CnC 5 One Hex of a Wedding Page 7

  I snatched up the paper and returned to the kitchen, where I slipped into my chair. Randa, almost done with her breakfast, glanced at the paper, then at me, and winced. My fact-oriented daughter had developed a strong distaste for the Chiqetaw Town Crier’s cavalier attitude toward the difference between reality and speculation.

  “They have something on you in there?” she asked, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. She drained her milk and wiped her mouth. Kip had already polished off his ham and cheese and was digging through the pastry basket for a doughnut.

  I grimaced. “Yeah, so I gather. Don’t be surprised if I blow.” I shook open the paper and turned to the front page. A grainy picture of Joe and me taken during our party, filled the lower right quarter of the paper. Slow news week, so it seemed.

  Next to it was Ingrid’s article. EMERALD O’BRIEN WEAVES HER MAGICAL CHARM AGAIN, the headline read. Oh God, just shoot me now.

  Emerald O’Brien, Chiqetaw’s beloved sorceress and teashop owner, has once again made the front page, but this time not because of some ghostly visitor or murdering marauder come calling. No, Emerald’s been plying her charming self into the spotlight via the men in her life.

  Reports have it that a brawl broke out between Emerald’s ex-husband, Roy O’Brien, of Seattle, and her fiancé, Joseph Files, captain of Chiqetaw’s Medic Rescue Unit. Ms. O’Brien must have been brewing up quite a storm of love spells for the tempest that prevailed. Mr. O’Brien was evicted from the premises by Mr. Files and his biker friend, Jimbo Warren. What this reporter wants to know is: Is a reunion in the mix between Emerald and her ex, or was it just wishful thinking on his part?

  On a more serious note, yesterday at approximately three-thirty Mr. Files was shot by an unknown assailant out at Miner’s Lake while preparing for a barbecue. He was taken to Chiqetaw General Hospital and is due to be released today. Police have no idea of who shot Mr. Files, or why. Considering the goings-on at the engagement party, this reporter can’t help but speculate.

  Shit! Ingrid as good as accused Roy in print, but there was really nothing he could use to file suit against her. And she made me sound like a scheming cock-tease. Or at the very least, a philanderer. It wasn’t like I’d asked Roy to show up at the party. He managed that blunder on his own. I thought about putting in a call to good old Ingrid, but experience had taught me that facing down the media only meant asking for trouble. I sighed and tossed the paper on the table.

  “How bad is it?” Randa asked, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. Kip had stuffed half the doughnut in his mouth, and I wandered over and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Take smaller bites. I don’t want you choking. Death by junk food is not an acceptable excuse to get out of chores around here,” I said. He blinked, then flashed me a brilliant grin.

  “It’s bad enough. You can read it if you want. You two are probably going to get teased by your friends, so you might as well know why. I apologize in advance.” I hated when my actions intruded on the kids’ lives, but there was no getting around it. And technically, it had been Roy’s fault, not mine.

  Randa glanced at the clock, then grabbed the paper and skimmed. Kip finished his pastry and held out his hand. “Mom, I need to get going or I’ll be late. Can I have some money for lunch? Our teacher is taking us to Mickey D’s.”

  “Get my purse,” I said. I handed him a five as Randa tossed the paper in the garbage.

  “Mrs. Lindstrom is an idiot,” she said.

  I happened to agree, but didn’t want to encourage disrespect in my kids. However, in this case, I would happily make an exception.

  “You’re right, but don’t either of you tell anybody I said that or she might just write something worse next time. Okay, let’s move it. You’ll have to take your bikes. I don’t have time to drive you all over town this morning. And Randa, do you have your cell phone?”

  I’d recently purchased a cell phone for her with instructions that it wasn’t to be used while in school, and that at night it remained downstairs on the table when she went up to bed. Now, anytime she went out of town on a field trip, I had the added security of knowing I could reach her, if necessary, and vice versa.

  She nodded. “In my pocket. I’ll be careful.”

  “Okay, hut-two-three-four, on your way out the door!”

