Midsummer Night's Mischief Page 10

  “Sounds great!” said Farrah. “You’re so sweet!” Farrah went over to turn on the TV, while Rob went into the kitchen.

  I met Farrah’s eyes and smirked. “You rock,” I whispered.

  “Go find that evidence you were talking about,” Farrah whispered back.

  We heard the sound of popcorn popping in the microwave and the refrigerator door opening and closing. I zipped into the library and saw that someone had straightened it up since the last time I’d seen it. After a brief look around, I decided what I really wanted to see was the upstairs. So I tiptoed down the hall and padded up the carpeted stairs. When I reached the top landing, I heard Farrah say, “Keli went to go find the little girls’ room. So, do you play baseball, Rob? Are you on a team?”

  On the dimly lit landing, I found myself facing several wooden doors, two open and three closed. Quickly, I peeked into the rooms with the two open doors—a bathroom and what looked to be the master bedroom. Then, one by one, I opened the closed doors. There was a linen closet; a spare room with purple and pink accents, probably Darlene’s when she lived here while growing up; and a smaller spare bedroom in navy and red, Kirk’s room, no doubt. Each of the bedrooms looked to be tidy and undisturbed, yet they felt stuffy and closed in. The small windows in these rooms, which faced the front of the house, were shut tight.

  I went back to the master bedroom, Eleanor’s room, with some hesitation. It was also tidy and quiet, but fresher smelling. I stepped inside and gazed around. A queen-size bed, neatly made with a colorful green, yellow, and blue quilt, dominated the center of the room. To the side was a closet, with door ajar, dresses, pants, and blouses hanging neatly in a row. On a chair next to the bed was draped a long cotton nightgown. A pair of faded blue terry-cloth house slippers sat side by side, expectantly, under the chair.

  Seeing the nightgown and the house slippers, I felt a lump rise in my throat. I felt like an intruder. I was about to turn and leave when I noticed several dresser drawers in the horizontal bureau were pulled open. Upon closer inspection, I could see they had been riffled through. Maybe Darlene had been looking for something for the viewing?

  I felt a draft of air and turned to the window, which was open a couple of inches. A ruffled curtain fluttered in the light breeze. This was the room, I realized, with the open window that I had noticed the other day, while waiting for the police to arrive. I walked over to the window and felt the sill. It was slightly damp from this morning’s rainfall.

  Should I close it? I tested the sash, and it slid easily. Looking outside, I saw the big pine tree. It was too far away to reach from the window. To the right, toward the front of the house and about twenty feet away, was another mature tree. Its thick, leafy branches effectively shielded the window from the street.

  As I turned away from the window, something on the floor caught my eye. I leaned over and picked it up. It was a piece of dried mud about an inch long. I looked out the window again, down at the ground below. The grass was sparse in that spot, and there was some mud. It didn’t look very dry now, but maybe a few days ago . . . ?

  I jumped when the TV downstairs roared in volume, then just as quickly became quiet. Then I heard Farrah emit a shrill laugh. “Sorry about that! Wrong button.” I took that as my cue and darted out of the room. For good measure, I shut myself quietly in the bathroom, flushed the toilet, then rinsed my hands under the faucet. Then I hopped back downstairs. I reached the living room just in time to see Farrah stretch her arms above her head with an audible moan, simultaneously thrusting out her chest, where Rob’s eyes, naturally, were glued. She spotted me and dropped her arms with a giggle.

  “Keli!” she said. “Rob has a ball game tomorrow afternoon at Fieldstone Park. We should go.”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  I wandered over to the framed photos on the mantel, drawn to the ones that featured Wes. There was an old one of Darlene’s family: she and Bill with big eighties hair, sitting side by side with stiff smiles while the two young boys clowned behind them. Wes and Rob looked like a couple of rascals who probably got into a lot of mischief together. And had lots of fun. I wondered when it turned sour. I turned back to the half of the dynamic duo sitting on the couch.

  “Rob, I must have just missed you at your grandma’s memorial service. I got there around six, I think.”

