“Hello, Ms. Winters,” he greeted with a bob of his head.
“Ana, please,” I corrected, extending the flower arrangement. “I wanted to drop these by, for the family, and offer my condolences. Everything was so chaotic on Sunday, and I never got the chance to properly express my sympathies.”
Clive took the bouquet. “Would you like to come in?”
“Is Charlene here?” I asked. The engaged couple had shared the luxury apartment for the last two years, though I wasn’t sure if she had claim to it legally now that Evan was gone. Her family was wealthy but not in the same way Evan’s was. If she wasn’t on the deed, I had no doubt his family’s lawyers would send her packing so they could sell it off.
Clive shook his head. “She’s with Evan’s parents, helping with the preparations for the funeral. It’s this Saturday.”
I nodded. “I saw in the Herald.”
“Of course.” Clive took a step away from the door and I followed, sheer curiosity beckoning me to enter the penthouse.
It was breathtaking. Flooded with natural light from the wall of glass on one side, everything was modern with clean, sharp lines, bright and minimalist. Art hung on the walls but almost melted into the room. The real attraction was the views of Mt. Rainier.
Clive set the flowers down in the kitchen on a huge marble-topped island. I followed and placed the sympathy card beside the vase. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m no longer with A Touch of Magic Events.” I paused and licked my lips nervously. It still wasn’t easy to say out loud.
“Yes, someone called and informed Charlene. Yesterday, I believe.” Clive leaned against the island and crossed his arms. “They offered their services if we wanted help planning Evan’s service. Charlene hung up on them. It all seemed a little tacky.”
“Oh,” I winced. “Well, I apologize for that. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Stimpton have things in hand, but if there is anything I can do, please feel free to call.”
“Thank you, Ana.”
An awkward silence settled between us and I cleared my throat. “Well, I suppose I should go. Please, pass along my condolences to the family, again. I can only imagine what they’re going through.”
Clive’s grey eyes considered me for a moment. “Is it true that you’re dating an SPA agent? The one in charge of the investigation?”
I blinked.
“One of the bridesmaids saw the two of you together at the chapel,” Clive offered.
“Uh—well, yes.” I nodded, unsure why he was asking.
“Do they know who did this? The agents told Charlene that Evan was poisoned.”
My fingers twisted together. The last thing I wanted to do was inadvertently share something about the investigation that wasn’t meant for the public. Not that Clive was the general public, of course. He was the victim’s friend. He deserved to know what was going on, didn’t he?
“I don’t know a lot,” I started, cautiously, “but yes, something he ate or drank was laced with a deadly potion. I think they’re still working on narrowing down the exact source.”
“I see. And they’ve arrested the caterer?”
“Questioned, not arrested,” I replied.
“Mhmm.”
“Let me ask you a question.”
Clive inclined his head. “Shoot.”
“Do you know Guy Hansen? He was a bartender at the reception.”
Clive barked a short laugh. “Oh, yes. We all went to academy together. Evan, Charlene, Guy, me. Almost the entire wedding party, really. It’s a very small world when you run in the circles we do.”
AKA, when you’re magically inclined and filthy rich.
“Guy comes from money, though you wouldn’t know it by the way he lives now,” Clive added, huffing another short laugh. “He didn’t fit his family’s cookie-cutter plan and they disowned him. See, there’s a certain set of rules we all have to play by. And if you don’t fall in line, you get shut out in the cold. No money, no connections, and next thing you know, you’re slinging martinis seven nights a week and sleeping in a one-bedroom walk-up.”
I bristled. Thanks to my career, I had money and a nice condo (though, still only one bedroom, which was apparently unacceptable), but it hadn’t always been that way. Clive’s contempt for those with less than he was startling and more than a little offensive.
Something else prickled at me, needling under the surface of my skin. If Guy had been thrown out of his family and was then thrust into a situation where he was literally serving those who’d once been his social equals, would that be enough to push him to want to do something to get back at his former classmates? Something like lace their drinks and hope to make them sick? Maybe he hadn’t meant to kill anyone, just humiliate them, the way he likely felt in their presence.
