Witch Perfect (Witchless in Seattle Mysteries Book 11)

by Dakota Cassidy

Kirkland sat on an empty whiskey barrel, a blanket draped over his shoulders while Detective Starsky questioned him and another detective I was unfamiliar with orchestrated the forensics team. My heart contracted at how afraid he looked; how utterly lost and small in a place with so much beauty—a place he’d created.

  “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions, Win. Thanks for your time. Looking forward to having that beer,” I heard Dana say before he wandered off in the direction of the detective handling forensics.

  Well, well. He wasn’t exactly threatening to take Win “downtown” was he? But me? Me, he was ready to handcuff? Oh, I could simply scream!

  When Win came to stand by me, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared up at him. “Glib? I’m sorry, did you tell Dana I was glib?” I whisper-yelled.

  Win chuckled, cracking his knuckles. “I did and you are. You’re also cheeky and holding a grudge.”

  I spat my hair from my mouth, the wind making it stick to my lip gloss. “You’re darn right I am, buddy. Dana’s still behaving as though we never told him a single thing about you or Bel. Why, he acted as though he’d just met you, and you—you with your gazoodles of charm and charisma, all talking flowers and nonsense. Oooh, I could just scream.”

  Win grated a sigh, putting his hands on his hips. “Couldn’t you tell it was all part of the plan?”

  The plan?

  I wasn’t used to this. I wasn’t used to Win being here on this plane with me. I wasn’t used to his live-and-in-person expertise. He was usually in my ear, spewing words I could ignore if I chose. Having him here, able to inject himself into a situation whenever he liked, turned out to be a much different experience.

  So I humored him and asked, “The plan? Please explain.”

  “Stephania, if you’ll recall, Dana is quite the gardener. He’s mentioned it several times. I was simply finding a way to relate to him to take the heat off you.”

  My brow furrowed. I couldn’t remember ever hearing Dana mention flowers—not once. And I said as much. “I don’t remember him talking about flowers.”

  “That’s because, since we met, you’ve always had a voice. I’ve only been able to listen to the voices. Something I’m quite adept at. I’ve learned many things about most of the people you’ve been in contact with. It was once my job, Dove.”

  Now I really rolled my eyes. “Oh, sure. More spy technique. Whatever. The fact remains, he’s got this cold fish thing going on with me, and yet with you, he’s acting as though you’re BFFs—over some flowers, for Pete’s sake.”

  I, personally, wasn’t a fan.

  Win smirked, holding out his arm to me. “Jealous?” he teased.

  “I am not,” I protested with an emphasis on my indignation. Maybe a little too loudly. So I lowered my voice. “I’m…I’m…disgruntled. I shouldn’t have to work harder than you. I’ve known him longer. It wasn’t you having coffee with him or inviting him over for family dinners all those times. It was me.”

  “Well, I couldn’t exactly invite him to do anything from up there, could I, Dove?” He lifted his eyes to the sky.

  I ignored the offer of his arm and swatted at it instead. “You know what I mean. As per usual, he’s falling all over himself to be helpful to you, and poking me like a bear in a cage.”

  Win held up his hand. “Now, Dove—”

  But I whipped my finger under his nose and shook it. “Don’t you ‘now, Dove’ me, Mr. Reincarnated. I worked hard to earn that friendship with Dana and now it’s blown to smithereens because he’s afraid to admit what he saw—what he heard. What I know darn well he heard. He hasn’t talked to me in forever. And when I’m not worried about how to help Kirkland, Officer Rigid and I are going to have the sit-down of his lifetime.”

  “Yeah,” Win cheered with a thumbs-up. “You give him the business.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You hush, and let’s go see if we can take Kirkland home or if we’re going to need to wait for him at the police station while he’s questioned. He shouldn’t be alone right now, and it’ll help keep me from clocking you in your smug face.”

  “You’re absolutely right. He’ll need our support, and I rather like my smug face.” He held out his arm again with one of his charming smiles. “Shall we?”

  “We shall, but you’d better not go have that beer with Dana before he makes up with me. You hear me, 007? He was my friend first.”

