by Valia Lind
This time, I swear his eyes flash. I think it might be with respect or something along those lines.
"Look, I know you've been involved in a few cases recently, and have even been—"
"Helpful? I think that's the word you're looking for, Detective."
This time, his eyes do flash, and I know it's with amusement. He takes a step farther into the room, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. But I also know how to play that game, so I recognize it.
"And what do you think you can help me with here?"
"I think it would be good to have another pair of eyes around." I shrug, pushing my hair over one shoulder. "I might be able to glean information from guests that they're not willing to share with law enforcement."
He narrows his eyes, but I can see the wheels turning. He's considering it. So, I wait him out.
He walks farther into the room, heading to the opposite side of the pool with slow, steady steps. Even though I'm not an expert in these types of techniques, he's doing something similar to what I used to do when designing. He's giving me ample opportunity to break the silence because most people are uncomfortable with it. Little does he know, two can play that game.
It's another full minute at least before he looks up, meeting my eye. Then he chuckles. I cock my head to the side, raising my eyebrows.
"You are something else, Cassandra Duke."
"So I've been told," I reply, smiling. He studies me for a moment longer before coming to a decision. Almost resigned, he stands up straighter, not breaking eye contact.
"What is it you think you can bring to the table?"
"Ah, detective. You can just ask me for help, you know."
"That will not be happening."
This time, I'm the one who chuckles. But I also finally abandon my place at the opposite end of the pool and head toward him.
"This couldn't have been a crime of passion," I say, coming to the same place I found the body.
"Those kinds of offenders are messy. They don't take the time to clean up. And whoever he or she is, they didn't just clean up. They scrubbed the place down. Did you find traces of anything?"
I look at him expectedly. After a moment's hesitation, he shakes his head.
"No, we haven't found anything."
"And I don't think you will."
"You don't suppose it was an accident?"
"I mean, it could be. Then the person panicked and cleaned this room top to bottom. But it—"
"What?"
"It doesn't feel right." The moment I say it, I know I probably shouldn't have admitted it out loud. I can't tell if the dream phantom is affecting my judgement or if my witchy senses are picking up on something. But I know it's true.
"Unfortunately, in police work, we can't go on feelings." He doesn't say it unkindly, so I don't take offense. But I do face him squarely, giving him a thorough study.
"You mean you never follow your gut? Your instincts?"
"That's not the same."
"Isn't it? You're relying on something other than cold hard facts."
"I have years of learned behavior and experience. You're telling me your gut has the same after two cases?"
"You have been checking up on me."
"It's only the right thing to do."
I nod at that, turning back toward the room, trying to pinpoint what it is that's bugging me. But of course, I can't. If I had a way to do a searching spell, maybe I would find some evidence. But I doubt I can sneak in here with my crystals and potions.
"I can't explain it, detective." He would think I'm insane if I mentioned magic. "But I'm willing to listen to my instincts. What about you?"
This time when I turn to him, he's studying me intently. I have no idea what he sees, but I don't squirm under the scrutiny. I wait for him to say whatever it is he needs to say.
"My instincts are telling me to let you help."
That is absolutely not what I expected him to say, but I try not to show outwardly just how happy it makes me. Not just for myself, but for the fact that I will be able to help my dream phantom sooner rather than later.
"You can talk to the guests, see if they saw anything or noticed the man around."
"I can do that. What will you do?"
"I'm going to talk to the suspect."
That stops me in my tracks.
"You have a suspect already?"
"Yes."
"Come on, can you at least give me more than that?" We turn toward the exit, and I think he won't answer, but then he does. And everything in me stops.
"Dean Harvey. He knew the victim."
7
“Dean knew the man?” Penny asks, sitting up in bed as I pace inside our little bungalow.
“His name was Arthur Gilla, by the way. I asked.”
“You and the detective are friends now? I thought he completely shut you out last night.”
“Well, he came around this morning.”
I stop pacing, my mind racing with possibilities. Dean didn’t say he knew anyone around these parts. My suspicious mind is taking off faster than I can follow it, so I need to slow it down. And breathe. There has to be a rational explanation about this. If I'm going to learn how to trust Dean, I have to trust that there is a rational explanation. How many times am I about to remind myself of that fact? My mind really is my best and worst friend in this.
"Cassie, don't go getting into your own head. I'm sure Dean would’ve told you."
I give Penny a look, as she climbs out of the bed.
"Okay, fine. I don't know if he would've, but it's Dean. We have decided we were going to trust Dean, remember? You can't go back on that without talking to him.” Everything that’s happened poured out of me the moment I got back to the bungalow, and now Penny is using that logic on me. She’s right. I can’t go making up stories in my head.
I need hard facts, so I can figure out what’s going on. But I don't add that last part, I just nod. Because of course she's right, but Dean is out there talking to the detective, and I wish I was there to hear what he has to say.
Wait a minute.
I twist around, looking for where I discarded my phone.