  “Huh?” Rob peeled his eyes from Farrah. “Oh, yeah. I stayed for a while, but then I had some business to take care of.”

  “What kind of business?” asked Farrah in her most girly “everything you say is fascinating” voice.

  “Nothing too exciting,” said Rob, patting Farrah on the knee.

  “So, you didn’t make it to the dinner with your family?” I knew I was pushing it, but I really wanted to know where he went that night.

  “Nah. I paid my respects. I didn’t feel like hanging out with my family anymore. They can be kind of stifling, if you know what I mean.” Rob stood up, as if he was feeling stifled now, and took the popcorn bowl to the kitchen.

  Farrah looked at me questioningly, her brows arched.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

  We followed Rob to the kitchen and told him we had to take off.

  “It was great to meet you,” said Farrah, briefly touching his arm. “Hopefully, we’ll catch your game tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, see you later, Rob,” I said. Then we scooted out the front before the situation could get awkward. Once on the sidewalk, I couldn’t resist teasing Farrah.

  “Well, well, Miss Marilyn Monroe. You seemed to be enjoying your little distraction role in there.”

  “Hey!” she protested. “I had to do something. You were taking forever up there.” Then she looked at me and grinned slyly. “He was pretty cute, though. Who knew detective work was going to be so fun?”

  “Ha,” I replied, climbing into her car.

  “Where to now, Chief?” she asked.

  “Let’s drive down the alley behind the house. I’m wondering how shielded it is back there.”

  Farrah rounded the corner and slowly entered the alley. We went past backyards and garages until we reached the back fence that belonged to Eleanor’s house. Just as I thought, with the fence, the garage, the toolshed, and all the trees, you couldn’t even see the back door of the house or any of the windows.

  “Shame, shame,” said Farrah. “Somebody’s being naughty.” I followed her gaze to the roof of a back porch on the other side of the alley. A girl sat on the rooftop, leaning against a window and smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey, I know that girl,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “She’s what’s-her-name. Brandi. The girl who acted all weird when the police questioned the neighbors.”

  “Interesting,” said Farrah. “From up there, a person might be able to see someone leaving out this back gate.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Farrah shut off the ignition, and we exited the car, then strolled over to the short chain-link fence that marked the edge of Brandi’s backyard.

  “Hi there!” I called, causing Brandi to jump out of her over-tanned skin. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”

  She looked nervously over her shoulder, then stubbed out her cigarette without a word. Farrah and I looked at each other; then I tried again.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We won’t tell your mom. We just want to ask you a couple questions.”

  Again silence. Brandi squinted at us suspiciously. “About what?” she finally said.

  “About the other night,” I replied. “We think somebody was here at the Mostriaks’ house last Saturday evening. Did you notice anybody coming or going?”

  Brandi stared at us for a second, then slowly shook her head.

  “What’s her deal?” Farrah whispered. “She’s obviously hiding something.”

  “Maybe she’s just feeling guilty about the smoking,” I said quietly. In a louder voice I said, “Look, we’re not the cops. We’re just looking for some information. Why don’t yo
u come down from there so we don’t have to shout?”

  The girl hesitated, then looked behind her and through the window again. Making up her mind, she shook her head for the second time. “Sorry. I don’t know anything. I gotta go.”

  “Hey!” yelled Farrah, causing Brandi to turn back, wide-eyed. “Don’t you know that smoking is a nasty, unattractive habit? It totally makes you stink.”

  “Farrah!” I said. “We’re trying to make friends here.”

  I turned back to Brandi to try to make nice again, but she was already gone.

  “Dude!” I chided Farrah. “When it comes to the interrogations, I think you better stick to the boys.”

  CHAPTER 11

  I wandered in a crumbling, overgrown cemetery full of weeping willows and brambles and weeds. It was night, and I was sure there were ghosts watching me. I wanted to escape, but I was walking in circles. Finally, up ahead I could see the way out through a large iron gate. Amazingly, I realized I held the key, a large skeleton key. I ran to the gate, but when I got there, it turned into a great wooden door, and I no longer had the key. Before I knew what was happening, I was in a car, making out with someone. We were going at it good, fogging up the windows. I pulled back for a moment to look into his eyes and saw that it was . . . Jeremy.

