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I can hear the hoots and hollers from my spirit, witch and vampire friends celebrating the winners of the tournament back on the tennis court. I close my eyes and try to focus instead on Turkey’s telepathic message.
His tone is excited as he says, “I found a great deal of information about the entertainment industry in the Spirit Realm,” he says. “Channel guides. Statistics. History. There’s even a whole list of the executives for W-SPORT.”
“Hmm...” I say. “And you think any of that could help us?”
“I do,” Turkey says. “You said that you feel that the death of Fred’s tennis partner, twenty years ago, is important. Marve was working for W-SPORT at the time. They must have run a story on it.”
“But that’s Spirit Realm television,” I say. “It’s not like we can watch it, while we’re on Earth.”
“Maybe we won’t be able to watch the actual footage,” Turkey says. “I’ve been searching all evening but I haven’t come across any so far. But I did find some interesting statistics about the numbers of W-SPORT viewers, over the years.”
“Are statistics really ever interesting?” I ask.
I can feel Turkey scowling at me. “Yes,” he responds. “Listen to this. The last big spike in viewers was twenty years ago.”
“For the Earth Realm tournament?” I ask. “That makes sense. I hear the earth games are much more fun. The ball moves three times as fast here as it does in the Spirit Realm, I guess, though I don’t understand the physics of—”
“No,” Turkey says, interrupting my train of thought. “The increase in viewers didn’t happen during the Earth Tournament. It happened right before the Earth Tournament—during the qualifying games.”
“When Fred’s partner was killed,” I say. “Interesting. But what does it mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Turkey says. “But I think it’s something we should look into. I think it would be worth getting in touch with some of the higher-ups at the station, to see if they can offer us any insights that might connect the dots for us.”
“How would we get in touch with them?” I ask.
“A séance,” Turkey responds. “Like Annie did. I suggest we reach out to the top executive of the station. His name is... let’s see, I typed it in these notes... where is it? Ah yes...Richard Silverton. He’s the head honcho... the top dog, as the saying goes. Though I’m not crazy about that saying myself. I’d prefer—”
Just then, I hear the crunch of footsteps nearby. I open my eyes, and my connection with Turkey is broken as I focus on Max, standing before me.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I hug myself and hesitate before answering.
Max continues. “I thought you’d be celebrating with your friends.” He motions to the court. Annie, Marley, and Cora are giving Fred and Marve high-fives.
“I don’t really feel like celebrating,” I say. I’m shivering. I think my lips are blue. I hug myself tighter.
Max steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “You shouldn’t have had so much coffee,” he says. “Coffee constricts the veins. It makes it harder for your body to get the blood to flow around.”
“It does?” I manage to ask, despite chattering teeth. “I only had three cups.”
“And that’s three too many,” Max says. “You know what you need? A good, long walk. A fast walk. That will get your blood flowing.”
“You mean run, don’t you?” I ask.
Max grins. “Think of it as a speed walk,” he says. “Only with a little more lightness in the feet. You need to get your body moving. It’ll flush some of that caffeine through your system too, so that you’ll have a chance of sleeping tonight.”
“I’m not in the mood for a speed walk,” I say. “I just totally messed up this case. I’m a joke of a PI.”
“A joke? Penny, you are no joke,” Max says. “Believe me. You’re a force to be reckoned with. I know... you’ve absolutely cast a spell on me.”
His words make my frozen lips curve upwards in a smile, just the tiniest bit.
Then I frown again. “Max,” I say. “I’m really glad that I have you. I’m thankful that you’re such a big fan of mine. I mean, I don’t understand it, but I’m thankful. But facts are facts. The tournament is over, and I haven’t found the killer. And I’m not closer to pulling off the Trust Spell than when I started.”
“What about today?” Max says. “You felt trust today, didn't you?”
“For like a second,” I say.
“That’s all it takes,” Max says. “One second at a time. Why don’t you try it again, now? Close your eyes, Penny.”
I do as he says.
“Now,” Max says while still holding me, his deep voice at my ear causing wonderful vibrations in my chest. “Just imagine what it would be like to be connected to everything. You’re not alone. You never were. You’re not separate. You can put your trust in everything... everything... because everything is you.”
