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Manitoba Tea & Tarot Mysteries: Magic, Mayhem & Murder

January Bain

 

Excerpt

 

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. —Albert Einstein

 

Thirteen years ago

 

“Will she let us stay?” Tulip’s eyes widened, her nose and cheeks reddened by the freezing wind. My triplet shivered, wiping her dripping nose on the back of her red mitten. I straightened the collar on her worn jacket and tucked the thin scarf around her neck. The snow was falling more heavily now, already filling in the tracks the three of us had made walking from the street light to the front stoop, the warning still ringing in my head. ‘Don’t knock until you’ve counted to a hundred if you know what’s good for you.’ Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…

“I’m not sure, but if we’re really, really good, she might. At least for tonight,” I interrupted my counting to answer her.

“Yeah, don’t you be backtalking her like you did to Mommy,” Star said, staring accusingly.

“I never did that!” Tulip’s bottom lip started to quiver.

“Hush, no one is at fault,” I said. If she started bawling, I didn’t know how long I could hold off. My throat had a lump in it big as a baseball. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.

Star screwed up her face but held her tongue, though only after I gave her my sternest older-sister look. I’d been born at one minute to midnight, making me the oldest sister by a full day. Not that birthdays were ever celebrated, though we’d had eight already. Mommy said we were too much trouble on a regular day. No way was she holding a two-day party for a trio of brats.

I tugged the paper sack holding all our possessions closer to my chest, thinking of the one precious book and the half-box of Pop-Tarts Mommy had tucked inside for our supper. Maybe Granny would have a toaster or a stove element to warm them up? Or maybe she might have some juice or pop? My throat was dry. Even water would taste good.

Star stamped her feet to stay warm, her pink running shoes leaving an intricate pattern from the soles as she packed the snow. Her scarf had icicles forming from her warm breath hitting the frosty air and her cheeks shone bright red. No frostbite—not yet anyway. But the wind was picking up, blowing showers of ice crystals off the roof and onto our bare heads.

Sixty-six, sixty-seven. I glanced across the open field between Granny’s house and the house next door, visualizing wolves coming out of the evergreens of the thick forest and circling the town. We’d been dropped off on one of the coldest days of the year. Minus forty-seven, according to the loud man on the radio in our old van. I’d caught the name of the town on the welcoming sign leading in. Snowy Lake, population 1259. I was proud to be the first one to learn to read, first one to do most things. Then I could help my little sisters, when they’d let me.

Eighty-nine, ninety. I was shaking now, could barely keep from kicking at the door with my foot. But a promise is a promise. If Mommy came back and saw me doing wrong, I’d get a swat for sure. You know she’s not coming back, right? a small voice inside me piped up, making tears well. No! Don’t ever say that. Hard as times had been, Mommy loved us deep down inside. She’s coming back. One day. When things were better for her, she’d be back. She promised. And if I kept my solemn promise to look after my sisters, then everything would be okay. It had to be.

“Okay, let’s not forget who we are. The awesome McCalls. Okay, time’s up.”

Just as I reached one hundred the back-porch light came on, a beacon in the darkness, spotlighting the three of us huddled in the dark.

“Land’s sake alive, what are the three of you doing outside waiting in the snow?”

I spoke up, holding out the bedraggled piece of paper with the slightly smeared ink. “Granny Toogood, my mommy said to give you this.”

If she was surprised at me calling her Granny, she didn’t show it. She took the offering and read it with an intense expression. I peeked at her while she read. Dark curls gleamed around a soft face. She was wearing a nice pair of blue slacks with a matching blouse over a slim body, no stains or holes. She must be rich. She was shorter than Mommy, too. When she glanced down at Star, Tulip and me, the expression in her blue eyes was kind, as though she was very sure of something. I liked her immediately. I badly wanted her to like me, too. Then maybe she would feel obliged to help my sisters.

“Well, let’s get you all inside then,” she said, refolding and tucking the letter into her pants pocket.

I waited until my sisters had clamored in the doorway before I glanced back at the forest. The pack of wolves had vanished.