Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (3 page)

For once, he didn't rise to the bait. She barely made out a muttered, "Whose fault is that?" but he didn't pursue the topic.

Instead, he said aloud, "Will I see you this weekend?"

Wendy paused. Hearing her uncle's voice again hadn't ended the pain in her stomach; it had increased it. "Not Saturday," she finally answered, "there's an event at the library. How's Sunday?"

She could hear the smile in his reply. "Sunday will do nicely."

"Will you make brunch?" she asked, her voice hopeful. Her uncle's cooking was the stuff of legends and dreams. Strong men had been known to faint dead away after a bite of one of his pastries.

"We'll see. I may not have time," he said gruffly, but she knew he was pleased.

Wendy couldn't help but smile. She had missed the old man more than she had admitted even to herself. She was preparing to hang up when something stopped her.

"Wait," she said into the handset.

There was no answer from the other end, but Wendy knew he was still on the line.

"How did you know to call me at that moment?" She really didn't believe in coincidences, after all.

Her uncle's hearty chuckle traveled the distance over the phone line completely intact. "That shouldn't impress you, my dear. That was a mere parlor trick. I could teach you," he said, trying his best to sound enticing.

"With the usual stipulations attached, I assume? No, thank you. See you on Sunday."

Wendy shook her head at her uncle's rather obvious attempts to draw her back into her old life. If she really wanted to know how he had performed his little parlor trick, she could have figured it out without any help from him.

After all, Wendy Lightower was a witch.

Two

It was still dark when Wendy woke early the next morning. Her automatic coffee machine, and personal savior, was already gurgling away, brewing the hot liquid fuel Wendy would need before she felt fully human. Her regular two cups, taken hot, black, and unsweetened, served to bring her conscious mind into focus. As she leaned over her countertop, finishing her coffee and picking at a rather substandard blueberry muffin, Wendy ran through the mental list she had compiled of everything she had to do that day.

Although the exhibit was housed in the museum portion of the building, and Derek would be taking all the credit for it, the library staff, and Wendy in particular, was doing quite a bit of work to make everything ready. With the party set for that evening, she had a number of documents that she needed to finish restoring or mounting for view before the opening. Foremost in her mind was the thick town register that, despite the lengthy session from the day before, was still far from finished. Then there were a number of personal papers, diaries, and broadsheets that needed to be displayed properly, methodically, and in ways that wouldn't cause damage to the documents.

After a quick shower and an even quicker blow dry, Wendy slipped into her standard work outfit. She also pulled out her one cocktail dress and straightened it on its hanger. It was rather old and slightly boxy but didn't look terrible as long as she belted it. She had considered stepping out after work to pick up something a new, and a little more flattering, but knowing Derek, there would be a thousand tiny crises that would keep her at work until the party started.

Wendy hung the dress on the back of the door. She would take it to work with her, so that she could change into something at least somewhat dressy for the party.

A knock on her door caught Wendy completely by surprise. It was before seven in the morning, and she could think of no one who would come to visit so very early. She was even more surprised when she opened the door to find Magda waiting on the steps.

"Magda," she exclaimed, "what are you doing here?"

"Coffee," Magda croaked, rather than answering her question.

For someone who was never at work before nine, Magda was clearly unaccustomed to being awake at a quarter to seven, let alone being out in the world. Wendy provided the requested caffeine fix and waited while the dark brew worked its magic.

After a mugful, her eyes opened all the way, and Magda managed an entire sentence of explanation. "I'm here to help you choose an outfit for the opening."

Wendy stared at her, her shock writ on her face. "You woke up early for that? We could have done it later."

Magda narrowed her eyes. "Oh, really? What's this then?" With a flourish, she whipped the sad cocktail dress off its hanger on the door and held it away from her. Her manner and her expression were that of a courtroom shark catching a key witness in a lie on the stand.

Against her wishes, Wendy flushed, the painful red color rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. "Nothing," she muttered.

"Nothing," Magda made a rude noise. "I know you, Wendy, and what's more, I know Derek. You won't be coming home tonight until after the party. Let's see if we can do better than this, shall we?"

