Beewitched

by Hannah Reed

  I hadn’t dressed for an outdoor stroll, so by the time I arrived home I was shivering from the cold, brisk hike, cursing the chief, saving a few choice words for P. P. Patti, who had once again left me high and dry. At the same time, though, once I’d calmed down, I realized that if I’d been in her shoes, behind the wheel, and I’d seen Johnny Jay bearing down on us, I’d have done exactly the same thing.

  The only difference would have been that Patti would’ve somehow plastered herself against the rear bumper, maybe crawled onto the hood and hung on for dear life. She’d have made sure she got away, too.

  Instead of standing there, dazed and confused like you-know-who.

  To every person out there, for every time I’ve unkindly and thoughtlessly declared, “Well, she sure isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer,” I apologize profusely.

  Facts are facts, no matter how brutal. I sure wasn’t as sharp as I liked to think, either.

  • • •

  I didn’t have to be a magic practitioner or own a crystal ball to forecast the immediate future. Once I made it back to Willow Street, I found Patti waiting for me in my living room, sitting calmly on my sofa. She’d also had the nerve to help herself to my microwave popcorn, which she’d slathered with way too much butter and salt. “You borrowed a lightbulb from me last week,” she said in her defense.

  I made a mental note to never ask to borrow a single item from her ever again.

  “Want some?” she said, offering me the greasy bag.

  I ignored her generosity with my popcorn. “So you spotted the chief driving toward us?”

  “And I had to act fast. Aren’t you going to congratulate me for once again using my fine mind to get out of a jam?”

  “You might have let me get into the car before taking off.”

  “My survival instincts kicked in. It’s automatic. Nothing I could have done differently. Besides, you look like you handled yourself just fine.”

  “You didn’t even consider coming back for me?”

  “You’re a survivor just like me. Why should I hold your hand? You don’t hold mine when I need you. And if you want, I can delve into our past and dredge up bunches of examples.” There was the P. P. Patti whine.

  The black blanket was at her feet. I picked it up and carefully unwrapped it to find that our prize (the laptop) was also covered in a black pillowcase. I kept unwrapping, hopeful that when I opened it, it wouldn’t be damaged beyond repair.

  It wasn’t. The screen was all in one piece and actually lit up when I powered on the machine.

  We were back in business.

  Which brings me to the matter of our current investigative techniques—Patti’s and mine versus, for example, Hunter’s. Or even Johnny Jay’s. Or my mother’s, or a professional private eye’s for that matter, which my mother sort of is based on how many times she’s caught me in one act or another. Patti and I need to work on finesse if we are going to continue to handle this highly sensitive situation. We have to make more of an effort to become:

  adroit instead of clumsy

  skillful rather than inept

  clever instead of practically brain dead

  elusive versus incarcerated

  But I couldn’t verbalize any of this because after brief consideration I decided that I was perfectly normal and on the good side of all those finesse moves. It was Patti who had to make more of an effort.

  Besides, after blowing her own cover with Lucinda and the Waukesha sheriff’s department, and almost ruining our chances of discovering evidence with the police chief, here the woman sat, free as a bird and wily as a fox, if not wise as an owl.

  “Hunter could come home any time.” I thought I should mention it, for both of our sakes.

  So we hustled over to her house with me toting the laptop and Patti handling the bag of popcorn. We plopped down on her sofa.

  Patti wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin, then took the computer from me. Hacking is more her thing than mine. I mostly use computers to record inventory at The Wild Clover or to search for new flip-flops online.

  “It’s password protected,” Patti said, chewing her lip in concentration. “But don’t worry. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “How soon?” I asked, not liking the sound of eventually.

  “It’s already late. Come back in the morning.”

  There wasn’t another choice. The laptop was going to be slow in giving up its secrets.

  Back at home I got ready for bed, tucked my mojo bag under my pillow (because I really, really want my secret wish to come true), and made up a mental list of questions that needed answers, without bothering to determine whether they were important to the case. Since their relevance was a big, fat unknown, I decided to assume everything could be a critical component. My short list:

  Who had Rosina been speaking to on the phone? I needed the name of the witch who canceled at the last minute. I felt certain it was a missing piece of the puzzle.

  Why had Rosina’s personal information been erased from her phone and by whom? Had Greg tampered with it on his way over to my house?

  Who had Rosina gone to meet in the corn maze that night? Find that out, and we’d have our killer. With any luck it was NOT Al. With all the people out at the farm, someone must have seen something. Note to self—ask Hunter about that.

  My list seemed to be in ascending order of importance. Rosina’s phone history had to be a big clue since someone went to such lengths to protect it. And the clandestine meeting in the corn maze had to have been with the person who stabbed her to death. It remained to be seen whether the missing number thirteen had any relevance.

  So I had three questions and decided that tomorrow I’d stay positive and start knocking them off, one by one.

