I blinked at him. It was the first time he’d called me Riddle instead of Zara. Was I “one of the guys” now that I’d shown some physical prowess?
“Sure, we could spar sometime,” I said.
“Bad idea,” Knox said, giving me a serious look.
“Why? Does he fight dirty?”
“Worse,” Knox said. “He sets a time for sparring at the gym, and then he’s late, and he hasn’t eaten yet, so you have to go get food, and then there’s always something else he needs to do, and you never get to spar.”
“But you do catch up on your cheesy action movies,” Rob said.
The two of them continued to talk about workout plans and movie nights. The sound of their voices blurred as I sensed another vision coming on.
I crossed the wine cellar and rubbed my hand lightly over the door frame. The memory wasn’t powerful, but it was crisp.
Rob asked, “What’s up, Riddle? Another vision? Is the ghost whispering to you again?”
“Something like that,” I said. “Jo Pressman got splinters from this old wood when she had her hands full of wine and brushed against the frame with her hip.” That gave me an idea for a way to control the visions. “Guys, can I get access to Jo’s room? The place where she died?”
Chapter 34
The second time I approached the crime scene in the basement of Castle Wyvern, I was alone. Rob and Knox had stayed behind in the wine cellar at their temporary post, preparing for the evening’s ambush—in between dice games. I was to report back any enlightening new visions from my ghost. Both were hoping for a neat and tidy resolution of the case. Perhaps a memory that connected the victim with the female wyvern who’d supplied the venom, plus the person who I’d heard inside the room before we’d entered. And it had been a person inside the room, I was certain. A wyvern would fly, or walk on clawed feet, not shoes. Who was it? That person had either killed Jo, or, if it had been an accident, they had witnessed the event. I had to try harder to control my access to Jo’s memories so I could put her spirit at rest, not to mention prevent further bloodshed.
I used my magic to unlock and open the door.
The staff apartment Jo Pressman had briefly called home wasn’t very homey that Monday evening. There was yellow crime scene tape across the entry, a terrible smell saturating the air, and a detective standing by the glass doors leading to the concrete-walled egress.
I took in the room, which was otherwise empty, and looked down at the detective’s feet. He wore dark-gray dress shoes. They could have been the ones I’d heard scuffling inside the room the day before. You just never know.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I said to Detective Theodore “Teddy B” Bentley.
He turned around slowly.
“Ms. Riddle,” he said.
“I am but one of many Ms. Riddles,” I said playfully. “Doesn’t that get confusing? Having so many Riddles in your life?”
“Not really,” he said. “I hardly ever see your aunt, and I’ve barely met your daughter.”
“But you’ve been seeing a lot, and I do mean an awful lot, of the Riddle who is my mother,” I said. “Zirconia Riddle. Does the name ring a bell?”
His steely gray eyes didn’t crinkle at the edges. I got more of a reaction from the man when I stole all the rainbow-sprinkled donuts.
I continued, “The name should ring a bell, since my mother’s been ringing your bell.”
He didn’t flinch.
“My mother is your little blueberry muffin,” I said.
There passed an uncomfortable silence of several seconds, then he said, “You have the strangest sense of… I suppose it’s humor?” He leaned over to glance behind me at the empty hallway. “Why are you in here? This is a crime scene.”
“Is it?” I glanced around, feigning innocence. “This place sure is a mess. Young people these days live like wild animals. This generation has a lot to learn, am I right?”
He studied me, unfazed. “Since you’re here, you might as well help. Without touching anything, have a look around and tell me what I’m not seeing.”
“How should I know what you’re not seeing?”
“I haven’t seen anything with the name of the person or people she owed money to back in New York.”
I snapped my fingers, which did make him blink with surprise. “About that,” I said. “Nash, who you’ll know as Nathan Partridge, took me for a walk up to the waterfalls earlier today. He told me there were no bad people in New York. I guess she made it all up just to shake down her old man for money. Not a very class act, our Jo.”
