Bedspell

He wasn’t amused. “What about cats?” He slid a grainy photograph toward her, probably reproduced from a security video. It was of her at the bar, talking to C.C., Diane and Mara. Signe hedged. It was bad enough that they thought she hadn’t turned on the alarm, even though she knew she’d done so, but she’d definitely be fired if she admitted to signing friends into the party under fake names.

“I know I turned on the alarm.”

He eyed her a long moment. “Who are these women?”

The man’s distrustful attitude was beginning to unnerve her. “I don’t know.” Surely, it would be proved that she’d flipped the switch on the alarm. If so, she’d be in the clear. Besides, her friends weren’t involved in the theft, and a priceless statue was bound to be found quickly, right? “Whoever took the statue will try to sell it,” she ventured. “Won’t they? I mean, don’t you think it will show up on the black market…?” Noting the pleading tone in her own voice, she let the remark trail off.

“Maybe.”

She took that for a yes, and sighed in relief. No, she wasn’t about to jeopardize her future at the museum by admitting she’d added her friends to a private party’s guest roster, just so they could grab some free drinks, catered hors d’ oeuvres and meet some good-looking rich men.

Detective Perez was staring at her coldly. “What were these cats talking about?”

She thought fast. “Mostly volunteer work.” That sounded positive and upbeat.

His voice sharpened. “And they were volunteering…?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” she managed to say. “But it was clear they were very nice women. Not the sort to steal artifacts. You know,” she continued, the lies not coming easily, “they sounded as if they loved…uh…small children. And pets. I think they even mentioned giving gifts to people less fortunate than themselves.”

“Cat burglars,” he muttered. “Cute.”

Was Detective Perez really considering her friends as suspects? “They seemed like very nice women,” Signe repeated.

His eyes pinned her. “You said they didn’t talk to you.”

“Well—” Her throat constricted, and she swallowed hard. “It was in the way they ordered.”

“The way they ordered?”

“They didn’t sound like thieves.”

“How do thieves sound?”

She searched her brain. “Not like…nice women.”

“Our conversation is getting a little circular.”

At least he’d noticed. Reaching down, she clutched the handle of her overnight bag. As she did, she thought of Gorgeous for the first time since the interview had begun. He’d been truly kind after the theft was discovered, and while he’d never again referred to her invitation, she was sure she’d seen something promising in his eyes. Ten to one, he was going to turn up in the Catskills tonight. “Look, Detective Perez, I’d like to help—I really would—and if you need to speak to me again—”

It was the wrong time for her cell to ring. Wincing apologetically, she slid a hand into her purse and drew out the phone. Quickly opening it, she whispered, “Hello?”

“I’m on my way in a fabulous yellow convertible,” chortled C.C. “I’ve already picked up everybody else. Be in front of the Met in ten.”

As she powered off, Signe wrenched her gaze from the grainy photo of her friends in their cute cat costumes. Detective Perez’s dark eyes were still scrutinizing her, and even without a mirror, she knew she looked guilty. Lying had never been her strong suit. When she was little, she’d actually spent hours practicing telling untruths in the mirror. It had never helped. At the age of seven, her own father had made her swear on a Bible he used for his legal work that she’d never attempt to play poker.

“If we’re done,” she ventured, “I’ve really got to go.”

“One more question.”

“What?”

“How’s your sex life, Ms. Sargent?”

Her eyes widened. “My sex life?”

“Yes,” he said. “Your sex life, Ms. Sargent. It’s where—”

Quickly, she raised a hand, murmuring, “Uh…no need to explain.” After a stunned moment, she added, “Oh.” Was Detective Perez wondering if a lack of potency was her motive? Did he really think she’d stolen the statue of Eros to enhance her life in the bedroom?

Heat flooded her cheeks. “It’s…” Virtually nonexistent right now, except for my dreams about Gorgeous Garrity. “Fine,” she said decisively. “No problems there.” Unless you considered that her mother called every Thursday night like clockwork to see if she’d met “a nice young man,” which meant someone professional and well employed, with a bright future.

Before Detective Perez could asked any more embarrassing questions, Signe lifted the overnight bag, butterflies taking flight in her belly as she thought of Gorgeous Garrity’s handkerchief, which was tucked next to her panties.

Just as she reached the door, the detective said, “Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like Winona Ryder?”

“Yes.” Plastering an innocent smile on her face, she felt sure the wheels in his brain were spinning once more, and that he, too, was making the shoplifting connection. “They have.” For good measure, she added the word “sir.”

