Midsummer Night's Mischief Page 11

  “Okay,” Mila said decisively as she stood up. “I’ve got just the thing. Let me go grab a couple things for you and jot down a spell.”

  I followed her to the counter and chuckled as a thought occurred to me. “If my mother were here, she’d tell me to pray to St. Anthony.”

  “Well, sure,” said Mila, in complete seriousness. “That could work, too. But something tells me you don’t have any statues of saints adorning your altar.”

  “True,” I agreed. “So, you’re saying that the deities we invoke—or the saints, as the case may be—have their particular power because we give it to them?”

  “All I’m saying,” said Mila as she handed me the paper bag she’d just filled, “is, ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose—’”

  “‘By any other name would smell as sweet,’” I said, finishing for her and nodding.

  “Still,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “I would recommend calling upon Persephone for this one. She can help you unearth the treasure you seek.”

  I took the paper bag and shook my head in wonder. I hadn’t even told Mila what it was I was looking for. Yet here she was, quoting Shakespeare and talking about lost treasures. That witch never ceases to amaze me, I thought as I headed for the door.

  * * *

  Leaving Moonstone Treasures, I prepared to dash around the corner and head away from the law office. But in my haste, I nearly bumped into the opening door of the gallery next to Mila’s shop. I skidded to a stop and gasped when I recognized the person exiting.

  “Wes!” I felt a warm charge of pleasure at seeing him again. Then I noticed his irritated expression. “How are you?” I ventured.

  “I’ve been better,” he said with a scowl, letting the door bang shut behind him.

  “Oh.” Well, this is awkward. While Wes clenched his jaw and muttered indecipherably, but probably profanely, under his breath, I stood there uncertainly on the sidewalk.

  Then, quick as a sunburst, Wes softened. Running a hand through his hair—which was thick, tousled, and touchable, not that I noticed—he took a step next to me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just . . . nothing. So what’s up with you? Out for a jog?”

  Now, there was the look I remembered. That deeply interested gaze that held the promise of something . . . exciting. And perhaps steamy. I swallowed and tried to focus on the conversation.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “I’m taking the day off from work. Thought I’d get a run in before it gets too hot.”

  “Hey,” he said, shifting his feet. “Let me ask you something. On Sunday I’m planning to drive out to this old farm my family owns. It’s actually the place where my grandpa Frank grew up. We have an arrangement with a farmer to run the land, but it’s good to check on it now and then, you know? I haven’t been out there since I got back. Anyway, it’s about ten miles outside of town, and it’s a nice scenic drive. So I was thinking, if it’s a nice day, would you like to come along? We could bring a picnic, stop off in the woods on the way.”

  “Yeah,” I said without hesitation. “That sounds lovely.”

  “Wonderful.” He smiled. “I’ll give you a call later, and we’ll figure out the details. I think I’ve still got your number in my phone.”

  As I jogged home, floating on cloud nine, I daydreamed about my date with Wes. This was perfect. I was finally going to have a chance to get to know him better. But as my mind wandered to our last couple of encounters and the whole mess surrounding the missing Folio, my pace became slower and slower, until my brisk jog turned into a languid walk. I could no longer ignore the elephant in the room.

  Wes was a suspect.

  And not only Wes. All the Mostriak-Callahan family members were the most likely suspects. The visitation might have provided an alibi for some of them, but the fact was that people had come and gone from the visitation. The funeral home wasn’t that far from Eleanor’s home. The family knew the Folio was there. And they knew how to get into the house.

  The question was, who would do such a thing?

  CHAPTER 12

  “Ooh! Ouch!”

  “Well, that’s what you get for wearing such itty-bitty short shorts.”

  I made a face at Farrah and sat down gingerly on the hot metal bleachers. Her shorts weren’t much longer than mine, but she propped her feet on the seat in front of us, bending her knees to keep her thighs raised. The bleachers were nearly empty, as most people were smart enough to bring their own chairs so they could sit in the shade.

  Farrah studied the ball field for a minute, then turned to me and lowered her oversize sunglasses. “Where’s our buddy Rob?”

