THE WITCH OF Wyndham-by-the-Sea took an appreciative sip of the Oregon Pinot Noir that Black Dan Harrington had opened just for her, and after complimenting him on his selection, mentioned that she never saw his wife, did she not like coming to his restaurant?
He poured a small sample of the wine for himself, then answered, “Oh, and that’s an old custom, handed down from my da, and to him from his da, keeping the wife apart from the way we make a living. It prevents the curse, you see.”
Black Dan nestled more comfortably in the white plastic chair, which was structured for lesser frames than his, sipped his Pinot and surveyed, with the expression of a cat full of cream, his restaurant’s tables. Each one, whether indoors or out here by the dock, had been filled with patrons since lunchtime. He’d hustled Chris Greco to work at the piano on the balcony at three this afternoon. Pete and Frank, who played saxophone and bass fiddle, respectively, had been called and were to join him as soon as they could arrive, instead of waiting for the customary seven o’clock set. Black Dan worked determinedly to see that Harrington’s Restaurant meant good food, good drink, and good jazz to its patrons.
The witch smiled down at her cat Jezebel, who had just yowled and curled her tail around Black Dan’s ankle. Jezebel never lost an opportunity to seduce someone who had access to fresh fish.
The witch said, “You don’t mean to tell me that you keep your wife away from here because of some curse an ancestor of yours dreamed up to keep a nagging wife away during the day?”
Black Dan looked anxious. “Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous, but the curse says that to allow your wife a bit of your business ‘will drive the food and drink from hungry mouths’.” He smiled back at her then. “My family has always been in the saloon and restaurant business. We have a vested interest in keeping mouths from going hungry or thirsty, you see.” As if to prove his point, he poured a little more wine into the witch’s glass.
He glanced at the boats bobbing like happy corks at their moorings in the technicolor sunset and added, after a sigh, “But you know, I should invite her to come. On a day like this, I have to believe that any curse would be helpless.”
A miraculous combination of benign sun, lazily lapping water, and fragrant breezes off the Sound this Tuesday had pried residents and shopkeepers of Wyndham-by-the-Sea from their air-conditioned cubicles, enticing them to breathe deeply and make ‘work’ merely a word in the dictionary.
The witch surveyed the crowd shrewdly. “I see you’ve added the entire Village Board of Trustees to your list of devotees.”
Today being the second Tuesday of the month, the Board meeting was slated to begin at eight at the Town Hall, but they’d gathered beforehand at Harrington’s, taking the two next-best tables. (The witch had the best one, as always.) They could be heard wrangling testily over rules of cabana rights at the beach.
“And visiting constabulary as well?” she added with elevated eyebrows, nodding towards a corner table.
Black Dan spared only a glance at the gentleman in question. “We had a bit of excitement here this morning. The leader of a gang of thieves was apprehended somewhere, still smoking from the heat of his latest in a series of jewel snatches, I gather—”
“You couldn’t possibly mean Georgie Fontana has been up to his old tricks again, could you?”
Black Dan’s blue eyes widened. “Indeed I do. How—”
“That police detective eating your crab cakes is from the same village that happens also to be the village called home by Georgie Fontana—one of New York’s more accomplished gem thieves. He usually collects a gang around himself. It was too perfect a match to overlook.” The corners of her mouth curled faintly upwards.
“A clairvoyant match, my dear. Some sort of written evidence pointed to Harrington’s as involved somehow, as a meeting place or something.” He shrugged. “The boy is supposed to be undercover, on the lookout for the rest of the desperadoes, but of course I’m not surprised you would spot him.” He grinned at her.
Just then, a girl with a dark curly mop of hair and an intent look on her small face came up to Black Dan with papers needing his signature. He signed with a flourish, then introduced her to the witch.
“Mrs. Risk,” he said to the witch, “I’d like you to meet the newest member of our staff, and one who shows great promise—at least, we’ve benefited greatly from her presence so far!—Miss Lizette Smith, the genius of reducing kitchen chaos into blessed order. Lizette, Mrs. Risk, one of Wyndham’s most handsome,” and here he wagged his devilishly curled, rust-tinted eyebrows at the witch, “and most intriguing residents.”
Lizette considered her with some curiosity, then smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.”
The witch considered her thoughtfully in return, and nodded. “Lovely,” was all she said.
“She was thrust upon us by Chef Vinnie’s wife, Tina. A cousin of some sort, aren’t you?” he continued vaguely.
