The Case of the Banishing Spell

by Amorette Anderson

  “Right,” I say. “Two days away.”

  Dawn nods. “That’s why I’d like to get this whole mess sorted out. I want the dance to go smoothly. You know how particular the Historical Society is—speaking of reputations...” Dawn raises her eyebrows at me.

  “I know,” I say, with a nod. Dawn doesn’t have to spell out what she’s alluding to. I’m reading between the lines. Rebecca, our town librarian, also heads up the Historical Society. She has quite a reputation around town as being a perfectionist. That’s putting it kindly.

  Dawn continues. “One little thing goes wrong, and she starts dropping hints about changing the venue next year. It’s awful. I really do want things to go smoothly.”

  “No wrinkles,” I say, nodding. “Then let’s get this sorted out. Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  Chapter Two

  “Where to start?” Dawn looks around the lobby. “Let’s sit,” she says, motioning to the two stuffed armchairs by the fire. “I’ve been on my feet since six this morning.”

  I follow Dawn over to the two red-and-white striped armchairs situated by the cackling fire.

  As we sit, I open up my messenger bag and take out a piece of paper and pen.

  Everyone knows that PI’s are supposed to take notes. I may not be the most skilled investigator out there, but at least I can try to get started on the right foot.

  “Go ahead,” I prompt Dawn, as I cross one leg over the other and place the sheet of paper against my knee.

  “Well, it all started two days back; Tuesday. We don’t get many overnight bookings, you know. We’ve only had two, actually, in the last year, so it’s quite a big deal when they come through.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  Dawn nods. “Well, on Tuesday morning I was setting up the dining area for the Garden Club’s weekly brunch. All the ladies bring a dish, and I make the coffee and tea. I was fussing over the coffee set-up when one of the ladies came in and said there was a man standing out at the desk.”

  ‘A man at the desk’, I write.

  Shoot.

  My pen keeps poking through the paper. A notepad would be better than this single sheet... or perhaps a clipboard. At least my tights are black, and will conceal the ink.

  Dawn continues. “I went to the desk to see what he wanted, and he said that he wanted to rent a room!” Dawn raises both of her brows.

  Now, in any other town but Hillcrest, an innkeeper might expect to rent out a room. But Hillcrest is an exception. I raise my brows too, empathizing with Dawn’s surprise.

  “Imagine that!” I say.

  “I know!” Dawn says. “It was the darndest thing! Of course, we had vacancies and I put him into our nicest room. You know, the one with the king-sized bed and the big window looking out over the front yard? I felt a bit strange about the booking because I wasn’t getting the best impression from this man.”

  “Why not?

  “Well, for one thing, he wasn’t very neatly dressed. And he smelled as if he hadn’t showered in days.”

  “No shower?” I frown, and wrinkle my nose. “That’s not good.”

  “I know, dear.” Dawn shakes her head. “For another, he wouldn’t meet my eye. It made me feel like he was hiding something. I don’t trust people who won’t meet my eye.”

  Dawn looks at me then, and I make eye contact with her through the thick plastic lenses of my fake glasses.

  You see, my personal development guru Jumper Strongheart says that if you wear fake glasses, you can actually feel smarter. I’ve been doing it for years now, and guess what? It really works. When I put my glasses on in the morning, I feel like my IQ jumps up 20 points.

  I give my glasses a little adjustment as I look at Dawn.

  She nods. “Like you,” she says. “You always look me in the eye.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  “And then there was the fact that he wouldn’t tell me what brought him to town. He said that he was just ‘passing through’.”

  “No one just ‘passes through’ Hillcrest,” I say.

  Dawn nods. “Exactly.”

  “So you didn’t trust this guy, but you rented him a room?”

  Dawn nods again. “I couldn’t turn him away. Neville would have had a fit. And besides that, where would he have gone if I’d refused him? We’re the only inn in town.”

  “He could have camped in the park,” I say.

  “In October?” Dawn shakes her head. “It’s freezing at night. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I had to say yes.”