  If that didn’t sound petty, I don’t know what did. I recognize it and I own it, okay? Just let me wallow in this moment and I’m sure it will pass.

  Win leaned down and whispered in my ear as we approached Kirkland. “Done, but one question?”

  I stopped in my tracks. “What’s that?”

  “Can I still sit with him in the cafeteria at lunchtime?”

  I gave him a playful punch to his arm. “Knock it off.”

  “At once, Miss Jelly,” he teased with a chuckle.

  With a raspy sigh, I headed toward Kirkland, who looked positively drawn and quartered. My protective instincts kicked in, and I set aside my bone to pick with Win for the moment.

  But that didn’t mean we weren’t going to have a chat about this friend-snatching later.

  And then I laughed at how utterly ridiculous my thoughts were.

  Friend-snatching?

  Really, Stephania Louise Cartwright?

  Really?

  Even I didn’t like myself today.

  Chapter 4

  We sat in Kirkland’s father’s house—or as some would call it, a regal, ostentatious mansion—waiting for his sister Loretta to arrive from their offices in Seattle.

  The intimidating brick structure had risen up before us just as the skies had turned dark with purple bruised clouds, indicating we were in for more rain.

  I don’t know that I can say I’ve ever been to a house quite this grand, but here I was at Harris Endicott’s with its stately pillars and manicured bushes, wondering how he and his wife, Rosemary, ever found each other in a place with this much square footage, let alone why they’d kept it since their children were grown.

  It must cost a fortune in furniture polish and glass cleaner alone.

  As we entered the heavy mahogany doors and stepped into the marble foyer, my eyes followed the double spiral staircase to see floor-to-ceiling windows at the top landing and a gorgeous stained glass with the Endicott family crest design etched into it.

  Wow. I knew Harris was rich. He didn’t exactly hide it. I knew it was old money, too. The chain of stores he owned in the Pacific Northwest had been around as long as I could remember. I guess I never really gave much thought to the kind of money owning them entailed.

  Clearly, hawking cereal and produce garnered some serious coins.

  I stood with Win by the big round table stained in walnut in the center of the entryway, clumps of dirt falling from my boots and my leggings, all over the pristine marble flooring. I winced about the mess I was making even as I admired the crystal vase in the middle of the table, filled with fresh flowers. We waited for Kirkland as he kicked off his shoes before he motioned for us to follow him into what I suppose one would call a great room.

  He’d wanted to go back to his and Wade’s house, but both Win and I were worried about him being alone. The police were able to get in touch with Loretta, so we’d offered to stay with him until she arrived.

  Both Win and I followed him and seated ourselves in Harris’s austere great room, where more than one animal head hung from the walls, looking down on us with their glassy, somehow knowing eyes. Harris was a hunter, and he took every opportunity to share that with anyone who’d listen, according to Kirkland, who paled at the idea of killing anything—or so he’d said during one of our many conversations in the past months.

  A clock ticked somewhere in the distance, the only sound in this eerily quiet house, reminding me this whole mess felt like a ticking time bomb.

  I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cry as Win and I passed each other worried looks when Kirkla
nd took a seat opposite us.

  Kirkland was, for lack of a better word, a train wreck. He dropped into a high-backed, red velvet chair with ornate scrollwork on the arms and legs, sitting by the fireplace with a wide stone hearth that was at least as tall as me.

  He curled his legs under himself, and wrapped a fuzzy hunter-green blanket around his shoulders, one he held tightly at his neck. Thankfully, he’d finally stopped shaking.

  I wasn’t sure how to approach this. Kirkland had answered all of the police’s questions, but I’d only caught a bit of it. Naturally, I was itching to ask a million questions due to my nosy nature, but his fragile state worried me greatly.

  Now, I know I don’t normally let much stop me, but this had a different feel to me than all the other crimes I’d investigated.

  Just then, Harris’s maid—and I do mean he referred to her as his maid, and insisted she wear an outfit so no one would mistake her position—brought in a tray with a steaming teapot, three cups and saucers, along with some sort of biscuits fanned out on a plate.