Bentley frowned. “There were no debt collectors?”
“Nope. Just the credit card companies, but they have nonviolent means of bringing you to your knees.”
“Then who made her drink that acid?”
“Beats me. But since her ex-boyfriend is a friend of mine, and I know you detectives always think the ex did it, I’m here to help clear my buddy’s name.”
His frown lines deepened. It was hard to believe this grim-faced man was the same guy who’d been cheerful about going for a walk with me, the same guy who carried peanuts in his pockets for Petey the Squirrel. Had this homicide case done a number on the cop, or was my mother sucking the life out of him? I almost didn’t want to know.
“How’s the case going?” I asked. “Getting through those interviews? What did you make of my friend Nash, anyway?”
He paused before answering, his voice taking on more color. “Mr. Partridge has known you for a long time.”
“He knew me a long time ago, and then he saw me again yesterday and today, which is not the same thing as knowing someone for a long time.”
“He says you’ve changed a lot.” Bentley rotated his body so his back was to the patio door and his face was entirely in shadow. “He says you’ve changed a lot more than most people ever change in a lifetime, let alone in sixteen short years.”
“Is that how you spent your interview time with Nash? Talking about me? With crack detective work like that, not to mention all of it on the taxpayer’s dime, myself and the other guests will be lucky if we get out of this castle by Halloween.” I glanced up at the weathered, old ceiling. “Though I bet this place does Halloween right. With bats and spiderwebs and an appearance by that wacky countess who had the castle shipped over here stone by stone. Say, what’s her alibi? Where was the ol’ countess when things took a turn for Jo Pressman?” I snorted. “I bet this castle doesn’t even have a full-time ghost. It’s just something they made up for the sales brochure. I suppose now that there’s been a grisly death, it’ll be even better for business. Two ghosts for the price of one.”
I stopped talking with great effort. Being in the apartment where she died had put my resident spirit on edge, and that had put me in a babbling mood. I’d surprised myself by mentioning the countess. I’d forgotten all about her until now. Could she have been the one who killed Jo? Had she taken the form of a female wyvern and slain the girl out of jealousy? Don’t be crazy, I told myself. Think outside the box, sure, but don’t get crazy. If the countess wanted to kill people, she’d have been killing them for years.
Bentley, meanwhile, said nothing. If his mind was racing with outlandish possibilities involving entities that hadn’t even been mentioned in the past twenty-four hours, he gave no sign of it. He continued to stand there in his dark-gray suit, with his back to the glass patio doors and his face in shadow. All he needed was a fedora and a lit cigarette, and he could film his own noir movie.
I asked, “Do you mind if I look around? I promise not to touch anything. If I see anything resembling a clue, I’ll tell you right away.” And then Rob and Knox, of course.
“Be my guest.”
I started wandering around the room, looking for objects that might trigger one of my spirit’s memories. I walked over to the sink. As a kid, I’d noticed that doing dishes at someone else’s house was actually fun. I felt a memory of that now, and an urge to wash Jo and her roommates’ di
rty dishes.
I’d promised Bentley I wouldn’t touch anything, but surely that didn’t extend to the kitchen sponge. I reached for the yellow and green rectangle, and then it happened.
A memory hit me.
Josephine fighting with her roommates over whose turn it was to wash dishes. The argument culminated with a plan to buy paper plates. And then it faded to black.
I set the sponge down again behind the taps. It hadn’t been the most helpful memory, but I’d gotten something. Plus my urge to wash the dishes had evaporated.
I looked around the kitchen a little more before walking into the bathroom. Another memory came to me. Jo Pressman brushing her teeth. Thinking about flossing but not flossing. I’ll start tomorrow, she’d told herself. Only she hadn’t, so the poor thing had died with gum disease. I pulled open the vanity’s drawer and looked over the items, but all I got were more personal hygiene memories.
I left the bathroom and looked around some more. I was dimly aware of Bentley following around behind me. I ignored him and continued my psychic scavenger hunt.
