Chapter 13

Since we had just had dinner earlier in the week, I was a little surprised when Tara called me in the morning after the KISS funeral to ask if I could meet her for lunch that afternoon.

The café was classic looking, long and chrome, with a spacious parking lot that wasn’t as busy as I remembered it being years ago. I didn’t see Tara’s car, so I went in and hovered, until an old woman named Kathy yelled at me from the counter and told me to sit wherever I wanted. It didn’t appear that she was willing to leave her steaming mug of coffee and the soap opera she was watching on a small TV bolted into one corner of the building.

I chose a table along the wall where I could look out the long bay window and see when Tara arrived. Kathy came to drop off a glass of water and take my order. I remembered her from back in high school. She had worked here then, and somehow she had looked just as old as she did now. I wondered if she recognized me, but if she did, she didn’t let it register on her face. The only other person in the place, besides whoever was banging around dishes in the back, the cook no doubt, was a large man in a red shirt sitting at the counter. He appeared to be doing a crossword puzzle, given that his head was bent low over the newspaper on which he was scribbling.

I ordered a Coke and watched Kathy shuffle back behind her counter. The bell over the door chimed, and I looked up to see Tara walk in. She smiled at me and hurried over, dropping into the seat across from me. Tara ordered a glass of water, much to Kathy’s obvious disgust.

“I miss sodas so much,” she said, “but I’m trying to drop it so that when I get pregnant I won’t have to quit cold turkey.”

I nodded. “The things we do for kids.”

Tara laughed. “Neither of us know anything about that.”

“Well, I was trying to relate.”

“Trust me, I’m going to need to live vicariously through you,” Tara said, accepting her water from Kathy who slammed it down so hard on the table that it splashed. She took our meal orders and then hurried off.

“I can’t believe she still works here,” I said quietly, when the old woman had made it back to the counter.

“I think she might be a vampire,” Tara said with a grin.

“It would be depressing to be turned into a vampire at age one hundred and twelve, or however old she is,” I said, and we both giggled.

“It’s great that you’re back,” Tara said. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know. I’ve missed you too.” I thought back to her call this morning. “What’s up?” I asked. “This sounded important.”

Tara nodded and sighed. “I just wanted to talk. I wanted to clear the air, I guess.”

I didn’t know what she could possibly be talking about. Clearing the air? I hadn’t made her mad, and she hadn’t made me mad.

“I saw you looking at something that wasn’t there at dinner the other night,” Tara said. “Were you looking at a dead person?”

I smiled with relief. Tara was the one person who knew that I could see ghosts, given that we’d been friends from an early age. However, we hadn’t talked about it since I’d come back to Witch Woods. “Yes, it was Tiffany,” I said. “She wants me to find out who murdered her. She doesn’t have a clue who it was.”

Tara bit her lip. “I’d almost forgotten you could see ghosts. We haven’t talked about it in ages.”

I nodded my agreement. “You know, I thought you could see her, too.”

Tara shook her head. “I saw you looking at an empty space, and then figured it was a ghost.”

“I knew I was wrong,” I said, “but for a minute I thought you could see her. I must be going a bit nuts, living with my mother and all that. I even thought that hot accountant, Basil Sandalwood, could see ghosts too.”

Tara looked startled.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“It’s probably nothing,” Tara began, but after I shot her a withering look, she continued. “Well, you know how I’m a witch…”

“Yes, and that’s something we haven’t much talked about in years, too,” I said.

Tara smiled. “Yep. Anyway, witches use white sage for spiritual cleansing of rooms and stuff, and you said you smelled white sage at Basil’s office.”

My jaw fell open. “Are you saying that Basil Sandalwood is a, err, a witch?” I said a little too loudly.

“Shush!” Tara nodded to Kathy who was looking away from her TV and straight at me. “No, but the thought did occur to me. People who are into Feng Shui and stuff use white sage, too, so it’s not just witches.”

I scratched my head. “I wouldn’t have thought Basil Sandalwood was into anything, not Feng Shui, and especially not anything to do with being a witch either. Anyway, wouldn’t you know? Don’t you witches have a special handshake or something?”

Tara laughed. “No, silly, that’s Freemasons. I can’t tell if someone else is a witch. It’s not as if Basil has a YouTube channel or something. Look, he probably just has some funky type of aftershave.” She stopped talking as Kathy was scurrying over with our meals. We thanked Kathy as she set them in front of us, and then she shuffled off.

“So, you really think Basil could be a witch? Or a, I don’t know, a wizard or whatever? That’s what they call them in Harry Potter.”

“Not really,” Tara said, shaking her head as she lifted her sandwich to her lips and took a bite. After she finished her mouthful, she said, “It’s just that you thought you smelled white sage in his office.”

I thought that over. “I can see ghosts because every firstborn female in every second generation in Mom’s family can see them. Is being a witch hereditary, too? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.”

“Actually,” Tara said, “there are people who learn to be a witch, and others who are born with the abilities. I doubt he’s a witch, and if he is, he probably doesn’t want anyone to know.”

I tried to decide if I would want people knowing if I was a witch. I didn’t want anyone to know I spoke to dead people, so I guessed not. I certainly wouldn’t want my mother to know.

“So tell me about Tiffany,” Tara said. “You said you were helping her?”

“I’m trying to.” I quickly filled her in about what had happened, including when Danny had confronted me in the restaurant parking lot.

“He was there that night?”

“A coincidence, I think,” I said. “He was just out with friends. But he scared me, that’s for sure.”

“I can turn him into a frog for you, if you want,” Tara said.

I gasped. “Really?”

Tara had a fit of the giggles. “No,” she said when she was finally able to speak, “but I’d like to.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“So it’s him then, right? He’s the suspect.”

I shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. She was sleeping with her boss. Who knows what’s going on there?”

“Her boss seemed upset at the funeral though, right? Isn’t that what you said?” Tara asked.

“Well sure,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. If I killed someone, you better believe I would look sad at their funeral.”