Beignets and Broomsticks

by J. R. Ripley

  ‘Nothing?’ I arched my brow. ‘Or maybe a chance to tell the story that Nancy Alverson intended to tell?’

  Brad held his breath as Chloe brought our burgers. She set a red lacquered tray holding bottles of catsup, mayo and mustard – all made in-house – between us.

  ‘Anything else, guys?’ inquired our waitress. We both shook our heads no and she moved on to her next table.

  I dug into my burger as I waited for Brad to speak.

  ‘What story?’ He finally broke the silence.

  ‘A story of greed, deception, fraud.’ I tried to remember the words in Nancy’s introductory text. Brad’s eyes lit up with each word.

  I swallowed and washed the bite down with orange soda. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  Brad snatched a fry and crammed it in his mouth. ‘Fine.’

  I grabbed my cheeseburger with both hands and brought it to my lips.

  Brad clamped his fingers firmly around my wrists and lowered my arms. ‘Come on, Maggie. You’re killing me here. What have you got?’

  I pushed back, freeing myself from his grip, and took a big bite, feeling the grease and the mayo ooze down my chin. I slowly picked up my napkin and wiped my face and neck.

  ‘What I’ve got is an appetite and I think and talk better on a full stomach.’ I balled up my napkin, dropped it on the table and snatched a fresh one. ‘Eat,’ I said. ‘Your burger is getting cold.’

  Brad sighed in defeat and dug into his food. Halfway through the meal, I took pity on him and relented. Besides, I was tired of hearing him talk sports.

  I pressed my hands against the edge of the tabletop and blew out a breath. I still had half a basket of fries but was as stuffed as a Thanksgiving bird. ‘Nancy Alverson sent me a flash drive in the mail.’

  Brad looked at me, a long French fry dangling between his fingers with a dollop of catsup on its tip. ‘She did?’

  I nodded. ‘Along with a note asking me to hold on to it until she asked for it back.’

  ‘Why you? When?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because she didn’t know anybody else? Maybe I’ve just got one of those trusting faces.’ I pressed my hands into my cheeks and smiled.

  ‘Maybe.’ Brad sounded dubious. ‘You know, you look like a chipmunk when you do that.’

  Color rose to my cheeks. ‘Anyway, in answer to your second question.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I received the flash drive in the mail yesterday. It was waiting in my mailbox when I got home from work.’

  ‘The day after she was murdered.’

  ‘Yes, and it was postmarked the day she was killed.’ I leaned back and let the weight of my words sink in.

  Brad leaned closer and I could smell his musky aftershave. ‘What was on it?’

  ‘What makes you think I looked on it?’

  The expression on his face said enough. Too much, really. ‘Fine. I looked. Nancy was working on an exposé that included the Sacred Church of Witchkraft. She called it Money and Magick – Greed and Sin in a Small Town.’

  Brad whistled. ‘That’s some heavy stuff. Those folks have some money. They’ve got branches – churches, I guess I should say – all over the world.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Trust me, I wouldn’t mess with them unless I was certain of my facts. I’m sure they’ve got lawyers who’d sue the butt off the newspaper if given the chance.’ He shook his head. ‘Solomon would just love that. And you say she was writing an entire book about them?’

  Solomon Winchell was the publisher of the Table Rock Reader. I’d never met the man but I had seen his photo and his name inside the newspaper.

  ‘Not just them, but mostly, yes. I didn’t get a chance to read the entire manuscript.’ Now, with it missing, I probably never would know the extent of Nancy Alverson’s investigation.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ Brad slid out of the booth and grabbed his jacket. ‘Show me. I want to get a look at this manuscript.’

  ‘No can do.’

  Brad froze, one arm in his jacket. ‘What?’

  ‘You can’t read it.’

  ‘Come on, Maggie.’ Brad’s voice was laden with frustration. ‘We had a deal. I thought we were going to share information.’

  ‘Sit back down, Brad.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Please.’

