But Frisco was reading out. He read the description the witness had supplied of the young girl she’d seen by the van. A music video dancer type, she’d said. Hearing it again, I still shuddered.
But Lucy didn’t. “Music video? What is she talking about? I just dress cool is all. But I wasn’t there.”
“She saw you,” Quincey said, his voice iron tough.
“She also saw roving packs of dogs and a van with a vampire hunting beaver. The woman is hard of seeing,” I said.
The cops looked at me. Quincey had a snarling sneer.
“What?” I said defensively. “I heard what she said, I was there. And if that’s all you’ve got on my Lucy here, I don’t think she needs to say anymore.”
“But I cast the spell,” she said, earnest to the end.
“There’s no such thing as magic,” I said, lightly. Both Quincey and Frisco gave me an odd look. “As far as the courts are concerned.”
“Look, Mimi,” Frisco started, but I’d had enough.
“She answered your questions. Now, I know how it works. You want to ask her the same things, again and again, so that she gets confused and you can pretend she was lying. No dice. This kid’s got school.”
And without another word, I practically dragged my sister out of there.
Chapter 9
There wasn’t any point is bringing Lucy back to school that day, so I called in an excuse after I drove her back home. I think she thought she really was responsible for Mrs. Higginbottom dying, so when I told her to stay home and stay off the phone, she rather meekly complied.
“Mimi, I…”
“Whatever happened,” I interrupted, “You’re not going to be taking the fall for something that wasn’t your fault.”
She didn’t buy everything I was selling, but I don’t think she knew what to do, or think, or say at the moment, and neither did I. But I knew three things: 1. Lucy had done something last night, and I needed to find out what, 2. I had no idea where to start, and 3. The Lafay Lonely Hearts Meet-up group was holding a single’s event this afternoon in my tea shop, and I needed to get ready. So I left Lucy alone and got back in my car.
There were two people that I needed to contact to get my head all sorted out. Well… “people” was overstating it, but the one I could get on the phone was Max.
“So… I believe whole-heartedly that I have to keep the public informed about what goes on in town,” he said when he picked up, not even saying a hello. “But I might have a conflict of interest here, and I need someone to help me think through it.”
“You’ve got to help me,” I said.
“Well, now, that’s the thing. My problem involves a story I have, ready to post, about the police taking a girl from the high school for questioning for the Higginbottom murder.”
I was driving while talking, and Max’s words stunned me to the point I didn’t realize I had run right through a red light. Tires squealed as two trucks, both about 10 times the size of my little car, nearly careened into me. I plowed through the intersection as if nothing had happened, staring forward.
“What the heck was that?” Max said.
“You can’t print that. About Lucy, you can’t.”
“Ah, now you’ve confirmed the story,” he said. “And I’ll have to print it, because everybody knows about it. There’s pictures up on social media — if something happens out in the world, somebody knows about it, Mimi.”
“So, that’s it, huh?” I said, finding myself fighting back tears. “The cops jump to a conclusion, and then you are obligated to ruin a girl’s life? Every time someone searches for her on the Internet, that’s the first thing they’ll see.”
“Better it be a story in a paper with some grounding in fact than a rumor just out there in the info-webs, where disinformation can reign. I’m not doing this to hurt her, Mimi, but I need to know what happened, too.”
“They questioned her,” I said, stiffly. I was at the block where my tea shop was, and had to drive by the Shady Tree cafe, run by the despicable Jiggs. And, just my luck, both sisters were out in front of their place, giving instructions to some hapless worker who was painting slices of pie on their front glass.
I wanted them to be ancient and crone-like, like Witches from out of that Roald Dahl book. Instead, they were both relatively young and relatively fit, one with stylishly dyed hair. They both turned as I drove past, and for an instant we locked eyes.
And they smirked. Smirked, both of them, with almost identical expressions of smug superiority. Like they knew what was happening to me, to my family, and they enjoyed it.
