by Sharon Pape
For a woman of often dramatic emotions, my aunt had been very still as she listened to me and Travis. She looked into his eyes. “I’m afraid it’s not crazy,” she said. “If Kailyn feels the need to stretch to her full potential, how can we stand in her way?”
“By saying you won’t support her in this and by asking her mother and grandmother to stand with us.”
“They would be the first to encourage her.” She patted his hand on the table. “It will be fine,” she said with the tiniest wobble in her voice.
My heart caught in my throat thinking about that night. Yet here I sat having accomplished what no one else on Earth had, with the possible exception of one ancient ancestor, and all I wanted was to be back in my aunt’s dining room, eating cake and discussing time travel in the abstract. But wishing wouldn’t make it so.
For ninety miserable minutes, every time I reached a meditative state, a bubble of doubt popped into my mind. I had never struggled with it so badly before. But then I’d never been in such a precarious situation before either. The more tired I became, the harder it would be for me to successfully make the journey forward to my proper time. If I’d taken Sashki with me, he might have enhanced my magickal strength–after all that’s what familiars did. But at his advanced age it could have proven too much for him and I didn’t want to risk his life. I drew him close in my thoughts along with all my loved ones–Morgana and Bronwen, Tilly, Travis, Elise, and the other four legged members of our clan. As I focused on them, they seemed to close ranks around me, until I was finally able to banish the doubt and reach a state of calm.
The spell I’d created to go back in time was different from the one I needed to take me forward again. There’s a first time for everything, I told myself. Believe in the magick. Believe in yourself. I recited the spell three times.
Take me to the time I know,
Nothing changed nor rearranged.
White light gather all around
For safekeeping as I go
Through the darkness in-between
This time and the time I know.
I was afraid to open my eyes. Time travel to and from the same exact location didn’t have the whoosh of sound I’d come to expect from teleporting. What if I’d failed? Oh for heaven’s sake,” my subconscious snapped at me. You can’t procrastinate forever. Open your eyes! Face whatever you have to face, Nancy Drew! When did you become such a ninny?
My subconscious knew how to get to me. I immediately opened my eyes and looked at the computer monitor. I was home. Time travel had expanded my definition of home. No longer was it simply the place where I lived, now it was also the time in which I lived there.
I hadn’t told Travis or Tilly the date of my maiden voyage, but they understood it would be sooner than later. The moment I realized I was back, my fatigue fell away like a heavy coat I’d shrugged off. I wanted to share the good news. I walked over to Tilly’s house to tell her in person. She was rhapsodic.
“Not that I had any doubts,” she said after singing my praises and looking me over to assure herself I was in one piece. “You must call Travis. The poor man is so besotted with you that this time travel issue has taken its toll on him.”
“And you know that because?”
“I didn’t read his mind, if that’s what you’re implying,” Tilly said indignantly. “But the evening you first told us you were going to attempt time travel, love and terror were coming off him in waves so huge they almost knocked me over!” I apologized for jumping to conclusions. “That’s better,” she said, “now go home and call him. I have some celebratory baking to do!”
When I told Travis, he didn’t respond for several beats. “Are you there?” I asked, thinking the connection had been dropped.
“Yes, yes I’m here. I’m glad you were successful.” He sounded like he’d had the wind knocked out of him after going seven rounds with a heavyweight bruiser. I felt guilty for having put him through what was clearly an ordeal for him. Tilly was right to warn me. Everyone has a breaking point. If I didn’t want to lose him, I had to keep my priorities in balance.
Chapter 18
The chimes over the door jingled with the arrival of the day’s first customers. The couple who walked in reminded me of the twin theater masks of comedy and tragedy. The man appeared to be in his late sixties, but his wife looked a good ten years younger. He was dour; she had a ready smile. He answered my hello with a stiff nod and headed for the chair near the counter as if his radar had homed in on it the moment he walked in the door.
The woman introduced herself as Vera and her husband as Ted. “I’ve wanted to come to your store for years,” she said, her eyes and her voice brimming with excitement. “Now that I’m here, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning—no, no, like a kid at Disney World for the first time—no wait, like a kid getting her first puppy.”
Ted was wagging his head. “If you don’t pull her plug, she’ll keep it up till midnight.”
“I’m very glad you made it here,” I said to her, trying not to laugh. “What can I do for you?”
“I hardly know where to start. My friends rave about so many of your products. I nagged at poor Ted until he couldn’t take it anymore—and here we are!”
“Five hours, thirty two minutes and eleven rest stops later—here we are,” he said dryly.
Vera was rummaging through a vast purse like the one Tilly carried. In my aunt’s case, one could usually find some freshly baked goods in its depths.
“My list,” Vera said triumphantly pulling a piece of lined notepaper from her bag. “Her intention is to leave here penniless.” Ted’s delivery could have bought him a career on stage or on TV. But I sensed something amiss with him. I gave Vera a basket and sent her off down the first aisle on her treasure hunt. She would have more fun finding the items on her list than if I handed them to her. Besides, I wanted a chance to speak to her husband.
