The Case of the Power Spell Page 10

  “Okay,” I say. “Then what?”

  “Ralph told me to get started on the prep work. We had a bunch of salads to make, and those take a lot of time; tuna, potato, pasta... pretty intensive, you know. I put on some tunes and got to chopping. When Cliff came in, he found Joe in the walk in.”

  “So, you’re saying Ralph told you Joe wasn’t in for the day? And Ralph says he called Joe, but Joe didn’t answer?” I ask, to make sure I heard him right.

  “Yeah,” Glenn says. We reach the door, and he places his hand on the handle.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Glenn says. “If no one had told me that Joe was out for the day, I would have called him myself. My guess is that Joe was already stuck in the deep freezer when Ralph came in, or something. Ralph must not have known.”

  Hunh, I think, as I watch Glenn pull the door open.

  “Coming in?” he asks, holding the door open for me.

  Beyond him, I can see the back of Max’s head.

  “No!” I say, a bit too loud. “Glenn—before you go in, I just have one more question,” I say.

  Glenn looks longingly into the bar. The man is thirsty for his post-shift beer, I can see. “Is Ralph a good boss?” I ask.

  Glenn shrugs. “He’s alright,” he says. “He takes off on the weekends sometimes, which can be a pain because those are our busiest days—Saturdays and Sundays. And he doesn’t help out as much around the kitchen as Cliff did, but, eh,” he shrugs. “As far as bosses go, things could be worse.”

  “Where does he go?” I ask. “When he takes off.”

  “Up to his cabin on Rainbow lake,” Glenn answers. “To fish. He’s always inviting people up there with him. I think he’s pretty proud of the place.”

  “I didn’t know there were cabins on Rainbow lake,” I say, thinking of the alpine lake about a mile up a trail to the north of town. “There isn’t even a road that goes up there.”

  As I’m trying to remember what I can about the lake, Rebecca, our town librarian squeezes past Glenn to get to the sidewalk. I make room for her and then return to my place.

  “Yeah, you have to hike up, and there’s only one cabin,” Glenn says. “It’s in Ralph’s family—he inherited it. It was put up before the lake was turned into a water reserve. I’ve fished up there—lots of rainbow trout.”

  I change topics before Glenn can start talking fishing, which I know from experience with other mountain men can turn into quite the tangent. I want to squeeze all the info out of Glenn that I can, while I’ve got him. I don’t want to chit chat about where the good fishing is. “Do you think Mayor Haywater was going to choose Joe over Ralph, before the ‘accident’ with the freezer occurred?” I ask.

  Glenn looks over his shoulder into the bar again, and waves as he spots a friend. He seems distracted when he looks back to me. I’m losing him!

  “I thought you said one more question?” Glenn asks me.

  “Please, Glenn,” I beg. “This is important.”

  Glenn sighs. “Okay—do I think Mayor Haywater was going to choose Joe or Ralph. You know, I was pretty sure Cliff was going to go with Joe. All of us were, actually. I think the entire staff is pretty surprised to be reporting to Ralph now, but we’re making it work. Now, I really need a beer.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but before I can speak the OP door is closing in my face.

  My mind begins turning over what I just learned.

  Ralph knew that Joe didn’t turn up for work? Ralph called Joe, to see where he was?

  This is not what Ralph reported, earlier today. Ralph was adamant that he had gone straight to the office, and had no idea that Joe was missing. Ralph said that he had worked right up until the paramedics arrived.

  Ralph’s and Glenn’s stories don’t match. One of them has to be lying, I think, as I steer my bike in another U-turn.

  But who?

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, I’m heading down the walkway towards the sidewalk in front of my apartment unit when I catch sight of a head of blue hair, bobbing up and down, behind a very full cardboard box.

  I recognize that blue hair.

  Pausing, I wait for the woman to slow down. As she passes by me, I look over. Yep. It’s Azure Spincraft, leader of the Air Coven of witches.

