“He wasn’t eating the hamburger, Kailyn, because he’s been a committed vegetarian since he was fifteen.”
“No chance he could have slipped?”
“Not Ryan. Not once. When he was in his early twenties, he ordered vegetable soup at a restaurant. The menu didn’t mention beef stock in the description of the soup. He was sick for two days afterward. His stomach couldn’t even handle the stock anymore.”
“Could the burger have been vegetarian?” I asked to cover all the possibilities.
“No, I thought of that too. The place it came from only makes beef burgers. Like I said, there’s no way Ryan was eating that burger of his own free will. If the ME attributes his death to choking on the burger, it was no accident. It was murder. Someone force-fed him that meat.”
It took me a minute to wrap my mind around the possibility that he’d been murdered. Travis broke into my muddled thoughts. “Thank you for coming,” he said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. “You have no idea how much it means to me. But you need to leave now so I can call the police.”
He walked me back to my car. “Let me know when you get home,” he said. “I won’t call them, until I hear from you. I don’t want to take the chance a cop on his way here might see you and wonder what you’re doing out and about at this hour. Do you remember the way back to Grand Avenue?”
“Sure,” I said, not at all sure. He had more than enough on his mind. If my spell didn’t work in reverse, I’d set my GPS to take me home.
Chapter 4
I shut the alarm on my bedside radio. I was too tired for the time to be right. I pulled up the covers, hoping to fall back to sleep, but the memories of the night flooded back into my head. Travis—he’d sent me home, but he must have been up the rest of the night with the police. They wouldn’t care that he’d been without sleep for over forty-eight hours. They would take him back to headquarters in Watkins Glen, where Detective Duggan would question him relentlessly. I grabbed my phone on the nightstand and was about to click on his number when I stopped myself. As much as I wanted to find out how he was, I didn’t want to risk waking him if he was finally asleep. I settled for texting him.
My troubled thoughts turned to Tilly. If Travis was right about how Ryan died, her prediction of another murder had come true. At least she hadn’t known the victim, location or cause of death beforehand. However, if my mother and grandmother were right, her unenviable talent might expand to include those things. Maybe Merlin knew a spell to prevent that from happening. Or maybe he would only succeed in making matters worse.
I dragged myself out of bed and down the stairs to feed Sashkatu and the band of would-be familiars I’d inherited along with the house and magick shop. Once they were settled, I took a hot shower and pulled on a sweater, jeans, boots, and a down vest. But I couldn’t seem to shake the chill in my bones. I didn’t have time to brew coffee, so I promised my stomach coffee and something more substantial from the Breakfast Bar.
As soon as Sashkatu and I walked into the shop, he made a beeline for his window ledge that was already warmed by the morning sun streaming in. I gave him fresh water and cleaned the litter box I kept in the storeroom. I was about to step through the connecting door into Tilly’s shop to say “hello,” when I heard her arguing with Merlin. I made a quick U-turn to avoid being dragged into their drama and headed for the front door and breakfast. I realized it was cowardly, but I was bone-tired and brain-fried.
The Breakfast Bar was a recent addition to New Camel. It was a mother/daughter enterprise that only served breakfast and was open from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m.—the hours Beth Lee’s kids were in school. Her mother, Diane Kim, was the chef. Beth ran the business end. The Bar was an immediate success with both locals and tourists. Diane was always open to suggestions for new dishes. If it was a hit, she added it to the menu and named it after its creator. My aunt Tilly was the only one I knew who didn’t like The Bar. She maintained that the women were encroaching on her territory. Logic held no sway with her. It didn’t matter that their menu was completely different from the items she served at her high teas or that psychic readings were the mainstay of how she made her living.
Beverly Rupert was walking out of The Bar as I was walking in. I nodded, counting myself lucky for missing her, until she stepped back inside to chat. “Did you hear about the reporter they found dead in his car? They say he must have lost control, because the car went off the road and slammed into a tree.” She added a theatrical shudder. I knew her well enough to be certain it was only for effect. And she didn’t mention the reporter’s name in an obvious attempt to scare me, to make me worry it was Travis who had died.
“The reporter was Ryan Cutler,” I said, watching the disappointment register on her face.
“Well, thank goodness it wasn’t your Travis,” she said, clapping her hand to her heart.
“Exactly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should put in my order.” My stomach was grumbling for an egg and cheese Panini.
“Of course, of course,” she said. “Nice to see you.”
I should have said, “Nice to see you too,” but the words seemed stuck to my tongue. Instead I wished her a good day. I returned to my shop, breakfast in hand, and sat down at the desk to eat it. Sashkatu opened one eye and sniffed the air. Though he was generally a fan of eggs, that morning they couldn’t compete with the sunlight. Seconds later he was snoring away.
I was finishing the last bite of Panini when Tilly marched into my shop from Tea and Empathy. Her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair, which meant she was either embarrassed or furious. There was nothing ambiguous about her facial expression though—fury won by a landslide.
“Do you know what your wizard friend did?” she demanded as if I were somehow responsible for his crimes.
“Aunt Tilly,” I said evenly, “how would I know? You’re the psychic in the family.”
“Of course I am. The question was purely rhetorical.”
“What did Merlin do now?” I asked, dreading the answer. He already had an impressive list of priors, each more novel than the last.
“He wantonly destroyed one of my favorite muumuus. And they don’t come cheaply. It doesn’t seem to matter to Evelyn that we’ve been friends since the fourth grade, she’s never given me a penny’s discount.” It was a complaint I was treated to every time she received the seamstress’s bill. And it was likely to continue, because Evelyn had created the pattern for Tilly and her work was unassailable, even if her pricing wasn’t.
“Why would Merlin do something like that?” I asked to refocus her on Merlin and the tale of the ravaged muumuu. When she was upset, she tended to ramble off topic. Before she could answer me, Merlin came through the connecting door, the contested garment rolled up in his hand.
“Has Tilly told you about my banner?” he asked, his chest puffed out with pride.
“Merlin,” I said sternly, “you can’t take what isn’t yours just because you want it.”
“And you certainly have no right to ruin it!” Tilly added.
“I had a far better use for it,” he said. “Does that not count for anything?”
“No!” we said in unison.
“Aha—so there’s a conspiracy afoot. Mayhap, young Kailyn, you should see the evidence before you choose with whom to align yourself.” He unfurled the banner and pulled it taut. There was no denying that he’d done a fine job of it, given his limited resources. The banner depicted a highly stylized, golden lion rampant on a field of emerald green muumuu. Of course it no longer bore any resemblance to Tilly’s dress, but only the three of us would ever know the truth of it. Unless Tilly got chatty.
Both Merlin and my aunt were looking at me, clearly awaiting my verdict on the matter. “As beautiful as the banner is, Merlin, you stole what belonged to Tilly and nothing can justify