Читать книгу Magick Run Amok - Sharon Pape - Страница 16

Chapter 8

I couldn’t recall a weekday in the late afternoon when I’d ever been so busy. None of my customers seemed to care about the four o’clock press conference. Then again, they probably didn’t know about it. The only reason I knew was because I was dating a reporter. I could have tried to watch some of it on my phone, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was rude or not sufficiently interested in their patronage.

Most of the customers who came in at that hour were locals who’d run out of the products they used. They didn’t require anything of me, beyond the financial transaction. I would have preferred to be swamped with questions, anything to keep me from dwelling on Travis’s confession and the press conference I couldn’t watch. I almost kissed Milton Hagadorn when he marched up to me and said he needed help.

He came in occasionally with his wife Dara, but I’d never seen him here alone. They were a strange couple. Opposites are supposed to attract, but they stretched the theory to its limits. They were both in their forties. Milton had the manner and style of a much older man, while Dara dressed and acted like a girl of twenty. She babbled nonstop; he was miserly with every word that passed his lips. She loved to dance; he was married to the history channel and reading nonfiction. Yet something had bound them together for over fifteen years. If I could bottle that essence, I’d be a wealthy woman.

“Can you be a little more specific?” I asked, coming from behind the counter.

Milton glanced around us like a spy worried about being overheard, then leaned closer to me and whispered, “My hemorrhoids are killing me. Dara told me to come here for something natural.”

I whispered back, “I have just the thing. Wait here and I’ll get it for you.” When I returned to the counter, I found Milton squirming in the customer chair trying to find a comfortable position. I handed him the bottle. “This has several natural components. Most people find relief with it.” Or so my grandmother had claimed before she shuffled off, leaving hemorrhoids and other human woes behind.

Milton hauled himself out of the chair, issuing an elderly sort of grunt. I scooted around the counter to ring up his purchase. “How is Dara?” I asked, putting the bottle into a mini tote.

“Same bundle of energy as always,” he said. “She’s at the gym as we speak.” He shrugged, as if to say beats me, and ambled off.

At four-twenty, Travis called from his car. He didn’t sound happy. “That was fast,” I said.

“The ME spoke for all of two minutes. He said his preliminary findings were consistent with accidental choking. But he stressed that he was still awaiting the results of lab tests. Translation—he was covering his ass in case he turns out to be wrong. The scuttlebutt is that Mayor Tompkins and Police Chief Gimble requested the quickie press conference to allay the public’s fears of another killer in their midst.”

“It’s understandable, given that this little town has had two murders in a few months.”

“There’s only one little problem—he’s wrong.”

“Look at it this way,” I said, “if the police believe Ryan choked on that burger, they’ll call off their investigation. You and I will have freer rein.”

Travis’s tone lifted. “True. I just don’t like the way they’re sweeping Ryan’s death under the carpet in order to ease the mind of the public.”

“They probably don’t even know he was vegetarian,” I pointed out.

“They would if they bothered to talk to anyone who knew him. Listen, I’ll swing by your house later, unless you have other plans.”

* * * *

Later proved to be after eight o’clock, because he was needed back at the newsroom first. The cats had eaten on time, but I was famished by then. I ordered Chinese, far too much of it. When I’m that hungry, everything on the menu seems critical to my survival. I added the dishes Travis liked, in case he hadn’t eaten yet. I brewed tea, Tilly’s special tummy-tamer blend. It cuts right through greasy food like magick.

Travis and the delivery boy arrived at the same time. From what I could gather, Travis must have intercepted him and paid for the order, because when I opened the door, he was the one holding the food—a whole carton of it. I was baffled for a moment, until I saw the delivery car pulling away from the curb.

“I was going to call for Chinese when I got here,” Travis said, stepping inside and planting a hello kiss on my lips. “You must have read my mind.”