After an exhausting apartment tour that yielded only slovenly behavior and arguments with roommates, I gave up and headed for the door. It was time for me to get ready for the DWM operation, time for me to get in trouble for blowing the mission.
I reached for the door handle and abruptly yanked my hand back.
Vision incoming!
This one was blessedly free of messy roommates, and it felt different. Jo’s heart was racing. This was a good one. I let the memory flood my mind.
In her memory, the door opened to reveal a small, gnomish man. Griebel Gorman. My hands ached, threatening to pull me out, but I held on.
Josephine didn’t know he was a gnome, but she did know he could get her things. He’d been supplying her father with rare clockwork parts for years.
“Do you have it?” she asked.
He held up a vial of liquid. The anti-love potion she gave Nash. And there he was, hanging out inside the apartment with Jo. From where he sat on the worn-out sofa, he could see the gnome pass the vial to his ex-girlfriend.
“Which one is this?” she asked.
He leaned to the side, looking around her shapely waist at the man in the staff apartment. He beckoned for her to come out into the hallway for privacy. She did, closing the door behind her.
“The blue one will make someone fall out of love with you,” he said. “Blue as in cold. The color should help you remember.”
She looked at the vial in her hand. It was blue. “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped. “Blue is the love potion.”
“No, no, no.” He stamped his foot once. “Anti-love potion.”
“That’s what I meant,” she said. “I got tongue-tied.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second vial. This one contained red fluid. Jo noted that the man’s gnarled hands were shaking, as though he was afraid of the red vial in a way he wasn’t afraid of the blue one.
“And this one, the red one, is the love potion,” he said. “It’s extremely powerful. You must not take a single sip of it yourself.”
“What’s the big deal? It’s nice to fall in love together. Romantic.”
He grabbed the red vial back from her. “Never mind. This was a bad idea.” He stomped his foot a second time.
“Wait,” she pleaded. “I promise not to drink the red potion. I will give it to the one I wish to love me.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Don’t use the word wish,” he said. “It’s a powerful word, perhaps more powerful than what’s in that vial.”
She shook the red vial. “What’s in here, anyway?”
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Don’t shake it,” he hissed. “You don’t want to rile up the wyvern venom.”
“Right,” Jo said with an exaggerated gotcha wink. “The wyvern venom. Don’t you worry, Mr. Gorman. I’ll be careful.”
He turned to leave but turned back. “One more thing,” he said. “Just to be clear that we’re on the same page, what is the name of the person you intend to give the blue potion to?”
“Nash,” she said. “Nathan Partridge. He’s actually in the room right now. We’re supposed to go for a walk to the waterfalls, because it’s soooo romantic.” She rolled her eyes.
“And who is the red potion for? The love potion?”
Her heart beat faster. Her chest filled with a buzzing lightness. “Archer Caine,” she breathed.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I’m going to be the future Mrs. Josephine Caine. Goodbye, grubby little Jo Pressman. Goodbye, fighting with roommates and eating off paper plates. Goodbye, worrying about bills and car insurance. Hello, whole new life.” She looked up at the hallway’s dreary stone ceiling, seeing beyond the castle to her bright future, and sighed dreamily.
She heard the sound of a foot stamping on the floor, echoing down the hallway. When she looked down to where Griebel’s face had been, she saw nothing. He was already gone.
How odd, she thought. We didn’t even discuss payment.
And then she tucked both vials into her pockets before entering the apartment.
Chapter 35
The funny thing about a bell tower is the bells actually take up a lot of space. I’d never have guessed how much square footage was dedicated to the eight bells in Castle Wyvern’s tower, since I’d never been inside an actual bell tower before. There was barely enough wooden floor available for me to pace around nervously. I walked the perimeter of the room, circling the eight cast brass bells, peering out the windows and wishing I was somewhere else.
