Some Like It Witchy

by Heather Blake

  “Ah, about poor Raina, I presume,” Mrs. P said. “How’s the case going, doll?”

  “Slowly so far,” I said, giving them a quick recap. “It’s entirely possible that Raina was killed for personal reasons, but there’s also the chance that she was just a pawn used by someone looking for the diamonds. I need more information on the Circe Heist.”

  Pepe’s whiskers, which had been twirled into a fancy mustache, twitched. “It was long ago, ma chère.”

  “But your memory is long, is it not?” I asked. “You’re always saying so.”

  Mrs. P elbowed him. “She’s got you there.”

  “I truly do not know much.”

  “What about the accomplice? Do you know who it was?”

  “Ah yes, the mysterious Phillip. As far as I know, he’s never been identified. There’s no one named Phillip in the village. After Sebastian died, Crafters were quite happy to forget the incident ever occurred.”

  It seemed to be a recurring theme, but information had to be out there somewhere. I decided a trip to the village library was in order. It would be helpful to read archived newspaper articles written at the time of the heist. Or, perhaps, if I was lucky, the microfilm has been digitized and I could search the old papers from home.

  “Most Crafters are grateful the diamonds remain hidden,” Mrs. P added. “Their power is dangerous in the wrong hands.”

  “Like Andreus’s?” I asked.

  “There are many,” Pepe said softly, “who cannot be trusted with such power.”

  His statement struck me hard. “The same reason why the Elder’s identity is kept secret.” So she wouldn’t be used. Abused.

  Mrs. P. fidgeted. “That’s quite a segue, doll.”

  “Ve mentioned this morning that the diamonds’ power was similar to the Elder’s. Do you two know who she is?” I asked, point blank.

  “What is this, Darcy?” Mrs. P asked, concern in her eyes. “What’s with the questions about the Elder? What does she have to do with Raina?”

  Letting out a breath, I said, “Andreus mentioned to me that most everyone in the village knows who she is. I know that’s not true, but I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t been told. I think I’ve proven I can be trustworthy.”

  Pepe’s eyes narrowed. “He should not be speaking so openly of the Elder.”

  Mrs. P patted his hand while saying to me, “Ah, doll. Don’t fret so. There’s a year’s waiting period before any new Crafter to the village can possibly learn of her identity. You’ve been here only eleven months. Patience, my dear.”

  “A waiting period?” I perked up. “Why hasn’t anyone ever said anything?”

  “You’ve never asked,” she said, lifting her slim shoulders in a gentle shrug.

  A year. Next month will mark a year that I’d lived in the village. Suddenly, my spirits lifted. I’d waited this long . . . what was another few weeks?

  “But,” Pepe said, wagging a finger, “it is not a guarantee you’ll be told even after a year. I do not want you to get your hopes up that it will happen on a certain date. Many have lived in this village for decades and do not know. And it is only the Elder herself who can share the knowledge. No one else is allowed to reveal her identity.”

  And just like that, my spirits deflated.

  “However,” Mrs. P said, throwing him a side glance, “I think the Elder has proven she trusts you by giving you the investigative job.”

  My spirits picked themselves up, dusted themselves off.

  “True, true,” Pepe said. “As Eugenia so eloquently put it, patience, my dear. All will be revealed in due time.”

  I narrowed my gaze on them and repeated my earlier question. “Do you two know who she is?”

  “Indeed we do,” Pepe answered finally, keeping his gaze fixed on me.

  I didn’t ask who it was—they couldn’t tell me diddly-squat without getting into trouble with the Elder. Her orders were not to be disobeyed. Otherwise Crafters faced immense consequences. Like losing their powers. Or being turned into a frog.

  I’d try to be patient about her identity, but I did have other questions that they might be able to answer. “How long has she been Elder? Andreus mentioned that he’d been at her appointment many moons ago. I’m guessing that’s at least ten years.”

  Pepe took off his glasses and used his handkerchief to clean the lenses. “Yes, it’s been that long. Plus some.”