"What are you doing?" Penny asks, as I find it on the desk and grab for it.
"I'm calling Auntie Grace to see if there is a spell that will help me eavesdrop."
"Cassie, I hope you realize how nonchalantly you just said that," Penny comments, heading for the bathroom. I don't reply as the phone begins to ring.
"Good morning, honey bun. You're up early." My aunt answers on the second ring. She's always up before the sun.
"I need your help."
"What do you need?" There's no hesitation in her response, and that makes me feel calmer immediately. So of course, the words rush out of me in one breath.
"I found another body, Auntie Grace. He was floating, face up, in the pool. The state police are here, the detective is letting me sleuth around. Dean is a suspect. He apparently knew the man. The man in question is the same one who's been invading my dreams for the last week. I didn’t tell you that part, and I should’ve. I don't know what's going on, but I want to see if there's a spell that will help me eavesdrop on the investigation. Can you help?"
There's a slight pause, and then an exhale, before Auntie Grace speaks up.
"Oh, sweetie pie, I'm sorry."
"I'm okay really, I just—I need to help, Auntie Grace. I need to."
"I understand." And I know she does.
"Will you help?"
There's no hesitation in her voice when she replies, "Of course I will. Let's start at the beginning. The dreams. He's the man from your dreams?"
"Yes. I've never seen him before, and I have no idea how he was showing up before he was even dead. It started about a week ago, he would show up, scream at me to help him, and poof out."
"There are a few possibilities here. I'll have to do some research."
"Auntie Grace, what aren't you telling me?" I can hear it in her voice. Th
ere's definitely something.
"I don't want to mention something that might be wrong, honey bun."
I narrow my eyes, even though she can't see me. Auntie Grace is very good at only giving me pieces of information. I can understand she wants to protect me and my magic, but considering I'm not a little kid anymore, it's making me a little crazy.
"Okay, I'll wait. But what about the eavesdropping spell?"
"You know using magic for your own personal gain isn't what we're about."
"This has nothing to do with personal gain, Auntie Grace. This is to help a ghost and my friend."
Just then, Penny walks out of the bathroom, freshly dressed, her eyes big and round.
"Friend?" she mouths, and I shrug. Right now is really not the time to get into my stance on Dean. Or what he and I decided last night. I can't really think about that right now anyway.
"There is something that I think will help," Auntie Grace says. I can hear her rummaging around, her voice distant before she comes back to the phone. I put her on speaker and reach for my notebook. "There is an opening the senses spell that may be able to help you. It would allow you to hear better than usual. You'll have to be close to overhear what you want to overhear."
"You're trying to find a spell to eavesdrop?" Penny asks, looking from me to the phone.
"Good morning, Penny dear," Auntie Grace greets her.
"Good morning, Auntie Grace. Can I have a moment with your niece please?"
"Sure thing."
Auntie Grace goes back to turning the pages, as my friend turns to me.
"What?"
"You know, I think I may actually be able to help with this. In a way easier way."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, we have a phone that can listen in."
"What?" Auntie Grace and I exclaim at the same time. Penny chuckles.
"You magical ladies think there's only one way about things. While I love you embracing your magic, Cassie, this is something that doesn't require an ounce of it."
"Auntie Grace, I'm going to have to call you back."
"You do that, sweetie pie. I'll do the dream research for now." There's a smile in her voice as we hang up. Then, I turn my full attention to Penny.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense."
"You know how you've been sleuthing—"
"I suppose—"
"And reading investigation books when you think no one is watching."
"Hey, now."
"I think you're very proactive by learning more about your calling." I roll my eyes at her, but she's not deterred.
"Anyway, I've been doing my own research. And did you know, you can set your phone up as a listening device? All we have to do is be close enough for our earphones to be hooked up and we can listen in."
"Show me!"
She pulls out her phone, scrolling down from the corner to pull up the hidden menu.
"Here, if you push the ear-shaped button, it becomes a listening device. All we need are our wireless headphones, and we can listen in. Getting the phone into the room with the detective will be the challenge."
"It won't." I'm already thinking, my head spinning with ideas. "First of all, you're a genius. Second of all, if I go in there with a piece of information, or…" I snap my fingers. "If you volunteer to be the first one interviewed.
"Yes, let's go!"
We both turn toward the door when I stop.
"It's early. He's probably not going to start interviews until breakfast."
"So let's go to breakfast. Most people will be showing up early." Which is true. Human nature is very curious. And morbid. Hopefully the combination of the two will give people the loose tongue syndrome. We grab our jackets, and head toward the main dining room.
Even though it's before seven in the morning, people are already mulling around. Penny and I exchange a look as we step into the dining room. My eyes do the mandatory crowd survey and land on Finn. He sees us immediately as well, but I don't see Dean anywhere. I wonder if the detective is already interviewing him, and I missed my chance.
But no, there's the detective. He walks into the room from the main house. Our eyes meet, and I give him the slightest of nods before I pivot toward Finn.