  Brad extricated himself from his jacket, slid back into the corner of the booth and placed the jacket beside him. ‘Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to this story than you’re telling me, Maggie?’

  ‘Remember when you came by the café this morning?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Remember when you left?’

  ‘Maggie, really. Will you get to the point?’

  ‘Fine.’ I slid my plate to the end of the table. ‘The flash drive is missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ Brad practically hit the ceiling.

  ‘Shh. Keep your voice down. For a reporter, you have a real lack of decorum.’

  Brad glared at me. ‘Explain what you mean by missing, Maggie,’ he demanded through gritted teeth.

  I explained what happened at the café. ‘After you left, I went out front to help. When I returned a couple hours later to continue reading, I discovered that the flash drive was gone.’

  Brad rubbed his jaw. ‘Maybe one of the employees pulled it out of your laptop for some reason?’

  ‘I asked them. Neither Kelly nor Aubrey used the laptop.’

  ‘Then your mother—’

  ‘She swears she was nowhere near it.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Yeah. Now we may never know what was on that drive. I can’t figure out who knew that I even had it.’

  ‘Maybe Nancy told someone else.’

  ‘Maybe. But what would be the point of that? I mean, I got the impression she was trying to keep what she was working on and the flash drive secret. Otherwise, why mail it to me in the first place?’

  ‘Good point.’ Brad squeezed his empty soda bottle until I thought it would burst. ‘What I don’t get is how somebody managed to get past the four of you and sneak into your storeroom.’

  ‘It was your fault really.’

  ‘My fault?’

  ‘You went out the backdoor.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You left it unlocked.’

  ‘In other words, you forgot to lock it behind me.’

  We glared at each other.

  I had been a little flustered at the time. But that had been Brad’s fault too.

  ‘Now what?’ I asked finally.

  ‘Have you got any plans?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Brad looked at the check, counted out some money then wrapped his fingers around his jacket. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To get religion.’

  TEN

  I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room first. Joho, dressed in a tan leather vest with fringe, long-sleeve white shirt and relaxed fit jeans, was tending bar and entertaining his customers as was his custom.

  ‘Hi, Joho. How are you today?’ I asked.

  ‘Hello, Maggie.’ He held a beer mug in his hand and was wiping it dry with a white cloth. ‘Enjoy your lunch?’

  ‘It was perfect, as always.’ I leaned against the bar. ‘How did the haunt go the other night?’

  ‘Swell. We had a full house. Too bad you couldn’t make it.’

  ‘We were open until nine that night handing out treats. Then things got kind of crazy.’

  Joho’s face turned serious. He returned the mug to a rack and rested his elbow on the bartop. ‘I heard about that. Tough. A young kid like that.’ The pub owner was nearer sixty from what I could tell, although with his dark, unwrinkled skin and rich black hair, he could have passed for forty.

  ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘She stopped in now and then for a meal.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Was she alone each time she came?’
/>   Joho stepped back and scratched behind his ear. ‘Most times. There was this young fella that was with her sometimes.’

  I described Jakob Waltz.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose that could’ve been him. Hard to say. Your description sounds like a lot of people. And I see a lot of people,’ he said with an accompanying wink to the man seated on the barstool to my right.

  ‘Mark Highsmith and Veronica Vargas were here for the Haunted Halloween Hop?’

  ‘Sure,’ he drawled. ‘They were part of the group doing the haunt.’

  ‘But Mark left early and then Veronica left a little after that?’

  ‘I don’t know, Maggie. We were jammed that night. I really couldn’t say who came and went when.’ He leaned closer. ‘The police asked me the same question.’

  ‘They did?’ I whispered back.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. They wanted to know who was here that night, how they acted and if I noticed anything suspicious. I told them they were crazy. Everybody was acting just like you would expect. They were having a good time, drinking, swapping ghost stories.’ Joho shook his head. ‘If one of them was the killer, you could’ve fooled me.’

  Maybe they had.

  ‘Thanks, Joho.’ I turned to leave.

