The Case of the Love Spell Read online

  I get so freaking flustered when I have to talk to him.

  It’s been even worse since he started dating Nathalie Porter, a woman who teaches Equestrian Studies at Hillcrest College. I bet Nathalie never gets nervous enough to break a sweat. I bet Nathalie has never accidentally shot Chris in the arm.

  Perfect Nathalie.

  I’ve tucked the note into my bra, and I tug it out as I trudge up the police station’s steps, my sandals slapping against the granite.

  I have to do this.

  Then, I can cash in on these antiques with a clear conscience. After this awkward exchange with Chris, I’m going to head right for Antique Haven and see what Bess Johnson will pay me for the whole lot.

  Maybe Chris will be out today.

  Maybe he’s taken the day off to go fishing, or out for a hike, or...

  Oh, who am I kidding? Chris is a workaholic. He’s always on duty.

  As I feared, Chris greets me the minute I step into the station. Hillcrest is small. The entire police force is composed of four officers and a chief. Chris is an all-star player on the Hillcrest PD team; he seems to do as much work on his own as the rest of the department combined.

  Chris looks up from his desk with a surprised expression.

  Then he jumps to standing. His six foot two frame towers over his desk. “Penny?”

  “Hi, Chris.”

  “Everything okay?” He asks, suspiciously. “It’s not like you to... are you hurt? You look sick.”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “Oh, no? You sure? You look sort of greenish grey. Like you’ve got food poisoning or something. Not good at all. I mean really, not...”

  “Okay!” I snap. “I get it.” I don’t need Chris to tell me how bad I look, compared to his new model-like girlfriend.

  “Sheesh!” Chris says with a frown.

  As much as I hate to admit it, Chris is good looking. Tall and blonde, with blue-green eyes and a winning smile, when he chooses to deploy it. He used to be the captain of the basketball team, back when we were in high school. I was a few years younger than him, and grew up thinking of him as the definition of ‘hunk.’

  Imagine my surprise when I turned up at police academy and things between he and I started getting hot and heavy. And when I say hot and heavy, I do mean smokin’ hot, and extremely, x-rated heavy. The things we did together...

  Stop! I command myself.

  I feel my cheeks heating up.

  Chris is giving me a confused look—like he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing here besides snapping at him and then freezing in motion like a deranged, drooling zombie.

  “I have something for you,” I stammer, proffering the note.

  He reaches for the folded paper, unfolds it, and then reads it quickly.

  “Where did you get this?” He asks. “Is this a joke?”

  Crap. I’ve been so preoccupied with the idea of seeing Chris that I totally forgot to come up with a ‘smart’ story about the note’s origins. I adjust my glasses, which have slipped down on my nose, hoping the gesture will cause ingenious, smart-girl ideas to pop magically into my mind...

  Nope.

  Chris looks at me pointedly, waiting.

  “I found it,” I say. “Ummm... on the sidewalk.”

  “On the sidewalk?” He lifts one sandy blonde brow. “Really?”

  “Yep.” That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  His eyes lower to the note again.

  I speak while he reads to himself. “You’re going to check it out, right?” I ask. “I mean, it seems like this really warrants an investigation of some sort. At least an autopsy, or maybe question the people closest to her...”

  Chris folds the paper, and then tucks it into his crisp, navy uniform pocket.

  He purses his lips. “Hmm. The sidewalk.” He rocks back on his heels, surveying me.

  Now it’s my turn to frown.

  “Right. Gotta run!” I swivel on my toes and make a beeline for the exit.

  “Penny, wait!” Chris calls, as I flippity flop towards the door.

  Expert liar, I am not. I don’t want to crack under pressure. I ignore him, and bust through the door to freedom.

  Stepping back out into the sunshine, I suck in a breath of the thin mountain air. I did good, right? Yes. Handled that well.

  Very well.

  Not awkward at all.

  Now, it’s time to celebrate my success by bringing this box to Bess at the Antique Haven, to see how many more months in my closet—er, I mean office—I can afford.

