Chapter Twelve

 

Harmony certainly wasn’t big enough to warrant an entire hospital to serve its residents, so Leanne was rushed fifteen miles north to the county facility with what seemed like half the town trailing behind. Mag and Clara hopped into the old VW bus they’d acquired when they decided to leave the city. It didn’t have an engine per se, but who needs an engine when you have a world of magic at your disposal?

“So what are your spidey senses telling you, Maggie?” Clara asked when they were almost there. “Because I can see it going one of two ways. Either Leanne was an unintended victim, which means the office itself was targeted; or Leanne hasn’t been as forthcoming as she’d like us to believe.”

“Or she knows something but doesn’t realize its significance. Or, we could be encountering that elusive creature known as a coincidence.”

Clara snorted, “Rarer than a polka-dotted unicorn, that one. No, I smell the distinct scent of desperation.”

“Me too, and it smells oddly like Paco Rabanne. The trouble is, Perry was right. It’s a best seller at the local five and dime. You should start manufacturing some alternatives, Clarie. We could make a fortune.”

“I’ll get right on that after we catch a killer and foil whatever plot Hagatha’s been hatching up when she thinks we’re not looking. Slow down, there’s the hospital entrance.”

As indicated by the cast of characters assembled in the waiting room, it was clear that even though Harmony was home to a powerful coven of witches who made every attempt to fit into “normal” society, there was still a separation between the two groups. Not one coven member had made the short trip, leaving Mag and Clara the only representatives of the magical community in attendance. Not that anyone else noticed.

Leanne’s husband, Dylan, managed a grim nod in their direction but spent his time pacing back and forth in front of the formidable double doors marked with a large red stop sign to indicate anyone without an employee badge was unwelcome unless accompanied by someone in scrubs or a white coat.

Several women around Leanne’s age were also present, one of whom identified herself as Mary Mountain-Farber, the friend whose wedding Leanne had mentioned previously. Mrs. Green, whose given name was still unknown to the Balefire sisters, cluck-clucked about how she’d been Leanne’s babysitter once upon a time, and wasn’t it such a terrible tragedy for a fire like that to have occurred in their sleepy little town?

Each well-wisher carried the same expression of concern and anticipation, including Bryer Mack, who arrived last and made a point of aggressively shaking Dylan’s hand while uttering the sort of platitudes expected in a dire situation such as this. Dylan, overcome with appreciation for the man who saved his wife’s life, wrapped Bryer in a hug. If Bryer’s incredulous expression was any indication—was not in keeping with his usual, reserved personality.

“You’re welcome,” Bryer patted Dylan’s back stiffly, “I just did what anyone else would do.”

When Dylan was finally ushered into the no trespassing zone amid reassurances that Leanne would make a full recovery, the level of conversational restraint—along with any sense of dignity—took a nose dive directly into the floor.

“That old building probably hasn’t had an electrical system update in decades. Dimes to dollars, that’s what caused the fire.” Mrs. Green nodded knowingly, as though she’d been a licensed electrician in a former life.

“Unless someone else started it. You know, on purpose.” Mary whispered the last two words.

Mag and Clara opted to listen intently from the very edges of their lightly-padded, tweed-covered chairs. Bryer, the last of the town group to put forth a theory, opened his mouth to speak just as Perry Weatherall burst through the doors.

“Is Leanne all right? Evelyn said she was inside the office when the fire broke out.”

Mag nodded, and Clara stood to pat Perry on the arm, “Yes, she’s fine. And we made sure Max got out safely, too.”

“Thank you,” He leaned in close to keep from broadcasting his next statement to the entire waiting room, “I didn’t want to admit to being worried about an animal while a human life hangs in the balance, but I’m grateful.”

“Any word on how the fire started?” If the answer was anything other than arson, Clara knew someone was lying.

“Set.” Perry pushed the word out between clenched teeth. “In the storage room. They tell me Bryer went in and saved Leanne. Stand-up guy, that one.”

Dylan reemerged from the no-fly zone a few minutes later and began a detailed update on Leanne’s condition, which included the joyous statement that she was awake and talking. Mag and Clara took full advantage of the distraction to slip into the hallway under another forbidden, heavy glamour.

“Might as well go straight to the top of the coven’s naughty list. We’ve never been ones to do things halfway.” Mag grinned with zero remorse as the pair hurried to Leanne’s room, visiting hours and restrictions duly ignored.

“We’re so sorry to barge in here like this, Leanne, but we’re worried about you.”