  “Twenty years?” I pressed.

  “Somewhere thereabouts,” Mrs. P murmured, examining her nails.

  “Thirty years? Was it around the time of the Circe Heist? Is the Elder Andreus’s mother?” That would certainly be quite the surprise.

  “No, no,” Mrs. P said, shaking her head. She looked at Pepe. “Whatever did become of his mother?”

  “Zara Woodshall moved to the South Shore about six months after she and Sebastian divorced,” Pepe said. “When Andreus asked to stay behind with his father, she reluctantly acquiesced.”

  “Did he return to her after Sebastian’s death?” I asked.

  Pepe shook his head. “No, he moved in with friends of the family here in the village. He was just starting his teenage years and didn’t want to be displaced. However, he visited his mother often.”

  I said, “Cherise mentioned Sebastian had been cheating on Zara with Eleta. . . . Did Andreus hold any ill will toward Eleta for breaking up his family?”

  Mrs. P said, “I believe Sebastian took full responsibility for that, doll. Zara knew full well what she was getting into with Sebastian but loved him enough to take the risk. Just as Eleta knew. There’s something magical about those Woodshall men.”

  Pepe gave her a sideways glance.

  She said, “What? I’m not blind. Women tend to fall for them hard and fast and become a little obsessed. Eleta never recovered from Sebastian’s death and went a little off the deep end. It was only weeks after his death that she became a recluse, never leaving her house again.”

  “Ever?” I asked. I knew she hadn’t emerged in the year I’d been here, but for thirty-five years?

  “Ever,” Mrs. P said. “She hired out yard work, had groceries delivered, Cherise made house calls. . . .”

  “Was Eleta in on the heist?” I asked.

  “Indubitably,” Pepe said. “However, it was never proven—as much as the police tried.” He leaned forward. “Eleta cast the spell to hide the diamonds not to save herself from prosecution, but to prevent anyone else from experiencing the heartache she was feeling. In her eyes, those diamonds killed the man she loved.”

  I didn’t ask how Pepe knew—he was never wrong when it came to the history of this village.

  Laughing, Mrs. P rolled her eyes. “I think she cast the spell because she didn’t want to go to jail.”

  “Perhaps,” Pepe said with a nod toward his beloved, “it was a little of both.”

  Ah, compromise.

  They’d successfully steered me away from the topic of the Elder, and I suspected it wasn’t by chance. I let it go. For now. “Do you think Zara Woodshall could be the anonymous tipster who turned Sebastian in?”

  It seemed to me she might have held a grudge against the man. And perhaps she believed Andreus would come live with her if his father was in prison.

  “I do not know,” Pepe said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it was so. A woman scorned is quite a dangerous creature.”

  “Do you know if she’s still alive?” I asked. Maybe she’d be willing to answer a couple of questions.

  “I do not know that, either,” Pepe said.

  Mrs. P shook her head. “You could ask Andreus.”

  I could.

  But I didn’t really want to. He gave me the willies.

  “How about Calliope Harcourt?” I asked. “Do you know if she’s a Crafter?”

  Both shook their heads.
>
  “Finn?”

  Again, they shook their heads.

  This was going nowhere fast.

  “How about the link between Andreus and Glinda Hansel? How are they connected? They looked mighty friendly this morning on the village green.”

  Mrs. P smiled. “That I can answer, doll. Remember that family who took Andreus in as a teenager?”

  I groaned. “Please don’t tell me it was Dorothy’s family . . .”

  “Indeed it was,” Pepe said. “Andreus and Dorothy grew up as pseudo-siblings. I believe he is also a godfather to Glinda.”

  I was starting to get the uneasy feeling that keeping Glinda out of this case was going to be impossible.

  Glancing at my watch, I stood up. “All right, well, thanks for the information.”

  Pepe grabbed Mrs. P’s hand and hopped off the table. Both landed gracefully near my feet.

  “Anytime, ma chère. Now if you’ll excuse us . . .” He tugged Mrs. P’s hand.