  Chapter Two

  I roll my bike up to the curb in front of Bess’s shop and am dismounting when I hear my name.

  “Penny! Hey girl!”

  I look over my shoulder, down the sidewalk, and see Marley heading in my direction. She waves. “Perfect timing! I was starting to think you were going to be late.”

  Marley is tall and curvy in a supermodel kind of way. She has long dark hair, and the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. I’m not just saying that because we’ve been friends since we were five. Or maybe I am.

  “What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Late for what?”

  “The Grand Opening!” Marley says. “Remember, it’s Monday! Annie is doing that whole ribbon-cutting thing at five?”

  Oh, shoot. I’d totally forgotten that our mutual friend and knitting mentor, Annie, was expecting us at her event.

  I grimace. “Do you really think we have to go? The Cafe has been open for years... I don’t really see how giving a business a new name warrants a ribbon cutting ceremony.”

  “Oh, you know how Annie likes a good party,” Marley says. “Besides, aren’t you curious about what the new name is going to be?”

  I am sort of curious.

  Annie’s had the front of her shop, which used to be simply ‘Annie’s Cafe,’ closed off with caution tape and draped with tarps and sheets for the past month. No one, including her beloved knitting circle, could even so much as peek inside.

  I nod. “Yeah. She’s been pretty mysterious about the whole renovation thing,” I agree. “Okay. This can wait.” I motion to the back of my bike.

  “What can wait?” Asks Marley, walking towards the box and peering in. “What is all this stuff?”

  “Antiques. I was going to bring them into Bess’s and pawn them for cash.”

  Marley looks like she wants to paw through the goods just as I did when I first saw them, but she pulls back and checks her watch.

  “It’s almost five,” she says. “Let’s go before all the food and wine runs out.” She rubs her hands together, contemplating the free bootie we’re about to plunder. “Annie said she’s serving drinks and appetizers.”

  There’s a familiar glint in Marley’s eye. I see it whenever there’s wine in the vicinity. The girl loves her vino.

  Our friend Annie’s little cafe is just around the corner. I roll my bike along with us as we walk, so that I can keep an eye on the antiques that are going to pay my office rent. Luckily, I inherited my little apartment from my mother when she passed a few years back, so I never have to worry about paying apartment rent. It’s a good thing, because I can barely afford my office rent plus food. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to pay for my pad, too. Maybe I’d live in a van, like Marley.

  Not that she does it for financial reasons. She actually likes living in her van. I know, because I’ve offered to share my apartment with her about a hundred million times. She always says no.

  “Where’d you get the antiques?” Marley asks.

  “Gunther brought them in to my office. Gunther Larson,” i answer.

  “Gunther of Larson Property Management? Why?”

  I think back over Gunther’s strange attitude during his visit. “He said that Claudine Terra left him some valuables in her will. He gave them to me in exchange for delivering a note to the police.”

  “What? Penny, that’s such good luck! The Universe seriously has your back. I mean, now you won�
��t have to move out.”

  I’ve been crying on Marley’s shoulder about my impending move for the past week. She knows how upset I’ve been over it.

  I grin. “It’s good timing,” I agree.

  Marley points to a small crowd gathered down the sidewalk. “Look at that! Annie’s got herself an audience.” She looks at me and wiggles her eyebrows. “You’re going to have to tell me more about Gunther and his visit over a glass of wine.”

  “Or two,” I say. Okay, maybe I’m a fan of the vino too.

  Marley keeps talking. “I’m not surprised Gunther visited you actually. He must be super upset about Claudine’s death. I mean, he spent practically every night up at her place—every night except Saturdays.”

  We’re just ten feet from the ribbon cutting now. I stop in my tracks.

  “What do you mean?” I demand.

  Marley keeps moving forward, pulled in by the promise of wine and the hope of a cheese platter. She glances over her shoulder at me. “Gunther and Claudine. They were a couple.”

  “They were?” I shuffle a little to catch up with her. “But she was in her seventies and he’s only fifty-something!”