“I really don’t know anything else about the investigation,” I said quickly, reaching up to adjust my purse strap. “Thank you for your time, though. And, again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Clive shrugged and pushed away from the kitchen island. “Sure.”
He escorted me to the door and I hurried to the elevator, his stare boring into my back. When I stepped inside, I turned and found him lingering in the doorway. He said something to the security guard, smiled at me, and then disappeared inside.
After leaving Lakewood Tower, I went across town to the SPA headquarters building, a glass fortress that housed all official SPA operations in the state of Washington. Most supernaturals lived in one of the havens, but there were pockets that congregated in other places, like Holly. She lived in Beechwood Harbor, and while she was surrounded by humans, there were vampires, werewolves, witches, wizards, telepaths, psychics, and shifters.
Personally, I didn’t see the appeal of living somewhere without magic, but to each their own. The SPA had to manage all magical mischief, be it inside a haven or not, and had a network of regional offices spread across the world to help them with the task. Known troublemakers were attached to a case worker who acted as a guardian or warder, depending on the variety and level of past offenses. Generally, any supernatural living outside the haven had extra eyes on them, at least for a little while, to make sure they were blending into the human world and not drawing unwanted attention.
Caleb only worked cases inside the Seattle Haven, which was a relief. He worked enough hours as it was. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if he had to travel all over the state, chasing leads and doing extended stakeouts. I’d never see him! He held an office on the fifth floor of the headquarters building and by now, his secretary knew to let me through without question, anytime of day. As I passed her desk, I stopped to offer her a goodie from the box I’d picked up at the bakery on the way. Karla grinned and timidly picked a chocolate chip cookie.
“Thank you, Ana,” she said as I handed her a napkin.
“Anytime, Karla.” I waved and continued on to Caleb’s office.
Caleb was on the phone, his back to me, as I stepped inside. Silently, I placed the box on the edge of his desk and took a seat, waiting.
“Have them recheck everything. If there’s so much as a drop, I want to hear about it,” he said, his tone tense. His shoulders were too, I noted, studying the lines of his back. As he split his time between the office and field work, he tended to wear business casual clothing. Polo shirts versus full button-ups and slacks that looked polished but had enough give that allowed him free movement, and black Dr. Martens instead of stiff loafers.
He hung up, turned and stopped short. “Ana!”
“Sorry,” I squeaked. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
He placed the phone down. “It’s fine, you just startled me. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
I held up the box of pastries. “Just in the neighborhood and thought you and the team might need a hit.”
He chuckled as he lifted the lid. “Mmm. How am I supposed to choose?”
“I’d recommend the chocolate éclair. I might have already sampled that one on the
way here.”
He laughed and scooped the pastry from the box. I handed him a napkin and he placed it under the donut before taking a bite.
I put the box down on the corner of his desk and set the pile of remaining napkins on top. Caleb could distribute them to the rest of his team later. “Also, I just found out some info that you might want to have.”
“You playing junior detective, now?” Caleb asked, one eyebrow raised.
I sat down in one of the visitor chairs and Caleb followed my lean, sitting in his office chair. He took another bite and then placed the donut off to one side of a stack of paperwork and folders. “What’s going on?”
“Well, Francois stopped by my place this morning,” I started, a hint of an edge to my tone. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a suspect?”
Caleb pinned me with a stare and for a moment, I thought he might tell me off. “We’re pursuing a number of leads, Ana. This is the very beginning of the investigation. So, yes, Francois was brought in for questioning, and yes, we searched his kitchen, but that’s all I’m at liberty to say. You know I can’t get into the nitty-gritty of active investigations with you.”
There was a stilted formality to the words that set my nerves on edge. He never gave me every nitty-gritty detail of a case he was working on—that would upend SPA protocol—but he usually gave me more than some boilerplate line that sounded like it came straight from the legal department.
“What about Guy Hansen?” I pressed.
