by Sharon Pape
Chapter 20
“You and your aunt could have been killed,” Travis said. His brows were tightly knit as if pulled by a needle. His voice was even, but the muscles in his neck were standing out from tension. It was the next night, and we were sitting in my living room—at least I was. He’d gotten up and started pacing while I told him about the assault. That’s what I’d decided to call the incident. It wasn’t a fender bender, although my fender had suffered considerable damage. And it wasn’t an accident. It was a premeditated vehicular assault. And the only reason it ended the way it did was because we’d made it to the police station in time.
“I know, and I swear I didn’t enjoy it one bit,” I said, hoping to lighten the tenor of the conversation.
He stopped in front of me. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
I sighed. “Look, last night was pretty awful, but I can’t keep dwelling on it. I need to move on. I promise you I’m not shrugging it off or trying to forget what happened. I doubt I ever will. Tilly’s life was in my hands. Merlin’s too, in a way.”
“Not to mention your own life.”
I wanted to say that I didn’t mention my own life, but it was clear he wasn’t going to be jollied out of his sober mood. Instead, I said, “I didn’t do anything to provoke the assault.”
“You’re investigating Amanda’s death. That may be all the provocation that driver needed. You have to let the case go.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” I said. If I’d been an animal, my hackles would have been standing at attention. I’ve never liked being told what I can and cannot do. My mother and grandmother could attest to the fact. So could Tilly.
Travis looked at me as if I’d struck him. He dropped down on the couch across from me. “I’m sure you realize that what this guy did last night isn’t normal, no matter what his beef is.”
“Yes, I get that, but I’m not a quitter. As you may have noticed, I don’t give up at the first sign of trouble.” If he took that as a reference to the way he’d withdrawn from our relationship, so be it. Maybe I’d subconsciously chosen those words for that exact purpose. I must have struck a sensitive chord because he didn’t have an immediate comeback. When he did speak, he dialed down the bossy rhetoric.
“Isn’t there some kind of magick you can use to protect yourself?”
If I’d been standing, his suggestion would have knocked me off my feet. He actually wanted me to use magick. I felt as if one wrong word or move on my part could send him running for cover like a skittish cat. “I placed wards, protection spells, around my house and shop. Since my car was in the driveway, I thought it would be covered too. Apparently I was wrong. I learned that the hard way. I’ll have to place separate wards around the car.”
“I guess it’s not something you can do while you’re being chased.”
“No, it’s not a matter of saying, ‘Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo,’ or waving a wand. I didn’t have the necessary materials with me. But even if I had them, you’re right—I couldn’t have focused well enough while we were being chased.”
“Promise me you’ll put those ward things on it tomorrow?”
“First thing in the morning. I promise.”
“Okay, good. Have you checked the footage from your security camera?” He sounded relieved to change the subject.
“Why? The pickup followed me from the school.”
“Indulge me. It’s possible he came by your house first to make sure you went to the meeting. It would have been a simple thing to do. Your car is in the driveway whenever you’re home.”
“I didn’t think of that,” I said, already out of the chair and on my way to the stairs. Travis was right behind me. I switched on the light in the study, startling one of the cats asleep on the computer keyboard. He jumped up and scooted off to find a more private place to nap. I tucked myself into the chair. With Travis peering over my shoulder, I brought up the link to the video camera. We’d programmed the system to dump old footage after twenty-four hours, assuming we would check it at least that often. We were on the cusp of that period. I rewound back to the beginning and switched to fast-forward mode. Even so, the footage could have put an insomniac to sleep. But at eight seventeen last night, by the camera’s time stamp, that all changed.
“Stop,” Travis said as we both saw something black flash by.
I rewound and hit play. There it was: a black pickup rolling past my house. Unfortunately, the angle of the license plate was too oblique to read. Travis swore under his breath. Then the truck pulled into my driveway to make a U-turn. It seemed to pose for the camera while the driver changed gears, giving us a perfect view of the front plate.
“Gotcha,” I said, grabbing a pen. I jotted the letters and numbers on the pad beside the computer, tore off the paper, and swiveled around to face Travis. “Do you think you can impose on your cop buddy to run down the owner’s name?”
If he refused or said he couldn’t keep asking his contact for favors, I’d have to give the plate number to Duggan and pray he was feeling charitable enough to share with me what he learned. I didn’t hold out much hope for that. But in the end it could lead to Amanda’s killer, and that was the goal, even if I wasn’t the one who took him down.
“I’ll ask him,” Travis said after a moment’s hesitation. He took the paper from me and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “If I’m able to get you the name of the truck’s owner, do you promise to let the cops make the arrest?” He was looking me straight in the eye.
“I don’t even own a pair of handcuffs.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. Later when he was leaving, he took my hand and held it tightly. “Don’t forget about those ward things.”
“I won’t forget.” Even if last night’s ordeal hadn’t made a lasting impression, knowing that Travis wanted me to use magick surely had.
“I’ll call if and when I get the DMV info. This is a good time for you to lie low. Let the killer think he scared you into giving up detective work.”
