Witch Hunt

by Cate Conte

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “We’re going to get coffee.”

  “At that fancy place? I won’t go in, but I’ll walk with ya.”

  Charlie and his friends hung out at the old diner in town. He refused to drink anything he deemed “fancy.”

  He fell into step beside us. “So that’s somethin’, eh? That news last night about Ms. Fernandez?” His whole face puckered when he said her name, like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

  “It is something,” I said. “Who do you think would’ve done that?”

  Fiona perked up and leaned in, listening intently for his answer.

  He leaned on his cane, appearing to think hard. “Why, I don’t know, Miss Violet. Seems to me there are a plethora of people,” he said with a little laugh. “I mean, how do you narrow it down? Coulda been anyone. Her husband—soon to be ex, I heard—or that business partner of hers, maybe. I always wondered how he stood her.”

  “Charlie!” I exclaimed, horrified. “You shouldn’t say that.” At the same time, I wondered how I’d forgotten that Carla’s business partner was Natalie’s husband, Andrew. They’d been working together for a couple of years now at the realty office.

  Andrew was a good guy. I pushed away the question of how he’d stood Carla all this time. This must be crazy for him. I wondered what would happen to the business, and if this would have repercussions for Natalie. It had seemed like such an isolated incident, but now I saw just how many people it touched, whether they were Carla fans or not. As for Carla’s husband, I didn’t know him.

  Charlie’s eyes were twinkling at my reaction, which was kind of disturbing. “I’m just makin’ a point, Miss Violet,” he said. “Carla’s husband’s actually a decent guy. He’s outta the country anyway. But heck. Someone seemed to have done it, right?”

  “Someone bold, for sure,” I said. “It happened in such a public place.” Which also gave me the creeps. Someone who could murder another person almost in the middle of the street, well, that said something. Even if it was pretty dark out.

  He shrugged. “She was always making mischief in a public place, weren’t she? I mean, didn’t she hammer you just yesterday in Pete’s place?”

  I felt my face redden and glanced at the ground. My mother cleared her throat next to me.

  “Nobody hammered me, Charlie,” I muttered.

  “Huh.” He snorted. “That’s not what I heard.”

  “What did you hear?” I asked.

  “That she came atcha like that wrecking ball took down the old warehouse over there.” He made a vague gesture down the street. I remembered the warehouse he was talking about. It had been just around the corner, and it was an ugly old building. The town had finally sold the property on which it stood, and the new owner wasted no time in demolishing it and building a new building that had some high-end apartments and a Peruvian restaurant on the ground floor. This had all happened soon after I’d moved to North Harbor. “And that she called you a voodoo lady or something,” he continued.

  I felt Fiona stiffen next to me at the description, but ignored it. I tried to brush it off. “She was just being unreasonable,” I said to Charlie. “She must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed or something.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Charlie said noncommittally, still watching me with those keen, watery eyes. Likely waiting for some gossip. “You mean to tell me you’re all broken up about her?”

  “Charlie. Someone’s died,” I said. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel something.”

  His look of disdain told me all I needed to know.

  “But she’s got to have family who loved her,” I tried again. “Everyone has someone who loves them. At least feels bad for them.”

  Charlie grunted. Blissfully, we were just about at the crosswalk.

  “We’ve got to run. Nice seeing you, Charlie,” I said. Without waiting for an answer, I took my mother’s arm and tugged her along, wishing for the light to change, before I realized I hadn’t asked about Sydney.

  Fiona must’ve read my mind—which, knowing what I knew, was not just a phrase anymore. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her lift a finger, ever so slightly, and flick it at the light as if she were flicking a mosquito away. And the light changed immediately from green to red, not stopping at orange, causing a car coming down the street to slam on its brakes. Fiona smiled at the driver as she glided across the street.

  “Coming, darling?” she called back at me.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Did you do that?” I hissed, mortified, as I hurried across the street after her.

  “Do what?” she asked innocently.

