my heart to say no.

  Chapter 19

  This time the parking lot wasn’t full when Tilly and I arrived at the elementary school for the board meeting. We’d left Merlin home on his own recognizance with strict orders not to use any appliance in the kitchen. He was so delighted to skip the meeting that we dared to think he’d stay out of trouble.

  As soon as we walked into the school, we both felt the difference. The air was tense and somber. The last time the town gathered here, Amanda had been murdered. From the snippets of conversation I overheard on our way to the gym, I could tell that the tension was due, in no small part, to the mayor’s move to stack the deck in favor of the rezoning. Human nature being what it is, the people in favor of the hotel were silent about his conniving, but those opposed were making their displeasure
known. Unfortunately they were all bluster and no action. And I was as guilty in that respect. If no one was willing to challenge Patrick’s appointment and throw their hat in the ring, we had no one to blame but ourselves.

  The gym, like the parking lot, was only three-quarters full. If Tompkins’s goal in sending out the late e-mail was to cut down on naysayers who might influence the board, it may have worked, which rankled more than I wanted to admit. The portable podium was once again at the rear of the gym, but this time the emergency exit doors were closed in deference to the nippier temperatures that had finally given summer the boot. There wasn’t a tank top or sundress in evidence, though there were a few hardy souls wearing flip-flops with their jeans and flannel shirts. People had dug their warmer clothing out of their closets and storage bins, where they’d been since the end of winter.

  Rusty must have expected the same huge turnout as before because he’d set up the school’s entire complement of folding chairs in advance. When Tilly saw that they were nearly all taken, she made a beeline for two of the remaining ones. Aching feet or not, my aunt can move when she’s motivated. All we lacked for the meeting were the board members.

  I looked around us, but the only one I saw was Beverly, deep in conversation with several women on the far side of the gym. She was as toned down in dress and behavior as everyone else. Even my aunt had opted to wear a more sedate muumuu in earth tones. Her only nod to the autumnal weather was the brown shawl around her shoulders.

  It turned out that the woman seated on Tilly’s right was a good friend she hadn’t seen in months. I wanted to let her know I was going to take a walk around, but the two women were so busy catching up that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I gave up, hung my denim jacket on the seat back and went in search of the missing board members, Amanda’s death weighing heavily on my mind.

  I found Eddie exiting the men’s room and Corinne on her phone at the front entrance. She clicked off her call and hurried past me to the gym. Three accounted for; two to go. I was passing the darkened cafeteria when I heard two men arguing in the dimly lit food-prep area in the back.