Lizette nodded. “I put the checks for you to sign on your desk, under the brandy bottle, is that okay?”
“Perfect,” said Black Dan. He gazed over Lizette’s head at the bustling outdoor bar behind her, and again a smile curled, cat-like, on his handsome face. “Absolutely perfect. Thank you, darlin’. Take a few minutes to enjoy the breeze,” he added.
Lizette grinned and dashed away.
“Hardworking girl?” murmured the witch as she watched Lizette race to the kitchen door clutching her signed papers.
“The best. Well, since we seem to be overflowing with blessings, it’s back to work for this old son.” He stood up and replaced his chair beneath her table. “Even though we look like we’re prospering like Midas’ daughter, I don’t mind admitting to you that Harrington’s can nil afford to offend even the least of these patrons. This is our third season.” He sighed. “If we don’t record some solid profits in the old ledger this summer, we’ll be finding a new, less grand home, come September.”
He stood motionless for a moment, staring sadly at his feet, as if envisioning imminent departure, but then he looked up, energetic and merry again. “But don’t our prospects look grand, now? If you have any musical requests, just ferry them by waiter upstairs to Chris. He said, by the way, to tell you hello. Hello.” He turned to salute the piano player on the balcony with a wide grin and nod. Chris did an acknowledging riff on the keyboard and swung into a lively Thelonious Monk tune.
Black Dan waved away the witch’s thanks for the wine, and hurried to the indoor section of his restaurant.
A moment later, the witch spotted the girl, Lizette, coming outside through the same door by which her boss had left, where she paused. The witch noticed that, unlike her earlier shine of confidence, she looked harried and even possibly frightened. Rick the bartender, a tall blonde young man with a teasing grin, reached over the bottles and gave one of Lizette’s dangling curls a tweak as if he were a small boy in school.
Lizette started, then after flashing him a distracted smile, immediately turned her back on him. His grin deflated at once. With a disappointed look on his face, he turned to wait on customers at the other end of the bar. As soon as he moved on, Lizette’s expression of fright returned. She appeared to the witch to be casting side glances at the undercover policeman.
To the witch’s great interest, the girl ultimately fastened her gaze on one of the patrons of the bar—a short man in a suit that looked a few sizes too small for his rotund shape. After their eyes locked for a brief moment, the two of them walked towards the west parking lot, one behind the other, and vanished out of the witch’s sight.
The witch mused on Lizette’s apparent odd taste in male friends, but then as no more events occurred in which either the patron or the girl figured, she ordered Chef Vinnie’s famous warm duck salad for a light dinner to go with her wine, which she and Jezebel enjoyed greatly. Then, after easing Jezebel comfortably into her carrying basket, she strolled leisurely down the slim strip of beach for the two mile walk to their home.
The next late afternoon developed much the same as the one before and once again enticed the witch and her cat to pass some time at Harrington’s waterfront tables. Upon arrival, Jezebel hopped out of her basket and began sniffing the breezes.
The witch again settled contentedly in her chair, and indulged herself not only in Wyndham’s wealth of weather, scenery, music, food and drink, but also in her fascinated observance of her fellow man. That the policeman from the neighboring village was seated again at his table from yesterday was one of the interesting items she noted.
She’d just finished her wine—a rich zinfandel this time—and shared some mussels in a savory broth with Jezebel, when rumbles coming from the direction of the kitchen disturbed the benevolent fabric of the evening.
The witch watched with interest as Black Dan conferred with his partner, Barton Peacock, in hushed rapid tones. Peacock owned and managed the hotel to which Harrington’s restaurant was attached. Chef Vinnie stormed out and joined them. Vinnie muttered some statements punctuated with curses, then charged back to his inner kingdom, leaving behind dismayed expressions on Peacock’s and Dan’s faces. Black Dan raised his palms to the skies, let them fall to slap his thighs, then he strode inside to join his chef.
Barton Peacock sighed, then returned to his post in his hotel at the front of the building. Chris, Pete, and Frank picked up their faltered beat and the mellow jazz worked its magic on the few alarmed or curious souls.
A few moments later, out bustled Lisa, Harrington’s hostess, with a blackboard proclaiming ‘Duck Festival’, and listing a vast selection of items featuring, in addition to Chef Vinnie’s trademark warm duck salad—duck ravioli, duck tacos, duck tidbits with hot sauce, duck soup, duck medallions, and on and on, plus free duck paté with every dinner order.
