by Sharon Pape
Travis was at my house eight sharp in the morning to wire me up. We couldn’t do it in Buffalo, since there were not likely to be any coed restrooms. A friend with the Watkins Glen police force had shown Travis how to use the equipment, but there seemed to be a bit of a learning curve to it, exacerbated by his determination to leave no room for error. If it malfunctioned, my life would be in jeopardy. He refused to add my magick to the equation, because it wasn’t a hundred percent reliable.
He attached the microphone, then went outside to see if he could hear me. He thought there was too much static, so he tried a different transmitter. When he couldn’t get the volume high enough, he switched out the microphone, but the new one wouldn’t stay put. I zipped my lips, but my patience was wearing thin by the time he was satisfied.
I’m a squirmer on long car trips, a trait Travis became aware of early on in our eleven-month relationship. I’m constantly changing position, crossing and uncrossing my legs, sitting with my legs tucked under me, but when I wriggled and stretched to grab my purse from behind his seat, he begged me to sit still or I’d dislodge the microphone. The trip felt twice as long in statue mode. At least I wouldn’t be wired up on the way home.
I was wearing what Elise and I agreed was professional freelance writer chic—a skirt and blouse with heels, suit jacket optional. Elise insisted I borrow her slim-line, leather briefcase that could double as a purse.
My appointment with Brock was at noon. Travis found the apartment building and drove past it without stopping. He pulled over a block away to let me out of the car. After I walked back and went in, the plan was for him to circle around and park at the curb in front of the building. If there was no place to park, he’d double park as if he was waiting for someone to come down. If a cop came along and told him to move, he’d explain that he was there to take his hundred-year-old grandmother to her surprise birthday party. If that didn’t touch the cop’s heart, he didn’t have one, and Travis would be out of options. I, however, still had magick.
I pressed the bell for Brock’s apartment and he buzzed me in without asking who I was. I took the elevator up to the seventh floor. He opened his door when I was walking down the hall.
“Joyce,” he said giving me the once over with a grin that would have done Little Red’s wolf proud. “Come on in.” He definitely had a movie star vibe about him—tall, dark and handsome. But something was missing. His features were so regular that he looked photo-shopped. I wasn’t surprised that he’d never been discovered. His likeness had been discovered a thousand times over.
I smiled back as he ushered me inside. “I really appreciate the opportunity to speak to you,” I said in my best Southern accent. “Y’all are just perfect for my article.”
“And I look forward to telling you about the acting life in the boondocks.” He led me into the living room. The apartment bore the mark of a talented designer. It radiated masculinity, but with strategic accents of the romantic. Brock must have gone into a hole to pay for it. He probably subscribed to the theory that if you lived like you were successful, the universe would respond in kind. There were plenty of self-help gurus and books to support the claim.
He motioned to a grouping of tan leather armchairs separated by a cherry wood end table. “Will this do or would you prefer to sit in the kitchen or dining room?”
“This is perfect,” I said, taking the chair on the right.
“Can I get you coffee, tea, maybe a cold drink?” The host with the most.
“I’m good, thanks.” I opened the briefcase and took out a legal pad for notes and Travis’s tape recorder. “Is it okay if I tape the interview? I don’t want to forget anything.” Of course, the wire I was wearing was also taping it, but for different reasons.
“Yeah, for sure.” We spent the first twenty minutes, beating around the acting bush. He listed the various productions in which he’d appeared, starting with the role of Oliver in the first grade and culminating in his recent audition for a small, but important, role in a Broadway show. He didn’t get it, but the director told him it was only a matter of time before his name was on a marquee. Brock wasn’t a glass half-full kind of guy. He was a glass spilling over with champagne. I bet there was a bottle of bubbly chilling in his fridge for that first big break.
“Does your troupe have a dedicated location for all its performances?” I asked, the question designed to set up a good segue for me to venture off topic. If done well, he shouldn’t realize what was happening.
“We do now. But back when I first joined, we took what we could get. We performed in storefronts, in schools, even above a pharmacy.”
“I bet you have stage door groupies,” I said with a flirty little smile. “I can imagine the young women crushin’ on you.” Travis had tried to talk me out of using those lines, saying Brock might get the wrong idea about how I felt. But that was precisely why I’d insisted on keeping them in my plan. I knew that a man like him would eat it up and let down his guard. I watched his reaction. He didn’t disappoint. He sat up straighter in the chair, ran his hand over his hair, and gave me that wolfish smile. No humble shoe-scuffing for Brock.
“I’ve had my share.”
“Do any of them stand out in your memory?” I knew instantly that I’d hit a nerve. He struggled to prop up his smile, but after a few tortured moments he let it go.
“One,” he said. His whole demeanor changed. His shoulders slumped, his lips compressed into a tight line, and the playful twinkle was gone from his eyes. “She was murdered.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, Brock, I’m so sorry. She must be the girl I read about—Ava Duncan?”
“Ava, yeah—my Ava.” He didn’t sound like he was acting, but when you’re dealing with an actor, can you ever be sure?
“Horrible, just horrible. Do the police have anyone in custody?”