  Kip and Randa marched out the kitchen door after giving me quick pecks, and I watched them pedal away on their bikes. Only four more years—if that—and Randa would be off to college.

  My mother had told me, years before, that time sped up with age. I hadn’t believed her, but now I understood what she meant. Only eight more years and Kip would leave home. And then it would just be Joe and me. The prospect of an empty house had made my mouth go dry before I met him, but now it was as if the future had taken on a new life and color. I’d be fine on my own but with Joe by my side, anything seemed possible.

  I turned the dial, starting up the load of dishes, when the phone rang. My knee-jerk reaction was to think that something had happened during the night with Joe, but then I caught myself. He was fine. I had to stop being paranoid. He worked a dangerous job and over the years, I’d have to learn to let go and trust that he’d be okay. I picked up the phone to find a frantic Murray on the other end of the line.

  “Em, can you come over? I really need somebody here right now.” Her voice was shaky and she sounded out of breath. Murray seldom ever sounded frantic, so I knew something had happened.

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right? Jimbo?”

  “Somebody broke into my house last night. I stayed out at Jimmy’s and just got home, and the place has been trashed.”

  “Holy hell! Are you okay? Is the thief still be in the house?”

  “No, no … Deacon and Greg are on the way and I’ve already searched the house. I have my gun, so don’t worry—”

  Oh yeah, the fact that she was packing a weapon made me feel all safe and secure. But then again, Murray knew how to use it, and she followed procedure.

  “Okay, I’m on my way. First I have to call the hospital to find out when I can pick up Joe, but I’ll be over right after that.”

  I fished through my purse for the number to the hospital and put in a quick call to reception. The doctor was with Joe, but the nurse told me that I could pick him up any time after two. I grabbed my purse and dashed out of the house. As I sped over to Murray’s house, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection between Joe being shot and Murray’s house being ransacked. The timing was too close. But how could they be related? A slow churning in my gut told me that the universe had just shaken the dice, and once again, we were on the end of a pair of snake eyes.

  ALL SIGNS OF my bridal shower had disappeared, and in its place stood a swath of destruction and mayhem. As I stood on the threshold, staring in the front door, it was hard to comprehend that this had been Murray’s neat and beautiful living room only yesterday. Mur was talking to Deacon and Greg when I got there and I waited, making sure not to touch anything.

  The sofa—a replica of a Victorian-era piece—had been gutted and bits of stuffing covered everything. Knickknacks were scattered every which way, some broken, some just tossed about. Files from a small cabinet in the corner had been pulled and tossed into the air, and a hail-storm of paper littered the floor. I glanced over at the wall unit that comprised the two snake cages. The glass had been shattered, and Nancy and Sid were no place to be seen. Confusion and anger blackened Murray’s expression, but she was keeping it together much better than I had when the Chintz ’n China had been vandalized.

  After a few minutes, she joined me. Her eyes were angry, a tinge of fear mixed into those dark depths. I mutely held out my arms and she allowed herself the luxury of a hug.

  “White Deer’s on her way over,” she said. “I’m just glad she wasn’t staying here or she might have gotten hurt.”

  “I thought she always stayed with you.” Not once did I remember White Deer staying at a hotel
. Of course, with Jimbo around, maybe the equation had changed a little.

  “Not this time. She had some business to attend to in Bellingham last evening, and she stayed overnight with a friend. She should be here any minute.” Mur looked around helplessly, as if she didn’t know where to start. “Deacon and Greg dusted for fingerprints, but there’s not much to go on. My back door was pried open, but no prints except for Jimmy’s and my own. The kitchen’s just as bad. Oh Em, I lost so many of my things. And my clothes—upstairs—some have been slashed.”

  “Do you have any idea who did this?” The damage was more than superficial; it was going to cost a butt-load of money to repair and replace what had been lost or destroyed. “This doesn’t look like standard teen vandalism.”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea what the hell is going on. Who could do this to me? Who would do this?”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “No, that’s the killer. Nothing that I can figure out. I’ve trapped Sid and Nancy in the bathroom. Thank God they didn’t get out. They could have been hurt, though, when they slithered over the broken glass of their cages. We lucked out on that one. But I’m scared. I can’t find Whiplash anywhere, and Sid looks like he just ate.”

