“You have a nice night, Ms. Marigold.”
I was seriously waiting for him to welcome you into the darkness.
“Wouldn’t you be able to read his thoughts if he were a werewolf?” I asked quietly after Harry was out of earshot. I’d turned to watch him take his leave, suddenly realizing that there wasn’t another car in the driveway. “Where is he going?”
We’ve been over this, Raven. Jeez. You were right when you said you were behind on your reading. Anyway, I only hear the thoughts of witches and warlocks. Werewolves and vampires? No. Although, before that necromancy spell, I could smell a werewolf from a mile off. Now? Not so much. My sniffer isn’t what it used to be. Hey, how about that? It looks as if Cousin Itt is neighbors with Mr. Whitley.
“I’m in the wrong business, then.” Who knew librarians were paid so much that they could afford waterfront properties on parcels of land that had to be worth at least a half million dollars? “Do you think Harry really lives in that house?”
Maybe he is a werewolf, ate the owners, and moved into a new lair. Or do wolves have dens? So hard to keep track of these things nowadays.
Harry was still walking up the driveway of a house located directly across the street from Mr. Whitley. I couldn’t contain my gasp of surprise when the front door opened and out ran two small girls, both with long hair that matched the same color as Harry’s mane. They came running outside, their squeals of delight echoing throughout the starry night.
I’ve seen it all, Raven—two mini Cousin Itts. Who would have thought it?
I sure hadn’t pictured Harry having a family, but the touching scene in front of us had the warmth of my palm shifting to my heart.
You’re such a sap, Raven.
“It’s sweet,” I reprimanded Leo, not wanting him to distract from such a tender moment. “Maybe Harry is just good at pinching pennies. Or the house may be his inheritance.”
Or he killed the family that lives there and their bodies are buried down in the basement.
“You’re so morbid,” I whispered in incredulity, watching the front door close behind Harry and his two daughters. “Come on. Let’s go inform Mr. Whitley that his great-great-great-great grandmother’s remains have been returned to their resting place. Maybe he has a clue about which branch of the family might have stolen the ring…only to then have lost it.”
Or we could discover Harry killed the old geezer in werewolf style. You never know how this will play out, Raven. It might just surprise you.
Chapter Fifteen
I think I might have preferred to find the old geezer dead.
I couldn’t fault Leo for having such a low opinion when Mr. Whitley had answered his front door with a frown and an accompanying accusation.
“Did you have to bring Liam Drake into the equation, Ms. Marigold? Is he helping you cover up the crime of stealing my great-great-great-great grandmother’s sapphire ring and her remains? He is, isn’t he? You realize that when word gets out that immortality can be acquired through that precious piece of jewelry, people will come crawling out of the woodwork like the cockroaches they are!”
And here you thought I was morbid and had a flair for the dramatic. This goes to prove it can always get worse.
“Mr. Whitley, for the tenth time…I was not the one who robbed your family’s crypt.” We’d been standing in the beautiful kitchen overlooking the moonlit waves of water, not in the least bit relaxed from the calming sight before us. This visit probably hadn’t been one of my better ideas, especially now that Mr. Whitley was all riled up. There was no way that he was the one responsible for the desecration. “Liam is informing Mr. Meyers as we speak that the remains of Caroline Abigail have been returned to her final resting place. I just thought you should hear it from me that there will no doubt be a criminal report filed on the sapphire ring after Mr. Meyers finds that it wasn’t returned with the skeletal remains.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that woman knows I’m sitting on the kitchen table.
I spared a glance toward Ms. Stella, who was tidying up the kitchen after Mr. Whitley had enjoyed a late meal. Sure enough, she was looking our way, though I don’t think she knew about Leo being in attendance. She actually seemed to be staring at me with…frustration? Anger? I wasn’t sure, but I did know that I’d overstayed my welcome.
“This is all your fault,” Mr. Whitley accused me with a knotted finger, clutching the old leather-bound book he’d shown me this morning to his chest.