  She was easily pushing sixty, round and cheerful, her dark hair threaded with gray, her stout legs giving way to thick ankles and white orthopedic shoes.

  She set the tray on the wide coffee table, where a very fancy candelabra held residence. “Here, Mr. Endicott. I’ve made your favorite tea. Please have some,” she begged, pouring him a cup of the steaming liquid from the dainty teapot. Then she turned to us. “And you as well, Miss Cartwright, and your friend…?”

  I flapped my hands and smiled at her warm eyes. “Please. Call me Stevie, and this is Win. Your name is?”

  Her eyes fluttered to Kirkland, concern clearly lacing them as she tucked the blanket tighter around his neck. “Lida.”

  “Thank you for the tea, Lida. It’s lovely of you to think of us.”

  “Indeed,” Win agreed with a smile, to which Lida responded by tittering and blushing—a typical Win response.

  Folding her hands in front of her crisp white apron, she scanned Kirkland from head to toe. “Mr. Endicott, is there anything else I can get you?”

  When he finally spoke, when he finally actually made eye contact, my heart broke all over again. His voice was raspy and shaky, but somehow still wooden and stiff. “No, Lida. Thanks, though.”

  She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, her soft, feathery voice watery. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Endicott. I loved Mr. Wade, too.” He gave her a tight, tentative smile, and she cupped his chin. “I’ll be right in the kitchen if you need me. Please call on me if you do.”

  He patted her aging hand and nodded. “I promise I will, Lida.”

  It was obvious there was a familiar affection between them and it made me wonder how long she’d been employed by the Endicotts, and if she liked working for them as much as she appeared to like Kirkland.

  She turned and pointed at us. “And you two as well,” she said softly. “Don’t hesitate now.”

  “Of course,” Win said with another smile, making Lida blush again before she headed out of the gigantic room with its rust-colored silk drapes and wide swaths of oriental rugs.

  Sitting across from Kirkland, I handed Win a cup and encouraged Kirkland to drink up. “Kirkland, have some tea. It’ll warm you.”

  But he shook his head dejectedly, his breath shuddering in and out. “I don’t want tea. I want Wade. I don’t understand who…”

  Neither did I. Wade was liked by everyone, as far as I knew. He was a good guy who’d made Kirkland so happy. I didn’t understand who’d want to kill him either, but he was definitely murdered. There was no two ways about it.

  Fighting a shaky sigh, I nodded. “I’m so sorry, Kirkland. Tell me how I can help? Shall we just sit with you until your sister arrives? Or can we get you something?”

  Finally, his soft, deep blue eyes captured mine, watery and chock full of pain I felt in my soul, but his jaw was set in determination.

  “Help me find out who killed him, Stevie. That’s what you can do. I know you’ve done it before. You and your ghosts. Contact him, do whatever you have to. I’ll pay you, but I’m begging you, please…please find out who did this.” His last words hitched, making my stomach clench.

  I rose and knelt before him, taking his hands in mine. “Kirkland,” I whispered, fighting the emotion threatening to take over my rational words. “It doesn’t work that way. You know it doesn’t, right? I can’t just call on someone from the afterlife. It’s not like having a phone number in your cell contacts. It either happens or it doesn’t. It’s not something that’s very reliable.”

  Gosh, I hated to say that. I hated to take a swipe at his hopeful gaze, but there were no guarantees.

  “I am here, malutka, and I will do some digging while you take care of your friend,” Arkady assured me, and I know he was doing it to remind me we had resources, but that didn’t change the fact that they were unreliable and fluky at best.

  I shot a small smile upward and nodded when Kirkland, with calloused hands, gripped my fingers hard and clung to them.

  “But you’ll try? You’re good at mysteries and solving crimes, right? Everyone in Eb Falls talks about it all the time. Even the police have talked about it. And maybe you don’t need to contact the afterlife at all. Maybe you can figure it out just by using your smarts.”

  I looked down at the clumps of drying dirt falling off my work boots to the gorgeously expensive rug and inhaled, praying for the right words to soothe him. But what were the right words?

