Kirkland nodded, the wind blowing his curls about. “Aha. Then can I interest you in some coffee while you wait? I just brewed a fresh batch in the back of the store and it has your name on it.”
I sighed in approval, clutching my hands to my heart. “Is it any wonder Wade fell head over heels for you? Speaking of that handsome husband of yours, how’s married life treating you?”
There was a brief flash of uncertainty in his eyes before it was gone and he smiled broadly, revealing his white teeth. “He’s really good. Off at a pharmaceutical convention in Sandusky, but he should be back later today.”
“And your father? Harris? I haven’t seen him around much lately. Is he well?”
“He’s fine,” he answered, though it was wooden and without emotion.
Now there was definite uncertainty in his eyes, and this time I understood why. Harris and Kirkland had a strained relationship at best. Harris came off as the ultimate manly-man—to me, anyway. He was always slapping backs and smoking cigars outside the VFW hall.
He was forever making lewd jokes with the other men about women and their body parts, cackling like some dirty letch. Surprisingly, he could be so crude, he even made most of the other men cringe, and they came from an era where such behavior was almost never questioned.
Harris was an all-around good ol’ boy from an era long gone, and certainly not as sensitive as Kirkland. I often wondered if the strain between he and Kirkland had anything to do with the softer, gentler qualities his son possessed. Or if he was upset with Kirkland because he didn’t want anything to do with his father’s very successful chain of grocery stores.
In fact, Kirkland’s sister, Loretta, had recently taken over as CEO at Endicott’s when her father and mother retired, and Kirkland had opened the nursery after moving back from Seattle. He claimed he was happiest among his plants and nature, and I have to say, he’d done quite a job of turning this rundown patch of land into quite a showpiece.
I loved what he’d done with the small shop, where he carried so many beautiful lawn accessories. It looked like a little cottage, with its window boxes filled to the brim with flowers and the door painted in periwinkle with white panels and a simple willow wreath hanging on it.
Win came up behind me, placing a hand at my waist. “There you are, mate,” he said to Kirkland with a grin. “I have a question or two about the lavender bushes in bulk. Might I borrow you for a moment?”
Kirkland’s sunny disposition returned, and he nodded. “You bet, Win. Mind if I grab Stevie some coffee first?”
I propped my chin on my shoulder and shot Win a coy smile. “Of course he doesn’t mind, Kirkland. He knows how to keep me quiet on a flower-shopping trip, don’t you?”
Win barked a laugh and rolled his hand in the air with a small bow. “Indeed, I certainly know the way to her heart is a steaming cup of Joe. Carry on, and I’ll meet you in the greenhouse.”
Dropping a quick kiss on my forehead, Win headed off, and I wandered down the rows of mulch and soil, noting all the garden decorations.
There were a bunch of rustic lanterns and wash basin tubs, and even some garden gnomes. I really loved the old wheelbarrow, filled with marigolds and some of my favorites, chicks and hens. The purple and yellow looked brilliant together.
I made a note to mention to Win how nice it might look in the backyard by Strike’s coop as I pulled my phone out to take a picture to show him.
Backing up, I fought the stream of sunlight blinding me and snapped a couple of pictures from a different angle.
And that’s when I stumbled backward and lost my footing.
I fought a yelp of distress, landing in a mound of mulch and dirt with a thump, fretting over the fact that my cute vest was going to be ruined by the moist soil and my clumsiness.
Stuffing my phone in my vest pocket, I reached behind me and squinted into the sun, trying to push my way up, but my hands kept sinking into the dirt.
I decided to roll to my belly, my cute outfit be darned. Twisting my body, I flopped to my belly and stuck my hands into the mound, pushing into the soil to get some leverage as the sun made my eyes water.
And that was when my hands hit something deep in the middle of the pile—something cold and stiff and…and…?
Whatever it was it felt gross, leaving me startled.
I recoiled almost immediately, stifling a scream. Falling off the mass of dirt, I took a bunch of it with me, spraying it all over my face and neck. I fought to sit upright, but I’d hit a patch of mud when I’d dropped to the ground and, as I rose, I slipped again and hit the dirt face first.
