How the Witch Stole Christmas (Witchless In Seattle Book 5)

by Dakota Cassidy

  As much as I liked Melba Kaepernick, and as much as I sympathized with her having to partner up with Sean Moore, I needed to get everyone out of our house so we could find Belfry.

  “How about I give that some thought and get back to you?”

  She gave my shoulder a playful nudge with her fist. “I’d feel a lot more like I was part of the team if you did. I hear when you give someone a nickname, it means they’re in the club.”

  Despite my worries and the disaster area my house had turned into, I laughed out loud. “The club? I’m pretty sure I’m the only member of that club. Haven’t the guys in the department warned you about me? I drive them bananas.”

  “Aw, for sure. But I’ve heard a few of ’em talking when they thought no one else was listening. There’s a lot of respect there, Miss Cartwright. They might not like it, but I heard them say you’re pretty good at solving a murder.”

  “Well, look at you, Stephania. Respect from your peers is quite admirable indeed. Even if they’re still in the closet about it.” Win crowed his approval.

  My cheeks went hot, but my spine straightened at the compliment. “That’s really nice to hear. I really don’t interfere to be a pest. Though, I’m sure Starsky would disagree. I genuinely only want to help, and sometimes I get carried away.”

  Melba smiled wide, her bright eyes picking up the glow of the only remaining Christmas lights left draped on the fireplace mantel. “I heard that, too. Which is why I’d like a nickname. Maybe the guys will be more accepting. I’m pretty far from home. Miss my family. It’d be nice to at least have something to joke about with the guys at the station.”

  My heart clenched. How could anyone resist this adorable, fresh-faced woman? I sure couldn’t. She was a refreshing change from Growly Pants Moore. But I had to for now. I needed to get on with the search for Bel.

  “Men can be such territorial goons sometimes. Forget them and tell me where you’re from. I detect a slight accent.”

  Those bright eyes of hers fell to her feet. “A really small town in Maine.”

  I looped my arm through Melba’s and began directing her over the mess of the parlor floor and toward the front door. “I knew I heard a bit of an accent! Wow. You really went to the extreme, coming to this side of the country, didn’t you? Either way, welcome to Ebenezer Falls. Drop by anytime. Maybe for lunch? My door’s always open here and at the store.”

  “That’s really nice, Miss Cartwright. Thank you. I’d better get back now. I’m sure the station’s a hornet’s nest.”

  She sounded reluctant to leave and torn about her reluctance. I sensed Melba loved her job but wasn’t a fan of the newb syndrome—or the way the all-male Eb Falls Police Department was treating her. I wondered why she’d left Maine, but that question was for another time.

  My head bobbed and I smiled. “You bet. Please tell Starsky if he has any more questions to give me a ring-a-ling.”

  The dark night swallowed up her hearty laughter as she made her way back down the front porch steps. I closed the door and clenched my eyes shut with a deep inhale.

  “Are we ready to begin, Dove?”

  I made a break for the stairs, hiking up my caftan’s hem, taking the steps two at a time. “Let me check on Whiskey and our remaining turkey guest and then we’ll hit this.”

  Even as I said the words, my stomach tilted and churned. Something was very wrong with Bel’s disappearance. I just couldn’t get a feel for what was wrong because it all felt wrong, and as I raced down the hall to check on the turkey and Whiskey, I had to keep my legs moving or I’d sit down and cry.

  * * * *

  Leaning on my elbows, I watched the turkey peck at the wood flooring in our kitchen, fighting the hot sting of tears.

  “No, no, my malutka. Do not cry. I promise you, we will find our little ball of cotton candy if I have to turn your America inside out! I am good spy. Zero is good spy. We will be good spies together. Double the spies. This I promise you.”

  We’d retraced every single step Win had taken when he’d first hunted for Bel. Then we’d done it all over again. An hour later and Bel was nowhere to be found, Whiskey was miserable without his best buddy, and I had a new turkey friend who was surprisingly easygoing, considering all his other friends were now on a farm in a heated hut.

  Whiskey moaned at my feet. He’d stopped pacing, but his sheer misery resonated in every deep sigh he took. I reached down and scratched his ears, loving the velvet feel of them, before I sat up straight, determined to find my Belfry.