  “I can try,” I said with great hesitance. “But I can’t make any promises, Kirkland. It just doesn’t work that way.”

  This felt somehow different to me than any of the other cases I’d investigated. Kirkland and I had struck up a bit of a friendship since he’d opened Flower Power. I didn’t want to disappoint my friend.

  Win stepped in then, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Kirkland, what can you tell me about where Wade’s been? I thought I remember distinctly hearing you say he was in Ohio? Did I mishear?”

  “No. That’s true. He was. At a pharmaceutical conference. At least I thought he was. He called me several times this week to let me know how things were going. He said it was a really hectic conference.”

  “And you’re sure he was truly in Ohio? Did he call you from his hotel room, or did he always use a cell phone?”

  Kirkland appeared to give that thought for a moment before he dropped the blanket and dug in the back pocket of his jeans, wiping his eyes with his free hand.

  “I think he always used his cell phone, but he took pictures of the conference. I can show you what he sent me, if you want.”

  “Please do,” Win encouraged.

  Handing his cell to Win, Kirkland looked to me again, his eyes wide and full of fear. “So will you help, Stevie? Please? Please, Stevie. I really need your help. I’ll never sleep again if I don’t know what happened to him.”

  I couldn’t figure out why I was so hesitant to jump into a mystery with both feet. This was the kind of thing I lived for. You’d think I’d promise Kirkland almost anything just because seeing him animated about the idea of me finding Wade’s killer had at least brought some life back into his dead eyes. Yet, something kept me from answering him.

  “Stevie?” he said once again.

  I looked into his pleading gaze, swollen from tears, and his pale skin streaked with red splotches, and I crumbled.

  “Of course I’ll help, Kirkland. Or at least I’ll try. But please remember, this really is a job for the police. They have the tools to do this right. Tools I don’t possess.”

  I caught Win frowning briefly at my answer, but then he smiled at Kirkland and held up his phone. “It certainly looks like Wade was at a conference—especially if that banner for that antibiotic behind him in this one picture means anything. The list of possible side effects is appalling. Good heavens. Regardless, might I send them to myself? And Stephania, Kirkland?”

  “If it’ll help, yes. Send her whatever she need
s.”

  Giving my head a shake, hoping to clear the cobwebs out, I asked my standard questions. “Kirkland, do you know of anyone who’d want to hurt Wade? Did he have any enemies? Had he argued with anyone recently?”

  Kirkland looked at me, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I can’t think of a soul, Stevie. Not one. Everybody loved Wade. I…I loved him…so much,” he sobbed.

  “I know you did. He was a wonderful man, and you were both very lucky.”

  “Kirkland? Oh my God, Kirkland!” a female voice called from the front entryway in a frantic tone, making us all turn to see where it came from.

  A pretty woman flew into the great room, tall and svelte in a wraparound dress in dark green, her dark curly hair flying behind her as she ran toward Kirkland, skidding to a halt. She dropped down beside his chair and grabbed his face in her hands, nudging me completely out of the way.

  Brushing Kirkland’s hair out of his face, she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears that began to fall down her cheeks. “Kirkland, what happened? Is what the police said true? Is Wade…?”

  “Why, Loretta? Why did this happen?” Kirkland breathed, crumpling in a ball against his sister with heart-wrenching sobs.

  Loretta wrapped her arms around him, her pretty face filled with worry as she ran her French-tipped fingernails over his back. “Shhh. It’s okay, Kirkland. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

  I decided maybe now wasn’t the moment to ask a bunch of nosy, probing questions. Kirkland needed some time with the people who loved him most.

  Nodding to Win, I hitched my jaw toward the front door and whispered, “We can always come back.”

  Win pulled me away from Loretta and Kirkland. In a hushed tone, he asked, “Stephania? This isn’t like you. You do know now is the time to strike, yes? While the iron is hot?”

  I did. I just couldn’t seem to summon up the chutzpa to do anything about it. “I do. Of course, I do. But we’re not going to get anywhere like this, Win. He’s a mess. He can’t answer much more than he already has. So let’s do us all a favor and let him grieve for a moment before we jump down his throat.”