The Case of the Banishing Spell Read online

  “Does Jumper Strongheart have a book out on manners?” Turkey asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I pull open the refrigerator. “Why do you ask?”

  “You must stop using your hand as a napkin. It’s absolutely unhygienic. Unladylike. Uncivilized.”

  “Turkey,” I say.

  “Thomas,” Turkey corrects me.

  I sigh. This is a battle we’ll never stop fighting. My cat told me months ago, when we first started communicating, that his preferred name is Thomas Edison Fullbright.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I respect that you want to be called Thomas, but you’re always going to be my precious little Turkey Werky to me.”

  I lean over the countertop and give his head a few pats.

  He closes his eyes as I rub his head. He can’t help it. He loves it.

  I finish up with a few strokes down his back and then return my attention to the fridge. When I spot the soymilk, I pull it out.

  While I pour a bowl of cereal I say, “Turkey, manners are silly conventions. They’re cultural rules that keep us busy while more important things slip by. You, of all cats, should know that.”

  “And why is that?” Turkey asks.

  “Because... you chose your name. Thomas Edison Fullbright. I assume that your choice had something to do with the original Thomas Edison?”

  “A worthy namesake,” Turkey says proudly.

  I take a seat with my bowl of cereal and begin stirring it a little bit with my spoon. I like it when the choco-puffs soak up the soymilk.

  “Well,” I say, as I stir, “What about that great quote... your namesake said something like: ‘There ain’t no rules around here! We’re trying to accomplish somep’n’.” I raise my telepathic voice theatrically, doing my best Thomas Edison impression—though I really have no idea how the man really sounded.

  I have a good imagination though, and I really play it up. As I recite the quote, I wave my soymilk covered spoon in the air and little splashes of soymilk fly around the counter. Some land on my laptop. Shoot. Turkey dodges the soy shower by jumping to the floor.

  I put my spoon back into my cereal and dig up a soggy scoop. “I’d replace the word ‘rules’ with ‘manners’,” I say. “I don’t have time for manners because I’m trying to accomplish something. Something important. Something urgent. Just like Thomas Edison back in his laboratory.”

  Turkey slinks over to his water dish. “I don’t care to debate this one with you, Penelope,” he says curtly.

  I smile. I know that his surrender means that I’ve won.

  Turkey starts lapping up water.

  “Aren’t you curious about what I’m trying to accomplish?” I ask.

  “I’m curious about a lot of things,” Turkey says. “For starters, I’m very curious about when my dinner might be served.”

  I laugh. Really! My cat is a hoot. I abandon my cereal mid-bite and walk over to the pantry. “Right now, Sir Thomas,” I say.

  “There! You did it,” Turkey says. “Was that so hard?”

  I laugh again. As I pour out Finicky Feline Feast into his bowl, he says, “Fine. I’ll admit it. I am curious about what you’re trying to accomplish.”

  “I have a new case,” I say.

  I peel the top off of a can of wet food, and then scoop a dollop of the stuff out into his dish.

  “That’s wonderful!” Turkey says. His mood is improving now that food is in sight. I know how that is. I’ve been struck by a case of the ‘hangrys’ more than once.

  Turkey begins lapping up food while I continue to fill him in. “It’s a good one, too,” I say. “No dead bodies; no failing marriages.”

  “At least not yet,” Turkey says.

  I reach for the countertop. It’s linoleum, not wood, but it’s the closest thing to wood within arm’s reach at the moment, so I give it a quick rap with my knuckles. “Right. At least not yet. Knock on wood,” I say.

  “So if there’s no dead bodies and no failing marriages, what’s the case about? What’s the problem? Stolen goods?” he guesses.

  “Nope—nothing stolen, so far,” I say. I give the countertop another little knock. Then I return to my barstool and lift my spoon. “It’s kind of a weird case, because nothing really wrong has happened yet. Except, of course, the bloody paw print. I have no idea where the blood came from.”

  Turkey looks up from his meal. “Blood?” he says. I detect a nervous tremor in his telepathic tone.

  I nod. “Yep. Blood, for sure. I saw the picture.”

