Magickal Mystery Lore

by Sharon Pape

  “Okay,” she bristled, “I’ll take the high road here and trust you, but be forewarned that if you don’t play fair with me, I won’t come to you with information in the future.” She had no idea how tempting that alternative was. On the other hand, she was a sought-after hair stylist and owner of a thriving salon, the nexus of small town grapevines. I’d be a fool to cut off such a rich vein of future information. Besides, treating people unfairly simply didn’t square with my nature or the white magick ingrained in my DNA.

  “You’re going to trust me? How very noble of you,” I managed to say without laughing. “What is this information you have?”

  “Well, I was in Watkins Glen yesterday to pick up products at the beauty supply store. I’d gotten a late start, because I had to wait for the plumber to unclog a drain in the salon. You can’t run a hair salon with a clogged drain.” Imagine that, I thought to myself. “In any case, by the time I left the supply store it was almost two o’clock and I was starving. I stopped in that little deli-café near the courthouse to have a sandwich—turkey and Swiss on rye with honey mustard.” Thanks, I was wondering about that. “I took my tray and went to sit down. It was pretty empty. Most people have eaten by two o’clock. That’s when I noticed them.” Them? “They were sitting at the table in the back corner.”

  “Who was?” Impatience had gotten the better of me.

  “Travis and Whitney Reynolds,” she said with a smug smile. “I’ve heard they were high school sweethearts. You hear stories about long lost loves finding each other later in life, but I’ve never known anyone it happened to.” Although I quickly slapped a neutral expression on my face, my reaction was visceral and no doubt obvious. Judging by Beverly’s face, she’d thoroughly enjoyed it.

  “They were probably just catching up,” I said, trying to appear unconcerned. Beverly’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

  “I don’t know why I ever doubted your honesty. Your reactions are plain enough for anyone to read. You had no idea about their date.” She knew how to keep digging in the knife. If Merlin had been there, I would have begged him to transmute her into a snake permanently, and no jury of our peers would have convicted us. Not that we had any peers except for Tilly. “How much would you say the information is worth?” Beverly asked sweetly.

  “Nothing. And more to the point, I don’t remember asking you to keep tabs on Travis. Was that your big news flash? They were having lunch in a deli—oh no, not that. But to prove I’m not just trying to get out of paying you, I’ll give you twenty-five dollars store credit. It’s a one-time courtesy—don’t ever expect me to be this generous again when it comes to gossip about Travis.” I watched Beverly lose her smile and any sense of triumph she’d been feeling. If she’d had an ounce of self-respect, she would have apologized and turned down the credit. Instead she marched off to the aisle with the moisturizers. Beverly was never a surprise.

  After she left, I tried to shrug off the image of Travis and Whitney that she’d planted in my head. It wasn’t easy to do, mainly because it brought up other images: the way Whitney had looked at him that night in Seasons and the way he’d ruined our big night out by inviting her to join us. Little qualms rippled through my heart. I wondered if he would mention their lunch the next time we spoke.

  Chapter 34

  The rest of the day I saw a steady stream of customers, but only one or two at a time so that I was never alone in the shop. It seemed like they’d all had a meeting and planned it that way. Although I’m always glad to have business, I wouldn’t have minded a brief lull, say ten minutes or so, during which I could have called the Neumanns and Travis. They weren’t the kind of calls I could make with anyone else in the shop—unless I wanted to add grist to the town’s lively gossip mill. I closed up promptly at the stroke of five. I woke Sashkatu and waited for him to go through his ritual of stretching, before we headed home.

  After I fed everyone, I played chase the red light and catch the fake mouse with the younger cats. Sashki sat atop the couch, eyelids at half-mast. Once the house settled down for the evening, I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of Tilly’s tummy tamer brew, but no appetite for anything else. My stomach was churning like the ocean in a Nor’easter. Now that I finally had the time to make those calls, who to dial first? The Neumanns won, not solely because the case was a high priority, but also because I was dreading the conversation with Travis, afraid to hear the truth about his feelings for Whitney.

