Midsummer Night's Mischief Page 4

  “Did you have a message for me, Julie?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Jeremy called in sick. He sounded awful. He asked me to let you know.”

  Coward. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to go out of my way to avoid him. I thanked Julie, then went to my office and shut the door. I pulled out Eleanor’s will and set it aside. I would go file it with the probate court clerk later in the day and then would contact Darlene to let her know. As she was the executor, I would talk to her about selling the Folio and settling the estate. These things couldn’t be put off too long, but I didn’t need to hassle her first thing after her mother passed away.

  For the rest of the morning, I drafted documents for other clients and made a couple of phone calls. By 12:30, I was ready to come up for some air and take a break. Before grabbing some food, I needed to stop in at one of my favorite places in Edindale, Moonstone Treasures. It was a cute gift boutique around the corner from the law office, and it sold all kinds of goodies: books and cards, candles, crystals, jewelry, and CDs. And, behind a gauzy purple curtain, psychic readings. By appointment only.

  A chime over the door jingled as I entered the shop, and I felt like I’d walked into a fairyland. A light blend of jasmine and citrus oils perfumed the air, while Native American–inspired flute music played softly in the background. Overlapping fringed throw rugs in warm jewel tones softened my steps, and from the ceiling delicate wind chimes, oriental paper lanterns, and shimmering spiral decorations swayed gently in the breeze that had followed me in. The atmosphere felt mystical. At the same time, the large picture windows in front kept the shop bright and open.

  Just being in the shop was a restorative experience. But it was the set of shelves in the far back corner that interested me the most. This was where I could find special tools and supplies for the craft. There were mortar and pestle sets, chalices and athames, as well as candles, herbs, and oils. There were also tools for divination: tarot cards, runes, tea leaves.

  I was in heaven.

  I was admiring some new moon- and stars-adorned frames when the proprietor came in from the curtained back room.

  “Hi, Mila,” I said, looking up.

  As always, Mila Douglas was a vision—boho chic meets Audrey Hepburn, with the slightest punk edge. She wore indigo skinny jeans and a simple cream-colored peasant shirt with three-quarter sleeves—the better to show off the charming trique-tra tattooed on the inside of her right wrist. Her brunette hair was cropped in a short, easy shag, the tips dip-dyed pink. Dangly crystal earrings were her only jewelry.

  Mila’s style was what I imagined I might try if I didn’t work in a law office five days a week. And who knew? Maybe I’d wind up like her yet. She had once told me she was forty-something, though she didn’t look a day over thirty-five.

  “Keli, so nice to see you. How are you liking the vanilla-berry candle? Is it working for you?”

  Mila, of course, knew of my Pagan proclivities. Although we’d never gotten together outside the shop, I’d spent enough time there that I considered her a friend.

  “It’s great,” I said. “Um, this is kind of embarrassing, but there’s something I’m dying to tell you.”

  “Oh, do tell,” said Mila, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Do you want to go to the back room?”

  “No. Well, not yet, anyway.” I lowered my voice, too, even though there was no one else around. “I cast a love spell the other night.”

  “Which night?” Mila whispered.

  “Wednesday,” I said, somewhat surprised by the question.

  “Hmm,” said Mila. “You should have waited until Friday. Friday is better for love spells.”

  “Really?” That was new for me.

  Mila consulted a calendar near the cash register. “At least the moon was waxing on Wednesday night, though the spell would’ve been more powerful if you’d waited for the full.” She turned and smiled warmly. “Anyway, the most important element is you, and what’s in your heart. How did you feel about the spell? Did it feel good to cast it? And how do you feel now?”

  “A little confused,” I confessed. “I’m afraid maybe I wasn’t specific enough.”

  Mila nodded. “What was your intention exactly? Not a specific person, I assume.” She opened a mini fridge behind the counter and took out a glass carafe. “Lemon water?” she said, reaching for two glass tumblers.

  I accepted the drink and flopped into a cushioned wicker rocking chair in the book section of her store. Mila sat cross-legged on an oversize velvet ottoman and waited for me to answer.