Black Dan strolled disconsolately from the kitchen just as the witch finished perusing the blackboard. On spotting the witch, he walked over and sat down at her table. Jezebel leaped lightly into his lap.
“Everything satisfactory for you two tonight?” he asked, absently stroking Jezebel’s glossy black fur.
“Delicious as always. I regret I had mussels tonight. If I’d known, I would’ve ordered duck.”
Black Dan’s hands made a massive fist as he clasped them before him on the table. He shook his head. “I dared to ignore the curse, and look at the results,” he said mournfully.
“I beg your pardon?”
“After we spoke yesterday, I brought my dear wife to Harrington’s—her first visit. Such a beautiful evening it was.”
He took in a great gulp of extra air, then let it out in a long sigh. “Well, it’s not a total loss, so I suppose it was a mere warning. But I’ll not make that mistake again.”
“What exactly are you referring to, a ‘mere warning’?”
“The wires in the main deep freeze—they must’ve been chewed in the night by some arctic rodent or other, for they parted company with the motor. In this heat, the defrosting took no time at all. We discovered the problem right on the brink of spoilage. Fortunately I have a second, smaller freezer, but some foods you can’t refreeze. It has too devastating an effect on the taste of the product.”
“Like duck?”
His big head wagged up and down. “Like duck. We’d just received an enormous order yesterday. Well, you know Chef Vinnie has a remarkable hand with duck.”
“Yes, indeed.” She patted his clasped hands. “Don’t worry. I’m positive your rebellious desire for your wife’s company brought you only credit, not evil, Dan.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I told you how we’re right on a financial knife edge. One nudge either way…”
“Have some of this remarkable zinfandel. Tomorrow will bring new crowds, new profits.”
Curiosity—a character trait overly maligned in proverbs, in the witch’s opinion, for she set much store by it—impelled her to once again coax Jezebel into her basket to visit Harrington’s for lunch. Extra high temperatures drove them inside today. During the next twenty minutes, she witnessed the heat slowly overwhelming, and then driving away the bustling lunchtime crowd that had gathered. The air conditioner had somehow malfunctioned.
Soon a small man carrying a tool box was hustled in through the back door and escorted between Black Dan’s brawny shoulders and the thinner, more wiry ones of Barton Peacock, into the nether regions of the building.
Black Dan reappeared alone, mopping his fair brow with a dinner napkin. He gave the clumps of idle, murmuring waiters and waitresses permission to leave the premises until four o’clock. Then, spotting the witch, he sauntered exhaustedly over to her. She could see he hadn’t shaved yet today.
“They pulled you from your bed, my poor man?”
He shrugged away the importance of his bed, dropped into a chair next to her and signaled the bartender for service, ordering icy champagne for her, a dish of melting ice cream for Jezebel, and a frosty beer for himself. “Only thing to drink when the needle passes 99°, don’t you agree, my dear?” he said with a crooked grin. “Especially when it’s indoors.”
“What now, Dan?”
“Rodents? Leprechauns? Faeries I’ve somehow offended? There will go the remaining defrosted duck meat from yesterday. That’ll spoil soon, with such heat in the kitchen. It’s not just the air conditioner, it’s the electricity, which refrigerators require for some perverse reason,” he said with morose humor. “Oh.” He turned to Lisa the hostess. “Send a jug of ice water down to the electrician, would you, my dear? And keep him well supplied.” Lisa nodded and got busy.
“Hot as a lava tube down there,” he said.
“You’re a good, thoughtful man, Dan Harrington. More disconnected wires?”
“Smashed, more like. They must be replaced, says the electricity guru. A two hour job, at minimum, even with his helper arriving soon. We’ve lost all of our lunch business. God only knows how the dinner crowd will react. Will they hear the news and stay away? Will they hear about the curse on me and stay away because of that?”
“Oh, surely not.”
“You’re so comforting, my lovely, but can you really say that with any confidence? No. I am well and truly cursed.”
The witch could only reach over and squeeze her friend’s hand. She stayed to lend moral support, because there was not much else anyone could do, and Black Dan’s morale was in severe need of support. His normally beaming face seemed shrunken with worry. Occasionally she saw Lizette flitting about the premises, with a face fully as haunted as Dan’s.