“You’re right,” I said, not willing to make any promises I might renege on. He seemed to have forgotten he was still holding onto my hand because he looked a little startled when I withdrew it under the pretext of brushing hair out of my eye.
“Sorry,” he said, a tinge of pink rising in his cheeks. “I don’t generally do weird things like that. Believe it or not, I’m a lot more suave.”
I grinned. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”
* * * *
I set the alarm clock for a half hour earlier than usual so I’d have enough time to take care of the wards before opening my shop. Maybe it was a throwback to my school years, but I hated having to wake up extra early on a Saturday. The cats must have sensed my irritation because they were surlier than usual too.
After a strong cup of coffee, I was ready to take on the day. I pulled Bronwen’s magickal satchel down from the shelf in the bedroom that was once hers and took out the bell and the symbols of the four elements. Sand stood for earth, seawater for water, and a candle that when lit represented both air and fire. Although I’d chafed against having to be up early, I knew I was lucky it was the weekend. None of my neighbors were up and about yet. Even so, I went through the ritual as inconspicuously as possible. I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing should anyone see me. To the casual observer, I might have been checking my tires or looking for dents and dings. When I was finished, Sashkatu and I walked over to Abracadabra.
Barely an hour later, Travis called. His contact had come through with the pickup’s owner. When he told me the name, I dropped the phone. It landed on the hardwood floor of the shop with a thud loud enough to wake Sashki, who was a master at ignoring the usual sounds of the day.
“Sorry,” I said, fumbling the phone as I retrieved it. “Are you sure the information is accurate
?”
“Absolutely, why?”
“I’m surprised, but I probably shouldn’t be. I don’t really know him all that well.”
“He’s on your list of suspects.”
“But down at the bottom.”
“Unrequited love and rejection have caused any number of people to come unhinged over the ages. And he had the opportunity. He was at the school the night Amanda.... Hey, gotta go,” he said, interrupting himself. “I’m on the air in five. We’ll talk later.”
Chapter 21
Rusty Higgins occupied my mind throughout the busy morning, whether I was helping a customer select the best product for a particular health issue or teaching someone a spell. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea that he’d tried to run me off the road. And although the license plate alone wasn’t proof that he’d killed Amanda or defaced my fence, in my mind, the three things were linked.
Although I had a steady stream of customers, I closed for one of my lunch-hour errand runs. I decided to check out Rusty’s truck for myself. I had no intention of confronting the man. I merely wanted to get a quick peek at his truck. Maybe if I saw the license plate on it and saw the front-end damage, I’d be able to accept that he was the man who came after Tilly and me.
I put the I’ll Be Back clock sign in the window as soon as there was a lull in the day’s foot traffic. It was approaching one o’clock. I walked back home to get my car. Sashkatu would be fine until I returned. In fact, he was probably happier when there was no one in the shop to disturb him.
Rusty’s block was like a snapshot of Americana. Two adolescent girls were playing their own version of street tennis down near the dead end. A young man was tinkering with a car’s engine in his driveway. A woman was walking a small dog with a scruffy face and ears that bounced as he trotted along. It was a perfectly ordinary afternoon in late summer.
I was hoping that Rusty’s black pickup was facing the street, so I could drive by without needing to stop and get out. Although I could verify the plate from either end, I wanted to check front-end damage. But, of course, it was facing the house as it had been the first time I was there. I pulled to the curb at the end of his driveway where my car was partially blocked by the truck if Rusty happened to look out his living-room window. I left the engine running for a fast getaway, just in case.
I walked around the far side of the truck to the front end. The proof was plain to see. The bumper and grill were badly dented, the paint scratched and scraped off in places. The damage matched up well with the damage my car had sustained. The insurance company would be happy to have another party to sue for restitution. Maybe they wouldn’t even raise my rates. Sometimes I can be a cockeyed optimist.
“Hey...what’s going on here?” Rusty boomed from the other side of the truck.
My heart thudded hard, missing a beat and making me briefly lightheaded. I hadn’t heard him come outside. I told myself I’d be fine as long as I didn’t faint on the spot or go into the house with him. Instinctively, I glanced around to make sure there were still people outside who would hear me if I screamed, not that I didn’t have certain defensive skills of my own. I just preferred not to use them in public.
I could hear his footsteps moving down his side of the truck toward the street while I scooted back down my side. I had to reach my car before he reached me. But he cut me off as I crossed behind the pickup. I was puzzled that Rusty didn’t look the least bit angry. In fact, once he saw it was me, he smiled. It wasn’t a villainous now-I’ve-got-you smile. It was an oh-hi smile. It didn’t make sense, given what I knew. And what he knew I knew. I was close enough to my car that I could certainly outrun him if it came to that, but I decided to leave the option on the table for the moment to satisfy my curiosity.
“Is there something you wanted?” he asked, all nice and neighborly.
“Yes,” I said calmly. “I’d like to know why you were trying to run me off the road last night.”
