“What?”
Beads of sweat clung to her hairline as she twisted her body to face me. “It’s why I’m here, Darcy. I want to hire you to find out what happened to Natasha.”
“What?” I repeated, stunned.
I wasn’t sure what I had expected to hear when I found Ivy on the doorstep, but it certainly hadn’t been this.
“I know, I know. It seems crazy, especially after how horrible I was to you earlier, but I don’t know where else to turn. I need to ensure that Natasha’s death had absolutely nothing to do with the Extravaganza.” She was wringing her hands, tears welling in her eyes. “All the TV cop shows always say that the love interest is the number-one suspect, right? A husband, a boyfriend . . . She wasn’t married, so that leaves Chip.”
“The number-one suspect?” I echoed. Her minute of my time was long up, but I made no move to go back inside. It sounded as though Ivy had jumped to the same conclusion that I had about Natasha’s death not being from natural causes, but I wanted to hear her say it. I also wanted to know why she had made that leap. “What do you think happened to Natasha exactly?”
“I overheard the medical examiner technicians whispering about poison. Seems they suspect cyanide was used. Someone killed her, Darcy.”
Harper was bound to gloat.
“And you think Chip did it?” I asked. “Do you have any reason to think that other than he might have been seeing her?”
“No. I’m just desperately grasping at reasons that don’t include the Extravaganza. I heard the rumors about them dating, and how she treated him horribly. Maybe he got fed up? Maybe she dumped him, and he wasn’t happy about it? I don’t know. All I know is love is a powerful motivator. It can make you do crazy things. Especially when it goes bad.”
“It sounds like you’re talking from experience.” I waved a buzzing bee away from my face. The bee bypassed the climbing roses and landed on a daisy bush, making its way to an open bloom.
“Haven’t we all been there?”
I knew I had. It had been three years since my marriage went down the tubes, and it had been rough getting over it.
Ivy was right about love being a motivator, and I knew something she didn’t: Natasha had also been in a relationship with Baz.
The importance of that information was twofold. It gave Chip added motivation, and it meant that Baz should be considered a suspect as well.
If Chip had somehow learned of Natasha and Baz’s relationship and was crushed by the deception, he might have plotted a perfect plan for revenge. Where better to poison Natasha than to do it in front of a thousand people, before going off on his lunch break while the poison took effect? It was the perfect alibi—he hadn’t been anywhere near her when she died.
It was a theory to share with Nick.
Ivy deadheaded a drooping rose bloom and began plucking browned petals. “I know I’m grasping at straws, Darcy, but I’m desperate to make Natasha’s death a passion crime rather than something that hits a little closer to home.”
“Like?” I questioned.
“I thought for sure that Natasha had been behind the accidents plaguing the show, but what if she wasn’t? What if someone else was behind them, and Natasha was simply the next victim on the list? What if I hired you to watch the wrong person? The event can never recover from something like that.”
“That’s a lot of what-ifs.”
“Yes, but they’re all valid. The event still might not recover after what happened today. I’m going to have to refund everyone’s entry fees, which, thank God, I had event insurance for. But there will be no Pawsitively Enchanted calendar . . . and that’s a huge moneymaker. It’ll be a big loss.” She crushed a petal between two fingers. “I’m not even sure I’ll have enough to pay the judges their usual honorariums, never mind all the other vendors.”
I again wondered about her financial situation. As there was no way to recoup those calendar funds, would her bottom line be left in the red because of the failure of the event?
The coo of a mourning dove broke through the noise of the ambient barking and my churning thoughts. It was the first time I’d heard the sound in a couple of weeks. I shaded my eyes to look for the bird in the branches that overhung the walkway and along As You Wish’s many gables. I didn’t see it.
Ivy craned her neck, following my gaze. “What is it?”
“Thought I heard something.” I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
Or was it something big?
I didn’t know. Not yet at least. I had to get another picture of that bird.
“And all your points are not valid,” I said to Ivy, trying to refocus our conversation. “You had every reason to suspect Natasha. Maybe not the first year, but most certainly after the second. It makes no sense to suspect someone else when she and Titania continued to win.”
Ivy dropped the rose and started picking at her fingernails, scraping the tops, and chipping off more black polish as she did so. She wasn’t a nail biter after all—but this behavior seemed just as obsessive. Flick, flick. The sound made me want to grab her hands to keep them still.
“It does, however, make me wonder who didn’t want to see her win again this year,” I added.
“That would be everyone,” she speculated. “The list is enormous. Natasha made no friends with her condescending and over-the-top personality.”
That was sadly true. “Did you tell anyone else about your suspicions of Natasha sabotaging the Extravaganza?”
I was thinking of Marigold Coe. And Baz. If either suspected that it had been Natasha who caused them to withdraw from previous events, would they seek to give Natasha a taste of her own medicine?
Especially Baz. After all, he’d been the one who’d had food poisoning. Had he decided to adopt his own version of an eye for an eye? One poison for another? Had he become close to Natasha just to get rid of her?