She posed it as a question, but she obviously expected no argument. She got none from Wendy, who followed her meekly into her bedroom and watched as Magda opened her closet and cast a dark glance over the contents.

"I wish I could just lend you something of mine," she said, mostly to herself.

This time it was Wendy who made a rude noise. Magda was nearly a foot taller than her and quite clearly thinner. Wendy could just imagine how she would look in one of Magda stylishly sophisticated ensembles - like a little girl dressed in her big sister's prom dress.

"No, thank you. I'll make do with my own clothes. We should get going. I don't know why you're so worried about this anyway." Wendy could hear that she was babbling, but having Magda leafing through her closet made her feel oddly uncomfortable, almost vulnerable.

Eventually she stopped rifling through the clothes and merely looked at the closet's contents, her head tilted to one side. "Everything in here is the same," again she spoke mostly to herself.

It was one insult too many, and Wendy snapped. "That's why I have my one dress ready to go," she practically shrieked. Normally she cared almost nothing for her clothes, except that they fit well enough and be impeccably clean. She hadn't felt so lame in the fashion department since she was an awkward twelve year old trying to fit in at North Harbor Junior High School.

Wendy took a deep breath, calming her expression at the same time that she modulated her voice. "Now you've seen that it's all I have. Can we go?"

Magda hadn't reacted to her miniature outburst. Her eyes remained fixed on the closet's interior. "Just one more place to check," she said. Why she bothered to say anything out loud when it was all directed towards herself was beyond Wendy.

Magda dropped on hands and knees and began rooting in the very back of the closet behind old shoe boxes and other junk that had simply accumulated over time in the way that junk does. No matter how many times she did 'spring cleaning' Wendy felt like she was always collecting more and more stuff.

After several unsuccessful minutes, Magda straightened out of her undignified posture with a shout of "Jackpot!" When Wendy looked more closely, she saw that Magda held a plastic garbage bag clenched in her fist.

Wendy shrugged. "Okay, you caught me. I never made it to Goodwill to drop those off."

Magda smiled to herself. "Let's see what we have to work with now."

"You must be joking! That bag has been there for years."

Magda was nodding as she worked on the knot at the top of the bag. "I'm betting there is at least something other than a button down shirt or a dress better suited to a funeral than a party."

The knot broke apart and a littering of brightly colored, horribly wrinkled clothes came pouring out. Wendy hardly recognized most of the items, and she grimaced at the sight of others, but Magda seemed hopeful.

"I can make something worthwhile out of this, at least."

Wendy shook her head. She would never, she decided, understand fashion. To her eyes, everything in the bag was garish and out dated, but Magda would do as she pleased with or without her agreement.

Magda gathered up everything into her arms and followed Wendy down the stairs. "Go to work," she said, as she shoved her new finds into her large tote bag. "I'll bring something along in an hour or so."

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Wendy agreed without protest. On her way out she reached for the hanger behind the door.

"Leave the dress," Magda admonished.

Wendy was, as usual, the first person in the building that morning. She knew where Magda was, and she wouldn't have expected her so early in any case, but she was rather surprised that on this particular morning Derek was nowhere to be found.

"Morning, Miss Lightower."

Wendy jumped slightly at the sound of a voice so near at hand. A young man in brown coveralls stood looking at her, a shy smile on his round, red face. She had forgotten all about Benny. She imagined that happened to him quite often. Benny was a quiet, unassuming man who worked hard and didn't cause trouble for anyone, which meant that most people could easily ignore him.

"Hi, Benny," Wendy said, her heart slowing down as she recovered from the shock. "How was your night?"

Benny worked the night shift, cleaning the building and acting as a sort of security guard during the dark hours. His position, part janitor and part night watchman, stemmed from the fact that the museum had, once upon a time, had some valuable items. That had been years ago, and his job was no longer strictly necessary, but no one ever seemed to want or care enough to fire Benny.

"Fine, Miss Lightower. Nice to see you."

“And you. I don't always make it in time.”

Benny's smile widened. He often locked up in the early morning hours before the library opened. He didn't have much interaction with the rest of the staff, coming on shift after they left and leaving before they started. Wendy probably saw him more than anyone, since she kept unusually long hours herself.

