Dead Witch on a Bridge

by Gretchen Galway

  But when I closed my eyes, I imagined Nick’s panicked face. I could almost hear him screaming.

  It was useless. Helen was right—I couldn’t rest with so many questions. My ignorance was an itch I had to scratch. I sat up, turned on the light, and let myself think.

  Somebody or something had driven him off the road. What if it hadn’t been the tall fairy or the other aggressive fae I’d seen in the forest? And why kill Nick?

  Anyone walking by could have seen him talking to me at the taqueria. And those close enough could have heard us talking about a key and a cabinet.

  Although my mind was restless, my body was weak and unsteady, so I indulged in a drop of wellspring water in a can of coffee. Just a drop. A dangerous habit to develop, but it was an emergency.

  Refreshed, I told Random I’d be back as soon as I could and drove to Tristan’s house. Since I’d been able to search the cabinet even without Nick’s help, I’d forgotten about it. But nobody knew I’d searched it but me. They, whoever they were, might assume I needed Nick’s key.

  As I drove up the driveway, I braked for Donna, who was walking from the direction of the tasting room, carrying two wine bottles. She signaled for me to stop and came over to my window.

  “It’s one thing to go through his things,” she told me, shooting a sour glance at the house, “but something else to bark orders at me. I don’t work for them.”

  “Who’s barking orders at you?”

  “Some girl. She waved some papers at me and said she had permission to go inside.”

  I looked up the driveway and glimpsed the rear bumper of a familiar BMW. “You said ‘them.’ Who’s with her?”

  “They just drove away. Movers, they said, but I’d never hire them.” She made a face. “They broke the cabinet into pieces. I’m glad it’s gone, but they dragged it through the house without even picking it up right. Scratched the floors like you wouldn’t believe. Terrible. Really, unbelievable. Tristan must be rolling in his grave.”

  So the cabinet was gone, with Phoebe directing the show. I gestured at the bottles in her hands. “Who asked for the wine?”

  “That girl. She’s probably not even old enough to drink.” Donna straightened. “Not my business. I’m out of here at the end of the week.”

  “For what it’s worth, she and Tristan worked for the same people. She’s probably following orders.”

  “‘People,’” Donna said, raising an eyebrow. “I know what you mean. At least they got that thing out of here. Are they the new owners then? That girl and… you know, the same ‘people’ Tristan worked for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Shaking her head, she resumed walking toward the house. I thought about following her and asking Phoebe about the cabinet or Nick but thought better of it. I’d only end up having to answer questions of my own.

  The Protectorate had the cabinet with all its nasty hexes and Shadows. The men with Phoebe had to have been witches with enough power to overcome the spells Tristan had left behind. One of them had probably been the Emerald witch who had put me under the secrecy spell years ago. Phoebe didn’t have the power on her own.

  Would any of them kill Nick to stop me from seeing what was inside? From learning Tristan wasn’t as law-abiding as his reputation?

  Or did Nick mean nothing to them, and they continued to search for the torc?

  I returned home and fell into bed, finally overcome by exhaustion and allergy medicine. Nick and Tristan haunted my dreams.

  For the second time in a week, Livia woke me up in the morning by appearing in person on my doorstep.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. The shrubs hadn’t gotten any smaller since her last visit, and she kicked away the rosemary branches that sprawled over the welcome mat.

  I’d slept on the sofa again so I could watch the door. “Tell you what?” I asked wearily.

  “Is that why you were so friendly with her? I’d always wondered why you buttered her up when nobody else did. You must’ve known.”

  I was tempted to slam the door in her face, but I was too curious. “You’d better come in.”

  I walked to the kitchen without waiting to see if she’d follow. After opening the back door for Random, I decided to use my actual coffee maker and the good beans Jasper had given me recently. Some mornings a refrigerated can just wouldn’t cut it.

  “I thought you’d left town.” I flipped on the grinder just as she opened her mouth.

  “She—” When the machine whine ceased, she snapped, “She called me.”

  “Who?”

  “Birdie! She accused me of stealing her car and— It’s insane!”

  “I told her the same thing.”

  “Why would— You did?”

  “You wouldn’t have used a car that could be traced back to you so easily.”

  Livia turned a dark shade of red and said, very tightly, “I wouldn’t have used any car.”

  I measured the coffee grounds and tapped them into the filter. “But if you did. Just saying.”

  “You think this is funny? She humiliated both of us,” Livia said. “Of course she won’t even come to the door.”

  “It’s not her fault they arrested her at the memorial,” I said. “Thank God she has an alibi.”

  “How can you—” She let out a frustrated sound and sat at the table. “All right. He slept around. I know that. Everyone knows that. But to leave her the winery? I’ve been—I was—a true friend to him. I really cared.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she scowled and wiped them away.

  I had been slow to realize what she’d been trying to tell me. “Birdie? And Tristan?”

  She nodded, still scowling.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “He left her the winery.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I fell back a step. “No. He couldn’t. She didn’t even know him. Who told you that?”

