A Vision in Velvet: A Witchcraft Mystery (27 page)

“Seriously?” said Caleb.

“Yup.”

We waved at the neighbors, and when the limo turned the corner and zoomed out of sight, Dad turned back to me.

“I thought you said the site meeting in Marin yesterday didn’t result in anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking the job.”

“Why the devil not?”

“It’s sort of a good-news, bad-news situation,” I explained.

“I can’t wait to hear this,” he said, and I imagined he was mentally rolling his eyes.

“The good news is, someone died at the Wakefield jobsite yesterday. Was killed, actually.”

Dad, Stan, and Caleb looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Dog looked at me as though waiting for me to drop food, but that was his typical stare.

“Someone
died
?” asked Caleb. “Who?”

“No one you know,” I said. “A building inspector.”

“Well, no one likes building inspectors,” Dad observed with a grunt.

“Even so,” said Stan, “I would have thought a murder would count as the
bad
news.”

“Yes,” I said. “Well, obviously, if you were the one killed. Or his family or . . . Okay, clearly it’s tragic. Horrible. All I’m saying is that in terms of
me
, at least the place is now predisastered.”

They still weren’t following my logic. I tried again.

“You know how lately I have a tendency to stumble across dead bodies on my jobsites? Well, this jobsite has already had one dead body. What are the chances I’ll come across another one?”

“We sure could use the work, babe,” said Dad with a shake of his head. “But I don’t want you on yet another job with yet another murderer running around.”

“That’s more good news, actually. The killer’s already in custody. He was the general on the job: Pete Nolan. Graham said you know him.”

“Sure, I know Pete,” said Dad. “They say
Pete’s
the one who killed this guy?”

“He’s a loose cannon, all right,” said Stan. “That SOB sucker-punched me once when he didn’t like what I said about the chances for Oakland Raiders to win the Super Bowl. Remember that?”

“That was back when he was still a drunk,” said my dad. “He hasn’t had any problems like that for years now.”

Stan shrugged, apparently unconvinced.

“Anyway, he’s in custody,” I continued. “So I guess that’s the end of that. That’s what I mean about the place being predisastered.”

“Okay, so if a dead guy on site is the good news,” said Caleb, “what’s the
bad
news?”

Ghosts
. I thought to myself, but did not say aloud. Just the thought of whatever it was I saw hovering over Larry McCall gave me the shivers, but my family had enough to keep them preoccupied as it was; no need to pile on the worries. Besides, in the case of Wakefield, I couldn’t imagine the ghosts had anything to do with McCall’s death. Whatever spirits those stones held—with the exception of the newly departed Larry McCall—belonged to another land, another age. The building inspector’s demise was a senseless crime of passion, a case of testosterone run amok and tempers flaring out of hand. Period.

“The bad news is, it’s really too far for me to commute. Raul can take over the day to day on the current projects we’re finishing up, but I’ll have to take Elrich up on his offer to stay up there for a while.” This, of course, was good news for me. I adored my father, and his friend Stan, and this old farmhouse. But there was no denying I could use some time away. As the guest of the stinking-rich Ellis Elrich in a beautiful old Spanish-style hacienda with a pool and a view of the ocean?
Yes, please
.

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, babe,” said Dad.

I had to admit, he didn’t appear exactly broken up over the news. I supposed it was possible I had become a bit annoying, what with nagging him to eat organic vegetables and to stop watching so much TV.

Probably we could both use a little time apart.

“But I don’t know . . .” Dad trailed off, his attention seeming as divided as Caleb’s usually did. He kept staring at his new smartphone. “Maybe if you’re gonna go on up and stay at Elrich’s house, you should take a gun, just in case. You’re a good shot with that Glock.”

“Um . . . okay.”

He looked up, surprised, a slight smile on his face. “You’re getting smart, now, are you? Change your mind about gun control?”

Stan, who had a few decided opinions about gun control, gaped at me.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” I said. “I just . . . Just in case, it might not hurt to have a little extra protection.”

“You think you’ll be in danger?” asked Stan. “Mel, no job is worth putting yourself at risk.”

“No. Not really. Not at all. I’m just . . . I thought it might be a good idea. Considering my track record. Besides, Graham will be there, so I’ll have plenty of protection.”

“Still . . .” Dad trailed off again. This was not like him.

“What are you
doing
?” I demanded, annoyed.

“This
smart
phone isn’t near as smart as a person would hope.” Dad had only recently upgraded from his old-fashioned flip phone. He explained that he had been waiting to make sure it wasn’t just a fad. Now that he had broken down and bought the newfangled device, he appeared to be enamored with its many features and apps. “I’m trying to look up directions to the barbecue.”

I felt a sudden stab of worry. I knew Dad was getting older, slowing down, but he wasn’t
that
old, was he?

“Dad, you’ve been going to Garfield Lumber for thirty years. You need to look up the directions?”

“I just want to hear the voice tell me how to get there. See if she’s right. I like her voice, sounds like a real nice gal.”

Caleb rolled his eyes, but smiled and held out his hand. “Here. Give it to me, Bill. I’ll show you.”

“Okay, everybody ready?” I asked, wanting to get the show on the road. “Shall we take the van?”

Stan was in a wheelchair after a construction accident years ago. It was easiest to take the specially outfitted van so he didn’t have to get out of his chair.

“Sure,” Dad said, tossing me the keys. As we were all climbing in—he and Caleb in back, Stan riding shotgun—he added: “Hey, when are you and Graham gonna make me a grandfather again?”

Stan hooted with laughter.

Wow
. That was out of left field. I was just beginning to move past my I-hate-all-men phase; that didn’t mean I was ready to move on to procreation.

“You’ve got Caleb,” I said, trying to ignore the strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. “That’s about all I’m guaranteeing at the moment.”

“Well, now, I guess he’ll do just fine,” Dad said.

Caleb pretended to be absorbed in programming Dad’s phone, but when I glanced at him in the rearview mirror, I could tell he was smiling.

“Hey, Bill,” Caleb said. “What do you call a ridiculous old man?”

“I give up. What?”

“A fossil fool.”

Dad chuckled.

Garfield Lumber’s stale hot dogs had never tasted better.

Unfortunately, construction workers are big on lame jokes; after Dad blabbed about what had happened at Wakefield, I’d been forced to listen to a million funny stories that culminated in dead building inspectors.

Maybe it was just too soon, but I didn’t find them
amusing.

Juliet Blackwell
is the pseudonym for a mystery author who also writes the Haunted Home Renovation series and, together with her sister, wrote the Art Lover’s Mystery series. The first in that series,
Feint of Art
, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Juliet’s lifelong interest in the paranormal world was triggered when her favorite aunt visited and read her fortune—with startling results. As an anthropologist, the author studied systems of spirituality, magic, and health across cultures and throughout history. She currently resides in a happily haunted house in Oakland, California.