  Shit. That wouldn’t go over big. For such a tough man, and a hunter and trapper at that, Jimbo had a surprisingly soft spot in his heart for animals. Snidely and Whiplash had been stray cats, but they were the best of friends now, and he doted on the orange tabbies.

  “Where’s Snidely?” I asked.

  “She’s safe. She was hiding under the bed.” Murray’s voice broke and I instinctively reached out and tried to soothe her, envisioning her cushioned in a circle of golden light. I took her hands in mine and closed my eyes as a golden light radiated out from my fingertips, winding up her arms, wrapping her in a cocoon to heal, to help.

  Mur took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, then dropped to a chair that had emerged unscathed from the onslaught. “Thanks, that helped. Em, can you … would you …”

  “You want me to see if I can find out anything about what happened?”

  She nodded, mute.

  I patted her hand. “Of course. You know I’ve got your back, babe. Have you called Jimbo yet?”

  “No, he took off out of town this morning to deliver several batches of honey to some of the smaller stores he sells to. I left a message, though.”

  That was Jimbo, all right. He hived bees, trapped for fur, cut deadwood for kindling bundles, anything to keep out of the clutches of a regular job. And he’d done quite well for himself over the years. I knew that his land was paid off, and he didn’t owe a dime to anybody.

  “Tell you what. Let’s find Whiplash first, then I’ll do some scrying and see what I can pick up. I wish I had my crystal ball with me, but I can make do, or if we can find your cards, I can throw you a reading.”

  As we waded into the mess, we decided to start upstairs in Murray’s bedroom, since that’s where Snidely had been hiding. Her clothes looked like they’d been through a shredder, but that was the least of our concerns.

  “I think my favorite bra and panty set is missing,” she said, piling the lingerie and panties that remained intact onto the bed. The oak finish on the four-poster bed had been marred by a few dents, but it could be repaired.

  “What? Are you sure they aren’t around here somewhere in this mess?”

  She glanced around, a puzzled expression on her face. “I suppose so, but they should have been with all of the others.” As she sorted through what had survived and what was now worthless, I rummaged through the closets, looking for any sign of the missing cat. Nada.

  “Mur, hon, what are you doing?”

  Murray was dumping every piece of underwear into a big plastic garbage bag, even the ones that had survived the onslaught. “I can’t wear these. Someone’s touched them, ripped some of them up. How can I even think of wearing them again? My credit cards are going to get a workout this week.” She shuddered, holding up a lace bra of the sort that I didn’t even know she owned. It had been slit in all too obvious places.

  My stomach lurched and I quickly glanced around the room. A feeling that we were being watched niggled at the back of my brain. The air thickened as the sensation grew stronger and, shaking, I backed away to the door. Someone had crept through this room, someone with a careful eye, prying, touching, thinking thoughts better left un spoken.

  “Shit, Mur … I just … there’s something really creepy going on. Somebody left a strong signature imprinted here. I think that you need to stay somewhere else for a few days. You can come to my place, if you want.”

  She swallowed hard. “No. I’m not letting anybody push me out of my home. But I will buy new locks today and we’ll install them by nightfall.”

  I slowly turned around, feeling out the energy of the room. “You need to cleanse this place and cleanse it good.”

  “I can ask White Deer to help. I know you’ve got way too much on your mind to worry over this mess.”

  We sifted through the room, calling for Whiplash, but to no avail. The heavy wood furniture had survived, but the mattress had been gouged in several places, big holes exuding stuffing all over the place. I couldn’t ignore the sense of hatred surrounding the room. Hatred and … something else.

  “Mur, something’s seriously warped. Whoever did this was mad as hell at you.”

  She blinked. “But why? Unless it’s somebody I locked up. That could be, you know. A lot of cops get collars from the past out for revenge.” As she looked around the room, she let out a long sigh, exasperation, fear, and anger warring for dominance. “Whiplash isn’t here. Let’s go check in the spare room. Sometimes the cats sleep in there.” As we headed down the hall, she turned to me. “I almost forgot. What was the message you left? I’m so frazzled I can’t even think straight.”

