Bells, Spells, and Murders

by Carol J. Perry

  “What sort of thing?” I asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Why, somebody’s dropped it or mistreated it somehow.” He held the bell up close to his eyes. “I can’t see the dent, but I know it’s here somewhere; You sure you didn’t accidently drop it, young lady?” Again the distrustful glare.

  I shook my head. Vehemently. “No sir. I never even tried to ring it before tonight.”

  “It’s no wonder,” he grumbled. “Imagine it! Keeping hand bells in a closet with crayons and glue and playthings. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve allowed the children to play with them.” He clutched the bell to his chest. “Barbarians.”

  I didn’t comment further. I thought of the brief glimpse of a vision I’d seen in that same bell. It was a blur of red. A blood red Santa hat.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said. “I think we need to call the police.”

  CHAPTER 48

  I knew Pete was probably trying to get access to the Acme Plumbing office by then, but I called him first anyway. There was no response after a couple of rings and I was about to hang up when he answered. “Yep. What?” Brusque cop voice.

  “It’s the big bell. The C-3,” I told him. “It’s dented. I think the bell is what killed Mr. Eldridge.”

  “Have you got it there? The bell?”

  “Maestro Balfe is holding it right now. Carefully.”

  “With gloves?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be right there. Chief’s getting a warrant for the Acme place. You were right. The suitcase is in plain sight in the window. We’re looking for McNally now to let us in. Is Lilly Jeffry still there?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked around the empty stage, and out into the empty auditorium. “She went with the others.”

  “Okay. I’m in my car now. Sending help your way. Just stay where you are. I’m coming.” He hung up.

  I was wrong about Lilly. She hadn’t gone with the others.

  Enter Lilly Jeffry. Stage left. A tiny woman in a choir robe with a large gun.

  “I believe I heard one of dear Albert’s bells ringing out here.” She made a sideways motion with the gun. “Put the bell on the table, Claude,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Balfe held the bell tighter and moved away from the table. “No.” he said. “It needs to be repaired. It’s a wonderful bell. It can be fixed as good as new. I’ll see to it.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” she snapped. “That stupid damned Conrad must have dented it swinging it at the old fool’s head.”

  “Do as she says, Maestro,” I spoke softly. “Please put it on the table.”

  Pete had said he was sending help. I looked toward the back of the auditorium. Listened for sirens. Nothing. Claude Balfe hesitated, then placed the bell back onto the table in its proper position. Lilly grinned. “Good boy, Claude. Now back away. That’s a good boy.”

  I don’t know why Lilly even thought for a minute that she’d get away with stealing that bell. She barely made it out the door to the hall. Then, handcuffed, she was led away without a word. Pete arrived a few minutes later, put the bell into a large evidence bag, and turned it over to a man in a CSI jumpsuit.

  “I’ll send you home in a cruiser, Lee,” Pete said. “I’ve got a lot of loose ends to tie up here. You okay? You were a real help tonight. Chief says thanks.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Did you get the bell case from the plumbing store?”

  “We did.”

  Balfe spoke up then. “You found the case? That’s good news. Could I have it please? I’d like to put these bells away properly.”

  “Sorry,” Pete said. “It needs to be cleaned up. They’ve been using it for tools and junk for nearly a month. Besides that, there are traces of blood in it. We expect it’s Albert Eldridge’s blood.”

  “Is Lilly going to jail?” I asked.

  “She’s under arrest. Asked for a lawyer already.”

  “You know I have to call all this in to the station,” I said. “It’s my job.”

  “I know. Call you later.” He paused. “By the way, your photographer is still outside. I wouldn’t be surprised if she got a picture of Lilly Jeffry in handcuffs in time for the eleven o’clock news.”

  “Hmm.” The maestro spoke quite firmly. “Awkward.”

  I frowned. “Awkward?”

  “Why yes. I believe your photographer recorded Ms. Jeffry speaking glowingly of the owners of your television station.” He pursed his lips and made a tent of his hands. “Now she has quite likely photographed Ms. Jeffry being led away in handcuffs. It’ll be awkward to reconcile the two events, won’t it?”

