Vaporcrafting, however, was not my specialty, and Nick had specifically told me to stick around until he could talk with me more formally.
Along the fringe of the crowd, I spotted a man hurrying toward the pub. He carried a garment bag, and his bald head gleamed under the gaslights.
I recognized his face from the entertainment Web site Evan had recommended to me. I’d hired him at first sight.
Hot Rod Stiffington.
And by the photos on the site, the prized “six-pack” Hot Rod advertised referred to his beer belly, not to any kind of ab muscles.
He headed for the Cauldron’s front door, and I counted my blessings that I wasn’t going to be inside for his arrival at Harriette’s party.
“We should go see if we can find Amy,” Evan said to Starla. “She shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Starla nodded, gave my hand a squeeze before she released it, and fussed with the decorative toggles on her sweater dress. “We should, but I’m sure she’s not alone.”
Evan groaned. “I forgot about him.”
“Him who?” I asked.
“Fisk Khoury,” Starla answered, tucking a stray blond hair behind her ear. “You’ve probably seen him around town.”
“Or on wanted posters,” Evan added darkly.
“Not true,” Starla said to me as she elbowed her brother. “He only looks scary and isn’t actually a criminal.”
Evan countered with “That we know of.” He glanced at me. “Medium height, olive skin tone, wiry, with long curly hair, beady little brown eyes, and puffy lips. Wears a lot of black and lets his pants hang down to his knees.”
I recognized the description. “Is he the one who strums funeral songs on his guitar at talent night at the Witch’s Brew?”
Missy growled again and shimmied closer to my ankles.
“He’s the one,” Starla said.
I didn’t like to judge books by covers—I mean, look at me. I looked like your average girl next door but was actually a witch. However, Fisk’s appearance certainly gave me pause. “Is he any relation to Dash Khoury?” He had to be. It wasn’t a common surname.
Tall, handsome, regal-looking, and of Indian descent, Dash Khoury was a botanical genius, a Terracrafter with impeccable gardening skills who was the local landscaper in charge of the village’s green spaces, an immense job. I recalled with a start that he was also married to Trista Harkette, Harriette’s younger daughter. The black sheep of the family.
According to the best gossip in the village (Aunt Ve), Floracrafter Trista had been disowned by her mother when she married a Terracrafter, who was deemed “beneath” her.
Floracrafters were well-known for their snobbery and superiority complexes, which I never quite understood. Although no Crafter was truly created equal, each of us had magical abilities, and none of those talents was singled out as being better than another. Floras were especially biased against Terras for some reason I still hadn’t learned.
Despite threats of being disowned, Trista had married Dash without a second thought. Instead of slinking out of town ashamed (as Harriette had hoped), Trista stayed put, kept her maiden name to irritate her mother, and staked her claim in the village by opening an upscale lingerie shop, Something Wicked, in the square. About ten years ago, she developed one of the hottest selling bras on the market—the AbracadaBra. The bra that worked magic. Probably literally, but I wasn’t positive about that. That bra had made Trista a multimillionaire, but no matter how big a success she was, she still remained in the small shop in the square, and she had yet to receive the approval of her mother.
In fact, mother and daughter hadn’t spoken in more than twenty years.
“Fisk is Dash and Trista’s son,” Evan said.
“He looks a lot like his mom,” Starla said, then added unnecessarily, “You know, without the droopy pants.”
Now that I knew the relation, I could see the resemblance to his grandmother as well. They had the same eyes. My nosy side wanted to know if Harriette had any kind of relationship with Fisk. She had disowned Trista for marrying a Terracrafter, so how did Harriette feel about her grandson, who had to be a Terra-Flora Cross-Crafter? Had she cut him out of her life, too?
I pushed my nosiness aside for now and tried to focus on the conversation. “What does Fisk have to do with Amy?”
“They’ve been dating for a couple of months now,” Starla said.
How hadn’t I known this?
“They’re glued at the hip. It’s appalling,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. He shoved away from the wall and adjusted the spiffy tie beneath his argyle sweater vest. It wasn’t often he was seen looking anything other than impeccable, and tonight was no different. “I’ll see you later, Darcy.” He walked away, head hung low.
“I think they’re kind of sweet,” Starla said loudly to his back.
“Starla needs a date,” Evan called over his shoulder.
Sticking her tongue out at his retreating form, she said softly, “I hope Fisk didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Michael.”
It was a startling statement. “Why would you think so?”
“Starla!” Evan called impatiently. He stood at the edge of the crowd, waiting for her. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll be right there!” she yelled back to him. To me, she said, “Fisk and Michael have been best friends since they were teenagers and worked together at Dash’s landscaping company. But lately, they’ve been at each other’s throats.”
That tidbit really caught my attention. “Why? Because Fisk was dating Michael’s little sister?”
Slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m not sure, but you might want to let Nick know.” She bent and petted Missy’s head before walking off.
The curiosity-seeking horde grew by the minute. On the village green, hundreds more people had stopped what they were doing and stared as word of a murder caught on the wind and spread like dandelion fluff in a strong breeze. Rides had come to a halt; the bonfire had nearly fizzled out. It was eerie.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ve wending through the crowd, a determined look in her eyes as she searched faces—probably looking for me.
