Some Like It Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

At the mention of blood, I pushed my plate away, my appetite gone.

  “Cherise has a point. He did get all squeamish with the drool last night,” Harper said, drowning her pancakes in syrup.

  Apparently, talk of blood and death only boosted her appetite. “Glinda thinks he’s being framed.”

  “Me, too,” Ve said.

  “Me three,” Cherise added.

  I glanced at Harper.

  She swallowed. “Me four.”

  “But he doesn’t have an alibi. Not one he’ll share, at least,” I said.

  “Everybody has secrets,” Cherise said, color rising to her cheeks.

  Ve glanced at her, a small smile on her face. “That’s very true.”

  Nick came back in, and Ve immediately handed him a plate. “Thanks,” he said, sitting next to Harper. If he noticed she’d stolen his seat, he didn’t say so.

  Harper motioned to the phone in his hand. “Something good? Another break-in?”

  Her definition of “good” was definitely out of whack.

  “The ME’s office,” he said. “Preliminary report is in, and it looks like someone is trying to frame Andreus.”

  Three sets of eyes settled on me. I laughed.

  Nick lifted an eyebrow in question.

  “Him being framed seems to be the general consensus around here,” I explained. “What makes you say so?”

  “The blood on Raina’s finger? The finger she supposedly wrote the letter A with?” he said, stuffing a bite of pancake in his mouth. “Well, it was on her right hand. Raina was left-handed.”

  Apparently I was the only one who couldn’t eat and discuss such things. “It seems to me that anyone who knew her well would know that.”

  “Like Calliope,” Ve added, waving her fork.

  “So that just leaves Noelle as a prime suspect,” Cherise said as she poured another cup of coffee.

  I wasn’t really ready to rule anyone out. I’d been fooled by killers before. Plus, if Raina had surprised an intruder, that person might have been in a rush and careless about such details.

  Nick added, “Nothing else stood out in the autopsy. The blow to her head will be the cause of death, pending tox results.”

  Ve said, “Have mercy.”

  I stood up and gathered dirty dishes, carrying them to the sink to wash. I hoped Raina hadn’t suffered at all. That she didn’t even grasp what was happening. That she’d never known what a rat-toad her husband had been.

  Cherise said, “You know, I’ve been thinking, Darcy.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “About that house on Maypole.”

  I turned to face her. “You want to take another look? I can call Calliope. . . .” After all, Cherise had hired me to help her find a house, and I wanted to see that task through.

  “No, no,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “I think we should make an appointment with Noelle, don’t you? See what we can wheedle out of her?”

  Harper said, “Good idea!”

  “Great idea,” Nick added, “but I get first dibs. She’s coming in for an interview this morning with her lawyer.”

  Cherise tipped her head. “Then I’ll make an appointment for this afternoon. Good with you, Darcy?”

  I smiled. It seemed Cherise was still vying for the role of sidekick. “Only if you promise not to wear the leather jumpsuit.”

  Ve coughed and said, “The leather what?”

  Cherise lifted her chin imperiously. “I’ll promise no such thing.”

  Shaking my head, I looked for Missy to give her a tiny scrap of bacon—one of her favorites. She wasn’t in her dog bed. “Where’s Missy? Outside?”

  “I didn’t see her when I was out there,” Nick said.

  I groaned. “Scott Whiting strikes again.”

  “What’s he have to do with Missy?” Harper asked.

  “She has a crush on him,” I said.

  Ve fanned her face. “Who doesn’t?”

  Cherise shot her a curious look. Ve smiled sweetly.

  The phone rang and Harper jumped up to get it. “The loony bin, Harper speaking. . . . Oh hey, Evan. . . . Sure. Hold on.” Harper carried the handset over to me. “For you.”

  I wiped my hands and took it. “Hello?”

  “Darcy,” Evan said tightly.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. I heard the buzzing of an oven timer and murmured voices in the background. Bakery noises.

  “Is there something you might have forgotten to tell me?”

  “I don’t think—” I gasped. “Finn.”

  “Yes, Finn. I thought we agreed to interviews only.”

  “Well, ah . . .”

  “Could you please come over?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his aggrieved tone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t fire him until I have a chance to talk to you.”

  “I’ll give you nine minutes; then all bets are off.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nick walked with me across the green, holding my hand the whole way.

  It was such a simple thing. Two hands linked together by entwined fingers. Yet, it felt like more. It felt like . . . security. Comfort. Unity. Together . . . we could conquer anything.

  “I saw your face when you were telling everyone that the Tavistock house sold,” he said, watching me carefully. “You were more attached to that house than I thought.”

  “I know you never cared for it. . . .”

  He bumped me with his arm. “Just because I wouldn’t have picked it doesn’t mean that I can’t understand why you’d like it.”

  Nick liked having a big yard with plenty of space between him and the neighbors. His garage at his farmhouse was enormous, with high ceilings and plenty of room for his woodshop. The single-car garage at the Tavistock house was falling in on itself.