  “That!” I waved at the light. “The traffic light business.”

  Fiona winked.

  “You can’t do that! If you’re going to hang around here you have to behave,” I said, aware that I sounded like an awkward parent who hadn’t yet mastered how to deal with her own child.

  Fiona stopped right in the street, threw back her head, and laughed. I noticed again that the sound wasn’t unpleasant, and that it did tickle the edges of my memory, stronger this time.

  “Not funny,” I said, pulling her all the way onto the sidewalk.

  “Of course it is,” she said, strolling along like she had all day and the whole street to herself. “My daughter telling me to behave is quite funny, actually. You’re lucky I’ve mellowed over the years. A remark like that could’ve turned you into a toad or something years ago.” She winked at me.

  I suspected she wasn’t joking.

  It felt kind of surreal, walking down the street with her. How many times had I imagined a moment like this. Going for coffee with my mother. A moment where my mother was a part of my life. Of course, in my moments we were best buds and partners in crime and told each other everything. I’d romanticized my own mother even though I knew next to nothing about her.

  And now here she was, and I had no idea how to feel or what to think. But she certainly wasn’t what I expected. Witch hadn’t been on the list of things I’d hoped for in a mother.

  I pushed open the door to the Bean and stepped in, holding my breath a little, not sure of who knew what and how they would react. But no one seemed to notice me, or if they did, they didn’t stare or point or anything, much to my relief. My mother followed me inside, looking around curiously. I stopped to breathe in the familiar smells and the warmth. Pete saw me immediately and raised his hand in a wave, which set me a little bit at ease.

  I waved back and got in line, pretending to study the menu even though I knew it by heart, hoping not to make eye contact with anyone else.

  “I’ll get us a table,” Fiona said.

  “There aren’t any,” I said, and it was true. Every table was occupied. “The place is full. I shouldn’t stay long anyway.”

  Fiona raised amused eyebrows. I noticed how perfectly shaped they were and wondered if witches had to use makeup, or if they could just blink and get their face set perfectly and their skin as smooth as they wanted it. That might not be a bad power to have, come to think of it. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find us something. Will you get me a tea?”

  I really didn’t want to sit here. I felt exposed, waiting for someone to come at me with the scarlet M for Murderer —or worse, handcuffs. On the other hand, I didn’t want to look like I was running away or hiding. On the third hand, I didn’t want my mother teleporting anyone else into another dimension. I wrestled with the decision for a lot longer than it called for, then just gave in. “What kind of tea?” I asked.

  “Surprise me,” she said. “I’d love to try something new.” She turned and swept to a table in the back corner. I joined the line that snaked around the front of the café, keeping one eye on her. I lost sight of her for a moment, behind the people coming and going, but when my field of vision cleared, I saw her sitting at an empty, clean table.

  I didn’t even want to know.

  “Hey, Vi.”

  A tap on the shoulder had me turning. My eyes almost popped out
of my head at Syd balancing two coffees and a bag of pastries a bit precariously. Wherever she’d come from, she’d been up and at ’em early, which is unusual for Syd on a good day, and downright unheard of when Presley was sick.

  “Hey,” I said, letting my breath out in a whoosh and grabbing her in a hug, nearly knocking the coffees out of her hand. I was relieved to see her. Part of me had been worried my mother had banished her to some witchy dungeon somewhere just to free up her apartment. I wish she had moved out cranky Mrs. Owens down the hall instead of picking my friend. “How are you? How’s Presley?”

  “Jeez. Easy,” she said with a laugh. “It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in years. She’s fine. Look, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry I was kind of out of it last night,” she said. She glanced around, a bit surreptitiously, I thought. “How are you doing? Have you heard anything else?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just so happy to see you.” I resisted giving her another squeeze. “So where are you? How did this happen? And when? I mean, we were at your apartment last night.” I waited expectantly for an explanation.

  She cocked her head, giving me a long, searching look. “I’m right here. How did what happen? And we were at your apartment last night.”