The view, at least, was magnificent. One stone-framed window offered an unobstructed view of blue ocean. Two other windows gave stunning views up and down the rocky coastline. The fourth looked down and over the adjacent lush green forest. I could see the dark line of the river’s path as it cut through the woods on its way to the sea. If all the trees suddenly disappeared, I’d be able to see the waterfall Nash and I had hiked to earlier that day.
I didn’t know the time, but I didn’t need to, thanks to the view. Archer Caine was due to arrive at sunset. Judging by the light, that would be any minute now. Except he wasn’t going to come, since I’d convinced him to run for his life. I should have felt relieved, but I was feeling more and more anxious as the sun dropped lower on the horizon.
The sky was now turning from blue to purple. Soon the fluffy clouds would be lined with crimson. Like blood. I clenched my fists, making them ache where the spikes had pierced them. The pain only made my mind race faster. What had I done? What was I going to do next?
Zara tries to be a good secret agent. Zara tries not to blow DWM operations by instructing the chief suspect to get out of town. Zara is not much of a secret agent, as it turns out.
The base of my skull felt cool for no reason. Was I being watched? My skin kept crawling, and I couldn’t shake the sensation I was being looked down upon. Probably spy cameras from the department. For my protection, they’d say, but I wouldn’t believe them. The footage would be for their future dispassionate review, for scientific reasons.
I paced over to the window facing the coastline leading toward Wisteria. Was Archer Caine on his way to Wisteria now? I hadn’t told him where to go, just to go. I should have been more specific. What if he was, at that very moment, knocking on the door of my house? Asking my sixteen-year-old daughter if she knew the man next door—the man who looked exactly like him? I didn’t want the guy to get melted, but did I want him in my life?
I reached for my phone so I could send Zoey yet another warning text, but my hand passed over only pleated fabric. My dress had no pockets. And besides, Rob and Knox had confiscated my phone when they fitted me with their DWM microphones and mini earpiece.
I leaned out the window and took in fresh air. Down below, a couple walking along the beach stopped and looked up at me. They waved. But of course they waved. Given the way I was dressed, in the corseted off-the-should
er medieval dress I’d borrowed from the castle by way of my mother’s closet, they would have assumed I was one of the costumed staff. The bell ringer who works in the bell tower. Dressed up in her finest black and gold. I waved back, smiling broadly to preserve my cover. Nothing to see here, folks. I’m just up here checking the clapper return springs! I’m not some lunatic guest who’s thinking about casting a body-buoyancy spell on herself before leaping out of this window and running away!
Still fake smiling, I pulled back from the window and rested with my back against the stone. What have I done? Chet is going to strangle me when he finds out I blew the mission. Rob and Knox won’t be too thrilled, either. Rob will never call me Riddle again. We’ll never get to spar.
Something high up in the belfry rustled. I peered up into the shadows. The rustling could have been bats. Bats were a classic belfry staple, yet there was no scent of droppings. The base of my skull felt cool again, like someone was touching it with a cool hand.
I called up into the darkness, my voice sounding small and girlish, “Ribbons?”
The wyvern dropped like a falling stalactite, flipping his wings out at the last second and landing on the wooden yoke holding up one of the middle bells. The bell didn’t ring. It would take far more impact for it to make a sound. Ribbons bent one wing and brought his tendril-like fingers to his mouth in a shhh gesture.
A voice in my ear asked, “Riddle, do you need assistance?” That was the voice of Rob, coming through my mini earpiece, though the effect was not dissimilar to how Ribbons was able to speak directly into my mind. When I didn’t respond immediately, Rob asked, “Is someone else there with you?”
Ribbons shook his head.
“No,” I said hesitantly. I kept my eyes on the wyvern, even though I had no reason to worry. If Ribbons had venom from a female wyvern that he was planning to melt me to pudding with, he could have dropped it on me when I wasn’t paying attention. Or he could have torn me apart with those claws of his that dug into stone as though it was soap.
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 2 Page 56
