by J L Collins
Fatima and I stood back and watched, though the whole time I was jumping from thought to thought in my head, and Fatima’s words stuck like glue to every one of them. This will not look good on you at all… Here comes more trouble…
Someone had sent Goldie out to fetch the police and she brought them back shortly after. She looked terrified, hopping around on the bare trees around us. I wasn’t sure if it was Beatrice’s frozen popsicle of a body being loaded onto the stretcher, or because of something else. Every time she looked at me her wide eyes only went wider.
The three other elemental leaders were here, speaking amongst themselves in frantic whispers. The only one who was composed enough to really speak to the short and beefy police chief was Verity McGuiness.
Her gloved hands were behind her back as she leaned over Beatrice’s body lying on the stretcher. She sighed, reaching down for something around Beatrice’s neck. A moment later she produced a long chain with a pendant of some sort hanging from it that I couldn’t quite make out. She showed it to the other Special Council members here—Mathias and Prince. They nodded and she pocketed the necklace without another word.
“We are deeply sorry for the loss of your friend, Verity,” the police chief said, taking off his hat out of respect. Tiny icicles clung to his thick red mustache.
Verity, who I could tell was a no-nonsense kind of woman, held her head up. “Beatrice was the head of our council. She will be remembered thoughtfully for the duty she fulfilled and not by her demeanor. I hope everyone can agree to that. But… thank you, Chief Putnam.”
I sucked in a breath. She definitely was someone who spoke the truth. I was growing to like her.
“We’ll move Beatrice to the hospital,” the coroner said, nodding to a man behind the police chief. Mathias and Prince (really, I wasn’t sure which name was worse, Edgar or Prince) both followed after Verity. The deputy chief, a taller and leaner version of the chief, raised his hands palms up and sent Beatrice carefully hovering in front of him, walking her down and around the bend in the trees where I assumed they had transportation waiting.
Everything seemed to blur past me until Fatima nudged me. “Let’s go inside. There’s nothing to be done until they start asking questions.”
I didn’t know how it came to be that Fatima was busying herself in my kitchenette making me coffee, but I thanked her and held onto the mug with trembling hands.
At some point I looked up and there was Ash, his boots covered in snow and an undecipherable look on his face. “Are you all right?”
It was the first time someone had asked. I bit my lip and nodded. “I’m not hurt, anyway. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m all right.”
Someone pounded on the door to the camper and all three of us looked up at the same time.
Ash pushed open the door and in came Chief Putnam. He adjusted his gun belt under his heavy-duty coat. “Miss Warren, I presume?”
I nodded.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about how Beatrice Wimberly came to be dead right next to your camper?” His watery eyes regarded me eagerly, as if he was somehow baiting me into confessing something. I frowned.
“No, I don’t. Why would I? I only just woke up myself.”
“Chief Putnam, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with her myself first,” Ash said. “As this was her first night here I’m sure she’s disoriented by the whole thing.”
That was putting it mildly, but okay.
“I took a good look at Beatrice and so did Andrew. We both agree—something hit her real good in the back of the head. She may have frozen to death outside, but it wouldn’t have happened if she were conscious,” the chief said, pausing to scratch his mustache. “Mighty interesting way to cover up someone’s death though, if you think about it. An avalanche.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you trying to imply something here, Chief Putnam? Because I know my rights. And I haven’t done anything other than nearly get pummeled by a freak avalanche,” I said as I stood up. This guy clearly wanted to play small town big shot cop with me.
I was not in the mood for games.
“Oh-ho! I was hardly implying a thing, though it’s interesting that you’re so quick to pull out the ‘I’ve got rights’ card. Funny, that.”
“I don’t find it funny at all, Chief,” Ash said carefully. He casually slouched against the counter of my tiny kitchenette, but there was nothing casual in his words.
Chief Putnam seemed to weigh Ash’s words, and sucked air in through his teeth as if he were about to hawk a loogie somewhere on my floor. “Either way, this place is now a crime scene. We’re going to need to do a sweep of the area and that includes this… dwelling,” he said. “So you’ll need to find other sleeping arrangements for the next few days or so.”
“Absolutely not!” My face was burning hot, despite the chill the chief had brought in through the door. “You can’t just kick me out of my home.”
He had the audacity to chuckle. “This is hardly a home. It’s a truck on wheels. And yes, I can. Haven’t you ever seen NYPD Blue?”
Fatima, who he’d all but ignored, cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you gave Indie some time to prepare? To get whatever she needs to bring with her?”
“You’ve got ten minutes. That’s it,” Chief Putnam said, pointing right at me. “And you have to run it all by me. We can’t have you running off with any potential evidence.”
I scoffed, ready to let out a whole bunch of evidence to how angry I was, but Fatima placed a hand on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t need much, right?”
I grit my teeth. “Right.”
Ash escorted the chief back outside, and I was left to stew in the absolute outrage that boiled inside of me. As if I wanted to be here!