For a brief moment, I thought he was going to keel over. He’d gotten himself worked up to the point that a few veins had popped out on his forehead and caused me to wonder if he was going to have a heart attack or a stroke.
That would certainly be your luck, wouldn’t it?
“Arthur, sit down before you wind yourself up into a tizzy,” Ms. Stella scolded him from across the kitchen. It was the first time I’d ever seen her take the initiative. Then again, I’d only just met her today. “I’ll make the two of you some tea while you sit down and hash this out.”
She must have been a teacher in her former years. No wonder her facial features froze in such a position. I completely understand now. It’s the same way I feel when I’m trying to teach you a spell for two and a half hours without any forward momentum.
Mr. Whitley sank down in a chair with a huff at the beautifully ornate table that could easily sit ten people, all but slamming the leather-bound book down on the hard surface. Within arm’s reach was a folder that I had no doubt contained the copy of Caroline Abigail’s diary that Harry had dropped off this evening.
The discreet cough coming from across the room told me I was expected to take a seat at the table, as directed.
I wouldn’t say no, Raven. That woman has the pointed lip down to a science. I wonder if that’s what she taught in school.
Truthfully, I was pretty sure I’d overstayed my welcome.
“As I mentioned earlier, I only came to share with you that the remains of your great-great-great-great grandmother were returned to her final resting place. I’m sure that gives you some sense of closure. I would like to reiterate one more time that I had nothing to do with the desecration of your family crypt, Mr. Whitley. I do appreciate you taking time out to hear what I had to say, so I’ll just be on my—”
“Sit.”
I’d been speaking directly to Mr. Whitley, so I hadn’t been paying one ounce of attention to Ms. Stella. Her sharp directive had been said inches from ear, and I found myself plopped in a chair on the opposite end of the table from Mr. Whitley before I could even blink.
Yep. She was definitely a teacher, and she has completely earned my respect. I should take some pointers.
“I’ll bring out some cookies while the water is boiling,” Ms. Stella shared with a sharp nod before silently walking across the immaculate tile of the kitchen.
“You’re the only one who knew about the sapphire ring,” Mr. Whitley said accusingly, tapping his fingers on the leather-bound book in irritation.
“You assume that, but I did not know about the sapphire ring or its potential to offer eternal youth. Let me ask you a question, Mr. Whitley. Why would I have come here this morning to tell you about the desecration of the crypt if I was the one responsible?”
Mr. Whitley arched a bushy eyebrow as he carefully mulled over my inquiry, moving his hand out of the way when Ms. Stella returned with a small plate of gingerbread cookies. She made her way to my side of the table, setting down a small portion of cookies for me, as well.
“Eat.”
My hand automatically reached for one of the cookies, pleasantly surprised to find that they were still warm. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said it was magic.
No magic. If she’d been a witch, she would definitely have fixed that expression of hers by now. It must be terrible to go through life having people assume you hate them. Unless she does hate you. In that case, I don’t know what to tell you. Hey, what’s that?
M
s. Stella began to walk back toward the stove where she was heating up the tea kettle, but I hadn’t noticed anything strange. I then glanced toward the opposite end of the table, but Mr. Whitley continued to glare at me as if I were the cause of all his troubles.
The plate, Raven. Look at the plate, but don’t be too obvious. That Ms. Stella is something else, isn’t she? She’s earned my respect, so therefore I will call her Ms. Stella.
“You could have come to my home in order to distract me from your goal—retrieving the book that holds the spell to eternal youth,” Mr. Whitley exclaimed after having already eaten one of his cookies. “I don’t believe for a moment that Clifford would have the audacity to cross me, and Elsie is too old to have moved the lid off of that stone coffin. My children are scattered around the United States, and they aren’t scheduled to visit me until the holidays. So, young lady, that leaves you as the only suspect.”
There was no helping me when the cookie I’d taken a bite of got lodged in my throat at the sight of a handwritten note on the cocktail napkin that had been carefully placed underneath the delicious treats.
