The Case of the Banishing Spell Page 6

  Chris’s radio crackles again.

  The voice on the other end of the radio speaks. “202 to 204. What’s your twenty. I repeat. I’m heading down main street towards Aspen. I need to know your exact location.”

  Chris tears his eyes away from the ball of light in my hand. “I’m at the inn, Chief,” he says. “Leaving now.”

  “Copy that.”

  Chris releases the radio. He looks pale.

  “Move,” he says. His tone is cold, almost robotic.

  I don’t know what to make of it. Is he in denial about what he just saw?

  I step back, and he pulls his door shut. He turns the siren on, and pulls out into the road, speeding up Aspen and then turning down main street.

  As soon as the siren fades, I hear a new sound. It’s shouting.

  I turn, and see that Marley is standing where I left her. The shouting is coming from inside the inn. If I’m not mistaken, it’s coming from Raul’s room.

  This crazy night’s not over yet.

  I run towards Marley. “I think that’s Dawn, yelling,” I say.

  As I jog past Marley, she follows me. We both make our way up the inn’s front steps, through the door, and then down the hallway that leads to Raul’s room.

  It’s definitely Dawn, yelling. Her shouts become louder as we near the room.

  “Let him go!” Dawn is shouting. She sounds distressed, and urgent. “He didn’t do anything wrong. My baby! My baby...he’s a good boy.”

  We reach the room.

  When we enter, I see Dawn and Neville standing with their backs to me. They’re facing into the room, where I see a large empty bed, a nightstand, a small desk, and a chair. The lamp by the chair is on, but not the overhead lights. I see why the room had the subdued glow that it did.

  While Dawn shouts, Neville stands slightly behind her. His hands are on her shoulders, as if he’s both comforting her and holding her in place.

  Further into the room, next to the bed, I see Dawson. His pale face looks even more ashen than usual. He’s on his knees, and his hands are handcuffed.

  Ted McDougal stands over him.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  All eyes turn to me.

  “They’re going to arrest Dawson!” Dawn says, looking at me with wide eyes. “Do something Penny! Tell this police officer that Dawson didn’t do anything.”

  “McDougal, why are you arresting Dawson?” I ask.

  “For suspicion of murder,” Ted McDougal answers.

  A look around the empty room again. “Murder?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”

  McDougal gestures with his head, towards the area just behind the large, empty bed.

  I feel my stomach do a flip flop.

  Uh oh. I have a feeling I’m not going to like what I’m going to see on the other side of that bed.

  I take several slow steps into the room.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Ted says. “This is a crime scene. But you might as well see for yourself.”

  I take a few more steps forward. Slowly. Finally, I reach the edge of the bed, and I peer past it.

  There, on the floor, is a body.

  It’s lying face first against the floor. The carpet round the body is stained blood-red.

  There's a knife, sticking out of his back.

  I recognize his stocky, muscular build. His sweatshirt. The dirt streaks on his pants, and his dark, spiky black hair.

  Raul Rivera has been murdered.

  Chapter Five

  My eyes are wide. I look up from the body, and my gaze travels around the room. Marley is right behind me. She’s staring down at the body. Her usually caramel toned face is as pale as the cream colored carpets.

  Dawn and Neville are huddled by the door, and they look as horrified as I feel. Dawson is whimpering, and McDougal looks extremely uncomfortable. I can tell that he doesn’t like being in charge of the scene. He’s used to having his captain, Chris, around.

  A cold gust of air enters through the open window.

  “How did this happen?” I ask, thinking aloud as I look back down at Raul’s dead body, and then up to the open window. “Who were those other two men?”

  “Strangers to town,” McDougal says. “Cap Wagner and Chief will catch them.” He sounds confident.

  “Maybe,” I say, not as confidently. “But really—how did this happen?” I turn to Dawson. “Did you do this?”