Scrambling, I knew I had to get away from whatever I’d touched because it left me with the willies. Alas, the less I tried to panic, the clumsier I became, and I fell back into the dirt yet again, only this time, I didn’t just fall—I fell as though I’d been thrown from the roof of a ten-story building.
The impact of my body made the dirt part and shift beneath me, until I forced myself to still and stop squirming around as though I were wrestling with the Invisible Man.
I’ve fought off a couple of murderers in my time, for Pete’s sake. Getting up off the ground shouldn’t be this hard.
With care, I placed my palms on the dirt and pushed my torso upward, straightening my elbows with the intention to sit up on my knees. As I did that, I shook my head to clear my face of the loose soil. However, when I got most of the dirt out of my eyes, that left my brain trying to parse what I was seeing.
Now, to my credit, I did try and gather my senses before I made an even bigger fool of myself. I mean, I’d already rolled around in the dirt like an underfed Sumo wrestler while I attempted to fight my way out of a harmless mound of earth.
Funny, right?
But it wouldn’t be so funny if I screamed my brains out like some hysterical ninny.
Except I only have so much self-control, you know?
So be kind when I tell you, I screamed to the high heavens. I screamed so loud and so long, I’m pretty sure all the glass in the western hemisphere broke.
Because as I lifted myself up and I cleared my eyeballs of the soil, I found myself staring down at a face.
A dead face, if you’re into details.
Chapter 3
“Wiiiiiin!” I howled, pushing off the soft soil and stumbling backward. My head slammed into the ground from the force I’d used to propel myself away, but the mud was slippery and slimy and I simply couldn’t get a foothold.
Win called out my name, his tone alarmed. “Stephania? Where are—”
I heard him gasp out loud, the sound sharp in my ears, and then his strong hands were pulling me up and away.
I launched my head into his chest, driving my arms around his waist and squeezing my eyes shut, clenching my muddy hands into fists. “Is that who I think it is? Oh, Win, please say it isn’t who I think it is!” I murmured, inhaling a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself.
Win wrapped his arms around me and cradled the back of my head. “Oh, my darling Dove. I’m afraid ’tis.” I heard the regret in his tone and the somber quiet of his words. Then he set me from him and brushed the loose soil from my hair and face. “Are you all right?”
I shook my head, keeping my eyes closed. But I sniffled, “Forget about me, we have to—”
“Wade?” I heard Kirkland scream—just before a dull thump that sounded as though he’d fallen to the ground landed in my ears.
My eyes popped open, and I turned in horror to see Kirkland digging at the dirt, frantically brushing it off his husband’s face and body.
Wade stared up at us, glassy-eyed and stiff, his limbs and torso mostly still covered in the mound of dirt, his mouth slack. Also to note, his eyes were bloodshot, and he had something around his neck, but I couldn’t see exactly what. His hair was matted against his head as though there might be dried blood, but for all I knew, it could simply be from the rain we’d had and the moisture in the soil that also clung to his scalp and face.
&nbs
p; Clumps of dirt clung to his plaid shirt and his crumpled jeans, his tan cowboy boots were streaked and muddy.
Kirkland began to sob as Win placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Come now, mate. Let me help you up.”
“Nooo!” he cried in such raw agony, my heart quaked in my chest. He shrugged Win off, his shoulders shaking. “Wade! Wake up! Wake up, Waaade!” Gripping his husband’s shirtfront, Kirkland shook him as though the mere act would rouse his partner’s body.
I was at the point where I almost couldn’t bear to even look at him, his pain was so visceral, but Win managed to coax him away by pulling Kirkland’s back against his chest, wrapping an arm around him, and holding him tight, using his other hand to grab Kirkland’s wrist.
“Stop. Please stop,” he said in his reasonable Win tone. When Kirkland began to really sob, hoarse, husky sounds ripping from his throat, Win gripped him tighter. “Shhh—shh, mate. Let go of him, Kirkland. Let go and come with me.”