By three o’clock, the few remaining in the restaurant had subsided into solitary islands of misery. The witch had taken to munching crackers to keep from succumbing to the soporific effects of heat combined with champagne. Jezebel dozed sprawled on her back next to a lifeless air-conditioning duct. An occasional afternoon drinker braved the heat and requested one of the liquids being kept on ice at the outside bar, but not often enough to revive Black Dan’s depleted profits.
Finally, the air conditioner began sputtering into occasional life. The repair man had just popped out of his dungeon to promise that rejuvenation was mere minutes away, when suddenly from the outdoor bar came shouts of “Poison! I’ve been poisoned! What kind of place is this, a funeral parlor, and you supply your own bodies? Where’s a doctor? I’ve been poisoned, don’t just stand there, get your manager!”
Jezebel stalked outside on the heels of Black Dan. Barton Peacock came running up just behind, a little smudged from his basement inquiries. At the moment the witch passed through the door after Peacock, she heard the blessed sounds of mechanical humming.
“The air conditioner’s running again, Dan,” she exclaimed. But Black Dan didn’t hear. He’d enfolded a small fat man who was sputtering in Dan’s massive embrace. Dan was expertly executing the Heimlich maneuver.
“Wha—let go of me, you big ape! I said I was poisoned, not choking!” He jerked himself free and Black Dan retreated a step, a dazed expression on his face.
“I’m sorry. I’m not myself just now—I mean, how have you been poisoned? Can you vomit anything up?”
“Don’t be gross. Wait’ll I call my lawyer. You’ll see who’s choking. You the owner?” The witch was highly intrigued to identify the man as the one Lizette had walked out with two days ago.
“Yes—,” began Black Dan.
“We’re partners. He runs the restaurant, I run the hotel.” Barton Peacock elbowed himself forward. He straightened his jacket as if about to face a firing squad.
“Well.” The man straightened his over-snug suit jacket also, and eyed Barton Peacock up and down. “You have any idea of the slop this fella tried to get me to eat?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Rick, the bartender.
Rick, behind the man’s back, pointed to a wilted duck salad resting on the bar beside a sweating glass of beer. Black Dan tilted his head and said, “I regret if our salads are not up to our usual standards, we’ve been dealing with difficulties lately, perhaps we can fix you something—”
“Not good enough!”
“A gift certificate for a free dinner for you and a comp—”
“Are you kidding? This’s gonna cost you!”
Barton Peacock spread his hands wide. “What, then? We’d like to make you satisfied.”
Black Dan, standing next to his partner, jammed his clasped hands beneath his generous chin as if he were praying. “The curse,” he could be heard muttering under his breath. “I’m cursed.”
The man scratched at a tooth with a fingernail, a speculative gleam in his eye. “I feel sick,” he said, not looking it. “You don’t know duck from dead cat. Your meat’s tainted.”
“It’s good duck,” protested Rick.
“On a hot day like today,” murmured the witch suggestively, “perhaps a warm salad doesn’t taste as appealing as something cold.”
“Yeah,” the man agreed, nodding, when he heard her. “You should’ve served something else.”
“A fine suggestion. Remember that, boy,” said Black Dan to Rick, who looked confused.
“Tell you what, while I’m deciding on just how big a bundle it’ll take to make me drop my lawsuit, I’d like to give a little party. Can you accommodate me and about fifty of my pals?”
“Definitely,” said Black Dan, dropping his fist away from his chin. “We’d be delighted. When?”
“Oh, how about tomorrow, two-thirty. Lobster would be good, and your best booze, and lots of desserts. And get me a piano player.”
“No problem. How about our upstairs room? It’s right next to the bandstand, with a great view of the water. That’s where we have dancing, so there’s lots of space. A bar’s already set up. We could arrange the tables and chairs upstairs any way you’d like—”
“Okay, okay. But no charge, right?”
“Uh, well, no. We’d be pleased to offer you a special price,” began Black Dan.
Barton Peacock interrupted. “I’ll leave you in Dan’s capable hands. You can tell him what you want. You’ll be happy you came, Mr. ah—”
“Tully. Leon Tully. I’m staying in your hotel, upstairs here.”
“Wonderful. Hope you enjoy your stay as our guest. Let the front desk know if you require anything, you’ll find our staff most helpful. Bye, Dan.”
And with this, Barton Peacock walked away, going suddenly limp-shouldered as he stepped indoors.
He poked his head back out. “It’s cool again in here, Dan.” Then he disappeared from sight.
