Chapter 10 #2
Back in my cabin, alone, I couldn’t wait for Wickham to return. Arleen York. Who on earth could she be, and why was she following us? Why the police had to keep Wickham for so long was beyond me. I wanted to drive over to the station, but I’d been ordered not to.
If only I had my mom or sisters with me. We all had a few spells Mom made us memorize for emergencies, but I’d always seen them as more fun than necessary. I needed a revelation spell or a protective spell.
I pulled out my phone and texted Kitty.
Kit, I have a slight problem, and I’m hoping you can help me out.
Uh, yeah you do. Mom’s still freaking out about you taking off with Wickham. Says it makes our family look scandalous. You know how she likes to be dramatic. Are you having fun?
I was . . . but Wickham got taken in by the police. They’re questioning him about Alex and . . . something else.
Something else? Are you in danger, Lydia?
No, I’m fine. I think. Tim, he’s in the Grey Doors, was murdered here at the resort, and I need to figure out who did it. We must’ve been followed. Have you done a spell to figure out who owned the red wig we found in the alley?
Lizzy and I tried one, but it didn’t show us much. They must’ve pulled it out of its package and only worn it for a minute or two. I’m worried about you.
Then I need to do what I can here. Will you text me any spells might help? I’ve no idea where to start.
Uh . . . shouldn’t I ask Mary or Jane or even Lizzy? I’m like the least qualified to help . . .
No, Kitty! You’re the only one I trust not to tell Mom. Wickham and I . . . we eloped.
Aaaahhhhh! Are you serious?!? No way!!!
But you can see why I need to prove his innocence.
Okay. Let me think. I’m going to take a bunch of pictures from the spellbook and text them to you. Then you can decide which to use.
Thanks.
Lydia?
Yeah?
Don’t die, OK? I refuse to have the next death in the paper be my little sister’s.
I’ll try.
Most of the spells Kitty sent me were useless: a love potion, something to make your hair grow, a recipe for tarts. . . What? Revenge? No. Night vision . . . That may be helpful. Transformation . . . definitely helpful.
The transformation spell would make me look like someone else for up to four hours. I’d need something with the DNA of the person I wanted to look like. If I looked like the manager or a police officer, I’d have an excuse to question people.
I had no idea how to get Brig’s DNA. It had to be all around the hotel, but even if I did find it, imitating him in the same building would be risky.
But Detective Ortho might work. She was the only person drinking a diet cola in the lounge, at least that I remembered. If I could just find that can.
I brought along the spell and my emergency magic supply kit, and headed back to the main lodge. As discreetly as possible, I walked to the recycling bin next to the vending machine and located the soda cans. Thank goodness the bin didn’t have a big fancy lid.
Unfortunately, near the top, sat two of the same diet soda cans and no way of knowing which was Detective Ortho’s. I dropped a few quarters into the vending machine, and when I bent over to get my drink, I grabbed the two cans from the recycling bin and slipped them into my bag.
In the bathroom, I sat on the counter and leaned my head back against the mirror. Before I performed the spell, I’d need a plan. I had to find out what room Arleen York was staying in so I could scope it out.
I always kept a few emergency magical supplies with me .
. . kind of like a first-aid kit for witches.
In my sadly sparse kit, I had a vial of salt, a candle, a lighter, and chalk.
It wasn’t much. I tried never to go overboard, because we received repeated warnings in church against using magic selfishly.
Yes, we were witches who went to church.
Why not? But a little transformation spell was hardly dark magic.
So, there shouldn’t be any negative effects.
I locked the bathroom door to avoid interruptions.
On the slate countertop, I drew the symbol of arrows toward me and the soda can.
I placed the candle in the middle of the arrows, lit it, and touched the top of the can that Detective Ortho would’ve drunk from to the flame and whispered, “Transformus.”
This spell was so obvious, a preschooler could’ve done it.
But I still hated spells that affected my appearance because they made my skin crawl.
It itched so fiercely, I wanted to scream.
But the pain meant the spell was working.
I clenched my jaw shut. From the bottom of my feet to the tip of my nose, I wanted to scratch away the prickling sensation.
Thankfully, within a minute, it settled down.
I looked in the mirror. Unfortunately, I’d used the wrong can.
I was not Detective Ortho. However, I was the next best thing.
I resembled the receptionist, Ginny, down to her mustard-colored sweater.
She’d get around the hotel even better than the detective.
But was still in the lobby, and seeing a duplicate of herself could be problematic.
Calling Brig and explaining everything was an option, but I didn’t know if he knew about magic.
Giving up on Ginny’s form and trying the second soda can was also an option, but who knew if that can really had the detective’s DNA on it.
Now, if Ginny got called home for some reason . . . maybe . . .
It was worth a shot. I searched for the lodge’s number on my phone and called. After a few rings, Ginny, answered, “Sky Powder Lodge, Ginny speaking.”
I did my best to disguise my voice. “Ginny, hello. I’m Brig’s assistant, uh .
. . Violet. He asked me to inform you that since there is such a big storm rolling in, you can leave a little early for safety.
