She froze.
Rather than knock the picture over, she slowly removed her hand from it. By now she’d learned that the onset of her magical ability—the precognition that she’d also shared with Glenda—meant she no longer saw her surroundings.
Early in life, she’d assumed that everyone occasionally had ‘flashes of insight.’ But since returning to Pixie Point Bay, she’d learned and accepted that she was a witch, as were her family members before her. Now her moments of precognition were not only welcome, but wanted. She relaxed her shoulders and back as the vision coalesced in front of her.
“By Hook or Crook,” she murmured.
It was the crochet club located on the Towne Plaza. The charming three story Victorian—white with gray and red roof tiles, along with smart black trim—was also the home of the club’s president, Millicent Leclair. In her early eighties, Millicent was not just the head of the club, or simply an aura reader, she was the leader of a cabal of crafty and cunning eavesdroppers and observant onlookers. If anyone had ears and eyes on what happened in Pixie Point Bay, it was these older ladies.
In the next moment the vision evaporated, and Maris was looking once again at the portrait. She smiled at it, and then at herself in the dressing table mirror. It seemed the polish would have to wait. Instead, she’d need to dig out her crochet project.
But then the front doorbell rang.
15
“Come in, Mac,” Maris said, smiling as she opened the door. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“My pleasure,” he said, smoothing down his tie. “As always.”
As she closed the door, he waited for her. “Let me go get it,” she said. She indicated the library. “Please, make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks,” he said, as they went their separate ways.
In her bedroom, she carefully picked up the tissue wrapped item. When she arrived in the living room, Mac turned from the bookshelf as she entered. Gently, she placed the little bundle in his outstretched palm. He opened the tissue by unfurling each corner until the center was revealed.
He peered more closely. “I think that’s a barnacle,” he said, turning it over without touching it.
She nodded. “I’m no expert on marine life but, if I’m not mistaken, that’s the kind that grows under the pier.”
“Or on the boats moored there,” he suggested. “Or the rocks nearby.”
Maris pursed her lips, considering. She hadn’t thought of those other sources.
The sheriff removed a small evidence bag from a front trouser pocket. With just one hand, he opened the top and slipped both the tissue and crusty barnacle inside. Then he sealed the top.
“Where did you find it?”
“In Julia’s room,” she replied. “I was tidying and taking out the trash, like usual. I found it on the rug.”
“Good eye,” he said, lifting the bag to the window light. “It’d be hard to spot.”
“It had a strange look to it, even from across the room.”
“I’m guessing,” he said, lowering it, “that since there are no other cars out front, that Julia isn’t here.”
Maris nodded. “Right. It’s hard to say when she’ll be back.”
“No problem,” Mac said, regarding her. “I’ve had a chance to talk with Ryan and Howard.” He raised a single eyebrow. “It seems as though I’m always the second person to interview suspects. Some unnamed personage always manages to get there before me.”
Maris felt warmth rising to her cheeks. “Well, it’s just that…that…”
Mac held up a hand, smiling. “It also hasn’t escaped my notice that Pixie Point Bay is a pretty tight-knit community—one that you’re part of.” He grinned a little more broadly. “‘May secrecy round be the mystical bound, and brotherly love be the center.’”
She grinned back at him. “Burns?”
He nodded. “You got it. Old Rabbie knew a thing or two about secrecy.” He gazed at her. “You’ve got a good head for investigating, which is not that common.”
Now she felt like her face must be glowing. What Mac called ‘having a good head’ was really mostly magic. Not only did she have her precognition, but between Mojo’s clues and Claribel’s insights, she could hardly go wrong. But she couldn’t argue the fact that, no matter how she got it done, she did in fact manage to solve crimes.
“Thanks,” was all she managed to say.
Mac smoothed his tie again, and adjusted the clip, though it wasn’t needed. For a moment or two there was an awkward silence as he stared at his shoes.
“I was wondering,” he finally said, raising his gaze to her face. “If maybe you’d be available for lunch tomorrow?”
A thrilling little zing shot up her spine. “I’d be delighted,” she answered, almost before he’d finished the question.
He smiled at her. “Great.”
Maris didn’t even know what day tomorrow was, but if she’d had something scheduled, she’d change it. “Great,” she echoed.
“I’ll pick you up at noon?” he asked, turning to the door.
“Perfect,” she said, as they went into the hall. “Noon it is.”
He nodded. “I’ll let myself out, and see you tomorrow, then.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said.
AS MARIS STOOD in the hallway watching Mac head to the front door, it opened ahead of him. Julia Mendes stepped through, saw the two of them, and stopped. For a moment she stared at them, then turned to close the door. Maris had the sudden impression she’d bolt through it if she thought she could get away.
But when she headed to the stairs, Mac spoke. “Ms. Mendes. Just the person I wanted to see.”
Again she came to a halt and stared at them. “Oh?” She glanced between them. “And why is that? Have you found the murderer?”
Mac shook his head and produced the evidence bag. “I’d like to show you something.”
He held it out in front of her and she peered at it, then frowned. “What is it?” She looked around