“I'm glad you did today.” His face flushed a darker red, and he his eyes dipped away from her face.

Wendy couldn't help but smile at his shy pleasure at seeing her. "Me too. Have a good day, Benny."

Benny shuffled away, keys jangling, to return his supplies to the closet in the corner near the storage rooms. As he disappeared from view, the door swung open, and Derek's large frame blocked the entire entrance.

His manner was as brusque and self-assured as it always was, but Wendy could hear a slight tremor in his overly loud voice and his eyes darted too swiftly from side to side.

"Have you finished the exhibits?" he demanded.

"Good morning, Derek," Wendy said, pitching her voice an octave higher than usual and coating her words with syrup. "It's nice to see you, as well."

He flapped his large hand in her general direction, like he was swatting a particularly irritating fly. "Right, whatever, I'm a jerk. Are the documents ready, or not?"

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Not. They weren't done last night, and it's hardly even morning now. So, no, Derek, they haven't been restored and displayed in the five minutes since I arrived here this morning."

Her sarcasm was completely wasted on him. "Then get to it. Why are we standing around talking about this?"

He walked briskly towards the museum without waiting for her reply.

Noting the time, Wendy saw that she had several hours before the library was open to visitors. She went directly into her workroom, not because Derek had directed her to but because she had intended to do so anyway. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't even all that annoyed with Derek's high-handed methods. Wendy loved her job, and she was eager and ready to get back to it.

The town register was on her
worktable where she left it. She spent the next couple of hours happily working on the old text. There was an especially interesting bit in the middle of the book that marked the deaths of some criminals who had been executed. They were mentioned in another part of the exhibit, and Derek wanted the book mounted open to that page to support the rest of the exhibit.

Wendy carried the book very carefully, her hands gloved to keep from marring the cover or any of the pages with the oils that naturally occurred on hands and fingers. The glass case that had been designated to hold the book was in the center of a group of paintings and other documents. Now it stood empty, but Wendy could see that once the register was inside, it would be an important focal point of the display.

Using her set of master keys, Wendy opened the case and carefully wiped the glass of the case inside and out. She then placed the ancient book gently inside and arranged the wooden support correctly so there would be no strain on the book's spine. She then closed the book and locked it once more.

She was just stepping back to admire her work when Derek spotted her.

"Finally," he burst out. "I've been waiting for that book for weeks."

Wendy refused to be baited. "Interesting," she replied dryly, "since I've only had it four days. Perhaps if you'd given it to me weeks ago, it would have been ready weeks ago."

Derek stepped under the lighting specially designed to highlight the book's pages and make it more readable to the normal eye. He came to a full stop, staring downward at the open section of the book.

Wendy braced herself for an insult and a demand that she redo the morning's work and get it right, but this time Derek surprised her.

"It looks quite good, Wendy."

Then he said something that nearly knocked her over.

"Thank you."

"Uhm," she stammered, "You're welcome?" She knew it had sounded like a question. Wendy had worked with Derek for almost five years, and she had never once heard him thank anyone.

Derek smirked at her reaction. "I know I can be a beast," he said, "but I do appreciate what you've done to make this exhibit happen."

Wendy decided to accept this rare moment of gratitude. She could always fall back on their normal routine of barely concealed antagonism if she needed to. "It's my job," she said simply, "but it was also my pleasure."

For a brief moment, they stood frozen, allowing the atmosphere of all the local history surrounding them to wash over them. Both Derek and Wendy came from families who dated back a long time in North Harbor, and she understood why this exhibit meant so much to him.

"Enough dallying," Derek finally barked, and the spell was broken.

Oh, well, she thought to herself, it couldn't last. Without sparing another glance for Derek, who was now huddled busily over a pile of junk, Wendy walked back to the library.

"What was that all about?"

The lightness of the voice didn't hide its apprehension. Wendy looked for the source and saw Carrie standing behind the circulation counter, her heavy school texts already piled on its polished surface.

"I was putting the finishing touches on the display of the town register for the exhibit. The opening party is tonight."