by Jill Nojack
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed heavily, slipping her hand into his, maybe more for Mindy’s benefit than it should have been. She hadn’t decided yet if she was still mad at him or not. “But it’s nice that you wanted to get it for me. I was on my way to see who she sold it to. Thought maybe I could buy it back from them when I get my next check. Although it would probably be even more expensive then since they’d know how much I want it.”
Mindy’s hand went to her hip and her mouth gaped before she said, “You’d just call her up and ask if you can buy it? Wow, that’s bold.” Her eyes moved to Marcus.
Twink didn’t know what Mindy was hoping to get from looking at him with her gigantic anime eyes like that, but whatever it was, it wasn’t hers to get. Marcus probably hadn’t even noticed how pretty Mindy was in that my-daddy-bought-this-nose-and-these-teeth kind of way.
Sure. ‘Cause boys never notice hot girls.
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she answered her rival. “So?”
“I just mean—wow, you must really be committed to it. So...maybe. I guess I can ask my mom if she has contact info. We have a few regular customers who leave their numbers in case we get something they collect. Hang on.”
Mindy sent off a text and waited for the response, then read it and texted back, tapping a foot while she waited again. When the next message came in, she said, “The buyer was a regular—Felicia Bentwhistle. I know her. She comes in looking for stuff for her grandmother. She seems nice. No number, though. And Mom says she couldn’t give it to you even if she had it. You know, for privacy reasons.”
“Bentwhistle? How many people are named Bentwhistle, right? She might even be in the phone book if she’s old skool enough to still have a landline.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or I can give your number to her the next time she comes in.
“Thanks,” Twink said, looking surprised, although she still wasn’t convinced Mindy wasn’t just being nice to impress Marcus.
“No problem. I gotta get back inside now.” She started to leave, then turned back and said, “It’s really too bad you guys can’t hang out together for your birthday. I’m going to the festival since I don’t have to work, even though I think all the witch stuff around here is stupid and the people who act like it’s real are freaks.”
Twink’s eyes narrowed as Mindy made an oops face, catching herself and saying, “I don’t mean you, obviously. You can’t help where you work. So...anyway, Marcus, if you need someone to hang out with during the Festival, text me. Gimme your phone and I’ll put my number in it.”
“Sure,” he said, unlocking it and handing it to her before Twink could stop him. “I’ll probably be busy, though, either helping set up or double-checking the electrical board for the show. The guy they had last year says he might not be able to do it this year due to his wife maybe having a baby by then. So I’m kind of his understudy and will be working with him during the show.”
Twink squeezed Marcus’s hand tighter as Mindy handed the phone back, “Or-r-r,’ she said, stringing the word out to make clear it had double-bold-face emphasis, “he’ll be keeping me company in the shop. Where I can make sure no one puts their grabby hands on him.”
Then she pulled him after her down the street, away from her new frenemy; she was going to keep a close eye on that girl where her boyfriend was concerned. Keep your enemies closer and all that. And witch stuff is stupid? Shows what she knew about it.
And why was Marcus telling her their personal business anyway? Mindy didn’t need to know about Twink’s birthday or about them not being able to spend the day together.
She really wished she could show that stupid Mindy Li how not-stupid witch stuff was and exactly why a person shouldn’t make fun of witches in this town. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until her mentors allowed her to use her magic the way she wanted without getting permission. And not just because Natalie would make her life difficult if she did.
No, that wasn’t the whole thing. Because the witches in Giles had accepted her as one of them. Just like that. Just as she was. The town was weird, and sometimes the people in it could be a pain, but it was starting to feel like home, and you never bring trouble into your own home.
***
Charity Barnes wore a spotless white nursing uniform with the nursing home logo above the breast pocket, and her brown hair was pulled into a severe bun in the back without a single strand out of place. Her movements were as efficient as her appearance, exhibiting neither flourish nor hesitation as she turned back the sheet. She projected confidence and efficiency. Denton approved.
When a low whistle passed his lips as the corpse’s face appeared, Charity’s gaze turned on him, reproachful.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve just never seen anything like it.” He turned to the man beside him. “How about you, Bill?
Bill shook his head, solemn, then said, “She looks, gosh, mummified? Just like Horace told you. But if she only died yesterday—and the look on her face—what’s left of her face at least....”
Denton turned back to Charity as his officer took a pad and paper out of a uniform pocket. “Mrs. Barnes, is there anything you can tell us about Mrs. Bentwhistle’s medical treatments or condition that explains her current appearance? Anything she took that could cause severe dehydration?”
“No, nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. “And I’m Miss Barnes, not Mrs.” She flicked him an economical smile. Then she turned to Bill and said, “For your notes, obviously.”
“Got that,” Bill said, scribbling at his pad. “No suspect medications. And it’s Miss, not Mrs.”
Denton could hear the smile in his officer’s voice. His own expression didn’t change. No point in encouraging the man.
“Did you see anyone going in or out of the room after she was last seen alive last night and before your staff found her this morning?”
“No. I’m an administrator these days. I don’t make rounds.”