  “So?” Marley says. “The heart wants what the heart wants. I’m telling you, I saw him hike up Hillcrest pass almost every night around eight or nine, and he didn’t hike down again until seven in the morning. Claudine’s is the only house up there. The only night he didn’t go was Saturdays.”

  “He hiked? Why not drive his nice pick-up?” I ask.

  Marley shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t want the world to know he was seeing her. I’m probably the only one who noticed.”

  Since Marley parks her van at the old mine at the base of Hillcrest Pass, which was practically Claudine’s driveway, I don’t doubt this. No one else would notice a lone man hiking up the pass in the cover of darkness.

  “Since when?” I ask. “How long has this been happening?”

  “Oh I don’t know... since last summer? So it’s been about a year. Ever since he broke up with that crazy lady, Buttercup, and that happened at the Life Savers Ball.”

  “Ug... the Life Savers Ball,” I say, slapping my forehead. Her mention of the annual event reminds me that it’s coming up at the end of the week. The dance, which is a fundraiser for all of the first responders in town, happens yearly on the last Friday in July.

  Marley laughs. “Your favorite town happening,” she says, sarcastically.

  “Let’s not talk about it,” I say. “Wait... do you mean Buttercup, my vet?” I ask.

  Marley nods, and asks sarcastically, “Is there another Buttercup in this town?” She rolls her eyes, and adds, “Though why you trust your cat with her, I’ll never know.”

  “She’s the only vet in town,” I say. “And she’s always been pretty good with Turkey.”

  It was true. Turkey’s vet was a nut job, but she always managed to ‘fix’ Turkey when he was broken, like when he got into a run-in with a dog from unit B, and had a bite mark on his back. Because of all that she’d done for Turkey, I liked her even though I knew she was a bit looney.

  While still thinking over what Marley’s just told me, I say, “I didn’t realize Gunther and Buttercup were an item either.”

  “For a private investigator, you’re not very observant,” Marley jokes.

  I swat at her, and she jumps away to avoid my hand.

  We walk in silence for a few feet, and then I ask the question that’s on my mind. “Why not Saturdays? You said that he hikes up to see Claudine under the cover of darkness every evening except for Saturdays...”

  Marley thinks this over for a minute. “He probably stays away that night because he doesn’t want to be there in the morning. Every Sunday, Claudine has another visitor.”

  “Who?”

  “Her niece, Lucy Wilbur,” Marley says. “Lucy drives up there every Sunday morning like clock-work. I’m guessing that if Gunther wanted to keep his affair with Claudine private, he wouldn’t want to be around when the niece visits.”

  “Makes sense,” I say.

  We arrive at the edge of the crowd, so I keep my voice low and lean in to Marley’s ear. “But are we really sure that Gunther and Claudine were an item? Maybe Gunther was renting a room from Claudine,” I say. “That doesn’t exactly mean they were dating.”

  “I guess it’s a possibility,” Marley whispers back. “But I think it was a booty call. The timing is too good... I mean, he was with Buttercup and then, bam!” She snaps her fingers together “they break up and he’s jaunting up to Claudine’s every night. I bet Claudine was the reason he broke up with Buttercup.”

  “You have a good imagination. I think that’s why we get along so well,” I say, just as Annie’s cackling voice rises up above the hushed chatter of the crowd.

  The entire front of the cafe is still draped in tarps and sheets. Annie’s nephews are standing on either side of the establishment, poised on rickety old wooden ladders, ready to pull away the sheets. Between the ladders, Annie has strung up a wide, bright red ribbon. She’s standing front and center, a pair of shiny silver shears in hand.

  “Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!” As she addresses our little gathering, she sweeps her hand back and forth.

  Annie has always had a flair for the dramatic. She’s putting on quite the show for us.

  “Welcome, welcome... as you all know, I’ve owned and operated this cafe for well over a decade. This cafe has become a place for members of our community to share a cup of coffee, a laugh, a story or two.”

