Witch Perfect

by Dakota Cassidy

  “Stevie? Wait! Please don’t go. I need your help. You said you’d help!”

  I pulled him into a hug, fighting off my own rising panic about the pressure to perform sitting in the pit of my belly. I needed to gather my senses and regroup. Also, not really like me, but I had to attribute this strange reluctance to being the person who’d found Wade. Maybe I was still shaken.

  Falling on a dead body wasn’t exactly an event you chalked up to “just one of those things”—especially when it was someone you knew and liked.

  “And I will, I promise you, Kirkland. But for now, how about we let you get your bearings—be with your family? I’ll be in touch.”

  But he pulled away from me and vehemently shook his head. “No! No, we can’t wait. All the shows I watch say it’s harder to solve a case if you wait too long. The case goes cold. Please, Stevie. Please help!”

  Unfortunately, that was true. The trail could go cold, but that wasn’t helping my case for him to take a step back.

  “Help?” a voice boomed, loud and boisterous as it entered the room. “Why are you asking this crazy quack to help you? She tells fortunes and reads cards during the tourist season for a bunch of suckers, boy. You don’t need your cards read by some hippie—you need to find a murderer!”

  Chapter 5

  My mouth fell open and my eyes narrowed. People were often rude about my gift. But usually it was in hushed tones and whispered behind their hands. Not outwardly in a roomful of people.

  Blood rushed to my face and threatened to spill out the top of my head. A quack, huh? My expression hardened as I turned to face my heckler.

  None other than Harris Endicott stood there, with his wife, Rosemary. He was a big guy—easily six-foot-three, and even easier a solid three hundred pounds of plenty of good food and expensive bourbon.

  Harris sauntered in, his round belly peeking out from beneath the shiny brown vest he wore under a tweed jacket to hang over his matching brown trousers. A blunt, unlit cigar hung from the corner of his mouth between white, even teeth.

  He ran a hand over his thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and stared at me as though I owed him money.

  He was about to find out what hippie quacks were like when they were insulted.

  Never one to avoid a metaphorical standoff, I walked up to him and held out my hand. “Mr. Endicott. How interesting to meet you. I’m the hippie quack, but you may address me by my given name—which is Miss Cartwright.”

  Rather than take my hand, he guffawed, his small eyes hooded by a wide brow, obviously amused. “And you’re a real looker hippie quack, if I do say so myself.” He nudged Win with a shoulder. “She yours?”

  “Dad!” Loretta chastised with a frown, her embarrassment clear. “Stop being so sexist and focus on Kirkland. He needs us right now.”

  I saw Win suck in his cheeks and his eyes flash his ire, but I also remembered, he’d taught me the rule about catching flies with vinegar and honey—or something like that—so he probably wouldn’t dare respond rudely.

  “Mine, Mr. Endicott? In what sense?” Win asked in his hoity-toity, condescendingly British way. “Do explain the context of your question. If you’re asking if this hippie card reader is the love of my life, then yes. In that sense, she is mine. Is this lovely lady yours?”

  Rosemary Endicott, of medium height and svelte figure, full-tilt blushed and smiled at Win, her hand fluttering to her cheek as he took the other and gave her a small bow.

  Harris stared at him as though he had two heads. “Yep. This is the little woman,” he blustered, giving Rosemary an awkward and anything but loving pat on the shoulder with his big, beefy paw.

  “And did you purchase her for a one-time fee, or did you opt to make small monthly payments over a lifetime?” Win asked, making Loretta laugh so loud, she clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Harris shook an admonishing finger at Win and gave him a salty grin. “Ahh, you’re a funny one, aren’t you?”

  Win clicked his heels together and gave Harris his best smile, all while I internally simmered and glared at the older man’s round face and his over-confident stance.

  “Indeed, old chap. I’ve been told that a time or two. Now, we were just on our way out. Good day, Mr. Endicott.”

  But once again, Kirkland freed himself from Loretta’s grip and grabbed my arm, pulling me to him. “Please, Stevie. Don’t let my father put you off. He can be a real piece of work, but he has no say in who I choose to privately investigate.”

