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

by Dakota Cassidy

  They were right. I couldn’t let my emotions get the better of me. So I conceded. I had nothing to go on anyway, which wasn’t just frustrating, it was frightening.

  Bel was somewhere out there—alone…maybe cold…probably hungry. I couldn’t bear the idea, but if I didn’t let at least that much go, if I wallowed in what could be happening to him, if I gave even the smallest of horrors a chance to fester, I’d crumble.

  Heading to the laundry room, I pulled my comfortable old sweater from a hook on the wall and drove my arms into it with a shiver as I buried my nose in the soft, worn threads. The brush of metal against the skin of my neck as I disturbed the amulet my father had given me last summer comforted me.

  He’d said the necklace was a symbol he was always near, and right now I needed all the comfort I could get.

  Rest. I would rest so I could be at my sharpest for Belfry.

  Padding toward the parlor, I pushed my feet through pine tree limbs and shattered ornaments, clearing a path with Whiskey and Strike in tow. I looked away from the mess of my beautiful Christmas tree, the sticky puddle of coffee and caramel on the buffet table, and dropped down into my favorite chair by the fireplace hearth.

  Reaching for the remote, I tapped in the digits for The Hallmark Channel with my thumb without even looking. That’s just how acquainted I am with this channel—we’re old friends. Bel and I had watched a hundred of their movies over the years while he mocked and teased my gooey sentimentality and I defended the need for a time out from the real world.

  I’m a romantic at heart, and it doesn’t have to have anything to do with me personally, I just love a happily-ever-after, especially if it involves Christmas.

  Win and Arkady cut off my thoughts when they gasped in unison.

  I sat up straight, tucking my sweater around me. “What?”

  “Someone has stolen the kissy-face channel, too?” Arkady asked. “This is an act of terrorism! I will not let this blatant torture of my tangy blackberry jam stand!”

  My eyes rose to meet the big-screen TV on the wall across from the fireplace to see what they were talking about, and I gasped, too.

  My cable company’s message sat at the bottom of the screen and read: You do not subscribe to this channel. Please call your cable provider for further information.

  That son of a butt scratcher had cancelled my Hallmark Channel subscription on top of everything else?

  So not only had he likely kidnapped Belfry, and obliterated my Christmas decorations, but he’d yanked the final straw from my stack and taken the one thing that had any hope of easing my pain?

  Aw, heck no. This would not stand. Someone had to pay.

  “Argh!” I yelled my frustration at the dark screen, gripping the remote so hard I thought I might crack the plastic. “He cancelled The Hallmark Channel, boys. You know what this means, right?”

  “Someone will lose fingers?” Arkady shouted out. “I can show you technique so good, no surgeon will ever be able to sew them back on!”

  I blanched. I was into self-defense—all the way—but torture made my stomach hurt.

  “Now, now, old friend. You must keep your composure. We’ll get online and reorder it and all will be right as rain, right, Stephania?”

  “Right, but only after I cut off his fingers and reattach his thumbs to his nose!” I seethed, clenching my teeth.

  Arkady gargled a laugh “Hah! There’s my mini-spy! You will have your channel back in no time.”

  It wasn’t enough to take everything else, he had to take this one last thing—that one last bit of Christmas I held a dear tradition.

  My eyes narrowed. Someone had to pay—would pay.

  After I rested of course. I wanted to be especially sharp when I broke out the cigar cutter—Arkady’s personal favorite for chopping off fingers.

  With the thought of sweet vengeance to warm me, I took a deep breath and let my grainy eyes slide shut.

  * * * *

  The gentle pressure of someone’s hand on my arm, warm and steady, woke me. “Stevie-girl? You got a turkey in your kitchen. Anything I should know?”

  I stirred, my body one big ache. “It’s a long story. Know anyone who wants a turkey they swear on their grandmother’s soul they won’t eat?”