  Dawson’s lower lip quivers. He shakes his head emphatically. “No! No, of course not! When I came into the room, he was already dead! I just got here—like thirty seconds before the cops came in! I was going to sell him my map of the wilderness around Hillcrest.”

  “In the middle of the night... you were going to sell a map?” I ask.

  “Raul asked me if I had one,” Dawson says. “Yesterday. He said he’d give me twenty bucks for it. I was just going to sell it to him...” His whimpering turns to crying.

  McDougal scoffs. “Yeah, sure, buddy,” He says. “You just happened to be here to sell a map and saw the dead body, and you didn’t call anyone?”

  “I didn’t have time to!” Dawson says. “I came home from the bar earlier than usual. Our Fantasy Fest game ended at quarter to twelve. I took the shortcut through the woods out back and was home by midnight... I thought I’d see if Raul was up.”

  “So that you could sell him your map?” I ask.

  Dawson nods. His nose is running. Tears stream down his face. I can tell he wants to wipe his face off, but he can’t because his hands are in cuffs.

  He sounds desperate as he continues. “When he asked me yesterday if I had a map, and I said yes, he said he’d take cash out of the ATM today. We were going to meet up when I got home from the bar. I told him I’d be home late, but he said that wasn’t a problem. He said he usually stays up late and I should just... I saw his door was open a little... I didn’t expect this.”

  “You see, Ted?” Dawn says. “He didn’t do anything!”

  She retrieves a tissue from her bathrobe pocket and starts to move forward, perhaps to wipe her son’s face for him. Neville holds her back. Dawn resists slightly at first, but then gives in to her husband’s guidance. She pushes the tissue back into her pocket.

  She eyes Ted. “What about those other men?” she asks him. “They must be the murderers!”

  “Our son was just at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Neville says. “That’s no reason to arrest him, Ted, surely.”

  Now McDougal looks confused. “We’ve got probable cause... he’s on the scene of the crime—in the middle of the night.”

  “Being a night owl doesn’t make him a criminal!” Dawn says.

  Over the conversation, I start to hear the sound of ambulance sirens. They begin faintly, but grow and grow as Dawn, Neville and Ted talk.

  “But Cap said to cuff him and take him into the station...” McDougal says. He looks from the leaky-eyed Dawson to protective Dawn, to Neville, his brow furrowed with uncertainty.

  The sirens reach a peak, and then stop. Red and white flashing lights become visible through the open window. The lights illuminate the room’s ceiling as they flash from red to white and then back to red again.

  I’m not sure if it’s my place to speak up, but I can’t bite my tongue any longer. I have to ask Dawson a few questions while everything is still fresh for him—before the medics barge in and distract everyone.

  “Dawson,” I say. “You said Raul’s door was ajar. What did you see when you walked in?”

  “I —I don’t know. I knocked sort of, quietly I guess, and then pushed the door open. Two men I’d never seen before were standing in the middle of the room.”

  Dawson sniffles loudly, then presses onwards, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “They looked—I don’t know—like they were about to fight, or something? They were standing facing each other, all tense. It looked like I interrupted them in the middle of something. The one with the black beard—the younger one... he was in the middle of sp
eaking, but he stopped right when I walked into the room. I just kind of froze. I could see Raul’s feet, sticking out from behind the bed. I thought he was just lying down. Maybe passed out or something. Then, I heard the police sirens.”

  His story sounds like it could be true.

  Marley, who has been standing quietly at the very entrance to the room, now speaks up.

  “I think the medics are here,” she says. Then she pokes her head out of the door and yells out, “We’re over here!”

  The sound of footsteps and voices floats down the hallway, building with each passing second. Then two medics enter the room.

  The next fifteen minutes are hectic, as the medics and officer try to preserve the crime scene and confirm Raul’s death at the same time. It becomes clear that Marley and I are no longer wanted and soon we find ourselves back out at the van. We’re too wound up to stay in one place any longer, so we fire up the van and start cruising up and down the streets of Hillcrest, searching for signs of Chris or the two wolves.