As he speaks, I feel it—that little glimpse of true trust. My frazzled, raw nerves suddenly feel soothed, as though water has been splashed on them. It only lasts a second again.
“It was there,” I whisper. “Then it was gone.”
“That’s okay,” Max says. “Little steps, remember? That’s what the spell calls for. Just keep taking little steps.”
A thought pops into my mind. “You know, maybe a walk isn’t such a bad idea.”
Where the heck did that come from? The words just tumbled from my lips. I didn’t think before saying them—it just came out. Did the feeling of trust somehow cause me to speak?
I find myself speaking again. “We could hike out to Silas’ house,” I say. “Up at Beaver Pond. That’s where Marve is staying. I have this inkling that he has a clue to the murder caught on film. He won’t share it with me, but what if we just poke through his stuff while he’s not around?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Max says happily. “Poking through stuff sounds like exactly what a PI is supposed to do. Let’s go.”
Have I really just agreed to go for a hike, with my super-athletic boyfriend, in the middle of the night wearing three layers of pants and snow boots?
Am I crazy?
Apparently, the answer is yes.
Max takes off running, as smoothly as though he’s wearing nothing but spandex shorts and light running shoes, though he’s wearing multiple layers just like me. I type up a quick text message to my coven sisters, letting them know what Max and I are up to. I ask them to detain the spirit athletes for a few hours while we poke around. Then, I head off after Max. “That’s not walking!” I shout, as I watch him bound over a little wooden footbridge. “That’s running!”
“One foot in front of the other, Penny!” Max calls over his shoulder.
I huff and puff, clump and clomp behind him. I feel like my footsteps are about as light as sledgehammers.
But at least I’m taking steps.
I’m moving.
Maybe that’s all it takes—really. One foot in front of the other. Constant forward motion.
Baby steps.
One step, and one second at a time.
The seconds make minutes, and then hours, and then days. All I can do is try my hardest in this second.
I push myself to move a little bit faster. Within a few yards, I actually catch up to my ultramarathon-running boyfriend.
“See?” he says, turning to me. “It’s not so bad is it?”
“Surprisingly, no,” I say.
“The trick is just to think about your feet pushing off the ground, your heart beating, the way your lungs move in and out. It feels good, doesn’t it?”
Now, if you know me, you know I’m not a very good runner. I’ve never been a good runner. I hated running the mile in gym class, probably because I always had one of the slowest times. It wasn’t until Max showed up in my life this past summer that I ran my first five miles. It nearly killed me.
But now, running next to Max to the swish-swish sound of my snow pants, I actually feel really good. Alive. Excited.
It takes us an hour and a half to run to Silas’s house. Ninety minutes of running in the freezing cold, pitch black night. It sounds awful, doesn’t it? Surprisingly, it’s not.
My heart is beating fast. My cheeks are flushed with blood. My body feels warm and tingly.
I put my hands on my knees as we reach Silas’s door. As I work on catching my breath, Max knocks.
Silas answers. He looks at Max first. “Doctor Max Shire,” he says. Then he looks at me. “Penny... are you alright?” he asks.
“Hee huuu heee huu. Yep. Doing great. I feel so alive!” I wave my hand abstractly. “Got my blood flowing again, Silas. Got my mojo back. One foot in front of the other, you know.” I manage to stand up. “Hey—can we come in? Do you have running water up here yet?”
Silas steps aside. “You’re in rough shape,” he says. “Was something chasing you?”
Max laughs. We step inside.
“No, we’re actually doing the chasing,” I say. “Max and I are chasing down clues.”
“I see,” Silas says. “This has to do with that judge lady’s death?”
“Water?” I say again.
“This way.” Silas motions us towards a rustic kind of kitchen set up. I see coolers, jugs of water, and a camp stove set up on a makeshift table.
The water looks so refreshing. Without waiting for Silas’s approval, I stride towards a gallon of it, pull of the cap, and take a big swig. Then I wipe my hand across the back of my mouth. “Yes, it has to do with the judge,” I say. “Judge Janice. And more than that, too. I think there’s another murder tangled up in this case as well. A murder from the past.” I take another swig.
