“Derek?” I asked, for clarification.
“My ex,” he said matter-of-factly as he swiped his screen to show me a snapshot of a handsome man holding a tiny brown fluff ball.
“Adorable,” I said, smiling.
“Boca or Derek?”
“Both.” I laughed.
He smiled fondly at the photo. “Yes, well, they’re both crazy. Derek is actually more neurotic than the dog. It’s his line of work.”
“Is he in the arts?” Artists were notoriously temperamental.
“No. Law enforcement,” he deadpanned. “You’re dating a cop, right? You know what it’s like.”
There were times in my relationship with Nick that it had been really hard, but we seemed to have worked out the kinks. My snoop job for the Elder certainly had helped smooth some rough edges, but Scott Whiting didn’t need to know all those details.
“‘Most everyone’s mad here,’” I said with a smile as I winked at Archie, who looked resplendent inside his cage. I pushed open the side gate and set Missy down. She immediately went to Scott’s feet to sniff around.
Archie squawked. “Alice in Wonderland.” He laughed just like the Cheshire cat in the Disney movie. “Mad, mad, we’re all mad.”
Looking at Scott, I shrugged. “I rest my case.”
Scott stared at Archie. “Did that parrot . . .”
I closed the gate behind us. “He’s a bird of many talents.” I headed up the side porch steps. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Lemonade? Ve made a fresh pitcher this morning.”
“Lemonade would be great,” he said, still watching Archie with a lifted eyebrow. “Thanks.”
I left the back door open, letting in some fresh air, and Scott finally followed me inside. In the kitchen, I moved aside a stack of election signs and a bag of buttons that hadn’t been there earlier. They were printed with Ve’s new slogan. “Please excuse the mess,” I said. “It’s been nutty around here with this election.”
He picked up a button. “Ye?”
I set out two glasses. “It’s catchy.”
Humor laced his voice as he said, “The election is the real show around here. I’ve never seen more heated arguments over a new development. Ve and Sylar are true characters.”
“Don’t forget Dorothy.”
“She wouldn’t let me if I tried. You two seem to have a history.”
I eyed him as I pulled the lemonade from the fridge. I could see why he was good at his job. He slipped prying questions into a conversation with ease. “History that is best left in the past.”
“Ah, it’s a secret.”
Tipping my head, I said, “It’s really no secret. We don’t like each other.”
He smiled.
Filling the glasses, and before he could continue that line of questioning, I added quickly, “I take it you’re in favor of the development since it would mean more episodes for the TV show?”
He wasn’t the only one who could pry.
He set the button aside. “I’d actually rather not see the land razed. There are homes enough around the village for the show’s purposes. Houses like the Tavistock place. I really wanted to feature the house in the show.”
Propping a hip against the counter, I said, “Is that why you were meeting with Raina this morning?”
Sipping the lemonade, he lifted an eyebrow. “Word gets around fast.”
“Small village.”
“But yes, to answer your question. The plan was to have the home’s new owner sign on as our first house hunter.”
I spotted Tilda at the top of the steps, peering down from her usual eavesdropping spot as I said to him, “How? I mean, shouldn’t you already be filming?”
“TV magic, Darcy. The shows are filmed after the house’s closing. Imagine wasting a month of work only to see a house fall out of contract? Once the house has its closing, but before the homeowner moves in—that’s when filming takes place. Raina and I were discussing how to broach the matter with the new owner once contracts are finalized. Not everyone wants to be on TV, so sometimes we have to be persuasive.”
Scott should be glad that I hadn’t the money to make an offer on the place. He might not have understood why I would refuse to be filmed. “Raina could be very persuasive.”
A flash of sadness crossed his features. “Yes. And even though she wasn’t guaranteed the job as host of the show, she was the front-runner, and as the home’s real estate agent I needed her on board, no matter what.”
“What time was your meeting?”
“Nine. We met in the dining room at the Pixie Cottage. She left around nine thirty, saying she had to meet a client.”
It was easy enough to check with Harmony Atchison, the owner of the cottage, to verify what he’d said. I couldn’t imagine why he’d lie about it—as far as I could tell, he had no motive for hurting Raina.
“Did Raina seem distraught at all?” I asked.
He shook his head. “She seemed fine. Busy like always. I don’t think there was ever a moment when her brain wasn’t working ten steps ahead.”
It was a good description. Raina was always on the go, go, go. As a Vitacrafter, she had endless energy.
“Is Kent truly being considered for the TV host job?” I asked.
He pushed his glass between his hands. “Honestly?”
I nodded.
“No. He’s not what we’re looking for.”
“I heard Raina asked for him to be considered a cohost. True?”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Small village,” I repeated, shrugging.
“Yes, true, but it wasn’t going to happen.”
“Did she know that?”
“Yes.”
“Did Kent know that?”
“I don’t know.” He paused, then added, “Instincts tell me all was not right in their marriage. She casually mentioned once that he’d been trying to talk her into franchising Magickal Realty, which she was opposed to. She liked being a boutique agency. He’d even gone so far as contacting a lawyer about it.”