  He was right, darn it. I ditched the choir robe and gloves, grabbed my coat, and went outdoors in search of my former student, now professional videographer, Therese Della Monica. I didn’t have to look far. She was waiting for me just outside the front door. The wind had picked up and it had begun to snow.

  “Some excitement here again tonight, huh?” She smiled. “How come the nice lady who said all that good stuff about the Doans got arrested?”

  “You got your car, Therese?” I asked.

  “Sure. Mr. Doan didn’t think this event justified using the gas hog mobile unit. He just wanted a few little clips for the news.” Another smile. “I guess he didn’t know she was going to introduce him and Buffy. What’s going on?”

  I sighed. “It’s a long, long, story. Let’s get the video back to the station and figure it out.”

  “My car?”

  “Yes please. I was supposed to get a ride home in a cruiser, but it looks like we’ll be working late.” I told the officer who’d been volunteered to provide taxi service for me that I’d found a ride with a friend. Therese and I left the Community Center and drove back to the TV station. We huddled in the downstairs studio with Marty who, as usual, had all the answers. We’d use some short clips of the music, which was the original plan. We’d omit Lilly’s flowery speech about the Doans’ generosity. It was too late to stop the telethon after they’d blocked out time, advertised it all week, and built a special set for it. Anyway it was still a good cause. The shelter needed the money and who didn’t want little kids to have toys? We’d run a still shot of Lilly getting into the backseat of the police car and have the newscaster report that Ms. Jeffry had been detained by police and that she’d retained counsel. Period. Awkward moment neatly averted. It had taken less than an hour. We’d made it in time for the eleven o’clock news with ten minutes to spare.

  Scott Palmer stopped on his way through the studio to the newsroom. “Hey, you folks looked out the window lately?”

  “There aren’t any windows down here,” Therese reminded him. “Why?.”

  “Looks like our long-awaited blizzard has started,” he said. “Snowing pretty hard out there already.”

  “No kidding? I haven’t seen a really good snowstorm since I got back from Florida.” I hurried to the side door and looked outside. It was quite beautiful. The snow made halos around the street lamps and it was already sticking to the branches of trees, turning the brown twigs and brushwood into graceful sugary shapes.

  “Close the door,” Scott said. “It’s cold out there. Wanda says it’s making its way up the coast and it’s going to dump a lot of snow on us. Power outages. Limited visibility. Strong winds. The whole shootin’ match. White Christmas in spades. You got copy ready for Covington to go with the video about the bell thing? I’ll take it upstairs. How’d it go anyway?”

  “Went off like clockwork.” Marty handed him the copy for the music clips and a separate sheet for the brief squib about Lilly. “There you go, Scotty.”

  “Thanks. See you girls later.”

  “I’m going to stay here tonight,” Therese announced. “I don’t like driving in the snow. I’ll just curl up on the couch in the break room. Want me to call you a cab, Lee?”

  “No thanks. Call me crazy, but I only live on the other side of the Common. I’m going to hoof it across. It’s not re
ally blowing hard yet and it’s so pretty.”

  “It’s cold though. You think you’ll be warm enough?”

  I pushed up the sleeve of my parka. “See? Silk long johns. Used to wear them skiing in Vail. Warm as toast under ski pants and sweaters.”

  “You sure about this?” Marty frowned. “You could stay here too. There’s a couch on River’s Tarot Time set and another one on the Home and Garden display.”

  “Gotta go,” I said. “My cat worries about me. See you guys at the Christmas party.” I pulled my hat down covering my ears, pushed open the side door again, and stepped out into that beautiful snowstorm.

  I was excited. I remembered playing on the Common during storms when I was a kid. It was true that I hadn’t seen a good old-fashioned winter nor’easter in many years, Too many years. This was going to be fun.

  I stayed close to the side of the building and emerged onto Derby Street. The Christmas lights looked even prettier viewed through the whirling snow. I looked both ways before crossing, but I didn’t need to. Not a vehicle in sight. I hummed the chorus of “Joy to the World,” then realizing that no one was around to hear me, sang the words out loud. What fun!