Silas reaches for a tin camping cup from the table. He holds it out to me. I shake my head. He holds the cup out to Max. Max accepts it.
Silas turns to me. “Is Cora okay?” he asks.
“She’s fine,” I say. “She’s at the park still, celebrating the end of the tournament. Max and I snuck away so that we could do a bit of digging.”
“What is it that you hope to find?” Silas asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I just... I have a hunch. I want to look through Marve’s belongings.”
“This way,” Silas says.
I take another big gulp of water and then set the jug down on the table top. Max and I follow Silas out of the kitchen area, through an open doorway and into another ‘room’. It’s not really a room though, because it’s only separated from the kitchen area by a sheet of foggy, transparent plastic. On the plywood floor, I see four sleeping mats laid out.
Silas points to two red sleeping bags on the far side of the room. “Boris and Boleslava slept over there,” he says.
Then he points to two blue sleeping bags that are closer to us. “Here’s where the two older guys, Marve and Fred slept. I think that’s Marve’s suitcase there. Fred’s is the small duffle bag.”
I head straight for the suitcase.
“It’s Marve I’m interested in,” I say.
Silas and Max follow me. As I turn the heavy suitcase onto its side and unzip it, I can feel the two men—well, vampire and werewolf—hovering right behind me, looking over my shoulder.
I begin ruffling through the objects in Marve’s suitcase.
Flannel pajamas. A black, leather toiletries bag. Boxers. Tracksuit pants, a tracksuit top (both velour). Two white tee shirts. A facecloth. A towel.
Ah ha! Small little videotapes—the kind that fit into a video camera. I’ve found Marve’s footage!
I reach for the tapes and lift them out of the suitcase.
“What’s that?” Silas asks.
“Evidence,” I say happily. “Marve caught something on tape. I’m sure of it. There’s a clue here.”
“Penny, there are five tapes there,” Max observes. “How many hours do you think are on each tape?”
I look closer at the little black rectangles. On one side, there is printed writing.
––––––––
‘VHS-Compact, dual side film, 6 hours.’
––––––––
“Yikes. Each of these tapes fits six hours of footage,” I say.
I turn the tape over. There’s no other writing on it, anywhere. Drat. Doesn’t Marve label his footage?
Apparently not.
“So you have thirty hours there,” Max says. “How are you going to find the clue?”
“Umm...”
“And how will you even watch those tapes? They’re not regular sized VHS, they’re small. They won’t fit into a computer. Those look specific to a video camera.”
“Right,” I say while stuffing the tapes into my jacket pocket. “I knew that. These tapes fit into a video camera—Marve’s video camera. We need to go demand that he let us view these tapes.”
Max speaks again. “But even if we do demand that he let us use his camera, how will you watch thirty hours of footage, when the spirit athletes are leaving in just about five hours? It’s already 3 am.”
“Sheesh. You are full of questions, aren’t you?” I ask. “I’m not sure, but I’ll think of something.”
I’m about to stand, but something else in Marve’s suitcase catches my eye. It’s a letter, in a business envelope. The return address says ‘W-SPORT’ on it. Right below that, I see the name Richard Silverton. Hey! Isn’t that the executive guy Turkey was just telling me about?
Instinctively, I reach for the letter and stuff it into my pocket.
“Let’s get back to the others,” I say. “We’ve got a case to solve!” I stand.
“I’ll join you,” Silas says. “I can drive us back to town if you like, in my new truck.”
Max answers first. “We’d rather speed—”
I interrupt Max. “A ride would be great,” I say.
Max laughs.
I smile as I turn to him. “Max,” I say. “You’re an amazing boyfriend. Really, you are. But if I have to speed walk—which is really just running—another seven miles tonight, I think I’ll die.”
“I thought you liked it!” he says.
“I did,” I say. “But now I’m done running. Seven miles is my maximum.”
“Oh... you’ve barely tasted the runners high,” Max says. “I’ll get you hooked on distance running eventually.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say, as we head out the door.
Max just laughs.