  He barked a familiar, comforting laugh. “Enzo’s here now, and it’s all gonna be okay. We’ll figure out the turkey. Until then, I brought you some coffee. Wake up, gal. C’mon. It’s freshly brewed, chockful of hazelnut, chocolate and cinnamon, just the way you like. Made a special Christmas concoction just for you. If you wake up, I’ll put a mountain of cream the size of Kilimanjaro on it, toooo,” he sang near my ear in his light New York accent.

  The seductive call of Enzo’s coffee wafted beneath my nose, tendrils of rich, chocolatey steam filling up my nostrils. My eyes popped open and flew to my phone still in my lap, noting it was already seven a.m.

  I bolted upright, that dread so deeply imbedded in my stomach last night sitting in the pit of my belly like dead weight.

  Belfry. Where are you?

  I took the coffee with grateful hands and smiled up at a man who’d become quite dear to us. “Enzo, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for the coffee.”

  He chucked me under the chin and smiled his broad smile, his wide face filling with Enzo’s brand of gruff kindness. “You had a rough night, huh, kiddo? Saw the mess out there. I’ll get the boys over today and we’ll make it good as new. Don’t you worry.”

  I motioned to the couch with a yawn. “You don’t have to do that. Carmella’s going to be home soon. You have other things to do, but please sit with me, Enzo. Tell me what happened yesterday? Did you see anything? Hear anything?”

  He yanked his baseball cap off his head and scruffed a beefy hand over his short hair as he dropped down on the couch, pushing my Santa throw pillows to the other end.

  His eyes fell to his hands as he worried his fingers over the brim of his cap. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police. I had to leave a little early yesterday and everything was just fine. One of the boys in my crew got hurt on the job. Tried to text you, but it wouldn’t go through. When I couldn’t get in touch with you, I called Petula and told her I had to skedaddle. Said I’d leave the key for the guy comin’ to set up. That was darn foolish of me, I suppose, but I figured we could trust Edmund. He’s one of Petula’s, after all. I’m sure sorry, gal.”

  “No, Enzo. Please don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault at all. Both you and Carmella are so good to me. I couldn’t ask for better friends.”

  “Sure feels like I let you down,” he grumbled, tucking a thumb into his overalls.

  “Never,” I said on a grateful smile. “So you didn’t see Edmund, but did you hear anything? Anything strange during the day while you were here working?”

  “It’s the darnedest thing, Stevie. I just can’t believe…” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the window facing the front lawn. “I don’t understand how somebody could do so much damage in such a short amount of time. I didn’t leave that early. It couldn’ta been more than maybe twenty minutes earlier than the original time I’d planned to leave.”

  Days like this—moments like this, where I wanted to spill my guts to the man who’d been such a constant in my life since I’d moved back to Eb Falls—came filled with guilt. He and Carmella treated me like one of their own, and I repaid them by deceiving them day in, day out.

  Sometimes I had trouble coming to terms with that, and then I remembered hearing the explanation Win had given Arkady. Aloud, the idea I’m an ex-witch who had a couple of dead spies and a bat as her besties sounded absurd. How could I explain that to Carmella and Enzo and keep the conversation remotely rational?

  Most of the people in town already thought I was bananapants, as it stood with all the alleged talking to not just myself, but ghosts. Add in this enormous house I lived in alone with a dog and it would only make the truth appear so much kookier.

  For now, I couldn’t
risk losing these people I’d come to care for, or put them in danger by telling them about my past. Thus, I remained silent.

  “The police, Enzo… They questioned you?”

  “Yep, they sure did,” he said, his lips going thin. “Kept me in that little room where they try and get in your head by making you wait until they talk to ya. But they ain’t gonna get old Enzo. I watch the cop shows. I know stuff.”

  I leaned forward and grabbed his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m glad you stayed strong. But you didn’t really have anything to tell them anyway. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah, but that one you call Starsky all the time? He always makes me feel like I did somethin’ even when I’m as innocent as a newborn baby. He’s what we used to call back in the old neighborhood…greasy. Yeah. Greasy. That’s him.”

  I pressed Enzo’s calloused knuckles to my cheek and inhaled the scent of sawdust and his aftershave before letting go. “Have the police heard anything else? Found anything else out since they left here?”