  After the fourth ring, I expected to be shunted to voice mail. Instead a woman answered with a wary hello, catching me off guard. “Mrs. Neumann—Susan, if I may be less formal, my name is Kailyn Wilde. I know your daughter from Eagle Enterprises. She left so abruptly, I was concerned about her well-being.” I’d decided to focus on Angie’s disappearance and not mention Ava’s death, if possible.

  “Oh,” Susan said, as if she was trying to figure out how to deal with me. “It’s nice of you to take an interest.”

  “I was hoping you’d know where Angie is living now or how I can get in touch with her.”

  “No… we have no idea. It’s been a nightmare for us. She’s our only child.” She didn’t sound as agitated or tearful as parents I’d seen on the news whose adult children had gone missing. But it was unfair to rate her distress by an arbitrary standard. Everyone dealt with trauma and tragedy in their own way. “It’s awful to live in such a state of limbo,” she continued. “I don’t wish it on my worst enemy.” There was a catch in her throat and she seemed about to breakdown, but she couldn’t quite reach the threshold.

  “I can’t even imagine what you and your husband are going through,” I said. “I’d like to come talk to you. My partner and I have had a lot of success in solving cases.” I was vague on purpose, hoping she would take my words to mean missing persons cases, when I meant murder cases.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She hung onto each word, dragging it out as if she were stalling for time, until the cavalry arrived to save the day.

  “There’s no charge, not even if we find them. You have nothing to lose.” I heard a man’s voice in the background and Susan saying, “No, it’s fine, Chris.” A muted exchange followed and then the click of the call disconnecting. Angie’s parents knew something. If I could speak to Susan in person, I might be able to find out what it was. But I clearly couldn’t do it with her husband around.

  I sat there looking at the phone, knowing I had to call Travis. There was a lot to catch him up on, but I couldn’t get my mind off his lunch with Whitney. What would it mean if he didn’t volunteer the information about their tête a tête? It could mean he was simply catching up with an old friend and didn’t mention it, because he was afraid I might take it the wrong way. Or it could mean he’d felt the spark between them reignite and felt too guilty to tell me. Had sophisticated Whitney played the guilt card about the way he’d dumped her to press for the lunch date? Even the smartest men couldn’t tell when a woman was manipulating them.

  * * * *

  “Angie and her kids disappeared and her mother isn’t interested in the free help you offered.” Travis repeated after I detailed my talk with Susan Neumann. “It doesn’t make any sense, unless they know she isn’t missing. And why would a woman with young children and a good job choose to give up that security and pretend to disappear? Is she in hiding because she borrowed money from some Mafia character who’s now looking to break her kneecaps for not repaying it? I don’t think so.” He paused for a moment. “Where did Lolly say they lived?”

  “Hassettville.”

  “That’s around the corner compared to Buffalo. We ought to take a run up there on a weekday and see if we can catch Susan when her husband’s not around to silence her.”

  “There’s something else,” I said and related the story about Dani’s showdown with Ava. He groaned. “Talk about shooting yourself in the foot.”

  “I want to canvas Ava’s build
ing and see if anyone heard them arguing. I believe what Lolly told me, but Dani may not have been completely forthcoming with her.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “It’s not necessary. I can take care of it.” I heard the grudging tone in my voice and knew Travis would too.

  “You don’t want me to go?” he teased, feigning insult.

  “Come on,” I said more lightly, “you know I didn’t mean it that way. I was giving you an out if you already have too much work on your plate.” If we were going to have a conversation about Whitney, it was going to be in person and at the time and place of my choosing. I just had to be more vigilant about not letting my pique show. We agreed to meet at ten o’clock.