  Wiping at my tears, I clapped my hands on my legs. “Okay, so let’s treat this like we would any other investigation. First, I think we should contact the company who hired the carolers. They must’ve spoken to Bel. How else can we explain the change made from Victorian-era singers to beach bunnies and leather? But then we have to ask ourselves, why would Bel do something so awful? He wouldn’t. You guys know it. I know it. That means it had to be someone else. Maybe someone pretending to be Bel? Which still makes no sense. They’d have to know the name Bel uses when he does any kind of business transaction for us.”

  “Good idea, Dove. Then we must call the establishment where you purchased the turkeys. I find it highly suspicious you had four turkeys roaming the house and that very number matches the order you placed. You did order four turkeys, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I sure did,” I mumbled with a wince. “Which would lead one to believe switching out live turkeys for the kind you find in the frozen food section is some sort of literal twist to this elaborate joke? I also ordered pigs in a blanket. So what’s next? Real pigs wearing blankets?” Immediately, I frowned. “Oooo, forget I said that!”

  “Speaking of turkeys, throw Strike here some leftovers. Surely we have oatmeal or some cereal. He’s likely starving, the poor gent. It will keep him busy as we make calls.”

  As I grabbed my phone, I frowned when Win’s words sunk into my brain. “Strike?”

  “Well, of course I mean the turkey, Stevie.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “As in the term used in bowling, Stephania. Surely you know if you throw three strikes in a row it’s called a turkey?”

  I learned something new every day about my Spy Guy. “Did you do something as small town and mundane as bowl when you were alive, Win?”

  His amused laughter was rich. “I did indeed. I’m quite the bowler, in fact. I was once a teenager, too, Stevie. I wasn’t always a super spy who traveled the world and romanced beautiful women as easily as some put on their socks each morn.”

  As I scrolled through my phone to find the number of the nice young gentleman in customer service who had helped me choose the actors to play the carolers, I went to the cabinet and stuck my head in to see if we had any oatmeal.

  “So he has a name now?”

  Strike followed behind me, brushing my thigh, his feathers rustling against the fabric of my jeans as he pressed his head into my leg. I had to admit, he was incredibly affectionate and terribly sweet.

  “Of course he has a name. A name and no home. What are we to do whilst we look for a home for him? Throw him out in the cold? Leave him nameless and hungry? It’s Christmas, Stephania. Surely we’ll house him until we figure out what to do with him.”

  I don’t know that I truly knew the depth of Win’s compassion and generosity. Each time I thought I’d reached the bottom of his well, he went deeper.

  Pulling out a box of oatmeal, I ripped it open and scattered some on the floor. Strike instantly made a dash for it, pecking and clucking low, making me almost smile.

  “I would never throw a helpless animal out in the street, Win. Of course he stays until we find better digs. In the meantime, I’ll call Christmas Twenty-Four-Seven and find out what we can about our carolers.”

  Scanning my phone, I located the name Chuck, the customer service rep I’d first spoken to when I’d begun hatching my plan to sweep the town Christmas Lights Display Contest.

  As the phone’s shrill rin
g droned in my ear, I sorted my thoughts until I heard, “Christmas Twenty-Four-Seven, this is Chuck speaking. How may I make your holiday spirit shine brighter?”

  “Chuck? Stevie Cartwright here—”

  “Ah! Miss Cartwright! I hope you’re calling to tell me how satisfied you were with our service. As in five-out-of-five-stars satisfied? If you’d just click on the link to our website and take our customer survey—”

  “Chuck! I am not satisfied!” Panic fueled my tone, and I knew it, but my nerves were raw with Bel missing for almost four hours now and Chuck’s tone was too bright, too animated and too full of good cheer.

  There was a small pause, a hiss of breath, and then Chuck was back on his feet again. “Oh no! I’m so sorry to hear that, Miss Cartwright! How can we make this right?”

  “First, Chuck, you can tell me how the heck my work order was changed from Victorian-era carolers to women in bikinis and bustiers, singing Def Leppard and Aerosmith?”