I brought out my belongings and the chief seemed to relish making me put some of them back.
I held up my blanket.
“No. Potential evidence.”
I held up my pillows.
“Potential evidence.”
My toothbrush.
“Potential—”
“No way. There is no way my toothbrush is evidence and I’m taking it whether you like it or not,” I said, shoving it into my coat pocket. I glared at him, daring him to say another word about it.
“What Indie means is that the toothbrush is so inconsequential it would make no sense not to let her have it. After all, everyone deserves a chance at good dental health,” Fatima quickly added.
It took several more minutes to get my belongings sorted, and I made sure Ash hid more under his traveling cloak.
“Guess the LARPing cloak came in handy after all,” he said sarcastically, taking my laptop from my hands. “This is the thinnest laptop I think I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I shrugged. “It probably is the thinnest laptop you’ve ever seen in your life. I just bought it last year. The latest MacBook.”
“Come on you two,” Fatima whispered. “Ash, you’re taking her to the library?”
He nodded.
“Wait. I’m staying at the library?” The disbelief was clearly noticed.
“I’d invite you to stay at my cottage, but I have no room. And believe it or not, there is a full comfortable room with its own bathroom and everything at the library for you. It’ll be easier for Ash to keep the peace if you’re there, anyway,” she said with a sad smile.
I groaned. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.” But then again, I didn’t want to come off as being rude. No one was obligated to take me in. And maybe I was just being salty about the whole situation.
“Okay, okay.” I heaved a sigh. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Thank you both for helping me out here. It’s just been a long—”
“Day?” Fatima answered.
“Year, really. But yeah, let’s go with that.”
8
The Collector
Never in my life did I think I would be stuck in a library without Wi-Fi.
Okay
, so maybe that’s a little extreme. Never in my adult life did I think I’d be stuck in a library without an internet connection.
Yet here I was, mourning the little grayed-out signal on my MacBook. I didn’t usually complain about the internet, especially considering I completed most of my work thanks to it, but not being able to use it had me antsy.
You had to hand it to Mother Nature—she really knew how to deliver some low blows.
And without the metaphorical blood in my veins, I thought it was a good idea to practice some of the grounding techniques Nan had shown me over the years. Of course, she never called them that and would probably smack me upside my head for using a ‘woo-woo’ term like that, but it was all the same.
Sitting back in the stiff red leather chair that matched the rest throughout the library, I took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled through my mouth. I needed to find a positive in my current situation—a silver lining of some sort.
My hair was less frizzy without the humidity. But then again, my hair was already in need of a fresh blue touch-up and who knew when the next time that would be?
I was getting plenty of fresh air. But… my nose froze every time I took a step outside.
I found out that the magic I always dreamed of as a kid was a real thing! I couldn’t use it or anything, but at least it was there.
I sighed. Yeah, this wasn’t working.
I sat back up, my hands hovering over the keyboard. Instead of fretting over losing my tenure and possibly my reputation at UMD, I tried to see it as an opportunity to work on my novel.
There were no excuses not to, since I didn’t need the internet. If I needed to do research… I looked around the small but efficient library and shrugged. At least it was convenient.
I stared at the empty page on the screen, squinting as if words would magically appear there. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Both Ash and Fatima had said that a witch’s and wizard’s powers were elemental, but if I could get my hands on something like a potion or whatever that might help put my words directly to the screen from my brain, I could write this thing in record time. Was that even a thing?
I groaned, wishing the words would just come to me either way. I was only a few chapters in, and I still wasn’t sure whether I liked the way the story was going or not. Funny enough, it was set in a fantasy world, though not anything like the one I’d ventured into.
“My characters can freely move around at least,” I said to myself, finally catching the thread of a sentence. My fingers had barely touched the keys before a soft whoosh of air made me jerk them away.
“I’ve made some lunch if you’d like to have some.”
My train of thought had taken off without so much as a bon voyage. I looked up from the computer and there was Ash standing in front of the desk. He’d rolled up his sleeves and had his old-fashioned suspenders hanging at his sides.
At one point in my life I was very into historical fiction. If thirteen-year-old Indie had come across a despondent dude who looked like he could be in one of those teen vampire movies, she might have found it all to be charming, and possibly even attractive.
Now I was just curious. Despite staying in the library for the past couple of days, I didn’t know anything more about him than when I first met him. He pretty much kept to himself with the exception of cooking.
“I am pretty hungry,” I said, eyeing the bowl of cinnamon-sweetened oatmeal. I was used to going and picking out some fruit from Nan’s small canning room, but this was edible enough. “Thanks.”
He nodded, handed me the warm bowl, and poofed away again not saying a word. I pushed away from the desk and ate.
I was learning that Ash was pretty good at cooking and would probably be even better if not for the serious lack of ingredients. Not Nan’s cooking level of course, but I was happy with the fact that he scrambled his eggs with bits of cheese and put just the right amount of salt, pepper, and even basil in them.