My Spy Guy physically picked him up and gently pulled Kirkland to me, where I wrapped my arms around him as he collapsed against me, his sobs echoing throughout the nursery.
The wind blew and whistled down the pathways of the open area where Kirkland usually displayed all the annual flowers during the warmer months, his muffled howls reverberating my soul as I held him and we rocked.
“Miss Cartwright,” Dana drawled as he looked down at me, his crisp uniform perfect in the noonday sun, his skin clear and healthy.
I was a little… I don’t know what I was, but I was a little something with Officer Stick-Up-His-Butt.
I’m not sure if peeved is the right word—or maybe it was hurt? Ignored? Bah. I couldn’t identify it. Maybe I was all of those things. Peeved he’d barely text me back. Hurt he wouldn’t acknowledge my existence in this world as a former witch. Ignored because he simply wouldn’t acknowledge me unless forced.
Either way, this role, the one where I was in the middle of something and he was glaring at me as though I’d created the situation I was in the middle of, felt somehow comforting.
Thus, I folded my hands behind my back and looked up at him, keeping my face passive. “Officer Nelson.”
He pulled out his little notepad and pen. “Why did I have a feeling you’d be here?”
I popped my lips at him. “At a nursery? Where there are flowers? What kind of investigating officer are you if you instantly thought of me in a place where buying something one has to nurture is the main source of inventory?”
He didn’t smile at me. In fact, he sucked in his cheeks like the days of old when we were still mostly frenemies and he’d tolerated me because he had no choice.
“I meant, why did I have a feeling you’d be here because there’s a dead body on the premises.”
“Just call me predictable,” I quipped.
“So what can you tell me about what’s going on?”
Win had placed the call to the Eb Falls Police Department, his voice crisp and concise as he’d passed on the facts of the situation while I’d held Kirkland and let him grieve.
As we’d waited for the police to arrive, Win brought the coffee Kirkland had brewed earlier, giving both of us a cup. At that moment, I would have preferred something far stronger, and I chugged it as though it were a tall glass of whiskey.
“I have very little to add. I was walking along the rows of soil and mulch here and decided to take a picture of that wheelbarrow full of flowers, when I tripped and fell into that pile there.” I pointed over his wide shoulder. “I was hoping we could put something similar near Strike’s coop out in the backyard.”
Dana furiously scribbled before looking up at me. “Strike being your pet turkey?”
Was he trying to get a rise out of me? He knew darn well who Strike was. “Are we pretending as though we’ve never met today?”
He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “No, Miss Cartwright. I’m just doing my job and verifying all the important information.”
“As though this is the first time you’ve ever met me…” I muttered, irritated. Then I flapped my hands. “Fine. Whatever. Yes. Strike is my turkey. My dog’s name is Whiskey, and my talking bat’s name is Belfry—you know, like ‘bats in the?’ It’s a play on the phrase, in case you wondered. You met him at Christmastime. Remember? He’s the size of an overfed gnat, white, and he talks. Talk, talk, talk. Anyway, I think that’s every living, breathing thing residing in my house.”
I watched him swallow, the long column of his neck revealing his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, but otherwise, he didn’t react. “And you were here today why, Miss Cartwright?”
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I snorted. “To bet on the horses. Duh,” I replied with sarcasm.
Dana’s jaw hardened and that little tic he had along it pulsed. “Miss Cartwright, we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way at the station in an interrogation room.”
I rolled my eyes at him and made a face. “I bet you think that’s a threat, but I’m here to tell you, I haven’t seen Detective Starsky or Detective Kaepernick in forever. We could always use a good kiki.”
He stopped scribbling and looked directly at me with his intense gaze. “Kiki?”
“It’s a gabfest, and I haven’t had one in ages with that yahoo Starsky. What better way to spend a brisk Saturday afternoon than with the man who hates my guts because I put his dirty partner in the clink?”
As if on cue, the wind whistled a lonely tune along the paths of the nursery.