“When was this?” I asked, not mentioning the divorce filing. Or the cheating rumor.
“A week or so ago.”
Another decision Kent had been trying to make without her.
Scott glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going, but the reason I wanted to speak with you in the first place was to inquire about your services.”
“My services?”
“With As You Wish. If the filming permit is granted, I’d like to hire a local crew in addition to our usual union team. Hiring a local team generally paves a long road toward neighborly goodwill,” he explained.
“Smart,” I said.
“I’d like As You Wish to become our staffing agent, so to speak. You know the locals, who’s trustworthy, who’s a good worker . . . That knowledge is invaluable.”
I felt a pang of unease, simply because if Ve was elected, I didn’t know if I could handle the job on my own . . . But I supposed that was a bridge to cross later. “We’d be happy to help you out.”
“Great.” He slid off the counter stool just as Missy wandered back into the house. “Thanks for the lemonade, Darcy. I don’t have it often and it reminded me of lemon shortbread cookies my mother used to make when I was little.” His eyes misted. “I’m not much for sweets, but I wish I had a plate of those cookies right now.”
“I’m sorry—did your mom pass on?” I asked as calmly as I could as my nerves jumped. Trying to be inconspicuous, I took his glass and set it in the sink while casting the wish spell in a low whisper. “Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay.” I blinked my left eye twice and the spell was cast. A second later, a plate of lemon cookies appeared on the counter.
Panic sliced through me until I realized he was bent down, patting Missy
, and hadn’t seen the plate magically appear. I let out a deep breath.
He said sadly, “She’s been gone a long time.”
Missy slurped his chin.
My heart went out to him. I knew the pain of losing a mom at a young age. “Well,” I said, “I don’t know how these cookies Ve made will measure up, but hopefully you’ll like them. I’ll wrap a couple for you.”
Puzzled, he glanced at me with a furrowed brow, then at the cookies, then at me again.
I smiled brightly and lied through my teeth. “Ve’s on a lemon kick right now.”
As I grabbed a cookie tin from the pantry, he said, “Do you mind if I try one right now?”
“Not at all.”
He took a cookie, eyed it as though one might look at a stick of dynamite, and took a bite. Closing his eyes, he let out a little sigh.
“Good?” I asked as I filled the tin as full as I could.
“Better than I remember, Darcy. I need to get that recipe from Ve.”
I handed over the tin and guided him to the door. His eyes were still a bit misty as I said, “I’ll try to get it out of her, but it’s an old family secret.” I had no idea what that recipe was. Maybe the Elder did. I could ask.
He paused on the top step of the porch and said, “A family secret?” He glanced toward the green. “There seems to be a lot of those around this village. See you around, Darcy.”
As he walked off, I glanced down at Missy. “He seems like a nice guy.”
She barked. I took it as an agreement.
Actually, he’d be a perfect match for Evan.
I yelled out, “Hey Scott?”
He stopped, turned. “Yeah?”
“Have you been to the Gingerbread Shack yet?” He’d said he wasn’t much for sweets, so it was entirely likely he hadn’t.
“No, why?”
“You might want to stop by there while you’re in town. Evan makes some of the best treats around. Magical even. You should sample some. You know, all in the name of research for the show.”
“Maybe I will,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and don’t tell him I sent you. Just consider it one more village secret.”
He eyed me suspiciously, waved, and walked away.
Missy was staring at me. “What?” I said to her.
She turned and went back into the house.
Operation Fix Evan was well under way.
Chapter Ten
“No, no, no!” Godfrey Baleaux exclaimed when I walked through the door of the Bewitching Boutique.
I glanced behind me, wondering what had set him off. “What?”
His plump cheeks infused with color, and he dramatically pressed his hands over his heart. “Dost my eyes deceive? Are you wearing linen pants, Darcy? Linen? Have I taught you nothing? Linen is for after Memorial Day and not a moment before. And are those flip-flops? Dear God, I may never recover.”
I stretched out my leg to show off my foot. “They’re nice flip-flops. Dressy, even.”
“No such thing. Surely you have a nice sandal at home. A wedge, for the love of man.”
My nice sandals were now in police custody. “Nope.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Where have I gone wrong?”
“It’s not you. It’s the weather. It’s hot.”
He shook his head as he came toward me. “We must suffer for our art. You have to change clothes . . . I’m sure I have something around here that’s just right.”
“You can suffer. I’ll keep cool in my linen pants and flip-flops.”
“Such impudence. You’re taking after your aunt more and more every day.”
I didn’t mind the comparison. I adored Aunt Ve. Once upon a time she had been married to Godfrey, whom she sometimes referred to as the rat-toad bottom dweller. Though these days she resorted to that name only when she was especially irritated with him. Which happened more frequently than one would think, considering they were close friends.
After pressing noisy kisses on my cheeks, he held me at arm’s length. “Other than that, you’re not looking too shabby for being the Grim Reaper.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been talking to Archie.”