  While they were usually eager to help with my investigations, both seemed a bit reserved with this case, and I suspected it had to do with my questions about the Elder.

  As much as they might love me, their first loyalty was to her.

  If I were in their shoes, I might run off, too. I could be tenacious when looking for answers, and they probably didn’t want to slip up and reveal something they shouldn’t. I imagined they wouldn’t like becoming frogs.

  “You’ll see yourself out?” Pepe asked.

  “Yes, you two go on in. I wouldn’t want to moush your tails when I leave.”

  Mrs. P laughed and said, “Aha! I told you it was a word.”

  Pepe shook his fist at me. “La traîtresse!”

  Traitor.

  I blew him a kiss as I turned to go, a smile on my face despite the fact that I was no closer to piecing together this case than when I came in.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Why do we call him Mr. Macabre? Maaaahcaaaahhbrrrrraaaahhh,” Mimi said, exaggerating the pronunciation and sounding like a true Bostonian while doing so. “It’s so theatrical.”

  “Maaaahcaaaahhbrrrrraaaahhh!” Harper sang, garnering looks from several customers in the bookshop. She gave them a wan smile.

  She and Mimi stood side by side at the counter as they unloaded books from a newly arrived delivery. Now that Mimi was thirteen, she could legally work for Harper a couple of days a week, and Harper had been more than happy to call her in today as a favor to me. Keep her from camping out at the Tavistock house and asking a thousand questions of the techs still on the scene.

  Mimi towered over a petite five-foot-nothing Harper, and was growing into quite a beauty with her dark curly hair, luminous brown eyes, and fair skin. Harper was already a beauty with her elfishly big brown eyes, pixie haircut, high cheekbones, sleek jawline, and Kewpie lips.

  Despite the height difference, they looked more like sisters than Harper and I did, and personality-wise, they were two peas in a pod. Outspoken, a little outrageous, and deeply loyal.

  I said, “I’m not sure. He was nicknamed that long before we moved to the village. But it fits.” Oh, how it fit.

  “Why not just call it like it is?” Mimi asked. “He’s creepy. He should be called Mr. Creepy.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” Harper said, tipping her head in acknowledgment.

  Mr. Creepy fit, too.

  Harper said, “I still can’t believe Andreus is Glinda’s godfather. I mean, I can. Because, hello, they’re a lot alike, being evil and all, but . . .” She suddenly looked at Mimi, who’d noticeably stiffened, and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Another thing they had in common. They often spoke without thinking.

  From my spot on the comfy couch in the center of the shop, I watched as Mimi scanned a book into the computer system. Glinda had taken Mimi under her wing last fall, and the pair had formed an unlikely friendship. They shared an interest in the arts and Mimi had learned a lot about her mom’s growing-up years, as Glinda and Melina Sawyer had been best friends as teenagers. But after Glinda had shown her true colors in January, Nick had forbidden Mimi to spend time with her. Mimi knew what had happened, but it was becoming clear that she was conflicted about her feelings for her former friend. She’d never been on the receiving end of Glinda’s misdeeds and couldn’t quite wrap her head around what had happened. She wanted to believe the best about her. Her loyalty ran deep.

  I admired that she thought there was any good in Glinda.

  But I was very glad the Broomcrafter was out of her life. She’d been using Mimi to get to Nick and me. That was something Mimi still didn’t understand—and probably wouldn’t for years to come.

  “No big deal,” Mimi said, keeping her gaze averted as she picked up another book. Harper threw me a help-me look, and I sympathetically shrugged my shoulders.

  Harper said, “Well, ah . . .”

  My sister was rarely at a loss for words. It spoke volumes about how much she cared for Mimi.

  Taking pity on Harper, I said, “Have you heard from Marcus? When’s he due back?”

  Relief filled her eyes. “Sunday.”

  “I bet he wishes he were here,” Mimi said. “All these people needing lawyers lately.”

  “More likely,” I said, “that they wish he was here. He is the best attorney in the village.”

  Mimi slid a stack of books to her right to make room for more. “That’s true. I’d want him representing me if I killed someone.”