"You ladies doing okay?" He stands to greet us, pulling me into a hug.
"Yes, we're okay," I reply against his shirt. He holds me tighter for a second before stepping back and looking down at me.
"This is becoming a habit," Finn says, his eyes somber.
"So I've been hearing."
We turn at the voice as the detective stops at our table.
"Good morning, detective." After I greet him, he inclines his head.
"Where is your brother, Mr. Harvey?"
"He stepped out to the restroom," Finn replies, and I send a quick glance toward Penny. She takes it as a cue and steps forward.
"Detective, if you don't mind, could I be interviewed first? I would love to not miss my designated breakfast time, if at all possible."
Finn keeps a completely impassive look on his face, but I can feel slight tension in his body, since I'm still standing at his side. The detective glances at my friend before he gives me a look that's a mixture between amusement and warning. I don't give anything away as I look back at him.
"Sure, Miss Sharks. Right this way." He motions for her to follow him to the side of the hall where a set of doors stand ajar. A uniformed officer stands beside them. As soon as Penny and the detective step through, the officer pulls the doors shut and steps in front of them.
"Okay, what's going on?" Finn turns to me immediately, and I shrug.
"I could ask you the same thing. Where is Dean?" Finn looks away for a second, and I squeeze his upper arm. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing. He just needed a moment. It's not every day his friend dies."
I nod, but that raises more questions. How close were they? If they were friends, would Dean know who could hurt him? And what was he doing here?
"Were they—" I want to ask Finn, but maybe it would be better to wait for Dean.
"We met when I lived in Boston." Dean's voice comes from behind me. I turn as he walks up to the table, and I have the sudden impulse to reach out and hug him. I don't, but the impulse is definitely there.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I say and mean it. There isn't a doubt in my mind that Dean had nothing to do with this. I can't explain it, but I feel it in my bones. Somehow. I’ll need evidence to prove it to the detective, but that’s another story.
"Thank you, Cassie." He sits at the table as Finn takes a step back.
"I'll go get us some food."
For a second, I offer to go with him to the buffet, but then I look at Dean and take a seat instead. We don't speak as we watch the people coming into the dining room. I want to pry, and this would be the perfect opportunity, but something stops me.
"You can ask, you know." Dean is the one to break the silence. I turn to see him watching me.
"I don't know what you mean," I reply.
"Mhhm, as if I don't know how that brain of yours works, Cassie," he says, with a small smile. I try not to let those words get to me, but they do. They burrow straight in toward my heart, because there's conviction there. He has proven, more than once, that he understands me. Even when I didn't want to believe it.
"I didn't know you lived in Boston," I say, and Dean smiles.
"For about five years. I worked for a firm there before I realized I would rather build with my hands than with computers. Arthur and I met at the company. We always said we'd start our own eventually. That's when I started my construction company, and he did landscape. He was good with plants."
"Is that why he was here?" I'm trying to be gentle, but I can't just not ask.
"Yes, he's been working at the resort for the past five years. He'd landscape for people in towns near, but they had a running contract with him to be here twice a year for upkeep. And if they wanted updates."
The sadness in
his voice is real, and my hand moves toward him on the table before I can stop it. There’s just a brush of fingers against his before I pull back. His eyes fly up to mine. There's an emotion there I'm not prepared to deal with, so I look away. But even I can't ignore the imprint of heat left on my skin after touching him. I try to settle my too-fast heartbeat by breathing in through my nose and out my mouth.
"Do you know of anyone who would want to harm him?" I ask, knowing it's the hardest question, but I have no choice. Dean is silent for a moment, and I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
"I know he had some rivals in the business, but nothing a few compromises couldn't fix."
Just then, the doors to the side room open, and Penny steps through. Her eyes zero in on mine, and she raises her eyebrows. She left the phone behind. I transfer my gaze to the detective, who's now looking at Dean.
"I guess that's my cue, huh?" Dean says, standing up.
"Hey," I say. "Answer truthfully. It's the best thing you can do."
Dean nods, and then he's off, weaving around the tables. Dean doesn't know he's a suspect yet, but he might after he talks to the detective. And I'm about to be in there like a fly on the wall.
8
The moment Dean is in with the detective, I fast walk over to Penny. She's leaning against the wall, near the doors, half hidden by one of the decorative trees. When I stop beside her, she hands me one of the cordless headphones. The moment I put it in my ear, I hear Dean's voice.
“We've kept in contact, but not enough that I would have any information on what he's been doing recently.”
“But you did see him last night?”
“Yes, we were going to meet up for lunch today.”
“So, you didn't have an argument?” Dean doesn't reply right away, which makes me stand up a little straighter. I wish I could see his face. I glance over at Penny, but she simply shrugs.
"Yes, we had an argument," he finally replies.
"About what?"
"His business. He was in the midst of making some kind of deal, and he wanted me on board. I told him I needed more information than vague promises of profit, and he got upset with me."