Godfrey glanced over his shoulder at the customers in the shop and dropped his voice. “Au contraire. Archie’s been talking to me. I can never get a word in edgewise with that bird. I saw him in the back alley earlier spying on Kent Gallagher. He’s not very subtle, is he?”
“Have you met Archie? Subtle is not a word in his vocabulary.”
“True, true, he does like to be the center of attention, doesn’t he?” Godfrey asked, his lips curved in amusement.
“Always.”
I’d tried to locate Nick before heading here, but he had left the Tavistock house and wasn’t answering his cell phone. I left him a message about the possibility of Raina being pregnant and also Kent’s possible mistress.
“I’m assuming you’re here to see Pepe and Eugenia?” Godfrey said. “Because you’ve made it clear you’re not in the market for an outfit actually in season.”
“Talk about not being subtle.”
He laughed, a loud guffaw that stretched the fabric of his fancy vest. “Touché, my dear. Go on to the back. You know what to do.”
I patted his cheek and put a little swagger in my walk so my flip-flops would snap extra loudly.
Godfrey mumbled something about sassiness as I strode past the dressing rooms and pushed aside the curtain leading to the sewing room. I took a brief moment to glance around. It was one of my favorite spaces in the village. With the colors, the textures, and the various notions scattered about, it should have been chaos. It wasn’t. Instead, it was happiness.
After soaking up the ambiance, I quickly crossed the room and knelt down next to the far wall. A small arched door had been cut into the tall baseboard, and I leaned down to make sure the DO NOT DISTURB sign wasn’t hanging on the tiny knob. I’d made that mistake before and didn’t want to repeat it.
There wasn’t a sign, but I could hear raised voices from within the wall.
“It is a word,” Mrs. P was saying.
“Non, my love. You are mistaken.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the tone of Pepe’s voice. He was clearly trying not to lose his patience with Mrs. P. The honeymoon period of their relationship was apparently winding down.
“I am never mistaken,” she said coolly.
“Come, come. It is possible you’ve confused it for mush or mosh or smoosh. But I can assure you that m-o-u-s-h is not a word. I might also add that the use of your S tile in this particular situation is perhaps not your wisest choice for such a valuable letter.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. They were obviously playing Scrabble. Despite their competitiveness, they loved to play games, whether board games or cards. Sometimes their cutthroat playing tactics got the better of them.
“Perhaps,” she said, snarkily, “it is not your wisest choice to offer up such opinions without being asked for them. Moush is a perfectly lovely word, and if you do not stop arguing with me, then I will show you its meaning when I moush you against the wall.”
As I believed she would make good on her threat, I decided it was a good time to interrupt. I tapped on the wood twice. “Pepe? Mrs. P? Hello?”
A moment later, the door swung open, and Pepe stuck his head out. “Mon amie!” He wiped his damp brow with a tiny handkerchief and blinked at me from behind his gold-framed glasses. “Impeccable timing.”
Mrs. P rushed past him, giving him a little shove as she passed. “Dollface, what lousy timing you have! I was just about to win a contentious game of Scrabble.”
It had taken me a while to become adjusted to seeing her as a familiar. It helped that she actually resembled her old self. Between the spiky hair between her ears, her b
ig grin, her rosy cheeks, and pink velour dress . . . she looked like Mrs. P Just smaller. And furrier. After five months, however, I almost couldn’t imagine her as anything other than a boisterous little white mouse.
The best part of it all, however, was the fact that she was perfectly one hundred percent healthy. Her heart would never again give out.
“I can come back,” I offered.
In deep thought, Mrs. P tapped her chin with delicate little fingers while behind her, Pepe shook his head emphatically no.
“You’re here now,” she said, waving a hand. “My victory can wait a few more minutes.”
I suddenly heard a crash and noticed Pepe had disappeared. He popped out of the doorway a second later, looking abashed, with redness coloring his cheeks. “My apologies! I’m such a clumsy old thing. I accidentally knocked the game off the table while fetching a fresh handkerchief.” He waved the cloth as though to verify his story.
Mrs. P squeaked, her eyes widening.
Before she could say anything, he grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss on the top of it. “I shall make it up to you, mon amour.” He added three more kisses.
Oh, he was good.
She let out a sigh, then a laugh.
Oh, how I loved her boisterous laugh.
Looking up at me, she said, “How can I stay mad at him when he does that?”
I shrugged. “You can’t.”
She patted his cheek. “I will win the rematch.”
He chuckled ominously. “We shall see about that.”
I cleared my throat.
Both looked up at me, and Pepe gasped. “Is that linen?”
“You and Godfrey are more alike than you realize,” I said to him.
He straightened his red vest. “There’s no need to be insulting.”
Pepe had lived with the Baleaux family since becoming a familiar hundreds of years ago. Even though they were not related by blood, he and Godfrey showed classic signs of sibling rivalry. Their squabbles often led to threats of biting (by Pepe) or acquiring a cat (by Godfrey). Yet underneath it all was a loyalty that ran deep.
“I’m getting a crick in my neck, doll.” Mrs. P motioned for me to pick her up.
Some Like It Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 10