The witch wandered off, first checking out the west parking lot, which was nearly empty, then strolling back into the rapidly cooling interior of the restaurant. The hotel registration desk and lobby could be reached through a wide doorway on the far side of the restaurant. The witch stepped into the lobby, pausing to appreciate the rustic seafarers’ appearance of its decor and the polished oak stairs that led to the upstairs rooms.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs and peered at the few rooms she could see on the upper floor. She turned then, and strode away, her footsteps loud on the plank floor. Turning again, she tiptoed back to stand just out of sight of the final curve of the stairs. Moments later, she snaked out a hand and grabbed a handful of dark curly hair as Lizette darted down the last few steps of the staircase.
“OW!” Lizette squealed with pain and dropped an empty cardboard box she was carrying.
“I feel the need for a nice long conversation, Lizette. And I would like you to join me. Do you know of a private place where we can talk?”
In spite of the strain of her head being wrenched backwards, Lizette nodded, eyes huge with fright. Only then did the witch release her hair.
Lizette rubbed her skull and proceeded quietly down a side passage, with the witch following.
When they had gotten settled in a closet sized nook next to the pantry, with the witch sitting on an upturned lettuce crate in front of Lizette’s tiny bench-desk, the witch began, “First tell me, you’re a friend of Georgie’s, aren’t you?”
“Yes. No.”
The witch nodded. “I see. You know him, but he’s no friend.”
Lizette’s eyes widened, then tears welled.
“You might as well unburden yourself, dear. I have a feeling you are much more than just an accomplice, am I right? Breathe deeply, that’s it. Take your time. But not too much time. We have to stop Dan from losing everything he owns to that odious little wretch outside.”
Lizette took a shuddering deep breath and nodded. “Yes.” After a pause, she blurted, “This is the first real home I’ve ever had,” and she burst into tears. Then, abruptly, she hiccupped to a stop, wiped at her eyes, and continued. “My grandma is also Chef Vinnie’s wife, Tina’s, grandma. You know. Big family, everybody lookin’ out for each other. Well, my mom’s got her hands full raisin’ too many kids, and my dad—uh, he’s not around at all, unless you count visiting days at the jail.”
“And your good grandmother wrenched you out of the trouble for which you were heading and convinced your cousin Tina to wrangle you a job here, away from your home village, where people knew you far too well. What were your particular vices, dear?”
“A little hoisting and hooking.”
“Petty theft and prostitution?”
Lizette reddened and nodded.
“Drugs?”
“No, never drugs.”
“Thank heaven for that, anyway. Proceed.”
“Well, at first I didn’t like bein’ no charity case, you know? And they worked me like a slave! For slave wages, too. But then, I saw that everybody around here works like that, Vinnie and Mr. Harrington, and everybody. I can’t afford a car, so Mr. Peacock rented me the cutest little bed-sit right here in the hotel, for peanuts! At first, I thought it was just so’s I’d be handy so I could work for free on my off hours, but honest, it wasn’t.
“And my cousin, Tina, who I don’t even hardly know, for cryin’ out loud, gave me the prettiest skirt to wear on dates. And Ricky the bartender, he’s really nice. He and some others here, they took me to a rock concert out at Westbury with them. And Chris Greco, the piano player…” Tears began to well in her eyes again. “He’s always giving me advice and stuff. He says I remind him of his daughter. He’s the nicest—my dad never—”
“I see that you’ve astonished yourself by liking it here.”
“And I’m good at my job. When I started, Vinnie said I should just be a gopher for a while, to see what I’m good at. Turns out, I’m good at organizing things and at taking care of detail stuff, and there’s a lot of details in this business,” she finished proudly.
The witch studied her little criminal. “So you’ve found yourself, have you? Someday, if you learn more about mankind, you’ll appreciate how rare and wonderful that is. Many never attain the heights you’ve reached.”
“Heights? I make peanuts!”
The witch smiled. “Never mind. How did Georgie arrive in all this?”
“He said a buddy of his spotted me, tipped him off where I was. First he said he was glad to see me. Then he said he had a deal for me, to make me some big money fast. I was to get a package from him—and he promised it wasn’t dope—and then the next day pass it on to a guy who’d give a password. Simple as that.”
“And you agreed?”
“No way. I said blow, no deal. Then he said if I didn’t, all he had to do was compliment Mr. Peacock on the class of his hookers, and I’d be thrown out of here…” she gave a small sob, then continued bitterly. “I saw then that he wasn’t no friend of mine, never had been. He just used me. He didn’t care if I was happy here, just how convenient I’d be to his operation.”
