Murder in Moon Water Page 5

  Then there was the matter of the blue sparks emitting like beams of electricity from her hands. Will I be able to harness it? To control it? Is it something special? Selene seemed to think so.

  In her bedroom that night, Abby searched for the velvety black book, the Tick Tock book Selene said was her guidebook. It wasn't in her bedroom or the living room.

  After a while, she gave up with a vow to search every inch of the house tomorrow. Then stretched out on her bed with her laptop to do a different kind of search. "Ooh, there be witches," she tittered, fascinated with the witch websites that popped up online.

  After some time, her heavy eyelids pulled her into the Land of Nod, where she stayed until a loud voice woke her. Her eyes fluttered open to the daylight leaking through the shades she'd bought for her bedroom windows.

  "I'm leaving," the voice called out again.

  "Bye, sweetheart," she called back. Jill let the door slam as she left the house for school. Abby stretched her limbs, grateful for the wonderfully peaceful night of sleep. No dreaming, no nightmares, no waking up to pee and struggling to go back to sleep. Maybe good sleep was a perk of being part of a witchy woo woo community. "I'll take it," she chortled as she rolled out of bed.

  After a cup of java and toast, Abby again searched for the velvety black book. With no luck. The cottage wasn't that big, so she searched every inch twice. Still, the book didn't turn up.

  Frustrated, she was contemplating phoning Selene for advice when her eyes strayed to the front window; she caught a glimpse of movement in the bushes. The ghost dog has returned was her first thought.

  She hurried outside. A scattering of wrens rose from the bushes. A wave of disappointment washed over her. Her gaze traveled to the cottage next door. The tan van was in the driveway.

  On impulse, she darted back inside, dressed quickly then rustled up a few things and walked next door. "Hello? It's Abby Little." She tapped the door, which squeaked open. "Wyatt?"

  "I'm in the kitchen, Abby."

  Crossing over the threshold, she noticed the mismatched furniture, worn carpet and the built-in bookshelves that ran the length of one wall, although there were no books on the shelves. Instead, they were packed with record albums and CDs.

  She moved quickly toward the kitchen, which had newer appliances than hers. The layout, however, was the same.

  She found Wyatt sitting on the floor, pulling pots and pans out of a lower cabinet. She held out a large mug. "I brought you coffee in case you didn't have any. And I brought you milk and sugar too." Her other hand held packets of sugar and a small glass of milk. "Wasn't sure how you take it."

  "Thanks. Black is fine."

  Wyatt's right hand shot up to cover his nose before he let out a loud honking sneeze.

  "Excuse me. Dust allergy." He reached into a back pocket for an inhaler and breathed in a dose. "At this rate, I'll go through a dozen of these things."

  He reached up for the mug of coffee, his eyes red and watery. "I found a jar of instant. It was pathetic. Guess Uncle George wasn’t much of coffee fan." He took a sip. "It's good. Thank you. I needed a real jolt of caffeine."

  He held the mug away from his face as he sneezed again. Two. Three. Four sneezes in a row.

  "I hate this," he groaned, tissue to his nose again.

  A silent moment slipped by before he looked at her. "Abby, would you be interested in a temp job? You said you're not working yet. I'll pay you to dust and clean this place for me. How's fifteen an hour sound? Or maybe sixteen?"

  Before she could answer him, he rambled on. "I thought I'd be able to get a lot more done and haul this stuff off so that I could rip up the linoleum and see about replacing the flooring, but this dust is thwarting my plans."

  "You can put down a floor?"

  He wriggled his hands. "I work off and on as a handyman."

  Abby's eyes lit up. A handyman living right next door.

  Wyatt continued. "I'm seeing faux wood porcelain tile in here. First though"—he gestured—"I'd gut the cabinets."

  He stood up, waggling a finger at the red and orange striped wallpaper. "Can't wait to rip that off the walls. A little paint, a new sink, a nice granite countertop, and then perhaps I can see myself cooking in this space."

  She gushed. "You can do all of that?"