Now probably isn’t the time to point this out, but I don’t know the Heimlich Maneuver.
Mr. Whitley glared at me over the table as if I were an imposition, but I was finally able to clear my throat by coughing uncontrollably. On the bright side, Ms. Stella once again appeared out of nowhere with a glass of water.
Isn’t she nice? I was really wrong about her from the onset, wasn’t I?
“The tea will be ready shortly,” Ms. Stella reported to us before wiping her hand on her apron and turning to finish her nightly duties.
It took another minute for me to control my cough, but it was enough time for me to figure out what to do about the secret note and how to address Mr. Whitley’s suspicions. I’d also sucked down at least half the water in the glass before setting it back down on the table, ensuring that it was in front of the small plate so that Mr. Whitley didn’t inadvertently find such evidence of guilt.
Who knew that Ms. Stella could be so cunning? If she wasn’t so old, Heidi might have had some competition.
You see, Ms. Stella had all but written her confession on a cocktail napkin. All was not what it seemed, though.
Is it ever? And I’d like to point out that we’ve never gotten a written confession out of anyone before. It’s very satisfying, isn’t it?
Before I could begin my explanation of how the culprit couldn’t have been me, the doorbell rang. Mr. Whitley frowned before glancing over to Ms. Stella, who continued to calmly go about setting tea items on the delicate serving tray.
Do you think she’d wait on me hand and foot, bringing me catnip when I rang my bell? I have one, you know, for when we win the lottery and buy Honduras.
“I’ll get it, Stella,” Mr. Whitley said gruffly, using the arms of the chair to help him stand. He shot me another glare as he grabbed his cane. “You stay right there, young lady. We’re not through yet.”
I’ll look the other way if you’d like to zap him. On second thought, I’d rather watch the old geezer get his due.
I feigned picking up my glass of water so that my outstretched arm would cover the cocktail napkin, mindful of Mr. Whitley making his way past me and through the swinging door that I’d only ever seen in movies. Once he was completely gone, I quickly took the napkin from underneath the remaining two cookies and stuffed it into my pocket next to the sapphire ring.
Great. The evidence and the confession all in your pocket. You better hope the good ol’ sheriff doesn’t get frisky or else he’ll be hauling you off to jail.
“Ms. Stella,” I whispered harshly, making my way over to the stove where Ms. Stella was pouring the boiling water into a delicate china pot trimmed in gold. She didn’t even appear nervous that she all but confessed, but rather confident that I’d keep her secret. “Why would you take the remains of Caroline Abigail Whitley, along with the sapphire ring, from her final resting place? What were you thinking?”
Ms. Stella might have earned my respect, but have you looked at that stern expression? I mean, who would think lips could be so straight? Let’s face it…eternal youth would be very alluring, given the circumstances. Everyone has a weakness, Raven. Be gentle.
“I was thinking what any wise woman would in my situation,” Ms. Stella responded without so much as spilling a drop of the boiling water. She then set the tea kettle back on the stove before reaching for the creamer that she would no doubt pour into the matching creamer bowl. “Arthur may never have the power of immortality. Whether or not it’s an old wives’ tale, I couldn’t take the chance that he could succeed in such a manner. I took matters into my own hands by paying Harry a very nice sum to help me make the crypt look like a crime scene. Of course, that was after he had disassembled the security camera. His skills are so eclectic, aren’t they?”
If Cousin Itt is anything like his father—Darth Vader—then he is not to be trifled with. You should tell Ms. Stella that so she knows to continually look over her shoulder.
I glanced at the doorway, knowing that I was running out of time. My first instinct upon reading the note had been to protect Ms. Stella, but she didn’t appear as if she were in the need of my help.
We know who to ask to join our army against the squirrel apocalypse. Oh, did I mention that Joey is on board as one of our enforcers? He’ll come whenever called. Unfortunately, that means we’ll have to include the resident warlock into our plans, but we can always use him as a shield if it comes to that.
“Ms. Stella, I found the sapphire ring where you left it.”
