This Magick Marmot

by Sharon Pape

  Travis picked up the story to give me a chance to eat. “Lillian had suffered two miscarriages after having Charlie. She nearly lost her life with the last one. So when she and her husband heard about the baby, they thought their prayers had been answered. Susan never told them the child had a twin. As a condition of the adoption, they had to sign an agreement to move out of town. Susan never told Brett he had a twin brother either. She supposedly wanted to avoid the complications of that much honesty. Of course it’s all come back to bite her now.”

  Elise put down her fork. “I can’t imagine what a shock it must have been for Brett when he saw Scott’s photo in the obituary.”

  “Finding out more about Scott became his mission,” I said. “He wore his mother down until she told him where Lillian lived. When Lillian first opened the door and saw him, she thought he was Scott’s ghost. Brett introduced himself and as they talked, she started to see the little differences sometimes only a mother can see. Their shared grief forged an instant bond between them.”

  “You know what?” Noah said, “I bet when Lillian thought Brett was Scott’s ghost, he got the idea to pretend to be.”

  Travis helped himself to a large square of veggie lasagna. “Exactly right. He wanted to terrify the people who were at the lake that night as punishment. He believes that every person who was there bears responsibility for not trying to stop the binge drinking and for not calling the police, until it was too late.”

  “Tilly, this stew is the best I’ve ever eaten,” Jerry said, ladling out a second portion.

  “Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Some people just stuff their faces without a word to the chef.” She sent Merlin a pointed glance.

  He lifted his chin indignantly. “Stuffing my face, as you put it, is the highest compliment.”

  “How did Lillian decide Genna and Tony were to blame when the police couldn’t figure it out?” Elise asked, refilling her water glass from the pitcher on the table.

  “You could say she didn’t require the same level of evidence as the courts,” I replied.

  Noah frowned. “But what about reasonable doubt?”

  “I’m pretty sure she didn’t have any.”

  Merlin sighed loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “Can we move on to the important part? I want to know who’s going to fry for hiring the hit man. They never talked about it on the news.”

  “Someone’s been watching too many old gangster movies,” Jerry said, laughing. “Sorry to disappoint you, Merlin, but the reason you didn’t hear about it on the news is because no one is going to fry. New York hasn’t had the electric chair in over fifty years.”

  “New York doesn’t even have capital punishment anymore,” Noah added.

  “In that case, somebody please pass the stew.”

  On my left, Tilly pushed away her plate, her food half eaten. “I’m having a hard time believing Lillian hired a hit man to kill Genna and Tony. Yes, she’s always been strong-willed and independent, but arranging to have people murdered—well that’s…that’s…I’m at a loss for words.”

  I put my hand over hers. “Aunt Tilly you have to remember, ten years had passed with no justice for her son. She must have felt as if his death had been quietly swept under the rug, while everyone else went on with their lives. She became obsessed with getting justice for him. Her growing certainty that Genna and Tony were responsible for Scott’s death must have convinced the others too.

  Brett was tortured by the loss of a twin brother he would never have a chance to know. They commiserated with Lillian, piling their heartache on top of hers. They wanted her to know they shared her misery. They didn’t understand how adversely it affected her. When they realized what she was up to, they insisted on helping to pay for it. Charlie had a young family to support and Ashley’s bakery had only begun to show a profit, but they offered her what they could. Lillian refused, knowing it would make them parties to the crime.”

  Travis looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I knew what he was asking. We’d gone back and forth about telling the group the last bit of the story. I shook my head. In my heart I believed everyone at the table would promise not to ever tell another soul, but time passes and promises fade. More importantly, it wasn’t my decision to make. With Lillian’s permission, I had told Travis, because we were partners in the investigation. According to her, Charlie, Ashley and Brett did help pay for the hit man. It was always in cash, small amounts over the months and years, so they couldn’t easily be accused as accomplices.

  “What about Tony?” Noah asked. “Is he going to prison for shooting Brett?”

  “A temporary insanity plea got him out of serving time,” Travis replied. “But he has to see a therapist to work through his issues.”

  Merlin burped loudly. “Now how about some dessert?” Everyone groaned about being too full, but half an hour later, we managed to scarf down far too much cake, pie and ice cream.

  By the time my guests were ready to leave, the rain had stopped and the sun was winking through a slit in the clouds like someone peering between venetian blinds. I was surprised by how low in the sky the sun was for the hour. It wouldn’t be long before we’d be setting the clocks back to Eastern Standard, bringing night on even earlier.

  After everyone left, Travis helped with the last of the cleanup, while I fed the cats. “I forgot to tell you. I bumped into Courtney and the kids in the Glen the other day,” he said. “They’re doing well and they’re crazy grateful for our help in solving the case.”

  I laughed. “News is your business. How can you forget important stuff like that?”

  “I know, it’s indefensible. I’ll be lucky not to be fired!”

  I hit him with the dishtowel. “Well I for one am very glad to hear good news like that.” I glanced around the kitchen. Everything was neat and shiny. “Now, did you remember to keep the fire going?”

