Magic & Mystery Page 4

  “I see,” I say and try to keep my best poker face.

  “I can offer you this as a starting salary.” Chuck writes something down on a piece of paper and slides it across the table to me. “Now, if you can produce compelling stories that justify me raising the price of the Tribune to say two dollars, I would split the extra profits with you.”

  I looked at the paper, and the number was twice what I was making in the city. If you paired that with the lower cost of living here, I would be beyond set financially.

  Five

  Of course, I couldn’t turn the offer down. I was going to be paid to explore my new environment, and I would finally get paid to write real stories.

  There were three desks in the Tribune’s office. One of them was Chuck’s, but I had to choose between the other two. Fortunately, one of the empty desks looked out a huge bay window on the side of the office area. Naturally, I chose that one.

  “Who is supposed to sit at the other desk?” I asked as I spun in my new office chair.

  “We had a columnist at one point. She retired a few years ago. I’ve been writing the columns. Hey, that's a splendid idea.” Chuck said, and I wasn’t sure what he meant because I hadn’t given him any ideas. “We should split the columns. I could throw a few hundred more dollars a month your way.”

  “Sure. What columns are there?”

  “Let’s see. I’ve been doing auto repair, cleaning tips, advice, and there’s one on the local paranormal phenomenon. They’re all written in columns where I answer letters. I do get some of them as emails, but mostly they still come in snail mail.”

  “Please don’t tell me you want me to take cleaning tips and the advice column,” I said and rolled my eyes.

  “I’ll have you know I rather enjoy the cleaning tips column. Do you know anything about auto repair?” He said and raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “Then it’s settled. You take the advice column and the paranormal stuff. That one’s real fun. It’s not so much questions as it is a collection of sightings and such.” He said and picked up a box of letters off the floor.

  “Welcome to the team Mrs. Constance Piper and Mr. David Fox.” He said and retrieved the second box of letters from the floor next to his desk.

  “Those are the names of the columnists?”

  “Tilly, the woman whose place you’re taking, came up with Constance’s name. I came up with the Fox name for the paranormal column.” He said with a proud smile.

  “You totally ripped that off from that TV show.” I teased.

  “Do you want the money or not?”

  “Yes, sir. Constance David Piper Fox at your service.”

  Chuck disappeared through another door that I figured out led to a staircase because a few moments later, I could hear him moving around above me. He came back down the stairs and handed me a laptop. It was new in the box, and it looked expensive.

  “I have a laptop,” I said, but I was drooling over the fancy computer he’d just handed me.

  “Is it as nice as that one?”

  “No,” I responded and turned the box over in my hands.

  “Exactly.”

  The rest of the morning, we sat quietly in the office. The only sound was the clacking of Chuck’s keyboard. I read through old columns to get a feel for how they were written, and I tried to brainstorm ideas for my first investigative article. Around noon, the keyboard clicking stopped suddenly.

  “Lunch time is going home time. Have a good afternoon. Email me if you start working on a story today. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s it? We go home now?” I asked.

  I was so used to being stuck in my cubicle for eight hours or more each day. The thought of being able to leave at lunch time almost made me giddy.

  “You can stay here if you want. I’ve left a key to the office in your desk drawer. The offices are quite nice, but you can go too. At some point, I imagine you’ll need to be out in the field. Oh, and you’ve got your laptop. If you want to write, you can do that anywhere.” He said and grabbed his hat and jacket.

  I packed up the new laptop, put the box of old columns in Kara’s car, and headed back to the inn. I figured if I got tired of being in my room, Aunt Kara might let me spread out in the breakfast room since it wouldn’t be used again until tomorrow morning.

  I was not expecting the scene I encountered as I pulled into the bed and breakfast’s parking area. A crowd was standing outside on the front lawn. Some of the people were congregated together in a large group, and there were smaller groups splintered off around the edge of the bigger mass as well.

  One police cruiser with its berries and cherries lit up was parked outside the front door. I read the door on the car.

  County Sheriff

  I parked my car as far out in the small lot as I could and got out. For a minute, I wasn’t sure what to do so I just stood there next to Kara’s car.

  “This can’t be good,” I said to myself.

  “Dead guy in the parlor,” Jezebel said.

  I didn’t even see her approach me, but there she was sitting on the hood of the car washing her paw.

  “The parlor? Where is the parlor? Wait, there’s a dead person in there?”

  “The parlor is on the third floor. And yes, as I already said, there is a dead guy up there.” Jezebel was much sassier than I’d imagined, and she seemed pretty feisty before she started talking.

  “Okay. Do you know who it was?” I asked.

  “Some guy your Aunt brought in to fix something or other. It’s not like I’d met him personally.”

  “You’re a bit of a wise crack, aren’t you?”

  “Look, lady, you ask the questions, and I’m giving you straight answers. What more do you want?” Jez said and jumped down from the hood of the car.

  “I’d like to know who the dead guy in my Aunt’s bed and breakfast is?” I said and followed behind her.

  “Fair enough.” She said and swaggered towards the building.