He said, “Thank you. I’ll let the granddaughter know we’re sending the coroner’s van to pick up the deceased.” His eyes met Charity’s, and this time he could feel the corners of his mouth sneak upward. It was a completely inappropriate expression at the scene of an investigation with the body still in the room. He wrestled a professionally straight line back across his lips. “If you could continue the ban on entering this room until Bill tells you we’ve cleared it, I’d appreciate that.”
“Of course. Do you want a list of her medications? I’ll ask her granddaughter to sign the releases.”
“Thank you. That saves me asking. If you could also prepare a list of all staff members who worked between yesterday evening when the granddaughter left and this morning when the body was discovered and keep it handy, I’d appreciate it. Visitors, too. Just hand the medication list to Bill today, if you could. The coroner will need it for the autopsy report, which will obviously be a high priority.” He gave a sideways gesture with his head toward the bed. “You can cover her up. And just hang on to the staff and visitor lists for now. I’m not going to call this a suspicious death without confirmation from the doc. But I want to be ready to move quickly if he determines there may have been foul play.”
“The staff member names aren’t a problem. The visitor’s log might be. I’ll need authorization from corporate to release it. Getting anyone on the phone over there can take days of phone tag.”
“I understand. But confidential or no, a subpoena will get me my list right quick if it comes to it.”
She nodded, one professional to another; it was clear she understood that he was just doing his job as he understood she was just doing hers. Once again, he approved.
She turned the sheet back up, then Denton followed her out, leaving Bill to the work of processing it for evidence. Denton pretended not to notice the woman’s feminine, swaying walk was anything but efficient.
***
William had no fear of death, but he sure hoped that Clotilda Bentwhistle had passed on to the next life easily, d
espite the bizarre condition of her corpse. While he’d opted to hang around Giles as a disembodied spirit when his time had come and it had worked out just fine in the end, he knew it was better for most spirits to move to the next world quickly after death. Being stuck between worlds could get lonely.
His girlfriend Natalie, who was also the local coven’s high priestess, and who was still denying the seriousness of their relationship out of sheer cussedness, was a death witch. That made her responsible for the well-being of the town’s dead when they lost their way. He’d ask her to check out Mrs. Bentwhistle’s room when he was done processing it, just to be on the safe side. Whatever had happened to her, Horace was right. It sure didn’t look like she’d passed peacefully. If she’d been the victim of a crime, her spirit might still linger in the room.
He set about his business with the door closed to keep out the looky-loos. The rumors were sure to have started already. He didn’t want people congregating in the hall while he worked. The deceased deserved respect.
He turned when the door opened—ready to shoo out anyone who might trample his evidence—to find Doctor Don, the town’s coroner, entering the room, black bag in hand, blue paper booties on his feet, serious expression on his face.
“I hear it’s a strange one, Bill.”
“Gosh, it sure is, Doc.” He raised a hand to stop the man from setting down his bag. “You mind hanging on to that for just another minute?” He put a sheet of white paper on the floor, next to the one his own bag of supplies sat on.
Don set his bag next to Bill’s as he said, “Denton insisted he didn’t want to prejudice me, but go ahead...give me a hint what Ill see under that sheet that’s got everyone convinced something out of the ordinary happened here. I don’t like surprises. And there are far too many of them in this town.”
“You ever see a mummy?”
“Can’t say as I have, I deal with bodies when they’re fresh. You ever see one?”
“Yeah, I saw one in...” William was about to say 1953, which was when his parents took the family to see a traveling carnival that had an honest-to-gosh mummy in its freak show. But he caught himself before he gave away that he’d been born well before what he currently claimed as his age. “...in some exhibition somewhere when I was a kid. Gave me nightmares.”
Denton would not have hired a man who looked like he was seventy-four, so William maintained the appearance of a man in his very early sixties. It was now as natural as breathing, but he would forever look like a kid in his twenties when he let the glamour go. Since Natalie would never have agreed to go around with someone who looked young enough to be her grandson, he kept up the facade all the time.
“Guess I’ll have to pull back the curtain and see what I see,” Doc said, then turned the sheet down to reveal the woman’s upper body. He said nothing right away, but his sharp intake of breath spoke for him.
After a pause, he said, “This woman died only last night?”
“Yeah, doc, that’s what they said. Her granddaughter visited her yesterday, and she seemed to be fine. Although she had a major stroke about two months ago, so ‘fine’ is relative. This morning, an aide walks in on this. I guess she was pretty upset.”
“Can’t imagine why. Woman goes to bed with a normal amount of moisture in her body and by morning, she’s a dried out piece of leather. Straight-forward. Routine stuff, I’d say.” He snapped on a pair of gloves from his bag and reached out to touch the corpse’s wrist. The dessicated flesh crumbled into dust where he touched it, baring the bone beneath.
“Yep. Absolutely routine,” he said. “See it all the time.” Then he mumbled something under his breath about talking to Robert about a drowning.