  “You’ll have to come see for yourself,” he said, taking my hand. Sashkatu, who would normally have been curled up somewhere for a post dinner nap like his brethren, followed us into the living room.

  As promised the flames were still dancing among the logs. I plunked myself down on the floor to enjoy the warmth. Sashki, a fan of warmth in any form, joined me. Travis was busy rummaging in one of his pants pockets, then the other.

  “Did you lose something?” I asked.

  “My memory it seems. I forgot where I put this.” He pulled his hand free of the pocket, a small red velvet box balanced between his thumb and forefinger. He knelt on one knee beside me as he opened it. “Kailyn Wilde,” he intoned, “sorceress beyond compare, descendent of the great and awful Merlin, will you deign to marry a mere commoner such as I?”

  Later Travis would tell friends and family that my mouth hung open for a good minute and a half. He said it was impressive that I didn’t drool. “Are you okay?” he asked finally, worry creasing his brow.

  “Yes, I’m okay,” I blurted out once I got my tongue to work. “But before I give you my answer, I have a few questions for you.”

  “Fair enough.” He sat down next to me.

  “Have you given enough thought to what life with me would be like? I must have at least one daughter, if my line is to continue. I have no idea what kind of magickal abilities she might possess. There’s also a good chance that at some point I will try to take Merlin back to his proper time and place. I’ll need to continue experimenting with time travel in any event. And have you considered how your parents may react when they learn the truth about me and my family?”

  “Believe me, I’ve thought a great deal about all of those things and more. And what I came up with every single time is that I love you and I will make it work no matter what it takes.”

  “Those are lovely, but very easy words. You—” Travis kissed me, effectively shutting me up.

  He tilted his head away for a moment. “Kailyn
—Just. Say. Yes!”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes!” I cried, kissing him again. He took the ring out of the box and placed it on my left hand. It was a beautiful round diamond solitaire, surrounded by blood red rubies.

  Two energy clouds appeared in the far corner of the room as if they’d been waiting in the wings for their cue. Morgana and Bronwen were aglow with happiness, bouncing up and down like celestial yo-yos, unable to contain their glee. In less than a minute, they winked out again, for once careful not to overstay their welcome. Sashki heaved what sounded like a sigh of relief.

  He turned in our direction to give us an approving bob of his head, after which he took his steps up to his perch on the couch and promptly fell asleep.

  Acknowledgments

  Huge thanks to my daughter for being the most conscientious beta reader and for driving us to New Jersey at 2 in the morning in the pouring rain.

  In case you missed the first delightful Abracadabra mystery, keep reading to enjoy a sample excerpt of the series launch…

  MAGICK & MAYHEM

  Available from Lyrical Underground, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Chapter 1

  “You need to summon a familiar of your own,” my grandmother Bronwen said. Her voice was easy to recognize, despite the fact that it emanated from a small, amorphous cloud of energy hovering above my new computer. Both she and my mother had been steadfast in their refusal to buy into the technology age, so when she popped out of the ether that morning, I expected a tirade against the computer that now occupied the desk behind the counter. It took me a few seconds to realize that my recent purchase wasn’t the subject of her visit. I briefly considered telling her the computer was my familiar, but I didn’t think she would see the humor in it.

  “Hand-me-downs never work properly,” she went on. “Surely we’ve taught you better.”

  “Besides,” my mother chimed in, from a second cloud that appeared beside Bronwen’s, “my Sashkatu is ancient, and the five others aren’t worth the cost of their kibble.”

  “Morgana!” my grandmother scolded, “you mustn’t write them off that way. You summoned them and they came. They’re our responsibility now. I mean Kailyn’s,” she muttered. “I keep forgetting that we’re dead. In any case, it’s entirely possible the problem was more yours than theirs anyway.”

  I held my breath, hoping my mother might finally realize that arguing about such things was pointless. I’d thought death would mellow the two of them, but so far they’d proven me wrong. Maybe the sudden, unexpected nature of their passing had left their souls on edge, and once they adjusted to their new circumstances they’d put their earthbound bickering behind them. Then again, maybe not. I’d always suspected they enjoyed the verbal sparring far too much to give it up.

  “What exactly do you mean it’s my fault?” my mother asked indignantly, dashing my hopes. “You didn’t have any better success at restoring our mojo than the cats or I did.”

  “I’d been semi-retired for three years,” Bronwen sputtered. “You’d taken the reins of the business!” The chimes over the front door jangled like a bell ending a boxing round.

  “Hey, we have company,” I hissed at them. “Make yourselves scarce!” They vanished without a second to spare as a middle-aged couple ambled up to the counter. I was grateful I didn’t have to explain the presence of clouds in my store.

  The woman’s eyes were flitting around the shop with anticipation, but her companion looked like a child who’d been dragged to the dentist. I made a mental note to buy a comfortable chair for the men who were coerced into making the trip.

  “Welcome to Abracadabra,” I greeted them, trying to shake off the negative energy my family had left in their wake. “Take your time browsing. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them. There are some baskets at the far end of the counter to make shopping easier.” I’d talked my mother and grandmother into buying lovely wicker baskets instead of the ubiquitous plastic ones available in all the grocery and drugstore chains. They cost more, but they were more fitting for our shop.