They probably did know, too. The Jiggs had power, not just magic power. Political influence, friends in high places, fingers in lots of pies. Bad enemies to have…
“Mimi?” Max said.
I thought of the story they would tell Max about what happened with me and Lucy inside the sheriff’s office.
“They questioned Lucy about what she was doing last night, and whether she’d gone to the woman’s house. She said…”
“I don’t need to know what she said. Here… ‘High school youth helps police find their killer. Lucy Auclair, newly moved back into town, has already proven to be a civic minded youth and inspiration to her classmates by volunteering to assist police in their investigation.’ Pretty good, huh?”
“Wow, that… I should never believe anything I read in a newspaper, should I?” I said.
“Well, everything comes from a point of view. Anyway, I’m going to expect when everything here’s over that I’m going to get the real skinny, right? Right?”
“Right,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers. If Lucy really did have something bad to do with what happened to Mrs. Higginbottom, I’m going to use all the powers at my disposal: personal, political, magic, all of them, to make sure she’s safe. And if that meant lying to Max… though I hated to do it… I had to reserve the option.
“Now, where are you?” he said.
“I’m driving around. But I’ve got an idea for something you can do,” I said. “Something that ought to help with the case. Do you know where Higginbottom’s husband is?”
“Nope, why?”
“Well… it’s usually the husband that does these things, isn’t it? Doesn’t his ‘I didn’t check up on her and I took some sleeping pills’ story seem a little dubious to you?”
“Eh. But it’s worth looking into. I’ll find him. What will you be doing?” he said.
“Checking on other sources,” I said, ambiguously.
“Does this mysterious other source happen to be a quadraped?” he said.
“Static. I’m going through a tunnel. Wow, I can’t hear… I’m losing you!” I said, then hung up.
Kashmir was on the counter, casually disobeying my orders to keep off, when I came in. He was in a position like a wedge, his hindquarters bunched up and high with his head resting on his neatly tucked paws. At my entrance, his eyes opened, but he did not move.
“Is that comfortable?” I said.
“I’m always comfortable. Now, are you ready to get down to business?” he said, moving a whisker slightly, and that was all.
I sighed, exasperated. “We’ll look for the book when we can look for the book, Kashmir. Right now--”
“I’m not talking about the book, I’m talking about the magic that your little sister cast. I could smell it on her, in her hair. She performed some sort of ritual magic, and almost by accident. Were I able to be impressed…”
“Wait,” I said, my heart practically in my throat. “You mean she really did cast a spell? She really might have…” The words didn’t want to come out, but I forced them. “She really might have killed that woman?”
A shiver went through Kashmir’s entire body, and then all at once he flopped on his side, stretching his limbs out. It wasn’t much of an answer.
“Look, Kashmir, if she…”
“Killed somebody? Either she’s one of the most powerful accidental witches on earth, or no, she did not kill t
hat woman. It takes a great deal of intention and will-power to magic somebody to death.”
I breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in a long time.
“That doesn’t mean she did not set things in motion that lead to the death, though. I need to know just what she did to be sure. And to do that… I need to break into the Jiggs place again.”
That threw me for a loop. “What? Why? Do you think they had anything to do with it?”
“Because the last time I was there, I noticed certain magical smells. These things are very distinct to a familiar’s nose, even if the familiar’s master is as aware of them as a blind man is to colors. How you even get around…”
“Kashmir, I’ve got too much to do to put up with your casual insults,” I said, coming over to him with hands upraised, threatening to do something drastic, like rub his belly.
He rolled back onto his stomach and looked up at me, solemnly. “Then I shall try to make my insults more deliberate in the future. Now, on to your sister, I caught a whiff not only of the magic she was doing, but one of those lingering smells from the Jiggs. I have a hunch of what it means, but I’m not sure and I need to reconnoiter.”