  I heard the furious clicking of a keyboard, and then Chuck—sunny, pleasant, unflappable Chuck—squawked, “Bikinis? Heavens to Betsy! How did this happen? We talked for almost an hour when you placed the original order and I remember you specifically said you wanted actors who could not only sing and play bells, but they must be dressed in Victorian-era garb. I don’t understand, but I’m looking up your order as we speak and…”

  There was a small gasp even customer-service-provider-extraordinaire Chuck couldn’t hide before he exhaled.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “Well, Miss Cartwright, it’s right here. It says someone called this morning and changed the order…”

  “Who called this morning, Chuck?” I gripped the phone tighter.

  “Your virtual assistant, Miss Cartwright. Yes, here it is, right here. One Bell Fry, from Connecticut.”

  “Did you take the call, Chuck?”

  “No, Miss Cartwright. Unfortunately, I was detained. My mother and a big ugly corn on her toe took up the better part of my morning at the podiatrist. Though, I will admit, it’s awfully strange the customer service agent who did take the call didn’t make mention of such an enormous change. I’m the senior customer service rep on this account, after all.” He paused then, and spoke the next words as though he were reading them and they hadn’t quite sunk in. “However, there’s a notation on the account, and I’ll admit once again, it’s rather odd…”

  My internal alarm bells rang loud and clear. “What does the notation say?”

  “Oh, sweet Destiny’s Child!” Chuck squealed, the attempt to keep his tone calm long gone. “It says ‘the more skin showing the better’. Right here on my screen in big bold letters, Miss Cartwright! That doesn’t sound at all like you or Mr. Fry!”

  No. It sure doesn’t.

  “Bell Fry?” Win’s question whistled in my ear. “That’s Bel’s code name. The one he uses when he does all of our Madam Zoltar business, too. Someone is toying with us, Stephania.”

  Win was correct. Bel would never do something like that. Which could only mean someone knew his code name…knew far more about us—me—than they should. Knowing an intimate detail like that meant whoever had pulled off this prank had very private information about us. No one but the three of us knew Bel used that made-up name to represent himself as my virtual assistant whenever we had phone or Internet business to do.

  “Miss Cartwright? Are you still there? I’m sending a text to my supervisor as we speak. I’ll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do. You can take that to the bank and they will suffer my wrath. Oooh, will they suffer. Of that I assure you!”

  I swallowed hard and began to pace the length of the kitchen, the palms of my hands breaking out into a clammy sweat of rising trepidation. “Thank you, Chuck. Please, as soon as you have any more information, give me a call. Use this number when you do.”

  I clicked the phone off before I screamed, my heart thrashing against my ribs as I reached for the edge of the countertop and clung to it until my knuckles turned white.

  The silence of the room pounded in my ears, the stillness of the house without Bel zipping about drove his absence into my very soul. My gut was right. I knew I was right. This Christmas debacle had to do with Belfry’s disappearance.

  “Boss!”

  When I’d told Win earlier I couldn’t feel Bel anymore, I’d meant it. But just as earlier I’d felt the distinct lack of his presence in my heart like a dead weight, that very presence rushed right back in, making my chest swell in an almost painful wave.

  “Boss! Help me!”

  Chapter 6

  “Win, Arkady!” I whisper-yelled. “Did you hear that?”

  “Arkady Bagrov hears nothing, my malutka.”

  “Dove? What is it? Talk to us.”

  Holding my finger up to my mouth, I silently shushed them and cocked an ear to the room.

  “Steeeeeevie! Help me!”

  My heart shifted and clenched. He was afraid. Wherever Bel was, he was scared. I heard it in his tone. “Bel! Where are you?”

  “Boss! Help!” Bel called out, the last word beginning to fade and warble.

  “Belfry! Tell me where you are!” I cried, my eyes scanning the kitchen as though he might appear out of nowhere—which, by the by, was ridiculous. Bel didn’t have magic. He couldn’t appear and disappear at will.

  “Has she lost, as the Americans say, her marbles, Zero?” Arkady asked, his question clearly hesitant “Sit, my sweet potato. You must sit and rest. You are hearing things.”