  Ahhh! I jerked awake, feeling guilty and somewhat shaken by the weird dream. Rolling over, I looked at my bedside clock and saw that it was 9:00 a.m. Crap! I was late for work, too.

  Oh, wait. I had no work. Double crap.

  I heaved myself out of bed and walked zombie-like into the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face. I had stayed up late the night before, poring over all my witchy resource books, hoping against hope for a magical solution to my predicament. Unfortunately, this was the real world, not some supernatural TV show. Most of the spells I’d found were more about changing yourself than changing external circumstances. Darn New Age morality.

  I had gone into the kitchen and had started pulling bags of frozen fruit out of the freezer and tossing pieces into my blender when I heard strange high-pitched singing coming from my backyard. Puzzled, I opened the patio doors and stepped onto my deck. Down below was Mrs. St. John, my next-door neighbor, who was making herself at home in my backyard, along with her yippy little pug, Chompy. I crossed my arms as I watched her drag her reclining lawn chair onto my lawn, settle herself down, and then toss a rawhide bone toward my vegetable patch. Chompy tore after it, kicking up the dirt in my garden in the process.

  I cleared my throat loudly, and Mrs. St. John nearly fell out of her chair. “Oh! Keli, you gave me a fright!”

  “Good morning, Mrs. St. John,” I said, standing straight-backed with arms crossed in my best impression of a strict schoolmarm.

  The poor woman, gray curls bouncing, scrambled to her feet. “I thought you were at work. What time is it? Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I’m on vacation,” I said.

  “Oh! Well, how long are you taking off? Are you going away?”

  Now it was my turn to falter. “Um. Well, I’m just taking a few days off, I think. I haven’t really firmed up my plans yet.”

  She wrinkled her forehead and opened her mouth to speak again, but then she was distracted by her husband, who was dragging his golf bag across the grass into my yard. She tried to wave him back. “Keli’s home!” she whispered loudly.

  “What?” he shouted, evidently not having turned on his hearing aids.

  “Keli’s home! Don’t come over here!”

  I turned and went back into my house to finish my smoothie. I couldn’t deal with Mr. and Mrs. St. John right now. They probably spread out into my yard every day, the old stinkers. When I heard Mrs. St. John call their dog in that impossibly high-pitched voice of hers—“Here, Chompy! Here, little pooch! Come to Mommy!”—I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Goddess, help me,” I murmured. I had to get out of the house.

  What to do? What to do? I knew I had some leads to pursue in order to learn more about the Folio. But I hadn’t actually given up on the prospect of a magical assist. What I really wanted to do was talk to Mila. She had been practicing witchcraft a lot longer than I had, and she might have a spell or two up her sleeve.

  The problem was, I was nervous about going downtown. I really didn’t want to run into anyone from work. On the other hand, it was Thursday morning. I glanced at the kitchen clock. If I hurried, I could make it to the square while all my colleagues were safely ensconced in the conflicts meeting.

  Quickly, I threw on some blue jogging shorts and a white and gold ribbed tank top, laced up my sneakers, and bounded out the door. It felt good to run. I fairly flew down the sidewalks, almost as if I could outrun my problems. Before long I found myself, only slightly sweaty, flushed, and out of breath, in front of Moonstone Treasures.

  Before entering the store, I looked over my shoulder, as always. With the courthouse nearby, there was always the chance of being seen by attorneys from other firms, clients, or government officials—people who might raise an eyebrow if they knew I frequented an occult shop. Cautiously, I slipped inside and tried to act casual. There were a couple of other customers, so I played it cool, browsing the greeting cards, waiting for a chance to talk with Mila alone.

  Of course, Mila didn’t know my intentions.

  “Keli! Hey! Come over here. Have a drink of water and meet my friends.”