He wants anyone who has to drive home in the next twelve hours to go home now. I’ll take care of reception for you.”
“Violet?” Ginny didn’t believe me. “Why don’t I know you?”
“I just started. Maybe you don’t remember. During the wedding earlier this evening, Brig introduced me. You seemed distracted.” That definitely didn’t happen, and I felt terrible for gaslighting her—I did have a conscience, after all.
“Oh, during the wedding tonight? I might remember. Were you the one with the dark brown hair?” Ginny asked.
I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Yes, that’s me. So you feel free to go, and I’ll take care of things for the next few hours. Thank you for your dedicated service.” My stomach clenched. No one would buy such a blatant lie.
“Well, okay then.” Ginny agreed.
My jaw dropped. Good thing another storm really was on the weather report. This was too easy.
I peeked out of the bathroom door a few times as Ginny gathered up her things, then as soon as she exited the lodge, I scurried over to the reception station.
Fortunately, the computer system was pretty straightforward. I typed the name Arleen York into the guest registry. She had her own cabin, number 319. Once everything settled, I would go search for clues. But as I started away from the counter, Brig showed up in the reception area.
“Oh, Ginny. Good, I’m glad you’re here. Someone in the breakroom said you were taking off because of the storm rolling in?”
“Oh, no.” I smiled and gulped. “I heard about the storm on the news. But as you can see, I’m still here.”
“Yes.” Brig raised a fluffy white eyebrow at me. “You feeling okay?”
“Right as rain.” I smiled. Did people even use that expression anymore? I’m sure my cheeks were bright red.
“Well, you're right about a big storm rolling in. If you’re worried about your car making it home, I suppose we can figure something out.” Brig’s brow creased, and he rubbed his forehead. “Of course, you can stay here if driving is too dangerous.”
“Oh, no. I’m not worried.” Then I realized what I was committing to. “How long should I stay tonight?”
“Go ahead and do your normal shift. You get off at three a.m., right?” Brig still eyed me with suspicion.
“Yep, three a.m.” I smiled. Too bad I hardly knew Ginny’s personality. Maybe she would’ve complained or given him a hard time. Or he might be testing me, and she really got off at one a.m. or something.
But Brig was satisfied with my response. “Alright then. Tell me if there are any problems.”
I frowned at my phone. It was midnight, which meant I’d need to stay at the reception desk for three more hours before I could do anything productive.
I yawned. At least I could do some research online.
Maybe something would come up. The spell would wear off after four or five hours, leaving me with little time to investigate the resort.
Tied to the desk, I surrendered and sank into the receptionist’s chair.
I pulled out my phone, and sure enough, the news reported a tremendous storm rolling into the area.
So that must’ve been why Ginny believed my story.
But if the police had Wickham, he might be stuck at the station for a long time.
Since nobody was checking in or out of the lodge between twelve a.m. and three a.m., I pulled out a piece of scrap paper to take notes on as I did some research online.
Current clues: Two people related to the Grey Doors were dead. One of them was inexplicably at the lodge with me and Wickham. It made little sense.
I searched the Grey Doors online and studied the faces of the band members.
Wickham, Bradley, Ernesto, Zoe, Harley, and Mathis were the only people left standing.
Wickham had suggested to the other band members that they get out of town for a while.
So, either one of them had to be the killer or someone was following band members and they were all in danger.
Their social media accounts featured loads of candid photos of shows and backstage events.
The photos revealed some of the group dynamics.
Harley liked to stand back a bit from the major action, like she didn’t aspire to be in the limelight.
Mathis had to be a serial dater. He was with a different girl in nearly every photo.
Ernesto was generally alone, but certainly admired.
He’d recently started dating Anne de Bourgh.
Bradley held back a bit, similar to Harley.
Zoe smiled radiantly in most of the photos, like she truly enjoyed being there.
Wickham looked serious, older than his twenty-six years.
Even in the photos, it was apparent that the band meant a lot to him. He was a genuine artist.
In several photos, Wickham and Bradley were in the background chatting with each other while the other band members goofed around.
A few consistent groupies popped up, mostly female.
Alex was not in too many photos, and he was the most stoic of the group.
Except there were a few where he looked eager to be talking to Harley or Zoe.
He seemed to have a better connection with the female band members than with the guys.
A few photos depicted him embracing an unfamiliar woman with black hair.
In a couple of photos, he glared at Wickham.
What if he envied how many girls liked Wickham?
That explained why he was so rude when Wickham introduced me to the group.
Then I noticed the Celtic ring Wickham had taken from him.
Wickham said he found the ring in Alex’s hand, that Alex wasn’t wearing it.
But in the most recent photos, he wore it on his ring finger.
Could he have had a secret relationship?
I listed each band member’s name on a piece of paper,crossing off those I’d ruled out.
If, perhaps, one of them was the person in the wig, only Harley, Zoe, and maybe Tim had the right body-type.
But, with Tim gone, that ruled him out. Mathis, Ernesto, and Bradley were easy to rule out, each being too tall.
So the only people I suspected were the groupies, or band member girls.