A flicker of irritation wavered on Caleb’s face. “We’re going to look into him, too.”
“Good, because I just came from speaking with one of Evan’s groomsmen, Clive Errol, and he told me that Guy used to be classmates with them in academy.”
“So?”
“Francois doesn’t have a motive. But Guy just might. Clive made it seem like Guy was ex-communicated from their social circle. There’s bad blood. I could feel it.”
“If that’s the case, then why did Guy take the bartending gig?” Caleb asked.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. But maybe he saw it as a way to get revenge.”
Caleb turned it over in his mind. “I’ll have the team look into it, Ana. But I need you to hang back and let us do our job.”
“He didn’t do this, Caleb. Francois has an edge. He can be cold and sarcastic at times, but he’s not a killer.”
Caleb drew in a patient breath. “I know he’s your friend and I understand you’re trying to protect him, but I have to do this investigation by the book and play by the rules. You know that, Ana.”
I sighed.
“The Stimpton’s have a lot of sway in this town,” Caleb continued. “Everyone is under a lot of scrutiny to make sure we get this right. Which, at the moment, means digging into Francois until I can rule him out as a suspect.”
“I understand,” I said, rising from the chair. We said goodbye but as I left SPA headquarters, I couldn’t help but feel that my concerns had fallen on deaf ears. The SPA wanted a win and they needed to give the Stimpton’s a name. The sooner the better.
I trusted Caleb, but he wasn’t the top of the food chain. If his bosses gave the order, he’d be forced to arrest Francois, whether he was guilty or not. Even if Francois was later proven innocent through a trial before the Haven Council, what would he have left by the end of it? Who would hire a caterer who’d recently been tried for poisoning—and ultimately killing—a former client?
Francois might survive the justice system, but the court of public opinion wouldn’t be as forgiving.
I had to do something before he lost it all.
Chapter 10
I’d barely stepped foot back in my condo before my phone was ringing. I answered the call, not recognizing the number. “This is Anastasia Winters, may I ask who’s calling?”
“Hello, Ana,” a sickly sweet voice purred on the other end of the line.
My jaw snapped tight. “Kait. What do you want?”
“I was just calling to see how the unemployed life is treating you? Are you finding time to catch up on some self-care?”
“Why. Are. You. Calling?” I ground out through clenched teeth.
Kait laughed, the sound throaty. I wanted to reach through the phone and deck her.
“I see you haven’t managed to wrangle that temper of yours,” she said, as easy-breezy as if batting away a fly. “You know, maybe in your abundance of free time, you should think about seeing someone. I’m sure with a few months, maybe years, you could get to the root of your anger issues.”
“I don’t have anger issues, Kait. In fact, things are really looking up, so I suppose maybe I should be thanking you for calling Hyacinth that day. Maybe you were just the catalyst I needed to get out of that soul-sucking firm. You might think you won some kind of prize, and I’m sure you’re enjoying the spoils of this little war you started, but sooner rather than later, Hyacinth is going to need a new outlet for her frustration and I’d put a hundred bucks down that it falls on you.”
Kait laughed. “You don’t have a hundred dollars to spare, Anastasia.”
My eyes narrowed and it took every ounce of restraint to keep myself from pitching the phone across the room.
“Since you brought it up, I am enjoying my office, though. Thank you for keeping it in such good shape. Though, it did take some effort to get all of those ridiculous pictures off the walls. What did you use, superglue?”
The words stung, a prick right through the armor I was trying to crouch behind. A direct hit. The wall of photographs of every wedding I’d ever done was the pride and joy of my office, the sunny spot that reminded me why I did what I did. The image of Kait haphazardly ripping them all from the walls and chucking them into the trash hurt me more than I would ever admit, at least to her.
“I want them back,” I said, forcing my voice into a cool, thin line.
“Oh, don’t worry. One of your little friends scooped them up and made sure they made it into the box.”
“What box?” I asked, leaning forward.
“That’s why I’m calling,” Kait said, a maddening playfulness to her tone. She fancied herself the tomcat. I was her mouse. “Hyacinth wants to know when you’re coming to pick up the box of crap we gathered from your office.”
