Chapter 10
A visit to the pet store wouldn’t be complete without a meltdown from Sal.
“I simply can’t decide! Is Grumble more of a cozy cottage or a shipwreck type of fish?”
By now, the retail workers of Paw she made little bubbles with her mouth.
There didn’t seem to be much else going on there, but he let it go.
Sal would personify the silverware if left to his own devices.
The muffled sound of Sal’s cellular phone ringing came from the backpack that usually housed Rumble. Sal had left it on the counter before losing himself among the plethora of aquarium decor.
“Salvatore!” Arthur called. “Your mobile—it’s going to tell you what it wants, what it really, really wants.”
“Answer it for me, darling! I’m busy connecting with my muse.”
Arthur didn’t want to know what that entailed, so he retrieved the cell phone and, after a moment’s confusion, pressed accept on the call.
“Hey, Sal, it’s me.”
Arthur lifted the phone to his ear in time to recognize the voice on the other end. “Ah, Lore. Good to hear from you,” he said.
“Arthur? Color me shocked. Does this mean you’ve caved and joined us in the twenty-first century?”
“Nothing so exciting. Sal’s simply busy…uh…musing.”
“Sounds important.” Lore’s tone gave no indication whether she was being sarcastic or not. “Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. Is now a good time?”
This had to be about the case. Normally, he would wait until he was in private to discuss sensitive details, but they were already running late. Besides, Randy was too busy having a staring contest with some sort of lizard in a tank to eavesdrop.
“You have my undivided attention,” Arthur said, scrambling for his notebook.
“Okay, well, it’s not that serious.” Lore cleared her throat. “Just wanted to let you know that I heard the sheriff talking about Lola’s stuff. He’s holding her possessions from the festival as evidence, but he mentioned there weren’t any records of her appointments in her phone schedule.”
Arthur had not been aware phones had schedules, but he thought it best not to let on. Instead, he said, “Well, perhaps she preferred to keep analog records?”
“Right, but they didn’t find an appointment book or anything in the tent.”
“Strange.” Arthur scribbled this discovery in his own notebook. “I could’ve sworn Sal mentioned her writing things down during their session, and there was a pen in her tent. Why have a pen with no paper?”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Lore deadpanned. “Anyway, wanted to keep you in the loop in case you find out what happened to it. Stephanie’s still totally freaked, worried McMartin will arrest her again, so the sooner you narrow in on a suspect, the better.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know if we find any—”
“Skulls!” Sal announced at top volume, appearing at Arthur’s elbow with a selection of model skulls in his hands. One had green plastic kelp wrapped around the eye sockets, while another was hooked on the side of an anchor. None of them were to scale.
“Cash or card?” Randy asked as if this was the most boring day of his life.
Arthur sighed before handing over a stack of bills.
Grumble, it seemed, was about to experience a goth phase, whether she liked it or not.
So were Arthur and Sal, by the look of the outfits Sal selected for them when they got back to the Dead he understood what it was like to have a packed schedule and a to-do list that never seemed to shrink.
Still, it would have been nice to get some time to discuss things with them.
“What’s this?” Sal asked, running a thumb along the back of Arthur’s hand where Rumble had scratched him.
Arthur snatched his hand back without thinking. “Oh, I was just a little clumsy earlier, that’s all.” The wound had nearly healed, leaving behind just a few light marks that would be entirely gone before midnight. “Look, is that a scrapbook?”
Sal took the bait, making a beeline (bringing to mind the pun-off with Theodore from that afternoon) for the table at the back. “It’s only a guest book.” He sniffed in disappointment. “And a terribly drab one at that!”
Arthur peered over Sal’s shoulder to see a book with a few photos of Lola pasted lopsidedly on plain white pages. One showed her shaking hands with a golden retriever; another pictured her next to Ambrosia Celestine, a nervous smile on her face as she looked up at the leader of her coven.
“If they’d let me help I could have made a truly heart-stopping tribute—not that I would. She was a charlatan.” Sal looked around surreptitiously before grabbing a pen and scrawling Fake Psychic beneath one of the photos. “Oh, snackies!” Sal floated off toward the refreshments table.
Arthur sighed and scribbled out Sal’s addition to the guest book. Lola might have been a liar, but he didn’t like to speak—or write—ill of the dead.
“Nothing puts people at ease like their conversation partner holding nibbles,” Sal said wisely as he artfully arranged charcuterie on his Celestine Coven–branded paper plate. “Makes one seem vulnerable and unassuming, but also like they enjoy a good time.”