  I’m disappointed when we don’t see any sign of the wolves, but not so disappointed when we don’t spot Chris.

  I don’t know if I even want to see him right now.

  “What do you think?” Marley says, after we finish our tenth lap down main street. “Should we call it a night?”

  “I guess so,” I say.

  My eyelids are heavy, and my brain feeling foggy. I know sleep will do me good.

  “What a crazy night,” I murmur. I can barely begin to process all that’s happened to us. It’s now two in the morning, and I just want to lay my head on my pillow.

  “I hope you know I’m crashing on your couch,” Marley says, as she turns down the road that will take us to my apartment.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I sigh. “I mean, not that I’m scared or anything. Who would be scared of a few murderous wolves on the prowl? Not this girl.”

  Marley giggles, despite the circumstances. “You’re ridiculous,” she says.

  I like to make her laugh, so I play up my bit. “Strange magical creatures that murder their enemies with daggers in the back? Bah! I laugh at werewolves. I could take on a werewolf single handedly.”

  She giggles again, and then her laughter fades. “You think the werewolves did it, then?” she asks. “One of them killed Raul?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But they’re on the top of my list of suspects.”

  “You already have a list?” Marley asks, looking over at me and arching her brow.

  We’re nearing my apartment now. Marley puts her blinker on to turn into my apartment.

  “Yes,” I say, sleepily. “Any good PI would. Let’s see—we’ve got Sarah, Marty, the two strange men, and Dawson.”

  “Five suspects total,” Marley says. She slips the van into a parking spot. Thank goodness we’ve arrived. I’m about to fall asleep in the passenger seat.

  We both get out and start walking through the dark night, towards my apartment.

  “What was it that you were saying to Chris?” Marley asks. “I saw you make the ball of light in your hand...”

  I sigh. “I told him about what we saw. You know—when the men transformed into wolves. I told him magic was real. I mean, I’ve told him that I’m studying witchcraft before, but I don’t think he took me that seriously. So I had to show him.”

  I’m walking in front of Marley. As we begin making our way down the dark, narrow walkway between two of the Blackbear apartments so that we can reach my staircase, I have my guard up. I feel spooked by the events of the night and I won’t feel safe until we’re inside my apartment, with bright lights on and the door locked behind us.

  And maybe some ice cream, in a dish.

  Ice cream has always been my comfort food.

  Luckily, I have a pint of chocolate in my freezer. There will be just enough for Marley and I to share.

  I walk fast, peering as far as I can into the dark shadowy alcoves before we pass them.

  “How did he take it?” Marley, walking close behind me, asks.

  “He’s Chris,” I say. “How do you think he took it?”

  “Ha.” Marley says.

  Chris is a jock. Through and through. Marley and I have both known him since high school, and we both know how he is.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. The guy is great. I’m with him for a reason. I really love spending time with him. We laugh and have fun and we’ve got Chemistry—with a capital ‘C’. On top of all that, he’s hot as heck. I had a crush on him all throughout high school, and the feeling just never faded.

  But he is kind of a meathead. I hate to say it, but it’s true. He’s interested in sports, his work, and me—the ‘me’ that he knew in high school.

  But I’ve changed.

  I’m not the same girl that was happy sitting on the bleachers, drooling over him as he shot three pointers to the tune of a cheering crowd.

  What I mean to say is—we might be growing apart.

  Not so slowly, and oh-so surely. I feel it in my bones.

  I’m too tired to explain all of this to Marley. At least, too tired to explain it in a cohesive manner. I could try, but it might come out sounding mean. I don’t feel mean. I genuinely love Chris. But I also love magic. I’m not sure that Chris is going to understand that.

  We finish climbing the stairs in silence, and when we reach my door, I hesitate slightly before opening it.

  I never lock my apartment, but I think it might be time to change my security policy.