“Thought I’d change it up. This is the first time I’ve had them in a long while. I found the eggs and the cheese thanks to Benedict Brown. He runs the farm on the edge of town,” he’d said, handing me my breakfast yesterday. “Who knows how he’s already got it back up and running again?”
“Good question,” I’d mumbled through my mouthful of eggs.
Aside from that and making sure the spare room across from the archives was prepared for me, that was it from him.
The library itself, was small but he managed to stay out of sight for the most part. There must have been hidden areas I hadn’t come across yet, because of course I’d done my fair share of snooping around.
If I was forced into living somewhere even temporarily, I was going to do some investigating. My procrastination was slapping around my willpower to write, and I was left to my own devices to find new distractions. What else was there to do?
I went in and nicked the flashlight from my nightstand’s drawer, itching to go do some more looking around. I’d stuck around upstairs, so this time I set my sights on the stairs that separated the fiction sections from the non-fiction.
There was a basement—or the second level as the faded sign above the stairway read. The light was dim, but I could see the bottom of the carpeted steps that were in desperate need of a good steam cleaning.
I slowly made my way down, an uneasy clenching of my stomach leaving me to wonder if maybe I should just stay put on the main floor. Ash hadn’t restricted me to upstairs, and he never mentioned any places being off-limits. So, really I wasn’t doing anything I shouldn’t be. Or at least that would be my excuse if he suddenly decided otherwise.
Expecting some mysterious, dank room with a shady collection of spell books that most certainly contained poisonous spells within them, I was a little disappointed to find it was lackluster like the upstairs, only with less shelves.
There were a few round tables scattered about with cheap upholstered chairs that made the ones on the main floor look fancy. Wooden bookshelves held both discolored archive boxes and books shoved between book ends. Some I even recognized as classic mysteries. Christie. Sayers. Rendell. And even some dusty copies of the Sherlock Holmes series. I made a mental note to come back down here if I wanted something to read to pass the time.
Nothing really set the downstairs apart from above.
Except for the closed door at the other end of the room. Cardboard boxes had been piled high almost concealing it from view until you looked at it from the side. There was no light coming from inside the room, so I turned on the flashlight, preparing myself.
The doorknob was cold to the touch and I slowly turned it, holding my breath. It was probably me being overdramatic, but the apprehension sat tightly in my chest.
The bright light from the flashlight scanned the room, flooding the darkness. I fumbled along the wall with my other hand, searching for the light switch until I found it and flipped it on.
My Nan had older friends who were really into collecting things like fine china, weird porcelain dolls, snow globes, angel figurines—the usual knickknacks and tchotchkes.
But I’d never seen a room so full like this.
Piles of vintage postcards, old train boarding passes, plane tickets, baseball cards, and countless other types of paper paraphernalia lie in stacks on a wide executive’s desk that was fit for a CEO.
On the walls hung so many different things it was hard to find a single inch of unused space. Old photos, art prints, ancient scrolls, tapestries, some paintings, a couple of weird looking masks, an actual broadsword that would’ve been right at home in my novel—all things staring at me from the walls.
And that was to say nothing of the display case full of smaller items to gaze at. Curios, figurines, brightly colored mineral and rock samples, animal teeth, a few larger fossils, and even more. The rest of the room hardly had enough space to walk through it. There were carved book stands, a large globe, and a few floor-length candelabras placed around the cramped room in between stacks of old newspapers, w
orn milk crates full of glass bottles and more. It was as if the room was its own tiny museum. The amount of dust covering everything was surprisingly very little, so I knew Ash must have recently been in here cleaning things up.
“Looks like we have our very own Antiques Roadshow going on in here,” I said to myself with a wry smile. This was just the kind of thing you’d expect a brooding, old-timey clothes wearing guy to keep tucked away somewhere. Or some gothic room with ravens and purple silk where he goes to mope and write terrible poetry. Maybe I would luck out and find that room next.
I bent down to examine the items in the display case, switching the flashlight back off.
“Are you always such a gracious guest?”
“Gah!” The flashlight clattered to the ground and I hit the top of my head on the side of the display counter. “Seriously?”
Ash looked pretty pleased with himself. “Finding anything that piques your nosy sense of curiosity?”
I blushed. “It’s just a room full of old stuff as far as I can tell. And to answer your first question, I consider myself to be a commendable guest considering I’ve been forced out of my only home.”
That wiped the look off of his face, replacing it with the usual morose and thoughtful expression. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
Rubbing my head, I carefully bent back down to grab the flashlight. “About what?”
“I’ve been around town today, speaking with different people. The murder hasn’t been received well as you can probably imagine—”
“The murder? So they found out she really was killed?” My eyes went wide. The broad was as scathing as could be from the looks of it, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered.
He nodded. “Tim Forsythe, our coroner, confirmed it today. Apparently she was hit over the head with something substantial and for some reason she came to be in the pile of snow. They haven’t quite worked out all the details there.”