The Witch Weekly Part 4

The poor receptionist on the other end of the phone hesitated for a moment, before she coughed. Im really sorry about your appointment, but Hank is no longer with our company.

Hes not with the company? What do you mean? I puzzled on her answer for a moment, wondering if the receptionist didnt know about Hanks death, or if the police had asked her to keep things quiet. Is someone else gonna finish the job? What happened to Hank?

She hesitated again. This time, I had the feeling she knew what was going on, but she wasnt sure if she should tell me about it. Im sorry, I shouldnt"

Listen, Im paying for Hanks services. I was told that Hank was the best, and Im paying a premium. Whats got him so bothered that he cant finish the job he started? I felt terrible pushing the poor woman so hard for answers, but it was for the best. For Hank. For Jo. The real killer needed to be caught.

He died, okay? Her words came out in a loud burst, followed by a hiccup. Breathing heavily, she continued. He pa.s.sed away last night, which is why hes not there.

I had no doubt that the sadness in her voice was real, which made me feel worse and worse and worse. At the same time, it gave me a surge of determination to catch whoever had wanted Hank dead.

Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. That makes me such a jerk, doesnt it? I didnt have to fake the sadness in my own voice. Here I am, complaining about some old pipes and a silly appointment, while Hank I am so sorry. I didnt mean to be rude.

Its no problem, she said. But weve been asked to keep things quiet for now; you know, until funeral arrangements are made and everything, so please dont tell anyone else.

Of course not, I said. Ill keep this quiet, I promise. But do you know what happened? I just talked to him last week. Seemed like a real sweetheart, and I didnt see this coming. Not that I knew him well, but I always hate to hear things like this.

I could almost see her leaning into the phone as she lowered her voice. Im not supposed to say, but there are rumors that well, that his death was unexpected.

Wow, I gasped in feigned surprise. I just cant imagine anyone wanting him dead. He was a real charmer during my consultation.

Thats the million-dollar question, now isnt it? Ive been wondering the same thing. We had almost no complaints for Hank, and even the best workers get complaints now and again.

Terrible, I agreed. Well anyway, Im sure you have a lot on your mind today, so Ill let you get going. I appreciate your help, and Im sorry to hear about Hank. I fiddled with the phone for a moment, waiting what I considered the appropriate amount of time for a pause of silence. One last thing, before I let you go, though.

What can I do to help?

What happened to Hank is terrible, of course. And I hate to be insensitive, but my pipes are still broken. Do you have any recommendations for a company that could finish the job?

Oh, yes of course. We made phone calls this morning to all our existing clients, but your name must have slipped through the cracks somehow. I apologize for that.

Its no problem, Im a new client, and I found Hank directly, so maybe thats why. Im sure youre busy, so I can just call the company to set up a new time if that works for you? Id just need the name of the place youd like me to use.

Of course. Were short staffed, and as this is a surprise, were hiring Handy Services to cover any slack. Theyre mostly freelancers, and theyll just stick around to complete the open a.s.signments. Just mention Hanks name when you call, and theyll know what to do.

I appreciate your help, and Im really sorry for your loss.

I just hope whoever was responsible for his death is caught, she said. Something doesnt feel right about this, you know. Hank was excited about life, and healthy.

I couldnt agree more, I said, hanging up the phone. I turned to the notepad where Id scratched the number for Handy Services, and then I shook my head, climbed out of bed, and pointed a finger towards the coffee pot in the kitchen, muttering a spell to light the flame underneath. Well find him, Hank. Just you wait.

Chapter 8.

Hi, are you Mr. Reynolds? I looked up, tapping a pencil on my clipboard.

Who are you? The man answering to the name of Mr. Reynolds swung the door open to a split-level home situated on an un.o.btrusive block on the edge of Fairyvale. He flaunted his Tuesday best, which happened to be a pair of jeans ripped from wear and tear, and a white T-shirt with minimal stains.

My name is Rosie, I said. Im here with Handy Services.

He raised an eyebrow.

You know, the company who will be handling the replacement for Hank.

What are you handling?

I glanced down at the clipboard, where I pretended to have notes and a schedule written down. Really, I stared at the leftover receipt from a coffee Id bought on the way over here. You did have Hank working on your pipes, correct?

He nodded, confirming a fact that I already I knew. Per the schedule that the woman from the real Handy Services had so kindly provided for me, I had discovered that Mr. Reynolds was one of two clients for whom Hank had worked this past week. It wasnt much of a lead, but it was a start. Maybe hed had a beef with one of his clients.