  I jot down, ‘freezing at night’. My black tights get several more decorative ink-dots as I write.

  Dawn continues. “He said that he wasn’t sure how long he’d be needing the room. I said that was no problem—that he could have it for as long as he liked. I’m sorely regretting that now.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Well, he’s not good for business. Rebecca’s been the president of the Hillcrest Historical Society for three years, and as I said, every year when we host the event she drops more and more hints about changing the venue.”

  “Where else would she have it?” I say, frowning. “There’s nowhere else in town.”

  “Nowhere suitable,” Dawn agrees. She furrows her brow. “She’s been hinting that she wants to reserve the yard behind town hall. She thinks she can get a permit to build a fire there.”

  “That would be awful!” I say. “That yard is so small and bare.”

  “Utilitarian,” Dawn agrees. “No ambiance.”

  “It’s much nicer here. You and Neville put up the tent in the backyard, with those fancy little lights and everything...”

  Dawn shrugs. “Last year she got so upset when our sound system didn’t work properly. Mayor Haywater had to make his speech using a bullhorn—remember? Rebecca said it was tacky. There could be worse things, you know.”

  “The bullhorn did the job,” I say. “I heard him just fine.”

  Dawn sighs. “Thank you for saying so, Penny. But I know that it wasn’t the best Harvest Bonfire Dance we’ve hosted. I promised Rebecca that everything would be just right this year. If things go awry again, I’m afraid we’ll lose their business and never get it back. Neville and I need that account. It keeps us afloat each fall. Our purse strings are rather tight, if you know what I mean.”

  I know a thing or two about tight purse strings. “I completely understand.” I say. “It’s very hard to be a business owner in this town.”

  “There you go,” Dawn says. “You know all about keeping customers happy. You see how important it is that this stranger doesn’t cause any issues on Saturday. I just don’t know where that print came from. He didn’t say anything about having a dog with him.”

  “Do you allow dogs?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Dawn says. “We charge a ten-dollar pet fee, because it means we have to steam clean the carpets after the guest leaves. But we allow it. I asked this gentleman if he had a pet when he first checked in, and he definitely said no. But then why would there be a paw print on the carpet of his room?” She shakes her head. “And bloody, at that. I don’t like it.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “It’s definitely odd.”

  “And why would he have a visitor, if he was just passing through town?” she muses.

  A visitor?

  Before I can ask her about this, she goes on.

  “No, I don’t like it one bit. I don’t want any trouble at the dance. Not with Rebecca so on edge, as she’s—”

  “Hold on,” I say, holding up my pen to stop her before she can fret more about Rebecca. “Let’s back up for a minute. I want to know about this visitor. But first, what’s this guy—your strange guest—what’s his name?”

  “Raul,” she says. “Raul Rivera. He’s in his early thirties—that’s my guess. He’s short and well-built. Rugged, you know. Like he might do something physical for a living. Lots of muscles, and all that. He has dark hair and kind of tan skin. His clothes are al
ways smudged with dirt.”

  I jot that down and then say, “Raul checked in on Tuesday morning. When did he have a visitor?”

  “Well... let’s see... it must have been Wednesday—yesterday. Yes, that’s right. Yesterday, very early in the morning. About six-thirty. It was another man, about Raul’s age.”

  “Who?” I ask. Since I know everyone in Hillcrest, I’m expecting Dawn to supply me with a name.

  She surprises me by shaking her head. “I don’t know who it was,” she says. “I didn’t recognize him. He wore a grey knit hat snug on his head, and a navy sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. He had a beard that was dark—almost black, and trimmed in close to his face. Very intense eyes. Handsome. I know I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Hmm,” I say, intrigued. I’ve never seen anyone matching this description either. “He came into the inn through the front door?” I ask, pointing with my pen to the front door across the lobby.

  “Yes,” Dawn says. “That’s the only way for the public to come in and out. The back door only goes to our house—it’s private. You know that.”

  “Right.” I say. “And he went to Raul’s room, you think?”