Someone with normal hearing wouldn’t have heard the whispered, nearly inaudible words, but William’s hearing, like everything else about him, wasn’t normal. He knew the doctor had decided this situation fell into the category of unexplained deaths that his well-paid, under-worked job as coroner in a town that wasn’t big enough to need one had been created to explain. Deaths that were accidentally or intentionally the result of the use of magic were listed as drownings. Natalie had explained that Don didn’t know what caused them and had never indicated that he wanted to know, only that he was well-compensated for listing certain deaths a certain way when he was told to. It was unlikely the doc would get away with that this time, though, given the location and condition of the corpse and the number of people who’d seen it. The mayor would need to know what Don was thinking as quickly as possible. No point delaying it.
“Drowning, eh?” William said. “I hear they’re common in Giles.”
Don turned to him, his eyebrows raised, “You know something about drownings?”
“Yeah, Doc, I do. I have special access, so to speak. But like you, I keep it under my hat and don’t talk to the other fellows on the force about it.” He reached up to reseat his cap. “You want to call Robert or should I?”
***
Natalie was pleased to see William standing there when she opened the door, but she didn’t want to be too encouraging. She narrowed her eyes and said, “Just like you to show up at dinner time.”
He smirked. “Well, if you’re offering...”
“Maybe I am.” She shrugged as she cut him off and called back over her shoulder, “Marcus, set another place. We have company.”
“What a surprise!” came the boy’s response from the depths of the house. She humphed to herself. At least his growing boldness meant the boy felt comfortable with their living arrangement.
As she stepped to the side to let him in, William said, “Robert asked me to stop by. There’s been an unusual death.”
Her head snapped around at that, and tension coiled inside her. She’d been looking forward to a quiet night of cards and Cracker Jacks.
“Whose unusual death?”
“A woman named Clotilda Bentwhistle. You know her?”
“I do. She’s from a witching family, although she had very little magic and hasn’t been active in a coven for years, as far as I know. What happened to her?”
“Darned if I know. That’s why Robert and I agree you need to get involved. The state of the body is...well, I can take you to view it at the coroner’s. And then I’ll take you to the scene.” He took his place at the table to Natalie’s right as Marcus set a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes on the table next to a good-looking set of four pork chops. He was suddenly starving.
“Four chops? You were hoping I’d come by, weren’t you?” he teased, knowing she’d never admit it. “Marcus can dispose of two, but you never eat more than one.”
“They come four to a package,” Natalie said. “Don’t flatter yourself. The fourth one is for the dog.”
Marcus’s black lab pup, which snoozed in the corner, perked up at that, one ear cocking comically, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“Don’t bother getting your hopes up, Einstein. It’s not gonna happen,” Marcus told the dog as he put a second bowl, this one filled with chunky applesauce sprinkled with cinnamon, down on the table and then took a seat himself.
William and Marcus exchanged surreptitious smirks; both of them knew exactly who Natalie had bought the pork chop for.
“We’ll go after dinner,” Natalie said.
“What?” William asked.
“The body? The crime scene? You said that’s why you’re here.”
“Oh yeah! Darn tootin’. That’s why I dropped by. Work-related.”
Neither he nor Natalie looked at Marcus, but he could tell from the corner of his eye that the young man was smiling widely and shaking his head. The dog, now settled back in its neutral corner, appeared to be smirking, too.
5
Natalie declined the offer to travel to the coroner’s office on William’s arm while he transported himself in a fraction of a second. She found traveling that way disorienting, and she needed her wits about her when she assessed the body and the scene. Marcus had dropped her to pick up her car a
t the mechanic’s the day before, and she could chauffeur herself around just fine again.
Plus, using magic for every insignificant thing was a trap that eventually led a witch or warlock into an unsustainable way of life. She’d seen witches forget how to live among non-magical people, which drastically limited their social circle and career choices.
William couldn’t avoid it, of course. Magic entirely sustained him at this stage in his existence, having become a creature of it when he was brought back to life as a djinn. Still, she didn’t need to indulge him by flashing here and there with him on every whim.
At most, it was a ten minute drive to the coroner’s office in the hospital’s basement. The brief drive with William in the passenger’s seat would be pleasant enough on a night like this.
She breathed in the clean, midsummer air as she drove them toward the hospital with the windows down and the breeze flirting with the ends of her favorite paisley-patterned chiffon scarf over her gray bob. It gave just the splash of color needed to liven up her black pantsuit.
But another murder so soon on the heels of the last? She hoped it wasn’t true at the same time she felt an edge of excitement building. As she parked near the back entrance to the hospital, she had to admit that the spike in adrenalin she experienced when tracking down an evil-doer, magical or otherwise, energized her seventy-four-year-old body and faculties in a way little else managed to do.
She focused her thoughts back to what William was saying about the victim as she slipped the car into a space near the rear entrance to the hospital.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about her?” he asked.
She turned off the ignition and dropped the keys into her red vinyl purse as she replied, “Clotilda? Not much. From a local witching family, as I think I’ve already said. And one with only minor magic, as is often the case these days, because of the thinning of the bloodlines. She associated with a coven in Salem when she was young—such is the draw of the famous Salem covens for those seeking the craft for status rather than for the knowledge. She fell away from it later in life when she married into a family that doesn’t carry the spark. I don’t know if her husband ever knew about her abilities.”