  Kirkland’s words dripped with malice and sarcasm, and it was clear to me there was little exaggeration to the whispers about his relationship with his father.

  “Investigate, boy?” Harris said, rudely interrupting, his booming voice echoing in the great room. “Why don’t you leave that to the police? You’ll look like a fool if you hire some nut who preys on tourists with all that babble about ghosts. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Dad!” Loretta chastised once more, her cheeks flushing red. “That’s rude. Don’t talk about Kirkland’s friend that way.”

  “Stevie’s the best at what she does,” Kirkland insisted. “She doesn’t prey on anyone. She donates all the money she makes doing readings because she doesn’t need it. You’re not the only one who’s rich, and she’s probably solved more murders than the police have! So why don’t you stay out of it and mind your own business, Dad?”

  In this moment, I found it particularly odd that when Harris had waltzed in here, he hadn’t rushed to console his son—nor had Rosemary, Kirkland’s mother. Instead, she’d stood stock still next to Harris.

  Rather, Harris was worried about how it would look to people if the quack fortune teller helped investigate his son-in-law’s murder. I knew Kirkland and Harris had their differences, and I was going to assume some of it had to do with Kirkland’s lifestyle, if his father’s misogynistic comments—comments he made everywhere he went—were any indication.

  But his son was in real pain, and the only one who’d given pause was his sister Loretta.

  And that made me very angry. I don’t have children, but I can assure you, if I did, or if I do someday, there won’t be anything about them I won’t do my best to understand—the least of which would be their choice of lifestyle.

  So, even though I felt completely out of sorts right now, even though I didn’t know if I could help Kirkland at all, I looked Harris directly in the eye when I answered his son’s plea.

  Gripping his shoulders, I said, “Of course I’ll help you, Kirkland. Nothing could stop me.” Giving him one last hug, I smiled as reassuringly as I could. “I’ll be in touch later today.”

  With that, I took the hand Win held out to me, and we whisked out of the great room and through the front doors, leaving a trail of dried dirt in our wake.

  Back at home, after a hot shower to wash away my tango with a dead body, I sat on the floor of our far less grand living room in front of the fire with Whiskey by my side. Stroking him to soothe how angry I was with Harris Endicott and his assessment of me. Strike sat in front of the fire, softly purring his contentment, while Belfry napped upstairs and I simmered.

  Win slid down beside me, crossing his legs and tilting my chin upward. “Dove? You showed incredible restraint back at the Endicotts’. I’m absurdly proud of you.”

  Clenching my teeth, I eyeballed him, still thirsty for Harris Endicott’s blood. “Thanks for sticking up for me in your amicable, but charmingly civilized way. I was this close to taking his head off if you hadn’t stepped in.”

  “While I would have wished to put him in what we once fondly called a Pennybun Twist—”

  “A what?” I turned to look at him with a snicker.

  Arkady laughed. “Ah, the good old days, dah, Zero?”

  Win laughed, too. “Some of them were good, weren’t they, mate? It’s a technique named after Lawrence “Larry” Pennybun. Known to most of us as Agent Kiwi.”

  “Kiwi? Seriously? What kind of name is that for a spy?”

 
“That, too, is long story. Let us just say, if Zero had used the Pennybun Twist on that awful Harris Endicott, he would be in what is called traction.”

  “Exactly,” Win said. “We’re better to handle things without violence, but that surely doesn’t mean I didn’t consider the pleasure I would derive from the act. Alas, Kirkland is grieving, and it would seem his father isn’t terribly fatherly. A scene wasn’t what Kirkland needed.”

  I smiled at Win and patted his thigh. “You’re a good man, 007. I’m glad you showed restraint, because I wanted to punch him square in his nose.”

  “Your violent tendencies aside, mind telling me why you were so hesitant to offer your help when he asked? This is right up your alley, Dove.”

  I still hadn’t figured that out. “I’m not sure, but the things Harris said about me made me angry enough that I was incentivized to help.”

  Win cocked his head, his eyes searching mine. “Or do you mean egged on?”