  “On a paw print?” asks Turkey. “What kind of paw print was it? Are we talking small, critter paws, or large—meat-eating paws?” He gives an involuntary shudder.

  “That’s what I asked!” I say. “Neville—you know Neville, down at the inn? That’s where the print was found—he thinks it’s a wolf paw print. I’m thinking werewolf.”

  “Werewolf!” Turkey gives another little shudder.

  “Yeah. Werewolf. I think he might have come through the portal. I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I want to figure it out. Do you see now why I don’t have time for napkins?” I say. “Marley and I are planning a stakeout of the inn tonight.”

  Turkey starts pacing the kitchen floor. “Stakeout... as in overnight surveillance?”

  “Correct,” I say.

  “But you failed that quiz in your PI program!” Turkey says.

  “I only got a few questions wrong,” I say.

  “Six wrong,” Turkey says. “Out of ten.”

  “How do you remember that?” I ask.

  “I’ve been going over some of the online modules,” Turkey says. “Just as a refresher. Something you could do, too, if you woke up earlier.”

  “All right, not that again,” I say.

  “I’m not trying to nag you,” Turkey says. “I’m simply pointing out the facts. You can’t go rushing into this without being prepared. You’ve never done overnight surveillance before. Remember the beginning of that lesson? Your instructor went over the reasons why surveillance can be so dangerous...”

  “Of course I remember that,” I say, waving my hand in the air to brush off Turkey’s concern.

  It’s not true. I don’t remember the introduction to that lesson at all.

  Maybe my cat has a point. Maybe I do need a refresher.

  “I remember why surveillance can be dangerous,” I fib. “There was that thing about...” I let the transmission trail off, hoping that my cat will pick up where I’ve left off.

  Luckily, he does. “...how surveillance can lead to confrontation,” Turkey says.

  “Right. Confrontation. And...”

  “Violence,” Turkey supplies. “And therefore, injury. Surveillance can be mechanical or human. Your instructor said that mechanical surveillance carries far less risk. Why don’t you just set up some kind of spy gear? Like a camera, or—”

  “You know I can’t afford spy gear,” I say. “Not while I’m still getting my business off of the ground.” I stand up and cart my cereal bowl over to the sink.

  “You’ve been getting your business off of the ground for the last five years,” Turkey says.

  “I know!” I say. Then, softening my tone, I say. “So, it’s taken a bit longer to launch my career than I would have hoped, but—“

  I place my bowl into the sink with a bang. Then I look down at my cat. He’s looking up at me with his big green eyes.

  “Hey, aren’t we supposed to be on the same team here?” I ask. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “I am on your team,” Turkey says. “That’s why I’m bringing this to your attention.”

  I glance at the clock on my oven. It’s ten minutes to seven. “I know you don’t mean to nag me, Turkey,” I say. “But pointing out all of my flaws is kind of nagging. Don’t you think?”

  “I just want you to be safe,” Turkey says.

  I walk to him and pick him up. “I’m going to do my best,” I say. “That’s all any of us can do, right?”


  Turkey starts to purr. Between purrs, he says. “Okay, human surveillance it is.”

  “It might be kind of fun,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to do a stakeout. It’ll be like in the movies—Marley and I will sit in her van. She has that cool pair of binoculars... we’ll bring snacks.”

  “And you’ll watch the inn?” Turkey asks.

  “Yes. With any luck, there will be some action tonight. Neville and Dawn say that they heard the front door to the inn slam closed last night. Then, Neville saw two wolves out on the sidewalk. I’m hoping something like that happens again.”

  “Only you, Penelope, would hope to see werewolves.”

  I stroke his back, in the way that he likes. He snuggles against me.

  “I know,” I say. “It’s weird. But if there are werewolves in town, I really want to know about it before anything bad happens. What are they doing here in Hillcrest? What do they want? I have to find out before anything goes wrong. I feel responsible.”

  “You’re a good person,” Turkey says. Then, as if second guessing his word choice, he adds, “And a good witch.”

  “And you’re a good familiar,” I say.