  “She did,” Livia said. “When she was accusing me of stealing her car and running him over. She called me late last night and asked me outright why I’d done it. She wanted to know how I’d found out about the will, that he’d left her the estate. She figured that was why I’d flown into a rage and—” She made the noise again, halfway between a scream and a growl.

  “What did you say?”

  “What do you think? I told her she was nuts. On both counts.”

  I sat across from her at the table. “And?”

  “She said never mind and hung up.” Livia snorted, eyes wild. “Never mind!”

  “She realized you hadn’t known about the will.”

  “Of course not! He wouldn’t have told me he’d left the winery to his latest… toy… and not to his dear friend and experienced winemaker who—” She slammed her hand on the table, rattling the vase of dried lavender. “But you hadn’t known either, so there you go. He hid it from both of us. He humiliated both of us.”

  “I can’t believe there was anything romantic between them.” Not only did I believe it, I knew it. I’d never seen them together, but I realized there was a connection, something I should’ve noticed earlier…

  Livia gave me a contemptuous eye-roll. “The man was obviously not particular.”

  I cleared my throat. “Ahem.”

  She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together and playing with her rings. “On top of everything else, I just found out he slept with my best friend.” It wasn’t quite an apology, but close enough.

  “Carolyn,” I said.

  “No. Meredith.” She stared at me a moment and then swore. “Seriously?”

  I sent a silent apology to Carolyn for spilling her secret. “No, I was just guessing. She’s the only friend of yours I know.”

  “Nice try.” She got to her feet, her mouth turned down and quivering the way it did right before throwing up. “I should’ve guessed. I can’t believe I—” She made the noise a third time and flung open the back door. Random ran in; she stepped out.

  I got up to fol
low. “Look, I’m sorry—”

  “Save your breath. This is embarrassing enough without you feeling sorry for me. You should thank me for exposing Birdie’s lies.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She marched to the side yard and out of my sight, and a moment later I heard her SUV peel out of the driveway, sputtering gravel.

  Letting Random follow me, I walked over to talk to Birdie. Why hadn’t Tristan told me? Our relationship was brief, and he never hid his many relationships. Perhaps there was something awkward he wanted to keep to himself. He’d left her his fortune. Something unique about Birdie—

  Of course.

  As I rang the bell, I cast a spell at the threshold to make Birdie forget why she didn’t want to answer the door. It took a few minutes for the magic to trickle through the cracks and reach her where she waited inside, probably peering through the curtains.

  Her face was a little dazed when she appeared in the open doorway. “Alma?”

  I gave her a huge smile. “Thanks for inviting me over. I was thinking about you.”

  “I invited you over,” she said.

  Not wasting a second, I followed Random inside before she shook it off. “Livia just came to see me. She told me about Tristan’s will.”

  Birdie ran a hand over her face. “Everything is so screwed up.”

  “She thinks you were sleeping with Tristan. She’s upset, but I don’t—”

  “Oh my God. No.” Birdie stuck out her tongue. “Why would— Oh. I guess that makes sense. Yuck.”

  “You can’t hide this for much longer.”

  “What’s crazy is I didn’t know about it until the police accused me of killing him for his money. I was like, what money? And they told me Elizabeth Mary Crow was named as the beneficiary of the house and buildings and everything, and I was like, no way, but they’d seen a copy of the will.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “I barely knew the guy. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.”

  My feelings about Tristan were getting more and more complicated. He’d hidden a big secret from me. I wondered if he ever would’ve told me himself, if I’d known him at all.

  I took off my shoes and set them by the door. “When did he find out he was your father?”

  Her eyes widened. “You know?”

  “I only guessed a few minutes ago. Now that I look at you, I can see the resemblance. You smile the same way he did.” I felt a wave of grief. “It’s a great smile. Very— Very charming.”

  She smiled weakly. “My mother had me send a letter to him after she died. That was two and a half years ago.”

  I rubbed my temples. He could’ve told me.

  “To be fair to him,” she continued, “I never introduced myself. I figured if he was really curious about me, he’d track me down.”

  “You didn’t use a fake name,” I said.

  “But I didn’t make an announcement or anything. I got the job at Cypress, but everyone calls me Birdie. My name tag says Birdie. My coworkers probably don’t even know my last name, which is my mother’s anyway.” She sat on the floor of her kitchen and put her arms around Random. “I’m so sorry, Alma. I was so worried you were going to hate me for not telling you. It just got so awkward, and the longer I waited, the more impossible it was. Besides, until recently I wasn’t totally sure. My mom wasn’t always honest.”

  As Birdie got more upset, Random became frantic, licking her cheeks and jumping into and out of her lap.

  “How about I make us coffee?” I began opening cabinets.

  “I don’t have any. I can’t handle caffeine. I’m already high-strung, lately even more. I start shaking.” She held up an unsteady hand. “I can’t sleep. I never got to know him, and I lived just down the street for so long. I saw him come into the store and never had the guts to introduce myself. I was afraid he’d take one look at me and be like, yeah so? And after I’d lost my mother and I don’t have anyone else, that would’ve been too much. Except now I wish I had, because he’s gone and I’m alone.”