“Not I—Tilly is the family psychic. I can barely read my own mind.” I followed him into the kitchen, the aroma of the food so dense and rich I felt like I could take a bite out of the air itself. I pulled paper goods out of the pantry.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that,” he said. “The idea of my girlfriend poking around in my head would be disturbing and more than a little embarrassing.” He set the eight containers of food on the table and dropped the carton onto the floor.

“Embarrassing? Just what do you have going on in that brain of yours?” I poured the tea and brought the mugs to the table.

“That’s none of your business,” he said with a grin. “But if you play your cards right, you might find out one day.”

“I can hardly wait,” I said. I took the chair beside him and helped myself to a spare rib. While we ate, I brought Travis up to date on the latest happenings in New Camel. I told him about Merlin’s campaign to change the name of the town and the flag he made from the purloined muumuu. Merlin’s exploits were always good for a laugh, until they blew up in our faces. I described Lolly’s new dark chocolate cranberry fudge for the coming holiday season. “I’ve been thinking,” I said, after we pushed our plates away. “I should have a copy of Ryan’s disk. It would make the investigation more efficient. Besides,” I added, in case he felt proprietary about it, “I helped you steal it.”

He wagged his head. “I don’t know, Ryan entrusted it to me. He showed me where he kept them because he was concerned something might happen to him. Giving them to you would be breaking his trust.”

I felt my hackles rise. “Seriously? Have you forgotten we’re partners? Not to mention, I could have gone to jail for what I did?”

“Oh wait, that must be why I’ve already copied it for you.” He stood up and pulled the thumb drive out of the pocket of his chinos. He handed it to me with a “gotcha” grin.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“On so many levels,” he said, pulling me into his arms.

“Whoa, I believe you still owe me the rest of the story about you and Ryan.”

He let me go with a sigh and followed me into the living room, where we sat on the couch, our legs so close they might have been tied together for a three-legged race.

“Okay, where did I leave off?”

“When Ryan didn’t come home that Christmas, you realized he’d become part of the family in spite of your worst intentions.”

“Right. So after the holidays, I took a trip to Penn State to hunt him down. I apologized for being a jerk and asked for his forgiveness. I half expected him to haul off and punch me in the face. I deserved that much and more. But he didn’t. He said, ‘Whatever man, don’t sweat it.’”

“That was it?”

“I know, surprised the hell out of me too. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like we became instant buddies after that. It took time, but over the years, little by little, we found our way to a real friendship, a brotherhood.”

“Your parents must be devastated by his death,” I murmured.

“They are. They don’t believe it was accidental either. But as much as they want justice for Ryan, they’re against me getting involved in the investigation.”

“You have to look at it from their perspective,” I said. “They’re afraid of losing you too.”

“I get that, but how do I walk away like he meant nothing to me? And after we’d finally found our way to each other?”

I had no answer for Travis. I empathized with his parents and worried for his safety. But I also understood his need to find Ryan’s killer. “Tell me about your brother,” I said. “I’d like to know more about him if I’m going to be part of this quest.”

“I think this will give you some insight into him. A couple of years ago, we were hanging out, watching football, drinking beer and somehow or other the conversation got around to his folks. Before that I’d avoided the topic, because I didn’t want to upset him. But he brought it up himself. He said his parents’ sudden deaths tore away the ground beneath his feet and reshaped his outlook on everything. If life was so risky and random at its core, tip-toeing carefully through it, afraid of your own shadow, wouldn’t buy you an extra hour, an extra minute.”

“That helps explain the career path he chose. It’s interesting that you both wound up in journalism.”

“In very different ways,” Travis said. “I followed the conventional route, scrabbling up the network ladder. Ryan didn’t want anyone telling him what to do or how to do it. He went strictly freelance. He chose what stories to investigate and always had takers for his ‘Beyond the News pieces’—that’s what he called his investigative reports. There were bidding wars for a couple of them; he won awards too.”

“Do you think he was still competing with you?”

Travis shook his head. “Judging by the crimes he dug up, the type of people he antagonized and made enemies of, it was more like he was competing with death.”