  “I try,” Turkey says. “Sometimes it’s not the easiest job in the world.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’ll try to make it easier on you... How about this. I’ll wake up earlier. Starting—” I almost say ‘tomorrow’, but then I remember that I’ll be out late tonight. “Starting... next week,” I say. “How’s that?”

  “It’s something,” Turkey says.

  I grin. “Progress,” I say. I lean down and give him a kiss on the forehead just as there’s a knock on the door. “That would be Marley!” I sing.

  The next half hour passes in a frenzy of surveillance preparation. Marley takes a shower while I blast music—mostly Michael Jackson—in an attempt to get pumped up about the evening’s events.

  Then we both slurp down mugs of hot coffee, while Marley shows me how to do the moonwalk. Yes, we get slightly off track, but then at the last minute we pull ourselves together and make our way down to her van.

  By seven thirty-five, we’re parked in front of the Hillcrest Inn. The sun has set, and moonlight bathes the streets and sidewalks. We’ve positioned the van just across from the inn, a few parking spots away from the front gate.

  While Marley fidgets with a pair of binoculars, I voice some concerns that have been bouncing around my mind since the afternoon.

  “It’s weird that no one has seen them,” I say. “Isn’t it weird? I mean, Raul arrived on Tuesday morning. That was two whole days ago. What has he been doing for two whole days?”

  Marley puts the binoculars down. “I feel like we’re spies or something,” she says, as though she hasn’t heard a word I just said. “And this is our mission. What if we were from another country? What if we had accents? What if we had super-secret code names?”

  “Marley,” I say. “I love the idea of secret code names. I mean really. I love it. But we have to be a tiny bit serious.” I hold up my thumb and forefinger, an inch apart. “Surveillance is one of the most dangerous tasks that a PI does. I learned that in my online program. Things can go really wrong.”

  Marley stares at me blankly.

  I continue. “I was communicating with Turkey, and he was reminding me about all of this stuff I learned in class. You know—surveillance can lead to confrontation, and...”

  Marley frowns. I know this isn’t what she wants to hear. It’s not really what I want to talk about either, but it must be said.

  “This isn’t a game,” I say. “This is real.” I’m trying to sound like an adult, but at the same time, I want to feel excited and happy with my friend. Then, I feel a grin breaking out. “But code names could be useful...” My mind starts to wander. Black Hawk? Panther? Orion? Smurfette?

  Suddenly, I spot a figure walking towards us. It’s a man; he’s muscular and stocky.

  Now, Marley’s van windows aren’t tinted or anything, and we’ve parked right beneath a street light. The moon is also very bright tonight. I know that the people on the street can see us.

  “Marley,” I say from between my teeth. “That’s him! Raul! He’s walking down the sidewalk!”

  Marley puts the binoculars up to her eyes and turns to look up the sidewalk, just as I say, “Don’t look!”

  She’s staring at Raul, and I am too. I know we shouldn’t be.

  Raul is looking down at the sidewalk as he walks. There’s a slight limp to his gait. His hands are stuffed in his pockets; he looks like he’s thinking about something. I slouch down in the van seat, while keeping my eyes on him. “Check out that back pack,” I say. He’s closer to us now, about to pass by the van.

  “Big,” Marley says.

  “Yeah. Looks like a hiking pack.”

  “Maybe he’s been out in the woods,” Marley says. She’s still looking through the binoculars, though they’re totally unnecessary. “His pants look kind of dirty, too. See how the knees are all smudged? I wonder if—oh, shoot, Penny, he’s looking over here. He’s looking at us!” Marley slouches down too.

  “Pretend you’re busy,” I say urgently.

  “Doing what?” Marley asks, her tone just as urgent. She’s trying to take the binoculars off of her neck, but the strap is tangled in her hair. “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh no!” she whispers, as she works to free the strap. “I think he’s coming over this way!” Finally, she frees the binoculars and pushes them under her seat.

  “Don’t look at him!” I say again. “Here!” I reach behind us, and find a bag of chips. I toss it to her. “Open this! Let’s pretend we just stopped here for a picnic. Pretend I’m making a joke. Marley, look at me!”