  * * * *

  I was sitting on the couch, watching Dirty Dancing for the twentieth time and stroking Sashkatu’s silky back when my aunt Tilly came to visit. She preferred to let herself in rather than ring the bell, because, as she put it, this was the family home where she’d grown up and she was still family even if she now lived a block away. Morgana used to complain that her sister would show up at odd hours and give her a fright. I’d never minded, but there were times when it seemed Tilly would be better served by ringing the bell. That evening was a case in point. I listened to her fumbling with the lock for a good three minutes before she finally managed to let herself in.

  When she came into view, the reason for her difficulty was evident. She was holding a cake plate with what smelled like a spice cake slathered in dark chocolate icing.

  I jumped up to take it from her. “No Merlin?” I asked, leading the way into the kitchen.

  “No—I had to bake this cake to lower my blood pressure because of his Lordship. Plus, I needed a respite from him, so I told him he had to stay home tonight. However, he did exact my promise to bring him back a large piece of cake.”

  I got busy gathering plates and utensils. I hadn’t eaten dinner, but I was fine with cake in its stead. It wouldn’t be the first time. Neither of us wanted tea. Instead I suggested vanilla ice cream, which made Tilly wiggle in her chair like a little kid too excited to sit still. I cut two substantial pieces of cake and slid them onto plates. “What on earth did Merlin do to you today?” I asked.

  Tilly served herself a large scoop of ice cream and let it fall on top of the warm cake, where it instantly started to melt. “He made me drive him all over the bloody place.”

  “Oh. I take it he didn’t find what he was looking for?” I felt a little guilty for suggesting he try to find the problem with the ley lines.

  She handed me the scooper and took the first bite of her dessert. “Oh dear—this is beyond sinful, but it does even out one’s disposition.”

  I helped myself to the ice cream. “You did what you could today and that has to count for something,” I said. “Maybe if he continues reading the scrolls, he’ll find more information to help narrow the search parameters.”

  Tilly was dreamy-eyed, beyond caring, on a chocolate and ice cream high. “That would be nice.”

  “You know how he can be, Aunt Tilly, you might have to put your foot down.” However at that moment I wouldn’t have bet she could even stand up straight.

  “Don’t you worry,” she said, slurring her words as she reached for the scooper. Before she could lift it, she fell asleep face down in the remnants of her dessert. Since she wasn’t going to get messier than she already was, I let her nap there for five minutes, while I wrapped up the rest of the cake. If I kept it in my house, I would whittle away at it all week until none of my clothes fit. When I woke her, I wiped her face with a wet cloth, before putting her and the cake into her car. I deposited them into Merlin’s care and strolled back home.

  Chapter 35

  I parked in the municipal lot and walked over to the building where both Angie and Ava had lived. It was once a two-story middle school, but when the student population dwindled, the classrooms were reconfigured into one and two-bedroom apartments. On the outside, it still looked like a school, red brick and a tall flagpole. On the inside, what had been the school’s offices was now a spacious lobby with elevators. I found Travis waiting for me in one of the armchairs. He popped up as soon as he saw me and gave me a quick kiss. It felt dismissive, but I was probably more sensitive since Beverly’s visit. I warned myself that if I started over-analyzing everything he said and did, I’d cause a real rift between us and send him running into Whitney’s welcoming arms.

  “I found the super upstairs painting one of the apartments,” Travis said. “His name is Jorge. I explained why we wanted to speak to him and he seemed willing—make that eager—to answer our questions.”

  “I’ll bet he recognized you from the news,” I said with a smile that felt too wide.

  “That’s what he said. I think he has visions of being interviewed on TV. I’m just worried he might pad the truth to make the story more sensational.”

  “You’ll have to start wearing disguises. I think bushy eyebrows and a big nose could be a good look for you. Your star is definitely on the rise, as Tilly would say.” I knew I was talking too fast, my nerves amped, courtesy of Beverly. “Have you ever thought about letting Tilly do a reading? You’d be amazed at how good she is. But she’s absolutely ethical too. She’d never tell me anything.”

  Travis was looking at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. “You okay?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “Just how much coffee did you have this morning? You’re like a runaway train.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t have had that extra cup.” As long as he was offering me an out, I wasn’t going to turn it down. “I’ll be fine. Lead the way.”

