There’d been no talking him out of coming here to Perry’z and there’d been no talking Gooch out of coming with—not only to help Win if he needed it at the donut shop, but he’d decided it was his job to keep Win safe and see this through to the end.
As promised, he’d texted his friend, and Win was now in the back of a cute little green Kia Soul. Not exactly a car one would choose to drag race across the streets of Seattle, and the color of it wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Win made a face. “He also didn’t show up for work, according to the person I spoke with at the morgue. Otherwise, I’d be on my way there.”
As Gooch filled his friend’s gas tank, Belfry made fun of Win from the interior of the purse. “Grrrr,” he growled. “Stop being such a grouch, Winterbutt. We still have the horse farm to hit. We’re not fresh out of clues yet, buddy. Plus, we could always go back to the pawnshop and find out why they have Stevie’s car—”
“Oh, no we can’t, Belfry! That was a dive, and if those people have my car and the ghost lady’s, for whatever reason, it’s obviously not a good one. I’d bet a limb they’re in cahoots with this Egan guy. We’re not sending Win in there with nothing more than a purple purse and an ugly Christmas sweater. Stop encouraging him to his death!”
Win drove his hand into his shorts and frowned again, this time even deeper than when he’d discovered Egan Joseph wasn’t going to show up.
He was busy looking at a business card when he responded. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten this.”
“You forgot because you’re exhausted, Spy Guy,” I admonished.
I realized there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop him from steamrolling his way through this, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to keep at him to find another way.
“What is this you have in pocket, Zero?”
He flicked it with his fingers, making it snap. “The card Belfry found last night. Where did you find this anyway, Bel?”
“Aw, holy spit, I forgot about it, too! I found it right on the ground by Stevie’s car.”
I looked down at the water-stained ivory card, rather crumpled from Win’s pocket. “So what does it say?”
“Vera Brothers Funeral Home.”
Huh. “Funeral homes, morgues, chop shops, car chases, and a woman impersonating a store owner. What do these five things have in common?”
Win ran a hand over his face, the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin rasping against his hand. “I don’t know, but they’re connected, my dove. They are indeed connected. How, and why you’re involved in this, are the most vital questions, but you are indeed at the apex of this. I’m positive.”
I looked out into the parking lot of the gas station and watched people come and go from the small convenience store, grabbing their morning coffees and filling up their cars as the rain went from pouring out of the sky to intermittent drizzle.
“Something else to think about, International Man of Mystery. We need to go to the police and tell them the woman we met yesterday wasn’t the GG we met in the store, and I’m betting this purple van she sent us looking for was all a ruse. Though, I’m curious why she’d make up a story about something like that. She simply could have told us she didn’t see anything and we’d have been on our merry way.”
Win’s head fell back on the seat as he sighed. “What motivates some is always a mystery to me, but I absolutely shall share what happened yesterday with the GG impersonator, Stephania. When I make my round of calls, I’ll certainly add the Seattle Police to the list.”
“She have something to do with Stevie missing,” Arkady spat, his face tight. “This I feel, as you say, in my bones.”
I patted Arkady’s arm. “I think you’re probably right, but how is she involved? I mean, I can’t see a single connection to her and the morgue and my car being at a pawnshop. The only connection I can think of is, I was on that street at the vintage clothing store. But so what? Was she on some kind of killing spree and I got caught up in it?”
Win tugged on the pom-poms of his hat. “And why was she in that store? Was the real GG already dead? Is she actually the one responsible for killing the real GG? That would mean she’s one cool customer, Stephania. A cold-blooded killer, because she looked me directly in the eye and fed me quite a tale.”
The mention of the store made me remember something. I hopped off the bench and hissed at the memory. “Hold on! Remember all those ghosts?”
Win smiled an ironic smirk, the deep grooves on either side of his face deepening. “How could I forget?”
“Maybe that’s why they were yelling liar! They knew she wasn’t the real GG and they were trying to warn us?”