  I can see out of the corner of my eye that Raul has indeed crossed the street. He’s looking directly at the van.

  “Oh, Penny! That’s so funny. Ha, ha, ha, HA!” Marley says stiffly. She reaches in the bag of chips, and pulls one out. Her eyes are wide and her motions are robot-like. She couldn’t be acting more suspicious if she tried.

  I try to play my part. I think I’m a better actress than Marley. “And then the other one said, ‘that’s why they swim in the Dead Sea’!”

  “Ha!” Marley says, her eyes like saucers. She crams a chip mechanically into her mouth, and crumbs fly out in every direction, as if she’s Cookie Monster. “The Dead Sea!” she repeats.

  She reaches for another chip, and it meets the same fate as the first—turning into hundreds of little crumbs that rain like confetti over her lap.

  Now I see Raul’s face, in the drivers’ side window.

  “Uh, Marley,” I say. “I think he wants to talk to us.”

  “Hunh?” Marley turns abruptly, showering crumbs across the driver’s side floor.

  “Ah!” She gives a little shout as she spots Raul’s face. Then, she rolls down the window. “Hi! Uh—we’re just having a picnic. My friend, Penny and I.” She motions over to me. “We always do this. HA!” She lifts the bag of chips and gives it a shake. “We like to hang out at random spots and eat corn chips. Nothing wrong with that!”

  Raul’s eying her like she’s crazy. “I just wanted to tell you I like your van,” he says, slowly.

  “Oh!” Marley says nervously. “Oh! Thanks.”

  “What year is it?” Raul asks.

  “A sixty-nine,” Marley says.

  Raul nods. “Sweet,” he says. “Retro. It’s in great shape. You could carry lots of surfboards on top.”

  “I never leave Hillcrest,” Marley says. “I don’t put many miles on it.”

  “That’ll keep it in good shape,” Raul says, nodding. He’s been looking at Marley, but now he looks over at me. Our eyes meet.

  He has dark, brown, almost black eyes. Now that he’s up close to us, I definitely see that he’s dirty. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and another on the front of his shoulder. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt. We stare at each other for a beat, and then he backs up. “Well, you ladies enjoy your corn chips,” h
e says.

  Then, he crosses the street and enters the inn through the front door.

  “Well,” Marley says, brushing corn chip crumbs off of her thighs. “That was awkward. A picnic?”

  She shoots me a look.

  “It was all I could think of,” I say.

  “Now what?” Marley asks.

  “Now, we wait.”

  “For what?”

  “For something to happen.”

  Marley pulls out the binoculars again and begins looking at the inn. I rummage through our bag of supplies and find a giant bag of peanut M&Ms.

  For the next several hours, Marley and I watch the hotel.

  We also listen to music, and sing along to our favorite songs. And eat. A lot.

  By eleven forty-five, Marley is yawning so much that she’s swallowing all of the air in the van.

  “Stop that!” I say, when she emits her tenth giant yawn in a row. Watching her makes me yawn. “You’re making me sleepy,” I protest, as my mouth stretches open and my eyes water.

  “I’m making myself sleepy,” Marley protests. “Raul’s probably sleeping—or at least in bed. The overhead light in his room went out an hour ago. Now there’s only that dim reading light. We haven’t seen any movement in that room for ages. Why are we still here?”

  “It’s almost midnight,” I say. “Neville said that the wolves were out on the sidewalk at midnight. Maybe it will happen again.”

  “And maybe it won’t,” Marley says, standing in a crouched position so that she can squeeze through the driver’s and passenger’s seats, and make her way into the back of the van.

  “I’m going to go into the back and lie down for a little nap,” she says. “Wake me up if anything exciting starts to—”

  “Marley!” I say, pulling on her sleeve. “Look! Look up the street!”

  Marley returns to her seat.

  “Someone’s coming!” I turn down the radio. Then, I start lying my seat back. “Flatten your seat!” I say. “So they can’t see us!”

  Once my seat is flat, I look across at Marley. She looks wide awake now. “Who was it?” she asks. “Did you see?”

  “It looked like a woman,” I whisper. “I’m going to take a peak. Stay there.”