  I looked up to see Mila standing by the checkout counter with two slender young women, arms draped casually around one another. They looked my way with polite interest, while Mila poured some water from her glass carafe.

  “Hi,” I said, walking up to them, with one eye on the door.

  Mila touched my shoulder and addressed the couple. “This is Keli Milanni. She works in the law office around the corner. But I guess not today?” She indicated my jogging outfit.

  “Nope. Day off.”

  Mila then inclined her head toward the two women. “This is Andi and Trina. They moved here from Chicago in April and joined Circle a few weeks ago.” Circle was short for Magic Circle, the name of Mila’s coven. She had invited me to their meetings several times, but I kept refusing. Even among friends, I couldn’t risk going public with my beliefs.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Andi. She was the shorter of the two, with dark, pixie-styled hair and brilliant blue eyes.

  Trina, who wore her blond-streaked hair pulled to the side with barrettes, nodded a hello.

  “We were just talking about Litha,” said Mila. Litha, I knew, was another name for the summer solstice. Also called Midsummer, it was an important holiday in many nature religions.

  “Yeah,” said Trina. “We’re planning a solstice celebration in the woods near Briar Creek Cabins. We’re going to have dancing, chanting, and drumming around a sacred bonfire. You should come.”

  “Oh, well, thank you. It sounds nice. But I’m a solitary practitioner,” I said.

  Trina shrugged, and Andi looked at me strangely.

  To change the subject, I said, “Are you guys going to the Renaissance Faire on the SCIU campus? There’s going to be a performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Fittingly.”

  “We’ll probably stop by the fair,” said Trina. “We have mixed feelings about Shakespeare, though.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “You know,” she said, assuming a didactic tone. “In many ways, Shakespeare is responsible for the perpetuation of the negative stereotype of the witch as a demon hag. We’re still dealing with it today.”

  “Yeah,” Andi agreed. “‘Double, double toil and trouble.’ Still a strong icon four hundred years later.”

  “Hmm,” I said, considering this. “I always think of the evil fairy-tale witch as just one more villainous storybook character. It’s like in The Wizard of Oz—you’ve got the good witch and the bad witch.”

  Trina shook her head. “When someone says ‘witch,’ what do most people think of? And not only that, but there’s a close link betw
een society’s view of strong women or elder women and the creation of the evil witch archetype. So I can’t help it. I take offense at the denigration of witches, even in fiction. It’s like they’re creating an insulting caricature of women. Anything to bring us down.”

  Wow. This woman was intense. Still, I couldn’t help liking her.

  “Ooh,” said Mila, rubbing her hands together. “This would be a great topic to explore at Circle. I’m going to find a book on this subject that we can all read together.”

  “I’ve got a couple you can borrow,” Trina interjected.

  “Keli,” said Mila, “you really should join us sometime. Our Circle gatherings are always a lot of fun. We take turns hosting them in one another’s homes.”

  I raised a palm and repeated my standard answer. “Solitary,” I said, backing away from the counter. “Thanks, anyway.”

  A shadow fell across the room as someone walked by the window outside, and I instinctively ducked around the corner to the book section of the store. Andi and Trina completed their purchases and left. Then Mila came over and found me halfheartedly browsing the titles.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I’ve got a problem,” I confided. “I desperately need to find something.”

  “Not true love, I hope.”

  “No. This time it’s a missing object. Something that was stolen, actually. It’s a long story, but my job depends on the recovery of this item. Maybe even my career.” My voice hitched a little as I said it.

  With a concerned look, Mila guided me over to the sitting area where we had chatted the other day. “This object . . . ,” she said. “Have you tried a finding spell?”

  “No. See, the thing is, the object isn’t mine. I didn’t lose it. It wasn’t taken from me. It doesn’t belong to me. None of the usual finding spells seem to fit the bill.”

  Mila furrowed her eyebrows and tapped her fingertips together as she thought about what I’d said. “Hmm. It shouldn’t matter if the object isn’t yours. Have you seen it? Could you draw it?”

  “I’ve seen it, yes. I suppose I could make a rough sketch.”