  “You moving out of our building,” I said, exasperated. What else would I be talking about? It was kind of the elephant in the room.

  Sydney frowned. “Vi. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said impatiently. “But I want to know how you moved out in the middle of the night.”

  A worried look passed over her face. “Vi. I know it was awesome being across the hall but we aren’t far away. And we love our new place. It’s a lot bigger. I needed the space for Presley. Plus the noise factor is way better, not being here in the middle of the busiest area in town. We talked about this when we moved out.” She looked concerned. “Don’t you remember?”

  I watched her closely for the slipping gaze, but she was looking straight at me. “When did you move out, Sydney?” I asked.

  She leaned in closer, conspiratorially. “I have a great doctor that I’ve been seeing for anxiety, if you need his name.”

  I recoiled a little at the suggestion. The last thing I needed was to be medicated on top of everything else. “I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.” I did not want to turn this into a conversation about my mental health, especially when I was worried about it myself. “You still didn’t answer me. When did you move again?”

  There was a suspiciously blank look in her eyes. “Recently,” she decided vaguely. “Anyway, it’s all good. You still need to come over and see the place. I’ll call you later. I have to open the shop. Please let me know what else I can do to help you with . . . you know.” She blew me a kiss and hurried away, leaving me staring after her.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Hey, Violet. Whatcha havin’?” Ben, the college kid who worked for Pete, waited for me to place my order. I realized I had reached the front of the line during my odd encounter with Sydney, and everyone was waiting for me.

  I blinked and refocused, pushing Sydney out of my head. “I’ll have a vanilla latte with soy. And a tea. Do you have some kind of funky tea?”

  Ben looked at me, puzzled. “Funky? We have chamomile, green, black, and raspberry. Pete, you got more tea?” he called over his shoulder. “Somethin’ funky?” He lifted his shoulders, communicating to Pete that he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.

  Pete raised his eyebrows at me over his latte machine, a silent question: Are you okay? “I have a passion fruit tea that people love,” he said.

  “I’ll try that.” I avoided the real question, because I wasn’t sure how to answer it.

  “You got it,” Ben said, snapping his fingers and grabbing two cups. “Cream and sugar for the tea?”

  I looked at him blankly. “Um . . . I don’t know.” Should I know? Was there some kind of mother-daughter telepathy that should tell me if my mother liked cream and sugar in her tea? If there was, I hadn’t been able to tap into it yet.

  Ben stared at me, waiting for my answer, a small frown furrowing his eyebrows together. Behind me, I could hear people shuffling restlessly.

  “No. Nothing for the tea.” I paid and moved to the other end of the counter to wait for my drinks, near where Pete managed the espresso machine, creating coffees with a deftness and grace that I envied. I focused on the steaming machine and tried to breathe.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “I heard about Carla and . . . everything. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, pasting on a fake smile. “Thanks for telling Todd, by the way. We’d been out of touch most of the day yesterday.”

  Pete shrugged. “Not a big deal. I was just wondering why he wasn’t with you, so I asked if he knew what was going on.”

  “Yeah. Well, thanks. Hey, by the way, did you see me drop my scarf in here yesterday?”

  He frowned. “Your scarf?”

  “Yeah. I had a fluffy pink scarf on that I lost somewhere yesterday morning.” At least word hadn’t gotten out about that piece of the crime scene yet. Pete certainly didn’t seem to put the two thoughts together. Although he was looking at me strangely, as if wondering why I was worried about a scarf when I clearly had bigger problems. I felt tears choke the back of my throat. I couldn’t take it if the people I’d come to love thought I was an awful person.

  I had to prove them wrong.

  “Well?” I pressed. “Did you see it?”

  Looking chagrined, he shook his head. “I didn’t, Vi. I’m sorry. It was so busy in here I never got out from behind the counter.”