I hopped up on the counter near him. “You’re very funny,” I told him.
He looked me up and down as if he were measuring me for target practice. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”
“You’re also hurting. If you tell me what the problem is, I may be able to help.”
“You’ve got a cure for old?”
“Not exactly—but I have some very effective herbal mixtures that can take the sting out of the condition.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’ll have no truck with illegal drugs.”
“Neither would I.”
“Well I’ve tried all the rest, so unless it’s magic you’re peddling, I’m not interested.”
“Funny you should say that sitting here in this ancient magick shop.”
He dismissed my words with a wave of his hand. “It’s all a gimmick to sell expensive products that work the same as the cheaper ones you can find in those big chain drugstores. You may fool Vera and her friends with all the trappings of magic, but you don’t fool me, not for one minute. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
“Great. Then it can’t possibly hurt for you to give them a try.”
He glared at me, momentarily outmaneuvered. “That depends. How much are these magical cures?” I could see by the gleam in his eyes that he thought he’d bested me.
“I’m going to give you free samples.” Try to argue with that, Ted. I came off the counter, checked on Vera, who was enjoying her journey down the aisles, and grabbed two products for Ted the nonbeliever.
“This one is a cream,” I said, opening a small jar and holding it out for him to inspect.
He sniffed it and shrugged. “Looks harmless and pointless.” He gave me permission to rub a bit of it into the inflamed arthritic joints of his hands. “What’s it supposed to…” His voice petered out and he looked up at me with a frown. “The pain…it’s some better. You and I both know that’s not possible. I’ve tried everything the medi
cal profession can offer and none of it did a bit of good.”
I smiled. “That’s why this is called magick.” I gave him the sample tea to try at home and an easy spell to help his body make the best use of the samples. When I used the word spell, I thought I’d lost him. He squirmed in his seat as if he were having a hard time suppressing a sarcastic remark. To his credit, he bit his tongue and wrote down the words I dictated:
Mind and body, I accept
Healing magick with respect.
Temper pain and protect so
Further damage won’t collect.
Ted returned my pencil and pocketed the spell. He leaned closer. “Can I ask a favor?” I was pretty sure I knew what was on his mind.
“You want to keep this between you and me for now?”
He smiled. “If you don’t mind. I don’t think I should spring a change like this on Vera all at once. After forty-eight years together, the shock of me suddenly becoming open-minded may be more than her poor heart can take.”
I gave him the grin he expected, but I had my doubts about just how open-minded Ted had become in the space of five minutes. Relief from chronic pain had the power to change a belief system, but Ted was a long time, hardwired skeptic. It wouldn’t surprise me if he took my products to a chemist to find out what was really in them.
“All right,” I said, “but only for the short term. Vera deserves to know that you’re feeling better and why.”
“To be honest, I need time to prepare myself before I tell her. The arthritis has kept me off the dance floor for years. I’ll have to come up with a new excuse now.”
They weren’t gone two minutes when detective Duggan appeared in the doorway. He and Beverly vied for the title of my least favorite person in New Camel, and I knew they were every bit as sour on me. The detective never came into my shop if he could avoid it, which suited both of us. I wondered what urgent matter brought him in that day.
I stayed behind the counter and let him come to me. “Ms. Wilde,” he said, after scoping out the shop to see if we were alone.
“Detective, how may I help you?” Had he been anyone else, I would have asked if he’d enjoyed his vacation, but he’d never shown any interest in sharing social niceties with me.
“As you’re aware,” he said, “I was away at the time of your friend’s tragic death.” I nodded. “My condolences, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“I know you were interviewed by detective Gillespie, but I have a few of my own questions. Do you have the time now?” I was surprised he hadn’t told a junior officer to call me down to the station house.
“As long as no customers walk in.”
“If that happens, we’ll set up a time that’s convenient for you.” An affable Duggan? Had he vacationed at a brainwashing facility? Or had dealing with Gillespie given him some much needed insight into dealing with someone else’s obnoxious personality?
“That’s fine,” I murmured, expecting the old Duggan to reassert himself at any moment.
“Good, good. He pulled a notepad and pen out of his shirt pocket. “Playing catch up is not my favorite game,” he said with a smile that was more creepy than pleasant. I smiled back, low wattage, feeling my way. “What can you tell me about Genna’s parents and any siblings?”
I shrugged. “Growing up they weren’t any different from my other friends’ families.” I couldn’t use my family for comparison. No other family was like mine. Duggan was looking at me with his pen poised over his notebook. I tried to come up with more. “Father, mother, younger sister. I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
“Where are they living these days?”
“Genna’s folks moved to California when Genna stayed there after college. Her dad died a few years ago. I don’t know if her sister is out there too.” I didn’t mind throwing him a bone, as long as it wasn’t one with a lot of meat on it. I wanted to find the killer before he did.
“Do you have the mom’s contact info?”
