Page 5 of Witch and Tell

The Tohler brood was sizable. Ned favored 1970s button-downs with wide lapels. I had no idea where he found his bell-bottom pants or white patent leather loafers, but I appreciated his style and predicted a profusion of Harvey Wallbangers and tequila sunrises to come. If I recalled correctly, his twin Ted ran a deli in nearby Gaston.

“Nope,” Orson added. “Don’t need to work now that the Empress is on its way to becoming a brewpub.”

“Are you going to keep your place upstairs?” Orson had inherited the Empress from his father. For years the theater had sat with its windows boarded up and marquee dismantled. I’d thought the building was just another unused storefront until I’d had occasion to visit Orson. He’d converted the theater’s projector room into a makeshift apartment with a mini-fridge and wellworn recliner.

“Yep. Finally getting windows. A proper kitchen, too. It’s nice to see the old girl come back to life.” He leaned back, crossing his ankles. “Soon we’ll have lots of people here. Wilfred will be a destination, just like in the old days.”

“Not just for a construction crew, either,” I said, eyeing a few people who’d waved at the construction boss before settling at tables at the patio’s edge. The renovation was giving Darla’s business a definite boost. “It’s hard to imagine town before the mill closed.”

I’d seen photos in the library. The café had been a thriving soda counter, and the highway—a slender ribbon of road barely worthy of the name—was lined with businesses. Old cars, then new, parked at angles in front of the post office, a grocery store, a barber shop, and, of course, the Empress.

“It was a different town in those days,” Orson said. “I still get a start when I go into the old post office and find it full of groceries.”

The arrival of Buffy and Thor cut our conversation short. They ran to my table and rested their hands on the table’s edge while they caught their breath. Thor drained my glass of water. Buffy reached for my iced tea, but I slid the glass toward me before she could take it.

“My cue to leave,” Orson said. He’d been burned more than once by Buffy and Thor’s moneymaking schemes. It had taken him two days to remove the furniture polish they’d used to wax his car. Orson tossed me a salute and crossed the patio, toward home.

Thor set down my empty glass and wiped his mouth. “It’s a mystery.”

“What’s a mystery?” I said.

“Ian,” Buffy said. “He’s disappeared.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “You couldn’t find him anywhere? Maybe he’s away buying books for his stall.” It broke my heart that Lalena could be right, and Ian had left town, leaving only a vague voicemail as a goodbye.

While I spoke, Thor was shaking his head. “Ian is totally gone. He’s vanquished.”

“Vanished,” I corrected. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Buffy said. “We did a complete investigation.”

Thor took the chair Orson had vacated and flipped his cape over its back. “First we checked the usual places.”

“Grandma’s”—Buffy referred to the This-N-That— “his trailer, and Aunt Darla’s. He wasn’t there.”

“But his van is still in his driveway,” I pointed out.

“I know,” Thor said, clearly proud of his deduction. “No one saw a friend pick him up.”

“Next step,” Buffy said, “we got Duke’s stepladder out of the shed and looked in Ian’s windows.”

“Ilooked in the windows.” Thor tapped his chest. “Not you. You’re too little to get on a ladder.”

“I am not. Besides, I’m a lot more graceful than you. Grandma says.”

“What did you see?” I asked. If they started bickering, I’d never get answers.

“Nothing.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. “But get this.”

“Yes?”

“His milk was on the counter,” Buffy said quickly.

Thor nudged his sister’s shoulder. “I was going to tell her that!”

“A glass, or the whole carton?” I asked. Ian would never squander milk.

“Both,” Thor said. “Pretty bad, huh?”