  Azure and I met in July, when I was first learning about my witchy abilities. Back then, she wanted to steal ASBW from me, and take over the portal into Hillcrest. She thought it was dangerous to have a portal into the Earth Realm guarded by inexperienced witches.

  “Azure?” I say, as our eyes meet.

  She sets the box down with a thud.

  Azure is slender and pretty, and about my age. Her long blue hair is pulled up in a bun, held in place with Chinese chopsticks. She’s wearing purple lipstick.

  “Penny! Fancy running into you here,” she says with a mischievous glint in her pale blue eyes.

  “I live right upstairs,” I say. “You know that. You tried to break into my apartment to steal my book, remember?”

  “Ha! Your book. As if a book that has been around for millennia could really belong to you.”

  “It’s in my possession,” I argue. “Claudine Terra gave it to me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “The book says that I’m destined to become a witch. It’s my destiny, Azure. Don’t act like it’s a mistake.”

  “Are you sure it’s your destiny to be a witch?” she asks. “Wouldn’t you be better at it, if it was really your destiny?”

  I don’t have a response to this, so I point to her box again. “What are you doing here, with that box?” I ask.

  “Oh, this,” she says. “This is just a portion of my herbs and tinctures collection. About a fifth of it, actually.”

  I eye the box. It’s about three feet wide, and three feet tall. “That’s a lot of herbs,” I say. And then, “Why are you carrying all that around here?” I ask.

  “I’m moving in,” Azure says, motioning to the door we’ve stopped in front of. It’s unit B.

  Crap.

  “Excuse me?” I say.

  “I think you heard me,” Azure says. She places a hand on the hip of her skinny jeans and turns her purple lips down into a pout. “What’s wrong, you don’t want to have me as a neighbor?”

  “You can’t be moving in here,” I say. “You’re an air witch. Don’t you live in another realm?”

  “I’m not moving in full time,” Azure says. “Goddess, no. This place is... ug,” she makes a face as she looks around. “So earthy. Look at this, dirt, rocks, grass, wood, rusty steel.”

  She gives the corrugated siding of the building a rap with her knuckles. “I feel about a hundred pounds heavier the minute I enter through the portal.”

  “I believe that’s rusty tin,” I say. I don’t like the way she’s talking about my home. What’s wrong with dirt, rocks, and grass? True, I’ve never been anywhere else, but the Earth Realm doesn’t seem so bad to me.

  “Steel... tin, whatever,” Azure says. “It’s all metal to me. Heavy metal. Where I’m from, there is nothing this dense. Honestly, I don’t know how you live with it full time. I’m going to have to take a lightness-tincture every few hours just to sustain myself.”

  “If you think it’s so horrible here, why are you moving in part time?” I ask.

  “Someone has to keep an eye on this portal,” she says. “As it is now, anyone can enter through it. I don’t love the Earth Realm, but I also don’t want it to be destroyed. If a being from one of the dark realms chooses to come in through that portal, they could wreak havoc... not just in Hillcrest, but anywhere on Earth that they wanted to.”

  “My coven and I can defend Hillcrest,” I say. “And... the Earth. We’re not helpless, you know.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Really? I think that a goblin from the Fire Realm could waltz in here and do whatever he wanted, and you wouldn’t know where to begin in stopping him. It would be easy for him... too easy. Like stealing Payday can
dy bars from the Hillcrest Market.”

  Wait just one minute. That reference is far too specific.

  I narrow my eyes. “Have you been watching me?” I ask.

  She waves a hand. “Oh, don’t act so offended. It’s a simple spy-glass spell. You’ll be doing it all the time once you get the hang of it.”

  “That’s an invasion of my privacy!” I say.

  Just how much has she been spying on me? Clearly, she knows what I’ve been up to at work. What about at home?

  Has she been watching me while I’m in the apartment?

  In my bedroom?

  In the—oh, no—the bathroom? I spend five minutes a day doing mirror work, like Jumper Strongheart instructs in his book ‘A More Confident You’. As per the instructions he offers, I stare into the mirror and repeat: ‘I am confident! I am strong! I am unstoppable!’

