Home for a Spell (15 page)

“Fine. That’s just great. That’s just wonderful. Computer destroyed, backup externals missing. Christ on a motorbike. I won’t pay you, I hope you realize that. Locke didn’t have my approval for a big-ticket item.”

“Locke already paid me,” Marcus said, his smile cold and rock hard. “In cash.”

Marcus stood back while Harding let out a string of curse words that would have made my Grandma Cora reach for the nearest tree switch. “That figures,” Harding ranted, beginning to pace in small, tight circles, “that just figures. This just gets better and better.”

Marcus let Harding sweat things out a bit longer, winking back at me when the tirade became particularly heated, before he said, “If it would help you, I did return the old hard drive to Mr. Locke when my uncle delivered the computer. They were in a large plastic zipper bag. You might have a look around for them. Maybe they came through this ordeal unscathed. It’s possible whoever targeted both Locke and the office might not have found them, huh?”

“You think so?” Harding quieted instantly, latching onto the thought. “A plastic bag, you say. Hm.”

“If they didn’t make the connection, then, yeah. It’s as good a possibility as any.”

“You might be right, at that. As soon as they let me in there, I’ll tear the place apart myself if I have to. I have to have those files.” Harding took notice of me there for the first time. “Aren’t you . . .” He narrowed his eyes into an assessing squint. “Don’t I know you?”

I cleared my throat. “Um, I don’t—” I glanced up at Marcus, looking for help and wishing I had blended into the background the instant Harding arrived on scene.

“I do know you. You’re the one who’s working with Felicity Dow, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation, and the hardness in his voice when he said Liss’s name assured that the animosity he’d felt for his former sister-in-law had not cooled over the past several months. “You showed up at the funeral with her.”

I had, indeed. I nodded. I had no choice.

“And what, may I ask, are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to sign a lease for apartment 1A,” I admitted. “I toured it yesterday, and Locke had asked me to stop by this morning.”

“No lease.”

I blinked at him. “Beg pardon?”

“No lease. Not for you. We prefer renting to respectable people.”

Marcus bristled at this intended slight. “That’s not fair—” he started to say in my defense, but I placed my hand on his arm.

“It’s all right, Marcus. I’ll think of something else. I wouldn’t want to stay in a place that wasn’t safe. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A sign,” I said. We both knew the kind I meant. A sign from above. A cosmic sign from my otherworldly Guides.

Now you’re talking, Margaret Mary-Catherine O’Neill,
the voice of my grandmother intoned faintly in my ear
. You listen to me. I’ll steer you right
.

And for once I had reason to trust her. It. Them. Whatever it was that used my grandmother’s voice and personality to communicate. For once it really seemed to have my back. The timing of everything in the last two days had been too down-to-the-wire to think it had been left up to chance.

Tom was heading back toward us, an unreadable expression blanking his face. What now?

“Good,” Harding said as soon as he realized Tom was coming to talk to us. He hailed him. “Officer Fielding, I told your man that the backup drives are missing as well. I don’t know if they’re part of the mess that’s all over the office floor right now or not, but I need those files. This man here”—he indicated Marcus with a flick of his thumb—“says that the old hard drive was delivered with the computer yesterday.
I need to find that drive
. I’d like your permission to sweep through the office once your men are done to try to locate those parts.”

Tom listened with his usual stoic expression beneath the mirrored aviators. “Sorry. I’m afraid that will be impossible.”

“But—”

“Need I remind you, sir, this site is now an active investigation. A violent crime was perpetrated on these premises. I’m afraid our investigation takes precedence.”

“Officer Fielding, that hard drive is integral to the running of this business—”

“And I’m sure that a day or two to process things won’t strain your business proceedings unduly,” Tom finished for him.

“But—”

“As soon as we are able to release the area, we will. You’ll be the first to know, I assure you.”