  I hurried along Hawthorne Boulevard, smiled up at the statue of Nathaniel Hawthorne sitting there, oblivious to the snow making a pointy hat on his distinguished literary head. There was no activity in the tree lot. No music either. That was a disappointment. The dancing cop crossing guard wasn’t there. No need. The stores were closed.

  I suddenly felt all alone in my city.

  The hotel was just ahead and I focused my attention on the lighted windows. I knew there were people behind those windows, warm, happy people. I felt better. It occurred to me that I could check into that hotel right now and join the warm, happy people. But, no. I was halfway to Winter Street already. Soon I’d be home with two cats and my Christmas tree and a lovely cup of hot chocolate.

  The Common is just past the hotel and around the corner from the Historical Charities of Salem building—Albert Eldridge’s home. No Christmas lights there. Odd. They’d been on earlier in the evening. I remembered seeing them. The community Christmas tree in the bandstand glowed brightly even through the snow, which was accumulating really rapidly on the ground around me. Visibility was fast decreasing too. I entered through the arched gate, and using the bandstand as a beacon, headed straight across the Common for home.

  I hadn’t gone very far when a sound puzzled me. I stopped to listen. The sound stopped too.

  Imagination.

  I walked a little faster. There was a distant popping sound and the street lamps surrounding the Common went out. Boom. Just like that. I stopped and looked back at the hotel. Those friendly oblongs of yellow light were gone too.

  Well, that’s what Wanda said was going to happen, Dummy. Widespread power outages.

  I was happy to see that my beacon, the Christmas tree, was still on.

  Must be run on batteries or maybe it has its own little generator.

  I began to walk again, glad for the tall boots, not so happy about the heels. I heard that sound again. It came from somewhere in the darkness behind me. I walked faster. Stopped. Listened.

  It’s getting closer.

  I started, stopped, listened. Started, stopped, listened. Time seemed to have slowed down. How long had I been trying to cross the Common? And how long had I known that I wasn’t alone there? At last I reached the iron gate that exits onto the street. I was being followed. I needed help.

  Pulling off one glove, I fumbled for the phone in my jeans. No signal. No light. Blank screen. How can that be? Can a storm knock out a cell phone? I shook the phone. Tapped it against the gatepost. Nothing. I slipped it into the parka’s big front pocket and walked faster. Listening.

  CHAPTER 49

  There hadn’t been a snow plow through the neighborhood yet, and the snow in the middle of the street was just as deep and wet as it was in the middle of the Common. I wanted to run but my feet felt as though they had iron weights on them, pulling me down. Was the sound growing closer? My breath was coming in deep, painful, burning gulps.

  Take deep breaths. Relax. Breathe. Breathe. Good. Now run.

  I ran then. Somehow my feet pumped up and down. I was across the street. I felt, rather than saw, the massive boulder that formed the Civil War monument on the corner and moved to the left of it toward the brick sidewalk that led to my front door. To home. To safety.

  The thing, the person, the animal, Jack Frost, Gizmo, Jack Skellington—whatever whoever was behind me was getting closer. I was sure of it. I could hear it breathing.

  No. That’s me. Breathe. Breathe. Relax. Run.

  Right foot up. Right foot down. Left foot up. Left foot down.

  There were intermittent flashes of light. Lightning? Exploding transformers? I saw the house. The front steps. The front door.

  Keys. Keys? Where the hell are my keys?

  I tore off the gloves and dropped them onto the snow. Reaching into the deep front pocket of the parka, closing icy fingers on the keyring, crying tears of relief—I’d made it home. I climbed to the landing, felt for the keyhole with my left hand, struggled to force the key into the lock with my right.

  Too late. The footsteps were directly behind me on my own front steps. Whoever it was—whatever it was had caught up with me.

  “You okay, little lady?”

  I whirled, slipped, fell. Strong arms grasped my waist, steadying me. I faced my pursuer.

  Santa Claus?

  “You okay?” he asked again, voice gruff.