  “No,” I sighed. “Not really a specific person. Just Mr. Right, I guess.” I looked at her with a wry smile. “My intent was to attract my perfect mate. It felt right at the time, so to speak.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, the next day I did seem to attract a lot of attention—which gave me a certain amount of confidence, I suppose. I even met someone new.”

  “How did you meet him?” asked Mila. She held her glass in both hands and regarded me intently.

  I laughed. “At a bar. He was like the dark and mysterious stranger who rode in on a stallion. New in town and everything. And very nice to look at, let me tell you.”

  “But?” Mila prompted.

  “But he bailed,” I said. “Got a call and left.” Without asking for my number. I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  “Hmm,” said Mila. “Spells do take time, you know. It’s not like rubbing a magic lamp, and—poof—a genie appears to make your wish come true.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “But I’ve actually been contemplating this spell for a long time. Kind of saving it as a last resort, I guess.”

  Mila raised her eyebrows.

  “Not that I’m desperate or anything,” I hurried to say. “It’s just that . . . Well, I’m turning thirty in a couple weeks.”

  “Oh, when’s your birthday?” asked Mila, all lit up like a child on her own birthday.

  “June nineteenth.”

  “A Gemini,” she said, nodding her head. “Of course.”

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’?” Astrology was a little over my head. Interesting to a point, but just complicated enough to make my brain hurt if I thought about it too long.

  “The twins,” said Mila. “The duality. You know, the two sides of your personality—the straitlaced lawyer on one side and the free spirit on the other.”

  Mila hopped up from her seat and went to a nearby cabinet, talking to me over her shoulder. “I’ve got something for you. An early birthday present.”

  While she rummaged through the cabinet, I got up and strolled over to the front window. Sunlight streamed through the glass, reminding me of late spring school days when it looked like summer outside. I used to gaze out the window, longing to be outside in the sun instead of cooped up in a stuffy classroom, learning algebra or some such subject I’d never used since. The memory made me reluctant to go back to the office.

  Just then, I became aware of a couple walking down the sidewalk. I glanced over, then quickly jumped back and darted to the side of the window. It was Pammy and Crenshaw.

  I peeked cautiously from the edge of the window to see where they were going. Please, not in here. I couldn’t imagine why they would, especially together, but stranger things had happened. Based on the take-out bag Crenshaw carried, I guessed they were on their way back from lunch. I watched as they passed by, Pammy decked out in turquoise and silver, Crenshaw dapper as usual in pinstripes and a bow tie, his shiny new chin jutting out before him. What a pair. Thankfully, they crossed the street and headed away from the shop.

  “Who are we spying on?” Mila whispered, coming up behind me.

  “Coworkers,” I replied. “Muggles.” I turned and grinned at Mila, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Here,” she said, taking my hand. She pressed a small smooth object into my palm and closed my fingers over it. “This is for you. It’s a wishing stone I found in a creek bed a few years ago. It’s really unique, heart shape
d and tinged pink. I knew this had to be a love charm, so I drilled a small hole and threaded it with a slender chain.”

  “Then what?” I asked. I was itching to look at the stone, but Mila still held my hand shut with hers.

  “I wore it around my neck for a couple days. But it was kind of heavy, not very comfortable, really. On the third day, I took it off at home and plunked it on the coffee table with a groan. ‘This thing is hurting my neck,’ I said to my husband. He came up behind me and started rubbing my neck. ‘Why are you wearing it, then?’ he asked.”

  “Yeah, really,” I said. “Why were you wearing it?” I had heard Mila speak of her husband before. I knew they had been together happily for years.

  “Well,” she said, “that neck massage I got from my husband was really nice. It turned into a shoulder massage, then my back. And then one thing led to another.” Mila arched her eyebrows suggestively, and I laughed.

  “Ah,” I said. “So it worked?”

  “You bet. I mean, the love was always there. But that little charm helped draw it out even more.” Mila let go of my hand and gave me a quick hug. “It served its purpose for me. Still, I held on to it, knowing it would have another purpose someday. It’s yours now.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling touched.

