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No wonder that student had had such a mad crush on him. In a way, I was sort of surprised there hadn’t been more incidents like that.
I had to grin then, because in my mind’s eye, I recalled that scene from the opening ofRaiders of the Lost Arkwhere one of Indiana Jones’s students had written “love you” on her eyelids and closed her eyes to flash the message at him while he stood at the blackboard. It wasn’t too hard to imagine a similar scenario taking place in Archie’s class.
And it also helped to explain why that long-ago witch had cursed Archie to be a cat after he’d spurned her advances. It must have stung to get turned down by such a godlike being, even if the reasons involved really hadn’t been personal.
Poor Archie. No wonder he was so cranky.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a close-up shot of his school photo. Maybe it would only be rubbing salt in his wounds, but I thought it might help him to have a picture of himself. Did he even remember what he’d looked like as a man?
But enough of that.
After I returned my phone to my purse, I set the 1950 yearbook aside and opened last year’s version. The contrast was huge — the photos inside were all color, and some of the kids, with their wildly dyed hair and piercings, barely looked as though they were the same species as the proper-looking, carefully coiffed specimens from more than seventy years earlier.
The students weren’t the focus of my search, however. Or rather, I’d move on to them in case an analysis of the faculty and staff didn’t turn up anything, but my instincts were telling me a student wasn’t the culprit in the case of the botched love potion.
I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my fluorite pendulum. It had seemed safer to have it on me rather than riding in my purse, if only because that way I’d have a bit longer for our energies to get attuned to one another. With any luck, doing so would provide me with a more accurate reading.
A couple of pages back, and I’d reached the section where the school’s staff and faculty members were listed. I lifted the pendulum over the page with photos of the principal and vice principal and front office staff, and it trembled a little but then swung in a listless arc, telling me the person I sought wasn’t on that page.
Okay, fine.
The next page showcased the guidance counselors and school librarian and nurse. At once, the pendulum swirled in a tight arc, slowing, slowing…and then coming to a stop above one photo.
I peered down at it. The woman in the image looked like she was probably in her mid-thirties, pretty in a thin, intense way, with big dark eyes and dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. And she seemed familiar to me, although I couldn’t recall where I’d seen her before. Maybe at Walmart, or maybe at Cloud Coffee as I waited in line for a sandwich and some iced green tea?
No, that wasn’t it.
And then it came to me. This same woman had come into my shop less than a month after it had opened, and had bought two of my love spell candles. She’d paid cash and hadn’t removed her sunglasses, obviously hoping they would help to obscure her identity, but I knew it was the same person.
Kimberly Parker, Nurse,the caption read.
Since the librarian couldn’t see my face, I allowed myself a fierce grin.
Got you,I thought.
14
Kim-Possible
Of course,I knew I needed to wait until I was safely back at the store before I could act on the intelligence I’d just acquired. I handed the yearbooks to the librarian and thanked her, then hurried out, eager to return to home base.
When I got to Once in a Blue Moon and reached for the phone, however, I noticed that the voicemail light was blinking. I’d bitten the bullet and gotten a landline for the store because it seemed like a necessary business expense, but to be honest, hardly anyone ever called me there. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had to retrieve a message.
Which meant I had to fish around in the Notes app on my phone to locate where I’d jotted down the code to access the voicemail. Luckily, I found it without too much trouble, but I reminded myself that I should also write it down on a sticky note and put it under the counter or in the cash drawer or someplace else where it would be easily accessible.
Once I got past all that, however, I discovered the voicemail was from Joyce Lewis.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, sounding breathless, “but this is a bigger project than I’d expected. Is it all right if I drop the candles off on Monday afternoon? I’m sure I’ll be able to get them all together if I work through the weekend. Please let me know.”
The call ended there. Oh, dear. I really hadn’t meant to put Joyce on the spot, or make her feel as though she had to fulfill the order in the timeframe she’d suggested. Honestly, I didn’t expect the real holiday shopping to start for at least another week or so, despite the local Walmart already swimming in Christmas décor. These days, it felt like Thanksgiving didn’t even exist anymore.
I was just about to punch in Joyce’s number to call her back when Henry Lewis walked into the store, looking thunderous.
Uh-oh. Had he discovered I hadn’t been as hands-off about Danny Ortega’s murder investigation as I’d promised?
I slowly put down the phone, then figured I might as well forestall him by saying, “Afternoon, Henry. What can I do for you?”
He paused a foot or so away from the counter, forehead still etched with a scowl. “My wife doesn’t need your charity!”
