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Chapter 12

An influx of guests from the ski resort took up most of my lunch hour. They arrived as I was hanging the I’ll-be-back clock in the window. I couldn’t afford to close my door on that much possible revenue and word-of-mouth, so I set the clock aside and unlocked the door. They were a lively, raucous bunch who’d spent the morning on the slopes and were looking for a diversion before a second go-round in the afternoon. Most of them had clearly thrown back a hot toddy or two by the fire, before hitting Main Street. Their faces were red from a combination of the cold and the alcohol. They spent freely on gifts for the holidays as well as on products for their own consumption.

By the time they departed, I had ten minutes left. Grab lunch or try to set up an interview with a family member of one of the deceased? The phone call won. Since memory can fade with time, I’d decided to start with Martin Frank, the victim who’d been gone the longest. I wanted to speak to his family before their memories of the event deteriorated any further. Finding the phone number for his wife was harder than I anticipated and probably for the same reason I’d chosen the Frank family—six years had passed since his murder. There was no listing for Frank online. It was possible the number was unlisted. It was also possible that Martin’s wife and children had moved away or that she was now Mrs. Somebody Else. I used up my ten minutes with nothing to show for it. Since no one was beating down my door to come in, I stopped into Tilly’s shop before reopening, to ask if she had any ideas on how to locate the family or at least a working phone number.

“White magick won’t help you,” she said, picking up the plates from her last high tea. “It boils down to an invasion of privacy.” I wasn’t surprised by her answer, but I was disappointed. I took the teacups and utensils and followed her into the kitchen. Merlin was on his kitchen stool engrossed in a game on his iPad.

“A few twists and tweaks have been known to change black magick to a dark grayish hue,” he said without looking up.

“No black magick,” Tilly and I said in unison. Opening that particular box was reputed to be as fraught with danger and evil as the one in Pandora’s keeping. I, for one, had no desire to test that theory.

“There is a more mundane solution to your problem,” Tilly said. “You could ask Paul Curtis for his help.”

“I can’t. He’s got a crush on me and I don’t want to manipulate him that way.”

“It’s not like it would be the first time,” she murmured, walking past me to finish clearing the table.

I was taken aback, realizing Tilly set me up to see how I would react. It was particularly unsettling, because she’d never been judgmental of me in the past. Maybe she felt obliged to assume Morgana’s role now as the eldest living member of our family.

“I still feel guilty about using him,” I said, partly to show my aunt that I’d learned from my mistake and partly because it was the truth. “He’s too nice a guy to treat that way. He could get in serious trouble if someone found out he’d bent the privacy rules. He might even lose his job.”

Tilly returned carrying the teapot and a plate of leftover pastries, which Merlin lifted deftly as she went by. She didn’t miss a step. They had their routine down pat. She emptied the last of the tea into the sink and turned to face me. “My last suggestion is for you to speak to Beverly Rupert.”

I groaned. No one in my family liked her. “How can Beverly help?”

“She’s a hairdresser. If she doesn’t know the Frank family, then she probably knows someone who does. Or that person knows someone who knows someone and on down the insidious grapevine of gossip.”

“But then my interest in the Frank family will become the next topic for the grapevine,” I protested. Three options and not one of them decent.

Tilly had turned on the water and was hand washing the delicate china she used exclusively for her teas. “In life you’ve got to pay to play,” she said, raising her voice over the noise of the running water. I thanked her for the suggestion and as I passed Merlin, I plucked a miniature éclair from the plate in his hand. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose.

Between customers, I called Beverly. She said she didn’t know the family, but she thought her cousin did. She’d call back when she had an answer one way or the other. I didn’t doubt it, because that’s when she’d take her pound of flesh.

* * * *

Morgana popped in while I was making the cats’ dinner. I heard the electrical crackle preceding her appearance before I turned around. Her cloud was slate blue, heavy on the gray, the dismal color of rain clouds and sadness. “Kailyn,” she said solemnly, “please extend our condolences to Travis. We just heard and we’re very sorry about the loss of his brother. We hope you’re successful in finding justice for him.” It wasn’t the first time I was struck by how weird it was for the dead to be expressing their sympathies on another’s passing. Wouldn’t it be more comforting for them to say something upbeat like “no worries —we’ll keep tabs on Jack or Jill until you get here?” Maybe that simply wasn’t allowed. Beyond the veil, there seemed to be any number of rules regarding how the deceased were permitted to interact with the living.

“Where’s Bronwen tonight?” I asked, since they seemed to hang out together the way they had in life.

“Taking what you might call a course in humility,” my mother said. “More than overdue if you ask me.” I wondered why my mother wasn’t taking the course with her, but I held my tongue. Who knew what courses I’d need when I got there?

I was heading up to bed when Beverly called. Ordinarily, if I saw her name come up on Caller ID at such a late hour, I’d let it go to voice mail. A dose of Beverly at bedtime was not conducive to a good night’s rest. But I was too curious about what she’d discovered to ignore it.