  I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Hunter was sliding into bed beside me and wrapping his strong arms around me in a spooning bear hug. I snuggled in, and we talked quietly about our day. To be on the safe side, since I didn’t want to accidently blab certain parts of the day’s events, I mostly encouraged him to talk about himself, which isn’t a hard thing for a woman to get a man to do. Then I told him how Greg Mason had come by with his aunt’s personal effects, and we’d discovered that her phone had been tampered with, and all her personal information was gone. Hunter surprised me by replying, “I have the phone company printout for that phone number. You treat me right, and I’ll let you have a peek at it in the morning.”

  Well, well, well. But first:

  “Mom and Tom are getting married Tuesday, so Grams doesn’t have time to invite everybody in town.”

  “Uh . . . that doesn’t give me time to ask off from work.”

  “It’s going to be short and sweet—a few vows, a little reception. Besides, that’s not true. You can come and go as you please.”

  “You think so, do you?”

  “You’re not getting out of this.”

  “Does that mean I get to see you in your bridesmaid dress?”

  I groaned at the image of that puce monstrosity. “On second thought . . .”

  Eventually we got around to Al Mason, and an opportunity presented itself for me to ask if anybody had seen anyone near the corn maze.

  Hunter’s answer was a negative, either no one had or they weren’t admitting to it during interrogations. Even Al, the number one suspect, denied being there.

  So if my man with all his resources hadn’t been able to solve that one, I doubted that Patti and I could.

  We’d have to find another way.

  Thirty-four

  Monday morning arrived chilly but with a promise of warmer afternoon temperatures, and tomorrow’s forecast predicted more of the same, which would be perfect for Mom’s wedding.

  Since we were working on an accelerated schedule, first thing I did Monday morning was pick a handful of withered rose
buds from the bushes along the side of my house. I took them with me to my honey house, which is a small, shedlike building where I store my beekeeping supplies and conduct honey experiments. There, I concocted my own sort of magic love potion—the bride’s honey for Mom and Tom to share before their vows. Honey, rosebuds, cinnamon, and cloves. Now it needed twenty-four hours to meld, so I’d just be getting it under the wire in time for the wedding.

  The wedding. I couldn’t believe my mother would be walking down the aisle tomorrow.

  What exactly had I volunteered to do anyway? After pondering for a few minutes without coming up with an exact answer, I went back inside and called Holly.

  “You’re my assistant,” she reminded me. “I have a list for you to take care of today.”

  Hunter came into the kitchen and sat down across from me.

  “I’m sort of busy today,” I told her. Back when I’d raised my hand and waved it around, I hadn’t been right in the middle of a murder case. I’d been bored, which I certainly wasn’t at the moment. Besides, gopher hadn’t been what I had in mind. “Very busy, in fact.”

  My sister gave an enormous sigh of frustration for my benefit. “You made a huge squawk about me being the wedding planner and you not getting to help, and now in the final hours you’re way too busy? I don’t think so.”

  “Fine, fine, just give me time to open the store.”

  “Carrie Ann is opening. I checked. You need to drive your truck into Waukesha and pick up some outdoor heaters I’ve rented. Mom insists on doing this outdoors, so I rented several propane patio heaters.” Then my sister chuckled. “In any other cold-weather state we’d be called crazy to have a wedding outside in October in these temps, but here we sunbathe if it’s fifty degrees outside.”

  Which was true, but I still was stalling. “I’ll have to find someone to cover for me.”

  “Stanley and one of the twins are working today. I checked on that, too.”

  “Um.” She’d effectively blocked all my moves as though we were on a mat wrestling it out.

  “No more excuses.” Holly gave me the address for the pickup.

  “Can’t they deliver?” I asked.

  Holly hung up.

  “Family issues?” Hunter asked, why, I don’t know, because I always have family issues.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Then he produced the promised phone log.

  “That was fast,” I said, pretty amazed.

  “I contacted the office and had it sent as an e-mail attachment. Anything for you, sweet thing. But you’re wasting your time on this. Shouldn’t you be focusing on your mother’s wedding?”

  “Holly has it covered.” I scanned the list and found what I was looking for. A date and time that matched my first meeting with the witches. Looked like a call was again placed from that number to Rosina’s phone several hours later.

  “That’s the call our victim made from The Wild Clover,” I said, sounding just like a television cop about to expose the killer.

  Hunter leaned across the table to see where my finger was marking the spot.

  “It might not mean a thing,” I said. “But I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier so you could have followed up. Can you find out who that number belongs to?” I asked.

  “Of course I can.” Hunter smiled. “And I plan to do just that.”

  “Keep me in your inner circle,” I told him.

  Then Hunter and Ben, the daring duo, headed out to protect our citizens by fighting crime. I pulled on a fleece, tucked my mojo bag in a pocket, and walked over to Patti’s house. She didn’t answer my rings. The house was locked up tight. No sign of her presence, which was really annoying.

  Next I walked to the store.

  “Your sister dropped off this to-do list for you as soon as I opened,” Carrie Ann told me, handing it over. Holly had been out and about that early? Wow. She was taking her position seriously. “There’s more on the back of the paper,” Carrie Ann added.