  A solitary applause rises up from the midst of the crowd. I scan the familiar faces, and note Cora, clapping her slender, tanned and ring-studded hands together.

  Besides being Ken Wilbur’s secretary at his law office, Cora is a Zumba instructor extraordinaire. I mean it. Marley practically had to drag me to my first class, but after sweating to ‘Dancing Queen’ in step with a pack of other ladies, I was hooked. It’s now a highlight of my week.

  Cora also happens to be a member of our Wednesday afternoon Knitting Circle, which explains her presence at this cheesy ribbon-cutting. All of Annie’s knitting protégés—Cora, Marley, and me—want to be here to support our mentor.

  Cora is smiling and clapping enthusiastically as Annie pauses dramatically.

  Cora’s applause catches. Soon we’re all clapping politely while Annie soaks up our praise.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Annie says, as the scattered applause dies away. “I feel so honored to provide a gathering place for our community. Which is why I am so excited to bring you this latest development. I’ve decided to re-name my establishment.”

  Another dramatic pause.

  More scattered applause.

  Annie continues. “Annie’s Cafe is no longer. In its place, I offer you...” she turns and nods to one nephew. He’s staring down at his fingernails, apparently fascinated by a hangnail. She claps to get his attention. His head jerks up and she gives him a second nod.

  “Now, Aunt Annie?” He asks.

  “Now, Tommy,” Annie says. She swivels her head in the other direction, where her second nephew has also snapped to attention. “Me too?” He asks.

  Again, she nods. “We went over this, remember?”

  “Mine’s stuck!” Tommy complains, from the other side.

  Annie marches over to him and shoos him off of the ladder. Oversized scissors still in hand, she mounts the ladder and climbs heroically upwards until she can reach the ropes dangling down from the highest corner of one of the tarps.

  After quite a few vigorous yanks, she manages to pull it down. Her second nephew has been struggling as well, but just as the tarp on Annie’s side falls downwards, the other side does too.

  A collective gasp rises up from all of us in the crowd. My hand flies up to cover my mouth.

  There, plastered across the front of her cafe, are giant letters that spell out the cafe’s new name: Death Cafe.

  Marley turns to me with rounded eyes.

  I
shrug in return.

  Annie is descending the ladder and returning to her position in the center of the stretched out ribbon.

  She widens the scissors around the red ribbon and then snaps them closed. The ribbon parts, sweeping the sidewalk as it flutters to a resting position.

  The crowd is silent.

  Annie looks out at us. “That’s it!” She says. “The Death Cafe is now open for business!”

  I raise my hands and bring them together with one crisp clap. Again. Clap, clap, clap.

  I’m the only one. I nudge Marley, who is standing frozen at my side with her jaw hanging open.

  Her eyes are still wide, but she takes my cue. When her applause joins mine, our efforts finally pay off. Others follow suit.

  Annie grins.

  “I knew you all would like it,” she says. She turns and with a wave of her arm beckons us to follow. “Come in, come in!”

  “Do you think Annie’s having some kind of end-of-life crisis?” Marley whispers, as we funnel through the door way along with the others.

  “End-of-life?” I ask. “She’s not that old. And is that really a thing?”

  I look around the newly renovated space as we enter. I was half expecting the place to be decked out in a morbid motif, like black walls with cobwebs stenciled on. Instead of haunted house decor, I see bright, sunny colors, pretty white tablecloths, and fresh flowers on every surface-area.

  I continue. “I mean, I’ve heard of mid-life crisis... but end-of-life?”

  “Sure,” Marley says, looking around just like me. “It’s a thing. I heard about it on a documentary. It was about all of these people with terminal illnesses.”

  “Annie doesn’t have a terminal illness.”

  “No, but she is getting older. Maybe deep down she’s struggling with depression over the fact that she will inevitably—”

  “Girls! You made it!” Annie swoops towards us, and Marley snaps her mouth shut mid-sentence.

  Annie has two glasses of white wine in hand. “Have a drink, on the house,” she offers.

  Marley excuses herself to use the restroom, which leaves me alone with Annie.