I shook my head. I could easily get it from Charlotte, but if he wanted to speak to Ada Harlowe, he could have one of his underlings do the legwork. When he didn’t ask if Genna had been married or had kids, I figured those facts were in Gillespie’s report. I’d raced through it when I was looking for Charlie’s alibis.
“Any estrangement between Genna and her parents in recent years?” Duggan had exceeded his quota of a few questions, but I wasn’t going to test our détente by quibbling.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“There seems to be a lot of conjecture around town about Genna’s death being somehow related to Scott Desmond’s drowning ten years ago. Do you know what that’s all about?”
“People like to draw connections between events, tie things up in a pretty bow like a TV movie.” A woman wheeled a baby stroller into the shop. I couldn’t have timed her arrival better if I’d cast a spell to summon her. Duggan flipped his notebook closed. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch.” He nodded at the woman as he passed her.
I spent close to an hour with the newcomer, whose family had recently moved to the Glen for her husband’s job. She left with a large tote bag of my finest makeup and a gentle, but highly effective herbal remedy for her daughter’s teething pain.
For a day without any tour buses, customers kept me hopping. A nice cross section of locals came in for refills, or because they had a new ailment, or a new wrinkle. With few exceptions, I enjoyed seeing people I’ve known all my life. They caught me up on the news in their families and they often waxed nostalgic about Morgana and Bronwen. I had to be careful not to speak about them in the present tense. Tilly and I never told anyone outside the family about their visits from beyond the veil. Travis knew because they’d popped in more than once when he was with me.
A number of day-trippers and overnighters added to the day’s receipts. I liked hearing where they hailed from and if they’d heard of Abracadabra before coming to New Camel. At five o’clock, I was at my desk behind the counter, shutting down the computer. I’d already put the Closed sign in the window. All I wanted at that moment was to go home and put my feet up. After feeding Sashki and the rest of the cats, of course. When their stomachs were grumbling, they had no interest in the state of my feet. But I had one more thing to do before I left for the night.
Chapter 19
Calling the Waverly Hotel had been on my to-do list since the ME released his report on Genna’s death. If she ingested potassium cyanide by way of a cocktail the evening of the reunion, I had to find the bartender who prepared the lethal beverage and served it to her.
According to the hotel’s automated system, I could reach the catering manager, Hugo Humphrey, if I pressed three. Humphrey answered my call in a defensive tone. “Catering, how may I help you?” The Waverly’s catering business must have suffered an abrupt downturn after the ME linked Genna’s death with the drink she was served there. Most of the calls he was receiving were no doubt cancellations and demands for refunds. He probably dreaded getting out of bed in the morning.
Once I introduced myself and explained that I was investigating Genna’s death, he adopted a clipped, officious tone. “We have worked closely with the detectives on the case to answer all their questions and accommodate all their requests. I’m not aware of any obligation on our part to provide the same assistance to private investigators.”
Instead of sniping back at him, I went with a more laid-back, confident approach. “My partner and I have cleared every case we’ve taken on, before the police were able to. Given these results, I think it’s fair to say that the Waverly board of trustees would want all their employees to show us the same hospitality they’ve accorded the police. This is small town America, Mr. Humphrey, and my family has been in this town from the very beginning. Our name is synonymous with a job well done.” I could lay it on with the best of them.
Ther
e was a long pause on the other end while Humphrey weighed my words and considered his options. “I see no reason why we can’t help you out,” he said, spinning a one-eighty. He was trying to match my easy manner, but the nervous squeaks in his voice undermined the effect. “Exactly what is it I can do for you, Ms. Wilde?” That was more like it.
“I want to speak to the bartenders who worked the Friday night reunion dinner.”
“Not a problem. Did you have a day and time in mind?”
“As soon as you can round them up. How many were tending bar at the reunion?”
“There were two that regrettable night. In my experience, two was sufficient for the number of guests expected. We were going to add a third for the larger dinner dance the next night, but…” His voice cracked and trailed off. He was probably craving a drink himself at that moment, one not laced with potassium cyanide. He cleared his throat as if it was a postnasal drip and not nerves plaguing his larynx. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can set it up.”
I put the phone down, thinking the conversation went better than I’d hoped. Humphrey could have stalled me for weeks until he spoke to higher ups in the hotel chain, but despite his initial statement, he proved easy to handle. A catering manager without any catering to manage had to be worried about losing his job.
Sleeping wasn’t easy that night. A string of rough thunderstorms kept the cats awake, which kept me awake. All that electricity in the air frayed their nerves and they sought comfort by nestling on top of me. There was a nasty skirmish when one of them challenged Sashkatu for the coveted position of curling around my head like a scarf. I doubt any of them will ever make that mistake again. I wasn’t likely to forget it either. The battlefield always bears the scars.
The next day dawned fresh and sunny as if the storms had been figments of our collective imaginations. At his advanced age, Sashki suffered from interrupted sleep more than the rest of us. He dragged himself to the door for the short walk to the shop. I took pity on him and carried him there against my shoulder like a colicky baby. His little tongue flicked across my nose as I set him on his tufted window ledge—a proper thank you in my book.