Before Detective Perez could asked any more embarrassing questions, Signe lifted the overnight bag, butterflies taking flight in her belly as she thought of Gorgeous Garrity’s handkerchief, which was tucked next to her panties.
Just as she reached the door, the detective said, “Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like Winona Ryder?”
“Yes.” Plastering an innocent smile on her face, she felt sure the wheels in his brain were spinning once more, and that he, too, was making the shoplifting connection. “They have.” For good measure, she added the word “sir.”
Sighing in relief, she exited the archives department and followed the few remaining tourists who were being shunted toward the revolving front doors. She was going to be late to meet her friends now. Rounding the grand staircase, she glanced upward, her eyes suddenly stinging as they settled on the Tiepolo painting in the upstairs gallery. What if her dream to work here didn’t materialize?
It had to. She loved everything about this place. The press of the crowds. All the tourists. How the scary, long, dark corridors went on forever, fading into shadowy marble staircases. She’d wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life in this building, cataloging artifacts, but now she—not to mention C.C., Diane and Mara—was a suspect in a heist. Things couldn’t get much worse. Or at least she thought so before she heard Edmond Styles behind her.
“Signe?” he called. “May I have a word?”
Definitely ominous. Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes on the security guards stationed before the brass revolving doors opening onto the autumn sunlight, then she forced herself to turn around. “Of course, Mr. Styles.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said solemnly. “But I just spoke with Detective Perez, and until this matter is cleared up, we’re going to have to let you go.”
“LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE,” Diane whispered philosophically.
“What bright side?” Signe considered herself a cup-half-full person, but she hadn’t yet found one. It was hours later and the women were standing in a clearing in the woods, surveying a magic circle fashioned from broomsticks laid end to end.
Between sips of spiked herbal-root beverage, Diane kept her voice to a hushed whisper, so as not to upset the more earnest witches in attendance. “If you’re fired, Sig, you can spend next week helping me with the Manhattan Men program.”
“You’ve got a point,” admitted Signe.
“You’ll be on the payroll, and it will cheer you up.”
Manhattan Men, the program Diane was offering through her business, Wacky Weekends, was an intensive week-long experience designed for businessmen who had more money than culture, and who wanted to learn how to present themselves with more class. Next week was the program’s test run, and so far, six men from around the country had signed up. Their dates—C.C., Mara and Signe, as well as some other friends—would show the rich bachelors how to impress business associates. Between learning how to dress, order in restaurants and select fine wines, they were in for a week long extravaganza that would include trips to art openings, operas and high teas.
“Mara and I are taking vacation time, so we can participate,” reminded C.C.
“Sounds good,” Signe managed to say, still upset over the work suspension, and took another sip. The herbal-root beverage definitely had a bite. She frowned. “What do you think is in this?”
Diane didn’t hesitate. “Pure grain alcohol.”
Doubtful, Signe thought. She rarely drank. “It doesn’t taste like it.”
“You wait,” said C.C. darkly.
For once in her life, Signe decided she might not really mind tying one on. Besides, Gorgeous hadn’t stopped in on his lunch hour, as he usually did, but then maybe that meant he planned to surprise her tonight. She sighed. In the car, on the drive to the mountains, a heated debate had taken place, and all the women decided not to speak to Detective Perez and see how things played out over the next week. If the thief still wasn’t caught and Signe wasn’t reinstated in her job, then they’d reconsider their strategy. Despite stories and movies to the contrary, they’d reasoned, priceless artifacts rarely really vanished. Surely, they were too hard to sell. All they had to do was wait for the police to find Eros.
C.C. knocked back her herbal root beverage, then fanned herself. “It’s hot out here.”
“Remember last Christmas?” said Diane. “It was seventy degrees.”
“Global warming,” explained Mara. “At least we can skinny-dip in the lake after the ceremony.”
The ceremony. Signe’s eyes settled on the huge black kettle in the center of the magic circle. Beneath it, a fire roared. Reaching into the back pocket of her cutoffs, she withdrew Gorgeous Garrity’s handkerchief and the spell she’d written. “It’s not very good,” she whispered. Since it concerned Gorgeous, she’d meant to spend quality time on it, but her concern over the missing Eros statue and Detective Perez’s sudden entrance into her life had distracted her.
“You really can’t expect yourself to write a good spell,” Diane commiserated, “not when so much is going on in your life, Sig.”
So true. Wishing she’d done a better job, she moved up in line, watching Mara. Following the protocol of the New Jersey wiccans, Mara removed one of the brooms, which was functioning as a gate. After opening the symbolic door, she closed it behind her and walked toward the boiling cauldron. When she reached the pot, she tossed in a jock strap that had belonged to her ex-boyfriend, Dean. Even though the breakup had been definite, he still wouldn’t quit calling. Unfolding the spell she’d penned, Mara began to read:
“Dean, I hate to be unkind
But it seems I haunt your mind.
Oh, SoHo man I’ve left behind,
May this spell break our binds…”
“Get ready,” C.C. whispered. “You’re next, Sig.”
Signe nodded, taking one more anxious glance around. While Minneapolis had its share of sprawling state parks in the middle of the city, she’d never frequented them. She was a city girl, born and bred. The woods made her nervous. She found herself thinking of insects. Wildcats. Bears. You name it. Her imagination always ran wild.
Fortunately, tonight, the herbal beverage was mitigating her anxiety. In fact, the more she drank, the more she got a warm, fuzzy feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. Right now, the rustic log cabins that were barely visible through the tall trees looked inviting, even though Signe’s roommate had canceled at the last moment, since one of her kids was sick. That meant Signe was going to wind up sleeping in a cabin all by herself. Not that she couldn’t join her friends, but the beds were single and it would be uncomfortable.
Being alone would be fine, she told herself. It was safe. No men were around. Regarding the retreat, most of the women looked less like witches and more like soccer moms from New Jersey who wanted a girls’ night out, away from their husbands and kids.
Diane’s elbow caught her in the ribs. “Mara’s done, Sig. You’re next.”
Miming Mara’s movements, she, too, headed for the circle. Using a broom as a gateway, she entered the magic area, then replaced the broom and approached the cauldron. A wave of heat hit her, warming her cheeks as she peered over the edge. Floating under the bubbling surface, she could make out a pager, a cell phone and a Brooks Brothers tie. The jilted fiancée of a dentist had dropped in his Water Pic, after reading a spell that included the words: “You thought I was the hostess with the mostess. Now I’m wishing you halitosis.”
One overzealous redhead had tossed in the keys to her husband’s Lexus, realizing too late that she’d borrowed his car to come to the retreat. Another had offered the last lock of her boyfriend’s hair before he’d gone