“Not that I know of, but they won’t tell me anything.” Could that be because you’re considered a person of interest?
“Do you suspect anyone?” I asked.
“I never liked her brother.”
“As in you think he murdered her?”
“Maybe, who knows?” He threw his hands in the air and popped up from the chair as if he couldn’t bear to be still for another second. He paced back and forth, back and forth in front of me, staring at the floor. “I keep going over in my head everything I know about Ava—all her friends, coworkers, family. Did she have a secret, darker life I didn’t know about? I’ve been driving myself nuts. I try to push her out of my mind and focus on my career. The acting helps. You have to give it a hundred percent or you’re shortchanging the audience and making things harder for the other members of the troupe.”
He stopped in front of me. “The son of a—who killed Ava had better hope I never meet up with him, because I’ll make sure justice is done—the old-fashioned kind—a life for a life.” He spit out the last words and there was a steely glint in his eyes.
“It can’t be easy to put that behind you,” I sympathized, “especially with the case still open.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth. Brock’s face hardened. His eyes narrowed.
“What happened to that accent of yours? What are you trying to pull here?” He was standing over me, glowering. I tensed, expecting him to grab me and drag me out of the chair. I had a spell of protection around me, but sometimes that only softened the impact, minimized the injury.
I stood up, eye to eye with him, or more correctly, eye to chest with him. “You can’t blame a girl for trying,” I said sweetly, trying to defuse the situation. I was worried about Travis’s reaction to what he was hearing. He might already be pounding his way up the stairs to rescue me and that could turn into something a lot uglier. “I was desperate for an interview with you.” I wriggled past him, snatched up the recorder, and headed for the door.
I heard Brock’s footsteps behind me. I didn’t tur
n around—that always slows you down. I was only a few feet from the door when his hand clamped down on my arm and he yanked me around to face him.
“I should make you pay for deceiving me. Otherwise how will you learn not to do that again?” His words were strangely calm and measured.
“That wouldn’t be smart when you’re already a suspect in Ava’s death,” I pointed out, in case his anger had blotted out everything else.
He laughed. “You’re lucky I’m not the kind of guy who likes to hurt girls.” He gave my arm another twist before letting go. There was more I wanted to say, but my mother taught me not to outstay my welcome. He reached over me and opened the lock. “Get out of here.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. Elevator or stairs? If I had to wait for the elevator, Brock could still come after me—the stairs won. “I’m okay,” I said for Travis’s benefit. “Coming down the stairs.” I sprinted across the first landing and directly into Travis. He held onto me, his heart beating against my ear.
“Do you want to report this to the police?” he asked as we walked down to the lobby.
“What would I say—that he grabbed my arm and held me against my will for twenty seconds before letting me go? Besides, I don’t want this incident to color the case when we’re not sure he’s the killer. For all we know he’s all bark and no bite. I had the feeling that if I screamed he would have let me go even faster.”
On the long drive back to New Camel, I fleshed out the meeting for Travis by describing his body language, the look in his eyes. “Bottom line,” Travis said, “do you think he killed Ava?”
“You mean the old if I can’t have her, no one can motive? I honestly don’t know. On one hand, Brock is too invested in his future to risk spending it in prison. On the other, he’s arrogant enough to believe he could get away with murder.”
When we were close to New Camel, I called Tilly to let her know she was off cat duty. I’d be back in time to feed my brood. I was in the middle of filling their dishes, when Morgana and Bronwen popped in. The cats always seemed to take their visits from beyond the veil in stride. At that moment, dinner was their priority anyway.
Although I was tired from the trip, I was happy to see my mom and grandmother. They didn’t visit as often as they once had. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder. Their clouds were both frothy white. They bounced gently as if they were surfing on air waves beyond my ken.
“You look good,” I said. Over the past eighteen months, I’d become so accustomed to seeing them as energy clouds that it no longer seemed strange to judge their well-being by the color of those clouds.
“We are learning to be mellow and go with the flow,” Morgana said in a lilting tone. “That’s probably why we look well.”
“Of course there isn’t the kind of friction here that there is on Earth,” Bronwen added. “It’s hard to say how well these lessons would translate over there.”
“You seem to be adjusting better too.”
“Yes,” said my mother, “but I miss the simple pleasures of having a body, despite all its ills and never-ending upkeep. I miss food most of all, turkey with homemade cranberry sauce, crisp, salty French fries, ice cream in every form—shakes and floats, cones and sundaes—and plain vanilla with apple pie.” She sighed. “The great irony is that without a corporeal body we don’t have to worry about putting on the pounds, but without a body, we aren’t capable of eating anything.” Her voice had become peevish.
“Mellow, Morgana, mellow,” my grandmother cooed.
“Telling me to mellow only irritates me, mother.” The edges of Morgana’s cloud had turned red, the color seeping slowly into the rest of the cloud. I didn’t want their visit to end in an argument.