  “Oh, yeah, I meant to ask you about something Aunt Margaret mentioned last night. It’s a long shot, but you never know.” As she led me into the spare bedroom, I noticed that this room had just been tumbled, not destroyed. Everything was relatively intact. “Looks like whoever did this either ran out of time or energy.”

  “Well, at least the universe gave me one little break. I just wish that I’d been here—I would have put a stop to whoever did this,” Mur said.

  I shook my head. “I never will understand people. Don’t know if I want to, either. Okay, so the deal is this: Do you think Andrew might have been the person who shot Joe? He was sniffing around me quite a bit over the winter and even tried to convince me to break up with Joe and go back to him.”

  Mur paused, distracted from her own worries for a moment. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think so. No, Em, it couldn’t be Andrew. Not unless he moved back to town.”

  “Moved back?” I hadn’t known he’d left. “What are you talking about?”

  Shifting uncomfortably, she frowned and then said, “Harl thought it better we didn’t bother you with this, but I knew you’d find out eventually.”

  Feeling a little irritated, I said, “Since when have you and Harl been keeping secrets from me? I’ll be the judge of what I can—or cannot—handle. Now tell me, what’s up with Andrew?” I didn’t care much for anybody, even Joe, playing thought police around me.

  She cleared her throat and sat down on an untouched ottoman. “Andrew moved to Hollywood. He told James, who told Harlow, that he thought he’d have a better chance of selling a screenplay there. After the aborted attempt with his book option, he got bit by the screenwriting bug and I guess he fancies himself an undiscovered genius. I think he wants to try to hook up with Zia again. Andrew doesn’t like rejection.”

  “Oh really?” I snorted. “Then maybe he should stop acting like a jerk. Whatever. I wish him the best of luck. I have my doubts whether he’ll make it, but hey, hell could freeze over.”

  She gave me a sheepish grin. “You upset we didn’t say anything?”

  I shook my head. “Nah … I don’t
care what he does. At least we know he’s not to blame for shooting Joe. That puts that idea to rest.”

  “You okay?”

  I snorted. “Okay? I’m fine, for someone whose fiancé was shot at, and whose ex-husband is being a pain in the butt. The fact that my ex-boyfriend has delusions of grandeur just seems par for the course.”

  Mur broke into a smile, laughing. “Oh, Em, I needed that. So, I guess that we’re back to Roy as the prime suspect, though I’m telling you, I don’t know if we’ll ever find out who did it.”

  “Actually, we’re back to finding Whiplash. We have to find that cat before Jimbo comes home.” I was about to pull back the comforter so I could peek under the bed when a streak raced out from beneath the dresser, leaped, and landed on the middle of the mattress.

  Murray let out a grateful shout. “Whiplash! You nutjob! You had me scared out of my mind,” she said, grabbing the tabby and carrying him into a second spare bedroom that had barely been touched. “You stay in here for now.” She closed the door and leaned her head against the wall. “Okay, so he’s safe, and the snakes are in the bathroom, safely locked away. I need to replace the glass in their cages tonight.”

  “Call Marvin Eyrland. God knows, he did a lot of work for me when all that crap was going down with the jade dragon, and he’s available for emergency jobs.” We headed down to the living room. As Murray broke a path through the mess, I glanced over at one of the end tables at the bottom of the stairs. A small box sat atop what appeared to be a card on the wooden table, exquisitely wrapped and looking terribly out of place. “Mur, what’s that?”

  She glanced at the box, furrowing her brow. “I have no idea.” She walked over and picked it up. “This is odd. I don’t remember seeing it last night.”

  Alarm bells began to ring as she unwrapped it. “Mur, I have a bad feeling about this.”

  She ripped off the shiny purple paper and opened the box, gasping as a brilliant golden ring flashed into view. “Oh hell, who left this here? I wonder if Deacon bought it for his wife and forgot to take it with him?”