  “You know what to do,” she continued. “Imbue it with your energy. Feed it your intention. And carry it with you as a reminder, a touchstone. Then let the magic happen.”

  * * *

  I closed the door of Mila’s shop, a smile still on my lips. Mila was a good friend; I felt lucky to know her. However, when I turned around and looked up, my smile quickly dropped away. Across the street, gleaming brown-and-white wing tips planted in nearly the exact same spot as before, stood Crenshaw. Staring at me. It was so unexpected, I felt flustered. What was his deal, anyway? He must have dropped Pammy off at the office and then continued around the block again. Maybe he was doing laps, speed walking or something.

  Crenshaw moved on, but I lingered on the sidewalk. I wasn’t quite ready to go back to the office. Instead, I walked to the end of the block and turned right instead of left. Two doors down and I was at Callie’s Health Food Store and Juice Bar, where I ordered a fresh six-veggie blend with ginger. Two juices in one day seemed totally called for today. For good measure and some crunch, I also grabbed a package of nuts. Thus fortified, I was prepared to work quietly at my desk until quitting time.

  No sooner had I typed “aphroDite17” into my computer’s password field than I heard the sound of robust male laughter from down the hall. From Jeremy’s office.

  Sick, eh? Maybe I’d better go see just how sick, the lazy bum.

  Leaving my lunch on my desk, I checked my hair in the mirror beside my door and then popped over to Jeremy’s office. There he was, chill as ever, leaning back in his chair, tossing caramel corn into the air and catching it in his mouth. Crenshaw was relaxing in one of the client chairs, long legs crossed elegantly. Randall Sykes, arising from the second chair, was speaking.

  “Odds are three to one, fellas. We may want to rethink this one after tonight.” Chuckling, he turned to me. “Want in on this, Keli? I’m collecting for the office baseball pool.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, anyway. I’m not much of a gambler.”

  Crenshaw stood quickly, gave me that obnoxious half bow, and motioned to the chair vacated by Randall. “Have a seat, Keli. Tell us, does fortune smile upon you?”

  I ignored the chair and the allusion and leaned against the door frame. “I’ve got to get to work. I just wanted to see how Jeremy’s feeling.” Turning to Jeremy, I said, “I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

  Before he could answer, Pammy poked her head in the room. “Oh, Crenny, there you are. I wanted to ask your opinion on this case I’m working on.”

  Crenshaw motioned to the empty chair again but stayed seated. “We were just having a brief postprandial chat. Not much else this hour of the day is good for.”

  Jeremy snorted and leaned forward to grab a pen from the plastic beer stein he used as a pencil cup. He began doodling on the oversize blotter calendar in the center of his desk.

  Pammy walked around me and sat down in the empty chair. “Keli,” she said, “I was really sorry to hear about your client passing away. She seemed really sweet.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “She was eighty-four yet so youthful. I guess she’d had heart troubles before. Still, it was quite a shock.”

  “Is the funeral all arranged?” asked Pammy.

  “There’s a visitation tomorrow from five to eight. I plan on stopping by.”

  “Where’s the First Folio?” asked Crenshaw. “You don’t have it, do you?”

  “No,” I said. “Eleanor was having so much fun with it, showing it off. It’s probably still at her house. I’ll try to talk to her daughter about it if I get an opportunity.”

  “She still lived in her own home?” Pammy asked.

  “Mm-hmm.” I nodded.

  “Gosh, what a blessing,” said Pammy. “My siblings and I are in the process of looking at nursing homes for our mother.”

  I gave Pammy a sympathetic look and was about to say something more when Crenshaw cleared his throat. Affecting a pose, he projected his voice as if he were on a stage. “‘But age, with his stealing steps, Hath claw’d me in his clutch.’” He looked at each of us as if he had uttered something profound. “That’s Shakespeare, of course. Hamlet, act five.”

  For a moment, we all stared at Crenshaw. Then I slipped out without a word.