“I’ve told no one,” Ivy said. “I didn’t want word to get around that someone might be undermining the event. And I still don’t want that news to get out. Which is why I need you, Darcy. You know everything that’s going on. I just need to know for sure that the Extravaganza is not involved.”
A cloud shifted in front of the sun, suddenly casting the village in shadow. “What if it turns out that it is?”
Despite the warmth of the day, she rubbed at goose bumps that had formed on her arms. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I need to plan ahead for damage control, and that will be easier with you investigating the case. Will you take the job back?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
Just say no.
Just. Say. No.
I ignored the internal voice as I recalled Natasha’s lifeless body on the floor of the Wisp.
She hadn’t been the least bit likable, but I didn’t think she’d deserved to die.
“Please, Darcy. You’ve proven time and again since you moved here that you’re good at investigating. I’ll pay you double.”
A loud voice split the tense air around us. Angela Curtis yelled, “Stop! Cookie! Stop right now!”
Before I could even stand up, Cookie the dwarf goat raced past As You Wish and took a hard right, headed toward the Enchanted Woods. As she passed she’d been nothing but a tiny beige-and-white blur that leaped more than ran. Angela and her search party were hot on her heels, trotting by one by one like something out of an old-fashioned cartoon.
The skin between Ivy’s eyebrows wrinkled as she frowned. “What was that about?”
“Cookie got loose during the evacuation of the Wisp. You didn’t know?”
“No. I was inside that whole time with the police. Everyone was long gone before I left.”
“Then did you know Archie was almost birdnapped as well?”
I didn’t have to specify who Archie was. Everyone in the village knew the bird.
&n
bsp; Her face drained of color. “He was what?”
“Someone knocked down Terry Goodwin during the evacuation and tried to steal Archie. Threw a bag over his head, but he managed to get away.”
“Is he okay?”
“He seems fine. Just lost some feathers. Terry’s at the police station filing a report.”
“A police report?” she croaked.
I nodded.
She said nothing, only pressed her eyes closed and shook her head. I thought I heard her mumble something about “nightmare.”
For her, it definitely was.
It was bad enough that a woman had been killed during the Extravaganza, but if the media caught wind about a potential petnapping, the event was going to go down in flames. And police reports were public. It was only a matter of time before word leaked out.
I heard another coo and whipped around. Aha! The mourning dove was sitting on the arch of the gate arbor, the lighting making the pink iridescent feathers on its chest glimmer.
Searching the pockets of my jeans, I realized I’d left my smartphone inside. I faced Ivy. “Do you have a cell phone? One with a camera?”
“Yes . . . ,” she said hesitantly. “Why?”
“Can I borrow it?”
She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a cell. With a few swipes, she had the camera ready and held it out to me. I grabbed it and aimed the phone at the bird, tapping the screen to zoom in. I made sure my fingers were out of the way and held my breath. Just as I was about to click the button, the bird took to the air with a guttural coo. I snapped the shot as it flew off.
“Darcy?” Ivy asked. “What’s going on? What’s with the bird?”
I quickly checked the image. It was blurry, but it clearly showed the tail feathers of a startled mourning dove.
No bright starburst.
I let out a defeated sigh. I’d been so sure . . .
I handed the phone back. “Nothing. I’ve just been trying to get a picture of it for a while now. To paint it,” I added so she wouldn’t think I was a total nut job.
“Oh,” she said, looking confused.
I stood up, tugged on my T-shirt.
She stood, too. “So? The job?”
The job. Figuring out what happened to Natasha.
In my mind’s eye, I kept seeing Natasha’s cherry red face . . . and felt duty-bound to figure out what had happened to her. “I’ll do it,” I said reluctantly.
Moisture flooded Ivy’s eyes. “Thank you for helping me.”
I neglected to tell her that I wasn’t doing this for her.
I was doing it for myself, because there was a large part of me that felt guilty about not doing my job properly. If I had been watching Natasha at all times, her death might have been prevented.
Finding her killer wouldn’t change the outcome of what had happened, but it would definitely help me sleep better at night.
Ivy and I made arrangements to keep in touch, and she strode off.
As I headed back to the front door, I glanced over my shoulder as she stormed down the street, taking the long way around the village so she didn’t have to cross the green. I didn’t blame her for avoiding the displaced Extravaganzers for whom she had no answers.
As I watched her go, a chill came over me, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to regret taking this case.
Big-time.
Chapter Nine
An hour and a half after Ivy left, I was on my way to Chip Goldman’s apartment with a couple of chatty accomplices in tow. With their help, I was hoping to uncover anything and everything I could about Natasha’s on-and-off-again boyfriend.
I’d just left the Bewitching Boutique, where I’d recruited the help of Pepe and Mrs. P, who resided in the shop’s walls. I’d filled them in about my mission, and they were happy to help in my investigation. Their duties were clear: While I spoke with Chip under the guise of finding a home for Titania, Pepe and Mrs. P would snoop through his apartment, looking for something that might identify him as a potential killer.