“So you agreed.”
“I had to. He told me three times would do it, then by that time, he’d find a new goat to pass things for him. So I passed the stuff two times. I can’t tell you how horrible scary it was. But I did it. And all I could think of was, it was nearly over. I never took a dime for it, either. I just wanted to be rid of Georgie.”
She paused, took a deep breath. “Third time, well, Mr. Harrington called a surprise all-staff meeting when I was still holding the bag on the third pass. Ricky told me it was the cops, wanting to question the staff about somebody named Georgie Fontana. So I took a little detour, talked the hotel desk clerk into letting me lock up the package in one of those guest security lock boxes, the kind where the desk manager keeps a key, and you got a key, and it takes two keys to open it.”
“I begin to see.” The witch closed her eyes for a second. “You lost your key.”
“A shipment of fresh duck meat from the farm had just come in,” said Lizette, with a tremor. “It was still stacked on the ramp by the back door. I slipped the key right into one of those little packages, sort of shoved it into the meatiest part. It’s my job to check all incoming orders against invoices and for quality, so nobody would think anything of my fooling with the packages, you know?”
The witch nodded. “Then you joined the meeting with the police detective, secure in the knowledge that he could search anywhere, but would probably never think of the guest security boxes in the hotel.”
“Yeah, and he wouldn’t find any key on me, either, to tip him off. And then, to make things worse, the cop was from my and Georgie’s village. He remembered me. He said something about it, and…and Vinnie and Mr. Harrington, they practically had a fit, like they’d tear him apart if he dared think I could do anything wrong. I was so stunned, and then…and then the cop was nice to me, you know? I guess he figured if these people all liked me, I musta changed, and he smiled and wished me luck, even. I got kind of misty about it, and happy, and…and I forgot the stupid ducks. Next time I remembered them, somebody’d stuck ’em into the deep freeze already, and there they were—a zillion packages of duck meat, frozen like bricks.”
“So all these disasters have been engineered by you, so you could defrost the ducks and find the key. I take it you haven’t found it yet.”
“NO. I searched and searched. I think I drove the kitchen staff nuts, all the crazy ways I was constantly poking at the duck meat before it got cooked. I even smuggled some into the ladies room, but there were so many ducks!
“Anyway, Mr. Tully, he was the next receiver. He showed up on schedule and gave the password. I told him if he’d just cool it for a few days, the cops would lose interest and leave, but he said no way. No cops from my village would know him, ‘cause he wasn’t from around there, he said. He wanted the package right then.” She took another deep breath as if the telling was wearing her out. “When I explained to him that it’d take awhile to hand over the package anyway, because I’d lost the key, he, well, he…”
“He said produce the key in short time or he’d blow off your kneecaps or some such physical threat.”
“He carries a switchblade strapped to his ankle.” Her shoulders lifted to her ears as if the memory caused her to cringe.
“And so this ruckus he’s causing is only a distraction, to give you a chance to sneak the remaining duck carcasses to his room. Then after the packages thaw you both can probe for the key in relative safety.”
“Uh, huh.”
“My stars. Couldn’t you have gotten the hotel manager to open the box for you?”
Lizette shook her head mournfully. “I tried that first thing. The clerk who let me borrow the box, he said they’d have to break the lock. The hotel doesn’t keep duplicate keys so guests can’t accuse them of getting into their valuables. He said they’d break it for me if I’d pay for it, but who has the money on the little salary I make?”
“Well, let’s not sit here any longer, let’s take care of Mr. Tully. You realize that Harrington’s Restaurant is on the verge of financial ruin. If they don’t stop losing money, they could close by September. They were counting on this season’s profits to save them. And until you came along, it looked like they were going to do extremely well.”
Lizette blinked at her in stricken astonishment.
The witch paused to explain patiently, “Darling, the restaurant business is one of the most difficult enterprises in which to succeed. Since you seem to like it, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to experience that difficulty firsthand—someday. Come.”
“What are you going to do? What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen to Harrington’s, and all my friends?”
The witch gazed at her gravely. “You must leave events in my hands, dear.”
Lizette stared teary-eyed at the witch. “I’ve heard about you, you know. How you’re a witch an’ all. Guess if anybody can fix this mess, you can.” A second later, she took a calming deep breath. “Okay,” she said grimly. “If I have to go to jail, I’ll go. I guess I deserve it, all right. Just tell me what to do. We have to keep Harrington’s from suffering from my dumbness.”
