Bonnie Glock: Magical Private Investigator

Chapter One

The Locket

Bonnie stepped back, the heel of her Puma sneakers padding against the wood floor. Frustrated, she rolled the smooth oaken handle in her hand the way she always did when faced with a difficult problem. In the fourteen years she'd owned the wand, it had never failed her, no matter how many times she'd tested its limits. Preparing to cast another charm, Bonnie raised the wand and flicked her wrist, shouting, "Breek een slot!"

Yellow light snapped from the tip of her wand, sending a bright streak spiraling down at the enchanted locket. The charm struck and the oval locket absorbed the light while the necklace's gold chain jumped as it had with every attempt to open the locket. Puffing through the corner of her mouth, she blew the strand of black hair to see that the golden jewel had only shifted slightly from its original place atop her living room table. Bonnie tensed with frustration, feeling her temper begin to rise. That was the sixth variation of the charm she'd conjured to crack open the locket and she was running out of ideas. Fed up with the complex magic surrounding such a simple item, Bonnie moved to unleash a series of hexes on the necklace. A light knocking sounded at her door. Pausing, her wand held overhead, Bonnie tilted to the side and listened for the noise she thought she'd heard. A repeat of the rapping on her apartment door shattered the complete silence.

"If it's the neighbors again..." she muttered, stuffing the wand into her waistline and covering it with the tails of her loose-fitting t-shirt.

Striding quickly to the door, she yanked it open, fully prepared to tell off whichever of her neighbors might be there asking, not so politely, for her to keep it down. Halfway through forming the words to verbally assault the visitor, she stopped. In the hallway stood a slender man in his mid to late twenty's, a few years older than her twenty-three years, at the least. He was dressed in a navy-blue tweed jacket and freshly ironed slacks. From a glance, Bonnie deciphered that this man wasn't one of her neighbors; he was a potential client.

And handsome, too, she thought, nearly forgetting the importance of her previous dilemma.

"Bonnie Glock?" he asked. Something about the man's smooth voice struck a familiar chord in her acute memory; she'd heard him before, but didn't know where.

Nodding, Bonnie said, "That's me. Better make it quick, though. I'm pretty busy right now."

This better be about a murder or I'm going right back to work on the locket, she told herself as she stepped aside to allow the man into her apartment.

She stood just inside the door, arms folded, examining him closely in the few seconds it took him to walk past her. In addition to his freshly pressed clothes, Bonnie noted that his almond hair had been recently trimmed to the current fashion, short on the sides and long on top with a flipped front to keep the bangs from falling over his forehead. From the way he carried himself, she thought he appeared slightly uncomfortable or perturbed, quite common for those who sought her investigative services. The man wore no watch or jewelry except for a polished gold wedding band that he rotated constantly with his right thumb and pinky finger.

"I was told that you're the best, Mrs. Glock. You can solve practically any mystery presented to you." The way he spoke sounded rehearsed, as though he was reading from a script, which dampened her interest.

"It's Ms. Glock, if you insist on using formalities, Mr.?" she paused waiting for him to respond.

"Gibson, Leon Gibson," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well Mr. Gibson, you heard correctly – I am the best. But as I mentioned before, I really am quite busy at the moment," she said, breaking her observation and glancing at her living room table.

"This is a matter of importance and I really would appreciate your expertise," Gibson urged.

"Pertaining to?" she asked flatly.

"Infidelity," Gibson responded.

He looked as if he might say more, but Bonnie shook her head, "I'm sorry, Mr. Gibson, but like I said, I am very busy. Perhaps Filley or the DeWitt Agency will take your case. Their offices are not far from here." Bonnie ushered Leon Gibson back into the hallway. "I trust you understand," she said.

"I'm here because you believe people when they say they've seen something inexplicable; something that most people don't believe," Gibson said quickly as she began to close the door on him.

Bonnie paused, then replied, "People often interpret the irrational as the inexplicable. Now, I have more important work to do." Gibson reached into his tweed jacket, but Bonnie closed the door before he could produce whatever he intended to show her. With a sigh, she returned her attention to the enchanted locket. She walked halfway across the open floor before another knock sounded on her door.

Halting, Bonnie felt her cheeks burn hot with frustration. Her face flushed several shades darker than normal, nearly matching her raven black hair. Pulling her wand from her waistband, she prepared to scare off the pestering normal. She flicked her wand, growling, "Apre," through clenched teeth. The door burst open and she shouted, "I thought I told you to...!" but stopped when she realized that he was no longer there. Lowering her wand, she stared into the empty hallway, and cursed to herself, "Aww, shit."

A small green rectangular shape on the floor near her feet caught her attention. Bending, she picked up the stack of new bills. The stack of cash was held together with a rubber band around the middle and on top she found a Polaroid picture. As she examined the Indian woman's face in photo, she heard another door open down the hallway.

"Keep it down!" the man shouted in a thick accent.

Quickly hiding the wand behind her back, she waved the hand full of money apologetically at her neighbor, "Sorry, Mr. Tanaka."

As the elderly Japanese American man scowled at her, she retreated into the privacy of her own home. With a second glance at the picture rubber-banded to the money, Bonnie sighed and slid the stack into the mail organizer on the wall. She turned her attention back to the locket and rolled the oak-handled wand in her palm, preparing to resume her efforts to crack it open.