Sighing in relief, she exited the archives department and followed the few remaining tourists who were being shunted toward the revolving front doors. She was going to be late to meet her friends now. Rounding the grand staircase, she glanced upward, her eyes suddenly stinging as they settled on the Tiepolo painting in the upstairs gallery. What if her dream to work here didn’t materialize?

It had to. She loved everything about this place. The press of the crowds. All the tourists. How the scary, long, dark corridors went on forever, fading into shadowy marble staircases. She’d wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life in this building, cataloging artifacts, but now she—not to mention C.C., Diane and Mara—was a suspect in a heist. Things couldn’t get much worse. Or at least she thought so before she heard Edmond Styles behind her.

“Signe?” he called. “May I have a word?”

Definitely ominous. Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes on the security guards stationed before the brass revolving doors opening onto the autumn sunlight, then she forced herself to turn around. “Of course, Mr. Styles.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said solemnly. “But I just spoke with Detective Perez, and until this matter is cleared up, we’re going to have to let you go.”

“LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE,” Diane whispered philosophically.

“What bright side?” Signe considered herself a cup-half-full person, but she hadn’t yet found one. It was hours later and the women were standing in a clearing in the woods, surveying a magic circle fashioned from broomsticks laid end to end.

Between sips of spiked herbal-root beverage, Diane kept her voice to a hushed whisper, so as not to upset the more earnest witches in attendance. “If you’re fired, Sig, you can spend next week helping me with the Manhattan Men program.”

“You’ve got a point,” admitted Signe.

“You’ll be on the payroll, and it will cheer you up.”

Manhattan Men, the program Diane was offering through her business, Wacky Weekends, was an intensive week-long experience designed for businessmen who had more money than culture, and who wanted to learn how to present themselves with more class. Next week was the program’s test run, and so far, six men from around the country had signed up. Their dates—C.C., Mara and Signe, as well as some other friends—would show the rich bachelors how to impress business associates. Between learning how to dress, order in restaurants and select fine wines, they were in for a week long extravaganza that would include trips to art openings, operas and high teas.

“Mara and I are taking vacation time, so we can participate,” reminded C.C.

“Sounds good,” Signe managed to say, still upset over the work suspension, and took another sip. The herbal-root beverage definitely had a bite. She frowned. “What do you think is in this?”

Diane didn’t hesitate. “Pure grain alcohol.”

Doubtful, Signe thought. She rarely drank. “It doesn’t taste like it.”

“You wait,” said C.C. darkly.

For once in her life, Signe decided she might not really mind tying one on. Besides, Gorgeous hadn’t stopped in on his lunch hour, as he usually did, but then maybe that meant he planned to surprise her tonight. She sighed. In the car, on the drive to the mountains, a heated debate had taken place, and all the women decided not to speak to Detective Perez and see how things played out over the next week. If the thief still wasn’t caught and Signe wasn’t reinstated in her job, then they’d reconsider their strategy. Despite stories and movies to the contrary, they’d reasoned, priceless artifacts rarely really vanished. Surely, they were too hard to sell. All they had to do was wait for the police to find Eros.

C.C. knocked back her herbal root beverage, then fanned herself. “It’s hot out here.”

“Remember last Christmas?” said Diane. “It was seventy degrees.”

“Global warming,” explained Mara. “At least we can skinny-dip in the lake after the ceremony.”

The ceremony. Signe’s eyes settled on the huge black kettle in the center of the magic circle. Beneath it, a fire roared. Reaching into the back pocket of her cutoffs, she withdrew Gorgeous Garrity’s handkerchief and the spell she’d written. “It’s not very good,” she whispered. Since it concerned Gorgeous, she’d meant to spend quality time on it, but her concern over the missing Eros statue and Detective Perez’s sudden entrance into her life had distracted her.

“You really can’t expect yourself to write a good spell,” Diane commiserated, “not when so much is going on in your life, Sig.”

So true. Wishing she’d done a better job, she moved up in line, watching Mara. Following the protocol of the New Jersey wiccans, Mara removed one of the brooms, which was functioning as a gate. After opening the symbolic door, she closed it behind her and walked toward the boiling cauldron. When she reached the pot, she tossed in a jock strap that had belonged to her ex-boyfriend, Dean. Even though the breakup had been definite, he still wouldn’t quit calling. Unfolding the spell she’d penned, Mara began to read:

“Dean, I hate to be unkind

But it seems I haunt your mind.

Oh, SoHo man I’ve left behind,

May this spell break our binds…”

“Get ready,” C.C. whispered. “You’re next, Sig.”

Signe nodded, taking one more anxious glance around. While Minneapolis had its share of sprawling state parks in the middle of the city, she’d never frequented them. She was a city girl, born and bred. The woods made her nervous. She found herself thinking of insects. Wildcats. Bears. You name it. Her imagination always ran wild.