  Jezebel led me around to a cellar door behind the inn. I thought it was weird at first, but it did help me, and my talking cat, avoid the crowd out front.

  I pulled the basement door open, and the loud creak it produced made me cringe. I really didn’t want the rubberneckers up front to hear it and come running, but fortunately, they didn’t.

  Seven concrete steps descended into what appeared to be a dark, dank basement. I walked down the stairs and then stood on the third step with my arms stretched over my head holding the door open.

  “Come on lady, we haven’t got all day,” Jezebel said while twitching her tail in annoyance.

  “If I let it close any farther, it’s going to make that terrible screeching sound again. It might draw their attention this time.” I retorted.

  “So, you’re just going to stand there all day like that. You look like a giant, confused monkey.” Jezebel turned around, sat down, and started staring at me in that judgmental way only cats can pull off.

  “I doubt you even know what a monkey looks like. Not a real one, anyway.”

  “That’s not the point.” She said and started bathing her ears with her paw.

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Lady, I’m a cat. We don’t help. But, if you’re really this hopeless, you could always try a spell.” Now she was glaring at me.

  My arms were really starting to hurt, and I was beginning to forget why it mattered if the door creaked when I shut it. Even if people came to the house, the door would be closed, locked, and there’d be nothing to see. Then it hit me, my talking cat just told me to cast a spell.

  “What do you mean a spell?” I asked, and now I was too intrigued to just close the cellar door.

  “I’ll explain more when you’re not standing there looking like the sad goal posts of the losing football team. For now, try telling the door to be quiet when you close it and see what happens.” Jezebel got up and started walking further into t
he cellar.

  I looked up at the door, I now desperately wanted to be closed, and said, “Be quiet door.”

  It worked.

  I quickly latched the door and tried to follow Jezebel into the basement. It was very dark, though, and I ran into a pile of baskets.

  “Now try turning on the lights before you kill yourself.” I heard Jez’s snarky voice from the middle of the room.

  “How am I supposed to find the switch?” I asked as I tried to pick up the baskets and restack them in the pitch black.

  “You really are hopeless. I swear I don’t know how you humans make it through the day without walking out in front of a truck.” I could hear her tail swishing to the beat of her exasperation. “Try telling the lights to turn on, genius.”

  “Turn on lights?” Nothing. “Please.”

  The lights came on, and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. I looked around and took in the fascinating array of objects stored down in the cellar. In addition to the woven baskets I’d toppled, there was a vast selection of antique furniture, what looked like vintage clothing stored in plastic garment bags, and shelves full of candles, crystals, and tiny bottles. The far wall also had a door that said Wine in ornate lettering.

  I walked over to one of the shelves and touched a huge block of what appeared to be black obsidian. “What is all of this stuff?”

  “That looks like a bunch of rocks and candles.” A man’s voice made me jump halfway out of my skin.

  I whirled around, and there was a man in coveralls standing behind me. Well, it wasn’t really a man. It was more like the projection of a person. That’s the best way I can describe it. He was only partly there, and he appeared to be transparent.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, Ma’am.” He said and floated towards me. “Although, I guess I am a little frightening.”

  “It’s alright. Who are you?” I asked trying to act casual.

  “He’s the dead guy,” Jezebel said. “Saw him with my own eyes upstairs.”

  “I’m dead?” The apparition asked. “Cats can talk? Have they always been able to speak?”

  “Not all of us can talk. I’m special.” Jezebel said proudly. “And yes, you’re about as dead as they come.”

  “What’s your name?” I had asked the ghost before he had the chance to respond to Jezebel’s snark.

  “I’m Lester Crumbly. I mean, I was Lester Crumbly. I guess I still am…” He trailed off as if lost in thought.

  “You’re still you. I’m sure of it. You’re just disembodied.” I tried to reassure him.

  I had no experience with the dead. Well, no direct experience. I’d seen and felt things all my life that I couldn’t explain, but this was my first face to face conversation with a dead person.

  “How did I die?” He asked with wide eyes.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “Stabbed in the back while you were changing the lightbulbs in the parlor,” Jezebel said flatly. “What? I happened to walk by the body, your body, after the murder. I’m assuming you didn’t stick the knife in your own back.” She continued after Lester and I both stared at her.

  “Do you know who killed you?” I asked hopefully.

  “How would he know who killed him if he doesn’t even remember how he died?” Jezebel mocked.

  “Hush cat. Let him speak.” I said, and she hissed at me softly.

  “The last thing I remember was climbing up the step ladder to change one of the bulbs. I was just about done screwing it in, and I heard someone walk up behind me. I think.” Lester said.

  He stretched his hands out in front of him and wiggled his transparent fingers. It was as if he was still trying to take it all in. I don’t blame him. I’d be completely shocked too.

  “Do you remember anything else?” I asked.

  “Oh, wait. They said something.” Lester appeared to be digging deep in his memory, and Jezebel and I leaned forward in anticipation. “They said, This is for… And then I was down here with you guys.”

