Without the Egyptian headdress, I noted that Chip’s hair was flaxen blond, even now, while wet. Dry, I’d bet it was closer to a pale blond, like Starla’s. And he was tall. He towered over my five feet six. Amused, I realized he looked a bit like a Ken doll.
He sat in an angular armchair and motioned me toward a futon with a threadbare mattress cushion.
Grateful the futon wasn’t currently being used as a bed, I reluctantly sat and immediately felt a cushion spring pinch my thigh. I shifted to my right and set my purse on the floor. I gave it a nudge with my heel, pushing it under the futon so Pepe and Mrs. P could climb out unseen.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Natasha—”
“I appreciate it.” He abruptly stood, yanking up his slipping towel. He anchored it with a new knot and headed for the kitchen. “You want a drink? I got it all, from juice to vodka.”
I thought about him possibly slipping a cyanide pill into a coffee cup and said, “No, thanks.”
He pulled a plastic pitcher from the stainless steel fridge. The container was filled with what looked like green goo. Pouring some into a glass, he then wiped the counter, set the pitcher back in the fridge, turning it just so, and sat back down. His movements had been precise, no energy wasted.
Short tendrils of blond hair curled around his forehead as he sipped the green slime.
“What is that stuff?” I asked, eyeing the glass.
“Kale smoothie. A little banana, some pineapple, and protein powder. You want to taste?”
I vehemently shook my head. No way, no how.
“What’s this about Titania?” he asked, sitting again, one of his legs jiggling. “Is she with you?”
“Yes, she’s at my house. Well, at As You Wish.”
Spreading his knees, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on their tops. The towel slipped a bit, and I averted my gaze. He was just a cough away from showing me all his manly goods.
He kept glancing over my shoulder toward the bedroom at the back of the apartment, and I wondered if he’d heard my accomplices at work. I didn’t hear anything, but I was out of place here. He’d know if something didn’t sound normal.
“I didn’t like the cat much,” he said, “but I hope she finds a good home.”
“You didn’t like Titania?”
He shrugged. “Not a big fan of cats.”
If he hadn’t been crossed off my list of candidates to adopt Titania because of his allergies, he certainly was now. She needed to be with someone who wanted her. “Because you’re allergic?”
“Nah. Because they look at you all judgmental-like. I get enough judgment from when I go on auditions. I don’t need any more of it.”
I’d been at the receiving end of my fair share of feline snobbery, so I couldn’t argue about that trait. But I thought about Titania’s purring and wondered if he knew that he was missing out on a lot of kitty love by not giving her a chance.
I doubted he’d care.
“Do you go on many auditions?” I asked, looking around. To call the place Spartan was putting it mildly. Other than the living room grouping—an uncomfortable-looking chair, uncomfortable futon, and glass coffee table—there was no other furniture to be seen, especially since I didn’t count the gym equipment as furniture.
The machines filled the rest of the living and dining space. A treadmill, an elliptical, some sort of weight machine that looked as if it doubled as a torture device.
Movie posters plastered the wall. Everything from the original King Kong to Maleficent. There had to be hundreds that overlapped each other, giving the look that he had decorated with eclectic motion picture wallpaper.
“Yeah,” he said. “Gotta earn a living. I do plays, commercials, and an occasional local movie. Once in a while, I model on the side. Pays the bills until I get my big break and can ditch this place for Beverly Hills. Gotta dream big, right? Now that”—he frowned—“Natasha’s gone, I can’t wait to get out of this village. She was the only reason I was sticking around. I just need the cash. Then I’m out of here.”
I thought that he wasn’t shooting for the stars with his dreams but the moon itself. Beverly Hills might as well be a million miles from the village. “How well does being in commercials pay?”
He gave a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Not enough.”
“Planning to rob a bank, then?”
With a small smile, he said, “You could say that.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious, so I pushed on. “Acting is where you met Natasha, right? While doing a play together here in the village?”
Darkness swept across his face before he brushed it away with a quick swipe of his hand. “Yeah.”
“How long ago was that?” I asked.
“Five years.”
He sipped his drink, and I cringed at the green mustache left behind.
“Were you dating all that time?” I asked.
He glanced my way, sharp intelligence radiating in his eyes. He knew what I was doing, asking all these prying questions.
I’d keep that in mind.
“Off and on. Natasha didn’t like to be tied down.”
I heard a loud thump from the bedroom, and panic sluiced through me. What had Pepe and Mrs. P gotten into? If I said nothing, that might look suspicious, so I said as casually as I could muster, “What was that?”
Redness climbed Chip’s neck. “What?”
“The thump?”
Shrugging, he said, “I didn’t hear anything.”
I wondered why he wasn’t curious about the noise, but his disinterest was to my benefit. It definitely wouldn’t do for him to go chasing after two rogue mice.
“Were you currently on?” I asked, picking up our conversation. “You and Natasha?”
“Off, but that didn’t affect our friendship. We were tight. You’re dating the police guy, right? Has he said anything about what happened to her?”
“I haven’t heard a thing,” I said truthfully.