  And yes, sometimes it turns into chanting, or perhaps even a song or two—complete with hairbrush microphone.

  “Nice singing, by the way,” Azure says, confirming my worst fears. She has been spying on me during my special bathroom time!

  “That is so not cool!” I say.

  “There’s no such thing as privacy for witches, Penny,” Azure says. “Not that you’re a real witch or anything, but since you’re pathetically trying to be one, you’d better know that. It’s not one of the three P’s, is it?”

  I have to think for a minute. Patience. Persistence. Playfulness.

  “No...” I shake my head.

  She continues. “That’s because it goes out the window when you enter into the profession. Telepathy is pretty much mind reading, and every witch has a familiar, which is basically an extension of self. Then, there’s the bonding that happens between a coven... you know, shared energy and all of that.”

  She waves a hand nonchalantly. “Only humans believe in privacy, and it’s one of the four things that keeps them ridiculously limited.”

  “Four things?” I repeat. “I think Max was just telling me about that. What are the others?”

  “You are so not ready to know that,” Azure says.

  Now it’s my turn to pout. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?” I ask. “I am ready! I wouldn’t be putting myself through all of this if I wasn’t ready. This isn’t exactly easy, you know, or fun.”

  I’m thinking of Chris, now. It definitely isn’t fun feeling different than him. My pout sinks into a full-on frown.

  “Oh, cheer up,” Azure says. “Being a witch is the best calling out there. You’ll know that if you ever actually become one. Which, I doubt you will.”

  Then she reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a small twig. She waves it at Unit B’s door and says, “Reserare!”

  The door flies open.

  “Door handles are so unhygienic,” she mutters, as she stoops to pick up the box. “And who has the patience for house keys?”

  “Not me,” I say.

  “Well, nice chatting with you. I’ve got some unpacking to do. I can feel my lightness-tincture wearing off.”

  With that, she disappears into the apartment.

  Great.

  What a way to start my day! I’m filled with so much doubt that I almost want to run upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom for a round of ‘I am confident, I am strong!” work. Maybe I’ll add in, ‘It is my destiny to be a witch!’

  It’s going to take a while for that one to feel true.

  Jumper says that if you keep on repeating something, eventually your mind starts to accept it. He calls it an affirmation.

  I really do think that saying ‘I am confident’ while staring into the mirror has helped me. I used to feel like an absolute liar when I said it, and now I only feel like I’m stretching the truth.

  If I affirmed that it was my destiny to be a witch over and over, would it eventually be true?

  Will the word ‘destiny’ ever stop feeling too big and grand, for little old me?

  Since I’m already off to a late start, I decide against retreating to my bathroom for mirror work. Instead, I repeat the mantra in my head as I ride to my supply closet—I mean office!

  At my desk, I stare down at my list of suspects. And stare. And stare. And stare.

  A whole hour goes by this way.

  Joe Gallant: Murder Suspects

  Ralph

  Glenn

  Cliff

  Melanie

  While I look at the names, I’m going over all the information that I’ve gathered so far.

  The whole mess reminds me a lot of the tangled yarn that’s stuffed in my desk drawer, out of sight. I wish I could put this jumbled mess of clues out of mind, too, but I can’t.

  For one thing, I really owe Cliff an update on the case. For another, I’m more sure than ever before that Joe Gallant was murdered. Why else would I have uncovered so many lies?

  Ralph and Glenn told me different stories, so one of them is hiding something. On top of that, Melanie was acting very suspicious.

  There has to be something more going on.

  I’m onto something big—and I may be the only one. According to Chris, the police have written off Joe’s death as an accident.

  But if he was murdered, that means that there is a killer in Hillcrest.

  I may not yet be a witch, yet, but I am a certified private investigator. I can figure this out. It’s my job.

  I just have to think.

  And knit.

  I think better, when my hands are busy.

  I take out my scarf project, and begin working furiously.

  My scarf, which is already too long, starts to grow. The crooked, bumpy monstrosity is pooling on the floor by the time its two o’clock, and my phone rings.