“That makes absolute sense,” Win replied. “Now, also something else to consider. I saw the phony GG. By now, she’ll wonder if I saw that newscast, because I can testify to the fact that she was pretending to be GG.”
I gulped. Perfect. Just what we needed. “And you stick out like a daggone sore thumb in that crazy outfit, Win. This convinces me, you need to go home! You can call the police from there.”
“Is this what our courtship is going to be like, Stephania? You henpecking me to death?” he asked with a teasing smile.
I shook a fist at him he couldn’t see, but I shook it anyway. “Yes! If it means you’ll live, yes. And I don’t care if I’m a nag. I’d rather nag you to death than be responsible for your death.”
“That would, in fact, make you responsible for my death, Stephania, and you won’t be able to do that if you’re dead, now will you?” he retorted sarcastically.
“Au contraire, Double Oh Seven. I’ll just have to do it from up here the same way you did. How’dya like them apples?” I snickered.
Win looked up at the ceiling of the car and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t. I don’t like those apples at all.”
I didn’t have time to respond with a witty retort because A, Gooch got back into the car, swinging his long legs into the driver’s seat, and B, Win’s expression, one of obvious sorrow, punched me right in the gut.
As we pulled up to Rainier’s Rides after a long, twisty trip on some desolate back roads, Win instructed Gooch to park in what appeared to be a parking lot with a John Deere and a couple of old jalopies.
Win asked Gooch to wait for him, popping the back door open and stepping outside. The rain had begun to fall in earnest, but even in the rain, the farm was beautiful.
In the summer, I imagined all these rolling hills and wide-open landscapes were gorgeously green and lush with leafy trees. As for now, they were a bit muddy and unkempt, and strewn with hay.
Win, in his slippers, slogged his way across the parking lot toward a barn, his feet taking a real beating. Gooch had offered to spot him for some clothes and rubber boots at Walmart, but Win had insisted there was no time to waste and refused. I almost thought he was keeping his outrageous clothes to spite me.
“Bet you wish you’d taken Gooch up on the offer of those boots now, huh?”
He chuckled. “This is nothing. Why, in the mountains of Moldova, the Carpathian Mountains to be precise, I walked barefoot with two broken toes in the month of January to fulfill a mission. A little mud won’t hurt me, Stephania.”
Gracious. He had an answer for everything. Everything.
Win slung my old purse behind his back and trudged toward the big red and white barn where five or six horse-filled stalls were visible from the wide-open doorway, his leg muscles straining with each step forward. I looked around as he did, but I didn’t see anyone.
He looked up at the sky, swollen with dark purple clouds, his face a little less pale today. “Let me know if you see anything, Dove. I’m going to poke around in that barn.”
I sighed. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all, but I’d watch his back no matter what. “I got your back, Win. Swear. Now, if you hear any ghosts, let me know, and if I see any, I’ll let you know. Oh, and one more thing. Make me a promise?”
He
squinted into the dark-ish interior of the barn. “Anything.”
“You’ll call the police and the morgue when we’re done. Someone has to tell the police you met fake GG. It could help in finding the real GG’s killer. I won’t be able to live with myself, no pun intended, if we don’t at least do that much. I know the clock is ticking, but the real GG and her family deserve that.”
“Pinky swear,” he responded as he sauntered into the barn, looking like a madman, dressed as though he’d wrestled the lost and found bin at an elementary school. “Hello?”
The silence was deafening, with the exception of the small whinny from one of the horses.
“Hellooo? Anybody about?” he called again, wandering along the wide dirt aisle until he stopped by the last stall and wrinkled his nose.
A large chestnut horse stuck its head over the stall’s gate and looked Win right in the eye, sniffing the air with his big nostrils.
Win held out a hand to him to let him smell it. “Well, hello, old chap. How are you on this perfectly soggy, chilly morn?”
The horse pressed his nose to Win’s hand and neighed, low and deep, making Win chuckle. “Aren’t you a lovely beast, eh?”
