That Olde White Magick. Sharon Pape
With some difficulty, Sashki managed to climb into his lap and curl up for a snooze. I picked up my pad and a pen and got to work on the list of potential candidates for the role of Amanda’s killer.
I’ve heard there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but I disagree. Crime isn’t the kind of advertising that attracts tourists to a quaint, family-friendly destination like New Camel. Although no one could undo what had happened, capturing the killer as quickly as possible would be the best way for the town to move forward. The sooner the story stopped making headlines, the sooner it would fade from the public’s memory. It seemed wrong to think that way, as though I were also trying to erase Amanda from our minds. But she was well beyond anyone’s help. Pursuing justice on her behalf was the best I could do.
Chapter 5
Beverly occupied first place on my list of suspects. It was more a formality than any real suspicion I had. She didn’t strike me as a killer, but then I didn’t know her very well. Like an extra in films, she’d inhabited the background of my life as far back as I could remember.
But even if I were better acquainted with her and knew her to be of sterling character, I couldn’t dismiss her out of hand. The fact remained that she had discovered Amanda’s body. Of course, Tilly had supposedly arrived at the scene of the crime at the same time, the difference being that she was my aunt and I knew her as well as one person can know another. She had trouble killing any living being, with the exception of spiders. Even then she had to enlist someone else to do the dirty work while she stood screaming a safe distance away. What’s more, the spider killer had to swear on all things sacred that the beast was dead. Tilly was certain that if the spider was captured and released outside, it would find its way back in and would lie in wait for her, plotting eight-legged revenge.
I had no idea how Beverly felt about spiders or killing, in general, but talking to her seemed to be a logical way to start my investigation. And the sooner, the better. I didn’t want to give her a chance to regroup and regain her equilibrium. The more vulnerable she was, the more easily I could catch her in a lie. When I called to ask if I could stop by, she was wary.
“I want to hear what it was like for you when you found Amanda’s body.” I tried to sound like someone on the gossip hotline.
Beverly went for the bait. “I bet you’re helping that handsome reporter of yours?” she said. “Did he ask you to get some points of view and local color for his report?”
“Am I that transparent?” I said, all innocence. It wasn’t actually a lie, I told myself, more like a bit of harmless misdirection, but I felt a twinge of conscience anyway.
“When do you want to stop by?” she asked. “I’ll be home all day.”
That’s what I was counting on. The woman loved the sound of her own voice. Add a pinch of gossip to it, and the possibility of her name being mentioned on TV and you were in like Flynn. I had no idea where the expression came from, but I’d heard Morgana and Bronwen use it often enough that it was a part of the family lexicon.
I waited for Tilly to finish with her client so I could return Merlin into her keeping; then I set the hands on the I’ll Be Back sign to two o’clock and put it in the front window. With my business not fully back on track, I couldn’t afford to be gone longer than a traditional lunch hour. Even so, I risked missing potential customers. On my way out, I grabbed a bottle of our best-selling skin rejuvenator to pave my way into Beverly’s good graces. She didn’t sound like she still blamed us for her vocal distress, but it couldn’t hurt to bring along a peace offering.
Beverly answered the door, wearing red capris and a red-and-white-striped T-shirt, her blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail with just the right bit of curl at the end. There were plenty of negative things you could say about her, but her skill as a hair stylist wasn’t one of them. She had a half-eaten chocolate cupcake in her hand and a ring of chocolate icing around her mouth that she tried unsuccessfully to lick off as we exchanged pleasantries.
I presented her with the skin cream, saying I hoped it would cheer her up after her ordeal the previous evening. Her eyes lit up when she realized it was one of her favorite products from my shop. Reaching for it, she lost the cupcake to the floor. She thanked me a number of times as she scooped up the fallen cupcake. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped the chocolate off the floor. It was all so efficient I wondered how often she did it.
“I was having a cup of tea,” she said, turning the cupcake over in her hand as if trying to decide if it was clean enough to eat. “Can I make you a cup?”
“That would be great,” I said. I wasn’t actually in the mood for tea, especially what my aunt disparagingly called “teabag tea,” but it was the sociable thing to do, and my relationship with Beverly needed all the social niceties at hand.
She led the way into the kitchen, running on about how she hadn’t slept a wink all night what with grieving for Amanda and fearing that every creak in the house signaled an intruder sneaking up the stairs to kill her too.
I took a seat at the glass-and-chrome table in the corner of her newly renovated kitchen and watched her put the fallen cupcake on the counter. I suspected she was saving it for after I left. She filled the teakettle and set it on the gas range to boil. There was a six-pack box of cupcakes on the table beside her teacup. Half the box was empty. Anxiety eating was something I could understand, but my food of choice was usually ice cream.
“Did you have trouble sleeping last night too?” she asked once we were settled with our tea.
“Actually, I was so tired I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow.”
“You’re not at all worried the killer could still be around here?” Her words had an edge to them, as if she begrudged me my peace of mind.
“Of course I’m concerned. I just don’t think worrying or running around like Chicken Little is going to keep me any safer. I’d rather focus on trying to solve the case. Then we’ll all be able to sleep better.”
Beverly sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. “Under the circumstances, a healthy amount of fear is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I wasn’t calling you Chicken Little,” I said. “I was using it as a figure of speech.” I’d forgotten how touchy Beverly could be. She gave a little nod that I took as forgiveness. “What I meant to say is that I assumed from the get-go the killer is from New Camel and is most likely still here. Who else would be invested enough to kill over such a local issue? The killer may be at home right now, lying low in hopes of getting away with his crime.”
“That’s precisely the reason I’m worried. If I thought the killer was on the run, I’d be a lot calmer about the situation. Beverly turned the box of cupcakes around to face me. “I’m not big on store-bought, but these aren’t bad.”
“Thanks, maybe later? I’m interested in hearing about what you went through last night.” With the clock ticking on my lunch hour, I had to steer her in the right direction, or I’d be leaving without a single bit of useful information.
“Well, after that trouble with my voice...” she paused, her brow wrinkling.
Was she remembering her suspicion that the Wilde clan was to blame? I wondered if I was about to be shown the door. She must have decided she didn’t want to lose my good will or the prospect of more free merchandise because she picked up where she’d left off.
“I went out front to get some fresh air. I thought a quiet stroll around the school grounds would help me restore my composure. As it turned out, walking on grass is not easy in three-inch spikes, especially when the grass is damp. I guess the sprinklers were on earlier. Anyway, I cut the walk short and headed to the emergency doors. It was a good thing I was looking down, or I might have stepped right on Amanda with my spikes. Of course I didn’t know it was Amanda at the time.”
Beverly quaked at the thought. If she wasn’t innocent, she was doing a convincing job of pretending to be. “How long was it before Tilly showed up?” I asked.
Beverly