  I flapped a hand and turned to stare at the fire. “Same difference. Either way, I didn’t much cotton being called a quack. The very least he could have done was said it behind my back. He’s rude and a misogynist and I don’t like him.”

  “Indeed, he is. Now, back to the question at hand. Any thoughts on why you were so hesitant to help Kirkland? Anything you want to talk over?”

  “Dah, my vanilla wafer. Is not like you at all. It also make Arkady curious. Can we help? Are you okay-doke?”

  I smiled up at the ceiling and then at Win. “I don’t know why I was so hesitant. Maybe it’s because I was still in shock over finding Wade that way. I mean, I did fall on top of a dead body—by mistake, of course, but still…” I shivered, or maybe it was shuddered.

  Whatever it was, it was a little too creepy-crawly for me.

  Win took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Now, Dove. I know you well, and I know when there’s trouble brewing in your pretty head. However, I also respect your boundaries. All I ask is, if this turns out to be more than your shock at finding Wade, I would like to think you’ll talk to me—to us—about it.”

  “Deal. Now, let’s talk about what we think might have happened to Wade. Did you look again at the pictures Kirkland had from the conference Wade was attending?”

  “Briefly, and I’ll send them to you as well. Let’s look together, shall we? Maybe over a lovely chardonnay?” He rose and held out a hand to me with his usual handsome smile.

  I took it and let him pull me upward. “Will you cut up my Twinkies and make them look like dainty pieces of cakes to go with it?”

  He chuckled and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my lips before tugging me toward the kitchen. “Anything for you. Even if it involves cutting cheap, spongey cake into something that at least resembles a treat worthy of your magnificent beauty.”

  I giggled as Win went to the cabinets to get the Twinkies and I went downstairs to the cellar to grab a bottle of chardonnay. Win intended to turn a portion of the basement into a space for his collection of wines. I was happy to let him do that in the hopes it would erase my horrible encounter down there with his cousin, where I’d almost died.

  Whiskey and Strike heard us stir and followed behind, Strike pecking at the floor and Whiskey trotting, his feet padding on the hardwood.

  My phone beeped as Win sent me the pictures from Kirkland’s phone, and I tried to set aside this ominous feeling I couldn’t shake yet couldn’t pinpoint. After grabbing the wine, I made my way up the stairs and began scrolling through the pictures.

  There were only four or five, and most were of the very handsome Wade in a sports jacket, smiling in selfies, with random people strolling through the hotel behind him.

  Handing Win the bottle of wine, I set my phone on our island. “I don’t see anything unusual. Do you? I mean, it certainly looks like your average conference. People with nametags, dressed similarly to Wade. Except that one banner with the drug advertisement on it. You’re right, some of those side effects are brutal.”

  Anal weeping being one of them. But hey, what’s a little anal weeping if your blood pressure’s under control?

  Win set my precision-cut Twinkies on a fancy plate and handed me a linen napkin (because paper would never do). “Neither did I. What we need to do is call the hotel to ensure Wade actually checked in for the conference in the state of Ohio. It wouldn’t hurt to check the airlines as well and find out when he flew back to Washington. According to Kirkland, he shouldn’t have been home yet. Did he fly back last night, or did he come back even earlier and Kirkland didn’t know?”

  “Wade did not look like he was dead long, Zero. You notice his body was still fluid, not too stiff.”

  “How did you see that?” I asked, munching on a piece of Twinkie while Win poured our wine and Whiskey settled at my feet.

  “I am ashamed to say, I watch you fall on pile of dirt. I say nothing because I can’t stop laughing. I left after that and did not come back until you yell for Zero. That was when I see dead Wade and regret my laughter.”

  Gasping, I shook a finger up at him. “So you were up there laughing at me, all while I was rolling around like I was in the ring at WrestleMania?”

  Arkady barked a laugh that echoed in my ears with a pleasant resonance. “That is what it looked like.”

  “My humiliation aside, how long would you estimate he’d been dead, Arkady?”

  “I am no expert, but maybe only last night.”

  It was better to leave the actual time of death to the police, but having a guesstimate helped narrow down the window of time I should look into, and it would save me some unnecessary investigation.