Uh-oh.
I guessed Hot Rod’s body wasn’t the one she’d dreamed of oiling.
Shimmying my way along the wall, I scooted around the back corner of the pub and into the service alley behind the building. Safely out of sight.
I hoped Ve wouldn’t be so mad by the time I went home.
Or put a hex on me or something.
But no. She couldn’t . . . well, at least not without consequences. The Craft motto was Do No Harm.
I was pretty sure Ve wouldn’t cross that line.
Fairly sure.
Okay, I was worried.
Hot Rod had quite the beer belly. In fact, he looked four months pregnant.
“Hiding?” someone asked.
Surprised, I jumped, and then looked accusingly at Missy. A little warning would have been nice. She really wasn’t the best watchdog.
She, however, was too busy to notice my glare as she jumped on Nick’s leg and bathed his hand in doggy kisses.
“Don’t let her find me,” I whispered, sparing glances around the building.
“Her who?” Nick asked, tiny frown lines feathering out from the corners of his dark eyes.
“Ve.”
“Why is Ve after you?”
“It might have something to do with Hot Rod Stiffington.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes as he leaned in. “Who?”
“The aging, overweight, balding stripper I hired.”
He dragged a hand down his face, but his smile remained. “For Harriette’s party?”
I nodded.
His smile widened.
I loved his smile.
But then I suddenly remembered why he was here.
Why I was here.
I nodded to the woods. “Any idea what happened there? Robbery? Something like that?”
; “Don’t know yet,” he said, his eyes hooded. He wore a black fleece coat over his police-issued long-sleeve black polo shirt. Flat-front khaki pants fit him perfectly. I had to admit, I loved the village’s casual police uniforms.
“Will the medical examiner’s team be here soon?” I asked, figuring the quicker the body was removed, the sooner the crowd would dissipate, the sooner answers could be found.
“The crew will be here in five minutes or so. It’s going to be a late night.” Long after the crowd left, Nick would still be searching the woods, scouring for clues.
“Do you want me to pick up Mimi? She can spend the night with Ve and me.”
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Are you planning to use my daughter as a buffer between you and Ve?”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
He grinned. “I’m sure Mimi would love to stay with you, and you’d be doing me a huge favor.”
It wasn’t often that Nick, a single dad, had to put work before his twelve-year-old daughter, but on those rare occasions, I was glad I could help. Mimi had become like another little sister to me. In a way, I guess she was. Mimi was also a Wishcrafter—her late mother, Melina, had been one, and Mimi inherited the ability. Nick, on the other hand, was a Halfcrafter, a mortal who knowingly married into the Craft family and was allowed to know all our secrets so Mimi could learn her Craft properly. And though he was technically now half Wishcrafter (through marriage), he didn’t have any powers of his own. But because he was a Halfcrafter, other Crafters could discuss their abilities with him. Which came in handy for me, especially as I helped Mimi learn her Craft and at those times when I was mixed up in crimes involving Crafters.
“As soon as I’m done here, I’ll hop over and pick up Mimi at Spellbound.” She was there helping out Harper tonight.
“I’ll call her and let her know you’re coming, but first I need to ask you some questions.”
Unfortunately, I was becoming a pro at answering these kinds of inquiries since this was the third body I’d found since moving to the village. I had no doubt I was going to get a reputation soon as a death magnet—if I didn’t have one already.
As the team from the medical examiner’s office arrived and pushed a stretcher across the parking lot, I told Nick about how I’d come to find Michael’s body—and about what Starla had said about Fisk Khoury. Nick took notes, nodding but not interrupting my story. By the time I was done, my chest hurt.
“You okay?” he asked. Over the last few months his dark hair had grown out a little bit, becoming wavier with the length. It softened the hard edges of his face. I liked the look. A lot. So much so that at random times—like now—I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching out and running my hands through his hair.
I was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind the gesture—but now wasn’t exactly the right place or time. “My heart aches. It makes no sense—I didn’t know him all that well. We weren’t close friends—just friendly.”
Nick stepped in closer and wrapped his arms around me. I felt the stubble of his five-o’clock shadow brush my temple as he dropped a kiss on top of my head. He held me close, and I really just wanted to stay in his arms for the rest of the night. I loved the feel of his heart beating against mine, and the way he held me as if he’d shoulder all my troubles if he could. And for a brief second I didn’t feel that ominous weight on my shoulders anymore. I sighed in relief. In contentment.
He rested his forehead on mine and said, “You feel that way because you’re a good person, Darcy Merriweather. Loving and caring.” His eyes glistened with mischief. “All very attractive qualities.”
“There goes my theory that you’re just dating me for my body,” I teased.
He grinned. “Well, there’s that, too.”
I gave him a playful shove, and he gave me a quick kiss on the lips.
This also wasn’t the time or place to be more affectionate. Not that we’d been all that intimate so far. We’d been taking our relationship slowly. Ice age slow. And now . . . well, I thought it might be time for a little heat wave. Especially if the heady look in his eyes was any indication.
