That Olde White Magick. Sharon Pape
because he dropped the debate. “We’re both tired. Why don’t we call it a night?” he said, closing his laptop and sliding it back into the bag. “I’ll get out of your way. I appreciate your help.”
I was annoyed with him, but now that he was on the verge of leaving, I wanted him to stay. “Can I get you coffee or anything?”
“Another time? I’ve got to write this up.” He rose, messenger bag tucked under his arm, making it pointless for me to pursue the invitation. Just as well, I hate to sound needy.
“Give him time,” my mother’s voice came again, this time with my grandmother Bronwen providing backup vocals. It was one of those rare instances they were in agreement.
I walked Travis to the door. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” I said, stepping on his attempt to request that very thing. We both stopped and simultaneously began again. Back before everything went haywire between us, we would have enjoyed a good laugh about being on the same wavelength. “Will do,” I said quickly to put an end to our bumbling.
“Terrific, thanks. I’ll be in touch.” And he was out the door.
I don’t know how long I was standing there staring at the closed door when my mother popped up in front of me. Her little white cloud of energy glowing a cheerful pink. “You need to relax and give him time,” she said, getting straight to the point. Death hadn’t changed her much.
“Yes, Mom, I got that loud and clear the first two times.”
Bronwen popped up beside her in much the same mood. It had taken a while, but I finally had a handle on reading their moods from the state of their clouds.
“What your mother means to say, Kailyn, is that we’ve both been through relationships ourselves and have some expertise in the matter, should you want to avail yourself of it.”
Morgana’s cloud was turning a worrisome shade of red. “I’m quite capable of telling my own daughter what I mean,” she said tightly.
“Of course, you have the floor,” Bronwen responded in a look-what-I-have-to-put-with tone.
I took a couple of slow, deep breaths and reminded myself that the conversation would be over faster if I kept to the high road and didn’t take sides.
“All right then,” Morgana said.
I pictured her lifting her chin the way she always did when she felt vindicated, as though her victory had elevated her physical stature as well.
“Here’s the hard truth. Every man I dated thought he was capable of handling the magick. The weakest of them didn’t last a day after finding out the true extent of my abilities. The only one who stuck around for years was your father. And I believe he stayed as long as he did because it was hard for him to leave you. But in the end, he also took off to find less complicated women.”
“Ditto with your grandfather,” Bronwen added, “although if memory serves, he didn’t last quite as long, possibly because your mother was a rather strident, difficult child. No offense, Morgana, dear.”
“Why would I take offense?” she snapped. “Why would anyone take offense at such a lovely characterization?”
“Ladies,” I said, hoping to keep the contretemps from escalating into a full-fledged battle, “thank you for your wisdom and guidance. I can take it from here.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Bronwen said. “Travis is a fine young man. He deserves a chance to adjust to this new paradigm.”
“On that we agree,” my mother said, setting aside her pique. “It’s a good sign that he’s still hanging in there. Be patient.”
She vanished with a little pop of energy, followed immediately by Bronwen. If I were a betting woman, I’d lay odds they were continuing their argument on the other side of the veil. I had to admit that I felt more hopeful as a result of our chat, but I wasn’t convinced that Travis was “still hanging in there” because of his feelings for me. It was possible he didn’t want to lose me as a local resource. He called from time to time to ask how I was doing. The conversations were brief and awkward. The one time we met for coffee was even worse.
As much as I needed sleep, I was too wired, and my stomach was grumbling loudly about being ignored. I surveyed my options in the refrigerator and freezer and opted for a pint of banana fudge ice cream. One of the best perks of being an adult had to be eating what I wanted, when I wanted it. I took a dish from the cabinet, then put it back. Who was I kidding? I grabbed a spoon and took the container into the living room. I turned on the TV and clicked through the channels until I found a rerun of Charmed. The show was so far removed from the truth that it was always good for a chuckle.
I was down to the last dregs of ice cream when the phone rang, making me jump. Who would be calling so late? I was relieved to see that it wasn’t Tilly’s or Elise’s number on the caller ID. Probably a solicitor trying to reach a quota. I answered it, intending to hang up if I was right.
“Is this Kailyn? Kailyn Wilde?” the man on the other end asked in a raspy voice. He didn’t sound like a solicitor. He didn’t have the rehearsed patter. There was none of the background noise you hear from a call center either. But I couldn’t place the voice.
“This is Kailyn,” I said. “Who’s calling?”
“Rusty Higgins—you know, from the school?”
That reminded me of how some of the kids used to call him Rusty Hinges. But that aside, I couldn’t imagine why he was calling me. “Hi, Rusty,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about that poor woman who was killed tonight, you know, Amanda?”
My gut reaction was to ask him what he knew, but I made myself slow down “Rusty, if you have information about the killer, you really need to go to the police.” I wasn’t exactly Duggan’s favorite citizen, and I didn’t want to be charged with obstruction of justice. Unfortunately, I was too curious about what Rusty knew to let it go. I straddled that fence for another few seconds before taking the plunge. “How about this, Rusty? Tell me what you know, and if I think it’s worthwhile, I’ll go down to the precinct house with you in the morning.” That way I’d be the one who encouraged him to come forward.
“I suppose that’s all right. When can you be here?”
“Can’t you tell me over the phone?”
“Nope, I’m not saying anything on the phone.” He sounded determined to stand his ground, and I was just as determined to stay put.
“How is tomorrow morning?” I asked.
“It’ll do. Seven o’clock and don’t be late. I’ve got to finish getting the school gussied up for the new term.”
I took down his address. “Seven sharp, I’ll be there.”
Chapter 4
Rusty lived ten minutes west of New Camel in a small Cape Cod with a steeply pitched roof. The other houses on his street were a mixture of Capes and small ranches, all bearing signs of neglect from lack of money, lack of interest, or a combination of the two. Rusty’s house looked tidier and better cared for than its neighbors. The lawn was mowed, and the red salvia and white impatiens beneath the living room window abloom. I parked at the curb at two minutes to seven and walked up the cement path to the house.
On closer inspection, I could see that the cement was cracked, the paint was peeling on the front door, and the window frames and weeds were winning their battle for supremacy over the grass. An old black pickup truck sat in the driveway along with a shiny new snowplow. Rusty probably picked up some extra cash plowing out driveways during the winter months. He was clearly not lazy. It struck me that although I’d known the man for decades, I knew nothing about him beyond the fact that he was the school’s custodian. I had no idea if he was an ethical person or if he treated animals kindly. He could be a liar, even a sociopath. I rang the doorbell, wondering how much faith I could