  “I can’t possibly do everything on this list in one day! What is she thinking?”

  “Why don’t I take a few of these chores and knock them off? Some of them are just calling and confirming. By the way, Milly called a few minutes ago to say she’s right on schedule with the catering, so you can cross that one off. See? Easy peasy.”

  “I love you, Carrie Ann!”

  Just then, Joan Goodaller came in, and she mentioned that Greg had asked her to stay at the farm for a few days rather than return to her own house.

  Carrie Ann chuckled. “That’s because you are holding the place together,” she said, “and he’s taking advantage of that fact.”

  “I enjoy the farm, and all the animals, and the visitors. I’m considering taking him up on his offer. It makes me feel closer to Al.” Joan’s face scrunched up as though she were about to cry, but she took a deep breath.

  “You’ve done so much already,” I told her. “And there is a distinct possibility that Al will be back home very soon. I’m working on an angle.”

  That had slipped out unintended. Blast my blabbing. So I had to tell my cousin and Joan all about the suspicious phone call between Rosina and an unknown caller. “I have the number and will know the name of the MIA witch before noon. And,” I bragged, “that piece of information is only one of many that I’m tracking down.”

  Carrie Ann returned to check out customers. Joan pulled me aside.

  “I’ve given some thought to that night,” she said, “and I’m convinced one of the campers had as much opportunity as Al.”

  “My thought exactly.”

  “But the evidence is stacked against him.”

  “It could have been planted.”

  Joan seemed surprised that I was taking Al’s side when so many of the locals were waiting for charges to be filed. “We’re on the same page, then. I wish you the best of luck,” she said. “And don’t overlook the tent partner. She’d been through the corn maze over and over.”

  Tabitha? “That’s curious. Why would she do that?”

  Joan shrugged. “Who knows, but there might be a motive we’re overlooking.”

  Hmm. That was something new to ponder, when I had time. “I have to run an errand. My mother is getting married tomorrow,” I said.

  “So I’ve heard. Can I help in any way?”

  “Geez, Joan, you have enough on your plate.”

  “Really, it’ll take my mind off my troubles. We found a college kid to work the stand, and the corn maze has been finished. I’d really like to help out.”

  This woman was like the energizer bunny. “Ask Carrie Ann then. She has a list. And thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  • • •

  When I went out back, Patti was waiting for me in my truck with the stolen goods on her lap.

  “You should lock your truck,” she advised me. “You don’t want just anybody having access to it.”

  Tell me about it.

  “Did you crack Rosina’s security code?” I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  “I sure did, but it took all night. I’m exhausted.”

  I glanced over. Patti looked perfectly normal in spite of the lack of a good night’s sleep, and I envied her that gift. If I missed my beauty sleep, not only did I turn mean and cranky, but my body showed it.

  “Where are we going?” Patti wanted to know as we pulled away from the store.

  “To pick up something for the wedding. Tell me what you found on Rosina’s computer.”

  “I don’t know why I’m doing all the work on this case,” Patti whined. “All day and all night, while all you think about is the next party.”

  “It’s my mother’s wedding, Patti, lighten up. Besides, I’m working on something related to the case right this minute.”

  “Oh, sure.”

 
“Really. I’m serious. In an hour or so I’ll have the name of the witch who backed out of the ritual.”

  “Maybe I already have that.”

  “You do?” Great! This was good news. Especially if that was only the tip of the iceberg.

  “I said maybe,” Patti said with a hint or two of dodging the issue in her whiny little voice.

  “So you don’t have a name.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  For the rest of the trip into Waukesha, Patti gave me a dissertation on the nuances of computer breaking and entering, the moral issues involved (Patti’s pro open-source everything, so she wasn’t too bothered), and the extremely complex process of mining for information.

  “Will you please just get to the point?” I finally demanded, as my destination came into view and I still didn’t know anything new.

  “She had one very close online friend, and the two of them exchanged e-mails after meeting on a social networking website and hitting it off. But I don’t have a real name yet. This friend went by a user name, or at least that’s what I assume, because nobody’s real name could be . . .”

  Here, Patti paused, and booted up the computer.

  Talk about frustrating! “What? What the heck is her name?”

  “Nemesis,” Patti said. “She called herself Nemesis. Listen to this, ‘Thanks for inviting me along, but I won’t be able to take you up on your offer for a ride. I’ll have to join you out there. Directions, please.’ And a reply from Rosina, ‘Can’t wait to finally meet you.’ And then she gives the directions out to our street.”

  “What about a real name?”

  “Nothing in any of these e-mails,” Patti said. “But this Nemesis person is definitely the one who opted out of the evil dance with the devil.”

  I slowed to check an address, then pulled into a parking lot.

  “I’ll wait here,” Patti announced, already turning her attention back to the laptop.

  After filling out paperwork and paying the deposit (which my rich sister hadn’t bothered to mention), we waited for the heaters to be loaded into the truck bed. I used the time to do an Internet search with my phone while Patti did her computer thing.