  “No!” I yelped with a shake of my head as I ran from the kitchen toward the front door. “Bel is out there—somewhere. I hear him, Arkady! If I can hear him, surely the two of you can!”

  “Dove! I hear nothing. Nothing at all. Talk to me, Stevie! What is he saying?”

  Maybe only I could hear Bel because he was my familiar? But did that mean… No. No. I refused to believe he wasn’t of this Earth. Besides, if he were on the other side, Arkady and Win would be able to hear him. Wouldn’t they?

  I didn’t know anymore. Since I’d become a human, the rules had all changed. I wasn’t supposed to be able to hear ghosts since I’d lost my powers. Yet, I heard Win and Arkady as though they stood right in the room with me.

  But so far, I’d only heard a couple of other spirits from the afterlife without assistance from my spies, and the instances had been very random. Still, none of this made any sense.

  “Beeeel!” I bellowed again, yanking open the front door to look out into the night sky. But the only thing that greeted me was the harsh glare of that ugly red light and the littered mess of my front lawn.

  I ran out onto the front porch and peered into the darkness, leaning over the railing as the pelt of a hard rain pummeled my face. “Belfry, answer me! Please!”

  Win’s warmth encompassed me, beckoned me. “Dove, come back inside. You’re frightening Whiskey—and me, for that matter. Please come inside and let’s talk this out.”

  But I brushed Win off as I headed back inside, closing the door behind me. Maybe it was because this particular mystery involved one of the most important people in my life, or maybe it was because I was a bigger amateur than I thought, but I didn’t want to talk anything out, even as I knew that was exactly how we’d figure this out.

  Climbing over the debris in the entryway, I headed for the kitchen and some coffee. “I can’t think straight, Win! Bel needs me. He called for me. He said he needed help. Why can’t you and Arkady hear him?”

  “I don’t know. I only know we must continue to piece this together. That means we next call the establishment where you ordered your turkeys, and we keep asking questions and inquiring until we find our man Belfry. Now snap out of this, Stephania, and focus!”

  “Zero, don’t be so hard on our girl. She is like sparrow—fragile. We don’t want to break her tiny wings.”

  Summoning up another breath of air, I sucked in as much as possible before I held up a hand in protest. “No. He’s right, Arkady. I’m
not at all my most logical because this is Bel we’re talking about here. But Win is spot on. I need to keep calling everyone involved in the making of this nightmare. There’s a connection we’re not seeing here. Bel is out there…somewhere. I heard him. That wasn’t my anxiety playing tricks on me, and it all goes back to whoever sabotaged the decorations and changed the carolers.”

  “Here’s something else to consider, Dove. If in fact this connects to Belfry, it has to have something to do with magical foul play, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I blinked and stopped short of reaching for the coffeepot as Strike pecked at my feet. “How so?”

  “Enzo, Stephania. Think about the time frame. If Enzo truly did leave just after Chef Le June arrived, who would have enough time to take down the Christmas decorations that took you almost an entire month to put up if there weren’t magic involved? As I recall, the plan was for you to arrive shortly after both Enzo and someone from Petula’s staff left. It’s simply not humanly possible to have redecorated the entire house in that amount of time without the use of some sort of magic.”

  My mouth fell open and my stomach turned. “Do you think…?”

  As I considered Win’s words, my head swirled. My Spy Guy was right. There was no way, even with a crew of people, someone could have done all that damage outside in that short amount of time.

  Could Adam Westfield, the warlock responsible for literally slapping the witch out of me, be the one who’d done this? But why would he kill Chef Le June?

  And then another horrible thought crossed my mind. If Adam was responsible for Chef Le June’s death, had he killed him from the afterlife like he’d tried to kill me?

  Arkady cleared his throat. “Please, do not take offense when I ask. This magic you speak of so often. Arkady has trouble to understand. You were real witch? With wand, and broom, and spells? Like, poof and bippity-boppity-boo?”

  My mouth was too dry to answer, so Win filled in the blanks for me. I’d never really told Arkady my history in any great detail, and he’d never pushed for information beyond what he’d heard us occasionally discuss.