  “It’s so silly,” I said, not trying to deny it. Not with him. “I never could have afforded it. Yet . . . I don’t know. It just felt right. Plus, you have a wonderful house. Big. Lots of space.” My cheeks suddenly heated. “You know, down the road. If . . . I mean . . . Well . . .” I cut myself off before I shoved my foot any farther into my mouth.

  Crow’s-feet stretched from the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “It does. Plenty of room. Not if. When.”

  My stomach went all gooey. “When,” I confirmed.

  “And you’re more than welcome to help me redecorate any time you want. Single-dad-style isn’t all that inviting.”

  “It’s plenty inviting.”

  “You lie. I have a sheet covering my bedroom window.”

  I laughed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  Grinning, he said, “And let’s not even discuss the shower curtain.”

  “I’m growing fond of the mildew.”

  “See? Uninviting.”

  Squeezing his hand, I said, “Doesn’t matter how the place is decorated. As long as you’re there and Mimi is there, then it’s inviting. Even Higgins, though I could do without the drool.”

  Clouds shifted, and the village immediately brightened as though transforming from black and white to color. Dew sparkled on the grass and bird chatter filled the air. The coo of the mourning dove was easy to pick out among the songbirds.

  “Everyone can do without the drool,” he said. “But even still, maybe we can go shopping for some things . . . The mildew needs to be evicted.”

  I stopped, looked at him. Nick hated shopping. “What is all this? Are you just trying to get my mind off the Tavistock house?”

  Nodding sheepishly, he said, “Yes.”

  There was that gooey feeling again. “All right. Shopping. When?”

  “Tonight?”

  I’d already had plans to spend the night at Nick’s, as I did most weekends. At first I slept over only wh
en Mimi wasn’t home—at sleepovers of her own—but gradually over the past five months, it just became natural for me to stay even when she was home. It became less about Nick and me and more about . . . family.

  Building a family.

  Which was exactly what Nick and I had been doing over the past year. One day at a time. Me. Nick. Mimi. Missy. Higgins.

  But that being said, we had never once discussed moving in together, and I didn’t keep so much as a toothbrush there. Not yet.

  Because it never felt like it was my house.

  I had the feeling Nick knew that, hence the offer to redecorate. Add my stamp. Add me.

  “It’s a date,” I said as we came to a stop in front of the Gingerbread Shack. It was busy, a lot of the tables taken. Through the window, I could see Finn talking the ear off Scott Whiting. Ah, Missy was going to be disappointed that he wasn’t at the Pixie Cottage.

  I was glad to see Finn still here. It had been closer to half an hour since Evan called—it had taken me longer to get out of the house than I thought.

  Nick gave me a hug, kissed me, and said, “Call if you need me.”

  “Call if you need me.”

  Rolling his eyes, he walked away and I watched him for a moment, smiling goofily. Finally, I turned to go into the shop.

  Bells jingled, a harmonious backdrop to Scott’s resigned tone as he asked, “Do you have any real estate experience?”

  “Technically, no,” Finn said. “But I’m planning to get my license as soon as I take a prep course.”

  This was news. Calliope was undoubtedly beside herself.

  “Hi, Darcy,” Finn said, spotting me.

  Scott’s back was to me. He turned and gave me that now-familiar rescue-me face as he said, “I’ll take that under consideration, Finn.”

  He said, “Thanks, and how does one—”

  I cut him off. “How’s the job going so far, Finn?”

  Finn’s red hair had been combed and he was freshly shaved. He was a good-looking guy when he cleaned up. Except for the nose, he actually resembled Evan a bit—they could pass for brothers.

  “It’s great,” he said. “Evan’s a good guy, and it’s nice to be busy again. Thanks for hooking me up.”

  “He is. And you’re welcome.”

  He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “He said you might stop by. Want me to let him know you’re here?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Nodding, he headed for the kitchen.

  Scott said, “Thanks. I’m starting to think I should lie low until after the decision on the filming permit.”

  I batted my eyelashes. “You know, I think I’d be a good choice . . . I don’t have any experience whatsoever, but I’d be brilliant on camera.” Literally.

  He laughed. “Don’t even joke. I’m mad at you, by the way.”

  “Why?”

  “This.” He held up his plate, which had a half-eaten cake ball sitting in a pile of used pleated square baking cups. “This is my fifth. I can’t stop myself, which is why I rarely eat sweets in the first place.”

  “They’re good, though, aren’t they? The devil’s food mini cupcakes are my favorite.”

  Humor flashed in his blue eyes. “Stop! Just stop!”

  I cleared my throat and tried for nonchalance as I said, “Did you meet Evan?”

  “Yeah. Nice guy.” He bit into that last cake ball.

  Hmm. That didn’t seem too enthusiastic. My matchmaking attempts usually had better results.

  “Darcy,” Evan said. “A word in the kitchen?”

  I turned and found Evan standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a phony smile plastered on his face.

  Uh-oh. “I’ll see ya, Scott.”

  He stood up. “I’ll probably still be here when you’re done. I’ve got to try the cupcakes.”

  Finn was behind the register, taking an order as I passed, and it looked to me like he’d settled in just fine. I just needed to convince Evan that Finn should stay.