He took another swallow of the goo. “It just doesn’t make sense. She was healthy.”
“I agree. It doesn’t make sense.” I hoped Pepe and Mrs. P were almost done.
“You think someone killed her?” he asked. “I think maybe someone did. Poisoned her or something. I heard she was drinking coffee when she collapsed.”
Another thump came from the bedroom, but he didn’t so much as blink at the noise.
Well, if he was going to ignore it, so was I.
Uncomfortable, I shifted again and was poked by another mattress spring. “I’m not sure. It’s possible, I guess. Did she have any enemies?”
“True enemies? Nah. But a lot of people didn’t like her. Her personality wasn’t the easiest to deal with.”
I knew that from personal experience. “Yet you’ve been friends for years. . . .”
“She’s . . . addicting. I couldn’t walk away, and trust me—I tried.”
Huh. She didn’t seem all that addicting to me. “I don’t suppose you know if Natasha was currently dating someone else?”
Again, he zinged me with a sharp glance.
“Or if she has family around?” I quickly added. “I need to check with them about Titania.”
“She was seeing someone, yeah.”
Another thump.
My palms began to sweat.
“But I don’t know who,” he added, his cheeks reddening. “Just that the guy was dealing with a bunch of baggage with his other woman. It was driving Natasha crazy having to sneak around.”
Baz. No doubt that his prenup could be considered baggage. I played dumb about her current boyfriend being married. “Other woman? They had an open relationship?”
“At first. They were getting pretty serious these last few weeks. She must have really liked him, because she stayed even thoug
h she hates baggage more than strings.”
There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he spoke, and I had the feeling he cared for Natasha more than he let on. “Her family?”
“A sister. Alina. Lives down the Cape. Falmouth, I think.”
“I’ll check with her about the cat,” I said. “But just in case she doesn’t want Titania, does Natasha have any friends in the village who might want her?”
“Natasha was a lone wolf,” he said, shaking his head.
Lone, except when it came to men. “Well, if you think of anyone, let me know, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I felt a tug on the hem of my jeans—either Pepe or Mrs. P letting me know they had concluded their search. Thank goodness. I was ready to get out of here.
“I should go, then,” I said, standing. I bent and grabbed my purse. “Thanks for talking with me.”
He set his cup on the glass table and walked me out. “No problem.”
As I reached the landing, he said, “Hey, Darcy?”
“Yeah?”
His face was flushed as he said, “You should keep Titania. I saw you with her earlier, petting her. She liked you, and she doesn’t like a lot of people.”
With that, he closed the door in my face.
As I quickly ran down the steps, something was nagging at me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Something Chip had said, perhaps.
Breaking into a fast jog, I ducked around the corner into an alleyway next to the building and opened my purse.
“Doll!” Mrs. P said, looking peaked. Behind her white whiskers, a green tint colored fuzzy cheeks. “I’m a little motion sick after that run. I might hoik.”
Pepe took a step away from her, but reached out his hand and patted her back from his safe distance.
“Sorry, sorry,” I apologized. “I wanted to hear what you found as soon as possible. What on earth was going on in that bedroom?”
Pepe pumped his fist. “Warfare!”
“We were under attack.” Mrs. P blinked her long lashes. The green color was fading. “I almost got conked on the head with a shoe.”
Pepe’s face turned red, and he clenched his tiny fists. “I, of course, had to avenge my love, so I snuck up behind the barbarian and bit him on his ankle.”
“My hero,” Mrs. P crooned, sinking into a faux swoon.
Pepe caught her and planted a kiss on her puckered lips.
“Wait, wait,” I said, my head spinning. “Who was it attacking you?”
Pepe set Mrs. P upright and twirled his whiskered mustache. “Have you not been paying attention, ma chère? It was the man hiding in Chip’s bedroom.”
Chapter Ten
“Man? What man?” I glanced around to ensure no one was nearby, eavesdropping. Fortunately, it was just us and the Dumpsters.
“It was that smooth talker, Baz Lucas.” Mrs. P said his name as though he were the devil himself. “Just wait until I get my paws on him. Throw one of those clunky Birkenstocks at me, will he?”
“What in the world was Baz doing in Chip’s bedroom?” I asked, trying to make sense of it.
“Eavesdropping on your conversation, by the looks of it,” Pepe answered. “Had his ear pressed to the door right up until he spotted Eugenia dart under the bed. That’s when he went after her with his shoe.”
Although I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of a mortal seeing Pepe in his little red vest and glasses, it would be very hard to explain. “Does he need a memory cleanse? I have some at home in my dresser. . . .”
“Non. Ma chère, this is not our first reconnaissance mission. We left our clothing in your handbag to roam about au naturel. Arouses less suspicion that way should we encounter a mortal.”
“Always thinking ahead. Thank you.”
He bowed, and I couldn’t help thinking about why in the world Baz would be in Chip’s bedroom.
One thing was for certain. “Chip had to know Baz was in there. It’s why he didn’t react when he heard the thumps.” I laughed. “There I was, thinking it was you two, while he was thinking it was Baz. Neither of us wanted the other to investigate. Was Baz dressed?”