“Mom,” I said, “maybe when you’re willing to move on from your current level, the cravings will fade away.” Their deaths had been so sudden and unexpected, they’d had trouble severing their ties to me and Tilly and all things earthly. It was like they’d moved to a new home, but were stuck in the foyer. Although I didn’t want to lose touch with them, moving on might finally bring them peace.
“I didn’t come to discuss that,” Morgana said briskly and her cloud winked out.
“It’s a work in progress, but we’ll get there,” Bronwen assured me, before she too vanished.
Hearing my mother list her favorite foods made me want them. Since the only one presently in my house was ice cream, I was reaching for the freezer door when my mother reappeared. I shifted my hand to the refrigerator door instead and took out the water. “Forget something?” I asked, casually pouring myself a glassful. It would have been mean to rub her nose in the ice cream she missed.
“As a matter of fact, yes. We forgot to tell you the reason for our visit. We bumped into Ava Duncan. She was very pleased that you’re investigating her death.” Questions flooded my mind, but not in any sensible order.
“What do you mean you bumped into her?” popped out first. “Were you bopping down the street and your clouds banged shoulders as you passed each other? How did you recognize her if you’d never met her? Did she tell you who killed her?” Finally the important one.
“Whoa, Kailyn,” Morgana said with a laugh. “Things over here don’t work the way they do on Earth. I used the word bumped to give you a sense of what happened in terms you would understand. Although we never knew Ava on Earth, it was clear to us who she was.”
“I’m having trouble understanding this.” I wanted answers, not metaphors. “Forget my other questions and answer just this one. Did she tell you who killed her?”
“Yes, but no one is permitted to pass such information on to the living. It involves matters that are still playing out and they must unfold without interference.”
I didn’t like her response, but at least I understood it. “If you can’t tell me who the killer is, why even mention it to me?” I heard the testiness in my tone, but I didn’t care. It seemed she’d come back for the sole purpose of teasing me.
“I mentioned it, because Ava wants you to know she’s delighted you’re investigating her death and very grateful for your kindness to her parents.”
In less than a minute, she’d roused my anger, and then made me feel bad about it—the mother/daughter tango that seemed to survive even death. “Thank you,” I said. “Please let her know we’re doing everything in our power to find justice for her.” After Morgana left, I was no longer in the mood for ice cream. I made myself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to brood over our relationship. Old and wise, Sashkatu climbed up on the couch to provide solace. He rubbed his velvety head along my jaw and under my chin, before curling up in my lap. He’d served my mother and me as pet and familiar; maybe she and I weren’t as different as I’d always believed.
Chapter 23
A four-star restaurant by the name of Seasons opened in early May at the Winterland ski resort outside New Camel. Some folks said the timing was strange, since the ski season had ended two months earlier. Other folks claimed that the new restaurant was meant to distract the public from the Waverly Hotel’s grand opening in July. Winterland had always made money during the off season by hosting family reunions and catering parties large and small, including weddings. They didn’t want to lose that revenue to the newcomer.
Travis and I had to wait three weeks for a dinner reservation on a Wednesday night. Weekends were booked through the fourth of July. But everyone agreed that the real test of the ski resort’s strategy would come when the Waverly opened its brand-new doors.
Having to wait so long to dine at Seasons made it seem like an event worth dressing up for. I wore a red, off-the-shoulder dress for the occasion, and what Tilly called ridiculously high heels. She and Merlin had stopped by with a sample of her new butterscotch brownies with dark chocolate chips. With the temperature in the low fifties, she didn’t have to convince me to take along a shawl. She added a lovely little spell to
make it heat to seventy degrees as soon as I put it on.
Travis arrived at my door in chinos, a lightweight sweater and a sports jacket, clearly dazzling my aunt. She made him do a slow three-sixty so she could appreciate the full effect of his sartorial splendor. “You two are dressed to kill,” she said, making us both laugh. It took her a second before she realized what she’d said and cracked up too.
“What’s so funny—or have you all lost your minds?!” Merlin groused from his perch on the second step of the stairway, where he was surrounded by five adoring cats. Sashkatu, who was watching the whole to-do from the top step, yawned widely like a grandfather who wishes the young ones would leave so he can go to bed.
Tilly explained the double entendre to the wizard, but he shrugged it off. “It’s obvious none of you has ever been properly entertained by a good court jester. Come Matillda, I could do with a little nap before dinner.” They sounded like any old married couple, but if the truth ever got out, it would emblazon headlines around the globe.
We walked into the restaurant on time and were asked to give them a few minutes while our table was readied. That gave us a chance to peek into the four rooms, each one decorated for a different season. Although winter was far from my favorite season, the Winter Room dazzled with icicles hanging from the ceiling and pine trees in every corner, their boughs layered with glittering snow. It was like looking inside a snow globe. I could only imagine how it would look decorated for Christmas.
The three other rooms were every bit as lovely, though not quite as stunning as winter. Since requesting a particular room often led to a longer wait for a reservation, Travis and I hadn’t expressed a preference. When our table was ready, we were escorted to seats in the Summer Room. A large atrium was at its center, filled with trees and flowers. If we listened, we could hear soft waves lapping on a beach. The owner of the ski resort had outdone himself.