  ‘You know, now that you mention it …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I do remember seeing Veronica Vargas in here for lunch earlier that same day.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was hardly an item of interest. Hopping Mad wasn’t that far a walk from the town hall or VV’s private office. ‘I suppose she was with Mark Highsmith?’ I pictured the two of them all snuggly and googly-eyed in a corner booth.

  ‘No, she was with that dead girl.’

  ‘Nancy Alverson?’

  Joho nodded. ‘The two of them were sitting right over there.’ He pointed to the same bank of booths along the wall where Brad and I had had our lunch. I noticed Brad eying me and Joho curiously.

  ‘The reason I remember is because it all started off normal enough, and then …’ Joho shrugged.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘The two of them started arguing. It got so I thought I was going to have to go over and have a word with them.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘No. There was no need.’

  ‘They quieted down?’

  ‘Nope. They left together but they were still going at it.’

  I fell back on my heels.

  ‘That’s the last I saw of either of them – well, the dead woman, that is. Like you said, Veronica Vargas was here that night.’

  I thanked Joho for his time and rejoined Brad after a quick stop in the ladies’ room.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Brad asked as we walked to his car in the public lot around the corner.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were asking Joho a lot of questions. Anything interesting?’

  ‘That depends. We were sharing recipes.’ I stood beside the car. ‘He suggested beer-flavored beignets. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re a poor liar.’ Brad unlocked the car and settled in behind the wheel. ‘Do the police know about this flash drive?’

  ‘I haven’t told them yet.’ And I didn’t relish doing so now that I’d lost it or, rather, had it stolen from me. ‘Have the police told you if they have any suspects?’

  ‘No. Like I said before, they keep speaking in generalities. Your friend, Highsmith, seems to be stonewalling me.’

  ‘I’m not so sure I’d call us friends. And for your information, he stonewalls me all the time too.’

  ‘If you say so.’ He sounded a bit put out.

  ‘What? Are you jealous of Mark?’ Brad had once seen Detective Highsmith kiss me, innocently, on the forehead after a minor fender bender.

  ‘Not the least. Besides, he’s still going out with Ms Vargas, right?’

  ‘Right.’ I turned on the radio, hoping to avoid further conversation that neither of us was enjoying. My choices were country music and New Age instrumentals. Where was Duran Duran when you needed them? I yearned for an ordinary world.

  Brad was the first to break the silence. ‘I tried a couple of times to speak with Ms Vargas but she turned me down flat.’

  ‘What did she say exactly?’ Joho’s recounting of Nancy Alverson and VV’s heated discussion had me wondering more about VV’s involvement in the young woman’s death.

  ‘Nothing. I couldn’t even get past her assistant. I tried her office at the town hall. She’s keeping out of sight.’

  His hands squeezed the wheel. ‘My sight, anyway.’ We had left downtown Table Rock, such as it was, behind us, and were now moving quickly down a state road through majestic red rock country.

  ‘You know where you’re going?’ I asked as Brad left the main road and took the dark blue Honda sedan down a smaller paved road.

  ‘Yep. I was out here about a month ago.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Yeah. Not at the church. But close by.’

  ‘Are we even in Table Rock anymore?’

  ‘An early settler deeded all the land out this way to the town – well, except for a few other privately held parcels like the church. Besides, we are not as far from town as you might think. These roads circle around and double back quite a bit due to the topography.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ While beautiful, the Arizona setting wasn’t built to accommodate the automobile. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like back in the covered wagon days. ‘What were you doing out here?’

  Looking at the bleak landscape, I saw nothing worthy of a story.

  ‘I was doing a piece on a treasure hunter.’ Brad abandoned the narrow paved road and turned onto a gravel and dirt track. Two tall pillars, constructed with piled river stones, hugged the road on either side. Shiny metallic gold plaques mounted on each pillar read: Sacred Church of Witchkraft. A tall, carved soapstone pentacle sat atop each column.