  The woman thanked me and went to take one, her husband grumbling, “How much do you plan on buying here?”

  “Well, I’m sure you don’t want to drive up here again anytime soon,” she said sweetly as she started down the first of the four narrow aisles. I’d heard the warning in her undertone, but I doubted that he had. Back in my early teens, I’d realized there were certain subtleties of mood in women’s speech that often eluded men.

  I sat down behind the computer to finish setting up my online banking account. Although the shop wasn’t large, it took most people half an hour or more to browse through all the lotions, potions, unguents, and creams with intriguing names and mystical purposes. Until about fifty years ago, the inventory had been smaller, meant specifically for those who were practiced in the arts of sorcery and witchcraft, but that was before tourists discovered our quaint little town of New Camel, New York. My enterprising grandmother had seized the opportunity to add a line of the health and beauty products our family had been whipping up for our own use as far back as anyone could remember. It didn’t take long before word of mouth brought a steady stream of customers to our door. The other merchants in the town prospered as well. A couple of bed and breakfasts opened to accommodate visitors who wanted to spend the night. One local resident was able to drum up enough financial support to open a small ski resort nearby. Snow is never in short supply around here in winter.

  When the couple returned to the counter, the woman was beaming with success. Her husband was carrying the basket, now piled high with our most popular products. He looked as close to dying of boredom as anyone I’d ever seen. He yawned widely, without bothering to cover his mouth.

  “You ought to have a website so people could order your products online,” he groused as I rang up his wife’s purchases. “You’re way out here in the boonies, no public transportation, hard to get to from everywhere. It’s a miracle you have any customers at all.”

  Not a miracle, I wanted to say, just a little magic. But that was one secret ingredient we never talked too much about. “Thanks for the advice,” I said instead. “I’ll definitely look into it.” I had considered going ahead with a website after I inherited the shop, but although Morgana and Bronwen were deceased, they hadn’t totally passed on. The thought of arguing with them about it on a daily, if not hourly, basis quickly shut down my enthusiasm for the project. Besides, I was still euphoric about finally having a computer on the premises.

  “My friends all swear by your products,” the woman said with a smile. “So I had to try them for myself. I told Robert here that we’d make the trip into a bit of a vacation, but for him if there’s no golf, it’s not a vacation.” She sighed and searched my face for some empathy. I nodded and smiled back, though I was finding it hard to relate to her problem. She could have left Robert home and driven here alone or with friends. Maybe it was simply the difference between her generation and mine. Had it been me, I would have preferred to make the trip alone. But then, I’ve had strong, self-sufficient women as role models all my life. My father left when I was five, and my grandfather, years before my birth. Morgana and Bronwen had carried on as if they’d never really expected their spouses to make the final cut.

  Robert took the shopping bag I held out to them. “We should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago,” he said to his wife, who was looking at a display of candles infused with healing oils.

  “I love your shop,” she said as he hooked his arm through hers and propelled her out the door. He pulled it shut behind them so hard that he startled Sashkatu, who’d been sleeping in the spill of sunlight on the windowsill behind me. The cat regarded me with regal contempt as if I’d been the source of the disturbance. Although he was fifteen, his black coat had kept its luster, and his emerald eyes were as sharp and bright as ever. If he pined for my mother, he kept it to him
self and slept right through her visits from the other side. When he was done glowering at me, he sighed and laid his head down on the tufted goose-down cushion Morgana had made to ease his arthritic joints. Fortunately the five other cats didn’t seem to mind being left back in the house during the workday. I didn’t want to think about the destruction they could wreak on the shop’s inventory with one high-energy game of chase. If I were to follow Bronwen’s advice and summon my own familiar, there would be seven cats to deal with and a bigger bill for cat food and other feline necessities. I kicked that decision to an already-crowded back burner in my mind and prepared to close up for the night.

  I was ready when my Aunt Tilly came through the connecting door from her shop, Tea and Empathy. She was my mother’s younger sister and my one remaining relative, aside from a few distant cousins somewhere in the wilds of Pennsylvania. Although I loved Tilly dearly, she tended to be a bit scattered and eccentric. According to my grandmother, she was hands down the best psychic our family had ever produced.

  She padded up to the counter in one of the frothy Hawaiian muumuus she’d taken to wearing after menopause settled in with some extra pounds. Her ballet flats dangled from her left fingertips and the turban she often wore at work was still perched on her head. She thought it lent her an air of mysticism. I thought it made her look like a Hawaiian swami with identity issues, but I would never tell her that.

  “Did you want to wear the turban to see the attorney?” I asked, because I’d never seen her wear it outside the shop.

  “Oh my,” she said, plucking it off her short red hair and giggling. “Silly me—I forgot I had it on.” I laughed too, because even as a child I’d thought of her as Silly Tilly. She plopped the turban onto the counter and finger-combed her curls. I beckoned my purse from the shelf behind the counter and was actually surprised when it popped up and floated into my hand. These days my magick was far from a certainty.