  Jorge was wearing painter’s overalls with so many layers of paint that he looked like a living canvas of modern art. He had an assistant working with him. If I understood Jorge’s introduction, his name was Carlos and he was a fourth cousin on his mother’s side. He hadn’t bothered with painting gear, but he might be rethinking that decision now that his jeans were speckled with white paint.

  Jorge took us into an empty bedroom and offered us seats on the hardwood floor. I was glad I’d opted for pants instead of a skirt. “What would you like to know?” he asked in accented English. Travis nodded at me to take the lead.

  “When you think back to the night before Ava was killed, do you remember hearing any arguments or raised voices coming from her apartment?”

  “Sí, I hear two woman—they shouting from where is Miss Duncan’s apartment. I recognize her voice. I think the other voice must be the lady I see go past the apartment where I finish up painting for new tenant.” I opened my purse and took out the photo I’d brought along of Lolly and her family. I pointed to Dani and asked if she could be that woman.

  Jorge wiped his hands on his overalls before taking the picture from me. He squinted at it. “Sí—is her.”

  “Do you remember what time that was?” I asked.

  “It was after dinner, because my wife, she says to me her usual ‘work after eating is no good for digestion.’” He chuckled, then whispered, “Between you and I, nagging is less good for digestion.” Travis and I laughed with him. Jorge had his delivery down pat.

  I repositioned myself on the floor, thinking that hardwood was aptly named. It made me aware of every bone in my body that didn’t have enough padding. “Could you tell what the women were saying?”

  He shook his head. “Only just one word or two. I say to myself, Jorge, maybe you go knock on the door and see if they are okeydokey. But before I can decide, the visitor lady is coming out and I see in her face how angry she is. I have relief there isn’t blood on her. I knock on Miss Duncan’s door, but she isn’t opening up. We talk through the door. She say she is fine, but she sound upset. What more I can do?” He shrugged. “I go back to mind my business.”

  We thanked him for his help and Travis gave him his
card. “You know,” Jorge said, “there was a man who came one, no two weeks before and he argues with Miss Duncan too.”

  “Liam,” Travis and I said at the same time.

  “Did you have a chance to see this man?” Travis asked, getting to his feet. I followed. Standing was preferable to the floor.

  Jorge shook his head. “You know, Miss Duncan is being so nice to me and my wife, I am not understanding why is people angry at her?”

  Travis clapped him on the back. “That’s what we’re trying to find out, my friend. You have my number. Give me a call if you remember anything else.”

  “Are you heading straight back?” Travis asked in the elevator.

  “If you have time, I was hoping we could discuss what Jorge told us.”

  “We can grab a quick lunch. How’s pizza—or what people here call pizza?”

  We stepped off the elevator into the lobby. “I’m not really in a pizza mood.” I stopped so I could face him. “Have you ever been to the Deli Café? Good sandwiches and great pickles,” I added lightly. And a chance to find out if you’re going to be upfront or secretive about your recent lunch there.

  He hesitated and I could almost see the workings of his brain through his expressions. For those few seconds his head was like the see-through watch I’d had as a teen. “Sure—it’s the best sandwich place in the Glen,” he said matching my carefree tone. “Besides it’s hard to pass up a great pickle.” That moment would have been the time to admit that he’d been there yesterday with Whitney, but the moment passed in silence. He had no intentions of telling me. My heart was leaden. He spent the five-minute trip to the deli talking about Ava, Dani, and Liam. I didn’t absorb a word of it. Didn’t he wonder why he was having a conversation with himself, my only contribution a few monotone uh huhs?

  It wasn’t quite eleven-thirty—early for lunch. There was no line at the counter. I stared at the menu board on the wall without seeing it and ended up ordering turkey and brie on rye, because it was the first item on the menu. I thought the deli guy might say something offhand to Travis about seeing him with a different woman earlier in the week, but he was as tight-lipped as a priest in the confessional.