Harding knew he was at the mercy of the law, and he was experienced enough to realize he had no choice in the matter. Being at the mercy of anyone or anything didn’t seem to be a state of being he was remotely comfortable with. He hemmed and hawed and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he considered arguing his case, but eventually his shoulders relaxed and he acceded. “Could you at least ask your men to look for the missing hard drive?” he asked, almost a whine by now. “Not to belabor a point, but I just discovered from this man Quinn that it’s possible it was missed by the perpetrators in their war of mass destruction, and if so . . . well, I’m sure you can understand that I’m eager to get my hands on it. Can you at least have them alert me if they are able to locate the hard drive?”

Tom shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t make any promises. If the drive shows up, I’m afraid it will have to be taken in as evidence.”

“What?!” Harding exploded. “Oh,
hell
no. I am willing to cooperate for the sake of decency, but this I will fight you on, pure and simple.”

“Sir . . .” It was a warning, pure and simple. Marcus and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised, wondering whether we should get out of the way.

“This is business I’m talking about. How am I supposed to conduct business if I can’t obtain my own files?” Harding persisted stubbornly. “You want to tell me that?”

“Sir,
I
don’t mean to belabor a point, but a man was killed here last night on
your
business property. Need I remind you, he was one of your own employees? Decency doesn’t begin to cover what is required here. A little compassion wouldn’t be out of line. If there is any chance that there is information on the hard drive that can assist us in our investigation, any chance at all, our team will find it. Then and only then will access to the files be granted to you. Now, instead of wasting my time, I suggest you use your aggravation and impatience for a good cause and give the full measure of your assistance over to our investigative team to solve this crime quickly, hm?” Turning his back on Harding, who was still sputtering, he faced me. “Maggie, you two can go for now. If I need anything more from you, I’ll let you know. I will need you to give a complete signed statement up at the PD, but you can do that later today or tomorrow.”

I nodded to let him know that I understood. “Tom . . . I hope you find who did this, fast. I know you might not believe me, but it honestly was just a coincidence that I was here today. Nothing spooky, I promise.”

He looked at me, but he didn’t say anything. At least I didn’t feel the outright animosity from him at that moment. Maybe that was another sign that he was softening.

“Ready?” Marcus asked me as Tom walked away. I nodded, more than ready to put some distance between us and Harding and all the negative energy that was sparking like firebombs around him.

I was silent as we slowly made our way back to Marcus’s old pickup truck, Marcus matching his long-legged gait to my slower progress. Out in the parking lot, we saw a city news crew rush Chief Boggs as he exited his police SUV. He must have come by way of Annie’s, stopping in for his usual morning treat, if the paper bag in his hand was any indication. The thought made me smile. Mostly because of how easily it could be true. Annie’s plate-sized apple and blueberry fritters were well known for being his sweet-spot downfall. I couldn’t help wondering what he was telling the reporter. He hadn’t even stepped one foot onto the crime scene as yet.

The ride to Enchantments was more than quiet. Marcus and I both fell into a silence born of the strangeness of the moment and the uncertainty of the immediate future. Because all of my plans that had seemed so straightforward yesterday were now all for nothing. How did that always happen? There had to be a lesson in there somewhere. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to plan. Maybe I was supposed to learn to go with the flow. Have faith, ask for help, and let things unfold. Maybe.

Or maybe I was just trying to talk myself into it, since I had no other choice.

Could be. I wouldn’t put it past me. I’m sure my Guides would even agree.

By the time we got to the store, Marcus had shaken off his silence. He took my hand and squeezed it. “You okay, Maggie?”

“Yeah. I’m all right.” I mustered a smile for him. “Despite appearances otherwise, all will be well.”

“And all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well,” he said, finishing off my quote for me. He wagged my hand reassuringly back and forth. “It will. You know that, right?”