  He leaned forward on the couch and looked me in the eye. “I only heard ’em mumblin’ somethin’ or other about the smarty-pants chef when I was on my way. They kept me in that room for almost four hours, waitin’ around ’til they finally decided to talk to me, Stevie. I wasn’t as sharp leavin’ as I was goin’ in. But I know what I heard,” he grumbled before wrapping his fingers around his insulated cup and tipping it to his lips. “But I sure like the new gal, though. She’s not as testy and jumpy as Starsky. Got a nice smile, too. She’s a keeper.”

  My ears perked up, the tips growing hot. “What did you hear them say about Chef Le June, Enzo?”

  “They found somethin’ strange in his blood… No!” He paused, sticking a thick finger in the air. “They said they found something in his preliminary tox reports. Yeah. That was it!”

  “Strange?”

  “Yeah, the one who’s always dressed like he’s gettin’ his picture taken for cop of the year was talking to the other one. Sandwich, I think it is. He said they found somethin’ strange they couldn’t identify in that Romeo’s tox report.”

  Sipping at my coffee while trying to savor the special blend Enzo had created and forcing myself to focus on anything but Bel, I asked my next question carefully.

  “You call Chef Le June ‘Romeo’? Why’s that?”

  Enzo garbled a thick laugh filled with scorn in the back of his throat. “All us guys on the crew call him that, Stevie. He’s always runnin’ around town with someone new.”

  “Aha! The chef plays dirty pool!” Arkady shouted, almost making me jump. “I had bad feeling after we hear he has a wife while he dabbles with caterer Petula. Bad chef!”

  Poor Petula… “Who’s he running around town with, Enzo?”

  Enzo’s eyes went from lighthearted to dark and stormy as he squinted at me. “All sortsa girls. Saw him just the other day with that Cassie Haverstack.”

  I fought a gasp. “You mean the definition of soccer mom, Cassie Haverstack?” Her husband was an investment banker in Seattle. Well known, well respected. They had two children, a dog, and a beautiful house in one of Eb Falls’ most exclusive gated communities.

  “That’s exactly who I mean. The one who wears all the yoga pants and her dog’s sweater always matches hers. I know I shoulda told Petula I saw them off whisperin’ real close in each other’s ears at the dog park, but then I figured what I don’t know as truth can’t hurt Petula. Maybe all that whisperin’ has to do with somethin’ totally innocent. But they were mighty close under the cover of that mini-van door of hers. Maybe she was just orderin’ up some cake for one of her PTA meetings? Least ways that’s what I’d like to think.”

  I uncurled my legs from beneath me and sat forward. “But Chef Le June doesn’t even have a dog. Why would he go to a dog park?”

  Enzo began to rise, wiping his palms over his customary overalls. “That’s what I was thinkin’, but it ain’t my business, kiddo. So I kept right on drivin’ by.”

  “Have you heard about him hanging ’round anyone else?” I almost outwardly cringed asking the question, but I had to know if there were more suspects to consider. Every piece of information about Pascal, no matter how big or small, counted at this point.

  Enzo rocked from foot to foot. “I’ve heard all sorts of stuff ’bout that guy, Stevie. But I can’t report on any of it except what I saw with my own eyes. Don’t wanna cause trouble with gossip, but I can sure tell ya, there’s plenty of talk going around.”

  How did I miss this kind of stuff? Somehow I always managed to get wind of the gossip about me.

  Rising, I set my coffee down and gave Enzo a hug, which he returned by enveloping me in his bear-like embrace. “I’m sorry you got in the middle of all this, Enzo. I don’t know what’s going on or why Pascal was even here, but I hate that you were involved.”

  Giving me one last squeeze, he scrubbed his knuckles over the top of my head in his typical affectionate gesture and set me from him. “Don’t you worry about none of that. Now, we’re still having Christmas dinner together, right? Your family, my family, that father of yours who can’t stop looking in the mirror?”

  I laughed and nodded, my heart clenching at the mention of my father. “Yes. The Hugh Granite will be here, along with my mother, Dita.”