  I look at the screen.

  Shoot.

  It’s Cliff Haywater!

  I’m not ready to talk to him. I’m aware that I have to tell him about the divorce papers, but I don’t know how! Panicking, I hit the button on the side of my phone that will forward him to voicemail.

  The ringing stops.

  Phew! That was a close one.

  I pick up my needles, and just as I begin to knit, the ringing starts up again.

  It’s Cliff, a second time!

  No!

  I forward it to voicemail, feeling extra guilty as I do so.

  When he calls a third time, I cringe. Crap. I really can’t avoid this call, can I?

  I pick up.

  “Hello?” I say, tentatively.

  “Penny! Good, I caught you. This is Cliff Haywater.”

  As if I didn’t know. “Hi Cliff. I’ve been meaning to call you, actually,” I say.

  “Oh, you have? Good! Do you know where she is?” he asks.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “What do you mean, who? My wife!” He sounds annoyed. “You’ve been keeping an eye on her, haven’t you?”

  “Keeping an eye on her? No, Mayor Haywater. I haven’t been watching your wife. I don’t do surveillance like that. You can’t find her?”

  “She said she’d be home from her nail appointment by lunch time. She was going to make quiche, and we were going to have lunch together at noon. It was important. But now it’s two in the afternoon!”

  “It is?” Whew! Time flies when you’re thinking and knitting. “I’m sure she’s fine,” I say. “Why was lunch so important?”

  He doesn’t answer me. “So, you have no idea where she is?” he asks.

  “None,” I say.

  “But you did call that Express Travel company, about the ticket?” he asks.

  I bite my lip. “No,” I say, after a moment.

  “Oh. You talked to Gale, though? I’m sure she had some insight into all of this.”

  “Um... I haven’t gotten to that either, quite yet,” I say.

  He’s quiet for a moment, so I interject. “Why was lunch so important, Cliff?” I ask again.

  This time he answers. “I was going to give her a gift,” he says. “I got us two plane tickets to Hawaii. Oahu, actually.
I just bought them this morning, they were on sale. I was going to surprise her with them.”

  “Oh.” Maybe I should have told him about the divorce papers yesterday after all. “Are those tickets refundable, by any chance?” I ask

  “Refundable? No! It’s for a trip next week. Melanie is always saying how I work too much, and I thought surprising her with a vacation would be just the thing to cheer her up. I have a hotel booked, too. It was all a lot to arrange in such a short notice. She’s going to have to clear her schedule, which is why I wanted to tell her today.”

  Since Melanie doesn’t work, I’m sure clearing her schedule is going to be the least of her concerns. Canceling a few hair and nail appointments surely won’t be that difficult to do. As I think about Melanie’s schedule, the memory of her planner pops into my mind. I really have to talk to Bess about the Melanie’s visit to the Antique Haven on the day that Joe died.

  Cliff continues. “But now, I don’t know where she is. I called the nail salon and they said she left four hours ago!”

  “Maybe she went for a walk in the park,” I say. “Or to the market...”

  “It’s not like Melanie,” Cliff says. “I know my wife. When she says she’ll be somewhere, she’s there. She told me she would be home at eleven fifteen. She even asked me to defrost the quiche, so that it would be ready for her to bake. Now it’s sitting on the counter-top. It was sweating out little drops of water, and now it’s resting in a wet pool. It’s getting warm and I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “Put it in the refrigerator,” I suggest. “I’m sure she’ll be home soon, and she can bake it then.”

  I want to hang up, but Cliff isn’t going to let me get away that easily.

  “If you haven’t been watching my wife, and you haven’t called Express Travel, and you haven’t talked to Gale, what exactly have you been doing?” he asks.

  I bounce a little bit on my Swiss ball, nervously.

  “Uh... er... I’ve been... well, I did talk to your wife, sir,” I say.

  Should I tell him about the divorce papers? Now? I can picture him, standing in his kitchen next to the sad, defrosted, sweaty quiche. It almost breaks my heart.