“Can I help you, son?”
An old, gruff-looking man came into view, his steps stilted and slow, his pitted face red from the cold. He had on a bright yellow rain slicker with the Rainier’s Rides logo and a navy-blue knit cap covering his head. His eyes, glued to Win, were sharp and darting about the interior of the horse barn as though he was nervous.
Win slapped on that infamous grin and held out a hand. “Hello, mate. I’m Crispin Winterbottom.”
The man rocked back on his heels and gave Win a clear look of skepticism. “That’s not what your outfit says your name is, fella. Your outfit says crazy.”
I laughed out loud, slapping a hand on my thigh. “You tell him, pal. Finally someone with some sense.”
But I think we all know how Win handled this particular scenario, right?
Win looked him in the eye and leaned on his cane. “This is all part of a much bigger story, mate. A practical joke story. Pay no mind,” he said cheerfully.
But it was obvious the man wasn’t convinced because he didn’t take Win’s hand. In fact, he tucked his fingers under his armpits as his mouth thinned.
“So what can I do ya for, fella with the big fancy accent?”
“I just have a question for you, if I may?”
“About?” the man groused, narrowing his eyes.
The horse in the stall had really taken to Win; he was busy nudging him with his nose while Win attempted to talk to the old man. “First, as I said, my name is Crispin. You are, sir?”
“I’m not interested in talking to any reporters today, Crispy. So you can forget it. Git on with ya.”
Win stroked the long area between the horse’s nose and eyes, his look one of true astonishment. “Reporters? I don’t understand, mate.”
The man lifted a gnarled finger and shook it at him. “You tryin’ to tell me you ain’t here about Mellie?”
“Well, sir. I am indeed here about a woman, but I don’t know her name. I was hoping you could help me. Would you mind sharing with me who Mellie is?”
The man eyed Win, the wheels in his head obviously turning, clearly unsure if Win was telling him the truth.
“Well, whad’dya wanna know?” he finally asked.
Win continued to stroke the horse’s cheek. “The woman I’m looking for has long hair the color of a dark chestnut. She’s quite lovely, but I’ve only met her once. In fact, we never spoke a word to each other. Thus, I didn’t get her name, but I fear I’m a bit smitten with her nonetheless. Haven’t been able to stop thinking of her since we crossed paths. When she drove away—in a Toyota Camry, or maybe it was a Corolla, black in color—I wanted to kick myself for not garnering an introduction, but I happened to see a bumper sticker on her car with the name of your lovely farm. You may think me silly, but I think I might be a little in love at first sight. Anyway, it’s just the nutty romantic in me. I’m sorry if I’ve taken up your valuable time.” With one last stroke of the horse’s cheek, Win turned to leave.
Man, he was really something. He could spin a yarn for days and leave them begging to tell him everything. I’d bet he didn’t have to yank a lot of fingernails off in his days as a spy. He just charmed the information out of his captives.
But the man and the neighing horse stopped him. “Wait a second, fella. I didn’t mean to treat ya wrong. I’m just extra sensitive since this whole thing with Mellie happened this mornin’.”
Win turned back around slowly, probably because his slippers kept sticking in the mud, but turn around he did. “Do you think the young woman I’m describing is this Mellie?”
The man’s pitted round face fell flat when he nodded. “Mellie did drive a black Camry, and she had the prettiest hair. Used to braid it up when she came to ride her horse. My wife, Letha, always wondered how she got it so shiny. Sure sounds like our Mellie.”
Win let his shoulders sag in a play to show his defeat. “I’m so sorry. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Mellie that has you so upset, mate?”
“Her name’s Mellie Carter, case you want to look her up on the computer. Pretty sure that’s what everybody’s doin’ after this mornin’s news. She fell off her horse and snapped her neck ’bout a week or so ago. Right here on one of our trails. Found her myself. Dang shame, it was. Me and the Missus still can’t believe it. She was a nice girl—been riding with us for forever.”