“It wasn’t me. I would never do anything like that. I’ve known you since you were a little kid.” He seemed hurt that I could think that of him. I wondered if he took acting lessons on the side because his denial was so convincing. “Come on inside, and I’ll explain everything,” he offered.
Warning sirens blared in my head. “You can tell me out here,” I said firmly.
“Yeah, okay. My truck was stolen a couple of weeks back. The police know all about it. I reported it missing right away. I had to take the bus to the school and back home again during that time. I don’t like public transportation,” he added with disgust. “In all the years you’ve known me, have you ever seen me take the bus?”
I’d never seen him get on or off the bus that made a loop around the town, but that was mostly because I’d never looked for him at the bus stop. He wasn’t exactly on my radar until I found out it was his truck that had tried to kill Tilly and me. “So it just turned up in your driveway today?”
“Officer Curtis called a couple days ago to tell me they found the truck parked over by the entrance to Winterland. They said I couldn’t have it back until forensics went over it because it was used in the commission of a crime. They didn’t mention it involved you and your aunt. I’m awful sorry to hear that.”
I believed him. No one would make up a story that could be checked out with one call to the police. “Thank you,” I said. “But you don’t have anything to be sorry about.” I started to turn away but turned back. “Did the police say they found paint or a brush in the truck?”
“They wouldn’t say, but I found a few splatters of paint here and there.”
I thanked him again and got back in my car. I was glad I’d come, glad to know Rusty wasn’t the one who painted that hateful message on my fence and then tried to kill me or scare me to death. But whoever had stolen the pickup was still out there somewhere, and I wouldn’t be safe until he was caught. I wasn’t any closer to finding Amanda’s killer either.
* * * *
“You promised not to do anything dangerous,” Travis said when he called that night, and I told him about my talk with Rusty. His voice was even, but I had a hunch he was struggling to keep it that way.
“That’s not technically true,” I replied. “I promised not to try to arrest him on my own. Besides, I was outside the whole time, and there were plenty of other people around. I was never in danger.”
He was silent for so long that I thought he’d hung up on me. “Travis...hello?”
“I’m here. I had this thought. Will you hear me out before you say anything?”
“That’s cryptic and ominous, but go ahead. I won’t interrupt.”
“What if Rusty staged the whole stolen-truck scenario? It would have been pretty easy. He parks it in a garage somewhere for those two weeks, reports it stolen, and only takes it out to do his dirty work. Then he leaves it near Winterland in the middle of the night and waits for the police to find it.”
“He would have been taking a big chance. What if somebody recognized the truck when he took it out those times? I don’t know. Rusty doesn’t strike me as the type who’d come up with such a convoluted scheme.”
“I’m just throwing it out there. When you’re dealing with a killer, you’ve got to figure every angle.”
“I suppose.”
“Have you had a chance to ask Patrick Griffin about his sudden change of heart on the zoning issue?”
“I’ll get to it later today or tomorrow. I wish I had a spell to squeeze more hours into a day,” I said.
“If you ever come up with one, count me in, as long as it doesn’t involve newts’ eyes or bats’ wings.”
Not too long ago, I would have thought he was deriding magick, but from my evolving perspective, he was getting comfortable enough with the idea of magick to make jokes about it.
* * * *
My life had been so hectic lately that I hadn’t had an opport
unity to work on my teleportation skills. If I waited for the perfect time, I would never get around to it. I decided the cats wouldn’t starve if they ate half an hour late while I worked on teleporting an object. Until I perfected that feat, I couldn’t risk trying to teleport myself again. I was lucky I survived the first attempt. After closing for the night, I walked around my shop, considering a variety of objects for the trial run. I selected a small ceramic bowl. It weighed less than a pound, and I knew it might break if I didn’t land it carefully. I’d chosen it partially for that reason. I had to learn how to teleport with finesse, a difficult goal. Beyond the actual act of teleportation, the hardest part was figuring out the amount of force necessary to send the object or the person to its intended destination in one piece. Cheap ceramics could be replaced; living beings were not so expendable.
I placed the bowl on the counter and made myself comfortable in the customer’s chair. I did some deep breathing to clear and center my mind. I imagined my psychic energy as a force erupting from my mind and body, and I focused it on the ceramic bowl. The bowl was suddenly hurtling at me. I snatched it out of the air inches from my face. Telekinesis on steroids. But I’d intended to teleport the bowl into Tilly’s shop. I probably needed to dig deeper, way down into my core, to reach the energy threshold for teleportation.
I started over. Deep breathing centered me. I marshaled the energy from the mitochondria of every cell in my body. I focused on the bowl with singular attention. The bowl vanished, winking out like it had never been there. It didn’t leave a trace. The air around it didn’t wobble or cleave from its passage. Before I could congratulate myself, I heard a muted thump from Tilly’s shop, followed immediately by a howl of pain that could have only come from one person. I jumped out of the chair and raced through the door to my aunt’s shop. I found Merlin on the floor holding his head, the bowl in pieces around him. Tilly was in the kitchen, grabbing an ice pack.