“She has my address on file,” I replied. “Send it with a courier.”
This was all a stupid game and I wasn’t going to play along. If Kait thought she was going to trick me into coming down to the office one last time so she could make a big show of putting her feet up on my desk, she was dead wrong. All inclinations of yesterday afternoon were gone. I’d never set foot in that building again.
“She’d prefer you come and pick it up,” Kait said. “She doesn’t need to spend money sending it with a courier when you have two functioning legs and more than enough time on your hands.”
My blood went molten. “Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll send a courier. I’m too busy to come down there at your beck and call.”
Kait laughed. “Oh, yeah? Doing what? Eating ice cream straight out of the vat?”
“For your information, I’m starting my own business and one day, very soon, I’m going to open my own firm, right here in the haven. I won’t call you when I have my grand opening. I won’t need to. You’ll know about it when your phone stops ringing and your clients stop showing up for their appointments! You’re going to look back on this conversation and wish you’d been nicer, because I’m going to crush you into pixie dust”
With that, I smashed my finger against the screen to end the call and then threw the phone down on the nearest sofa cushion. I paced a few steps away and then snapped back around to stare at it in alarm, as if I’d been listening to the conversation rather than actively participating in it.
Crush you into pixie dust? Goddess help me.
“Ugh. Good going, Stace. That’s a great reason to open a business. I can just imagine the business plan. Purpose: to tick off my ex co-worker. Start-up capital: a few hundred bucks, a pip
e dream, and a whole lot of rage.”
Groaning, I dropped into a chair and rubbed my temples. “What are you doing?”
I allowed myself a few minutes to wallow and mutter under my breath—most of which was various ways of questioning my own sanity—before retrieving my phone and calling a courier service.
Write a business plan. Easy. Right? I mean, the plan was to plan. I should be a natural at this. Yet, as the minutes ticked by, the page before me remained unmarred by ink.
Anastasia’s Events
Hmm. No. That sounded like I had some kind of medical condition.
Winters’ Events?
Nope. That one sounded seasonal. I tapped my pen against the pad of paper. A wicked grin spread across my face as my next idea lightbulb flashed on.
If they had a touch of magic, then perhaps I could offer A Pinch of Magic Events? Oh, better yet, A Bucket of Magic Events.
Okay, now that one had potential. If only because of the way it would rankle Hyacinth. I snickered to myself even as I drew a slashed line through both of the names. I’d cop to an occasional vengeful urge, but petty, I was not.
Forgetting the name, I moved to the next glaring question. How in the Otherworld was I going to come up with enough money to get started? Sure, when I secured a client, most of my expenses would come out of their wallet. I’d book the florists, bands, ministers, reception halls, and calligraphers, but when the bill was forked over, it wasn’t my name signed on the dotted line. But where would these client meetings take place? Was I supposed to shlep my hoity-toity clients around on a Shimmer Bus? Then there were business cards, a phone line, an assistant to handle the phones while I was out busy with clients.
The totals added up like a Las Vegas slot machine jackpot marquee, surging higher and higher—ironic, considering that’s what I’d need if I had a chance at getting this project off the ground.
I set the pen down and slumped against the table, my chin resting in my palm. If I couldn’t afford to start my own business, then what were my options? I could apply to other magic-based event-coordination firms. If I managed to find a position open, it would require moving to a new haven. Not something I wanted to do, even if Harmony was moving away and things with Caleb seemed to have hit a snag. My home was in Seattle. I loved everything about it. There wasn’t going to be an easy replacement, even if it was the only way I could do what I loved. But, staying in Seattle would mean no magic. I could find a job in the human world and do human weddings. As A Touch of Magic Events had a human division, it would still show as relevant experience on my resume, although I wasn’t going to hold my breath for a ringing endorsement of my capabilities as a planner from the likes of Hyacinth. My portfolio would have to speak for itself.
Wedding Bells and Deadly Spells Page 7