Fortunately, tonight, the herbal beverage was mitigating her anxiety. In fact, the more she drank, the more she got a warm, fuzzy feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. Right now, the rustic log cabins that were barely visible through the tall trees looked inviting, even though Signe’s roommate had canceled at the last moment, since one of her kids was sick. That meant Signe was going to wind up sleeping in a cabin all by herself. Not that she couldn’t join her friends, but the beds were single and it would be uncomfortable.

Being alone would be fine, she told herself. It was safe. No men were around. Regarding the retreat, most of the women looked less like witches and more like soccer moms from New Jersey who wanted a girls’ night out, away from their husbands and kids.

Diane’s elbow caught her in the ribs. “Mara’s done, Sig. You’re next.”

Miming Mara’s movements, she, too, headed for the circle. Using a broom as a gateway, she entered the magic area, then replaced the broom and approached the cauldron. A wave of heat hit her, warming her cheeks as she peered over the edge. Floating under the bubbling surface, she could make out a pager, a cell phone and a Brooks Brothers tie. The jilted fiancée of a dentist had dropped in his Water Pic, after reading a spell that included the words: “You thought I was the hostess with the mostess. Now I’m wishing you halitosis.”

One overzealous redhead had tossed in the keys to her husband’s Lexus, realizing too late that she’d borrowed his car to come to the retreat. Another had offered the last lock of her boyfriend’s hair before he’d gone prematurely bald, in the hopes that his hair would grow back.

Signe took a deep breath. Shutting her eyes, she conjured an image of Gorgeous Garrity, and for a blissful moment, she forgot all about the missing potency statue, Detective Perez and the fact that she was—hopefully temporarily—unemployed. What if Gorgeous did come to the mountains tonight? She breathed out shakily, imagining how his hands might feel on her body.

Their conversation had been preempted by the theft of the statue, but before that, Gorgeous had sounded as if he was seriously considering a trip up here. Turning toward the wiccans, she cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders and read:

“O, ye spirits, do hear me

In a crystal ball do see

An eve of sexy revelry

With a man I call Garrity

And if we should be good in bed

I beseech ye, we should wed

And now that this has all been said

I give this handkerchief of red.”

Turning, she dropped the handkerchief into the boiling water, then had the strangest falling sensation, as if a rug had been jerked from beneath her feet. Her breath caught as it went under the bubbling surface of the water, the pointed tail of it swirling once before it was lost.

Surely it was nothing—just fanciful thinking, as if the spell might work—nevertheless, the hairs at her nape were prickling her warm skin when she exited the circle. The feeling lingered as Diane cast a spell to make her business, Wacky Weekends, thrive, and as C.C. angled for another promotion. Only when the women began stripping and running into the lake did the feeling start to dissipate.

As C.C. pulled a sundress over her head and weighted it down with a rock, Signe said, “wouldn’t it be kind of creepy if these spells really worked?”

Mara was wiggling out of her shorts. “Creepy?”

Signe shook her head. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Back there, I got this…weird feeling. Like it was real. Like it’s going to work.”

“And you’re going to marry Gorgeous Garrity?” asked Diane.

“Or just sleep with him?” asked C.C.

“You wish,” chimed Mara. “C’mon, get undressed.”

That changed the subject. “I’m not swimming in that lake.”

Mara shot her a long look. “Why, may I ask?”

Signe laughed. “Because when I free-associate, lakes make me think of words such as rocks, fish and slime.”

“No excuse,” declared C.C. “If I can do this, you can.”

“What the heck,” Signe said on a sigh, stripping off her shorts and panties, and glancing around as she downed the last gulp from her pewter mug. “What if someone sees us?”

“There’s nobody out here,” assured Diane.

C.C., wearing her bra and panties, grabbed her friends’ empty mugs and said, “I’m getting us all refills before I get in.”

The stuff was definitely tasty. Usually, Signe didn’t indulge much, but her friends were right. This was a girls’ night. No men were in the woods. And the lake really was beautiful, the crests of its softly lapping dark waters glinting with light from the glowing full moon. If Gorgeous Garrity really did show, he probably wouldn’t mind if Signe was just a little tipsy….

The alcohol seemed to be making her quite bold.

“Make mine a double, C.C.,” she suddenly called.

And then she pulled off her panties and, tired of the other women teasing her for being relatively body conscious, she made a point of throwing the scrap of silk to the night breeze. As a gust of wind caught her underwear, Signe ran for the water.

Which meant her back was turned when C.C. returned with the drinks and pulled the age-old camp joke of hiding the rest of Signe’s clothes.

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