They returned outside, which now was showing signs of activity. The wait staff had returned, and the tables were filling with happy patrons again. Rick’s fair amiable face was dark with anger as he stood wiping glasses behind the bar, listening to Tully’s and Black Dan’s conversation.
Tully was seated at the bar, a generous drink in his hand, still negotiating with a heavily perspiring Black Dan what he should get in return for his poisoning. The salad which had ‘poisoned’ him had been pushed aside and sat forgotten by his elbow on the bar surface. Jezebel crouched next the plate as if standing guard.
The witch walked up to the salad, and peered closely at the wilted lettuce. The duck meat appeared uneaten, but did look mutilated, with numerous punctures dotting it, apparently having been vigorously forked in the search for that elusive key.
Black Dan was making a final exhausted stand. To the witch it was apparent that he wouldn’t be able to withstand Tully’s demands much longer.
When Tully spotted Lizette behind the witch, he seemed to take her presence as some kind of signal. He slid off his seat and pushed his drink away. His rubbery lips pulled back in a feral grin. “Fine. If you won’t deal, I’m calling my lawyer. I’ll close this joint.”
Rick flung down his bar towel and said, “That’s enough out of you. That duck was okay. Harrington’s would never serve bad food.”
Black Dan turned to Lizette, who stood timidly peeking at him from behind the witch. “You inspected this meat when it came in the other day, didn’t you, Lizette? Carefully inspected each batch?”
Lizette bit her lip.
Rick put in, “No, that’s the day the cop came, remember? I saw that Liz was too busy to tend to it right away, so I went ahead and stuck it in the freezer for her to get it out of the heat. But I looked it over.” He gave Black Dan a weak grin. “Sort of.”
Black Dan stared at Lizette. “You mean you accepted delivery of this meat without inspecting it?”
“See, what’d I tell you. I ate bad meat,” crowed Tully.
“You don’t look sick,” growled Rick, “you just look overfed.”
“Why you—”
At this moment, Chef Vinnie bustled out to announce to Black Dan, “All my duck meat’s disappeared. I just looked in both freezers. Gone. Kaput! Pphhht!” He flung both arms up to the sky in angry frustration.
Tully’s tongue darted across his lips, then he shouted, “Somebody’s hiding the evidence. You won’t get away with it! I want this place closed now!”
“It’s obvious to me, boss, he’s just trying to give us trouble,” stated Rick. He turned to Tully, his eyes narrowed with fury. “You can’t muscle in on Harrington’s, you fat twerp. YOU probably stole those ducks. Lets go look in his room.” He stepped out from behind his bar.
Tully paled at this. The witch suddenly appreciated how tall and muscular Rick was when he took a belligerent stance directly in front of Tully. Tully darted a glance at Lizette, but quailed upon meeting, instead, the steady gaze of the witch. He twitched his shoulders within his jacket as if summoning his dignity and took a step back. “You can’t talk to me that way, you—”
Jezebel leaped from the bar to land on Tully’s chest, where she clung by her claws to his lapels.
Tully screeched, leaving it unclear to spectators whether he’d been startled by the cat’s pounce or the cat’s claws had found a hold in tender flesh. Jezebel clawed her way backwards down his protruding belly and trousers before letting go and landing disdainfully on all four feet. With a complacent yowl, Jezebel stalked away. Tully leaned over, whining under his breath, to examine his suit for damage and brush cat hairs from his pants.
As a hand flicked toward his ankle, Lizette gave a shriek. “Stop him, he’s got a knife!”
Tully looked surprised at that, said, “Wha—?” and straightened back up. “Shut up, you stupid bimb—” He was prevented from completing his thought by the collision of his mouth with Rick’s fist. Tully teetered backwards and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t been neatly fielded by the police officer who’d abandoned his table to see what was happening over by the bar. He caught Tully under the armpits.
Everyone began shouting at once.
Rick edged over to where Lizette stood frozen in numb bewilderment behind the witch. “You all right?” he asked. Lizette stared up at him, unable to speak, but she did move out from behind the witch.
“Oh, by the way, speaking of ducks,” Rick continued. He dug into his trouser pocket. “I’ve been trying to give this to you, but things’ve been so hectic…you dropped this next to the ducks when they arrived. You were so busy with last minute stuff after I came to tell you to go talk to the cop, you probably didn’t notice when it fell.” He offered her a key.