“Fully clothed, head to toe. Are you thinking the two of them . . . ?” Mrs. P wiggled her eyebrows.
“I don’t know what to think. I have no reason to believe either is gay, but what do I know? Chip was in a towel. . . .”
I didn’t know the connection between the two, but I realized that Chip had to have known Baz had been Natasha’s current boyfriend. If Chip and Natasha were still close friends, she would have told him.
Startled, I jumped as a loud noise reverberated above my head, the clanging of footsteps on the fire escape. I ducked into the shadows of the Dumpsters and crouched down.
When I heard something crunch next to me, I nearly fell backward.
Cookie the dwarf goat was chomping on a cardboard cup, looking happy as a clam. Her cream and tan coat shone in the shadows of the alley as she blinked her golden eyes with their odd rectangular pupils at me. Her short tail wagged much like the way Missy’s would when she was happy.
I petted her knobby head—she didn’t have horns—and whispered, “Don’t put that trash in your mouth.”
“Meehhh,” she bleated, dropping the cup.
Curiously, she eyed Pepe and Mrs. P, giving them a good sniff.
Both mice immediately ducked back into my purse, and I heard the zipper as they locked up behind themselves.
I tried to grab Cookie’s braided purple collar, but she quickly turned tail and hopped away, racing down the alley.
At her noisy retreat, the footstep sounds on the fire escape had stopped, and as soon as Cookie was gone, started again.
I peeked around the edge of the Dumpster.
Baz Lucas was rushing down the steel rungs as quickly as his hands and feet could move. Ten feet from the ground, he leaped, and landed with a loud groan not three feet from where I hid.
Sweat had soaked through his shirt, and panic was etched in his features from the droop of his eyebrows and the widening of his eyes to his slightly agape mouth. He scrambled to his feet and took off running, limping slightly as he did so. He glanced back only once, upward toward the third floor.
The look on his face was as though he’d seen a ghost.
My stomach began to churn with worry. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I heard the zipper on my purse sliding, and a moment later, Mrs. P popped her head out. “What’s going on, doll?”
“Baz Lucas just tore out of here like a man running for his life.” I ran around to the front of the building and rang the buzzer for Chip’s apartment.
No answer.
I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Nick’s number. When there was no answer, I left a panicked message.
As I debated what to do next, I kept thinking about Chip and his strange behavior. . . . Then it suddenly hit me what had been nagging at my subconscious.
His coloring.
After sipping on his green goo, he had steadily become more flushed. I’d thought it had been from his odd reaction to the bedroom thumps, but what if his response hadn’t been an emotional flush at all?
What if it had been poison at work?
After all, Natasha had turned red before she collapsed.
Acting purely on instinct, I quickly dialed 9-1-1, then punched every buzzer on the directory until someone let me in. I took the steps to the third floor two at a time. Breathing hard, I knocked once on Chip’s door before trying the handle. Unlocked, thank goodness.
All the way up the steps, I had wished and hoped I was wrong about my poison theory, but I soon saw that I hadn’t been.
Still wearing only a towel, Chip was lying facedown on his living room floor, his face—his whole body—cherry red.
I dropped m
y purse and bent to check for a pulse.
Mrs. P crawled out of my bag, her hand clamped over her mouth, her cheeks puffed out. She wobbled to and fro, and I realized that barreling up here probably hadn’t been good for her motion sickness issues.
“Is he alive?” Pepe asked, dashing over to stand next to me.
Under my fingertips, Chip’s pulse beat slow and weak. “Barely,” I said. “But I don’t know for how long.”
* * *
An hour later, I sat on the stone steps of the playhouse, waiting for Nick. He’d been inside Chip’s apartment for nearly half an hour now, long after Chip had been airlifted to a city hospital. If there was any hope for him, he needed the best medicine had to offer, and Boston had it in spades.
Pepe and Mrs. P had headed home, and Archie had swooped by twice to get the scoop. He had stopped molting for the time being, but I figured one mention of the attempted birdnapping and his feathers would start dropping again.
The village green was nearly empty now, cleared out so the medical helicopter could land. When I called Harper soon after finding Chip to tell her that I’d be a while—and why—I hadn’t been prepared for her to be so blithe about the situation.
“That’s fine,” she’d said. “Just keep us up-to-date as much as you can.”
I’d stared at the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” She tried for a laugh, but it fell short. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re not pestering me for details. Something is most definitely wrong. Is Mimi okay?”
“Darcy,” she said with a huff as a horn honked in the background, “Mimi is fine. I’m fine. Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.”
The more she protested, the less I believed it. “Where are you?”
“Outside.”
“Outside where?”
“Where are you?” she asked suddenly.
And that’s when I knew for absolute certain that she was hiding something. Harper resorted to talking in circles when cornered. “Harper, what’s going on?”
“Not a thing. Look, I’ve got to go. Call when you have news. Bye!”
Whatever was going on with her was something to figure out later on. Right now I needed to focus on Chip . . .
Gone With the Witch Page 9
