The Magic of Murder by Susan Lynn Solomon

as you understand my letting you sit in on this interview wasn’t an invitation to get into the Osborn case,” Woody said as he walked out the door.
    I carried my mug to the sink and began to wash the coffee pot.
    “He’s a good cop,” Roger said when we heard the Chief’s car drive off.
    I turned from the sink with a dishtowel and the wet pot in my hands. “Are you going to listen to him?” I said rather harshly.
    He smiled at me.
    “Are you going to, Roger? If not, I can call Woody back.”
    He sipped coffee that by now must have been cold. “You know I can’t. Forget Jimmy was my best friend, he was my partner. I can’t walk away from this.”
    I stood, thinking. “Okay, then,” I said after a minute. “If you’re going after his killer, I’m gonna help.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, “You’re a—”
    “A what? A woman?” I snapped at him. How dare he!
    “You know that’s not what I mean. But…yeah, you’re a woman who I don’t want to see get hurt. You heard what your husband said—”
    “He’s not my husband. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”
    As if to say he wasn’t playing, Roger gave me a pinched smile. “Good. Glad to hear it. Still, you heard what Reinhart said. These are dangerous people I’m going after. Best guess is, it has something to do with drugs—that’s what Woody thinks.”
    “What do you think?” I asked.
    “He’s right.”
    As if it were an Indy car, suspicion raced back into my mind. I told Roger about the Corvette in the Osborns’ driveway; reminded him of the expensive wedding, and Marge’s new fur coat. I set the coffee pot down, and carefully folded the towel. “You…you don’t think Jimmy was involved in drug trafficking?” I asked, not at all certain I wanted an answer.
    Roger rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure…maybe. But see, that’s why I’ve got to keep you out of this. Drug pushers, they don’t play by any rules.”
    “I can take care of myself,” I insisted.
    “Yeah, I can tell. Just look how you trembled at the thought someone was stalking you. Get involved in this, stalking will be the least of your worries.”
    I slid onto the chair across from him. “I was frightened because I didn’t know what was out there. Now I know. I can handle this.”
    “How?” he asked. “You don’t even own a gun.”
    Sarah Goode’s Book of Shadows rose in my mind. With a glance at Elvira, I said, “I’ve got something better.” I crossed my fingers and hoped it really was. As I said before, I’m new to this witchcraft thing.
    Roger looked at me through narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about?”
    I tightened my jaw.
    “Stay out of this, Emlyn,” he said. “You hear me?”
    I looked again at Elvira. Whether or not cats have the facial muscles to do it, I know she was smiling.
     

Chapter Eight
    Divination
     
                   R oger didn’t intend to obey his boss’s direct order, but he expected me to obey him ? Not a chance!
    As soon as he left, I double-locked my door, fastened the chain, and ran to my computer desk. I had placed Sarah Goode’s Book of Shadows in the top drawer.
    Elvira only remained in the kitchen long enough to lap some milk from her bowl. Then she chased after me. On her haunches by my desk chair, she raised her face as if to say, Come on already—what are you waiting for?
    I laughed at her eagerness and leaned over to wipe away her milk mustache. Don’t ask how I saw it on her white fur—we’d been together long enough for me to know she had one.
    “Sloppy, sloppy,” I said, as if she were a child. “I really need to teach you table manners.”
    She licked her lips.
    “That’s better.”
    Satisfied I’d done my duty as a parent…uh, or whatever I was to her, I opened the drawer. My stomach fluttering with enough butterflies to fill a field with a colorful cloud, I placed Sarah’s book in front of me. I switched on my desk lamp so I’d be able to read the faded script.