  Dawn nods. “The visitor went down the hallway, towards Raul’s room, and then he and Raul came out through the lobby and left without saying a peep to me on the way out. I was sitting right behind the front desk. It was very rude, if I do say so myself.”

  “And then...?” I ask. I want to get to the part about the wolf.

  “Raul came back, late in the evening. Let’s see...” She taps her lip. “I know it was only last night, but things are a bit fuzzy. Now... when did he come back?”

  I stay quiet to let her think.

  Finally she says, “I’m not sure exactly what time that was. Just after dark, I think. I was having my evening cocktail, and wasn’t paying attention to the time. I do remember seeing him come in through the door and head to his room. He was limping a bit, now that I’m thinking about it.”

  “Limping?”

  “Yes.” Dawn nods. “I’m fairly certain. Favoring one leg. He walked down the hallway without saying a word to us, and I assumed he’d settled in for an early night. Except...”

  Dawn shifts in her seat. She looks uncomfortable.

  “Except what?” I say.

  “I did... well, hear something. Later last night. Neville and I went to bed at about nine. We locked the front door, as we usually do. I had given Raul a key when he checked in. At about midnight, I heard the front door slam. I woke Neville.”

  “Was it Raul?” I ask.

  “Neville got up and ran out to see who was up and about. He opened the front door and looked out, but he didn’t see anyone out on the street.”

  “No one?” I say. I’ve forgotten all about my notes now. They lay abandoned on my lap. I’m too engrossed in Dawn’s tale to mind.

  “No one,” Dawn says. “The only thing in sight was two dogs. Two very big, black dogs. Neville says...”

  Her voice tapers off, and she looks to the side. She shakes her head. “It couldn’t be... and I know how silly it sounds, but... Neville says that they were wolves. In fact, he insists that they were wolves.”

  “I don’t think we have wolves in this part of Colorado,” I say.

  Dawn sighs. “That’s what Marty, with Animal Control, keeps telling us. But Neville won’t change his story.” She shrugs.

  Just then, the door behind the front desk opens. Neville, Dawn’s husband and business partner, steps out into the lobby.

  “Penny, love!” Neville says as he steps into the room, opening his arms wide.

  Neville is just as friendly as his wife. He’s tall and has twinkling eyes and a fuzz of grey hair crowning his balding head. He lived in England before moving to Colorado, and he still has a subtle English accent.

  He grins at me. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asks.

  “It has,” I say, standing and setting my pen and paper down on a side table.

  I walk towards Neville. As soon as I approach, he sweeps me up into a bear hug.

  “Good to see you, love!” he says, giving me a squeeze. “When are we going to start planning a wedding for you and Captain Wagner?” he asks.

  I step back and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. For some reason, people love the fact that I’m dating Hillcrest Police Captain Chris Wagner. They say we’re an adorable couple.

  “Whoa, I don’t know about that,” I say, grinning.

  “No?” he says. “Come on, now. This winter? A holiday theme? Maybe mistletoe, hanging in every doorway?” He starts humming that sounds like a Christmas carol or a love song, I’m not sure which.

  Dawn comes up behind me.

  “Now, Neville. Don’t give her a hard time.”

  Neville lifts his arms, and begins pretending to dance with an invisible partner. He keeps on humming.

  I chuckle, and Dawn stifles a laugh. She reaches for Neville’s arm to still him. “Stop that!” she says. “Penny will be the first to tell us, when she and Chris decide to tie the knot. I’m guessing it will be a summer wedding. Wouldn’t you like that, Penny?”

  My blush intensifies. “I—I—um...Chris and I haven’t—”

  “Don’t worry,” Dawn says, cutting me off mercifully and giving me a wink. “You don’t need to explain. We’re just happy for you, that’s all. Chris Wagner is such a nice young man.”

  She turns to her husband. “Penny isn’t here about wedding planning, Neville. She’s here because I called her. I wanted her opinion—as an investigator, you know—on our little issue.” She purses her lips.