  “It’s okay. Figured I’d ask.” Maybe it had fallen off in the street somewhere. But I felt like I would’ve noticed that. It hardly mattered, though. Wherever I’d dropped it, someone had scooped it up. Who? The killer? Or had a random and well-meaning person done so and put it somewhere hoping I’d come back for it, and the killer grabbed it later? I shivered. It was so creepy to think I’d been in the midst of a killer while I was doing my usual morning routine. Picking up my morning coffee. Walking down a street I’d walked a million times—half a block from where I lived. Maybe walking past that person at some point during my day.

  I hated the thought of it.

  Pete placed two cups on the counter and called for Jamie to come pick them up. “So who’s your friend?” he asked casually, nodding toward the corner where Fiona sat watching the people around her as if they were the most fascinating specimens she’d ever seen.

  I’d been expecting the question—Pete didn’t miss a trick and would surely have seen who I came in with—but I still cringed when it came. It was no use lying about it. If Fiona had really moved to town, which I was still trying to wrap my mind around, the truth would come out soon enough.

  “That,” I said, examining my fingernails—my purple polish was chipped in a few places—“is allegedly my mother.” I risked a glance at Pete to see his reaction and immediately a weird sound filled my ears. Like static, kind of like that weird sound I’d heard on and off yesterday, but louder. I shook my head to clear it, but it only seemed to get louder. I tried to focus on Pete through the noise.

  His eyes widened. “Your mother? Seriously . . . ?”

  “I know. Long story.” I rubbed my forehead, closing my eyes for a second.

  “Wow. That’s big. Were you expecting her?”

  I smiled, a little. “Not for about twenty-seven years.”

  He frowned as he placed my latte and my mother’s tea on the counter in front of me, but didn’t ask. He flipped another cup off the stack and poured some milk into it for the next drink on his list. “If you ever need to talk,” he said. “I’m a good listener.”

  “I know you are. Thanks, Pete.”

  “Call if you need anything,” Pete said. “I’m serious, Vi.”

  I nodded my assent and picked up my drinks. Before I made my way back to Fiona, I looked back at him. “Hey. H
ave you seen Todd yet today?”

  He shook his head.

  I wondered when he’d turn up. As I went to join Fiona, I couldn’t help but notice the trail of glitter on the floor that led to her table. I thought of that old fairy tale, “Hansel and Gretel,” that my dad used to read me—the children following the trail of breadcrumbs to the evil witch and ultimately, to their death.

  Now that was a cheery thought.

  CHAPTER 28

  Fiona looked like she was enjoying herself when I sat down and placed her cup in front of her. “These people are precious,” she said with a little smile. “That one over there?” She pointed at a woman somewhere behind me. “She just told her friend that she thinks her boyfriend is cheating on her and how she hopes she can get his attention again.”

  “Why is that precious?” I asked, incredulous. I turned to look for the girl, craning my neck to see who my mother was talking about. Instead I saw Anna Montgomery, the art-store proprietor, sitting by herself two tables away, scrolling through something on her iPad. I thought of Syd and the paint party last night. Natalie’s husband, Andrew Mann, sat at the table next to her. He was with a man I didn’t recognize who wore a rumpled suit. Their heads were bent together looking at some papers. I caught a glimpse of a spreadsheet.

  Charlie’s words rang through my mind. What had Andrew and Carla’s relationship been? I didn’t know Andrew well, but Natalie adored him, and he’d seemed nice the few times I’d met him. I wondered if they were equal partners, or if Carla was the majority stakeholder. My gut told me Carla would always want to hold the balance of power. Had he been tired of living in her shadow? Or was the idea that he killed her as preposterous as the idea that I killed her? It struck me that this was a bit like a witch hunt.

  Fiona chuckled, and I shifted my focus back to her to see what was funny before continuing to look for her poor victim. “Why? Darling. If a man cheats on you, the only way to handle that is to take drastic measures.” She leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Of course it’s easier for us to handle something like that than these Lulus, but still. There are ways.”