  Dita and I had come a long way since the summer. A long way. I’d venture to say we were bonding in a very light, occasional-mani/pedi, ladies-who-lunch way.

  And Hugh? Hugh was always texting me, calling me from Japan, sending me DVDs of his old and newest movie releases. He’d captured me in his crazy ego-driven web in the best way possible. I found I could actually count on him, and that warmed me from the inside out. He was the father I’d so craved as a kid times a million.

  I knew he was making up for not being around when I was a child. He didn’t admit as much, and truly, it was hardly his fault. My mother never told him about me, but he’d made being my father his mission.

  Enzo gave me a hearty pat on the back. “Good. He makes me laugh, but mostly, I like how happy you get when he’s around. Now don’t forget, Carmella’s gonna be here early to cook with you.”

  “How could I forget she’s going to teach me the secret to keeping my turkey moist, and how to make her sage, apple, and sausage stuffing from scratch? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Enzo.”

  Chucking me under the chin, he grinned, the lines on his forehead meeting his raised eyebrows. “Lookin’ forward to it. Gonna go call some of the guys to help clean up out there and figure out your turkey. Won’t take long with the whole crew. So don’t give me any guff, gal.”

  I blew him a kiss as he raised his wide hand in retreat and stomped out into the entryway. The closing of the door meant I could finally stop pretending everything was all right.

  “No word from Bel, I take it, Dove?”

  My chest went tight and my anxiety shot to a new level. “None since last night. But I think you know what we have to do, don’t you?”

  Both Win and Arkady groaned in longwinded unison, neither of them lovers of Cassie and her group of soccer moms. “Talk to Cassie Haverstock?”

  Heading toward the stairs, coffee in hand, I just needed to brush my teeth and we were good to go. “Yes. As far as I’m concerned, she’s now a suspect. I know you’re not fans of the yoga ladies, boys, but it has to be done. Who knows if Chef Bed Hopper was seeing more than just Cassie and Petula? Cassie might have names, and the names of more women could lead to an explanation for why he was here last night instead of Edmund. So maybe, at least until we hear something from Bel again, we can piece his disappearance together via Chef Le June’s half of the story. Let’s just hope the police don’t get to her before we do or she might clam up on us.”

  “But weren’t you the one who said we didn’t even know if this was a murder investigation?” Win reminded me in his cocky British way.

  “I was. But now there are tox reports with quote-unquote strange things showing
up. I want to know what those strange things are, and while I think about how I’m going to find out, talking to Cassie will keep my mind busy and make me feel like I’m doing something.”

  “So can we officially call this a murder investigation, Mini-Spy?”

  “Only if you promise to wipe the drool from your chin when you do.”

  Win’s laughter followed me up the stairs and well into my bedroom, where I caught sight of Bel’s favorite nesting plant. The elephant ear plant where he curled up every day in order to nap.

  As I brushed my teeth and sent out another mental call to Belfry, only to be greeted with complete silence, I finally allowed myself the luxury of a good, hard cry.

  Chapter 8

  “Aren’t you that Madam Spooky who has the shop over on Main?” Cassie Haverstock asked me as she rewrapped her trendy scarf around her neck on her way out the door of Joy Carmichael’s yoga studio.

  She’d been easy enough to find—most of the wealthier moms in Eb Falls attended yoga. They took the early classes after dropping their children at school—which left plenty of time during their days to take the dog to the park and maybe—just maybe—have an affair with a sexy chef.

  I held my hand out and smiled. I’d had the wherewithal to at least put on one of my better thrift store cashmere sweater finds in a soft crimson, coupling it with my own trendy gray-and-purple scarf, jeans, and black knee-high boots.

  Okay, so my hair was a little off its game, but I didn’t have time to fluff and poof, and my eyeliner was probably drifting toward my cheeks. But all in all, I didn’t look homeless.

  “Yeah. That’s me. Madam Spooky, or as my customers call me, Madam Zoltar. Well, that’s my stage name, if you will. My real name’s Stevie Cartwright. I live over in the big house on Samantha Lane…” I purposely let her know I owned Mayhem Manor so she’d realize we were on equal financial footing here.