  Win sipped at his wine before cutting some brie. “And do we remember when Wade was originally supposed to arrive home?”

  I blew up the picture of Wade in some sort of conference room and saw a napkin with the Marriott insignia on it. So, likely, he wasn’t lying about the conference, but it was easy enough to check.

  “Later today, according to Kirkland. Now, I know it’s impossible, but I actually thought he was talking to Wade on the phone when we got to the nursery.”

  “Why’s that, Dove?”

  “Because he looked upset—or maybe emotionally invested, is more the term. He looked like he was in deep. I thought maybe they were having a spat. A lover’s quarrel. You know, newly married, adjusting to married life and so on. But I guess not… And look at this picture.” I held up the phone to show him the napkin. “Wade was definitely at a Marriott. Whether it was the one in Ohio, I don’t know, but we can surely check.”

  I handed my phone to Win, and he nodded. “Then we need to know who Kirkland was talking to today, and we need to know when Wade last called, and if Kirkland knows if anyone heard from him last.”

  I grabbed some paper and a pen from a drawer in the island and wrote that question down so I could text it to Kirkland. I’d been serious about letting him process. He’d been through a trauma, and I needed his head to be on right when I drilled him.

  Cupping my chin in my hand, I sighed. “Any thoughts on who’d have a reason to kill Wade Lees? He was always so warm and inviting. I have to say, I’m confused. I’ve never seen him have a cross moment with anyone. Now, that doesn’t take into account his life before Kirkland, of course. He lived in California, and then Seattle, which was where Kirkland met him. He could have a past we know nothing about.”

  Win bit into a wafer-thin cracker and dabbed at the corner of his mouth before he said, “I’ve had very little interaction with him, of course, due to my isolation until I received my identification. However, the one time I ran into him in the hardware store a few weeks ago, he was a right fine bloke.”

  Win rasped a sigh before he said, “Though, this could have been a mugging, too, Dove. We’ll have to see if the police find his wallet missing. We were so wrapped up in Kirkland, I didn’t have my listening ears on before they asked us to wait by our car.”

  I dropped the pen and shook my head. “I don’t even have a list of sus
pects except for…” I bit the inside of my cheek. Should I dare say it?

  “Except for?”

  Swallowing, I blew out a breath. “Except for Kirkland. I mean, that’s Investigative Protocol 101. Always suspect the spouse first.”

  Gosh, I hated that. I hated everything about that.

  Arkady grumbled, and I’m guessing it was because he liked Kirkland, too, and wanted nothing more than the killer to be anyone else. “What about the sister, Loretta?”

  “As far as I know, she had a pretty good relationship with both her brother and Wade. She was one of their biggest supporters when they decided to marry, and from the looks of things today when Harris stormed in, she acts as a buffer for him with his father. I mean, she was the one who drove all the way in from Seattle. Harris and Rosemary looked as though they took their time coming home from wherever they were.”

  “And did we notice how suspiciously quiet Harris’s wife was? You’d think she would at least have some compassion for her son, but she never even approached him,” Win commented with a scowl, scooping up Strike to stroke his waddle.

  I tucked my hair behind my ears and nodded, remembering how vacant Rosemary’s eyes had been. “Good point. Loretta was the only one to offer any comfort besides us. Though, I’m aware his relationship with his parents is quite strained. At least, with Harris it is. Kirkland never talks much about Rosemary. But back to the pair of them—we need to find out where they’ve been these last couple of days, once we have a time of death.”

  “Do you think the mean Harris is suspect?” Arkady asked. “I suppose he is capable to kill creatures and hang on wall. Is person a leap?”

  “Well, in all fairness, chap, we’ve—”

  “Stop!” I yelped and closed my eyes. “I don’t want to know, you two. I know you have storied pasts, but some things aren’t meant to be shared. Now, yes, Harris’s a hunter, but killing a human being is a leap. That leads to the question, why? What’s his motive to kill Wade? Okay, so he wasn’t thrilled Kirkland was marrying him, but I get the distinct impression he wouldn’t have been thrilled merely because he’s so clearly uncomfortable with the fact that Wade is gay. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was any male.”