  Like Neville said, earlier today, Hillcrest isn’t the safe-haven that it used to be.

  My desire to crash on my bed overrides my fear, and finally I push my door open and switch on the lights, as fast as I can.

  The apartment floods with light.

  I whip back and forth, trying to look everywhere all at once. I bet I look pretty cool. I can feel my long brown hair flying around me; whoosh, whoosh.

  The apartment is empty.

  Except for Turkey, of course. The bright light woke him from his sleep, apparently, because he unfurls himself from his curled up position, and then arches his back to stretch. “How did it go?” he asks, silently.

  “Well, we’re alive,” I say aloud, to Turkey and Marley both. I reach for the door handle, and latch it. Then, I secure the deadbolt on top of the handle.

  Now that I’ve seen how easy it is to pick a lock, I’ll never forget my deadbolt again.

  For the next half hour, Marley and I unwind by sharing the remainder of my pint of chocolate ice cream. I give Turkey some of his shrimp scampi cat treats. He loves those.

  Finally, a little before three in the morning, I crawl into bed. My eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  *****

  When I wake up the next morning, I wonder for a brief moment if the events of the night before were just a dream.

  Men jumping out of windows, and turning into wolves?

  A dead body at the Hillcrest Inn?

  It must have been a nightmare!

  I get up and blindly shuffle to the kitchen, still half asleep, letting my mind rove lazily over the images that are dwelling there.

  A large, white wolf. He was majestic looking!

  And the black one—lanky and lithe.

  There’s a note on my counter. It’s from Marley. I force my eyes to open wider so that I can read it.

  Good Morning!

  What a crazy night! I can’t believe that there are werewolves here in Hillcrest.

  Gulp. Suddenly I know the images in my mind are not fragments of a fading nightmare. They are memories! I really saw those two wolves. I really saw two men jump out of a window, and transform in mid-air!

  I keep reading.

  I gotta run—I’m giving a massage at nine. I hope you slept better than I did! I kept jumping at every little sound.

  That dead body really freaked me out. We should probably call a coven meeting. Someone’s going to have to deal with those werewolves, and I don’t think it’s go
ing to be the police.

  I’ll be out of my massage by 10:30. Call or text as soon as you get up!

  Love and unicorn kisses,

  Marley

  I prop myself against the counter, trying to process what the note says. Suddenly, I’m flooded with even more memories of last night. It’s all coming back to me. I feel my stomach do a flip as I recall the sight of Raul, face down on his hotel room floor, a dagger sticking out of his back.

  I can’t shake the image, and as I start shuffling around the kitchen, setting the coffee pot up to brew and then pouring myself a glass of water, all I can think about is the way that dead, lifeless body looked.

  Turkey woke up with me, and as soon as I’m done drinking a glass of water, I get his breakfast ready. He weaves between my ankles as I work.

  “I’m absolutely starving,” he says telepathically to me. “I mean, really, it’s eleven in the morning!”

  “Is it?” I say, groggily. I’m not the most talkative person in the world in the morning before I’ve had my cuppa-joe.

  “Eleven oh eight, to be exact.” Turkey transmits. “Practically noon. Four hours and eight minutes after my desired breakfast hour. Didn’t you say you were going to start getting up earlier?”

  “I said I’d start that next week,” I say, placing his dish on the floor. Maybe if he’s chewing, he won’t be able to talk at the same time.

  My tactic works. Turkey begins nibbling the food, and the kitchen is once again quiet enough for me to think.

  The coffee pot is now half full, and I grab a clean mug from the dishwasher and fill it with the hot, brown liquid. Once my cup is full to the brim, I inhale the heavenly scent and then set it on the counter. I reach into my messenger bag, which is on the floor leaning against the kitchen counter, and dig out my phone.

  I’m sure that I have about a million missed calls from Chris, and most likely more than a few from Dawn and Neville.

  I swipe my phone on, and purse my lips as I see the screen.