  Neville’s grin fades. “Oh, yes. It’s unfortunate.” He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his phone. “Did you tell her I got a little snapshot of the print on the carpet?” he asks his wife.

  “I was just getting there,” Dawn says.

  Neville starts swiping through his phone. “Here...” he says, looking at the screen. “See what you can make of this, Detective Banks.”

  Dawn moves so that she can look over his shoulder at the phone’s screen. I take a position on Neville’s other side, and peer at the phone as well.

  “There it is,” Neville says, as he stops searching.

  Indeed, I see a photograph of a bloody paw print on a cream colored carpet.

  “When did you find it?” I ask.

  “I didn’t find it,” Neville says. “Dawson spotted it first.”

  Dawson, Neville and Dawn’s son, is about ten years older than me. Despite the fact that he’s almost forty, he still lives with Dawn and Neville. He never quite ‘flew the coop’, so to speak.

  He lives at the inn, cleaning and helping out at events.

  When he’s not helping out with the family business, he has an almost permanent seat at The O.P., Hillcrest's watering hole, where he likes to drink beer while playing some sort of role-playing card game with his friends. I think it’s called Fantasy Fest or something like that, but I’m not sure. All I know is that he and his friends are regulars, and their games are quite elaborate and last for hours.

  “Okay, when did Dawson find the print?” I ask. “I’m trying to figure out how it might fit in with the way you were woken up by the door slamming, last night.”

  Neville looks at Dawn. “What have you told her already?” he asks. He turns to me. “I don’t want to bore you, detective.” He tosses me a wink.

  Dawn speaks. “I told her about how we heard the door slam, and you ran out and spotted those big black... dogs.”

  “Wolves,” Neville says. “They were wolves. I’ve seen plenty of dogs in my day, Dawn, and these were no dogs. Believe me.” He swivels his head and looks me in the eye. “Do you believe me, Penny?”

  “I believe that you’re certain you saw two wolves,” I say, carefully. I give my fake glasses a nudge.

  Neville seems satisfied with my answer. “Good,” he says. “Marty didn’t believe me.”

  “Well?” Dawn prompts her husband. “Tell
her the rest! She doesn’t have all evening.”

  I do have all evening, but I don’t feel the need to share that.

  Neville clears his throat. “Well, almost as soon as I spotted the wolves out on the sidewalk, they were gone. Whoosh!” Neville makes a sound like wind with his lips. “Into the darkness. Disappeared completely. One of them was limping a bit, but could still move fast. I was amazed at their speed. You should have seen it! I ran back inside to get my camera, in case they came back. I knew no one would believe me.”

  While Neville speaks, I lean in to get a closer look at the photo of the bloody print. Neville holds it up so that I can see it clearly.

  As I look he says, “Then I waited around for a while, ready to snap a picture. But that was it. They were gone. I locked the front door up again—because it was unlocked—and then I took a walk through the kitchen, dining room, downstairs, and upstairs to see if anything was out of place. Nothing was. Raul’s door was shut and his light was off. I didn’t want to wake him up and worry him, so I didn’t knock on the door or anything.”

  “Raul must have gone in or out,” I say. “He’s the only one besides you and Dawn who has a key, right?”

  “Well, Dawson has a key too,” Neville says. “But he enters through the back door. He still sleeps in his old high school bedroom, you know.”

  I know what that’s like. I inherited my apartment unit from my mother when she passed away. I still sleep in the exact same room that I was once an infant, toddler, child and teen in.

  Neville’s voice yanks me from my trip down memory lane just as I’m recalling what my room looked like as a teenager—plastered with magazine cutouts of celebrities and pictures of Marley and me. I still have some of the pictures up. I really should redecorate, but who has time for that?

  “Besides,” Neville says, “I don’t think Dawson was home yet. He likes to stay out late with his friends, playing cards until the bar closes. You know how boys are.”

  Dawson isn’t a boy. He’s a full grown man nearing forty, but I know how Neville and Dawn baby him, so I don’t say anything.