While Dana prepared to put his pad away as though he were going to pull out his handcuffs and drag me downtown, Win blustered in, putting his arm around my waist.
“She doesn’t mean that, of course, Officer Nelson. You know my Stephania and how glib she can be.”
I frowned. Excuse me. Glib? I was being glib by refusing to acknowledge that we’d had an encounter with Dana that needed discussing, and he was skating over it as though it were a sheet of ice? Was that glib?
I looked at Win, who grinned down at me before he held out his hand to Dana. “Christoph Winningham, Win for short, in case you’ve forgotten since last we met. Stephania’s boyfriend. A pleasure to see you again, Officer Nelson.”
Every time Win acknowledged he was my boyfriend, my stomach still did a little jig, even today when I wanted to wring his aristocratic neck. Though, I hid my stupid girlie smile as best I could.
Dana did, indeed, take Win’s hand but it was brief and it was reluctant. “Right. Maybe you can tell me what brought you here today, Mr. Winningham?”
With a charming smile, my Spy Guy did what he does best. He charmed.
“Call me Win, Officer Nelson, won’t you? And we were here to price lavender bushes for the backyard guesthouse where I’m currently residing before this… this tragedy occurred.” He paused then and his face brightened. “Say, are you a flower man, Officer Nelson?”
His question must have caught Dana off guard, because he tilted his head, scratching at his temple. “A flower man?”
Win grinned, rocking back on his heels. “Yes! Can you appreciate the beauty of a good landscaping with colorful blooms aplenty?” He sighed with a bit of drama. “It reminds me of my mum and her gardens back home across the pond. There was simply nothing lovelier. I guess it’s a little silly, but it holds grand memories for me. Call me a sentimental fool, but other than Stephania, there’s little that makes me happier than communing with the soil. There’s truly nothing like getting your hands dirty and seeing something flourish, eh, mate?”
Communing with the soil? Getting his hands dirty? Win didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who wanted to actually dig the garden. I figured he’d pay someone to do it for the garden club. I mean, this was a man who ironed creases into his jeans, for Lola’s sake.
But Win’s words must have sparked a memory of the bromance they’d shared in our driveway last year when I went missing, because suddenly, Dana was all smiles.
“Ah, I do understand that,
sir. I absolutely do, and if lavender is what you’re looking for, this is the perfect place to grow it.”
“Hah!” Win responded, slapping Dana on the shoulder. “I knew I’d pegged you as a fellow gardening connoisseur. Why aren’t you a part of the garden club, my good man? Surely, your skills would be useful there?”
Dana pulled off his hat (he still wore one even though I’d heard they weren’t a necessity anymore) and held it between his fingertips, his badge sparkling in the sun.
“When they formed, I was working the night shift, and I wasn’t able to attend. But maybe I’ll join now that I’m back on dayshift.”
Win bobbed his head and winked. “We’d love to have you, Officer. It would be nice to have a male POV from time to time—one that isn’t mine. The ladies oft hesitate when I make suggestions simply because they’re convinced I can’t possibly have an eye for garden design.”
Now Dana grinned, just the way he had when they’d met in our driveway, hos brown eyes glittering. “I’d be happy to offer my input. Maybe you’d like to grab a beer and we could discuss a strategy to take over the garden club?”
My mouth fell open. If I was surprised at how Dana was treating me, I was doubly surprised at how he was responding to Win.
The jerk.
Win slapped him on the back again. “The pub on Main?”
“That’s the one,” Dana said with another grin.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Hand over your phone, mate. I’ll put my number in. Call me anytime.”
As they exchanged numbers like sorority brothers, I mentally made faces at Dana before I looked for Kirkland. He’d need someone with him for support and I had to remove myself from these shenanigans before I screamed.
Kirkland sat on an empty whiskey barrel, a blanket draped over his shoulders while Detective Starsky questioned him and another detective I was unfamiliar with orchestrated the forensics team. My heart contracted at how afraid he looked; how utterly lost and small in a place with so much beauty—a place he’d created.
Witch Perfect Page 3