  This was the place. The road was uneven and I felt every filling in my mouth shaking loose. ‘If they have as much money as you claim, you’d think they could at least pave this in asphalt, if not gold,’ I complained. ‘Can’t you avoid the bumps?’

  ‘And drive through the cacti and rocks instead?’

  I ignored the question because I had no good answer.

  We didn’t see a single car but one man, in baggy tan trousers, dusty boots and a loose-fitting green-and-black flannel shirt suddenly appeared as we took a sharp turn past a massive boulder.

  Brad jammed on the brakes and I flew into the dash. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shook my arms. ‘Fine.’ I peered out the windshield. ‘Who is that guy?’ A dusty Indiana Jones-style hat protected his head from the harsh Arizona sun. His scraggly hair was long and his beard longer and scragglier. His hands, neck and face were deeply tanned.

  The man walked awkwardly toward us. A small blue pack hung off his shoulders.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Him who?’

  ‘My treasure hunter.’ Brad rolled down his window. ‘How are you, Herman?’

  Up close, I realized that the hundred-year-old-looking prospector couldn’t have been more than forty, maybe younger. A lack of hygiene and too much time out-of-doors had done more to age him than a team of Hollywood makeup artists could have dreamed of accomplishing on their best day.

  ‘Good, Brad. Real good.’ He smiled at me, revealing yellow but otherwise healthy-looking teeth. ‘And who might this be?’

  ‘Maggie Miller, meet Herman the Swede.’

  Herman put his fingers to the brim of his hat. ‘Pleasure meeting you, Maggie.’ An earthy odor emanated from him, not terrible, but nothing I’d want to dab on my wrists or behind my ears before a date.

  ‘How goes the hunt? Find your City of Gold yet?’

  ‘Well, now.’ Herman the Swede licked his dried and cracked lips. ‘If I told you that, I’d have to slit your throats and bury the two of you right here in the desert where even the vultures couldn
’t find you,’ he replied rather unnervingly.

  I gasped. A long knife with a stag grip hung in a sheath attached to his leather belt.

  Brad chuckled and swung his head around to face me. ‘He’s kidding, Maggie.’

  ‘Sure, Maggie. I’d never take the time to bury you. Ground’s too hard.’ Herman the Swede stamped his heel against the ground to prove his point, then leaned back and hooted. He resembled a crazed coyote howling at the sun rather than the moon.

  Brad joined in.

  I tugged at Brad’s sleeve. ‘Shouldn’t we get going?’

  ‘Of course,’ Brad replied.

  ‘You two are off to the church, I suppose?’

  ‘Yeah, we thought we’d take a look around.’

  Herman removed his hat, wiped his forehead with a red cloth then placed the hat back on his head. ‘You two be careful.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Brad asked.

  Herman the Swede shrugged vaguely. ‘They’re a strange bunch. Plus,’ he said, tugging his right ear, ‘I hear things.’

  Brad wished Herman the Swede well and rolled up his window as we drove on.

  ‘Talk about a strange bunch,’ I quipped. ‘That Herman is one odd bird. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he hears things. Probably aliens.’

  Brad cracked a grin. ‘Herman’s not so bad.’

  ‘How exactly do you know him?’

  ‘Like I said, I did a story on him a while back. Don’t you ever read my byline? Herman is a treasure seeker.’

  ‘Looking for the City of Gold?’

  ‘That’s his dream.’

  ‘Fairy tale is more like it.’

  Arizona had been and probably always would be home to those seeking mythical long-lost treasures. If it wasn’t for having to live without running water and air conditioning, I might have been willing to put in a few days looking for one myself.

  ‘What exactly is this City of Gold?’

  ‘Herman told me a bit about it. I read up on it a little afterward too. It’s actually based on the old tale of the Seven Cities of Gold.’

  ‘I’ve heard that story. Wasn’t that supposed to be down near the Mexican border?’

  ‘Herman thinks the remains of one of the lost cities lies hidden up here near Table Rock.’

  ‘What makes him believe that? Does he have proof?’