“Chief?” a voice said from nearby. Glinda Hansel stood a few feet away, looking decidedly uncomfortable as twin spots of color reddened her cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, not sounding apologetic at all. “The medical examiner’s team wants to talk to you.”
Nick didn’t release me as he said, “I’ll be right there.”
She gave a quick nod and spun around.
He held me just a little tighter before letting me go. “I have to get back.”
I felt the immediate loss of his warmth and buttoned my jacket to chase away the sudden chill. “What happened to Michael exactly?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.
His voice was hoarse as he said, “Looks like he was stabbed to death.”
There was something in his tone, a hesitancy. He wasn’t telling me everything. “What else?”
He rested his hands on my shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Not for me to say at this point.”
I could tell by the steely set of his jaw that I wasn’t going to get more out of him tonight.
We set a time to meet up tomorrow morning, and as I watched him walk away, I saw Glinda giving me the stink eye. I smiled and gave her a finger wave. She turned her back on me.
So much for civility.
I scooped up Missy and was ready to battle my way across the square to Harper’s shop when a bony hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed my shoulder.
Chapter Three
I let out a little “Eee” and spun around.
Lydia Harkette Wentworth’s face glowed in the ambient light. Bright and shiny close-set eyes searched my face. “I need to talk to you, Darcy.”
Placing my hand on my pounding heart, I said, “It was supposed to be a joke.”
Deep wrinkles creased her forehead. “What was?”
“Hot Rod?”
“Who?”
I rocked on my heels. “The entertainer? The, ah, stripper?”
Her thin face softened. “Oh! He was a hoot and a half. A big hit.”
“He was?”
“My mother adored him. Fawned all over him.”
My jaw dropped. “She did?”
Now Lydia really studied me. “You seem surprised.”
I pulled myself together. I’d convinced myself the debacle of Hot Rod was why Lydia had sought me out. “I’m just relieved,” I stammered. “He’s not exactly young, hot, and sexy—as your mother requested.”
“Ah,” she said. “I understand. Mother is a tough critic. Willard still cringes every time she speaks to him, and we’ve been married twenty-five years.”
Floracrafter Willard Wentworth, Lydia’s husband, ran one of the Harkette family businesses—the Black Thorn, the local florist shop. He was the fussy, prickly type anyway (“thorn” was so appropriate for him), so I could only imagine how Harriette’s scrutiny affected him, especially since they were always in such close proximity. Lydia and Willard had lived in a carriage house on Harriette’s property since they were married, so they were mere yards away from Harriette at all times. I didn’t know how Willard put up with it. I wouldn’t have lasted a week under Harriette’s watchful viper eyes.
I placed Lydia somewhere in her early fifties and noted she hadn’t aged well. She was thin like her mother, but with her sun-damaged skin, wrinkles, and near-constant frown, she looked more like Harriette’s slightly younger sister.
A harsh assessment, maybe, but sadly true.
“Trust me,” she said. “Sexy is in the eye of the beholder. Have no fear, Darcy. Mother adores Hot Rod. I believe she’s making plans with him to attend her New Year’s Eve bash.” Lydia smiled, her lips forming a tight thin line. “Mother certainly has her elitist moments, but not when it comes to throwing a memorable party.”
Trista Harkette had been cast out of the family for marrying a Terracrafter—yet a balding paunchy stripper
was just fine with her mother?
What kind of family was this? They went beyond eccentric and straight into weird. Or maybe Harriette truly did have a Jekyll and Hyde personality.
I put Missy down and she trotted around the alley, stretching as far as her leash would allow, soaking up all the smells. I heard a noise above me and looked up to see my neighbor, Archie, land on the eave of the pub’s roof. He was a gorgeous macaw familiar, mostly red with flashes of blue and yellow. Spotting me, he flapped a wing in my direction—his version of waving.
A “familiar” was a Crafter spirit who took on an animal form after death in order to extend his or her life (sometimes for centuries). There were several familiars (that I knew of) in the village, including one of my closest friends, a mouse named Pepe.
Archie was exceedingly chatty, a former nineteenth-century theater actor and a current movie buff. He was also the Elder’s right-hand man, her eyes and ears. No doubt he would report what was going on directly back to her.
I didn’t want to call attention to him, so I gave him a subtle finger wave and turned my attention back to Lydia.
She hadn’t noticed Archie’s arrival. Her focus was solely on the commotion in the parking lot. She tsked, shaking her head sympathetically. As she frowned, deep creases wrinkled her forehead. “Do we know yet who was killed? Was it someone local?”
When I first reported finding the body, I didn’t tell anyone I thought it was Michael. Since I’d seen only a foot, I wanted to be sure before I started a possible rumor. But now his identity had been confirmed, and I didn’t think it was a secret, so I said, “Michael Healey. Did you know him?”
Lydia gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears filled her eyes.
I took that as a yes.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded, feeling strange again. The weight was back. It felt as if someone were standing behind me, invading my space. An invisible person.
A ghost? Michael’s ghost? I pushed the crazy thought aside.
“That poor boy. He was such a good kid.” She shook her head. “He used to work as a part-time handyman at the Elysian Fields. Such a big help. He had many talents.”
The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 3