The receptionist for Handy Services hadnt exactly offered up all this information, but she hadnt hidden her computer screen, either, when I stopped by to ask about their availability to work on my bathroom. Id jotted down a few notes and then realized my plumbing was just fine, thank you very much.

Hank wasnt scheduled to come back until tomorrow. Mr. Reynolds eyebrows furrowed. Ive never heard of Handy Services.

Oh, Im sorry that you havent heard. I didnt think Id have to be the one to break the news to you I fidgeted with my clipboard again. Im afraid Hank wont be able to finish the job.

Why not? Hes the best in the business, thats why I hired him. I paid him most of the money, already.

I blinked and stared at my toes. It wasnt hard to look awkward. Im really sorry, but Hank pa.s.sed away last night. I dont really have any more information.

Surprise flashed across Mr. Reynolds face. What? No. Really? No. Do you have any idea what happened?

No, I said. Im just the replacement scheduler. I dont even really work for Handy Services, Im more of a freelancer.

Which brings you here why?

Trying to remain calm, I cleared my throat. I wanted to break the news to you in person, and let you know that our construction company will be sending over a team of handymen to finish the job to your satisfaction. They should have given you a phone call already, but maybe theyre behind.

He waved a hand. Maybe they did. I havent checked my messages, and I didnt hear the phone ring because I was mowing the lawn this morning. But now that you mention it, I did see the light blinking when I walked through the kitchen to answer the door.

The smell of freshly cut gra.s.s lingered in the air around us, and Mr. Reynolds hands were stained the tiniest bit green.

I came here for one other reason, I said, my voice softer. The uh the construction community is very tight knit, and I was hoping to honor Hank by writing a little column in the paper. An obituary of sorts for uh, Construction Times.

Construction Times?

Its new. I bobbed my head in excitement. Were still building our readership.

What do you need from me?

Well, since I didnt know Hank personally, I was wondering if you could give me a few words about his personality.

Um, sure, I suppose. He was a nice guy. Mr. Reynolds ran a hand through his hair looking slightly bewildered. Honest man, as far as I could tell. Did good work, too, and seemed like he enjoyed it. I dont know what else to say, I guess. He showed up, did a good job, and left. Friendly but not too much so. Average Joe.

Thats nice of you to say, I said, jotting down some unhelpful notes on the piece of paper. I wasnt getting anywhere with this, yet I felt like something was missing. How did an Average Joe go from normal to murdered overnight? There was a part of Hanks life that I was missing, I could feel it.

I normally dont hire plumbers, since I do most of the repairs myself. But the bathroom is on the upper level, and I didnt want to risk ruining the pipes or my entire first floor. Plus, he was a nice guy. I like to give the hard workers a job, if you know what I mean.

Thats very considerate.

Mr. Reynolds looked at me, but his gaze fell a little past my shoulder. Yeah, really sad to hear the news. He showed up at his job, didnt ask too many questions, seemed like a respectable guy. When I asked him for a quote he gave me one so far below all of the other construction company quote that I talked to that offered to pay him more. Mr. Reynolds chuckled softly.

None of this made me feel better about Hanks death. If anything, it made me feel worse.

Would you mind if came in and just saw the works.p.a.ce where he was fixing up, really quickly? I want to leave a note in the file for the guys when they show up for your appointment.

I didnt particularly want to see a set of pipes, but I figured that maybe if I could keep him talking, I could get a hint. The name of someone else Hank knew, be it a friend, another client something.

Sure. Its upstairs, like I said.

Have you worked with Hank before? I asked, as he led me towards the foot of a staircase off the front hall.

No, I usually do most of the repairs myself. This was just because"

"it was the upper floor, right, I said. How did you hear about him?

A friend recommended him to me. I get the sense that Hanks business grew by word of mouth; its not like he was running advertis.e.m.e.nts on the television.

I smiled and started to respond, but I stopped when the whistle of a tea kettle sounded in the background.

Mr. Reynolds thumbed in the direction of the kitchen. Do you mind if I grab that? Go on up. Should I bring you coffee or tea or something?

I shook my head. I had some already, thank you.

Mr. Reynolds went to attend to his coffee machine in the kitchen while I climbed up the staircase and opened the bathroom door. As expected, panels were removed, tiles torn up, and pipes poked out from the ground. This was a much bigger project than Id expected. No wonder Reynolds didnt want to do it alone.

I couldnt put a finger on what exactly I was looking for, so I settled for a quick surface scan which, unsurprisingly, turned up nothing. By the time I finished looking for obvious clues, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I had to pull my nose out from the guts of the repair job.

Looks like a big project, I said, turning around to face Mr. Reynolds. I froze at the expression on his face. Is everything okay?