  Shading my eyes with my hand, I scanned the field, taking in each player, including the ones on the bench. It was the top of the fourth inning. Pop’s Hardware was at bat against the Cozy Café—with one out and no one on base. Cozy was ahead five to one. Rob had told Farrah he was on Pop’s team, but there was no Rob in sight.

  “Huh,” I said. “Let’s go talk to the boys on the bench.” I stood up, grateful to leave the heat of the bleachers, and Farrah followed. Guessing that the players sat in batting order, we walked to the end of the line.

  “Hey there!” said Farrah, turning on the charm.

  The whole row looked our way. So much for not interrupting the game.

  “We’re friends of Rob Callahan,” I said. “Any idea where he is?”

  One of the players nearest us, a hefty guy with short curly hair, answered at once. “Ole Robby is MIA. Again.”

  “Well, how do you like that?” said Farrah. “He invites us to his game and then skips out on it.”

  “Has he missed a lot of games?” I asked.

  “Games, practices. There’s about a fifty-fifty chance he’ll show up on any given day. I don’t know how Coach puts up with it. Except that he is a pretty decent player when he does show.”

  “Does he at least have good excuses?” I said.

  Curly Guy shrugged, and a long-haired guy next to him snorted. Farrah and I looked from one to the other questioningly.

  “What gives?” said Farrah. “Where do you think we could find him now?”

  Instead of responding, the players all shifted over on the bench as they neared their turn at bat. I noticed that they were one strike away from the third out, and then this whole team would be heading out to the field. I really didn’t feel like sitting through another inning of this terribly non-exciting game, so I tried to get them talking again.

  “Have you guys known Rob a long time?”

  “Sure,” said Curly Guy. “A while. We were on this team last year, too.”

  “I knew him from school,” offered the other player, dragging his cleats casually in the dirt.

  “Has he always been this unreliable?” asked Farrah.

  Curly Guy shrugged his shoulders again, but the long-haired guy answered.

  “Nah,” he said. “I guess he developed this little problem some time later.”

  “Problem?” I echoed.

  Now Curly Guy rolled his eyes. “Put it this way,” he said. “Robby’s got a little fixation. You might even call it an addiction. He should just admit it and get help already.”

  “Strike Three! Out!”

  The boys on the bench all stood up and shuffled toward the field. Before they could get away, I grabbed Long Hair’s arm. “Real quick,” I said. “If you went to school with Rob, you must have known his brother, Wes, right?”

  “Yeah, I know Wes. He was a couple grades ahead of us.”

  “Did you know he moved back to Edindale?”

  “Sure. I’ve seen him around.”

  “Do you happen to know where he’s staying?”

  Giving me a look that said “I really gotta go now,” Long Hair nodded and stepped away from me. Over his shoulder, he said, “Yeah. I heard he’s staying with Jimi Coral, owner of the Loose Rock.”

  Farrah and I looked at each other, and Farrah raised her eyebrows.

  “I can’t believe Jimi l
ied to me!” I said. “Why would he do that?”

  Farrah checked her Swatch and nudged me. “We don’t need to talk to these baseball guys anymore, do we? I’m melting here, and I have to go home and shower before my date.”

  “Oh, who are you going out with?” I asked as we walked to my car.

  She looked only slightly sheepish. “Jake. We’re calling this a test date. If it goes well, we might start seeing each other again.”

  I laughed, unlocked my car, and lowered the windows to let out the heat. Anyway, I needed to get home myself. I had a date, too—with a certain Greek goddess called Persephone.

  * * *

  The shades were drawn; the candles lit. The altar was set. Walking clockwise—clothed this time—I cast the circle, pausing at each cardinal direction to invoke the spirits of the ancient elements:

  God of the North, rooted in Earth, I call upon thee.

  Goddess of the East, breath of knowledge, I call upon thee.

  God of the South, light of truth, I call upon thee.

  Goddess of the West, waters of purity, I call upon thee.

  Then, kneeling before the altar, I held my hands, palms downward, above the sketch I had made of the First Folio. I closed my eyes, took three centering breaths, and intoned the words Mila had given me.