  Harper and I stared at her.

  She laughed, an effervescent sound that fairly bubbled out of her. “Not that I’m planning to!”

  And just like that the tension that had been hanging in the air dissipated, fizzling into a distant memory.

  I glanced around, looking for Missy. She had wandered off, searching for Harper’s orange tabby, Pie. I found them both near the children’s reading area. Pie sat high atop the partition sectioning off the space from the rest of the shop, seemingly taunting Missy, who stared longingly up at her. Pie had apparently been taking taunting lessons from the prissy Tilda.

  This bookshop was another of my favorite places in the village. Harper had redecorated after buying the place, and it was now done up in a Starry Night theme. Bold yellows and blues. Stars. Bookshelves carved to look like trees stretching into the sky. Despite Harper’s reluctance to embrace her heritage, this shop was nothing short of magical.

  I dropped my voice to keep from being overheard by the customers. “We’re not sure Andreus killed anyone.”

  “I don’t know,” Harper said. “Seems he had the biggest motive with the”—she dropped her voice to a faint whisper—“diamonds.”

  Mimi said, “I need to read more about”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“Circe.” Then in a normal tone, she added, “What kind of mythology books do we carry here?”

  “A decent selection,” Harper said, “but the library’s your best option. Colleen can probably help you find something.”

  We’d met Colleen Curtis and her mother, Angela, at an ill-fated cooking class last year. Angela was one of Harper’s part-time employees, and Colleen seemed to have endless energy as she balanced college classes and working a few part-time jobs. She helped Vincent Paxton at Lotions and Potions, shelved books at the library, and also babysat for Mimi from time to time.

  “Has Colleen ever mentioned if the library’s microfilms are digitized?” I asked.

  Harper snorted. “Oh sure. Comes up in conversation all the time.”

  I threw her a wry look. “A simple no would have sufficed.”

  “Are you looking to read old articles about the heist?” Mimi asked.

  Nodding, I said, “Plus, I want to see if I can find any info on Andreus’s mother. What might have happened to her or where she may have gone. An obituary, for example, might list other family
members I can talk to.” If she had been the tipster, maybe she knew the full identity of the accomplice. Because I couldn’t help but wonder if that accomplice had finally come back for the diamonds now that the Tavistock house wasn’t under a spell.

  “Why not search online databases?” Harper asked.

  “That’s Plan B.” Those databases weren’t cheap, and I wasn’t sure if Zara had changed her name after the divorce, assuming her maiden name again or if she’d remarried. “I’m really curious about the details of the heist. The Toil and Trouble’s files are bound to have more details than what I’ve found online already. And it seems no one around here is willing to say anything more than it’s best forgotten.”

  Harper said, “Maybe it is.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, “but a woman is dead, and we need to find out why.”

  “I think Kent did it,” Mimi said softly. “I never did like him much.”

  It was the second time I’d heard that. “How do you even know him?”

  “When Dad and I moved here, he was the one who showed us around at first.”

  “What didn’t you like about him?” Harper asked. “He wasn’t creepy with you or anything, was he?”

  Vigilante Harper was getting ready to take him down. I’d gladly help her if it came to that. The thought of anyone hurting Mimi made my blood boil.

  Mimi wrinkled her nose. “No, no. I’m not sure how to explain it. Okay, so there’s this girl at school who bounces from friend to friend, always trying to be the funniest, the most popular. She laughs too hard at people’s jokes, and changes her mind to agree with the opinion of the person she’s with. Always saying what she thinks people want to hear instead of what she really thinks.” Mimi let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s so annoying. Kent’s just like her.”

  “Fake?” Harper supplied.

  Mimi smiled. “That’s it. He was fake. A big pretender.”

  No wonder he was a good salesman.

  “But what I remember most about him was that he got mad at Raina, because she was the one who found us the house we bought.” Mimi scanned another book. “Dad and I overheard them arguing about it once when they didn’t know we were around. I still don’t know why he was so upset. It was his company, too.”