I hate to admit it, but I felt a little excited at the idea that we were going up against the Jiggs again. We had more than competition, more than rivalry — I think we were really enemies, and if I could help my sister and hurt my enemies at the same time, then I’d be more than happy to oblige.
“Okay. So, are you going to go now?” I said.
“Ah, yes, I shall traipse about their shop while they are in it, while they are open, while everyone and their mother will see a formidably handsome black cat just wandering about.”
“Sarcasm now, too.”
“Of course. No, the cover of darkness will be my disguise. Besides, I bet they’ve upgraded their magical defenses since the last time I was inside. I want to see how easily I can undo them,” he said, and after a half-blink, he dashed away from the counter to find some hidden corner of the shop to rest up in.
Okay, Max was on a suspect. Kashmir had his own leads to follow up, and I was going to keep the business afloat with an afternoon tea. As long as nobody arrested my sister in the meantime, we should be fine.
I do not believe that I shall ever let a singles meet-up occur in my shop again. I may petition the town to break up any such organization that threatens to come to life. By the end, I had a bucket full of smashed tea cups, at least one table whose finish had been damaged by an overturned flask of smuggled alcohol, and two of the revelers who decided that, since I was there, I had to be single and therefore wanted to be groped at while pouring my lovely, very dignified tea.
And some of the male guests were pretty bad, too.
It was about the worst service I’d ever done, and in a way that was good — nothing could have done more to take my mind off my many troubles. Unfortunately, it was a temporary good because all my troubles came roaring back the instant my phone rang, and I saw Max’s name on the caller-ID.
“Tell me everything’s solved,” I said. I cradled the phone against my shoulder, held my bucket of broken cups, and with a twitch of my nose caused my back door to open up. Just the instant before I got out, Kashmir flashed by and nearly bowled me over, making me squeal.
“Whoa, what’s going on over there? Sounds like fun,” Max said.
“Stow it,” I said, bracing myself against the door jamb. Kashmir, without a look back at me, disappeared into the alleyway. Even though it was just dusk, the sun only barely down, he was difficult to make out in the long shadows. “Tell me what goes on in your neck of the woods.”
“Well, I think I’m about to see a fight break out.”
“Why?” I said, dumping the cups into the dumpster.
“Because the husband, Glen Wright, is here at Bell, Book, and Bourbon, and so is a group of teachers in the backroom… teachers who kind of seem to be celebrating.”
“What would they be celebrating… eww, really?” I said, figuring it out and being grossed out. Sure nobody liked Mrs. Higginbottom, but to go out drinking the night after she died…
“Yep. Get here quick, I may need help filming it when it all comes to blows.”
Chapter 10
Turns out a fight did occur, but a completely different one than we were expecting, and not so quickly as when I got there. Bell, Book and Bourbon was a medium-sized bar, with half of its decor taken up by pool tables, TVs and sports memorabilia (newer stuff, I guessed) and the other half part of the old decor from when Lafay celebrated that it was a town lucky enough to have a witchy legacy. There was a trio of broom sticks encased in glass behind the bar, a bunch of old glass jars filled with cloudy liquid and unidentifiable objects, adorned with hand-written signs advertising, “Eye of newt” and “Scorpion stingers”, all of it (according to my witchy senses) completely fake.
Seated at the one end of the bar was Max, wearing a plush vest and a hat and hardly looking like himself at all. It wasn’t like a disguise, not really, but it still had the effect of turning him incognito. I had to look at him twice to recognize him, and someone less familiar with him, I bet they wouldn’t have known him at all.
Something weird was going on. I had this feeling, like… like a TV was on in the other room, and I could hear voices but not know what they were saying. It was hard to explain, but it kind of dampened the atmosphere in the bar. Maybe it was a magical witch thing, maybe I was really tired. I tried not to think about it.