  Goddess Persephone, Mistress of Life,

  From Hades’s Realm you rose.

  Out of darkness, you brought forth light

  With blossoms ’neath your toes.

  Beloved Persephone, who comes and goes,

  As Nature lives and dies,

  Reveal for me the missing thing,

  Unveiled before my eyes.

  In the silence following the incantation, I kept my focus inward, my hands still hovering above the picture. I allowed my consciousness to expand as I observed whatever vision the Goddess would bring. Before long, the darkness behind my eyes lifted, as a fog lifted in a valley, and I saw a line of books. I saw shelves of books, row upon row, in all sizes and colors. A hall of books. Then the books disappeared and were replaced by a lovely garden, green and verdant, with flowering trees and shrubs. I saw roses and lilacs, and I realized it was Eleanor’s garden. I saw Eleanor’s cheerful yellow house. Then the house and gardens began to fade and were replaced by—

  Knock, knock, knock!

  My eyes flew open, and I fell sideways, knocked off balance by the jarring noise. I placed my hands on the floor to steady myself, feeling slightly woozy from being pulled out of the trance so suddenly. I was taking a deep breath and pushing myself to my knees when there was another round of loud knocks.

  “All right, all right,” I mumbled. Quickly, I grabbed the athame from my altar and cut an invisible doorway into my sacred circle. This was the safe way to exit a circle before it had been properly closed. Pulling my bedroom door shut behind me, I went to see who in the world was banging on my front door.

  I peered through the peephole and saw a young woman I didn’t recognize, pale blond hair framing her worried face. Curious, I opened the door.

  “Oh, Keli!” she said. “I’m so glad you’re home. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  “Um.” I stared at her, trying to place the face. Nada. I had no idea who this was.

  “Can I come in? It’s about Jeremy. I need your advice.”

  Jeremy?

  Seeing my confusion, she rushed to explain. “I’m Stacey, Jeremy’s girlfriend. You and I haven’t actually met, but Jeremy pointed you out at that museum fund-raiser last month. Hasn’t he mentioned me at the office?”

  “Come on in,” I said, avoiding the question. “Can I get you anything? Water, tea, wine?”

  “White wine would be great, if you have it.” She followed me into the kitchen and plopped onto one of the cushioned chairs in my breakfast nook. I got out two glasses, poured the wine, and joined her.

  “So . . . Stacey. What’s up with Jeremy? Is he okay?”

  To my dismay, I saw her lower lip tremble. “I don’t know,” she said. Then, “I think he’s having an affair!”

  Oh, Lord. I nearly spilled my wine. “Wh-what makes you think that?”

  Not that night at the Loose, I thought. Not those flowers, not the footsie under the table. None of that counted as an affair, right? I would know if I were having an affair. Surely.

  “He’s been going someplace in the evenings, and I don’t know where. At first, it was once in a while, but now it’s, like, a couple times a week. He always says he’s going to the office to work on a big case or attend a night meeting, or something like that. But I went by the office tonight to surprise him, and it was completely dark. Locked up. Nobody there.”

  I furrowed my eyebrows, not sure what to say. Knowing Jeremy, he probably was having an affair. He had never once mentioned to me that he had a girlfriend.

  “You’re his boss,” she said. “Do you know where he might be? Is there any business he might be doing at . . . at another office or something?”

  I shook my head slowly and gave her a sympathetic look. I could tell she didn’t really believe it even as she said it, poor girl. I felt sorry for her. Jeremy was a cad.

  “I’ve got to find out what he’s up to,” she said, staring into her wineglass. “I hate not trusting him. And maybe it’s nothing. . . .” She looked up at me, eyes pleading. “Will you help me? Find out where he’s been going? Maybe you could, I don’t know, give him an evening assignment. If he says he’s busy, you can ask him what he’s doing. Or . . . or maybe there’s something in his office that would indicate where he’s going.”