  Once I passed into the kitchen, Evan grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side. He peered around me and said, “Who is he and why haven’t I met him before?”

  “Finn?” I asked. “You know him. He and Calliope Harcourt are eng—”

  “No, no! I know Finn. Sorry for the freak-out phone call. I meant to call you back, but I got distracted. He’s actually doing really well. He already knew how to work a cash register, and when there’s downtime, he’s cleaning. So . . . thank you.”

  “That hurt, didn’t it?”

  “I might need to see Cherise.” He smiled. “Now, tell me. What do you know about Scott Whiting? I saw you talking to him.”

  Smiling, I peeked out into the seating area. Scott’s plate now held two mini cupcakes. “You’d know him if you left this place once in a while.”

  Tipping his head back, he said, “Yeah, yeah. Spill.”

  “I know he has an ex named Derek.”

  “You wouldn’t be kidding me, would you? Because I know I’ve been a bit of a pain lately, but that would just be cruel. Cruel and unusual.” He looked at me hopefully. “Mean, even.”

  I put him out of his misery. “Not kidding.”

  His eyes lit. It did my heart good. Except for one little thing—Scott hadn’t seemed that interested in Evan. I danced around that by saying, “He doesn’t live around here, though. He’s the TV producer for the home show.”

  “He’s the producer?”

  “Yep. He’ll be around until the vote for the filming permit next week. If the permit is approved, then he’ll be here only sporadically. If it’s not approved, he moves on to the next project.”

  “A week, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s too bad. But maybe it’s for the best?”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve had a bit of a dry spell lately, and maybe a short relationship is just what I need to get back into the swing of things.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But you’re not really a short relationship kind of guy.”

  He elbowed me. “Not willingly, at least. But I should be open to new opportunities, right?”

  A timer buzzed, and Evan said, “Go back out there and talk to him. Put in a good word for me, will ya?” He shoved me through the doorway, then abruptly pulled me back. “And Darcy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for telling him to come here.”

  My jaw dropped. “How’d you know? Did he rat me out?”

  Evan laughed. “Not at all. Operation Fix Evan—I knew you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from setting me up. I just didn’t think you’d do such a good job of it, or I would have let you do it sooner. Now go.”

  I didn’t realize I was so predictable. Shaking my head, I stopped at the counter and ordered my usual as I tried to figure out a way to get Scott interested enough in Evan to take him on a date.

  Ugh. What had I gotten myself into?

  Finn quickly gathered my order and I said, “You’re a natural here.”

  “I worked at a couple of fast-food places to put myself through college, so I have some experience. Let’s just hope Evan doesn’t ask me to bake anything, because I can’t even boil water without burning the pot.”

  I wondered if the new managers of the Sorcerer’s Stove were going to resume cooking classes. I mentioned it to him, just in case.

  “I hope they do,” he said. “It’d be nice to cook for Calliope once in a while.”

  “I saw her this morning. She looks a little better.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Staying busy helps her, too. Easy to block certain things out that way. You know what I mean?”

  “I do.” I took out my wallet. “I suppose it’s good that Kent isn’t putting business on hold right now.”

  Leaning in, he made a sardonic face and said, �
�Between you and me, I think it’s a little weird. Don’t tell Calliope I said so, though. When I mentioned it last night, she got heated. I went to the Cauldron for a while until she cooled down.” He slid a paper coffee cup over to me. “But I mean, who does that? The guy’s wife just died.”

  Outwardly, I hoped I looked appropriately concerned, because on the inside I was jumping for joy. Thank goodness for Finn and his loose lips. “I happen to agree, but if he was having an affair . . .”

  “I guess,” he said. “It just bugs me.”

  The situation? Or Kent. I decided to push.

  “Do you have any suspicions of who his mistress might be?”

  He took my money and punched the cash register buttons as though he had a personal grudge against them. “Not really.”

  “No guesses?”

  He handed me my change. “Nope.”

  Damn. But what had I expected? That he’d name his own fiancée?

  From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Evan, who was jerking his head toward Scott. I’d created a monster.

  “Thanks, Finn,” I said, taking my plate. I stopped at the coffee carafe, filled my cup, then wandered back to Scott. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sit, sit. I’m trying to make this cupcake last. Then I’m leaving and never coming back.”

  Ah, geez. “Maybe just get a to-go order next time?”

  “My trainer’s going to want a word with you,” he said, laughing.

  It was nice to know he didn’t come by his physique naturally. “By the way, Missy’s out and about again, so if you could keep an eye out for her, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Have you thought about a better fence?”

  “It wouldn’t stop her,” I said. “I call her the Houdini of dogs.”

  “This is the place where magic lives, right? Maybe she does have some tricks up her sleeves.”

  I’d considered that Missy might be a familiar more than once . . . if she was, it was entirely possible that she might be using magic to get out of the yard. I had no way of knowing if she was or wasn’t. If so, she wasn’t talking to me. For which I was grateful. It would be very strange to think of her any other way than a sweet dog.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Scott asked.

  “Not at all. Sorry. Wandering thoughts.”