His face went bright red. “Aw, shoot. I wasn’t thinking about that. I was just thinking people always ask because they think it’s kinda cool. Sorry.”
I managed a smile. “It’s okay, Sandwich. Under any other circumstances, I’d be all for it. So here’s a question maybe you can answer. Am I under suspicion in the death of Madam Zoltar?”
His wide shoulders bumped upward. “I dunno. Nelson just called for backup and when I got there, Gorton said Nelson’s orders were to bring you in for questioning and a statement. It’s standard procedure. That much I can tell ya.”
That made me feel a little better, but not by a lot.
As rain battered the windshield of the cruiser while we whisked through the streets of Ebenezer Falls, I tried to place his face, but failed miserably. “So you say we graduated together?”
While I mostly kept to myself in my high school days, it wasn’t only due to the fact that I was a witch, but also because I did broody-Goth-rejected-from-society like a champ. I saw it on a show I’d watched and decided I had no real identity. Nothing people would remember me for. Like a signature label that said, “Hey, remember Stevie Cartwright? She always used to wear black clothes and matching black lipstick and we all thought she was part of a satanic cult?”
I thought it made me dark and mysterious, when I suppose it just made me look like a good portion of Seattle’s youth.
“Yep. We were in the same English class our senior year. Remember Mr. Stowe?”
“A trip down memory lane. How quaint,” Winterbottom muttered in my ear.
I ignored him, and the fact that he was a traveling ghost, unfettered by the usual hurdles ghosts encounter. Like moving from place to place without some object to tether them. I also continued to ignore the fact that he could communicate with me when my medium abilities were long gone.
Or were they? I was afraid to get my hopes up. So I squashed them like an annoying fly, hovering over a plate of watermelon.
No way was I going to get all juiced just to find out this was some crazy fluke, or worse, start hoping maybe I’d retained some of my powers. I couldn’t be crushed like that twice in a lifetime.
“Hah!” I barked. “Do I remember Mr. Stowe?” I scrunched up my face and made a sour expression, puffing out my chest. “These are classics we’re reading, children! This is Shakespeare and Theroux. Just because they don’t use words like ‘dis’ and ‘da-bomb’ doesn’t mean they can’t be equally as interesting!”
Sandwich howled a laugh. “That was Mr. Stowe all right.”
Even racking my brain, I still couldn’t remember Sandwich. “I can’t believe I don’t remember you.”
“Well, if I’m honest, I didn’t show up near as much as I shoulda. But I straightened out pretty good. And my real name’s Lyn. Lyn Paddington. They called me Sandwich because someone once dared me to eat a sardine sandwich with mayo and sweet pickles in the cafeteria.”
That’s when it hit me. “Oh! I do remember! You threw up on Principal Fellows at assembly in the auditorium!”
A groan whispered in my ear, giving me a rash of goose bumps along my arms. “Ah. You Americans. You’re so well educated—or maybe a more apt word is refined. Is it any wonder you have people the likes of The K—”
“Shh!” I ordered, only to realize Sandwich was looking at me with curious eyes. So I faked a loud sneeze. “Sorry. I think I’m catching a cold. So you threw up on Principal Fellows.”
“Yep. That was me. Lost my cookies all over the front row, too. Had the nickname ever since. So what brings you back to Ebenezer Falls, Stevie? Heard you moved to New York for a little while. Then I think we lost track of ya come reunion time.”
How did I explain this? A crooked council member and a witch-slapping to beat all slaps is what had me here, tail between my legs. My life in ruins, maybe?
I sighed. Rather than tell him the truth, I put my Stevie spin on my tale of woe. “I missed home, I guess. You know, you get to a certain age and you start to hanker for the things that once brought you comfort. Familiar things, I suppose.”
His glance told me he wasn’t quite sure what I meant. Probably because Sandwich had never left Ebenezer Falls. “Heard your mom moved to Rome. That’s pretty exciting.”
Yep. With warlock husband number five, who’d advised her to stay out of the mess I was in for fear the council would exact some kind of retribution. Bart the warlock was all about playing by the council rules, and my mother, Dita, was happy to oblige, seeing as Bart paid all the bills for their posh villa and cruises to Saint Tropez.
“She did. She seems very happy there.”
Sandwich pulled to a stop in front of the police station, right across the street from the docks where various boats were tied up along the sides of the pier, bobbing in the choppy waters of February.