  CHAPTER 5

  The sun was still bright in the western sky when I arrived at Carlston Funeral Home, a whitewashed colonial-style mansion. I stood for a moment on the broad porch before the closed front door, and I took a slow deep breath. And then another one. With my feet planted firmly on the Berber entrance mat, I mentally grounded myself to the earth and centered myself in the present. It took only a moment, but it worked. I felt calmer and stronger as I pushed open the door and crossed the threshold. People milled about, somber and quiet. The muted colors, floral arrangements, and soft organ music in the background gave the place a churchy feel. Spotting the guest book, I signed my name. Then I made my way to the viewing room to pay my respects.

  After placing my flowers among the others, I went over to introduce myself to Darlene. Darlene was a petite, youthful-looking woman in her fifties with highlighted auburn hair. She had Eleanor’s dimples, which she flashed briefly, putting on a determinedly brave and gracious face for the public. I recalled Eleanor telling me that Darlene’s husband, Bill, was retired from the army but had recently taken a job with a military contractor. He was currently somewhere in the Middle East, heading up some sort of infrastructure project. I wasn’t surprised he hadn’t made it back for the visitation.

  While I talked to Darlene, we were joined by Eleanor’s son, Kirk, who came in through a side door, picking cottonwood fluff out of his hair. An attractive man with graying temples and deep laugh lines, Kirk was just a little taller than me and appeared to be in his late forties. He put his hand on my arm and said by way of greeting, “Is it over yet? All this sympathy is giving me hives.” Darlene shushed him affectionately, while another woman nearby chuckled softly. I gathered that Kirk was the comedian in the family.

  After offering my condolences, I wandered over to the reception room. I had no appetite for the store-bought cookies and fruit punch, but I did want to look at the picture boards. There was Eleanor throughout the years, in black and white, faded Kodak, Polaroid, and digital. I smiled as I perused the photos: Eleanor as a little girl and as a young lady, Eleanor and Frank on their wedding day. Children, grandchildren, birthday parties, Christmas celebrations. Posed shots and silly candids. What a sweet life, I thought.

  I grinned at one family portrait, so recognizable in its universality. Every expression was a story in itself: the determined cheerfulness of the harried mom, the bored smirks on the teenagers, the goofy faces on the overstimulated
kiddos, the screaming baby. One person always with his eyes closed. And in the middle, a beaming Grandma Eleanor and Grandpa Frank, so proud of their brood.

  Hang on a minute. My glance went back to the bored teenagers, apparently two brothers. These would be the grandsons Eleanor mentioned in her will, Wesley and Robert.

  Hmmm. There was something familiar about the older one. I searched the boards for a later photo. There it was.

  Oh. My. God. Dark hair, warm eyes, sexy smirk. Wesley was Wes! He was the hottie from the bar. The disappearing hottie. It must have been the news of Eleanor’s death that had caused him to leave the bar so abruptly.

  I stood a little straighter as the next realization hit. He could be here! In fact, it was highly likely that he was. I swung around and gave the room a sweeping glance. No sign of a dark-haired hottie.

  I was about to go prowling through the other rooms—Was that wrong? That was so wrong—when someone gasped to my left. I started guiltily and glanced over to see who the mind reader was. A middle-aged woman with short, frizzy hair peered at one of the photo boards.

  “I forgot all about that picnic! Look at Aunt Eleanor in that yellow minidress and sixties flip. And Uncle Frank in that plaid suit! That’s me, the scrawny little kid in braids.”

  She turned to me, smiling and misty eyed. “They were doing Shakespeare in the Park, the university theater troupe. Uncle Frank and Aunt Eleanor thought it would be fun to get dressed up and to bring a picnic basket with wine and cheese and fruit. Apple juice for us kids, of course. Don’t we look like we’re straight out of some European film?”

  I looked at the picture with her, murmuring in agreement. She pointed out her mom and dad and her cousins, which would be Darlene and Kirk. The kids, squinting into the sun, sat cross-legged on a blanket. Eleanor looked so young and elegant, standing with one hand shading her eyes, the other draped at her side. She looked as if she had just been laughing.

  “And here we are with Santa.” The woman had moved on to another photo.