Three seats down, and tapping his foot like a man late for an appointment and waiting for his ride, was Glen Wright. He looked very different this evening than he had in the morning, sitting despondent on the curb and staring vacantly out into nowhere. Glen was dressed in a blue jumpsuit with his name on a patch over his left breast, and a windbreaker over that with the logo of some electronics company. He wore glasses which he pulled off occasionally to uselessly clean, then he took another sip of his drink.
I sidled in next to Max, away from Glen, and was about the say something when Max raised a single finger. It was a gesture telling me to wait, listen.
And then I heard a bit of shouting, a bit of hooting. Laughing, loud and clear above the sounds of glasses clinking and other normal bar noises. There was a party going on in a backroom. A raucous party that was probably getting a little out of hand.
“This guy’s like a powder keg,” Max said, barely audible, just as he took a sip of his beer.
“For the lady?” the bartender said, sliming his way over. He had on a pointy witch hat that he wore like it was a punishment, and a giant shaggy beard that made him look kind of homeless.
“Same thing I’m having,” Max said, and he drained his drink.
The bartender rolled his eyes, and came back with a pair of light looking beers.
“I don’t like this kind of beer,” I said, and I took a sip. “I take it back. I don’t not like it, I hate it.”
“Shh,” Max said. “It’s half light beer, half water. I usually get a heavily watered shot. That way, I can look like I’m drinking a lot, but stay sober. Better for undercover work.”
This all seemed too intriguey for me, and the watery beer was gross. And whatever was agitating the clearly agitated Mr. Wright did not, I thought, seem to be coming from the back room.
“Who’s back there?” I said.
“Teachers, like I told you. I saw two of them come out for some pitchers and a bottle of vodka. This guy eyeballed ‘em like they had two heads. Well, two heads a piece. They did have two heads between them. You know what I mean.”
It was a strain to try to hear anything Max was saying, so intent was he on whispering and covering every word he said with a sip of bad beer. Finally, I’d had enough. It was my family that these events impacted, not just Max’s dumb newspaper. I needed to see what was going on for myself. I got up, ignoring the hand Max reached out to stop me, and stormed right into that back room.
“Excuse me,” I said, “Could you kee
p it—”
And I couldn’t say anymore because of all the faces that were staring at me. All people I knew, people I’d seen loom large over me as I sat small and oppressed in a desk, listening to them lecture, watching them at blackboards or from behind their own enormous, imposing desks.
Teachers. High school teachers, mostly several sheets to the wind. Mrs. Arch, the math teacher who had nearly flunked me out of trigonometry and who had seemed ancient when I was first in high school, had five shot glasses lined up in front of her, and three were empty. The fourth she was trying to lift with a pair of chopsticks.
Principal Aberdeen was right next to her, chanting “Go, go, go!” Mr. Queseda, the biology teacher who had an incredibly droney voice and a face that looked like it had been cut from construction paper, was leaning close, very close, to an English teacher I never had but who was at least 70, and she leaned back into him while he whispered in her ear.
“Hey, hey, that’s Mimimi Lau-clair!” a slurred voice called from the far side of the room. Before I could get my hands up to defend myself, a man in a red button-up shirt, a Marvin the Martian tie, and big glasses charged up and gave me a hug.
“Oh, hi, you,” I said.
“You don’t remember me?” he said, smiling. “And we already talked today.”
Then I recalled that face in a very different context, though wearing much the same clothes, nearly ten years before, asking me to go to the Spring Dance.
And I answered, “Why?” So he ran away.
I wasn’t intending to be mean, I just wasn’t a dance go-er. But if Brent Wargen was scarred by the event, or had resented me for it all this time, it didn’t show on his beaming, beet-red face.
“Do you know what I heard?” he said, practically shouting at the rest of the table. I had caught the Principal’s eye by this time, and he looked suitably ashamed. No one else did.
“I heard,” Brent continued, “that it was the little Auclair girl who put an end to the reign of terror. She did what we all wanted to but could not.”
Undercover Coven (Sister Witchcraft Book 3) Page 6