  Wyatt shook his head playfully. "You women. You're all alike. You see me only as a, as a skilled worker, not a person with hopes and dreams."

  He laughed then frowned. "Back to the offer. Seventeen bucks an hour, and you won't have to haul off the furniture or anything like that. Just stack all the crap by the couch. I'll take care of it."

  She scrunched up her nose, thinking. Since nothing else had turned up, why not?

  "You're on." Then she remembered Selene. "I do have to meet someone today."

  "No problem. Make your own hours."

  "When do I start?"

  His eyes skipped around the kitchen. "Now." He pointed to the cabinets. "Throw out anything chipped or ugly, and anything aluminum has to go."

  She followed him into the living room, listening to his instructions. "Dust and wipe down everything. I'll keep the old brass lamps and the dining table, but not the chairs or the side tables or the couch."

  He sneezed. "I've got to get out of here for awhile."

  She gestured at the bookshelves. "What about the albums and CDs?"

  "Dust 'em and clean 'em and put them back in the order you found them. I will, someday, cull through Uncle George's collection and make decisions, or maybe I'll keep it all. I don't know."

  A reggae beat sounded from his phone; he hurried to find it.

  Moments later, he walked back to where Abby was standing. "This is working out like a charm."

  "What is?" she said, jarred by his use of the word charm. Was he an enchanter too? Did this town attract them?

  Wyatt pocketed his phone. "I was waiting to hear back from this friend in Seattle with a leaky ceiling. Five minutes ago, it collapsed, so I've agreed to drive up there and repair it, now that you're here to help out. I'll be gone a couple days. Does that work for you?"

  "Sure."

  He dug into the back pocket of his blue jeans, handed her a spare key hanging from a paper clip. "Glad to hear it. I'll be back sometime this week."

  "You're leaving now?"

  "Might as well." He took his wallet out and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. "Here you go. This is for cleaning supplies. When you finish, toss the key through the letter drop."

  Minutes later, after giving Abby his cell number, Wyatt packed up his duffle bag and drove off, leaving Abby alone in the cottage.

  She was walking back to the kitchen when a thought occurred to her. Maybe Winston was here. It was, after all, his home with George. "Winston?" she called out.

  Silence.

  She walked back to the living room and then down the hall. "Winston," she said, louder this time.

  Again, her question was met with silence. With a shrug, she walked back into the kitchen to tackle the dust and grime with the dedication of a clean freak.

  A half-hour later, the alarm on her phone rang out. It was the alert for her meeting with Selene.

  Chapter Twelve

  Selene, wearing an ankle-length black skirt with a long-sleeved gray blouse and a thick strand of gleaming crystals around her neck, led Abby into a dimly lit study.

  She slipped behind a desk, waved Abby into the armchair across from her and sat patiently as Abby chattered on. "I have so many questions about what I can do or can't do. I went online and found a blog on witches. Gosh, I never knew there were so many different kinds. I'm thinking I might be a kitchen witch since I bake. Then I was wondering about you. What kind are you?"

  "If you want to categorize me, I'd say I'm a green witch. My purview is the Earth: forests, caves, deserts, all of the natural elements like the wind, and, of course, the earth's minerals."

  Her right hand waved, indicating the space around them. "This physical world has many names,
but to us it is known as the Younger Realm. It draws in one's being so strongly you can lose any sense of the unseen world, the Ancient Realm.

  "The Ancient Realm," Abby whispered and felt a prickly sensation sliding down her backbone.

  "We'll go into that later in your lessons," said Selene. "At this point, I believe I should tell you about our family."

  For the next half-hour, Selene presented tale after tale of the Adamas family and its branches of spell-casters and spell-breakers.

  Then she rose and crossed the room to open the door of a glass and rosewood cabinet. When she returned, she was carrying an ebony container the size of a shoebox. After settling into her chair again, she lifted the lid, selected seven stones and placed them on the desk. "Pick the one that most appeals to you."

  Abby's hand hovered over a gleaming uncut diamond, then moved to a bismuth rainbow crystal and finally to a lustrous red ruby.