  “Nick? Is that you?”

  “Sure is. I’ve been trying to catch up with you all the way across the Common. What are you thinking, woman? Out all alone on a night like this! You crazy? Here. Give me that key.”

  Wordlessly, I handed it to him. After a couple of tries, the door opened. There were no welcoming cats in the front hall. Odd. Pulling off the wet boots I kicked them aside. I remembered the candles and matches Aunt Ibby had placed on the Sheraton table and, in stocking feet, felt my way toward it. I heard the door close behind me. “Wait a sec. I’ll get us some light,” I said, striking a match, glad of its radiance. There were half a dozen red candles in holders of varying heights on the table. I lit all of them. A pretty Christmas arrangement. A welcome source of light in the inky darkness. River uses red candles for lots of spells. Mostly good ones.

  I picked up the candle in the tallest candle holder, turned toward where Nick stood in front of the door. He looked big, very big—and his shadow, wavering in the candlelight, looked even bigger. He took a step toward me, the light reflecting in his eyes, making them glow red. A few specks of blue glitter sparkled in the beard. He smiled then, not the friendly Santa Claus smile I’d grown accustomed to, but a grin—the wide, mouth stretching grin of the Cheshire cat.

  That awful smile had frightened me when I was a child. It frightened me now. I backed away from the man, feeling the newel post of the staircase against my back. The bells in the festive garlands gave a merry little jingle at my touch.

  He took another step in my direction. The nice warm Santa smile was back. “Figured it out, have you, sweetheart?” Then the nice warm Santa smile was gone. The warm ho-ho-ho Santa voice was gone too. He was right. I’d figured it out. Too late, but I’d finally figured it out.

  The smile. The smiling cat. That’s what O’Ryan had tried to tell me with the Alice book. Look at the smile. I’d seen it on more than one person. I’d even commented on it. Lilly Jeffry had that smile and used it to advantage. Lilly’s stepbrother, Richard McNally, had it but rarely used it. Behind the fake beard, the brush-on ruddy complexion, Nick had it.

  “McNally,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Right. I knew when I saw you snooping around at the plumbing store that you’d have to be dealt with eventually.” The cat-grin was back when he took another step in my direction. I moved backward onto the first step, facing him eye-to-eye.

  Dealt with?
/>   I reached for the railing. The little bells tinkled again Relax. Breathe. Breathe. Think.

  I thought. In the big dark house I had the advantage. I knew my way around in it. I knew where every room, every doorway, just about every stick of furniture was. In my environment Richard McNally was comparatively blind. I backed up one more step. I slipped my hand into the pocket, feeling for my phone. Would it work now that I was inside? I didn’t dare to try it.

  House phone! There are still a few house phones here.

  “Did you know your sister was arrested tonight? She might need your help.”

  “Figured that out too, did you? Pretty good. We got away with scamming the old man for years on that. But she screwed up. He found out about the money. That what they got her on?”

  I took another step in my backward climb upstairs. He smiled the nice smile and moved one big Santa-booted foot onto the first step.

  “She had a gun,” I said. “It wasn’t about money.”

  “Everything is about money, sweetheart,” he said, putting the other foot on the first stair. The little bells jingled. “We had a good thing going until the old man put on his Santa hat and decided to visit all his contractors.” He laughed an unfunny laugh. “He found the same thing you did. Empty store fronts. Buildings full of crap materials. Unlicensed phony tradesmen.”

  “So Mr. Eldridge had to die.”

  “Of course. But Gillette wasn’t supposed to do it. That was supposed to be Lilly’s job.” He climbed another step. So did I. It was almost totally dark where I stood. “Who was she going to shoot anyway? Old Lil hasn’t been right in the head since the old guy got whacked with the bell.”

  “She was trying to get the bell back,” I said. “The police know it was the murder weapon.”

  “That was stupid Gillette’s fault. I took care of him though. Had to. He was ready to crack. I hid in the storage locker and texted him to come right away and meet me in the office. I couldn’t let him confess the whole thing. Made it look like a suicide. How’d you like that necktie trick?”