“If you’re here, that means the fire was connected to Marsha’s death, doesn’t it?” Talking might have been a slight exaggeration. Leanne could hardly manage a croaking whisper.

“Well, dear,” Clara’s grandmotherly tone didn’t match her youthful exterior but, since she actually was a grandmother, it smacked of authenticity when she said, “even if that weren’t the case, we still would have checked in on you.”

Thankfully, Leanne was so out of it, she probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if Clara waved her wand and rode a broomstick around the room.

“Whoever started that fire could have killed you. Even if that wasn’t the intention, this guy is obviously willing to go to the ends of the earth to hide something, and he doesn’t care who gets caught in the crossfire. The hospital is secure”—Mag didn’t mention that her confidence in that fact was due to the protective charm she’d surreptitiously placed on Leanne’s room—“so you’re not in danger here, but if you are a target, we need to act quickly.”

“Why would I be a target?” she asked, plucking at the gleaming white sheet. “I have no idea why Marsha was killed.”

“No, but it’s possible you know something, even if you don’t realize it. I know your throat is sore, but we need you to tell us what happened. Every detail you can remember, whether it seems significant or not.”

Leanne attempted to shift into a more upright position, but in the process tugged on the line running from the crook of her arm into a bag of fluids hanging overhead. Clara helped her get situated, and was grateful that the woman was distracted enough not to notice that she was nearly naked with two practical strangers.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep last night, so I decided to go into the office and clean up some details. We’d finalized and sent the commemorative edition out to the printers on Friday, and decided we’d skip the regular edition for this week. Everything was running so far behind, and I figured I could use the new printer and work up an insert.” She paused, her lips tightening.

“I dug out some photos of Marsha, which were slated for a memorial spread, but when I got to the office and started leafing through them, it all came rushing back. Marsha’s I’m silently correcting your grammar mug was still sitting on her desk right where she left it, and I couldn’t stop the tears.”

“That’s when Perry found me in a puddle of my own snot. I think that crazy cat of his was probably yowling right along with me.” She gasped and put her hand to her chest. “Oh, no, did Max get out all right?”

“Yes, yes, everyone else is fine, don’t you worry.” Clara patted Leanne’s hand.

Leanne closed her eyes for a moment, her contorted face smoothing back to normal after a few deep breaths. “Anyway, I may have had a tiny breakdown, and sputtered on a bit about how things weren’t going to be the same ever again, and how depressing it would be if the paper closed after all of Marsha’s hard work. Perry told me not to worry, and that the paper would survive one way or another—Marsha had made sure of it—and I should mobilize the staff to prepare for some changes.”

Mag and Clara waited patiently while Leanne skirted the events involving the actual fire, offering the expected oohs and ahhs when necessary to keep her calm.

“Did you see anyone else throughout the day? Talk to anyone, see anything suspicious?” Mag asked.

She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “No, but that’s partly because I had the blinds drawn. It’s like an oven in there when the sun beats in, and I forgot to open them again later. I never even unlocked the front door. I didn’t realize how long I’d been there until the delivery truck showed up at the back door.”

“You see, usually, we only get one box of each edition delivered to the office, but when we do a special, they’re all stored in the back room, and we distribute them by hand.” She let out a defeated sigh. “Of course, we won’t be distributing this batch because they’re all ruined, and there isn’t time to have them reprinted.”

“Anyway, Steve—the driver—helped me unload them into the hallway before he left. I got the boxes situated, closed the connecting door, and turned on my iPod while I finished the filing project I’d started earlier. A little while later, I smelled smoke and went out back to investigate. Stupidly, I opened the door”—Leanne held up a gauze-covered hand—“and burned myself in the process.”

She lowered her hand back to the bed, twisting a little to accommodate the IV. “The smoke was like a wall, and the fire spread so fast. The front door was still locked, and I couldn’t find my keys. I thought I was going to die in there. Then I heard sirens and felt myself being lifted up and carried outside. Those firefighters are going to be getting a huge gift basket, that’s for sure.”

“Actually, you were rescued by Bryer Mack, so you might want to funnel your thanks in his direction.”

“Bryer? Really? And I always thought he didn’t like me.” Leanne made an attempt at lightheartedness that fell flat as she convulsed into a fit of ragged coughs.

Mag and Clara exchanged a look, agreeing they’d learned all they could and that it was time to take their leave.

“You rest, dear, and we’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” Clara said as they left.