  “There’s a bit of a time lapse there, dead guy,” Jezebel said and yawned as if she’d grown bored with our conversation with the other side.

  “I’ve been a ghost for like what? An hour now. What do you want from me? At least I’m not a cat.”

  That made me giggle. The dead guy had some spunk. I mean, Mr. Crumbly had some spunk.

  Six

  The ghost of Mr. Lester Crumbly didn’t remember anything else, and then he vanished. So, Jezebel and I made our way upstairs to the main floor of the inn. The lobby and the breakfast room were completely empty, so I made my way quietly upstairs to the third floor.

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, but that’s where Jezebel headed, so I followed her. Once I was on the top floor, I could hear my Aunt talking to a man down the hall in what I assumed was the parlor. They were discussing the logistics of getting the body out of the bed and breakfast without having to contend with the crowd gathering out front.

  The man said that the group wouldn’t be too big as long as it was only gawkers from Tree’s Hollow gathered outside. My Aunt countered that word had traveled fast and that people from surrounding towns had started to show up.

  “The Coroner is almost here. I’m going to go out front and try to clear a path for him. That seems like the easiest thing to do.” The man’s voice said.

  “Okay. Thankfully all of the guests have either checked out already or are out sightseeing.” Aunt Kara responded.

  At that point, I turned and went back downstairs to the second floor. I presumed the male voice was the Sheriff, and I didn’t want him to find me eavesdropping.

  Jezebel followed me, and we stood quietly outside my room while I decided what to do next. I was about to go into my room when Jezebel spoke up with a plan.

  “You should go up there. Nobody is around. You could investigate.”

  “I should go poke around the parlor where the dead body is?” I ask her skeptically.

  “His name is Lester Crumbly. You met him, remember?” Jezebel said and started walking back down the hall towards the stairs.

  “You never know. You might help solve the murder. Wouldn’t that be exciting, and at the very least, you’ll have an excellent first story for your new job. Congratulations, by the way.” She said.

  “Thank you.” I was touched by her moment of kindness.

  Instead of arguing with Jezebel, I decided to follow her up the stairs to the third floor. She was right, and there was nobody up there. Even the crime scene tape that had been strung across the doorway to the parlor had fallen halfway off.

  I stopped outside for a minute and contemplated whether I should go in. I was fairly sure that it was illegal to just walk into a crime scene and start poking around, but then again, earlier today I cast a spell, talked to a dead guy in the basement, and had more than one conversation with my talking cat.

  Looking around the room, I could see why Aunt Kara called someone in to change the light bulbs. Even with the ones Lester had replaced, over half of them were out. I’d have to ask her why she didn’t employ a full-time handyman.

  Lester, or what was Lester, was lying on the carpet at the base of his stepladder. Sure enough, he’d been stabbed. I diverted my eyes from him right away. I might be an investigative reporter now, but that’s not something I wanted to oogle for a long time.

  My fear of walking into the room and destroying the crime scene vanished when Jezebel trotted into the room. “Come on.” She said as she swished past me. “What are you, a chicken?”

  I took two steps into the room and immediately noticed the smell of lily of the valley. It reminded me of a perfume I used to wear in junior high. Over on an end table, I spotted a cell phone. Curious as to whether it belonged to Lester, I walked over and picked it up.

  To my relief, it wasn’t locked by password. I taped the home icon and immediately noticed that Lester had a couple of unanswered text messages.

  Those messages, along with most o
f the others, painted a very distinct picture of Lester Crumbly. I read a few of them and realized that he was fortunate that he was the only handyman in town because Lester was not well liked.

  Most of the messages were about him being absurdly late and ruining people’s plans. I also read many angry texts about overcharging and poor customer service.

  “He wasn’t well liked,” I said to Jezebel and set the phone back down.

  “Ya think?”

  “Well, yeah, obviously somebody didn’t like him,” I said and motioned towards the body without looking at it. “But, what I mean is that it appears that nobody really liked him.”

  Before Jezebel could respond, I heard my Aunt Kara and the Sheriff coming back up the stairs.

  “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “Through here,” Jezebel said and walked over to the wall.

  She rubbed up against what looked like a regular wall, but when Jez bumped it with her head, I heard a faint clicking. I walked over and pushed gently on the space.

  The secret door opened up, and I found myself in a hidden passageway within the walls. I quickly closed the panel and looked around for Jezebel. She was making her way down the short passage, so I followed close behind her.

  “How did you know this was here?” I whispered once I knew we were clear of the parlor. “Was it magic? Are you a witch too?”

  “I felt the draft coming from the door. I guess at one time it was hermetically sealed, but it’s an old house now. As far as your question about me being a witch, let me ask you a question. Have you ever even watched a show or movie about witches? What about books? Surely you must have read a book with a witch in it.”

  “Not really my genre. I mean, I’m sure I’ve seen or read something, but I probably didn’t pay much attention.” I answered as we walked down a narrow staircase.

  “Not really your genre. Lady, you are too funny, and so is the goddess for sticking me with you.” She stopped in at the bottom of the staircase and sat down.