  "Only one?" she asked.

  "Only one."

  Her hand hovered over the three and then finally stopped. "I guess ... this one."

  Selene let out a breath. "Choosing the rainbow crystal tells me you have a strong sense of justice, which I suspected. That means your being contains the primary essence of a Defender."

  "Defender? What do I defend?"

  "Justice. Here in the Younger Realm, and perhaps, in the Ancient Realm too. Conflict abounds wherever beings exist, enchanted or not."

  Selene looked pensive as she wrapped the crystal in a cotton hanky and dropped it into a gray linen pouch.

  Abby held out her hand, expecting to receive the stone.

  Selene, however, slipped the pouch into a drawer. "You will receive it when the time is right."

  Then she selected two more objects from the container. "These will help you hear the ghost dog if he returns."

  In her palm were two brownish black iron balls. "They are Mochi marbles. When you grind them together it may be possible to receive higher frequencies, to make the inaudible, audible."

  Abby accepted the marbles. Then Selene gave her a lesson in casting spells. "Your intention is the primary element in any spell. Second, is the correct pronunciation of each word in the chant. Are you ready to try?"

  Abby nodded. "I guess."

  "It's okay to be nervous, but try, now, to relax your body. Take in a few breaths slowly and calm your mind as you visualize what action you desire to take."

  "Like what kind of action?"

  "Well, for instance, say you're in a hurry and you drive off but forget to close your front door. Instead of driving back and getting out of the car to close the door, you cast a spell. To do that, you first calm your mind, then visualize the action, and chant this three times: portas excluden. Then once it's closed, lock it with the chant, clavatas."

  "Let's try it." Selene strolled to her front door, opened it, then backed away to give Abby a line of sight. "Go ahead. Try it."

  After a dozen attempts, the door swung closed and locked.

  "Woo hoo," Abby hooted. "I did it."

  Selene laughed at her enthusiastic student as she walked back to her desk and picked up a folded sheet of paper. "Study these three chants. They're phonetically spelled out for you, so you can say them correctly. I'll call your number and leave a voicemail for each one. That way you can listen and correct your pronunciation."

  Then she cocked her head. "I think that's all for today, Abby. We'll practice your chants and put them into a spell or two at your next session."

  "So that's it?"

  "Not entirely." Selene reached into a pocket and fished out another pouch—black this time. "You'll find these herbs and this balm useful when you consult your guidebook later today."

  Abby made a face. "Oh, about that. I can't consult the darn thing because it's disappeared. I've looked everywhere for it. It's gone."

  Selene let out an exasperated sigh. "No, it's not gone. It has a mischievous nature. These beings are fond of games, hide-and-seek being a favorite. They're frequently admonished but continue being rascals. That's also in their nature: being stubborn."

  She walked toward the front door, with Abby in tow. “Here's how you must call to it. Call out the name, in this case the book's title, and add the phrase: as obliged by duty.”

  Abby repeated the phrase as she walked over the threshold then turned back to face Selene. "That will do it, huh?"

  "It should. Once it appears in your proximity, ask it for guidance and it will automatically turn to the page it feels will best serve you."

  "The book feels?"

  With an inscrutable flicker in her pale green eyes, Selene closed the front door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abby trotted down Juniper Road past a narrow dirt path leading into the forest preserve and several blocks later came to Curiosity Lane. Her address was 777. George's was 779.

  Using the spare key, she entered the cottage, aware now that she'd miscalculated the time spent with Selene. While she was there, it felt like an hour, but it had, according to the clock on her phone, been closer to three.

  "I should start calling this place Wyatt's cottage," she admonished herself as she walked to the kitchen.

  An hour passed before the kitchen sparkled to her satisfaction. Then she tackled the dining room.

  Being five-nine and half made it easy to reach the four-bulb light fixture hanging over the dining table with a dust cloth. One bulb was out, and she made a mental note to replace it. She polished the table and wiped down the walls, baseboards, wainscoting and floor.