Truly stunned now, she inched her upturned palm toward him, into which Rick dropped the key. It lay there, in her hand, glistening innocently.
The witch smiled, a long slow smile. “Come dear,” she said softly to Lizette.
Lizette gazed at her blankly. “What? Oh. Oh, YES. Excuse me, Rick.”
“Sure. Will I see you later? Maybe after work?”
Lizette answered while still looking at the witch. “No, I don’t think—”
“She’ll need a little rest, first, Rick dear. Why don’t you wait and see,” finished the witch for her.
The witch and Lizette walked off together, leaving Black Dan, Chef Vinnie, Rick, and the police officer to sort out what to do with Tully, who was stammering out a long involved explanation of the switchblade they’d found strapped to his ankle.
Behind the hotel manager’s desk, the witch stood by while Lizette unlocked her security box and retrieved the package, which she thrust at the witch as if it contained vipers. Then the witch took her by hand and marched her upstairs to Mr. Tully’s room. The door still stood ajar, the way Lizette had left it before being intercepted earlier by the witch.
“What are we doing here?” Lizette whispered hoarsely.
Without answering, the witch scanned the room, located Tully’s meager piece of luggage—actually a gym bag containing a few articles of clothing—and after scrubbing with her skirt at the brown paper wrapping of the package, dropped it neatly within the folds of a pair of boxer shorts. She shuddered as she closed the bag with her long fingernails. “Disgusting specimen, that Tully,” was all she said.
The sickly smell of raw duck meat was beginning to fill the room from where it lay defrosting in neat, waxed paper packages scattered all over Tully’s bed.
Grabbing Lizette by the wrist, the witch peered cautiously into the deserted hallway, then pulled the girl roughly through the door. Together they hastened downstairs.
As they emerged through the door to the outdoor bar, “Fix your hair, dear,” the witch murmured. “Look as if you just freshened yourself up.” She released Lizette’s wrist and calmly joined the curious throng now surrounding Tully.
The witch gave Barton Peacock a sharp tap on his shoulder. “Have you forgotten to check out his room?”
“OH. Oh, YES. Officer, officer. He’s checked in at my hotel. We should at least take a look at his room. Maybe something there will help us figure out what kind of game he’s been playing.” Barton Peacock led the police officer and the group towards the hotel lobby.
Before very long, the witch was gratified to see a handcuffed Tully being led towards a patrol car that had pulled into the parking lot moments before.
A beaming, though slightly dazed Black Dan, and a triumphant Rick sauntered over to where the witch and Lizette were now sitting at the bar.
With a self-conscious swagger that the witch considered quite pardonable, Rick returned to his post behind the bar and began polishing glasses. “That guy tried to tell us that Lizette was mixed up in his scam, whatever it was, do you believe that? What a scumbag.” He shook his head.
The witch smiled fondly at him. Rick smiled sheepishly at Lizette, who bit her lip. She was blinking hard, as if something was irritating her eyes. Mrs. Risk murmured, “I’d ask Lizette for a date again, if I were you, Rick. I think she feels better now.”
Black Dan said to the witch, “We found the missing ducks up in Tully’s room, can you imagine that? What in creation would be his interest in OUR ducks? Peculiar.”
“Maybe he had a duck fetish,” put in Rick.
Black Dan looked skeptical, but the witch said, “We may never fully understand the actions of Mr. Tully. But then, people do very odd things.” She smiled demurely. “I’ve been accused of that, myself.”
Black Dan grinned at her. “Yes, well, they unearthed a very interesting package wrapped in brown paper that the cop wouldn’t let us see very closely. He seemed excited about it, though. I think we’ve seen the last of both Tully and him.”
“We’ve also seen the last of your curse. I can positively reassure you that you’ve broken that curse and you may consider it no longer in effect against your entire family forever.”
Black Dan’s eyes widened. “Is that so?” He took a deep, relieving breath and gazed with pleasure at the people and scenery surrounding them. He smacked a palm flat against the bar. “Break out a bottle of our best champagne, Rick. I’m going to call my wife and ask her to join us. The curse is over!”
The witch accepted a glass. “Rest assured, Dan Harrington. I would’ve hated to see such a pleasant establishment leave Wyndham-by-the-Sea. And I will be most delighted to meet MRS. Harrington.”