  Taking a sip of my wine, I pictured Jeremy’s office. It was kind of small and cluttered. Windowless. Somewhat boring, really. He did have that oversize blotter he liked to doodle on. As I recalled, he used it to jot down appointments, as well. Just maybe there was a clue there as to his nighttime meetings. Only problem was, I didn’t currently have access to the office.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Stacey. I’d like to help you, but I don’t see how I can. I’m actually on vacation this week, so I won’t even see—”

  “Please.” She said it with a sob, and I could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll check out his office. See what I can find out. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I handed her a tissue, while inside I cursed Jeremy and his damn flirty ways. I knew I should never have touched the Untouchable. Now, thanks to my own guilty conscience, I was gonna pay the piper. That was karma for you.

  * * *

  It was nearly midnight, the witching hour, but this witch was wiped. When my bedside telephone rang, I was already snuggled in, dozing off, and inclined to ignore it. But just before voice mail picked up, I sighed and reached for the phone. It was Farrah.

  “Hey, hippie chick! I didn’t wake you, did I?” She sounded tipsy and jubilant. I guessed her date had gone well.

  “No, no. I’m still up,” I murmured, closing my eyes and resting my head back on the pillow.

  “Guess who I ran into at the Loose?” she sang in a teasing voice.

  “I’ve no idea,” I mumbled. “Who?”

  “Oh, just a certain hunky rock star type. Nobody you’d be interested in.”

  Okay, now I was fully awake. I sat up and propped my pillow behind me. “Was he with anyone? Did you talk to him?”

  “Well, he wasn’t on a date. In fact, it appears he’s living there.”

  “What? I don’t think I heard you right. Did you say—”

  “Remember how we thought Wes looked like he had just got out of bed the first time we saw him? Well, he actually might have. He’s sleeping on a cot in Jimi’s office.”

  I scrunched my forehead, trying to make sense of this bit of information.

  Farrah continued, “I saw him come out of there, and the door was left open—mostly—so I peeked in. I saw the cot and some bags and luggage and stuff. So I corner
ed Jimi to get the lowdown.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Well, he was cagey at first. But he finally admitted to it. Turns out Wes stayed at Jimi’s house for a while. Then Jimi’s wife kicked him out. Said she wasn’t going to have a bum sleeping on the couch for a month.” Farrah laughed, but I wasn’t seeing the humor.

  Wes? A bum?

  “Jimi was all worried about getting in trouble with the city,” Farrah went on. “It’s not exactly legal to use a bar as a place of residence. So he’s trying not to let people find out—especially us lawyers.”

  “Did you talk to Wes at all?”

  “No. He took off. I couldn’t exactly follow him in the middle of my date.” I heard a muffled voice in the background and then Farrah’s giggle. “One more minute,” she cooed to the voice in the background.

  “Good date?”

  “So far so good,” she said with a soft laugh.

  At least somebody’s having fun, I thought, sinking back onto my pillow. For some reason, Jeremy’s face sprang to mind, followed quickly by the visit from his girlfriend.

  “Hey,” I said to Farrah. “There’s something I have to do tomorrow night, and I could use your help.” I told her about Stacey and my promise to snoop in Jeremy’s office.

  “And how do you plan on doing that?” Farrah wanted to know.

  “Simple. I just have to sneak into the office after hours, when the place is empty. I have a key, so it shouldn’t be too hard. I just have to make sure I’m in and out before the early morning cleaning crew. And I’ll need a lookout. What do you say, partner?”

  “Jeez. Two cases now? What are you? Keli Milanni, PI? If the lawyer thing doesn’t work out, you could start a whole new career as a detective.”

  “Yeah. Right.” And how very not comforting at all. Laughing faintly, I told Farrah to go have fun with Jake while I drifted off to dreamland.

  CHAPTER 13

  On day two of my unplanned sabbatical, I decided not to stick around the house any longer than absolutely necessary. After an early morning run through the park, down the rail trail and back, I showered, dressed in my usual Friday business casual—skinny pants, a cropped blazer over a low-slung cami, and ballet flats—and called retired professor Wendell Knotts. When I told him Professor Eisenberry had suggested I contact him to discuss the First Folio, he eagerly agreed to meet me for coffee within the hour. He suggested the Cozy Café, which wasn’t far from the university, and that suited me just fine.