“And the reporters? Why are they coming ’round? Do they suspect foul play?”
He shrugged, his yellow slicker crackling. “They just want a story’s all they want. Mellie boarded her horse here, but they found out she wasn’t the one who paid for Sally’s food and boarding, and that turned everything into a circus. They got wind of it just this morning. It was on the news and everything.”
Win’s eyes roamed over the man’s face, his own flooding with sympathy. “Who paid for Sally’s board?”
He shrugged. “Some rich guy who owns a tech company. The wife filed for divorce this mornin’, cited infidelity on the papers. Tell you what, young man, sure didn’t take them reporters but a hot second to come sniffin’ around after they got some kinda tip about an affair the rich fella was havin’. Seems like the tech guy’s wife suspected he was chasin’ women and got herself a private detective, and he was watchin’ Mellie. The PI found out the payments for Sally’s boarding were from some offshore account this rich guy’s got. I might not’ve believed it was true, but they had pictures of her with him and everything on the news.”
He shook his head and pulled off the cap he wore, twisting it in his gnarled fingers. “I swear, we had no idea or we’d have given Mellie a good talkin’ to. She didn’t have anybody but an aunt—her mother’s sister, I think. No guidance like a girl that age should have, you know?”
“And when did this story break again, sir?”
“Just this mornin’. It was right on the news. I thought the wife would have a heart attack when she saw our Mellie’s face. There was a lady here from Channel Three news just twenty minutes ago, stickin’ her nose in affairs that are none’a her beeswax.”
I blinked. So maybe the guy Mellie was having an affair with had something to do with this mess? Maybe he had killed her? And why did she have a hole in her chest if her neck was broken?
Shoot. I have to tell you, I don’t love it when finding one answer leads to five other questions. It’s so frustrating.
“So the police said her neck was snapped? Did they do an autopsy?”
The man’s face went hard. “There was no foul play, if that’s what you’re hopin’ to find. I know she was alone when she came to ride Sally because she didn’t get but three hundred feet before Sally got spooked about somethin’—she was always a skittish horse—and took off. Mellie lost her grip and fell. Saw it with my own eyes.”
Win paused for a long mome
nt while the horse continued to nudge him for more strokes to its face. “I’m so terribly sorry for your loss, sir. What a tragedy.”
The man bobbed his head and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his slicker. “They finally released her body from Seattle General when that aunt of hers showed up to identify her and such and make the funeral arrangements. Thought sure Letha and me were gonna have to do it ourselves, it took her so long. She was overseas or somethin’ and it took her some time to get back here stateside. But at least now we can see her before they cremate her. Sure hope those reporters stay away from the funeral home tonight for the viewing. It ain’t right to treat the dead like a sideshow,” he spat.
Win gave the horse one last pat to the face and held out his hand. “I feel a fool for coming here like this when you’re in such a bad space. My apologies, sir. My deepest, deepest apologies. I hope the reporters let you have the time you need to grieve.”
This time, he took Win’s hand and shook it. “I think it’ll be okay. The Vera boys are good boys. They’ll make sure to keep those vultures out. Name’s, Jed, by the way. Jed Rainier. Apologies for bein’ so rude.”
Win’s eyes went instantly alert, ignoring Jeb’s apology. “Vera boys?” he asked.
Jeb nodded his head. “Yeah. That’s where the viewing is tonight. Vera Brothers Funeral Home.”
Cue spooky music.
“Isn’t it a bit odd to have a viewing and a cremation?” Win asked.
True enough. A casket for the viewing wouldn’t be cheap, but there were the costs for embalming and incidentals, too. Add in the cremation, and it was certainly costly.
Jeb’s face looked pained. “I don’t know what’s odd anymore, son. Nothing’s like it used to be, but Mellie didn’t leave a will about what she wanted done, and her aunt wanted to see her one last time. That aunt of hers has plenty of money. I guess the rich got money to spare.”
Witches Get Stitches Page 15