Who did you say you were again? He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. His posture was meant to intimidate, and intimidate it did.

I fought my pumping heart rate and reminded myself that Id been in much stickier situations than this one. Im Im from"

Dont say Handy Services, he said. Because I listened to the message while I was downstairs. Imagine my surprise when the message claimed that Sarah is the scheduler from Handy Services, and that Im supposed to call her to schedule a follow up appointment. What did you say your name was?

Wringing my hands together, I looked down and used a trick Id picked up during a few tough sc.r.a.pes in my reporter days. I let my nervousness take hold and used it to my advantage. I didnt have to pretend to be nervous or scared since I was nervous and scared.

Im really sorry I lied, I said. Im not from Handy Services.

Mr. Reynolds eyebrows arched high, and frankly, I couldnt blame him. If a construction worker entered my house and Id found out theyd lied to get inside, Id probably be angry, too.

I I went out on a date with Hank, I said. He seemed really, really nice. You know how it is. Ive been going out on this string of terrible dates with terrible men, and then along came Hank, who actually seemed like a gentleman, granted wed only gone out once or twice.

Maybe I was stretching the truth here a little bit, but the sentiment was true. Hank did seem nice, and he did seem like a gentleman"at least, during my very limited interaction with him.

That doesnt explain why youre here.

Well, we went out the other day, and he never called me back after, I said sighing. Then I learned he died, and it almost broke my heart. I thought we could last, and I guess I suppose I wanted to see if hed said anything about me to his clients.

You only went out once?

I liked him, okay? I was sweating now. My half-baked explanation wouldnt hold for much longer, so I moved to get out while I could. Did he say anything about me?

To my astonishment, Mr. Reynolds cheeks turned red. I didnt realize hed broken up with Trisha.

Trisha? My voice took on a screechy quality. Who is Trisha?

Uh, his girlfriend. At least, a few weeks ago when I asked if Hank was married or whatnot. He talked about her all the time. I thought they were in love, but I suppose that wasnt the case if hes going on dates with other women.

I am not other women! I wailed. Then I did something Id never done before: I threw a hissy fit. I flung my hands over my face and pretended to sob, running out of the bathroom, down the stairs and straight out the front door. I didnt stop with the hiccups and shaking shoulders until I was safely in my car and three blocks away.

As soon as I was no longer in sight of Mr. Reynolds house, I pulled over. Trish, I whispered, typing her name into my phones browser. I had access to a few media databases that provided me with additional information that regular citizens didnt have access to without a pa.s.sword. Come to me, Trish.

My heart thumped harder when my browser search returned three hits. The first was a lady nearing the age of Dumbledore, so it probably wasnt her. The second womans status listed married with three children. Probably not her, either.

However, the third Trisha looked to be around my age, maybe slightly older, with an attractive, plump face. Heavy eyeshadow coated her lids, and her perm frizzed out to the corners of the frame. Her mouth was puckered into a half-smile, as if shed been caught off guard by the photographer. I scanned her address listed below the photo, punched it into my GPS, and I set off to find Trisha.

As I drove, one more thought popped into my head. Hank had said he was like me; hed been out of the dating game for a long time. Something didnt add up here. Either Hank had lied, or Mr. Reynolds had the wrong information. And if Mr. Reynolds had the wrong information about Trisha being Hanks girlfriend then who was Trisha, and why was Hank talking about her?

Chapter 9.

What is it? I answered my phone, noting the familiar name as I turned the key to off in the ignition. My car had somehow ended up one block away from Trishas house, hidden slightly behind a set of tall lilac bushes. Make it quick please, Layla.

Theres only one reason youd tell me to make things quick. I know its not because you dont want to talk to me, so that must mean youre out hunting down clues to a murder instead of looking for love like youre supposed to be doing.

Im not hunting down a murderer, I said. Im merely sniffing around a few of the people Hank knew.

Yeah, whatever you want to tell yourself.

I narrowed my eyes, taking in the small, ramshackle house that my database told me belonged to Trisha. It was an interesting house, to say the least.

Big, round spheres of gla.s.s"lawn ornaments, of some sort"lined the walkway up to the front door, while tiny lightbulbs blinked along the path doing nothing during the daytime, but likely providing a soft glow in the evenings. A few more decorations stood next to the door, things that were probably considered art, but looked sort of like blobs of junk.

The whole thing came together to give me the vibe that Trisha was going for cla.s.sy and elegant, but that shed missed her mark and settled on cheap and cluttered.

So, did you have a reason for calling, or was were you just checking on me? I asked, pulling my trusty clipboard from inside a little backpack that I carried around everywhere.