  She repeated the same actions in the living room. Wiping down all the furniture, lamps and the decades-old stereo system. The bookshelves came next.

  The first four shelves were albums, mostly jazz and rock 'n roll. "You must've lived it up in the '60s, George," she said cheerily.

  His collection included heavy hitters like The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Janis Joplin.

  The next shelf had the British Invasion from the Animals to the Beatles to Freddy and The Dreamers. Another shelf contained Motown with Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, The Four Tops. The last one celebrated the 70's with Rod Stewart, the Bee Gees, Elton John and others. Then, as vinyl had waned, George had turned to the splashy new technology of cassette tapes and CDs.

  She sneezed once or twice as she removed the albums, dusted and polished the shelves and cleaned the album covers with a wipe before returning them to the shelves.

  The dusty front windows had to be dealt with she decided. Outside, she wiped them down using the mop and towels, then mopped the porch before she returned inside.

  The last room was the smaller bedroom. Wyatt had told her to leave his room alone. He'd do it himself.

  Leaning the mop against the wall, she tried the glass doorknob to the second bedroom. It rattled but seemed to be locked. Remembering the lesson with Selene earlier, she chortled, "Guess I better learn a chant to unlock doors too."

  She tried it again, wrench it and the knob suddenly turned. It had been stuck, not locked; she pushed open the door, letting her fingers search for the wall switch. It didn't work, but the streaks of daylight creeping through the window shades gave a dim light, enough to see a floor lamp plugged into an outlet nearby. Reaching under the pleated shade, she yanked on a pull chain.

  The bulb flickered on. A low wattage bulb, but enough to let her see the room and its contents. A large glass-topped desk and three gunmetal-gray file cabinets were positioned against a windowless wall.

  In one corner stood a brown plastic dog house with an arched opening. Her heart sank a little. This must've been Winston's.

  A sudden movement within the shadows of the dog house startled her. She gasped when a shiny black head appeared in the opening.

  It was Winston, the Dachshund. He took a step toward her, his mouth moving, although she heard nothing.

  Remembering the gift from Selene, she reached into her pocket, pulled out the rusty metal balls Selene had called Mochi marbles.

  Tightening her palm around t
he pair, she squeezed the marbles together, scraping the metal against metal, and producing an almost imperceptible screech. She added more pressure, grinding them into each other. A cringe-inducing screech almost made her miss the faint vibration tickling deep in her ear.

  Soon, the vibration became discernable words. "Find George's killer, please find his killer."

  The Dachshund toddled forward out of the refuge of the dog house, his claws clattering on the hardwood floor as he came toward her. Another vibration tickled deep in her ear and she heard, "Promise me."

  In a hoarse whisper she made the promise.

  As soon as she said it, a soft luminous glow of light washed over Winston, and the little ghost dog vanished.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Time stretched out as her mind dealt with what had just happened. For what seemed like an eternity, but in actuality was maybe a minute, she stood staring at the spot, wondering if Winston was going to return.

  Probably not she decided. He had accomplished his goal—to get her looking for George's killer. No, not looking. Finding. She had promised to find the killer.

  Why me? she wondered. Selene's words wiggled into her gray matter. When she'd selected the rainbow crystal, Selene said it signaled a desire for justice, the primary essence of a Defender. That had to be why Winston chose her.

  Of course, exactly how she would do that, find the killer, had her flummoxed and frustrated.

  Knowing her mind worked best when her hands were busy, Abby started dusting and cleaning the glass-topped desk and file cabinets. Should I junk the stuff inside? Or leave all that stuff for Wyatt to deal with?

  Her shoe nudged against a toy bear with a half-chewed ear that was near a leg of the desk. She reached for it and, as she rubbed the bear's intact ear, she imagined George playing fetch with Winston in the backyard or stretched out together on the couch after a strenuous game of 'fetch my shoe but don't eat it'."

  It occurred to her that she knew very little about George.

  She considered asking Wyatt. No, he didn't know much about George's life. They'd been out of touch for years. Besides, if I ask him questions, he might think I'm a busybody.