A big bottle of cyanide pills in his medicine cabinet would be nice.
“Your tail, mon amour. It is in my face, and it keeps knocking my glasses from my nose,” Pepe said to Mrs. P.
His voice easily floated upward from the depths of my purse, and I smiled at his adorable French inflection.
“My tail? What of yours?” Mrs. P countered in her New England accent—she’d lived in and around the Boston area all her life.
Even as a mouse she reminded me of the comedienne Phyllis Diller. Between the voice, her boisterous laugh, and her spiky hairstyle, all the similarities were still there.
She added, “It is resting in a most inappropriate place, my darling.”
His throaty guilty chuckle floated upward, and Mrs. P’s exclamation of “You scoundrel!” followed it. Then she laughed her high-pitched cackle before a round of kissing noises reached my ears.
I stopped walking and peeked into my purse. “Would you two rather be alone?”
Inside an empty deep plastic butter container, which helped protect them from the flotsam inside my purse, were two mice, one brown, one white. One had been a familiar for more than two hundred years, the other six months only.
The chubby brown one, Pepe, held Mrs. P in a dip and was kissing her, a scene that reminded me of the iconic V-J Day Times Square photo of a sailor kissing a nurse. I smiled—I adored seeing them so happy.
My accomplices were also still considered newlyweds . . . of a sort. There had been no official wedding, but that was just a formality neither cared to pursue. For all intents and purposes, they were together till death did them part, which was going to be a very long time. Familiars were immortal until they opted to pass over.
At my question, Pepe set Mrs. P on her tiny white feet and straightened his red vest, making sure the three small gold buttons were perfectly aligned. He gave me a slight bow, which caused his round gold glasses to slide down his nose. “I beg your pardon, mon amie.”
Mrs. P fluffed the spiky tuft of fur that stuck up between her big ears and smoothed her pink velour dress. “Don’t you mind us none, doll face. Are we there yet?”
“Almost,” I said. “Another half block.”
“Take your time,” Pepe said, his throaty chuckle punctuating the sentence.
Mrs. P fanned her face and pretended to swoon. He caught her in his arms and began to nuzzle.
As much as they might want me to linger, I had to hurry. Mimi and Harper would be expecting me back soon.
Half an hour ago, I had snuck out of the house under the pretense of heading to the Crone’s Cupboard to scrounge something up for supper, leaving Mimi and Harper to babysit the animals, asking them to especially keep a close eye on Titania while I was gone. She’d had a traumatic day.
If I had told Mimi and Harper where I was really going, both would undoubtedly want to come with me, which was out of the question. Harper tended toward interrogation to source her information, while I was a bit more roundabout with my queries.
And Mimi shouldn’t be anywhere near a potential murder suspect, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
Instead of heading to the local grocer as I had told them I would, I stopped by the Bewitching Boutique, and now here I was, on my way to Chip’s.
“Ahem.” I coughed, interrupting them. “You’ll have to work quickly when we get there. We don’t have much time.”
Mrs. P said, “We may be old, but we’re nothing if not quick, doll. In and out. Lickety-split.”
“Old?” Pepe reiterated. “I think not. Age is but merely a state of mind.”
“Yes, yes,” she reassured him, patting his hand while rolling her eyes at me.
Pepe didn’t like admitting how old he was.
Across the street on the
green, a beach ball bounced from one person to another, and dogs happily chased after it. Multiple grills had appeared along with several pop-up tents. Seemed to me that the crowd had grown, and I suspected that there were more than just Extravaganzers taking part in the fun.
Chip Goldman lived on the third floor of a four-story brownstone apartment building not far from the playhouse. Please be home, I chanted silently as I pushed the button next to his name on the directory posted in the vestibule of the building.
A voice crackled through the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Chip?” A video surveillance system mounted near the top of the door flashed my image back at me, and for a moment I was once again startled to see myself on the screen. What in the world was happening?
“Yeah?” he repeated.
“This is Darcy Merriweather. I came to talk to you about Titania. Uh, Natasha’s cat? Do you have a minute?”
Silence.
I wondered if he had dismissed me. “Chip?”
There was a briefer stretch of silence before a buzzer sounded, and the entry door clicked unlocked.
I took that as an invitation to go on up. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and went inside. The scent of sautéed garlic, onions, and peppers permeated the stairway, reminding me that I still needed to figure out what to make for dinner tonight. Mimi and Harper were expecting me to bring something home.
I decided to worry about later and focused on what I was going to say to Chip.
It was easy enough to find his apartment, as there was only one door on the third floor. A dirty mountain bike with no kickstand leaned against the banister on the landing. No lock. Apparently, Chip Goldman was the trusting sort.
I knocked on the door, and a second later he pulled it open, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and a deep frown.
“Just out of the shower,” he said by way of explanation.
As if I hadn’t been able to deduce that on my own, what with the towel and the damp hair. Evan would have been beside himself, as he had a crush on the man. “So I see.”
Gone With the Witch Page 8