  She began to cry, and Random’s tongue went berserk. I hoped she hadn’t put on much makeup that morning because so many chemicals couldn’t be good for a dog’s stomach.

  “You’re not alone,” I said. “Can’t you see the dog having seizures in your lap?”

  Smiling through her tears, Birdie nuzzled Random’s neck. “Good dog.”

  I found two glasses, filled them with tap water, and offered her one. The trace of wellspring water might make it easier for me to read her. “So you don’t get dehydrated,” I said.

  She accepted the glass, smiling under the dog tongue onslaught. After taking one sip, she offered it to Random. “Thirsty, puppers?”

  He licked the glass and, seeing she was calming down, began to settle as well. With a loud sigh, he flopped on the floor and went to sleep with his chin propped on Birdie’s bare foot.

  They looked sweet together, but I wasn’t feeling it. Ever since Livia had told me about Tristan’s will, my mind had been churning with the implications of Birdie being a Protector’s biological daughter.

  Was Birdie a witch? Did she inherit power as well as property? Did she know anything about magic, what Tristan had been?

  I walked into her living room and made myself comfortable on her couch. “Let’s talk,” I said, patting the cushion next to me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Every move Birdie made now seemed suspicious as I considered the possibility that all this time she’d been using spells to confuse me, and only now was I awake enough to see the illusion. If she’d hidden her story so well earlier, why not now?

  What secrets and lies had she hidden in the goofy blathering? If she was a witch, she could’ve met Tristan, given him a heart attack, driven over his body, and then visited the neighbor—manipulating that neighbor’s memory of time to give her an alibi.

  It all hinged on how powerful Birdie might be—or how evil.

  Random jumped up on the cushions between us as we sipped our tap water.

  “I don’t really know anything other than what my mom told me at the end,” Birdie said, stroking Random’s fur. He arched back into her lap, paws quivering in the air. Friends for life. “A long time ago, she said she had a fling with a weird blond guy and I was the result. When she got sick, she worried about how young I was to be alone in the world and so finally told me his name. I’d been bugging her all my life, but she finally caved. Although at the time I was suspicious that she’d made something up just to change the subject.”

  “She said he was weird? Anything else?”

  Birdie glanced at me and then quickly looked down again before shaking her head.

  So. She knew something.

  “What kind of weird?” I asked.

  With her head lowered, her hair shielded her face, hiding her eyes.

  If she wouldn’t tell me, I’d find out indirectly. “Did you quit your job because you knew you were inheriting the—”

  “No!” She pushed the hair out of her face. “I just couldn’t bear to lie about who I was anymore. I realized it was true; he really was my dad. The day before he died, that envelope appeared at the store with the pictures of him and my mom together.”

  “Anonymously?”

  She shrugged. “I knew it was him. He’s the only one who would’ve had the pictures, and then later he… he sent a letter. I think it was his way of telling me he knew who I was and would wait for me to make the next move.”

  I wondered if that’s exactly what she’d done. But… Birdie? Could she really be hiding so much power? If she was Tristan’s daughter, she could’ve inherited quite a bit.

  But I was skeptical she could hide her real personality, which seemed so genuine. Why pretend to be so awkward and silly for so long—over the years, with everyone—if you weren’t? There were easier ways to deflect suspicion from yourself.

  Like pretending to be in love…

  “Livia was furious about your getting the winery,” I said. “She
was mad at me too until she saw I wasn’t in on the secret.”

  Birdie grimaced. “I feel bad about losing my temper with her. I’m tempted to give her the house so we can be friends again.”

  Once again I studied her with all my powers, trying to tell if she was putting on an act.

  But I felt nothing false. Not the tiniest hint of a deflection spell. I couldn’t see any jewelry or herbs on her body, no tattoos. I couldn’t smell anything burning, or the acrid odor of a nasty but protective floor wash—nothing suspicious in the least.

  “I’m not sure her friendship would be worth the price,” I said.

  She smiled. “I know, I know. She’s totally a mean girl, but she was usually nice to me in her own way.” She ruffled Random’s neck fur. “But you’re right, she probably won’t forgive me. That’s why I quit. I’m going to move to Windsor, or maybe Sonoma. Somewhere pretty, and start over.”

  “What about the winery? You don’t want to move in and take over?”

  She made a face. “Me? I don’t know anything about wine.”

  “You could learn.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me? I lied to you.”

  I wasn’t really being nice. Part of me was testing her, trying to figure out her motives. “I know what it’s like to have a complicated relationship with your parents.”

  She laughed a little. “You got that right. I used to fight with my mom a lot—I mean, all the time—and then she was gone and all I had to turn to was this rich weirdo who didn’t know I existed.”

  “There’s that word again,” I said. “Weird how?”

  “You know.”

  I paused. “I do. But do you?”

  Dislodging Random, she got to her feet and walked over to the TV, an old thing that wasn’t much bigger than a computer monitor. “You mentioned your parents,” she said.

  “Yes?”