There.
I’d said it.
Annnndddd, why would you do that? Inquiring minds want to know.
“Well, at least it’s in good hands.” Ms. Stella continued to shuffle the items on the tray just so before she picked it up off the counter to take over to the table as if we weren’t discussing the fact that she had been the thief all along. “Your grandmother was a wonderful woman, often selling me special tea blends for Mr. Whitley. I’ve come to hear from my dear friend, Elsie, that you’ve carried on in your grandmother’s love of holistic remedies. I shall stop by your shop later this week to begin placing my orders. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll dispose of the ring in the proper manner.”
Oh, yeah. Did I forget to mention that Ms. Stella used to be a regular visitor to the tea shop? My bad.
“You see, I slid the sapphire ring in the first costume jewelry basket I came across. I only temporarily removed the remains of Caroline Abigail to give Arthur something else to focus on. It was a drastic move that I debated on for quite a while, but it had to be done. I would do it again, if need be,” Ms. Stella explained, having carried the tea tray over to the table. She began to fix Mr. Whitley’s tea for him, which had me wondering why he hadn’t made his way back to the kitchen yet. “To make a long story short, I had Harry return the remains to the cemetery earlier today, but he thought someone was following him. He hid them next to the cobblestone wall with every intention of returning after midnight tonight to finish the job. I will have to notify him that his services will no longer be required. I’m very thankful to hear that Mrs. Caroline Abigail Whitley has been put back into her final resting place.”
I win! Did I call that or what? I guessed that someone purposefully stuffed the ring in with that cheap costume jewelry basket. I’m getting so good at this amateur sleuth stuff.
“You did all this because you didn’t want Arthur to obtain this so-called immortality?”
“I’ve worked for the Whitley family for many years, homeschooling their children, and seeing to their every need.” Ms. Stella had finally finished her preparations and turned to face me, her expression as stern as ever. “Mr. Whitley is not the person who should be the first to achieve immortality, if it is in fact possible. No one should, for that matter. I did what I had to do, as I’m sure you’ll do the same. Now, we must never speak of this again.”
I was right aga
in! Ms. Stella did teach children, and I bet they have the scars on their knuckles from her ruler to prove it. You know what this means, right? I’m spot on about this squirrel apocalypse, and we must take the appropriate measures!
“You realize that Mr. Whitley will never stop looking for the family heirloom, right? I mean, this affects me personally seeing as he truly believes I took the ring from his family’s crypt. He’ll brand me a thief in public, at some point.”
Stop making this about you, Raven. Now that Joey has been confirmed as a non-threat, we need to concentrate on Skippy and his ninja warriors. It’s good to know that Cousin Itt can be bribed with money. I might need to raid your bank account at some point.
Leo could have rambled on and on about the squirrel apocalypse, but it wouldn’t have stopped the various scenarios of the aftermath of this predicament floating through my mind. I mean, the accusations would follow me throughout the rest of my life. I was very lucky I wasn’t the hyperventilating type. It was enough to make anyone panic.
Really? He’s an old geezer who’s spouting on and on about immortality spells. Trust me, the spotlight won’t be on you. I’ve got to hand it to Ms. Stella. She sure is one smart cookie. Get it? Did you see the double entendre there? Really, it could be a triple if you note that she is the cook here.
“I’ve taken care of that, as well.” Ms. Stella lowered her head and gave me that stern look that I remembered well from all of my schoolteachers. “The rest is up to you. Silence is golden, Ms. Marigold.”
That was a special warning of some kind, wasn’t it? Ms. Stella kind of reminds me of Ted, only answering with what she wants and leaving us guessing the other ninety percent of the time.
We could all hear Mr. Whitley calling Ms. Stella’s name as he got closer and closer to the swinging door of the kitchen. I had enough time to make it back to my chair, while Ms. Stella took her time removing her apron. Her purposeful actions made it seem as if the last three minutes hadn’t occurred.
Cryptic Blend Page 15