I told him I did as I kissed him good-bye for the day. But I wasn’t sure how it would be made right. I was in a funk as I made my way over the threshold into the store I loved so well, feeling as though I’d just lost my best friend. Which was ridiculous. All I had lost was my sense of forward motion, of purpose tied to solution. Which meant I was back to stage one. Nowhere viable to live without taking advantage of Marcus’s far-reaching good graces and willingness to self-sacrifice, or taking myself home to face my mother’s I-told-you-so. Neither of which were particularly acceptable to me. I knew the apartment was lost to me, and obviously it wasn’t as good a deal as it had initially seemed—yes, that was an understatement—but gosh, just having a solution had felt so good.

And of course, flawed a character as he might be, Locke had lost far more than I had today.

I buried all of that and put on my freshest, brightest face. “Sorry, I’m a little bit late,” I called out to Liss, who I could hear rattling around somewhere within. I checked the time on my cell phone as I dropped my things on the counter and was surprised to find I was only a minute or two behind the official store opening hours. So much had happened in such a short amount of time that it actually felt much later than it was. I was worried it was nearing eleven. That sort of made Miss Cooper, English teacher, sound a little time paranoid, but I supposed what she said about admin watching their every move was probably true. These were strange and difficult times.

“Is that you, ducks?” Liss called, her voice sounding muffled.

“Yes, it’s me,” I called back. “I have some terrible news . . .”

“Could you come here and tell me about it, dear? I’m afraid I’m a little tied up at the moment . . .”

I followed the sound of her voice around the stacks to a display area back in the corner that usually held a selection of handmade vintage lace as well as knitwear handcrafted from the wool of sheep raised the organic way by a community of ecowitches in the Scottish Highlands. I wondered sometimes where Liss found all of her more global witchy ties. Her access to the finest artisanry in the witching community seemed positively unlimited. It was probably a moot point. These were the days of info at the fingertip. The Internet had made the world a very small place indeed.

Liss was evidently in the mood for some rearranging of space. I came around the far ceiling-high shelves to find her up on a stepladder, a drill in hand, stretching toward a point on the wall that was beyond her reach. “Liss! What on earth are you doing? Do you have a death wish that I was previously not made aware of?”

“Shh,” she said, laughing at herself. “Don’t fuss. Just hold the ladder, please.”

“Shouldn’t we have someone else do that?” I asked her. “Someone taller, perhaps?”

“I would, darling, but Marcus is, generally speaking, my resident handyman, and he isn’t here at present. Could you be a love and hand me that bag of cup hooks there?”

“Sure, but don’t lean out that way again. You’re freaking me out.” I put one crutch down and handed her the bag. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Just wanting to hang some pretty swags of twinkle lights over here. I’m thinking on my feet this morning. I was thinking I might make this little corner into a serenity nook for our customers to read or meditate in. Something comfortable and cushioned that they can sink down into and lose themselves in for a few moments of sheer loveliness. What do you think?” she asked, gazing down at me over her gold-rimmed half-moon glasses.

“Well,” I told her, “if our customers don’t like it, you can send me to the corner any time that you like. I think it sounds wonderful. A haven to escape to when their workday has been trying to beat them into submission is going to go over like the moon over water.”

“I think it will, too. I do love giving our customers special moments. Now, what was it you were about to tell me, dear? Bad news, you said? Nothing too terrible, I hope.”

I held up a cup hook to her. “There was another murder.”

“Oh. Oh dear.”

“Marcus and I found the body.”

She paused with the drill and looked back at me. “Oh my goodness. What happened?”

I told her how I had decided to take the apartment I’d looked at the day previously, and how that single snap decision had changed the course of my planned new reality. I told her how Marcus had taken me to the apartment complex this morning first thing so that I could sign the lease with all the special deals and discounts that had been promised to me, only to find the office in ruins and a dead man floating in the swimming pool. “Yeah,” I confirmed when she shook her head, scandalized. “Can you believe it?”

“My. My, my, my. It never fails to amaze me, the myriad connections that the universe comes up with to create synchronicity in our lives. Not,” she said when she saw my face, “that that feels like a good thing when one is in the thick of it. Was it too awful, love?”