Harriette owned property neighboring her estate on the outskirts of the village, a compound of four gorgeous state-of-the-art greenhouses and dozens of acres she’d named the Elysian Fields. The greenhouses were divided among the four Wicked Widows, each controlling her own greenhouse and what was grown within. Lydia worked primarily for her mother, helping to cultivate those beautiful black roses, but she also oversaw the whole operation.
I shook my head. “Used to work there? When?”
“He quit two months ago after working for us for nearly a year. He had an amazing talent with the plants. They thrived under his care, even the ones not cultivated by magic.”
I realized with a start that gardening was a perfect career for an Illumicrafter. His glow would help the plants grow. “Why did he quit?” I asked. From what I’d heard, he needed the money.
Missy sniffed along the building’s foundation. Archie, I noticed, had moved to the upper branches of a tree closer to the crime scene.
Lydia’s lips pursed. “I’m not sure.”
By the way she fidgeted, I had the feeling she wasn’t telling me the truth.
She attempted to elaborate. “About a month after Michael left, I went to see him and tried to talk him into coming back, but he flat-out refused. Wouldn’t even consider it, even though I offered him a big raise. He told me money was of no concern to him.”
Considering what Evan and Starla had just told me about his working several jobs, money had to be a huge concern for him. Had he spoken out of pride? Or had he found another source of income?
She wrung her hands and stared at the crime-scene techs. “Such a loss. He had a sister, didn’t he?”
“Amy.”
“I’ll have to see what I can do about helping her out. Mother will want to help, too—she adored Michael and is going to be heartbroken to hear about his death. To think we were inside having a party while he was . . .”
I was grateful she didn’t finish that thought.
Missy wandered back to me, and I picked her up. “I should probably get going.” The longer I stayed out here, the more likely it was Ve would find me.
“But wait,” Lydia said, grabbing my arm again. “I have something I want to run past you.” She glanced over my shoulder, at an officer directing a tow truck toward the Gingerbread Shack delivery van. “Maybe we should go somewhere quieter?”
The words were on my tongue to turn her down, but there was something in her eyes that intrigued me. I wanted to hear what she had to say. However, between the police, the crowd, and the festival, there wasn’t a quiet spot within a mile. The lesser evil was obvious. “The trail?”
She nodded.
We walked the alley behind the shops and used the cut-through behind the Furry Toadstool, the local pet store, to reach the trail.
The Enchanted Trail was well lit and, like everywhere else in the village, crowded. We headed away from the pub, away from the crime scene. In this case, the phrase “out of sight, out of mind” wasn’t working. There was definitely a presence around me. I could feel it pulsing like a heartbeat. Whump, whump. It was a completely nutty thought, except for one little fact.
It was a known phenomenon that after death, the spirit of an Illumicrafter was often mistaken for a ghost. It was the whole glowing thing—which apparently didn’t go away after the Illumicrafter died. Around me, however, there was just darkness. And that heartbeat. Whump, whump. Whump, whump.
I was fuzzy on the whole death process for Crafters and needed to ask Ve for a little more clarification. I knew some spirits chose to take on animal forms (familiars), and some spirits passed immediately on to whatever afterworld awaited them, but what about the ones who weren’t so keen to do either? The ones in limbo? In the mortal world, those people would be ghosts. But what about the Crafter spirits? Would they become ghosts as well?
Holding in a sigh, I set Missy on the trail, and she trotted ahead, her nose to the ground. If she felt the presence, she wasn’t letting on.
Whump, whump.
The disturbance wasn’t frightening, but it felt just plain strange, almost making me feel claustrophobic. I had to wonder why it was following me. And how I could get rid of it.
We walked for a few minutes in silence before Lydia said, “I’m just going to say it.”
Thank goodness, because my curiosity was killing me.
Tree branches creaked as the wind picked up again. A few crickets chirped a sweet melody, and when I drew in a deep breath, I savored the crisp fall air.
Lydia said, “I want to hire As You Wish.”
“To do what?” I asked, veering out of the way of a woman speed-walking.
“To prove that my mother’s so-called fiancé, Louis, is a gold-digging money-grubber. If that’s even his real name. I have to stop this wedding, Darcy, before it’s too late. My mother is making a huge mistake, and she won’t listen to reason.”
I knew Lydia hadn’t been happy about her mother’s remarriage, but to openly want to stop the wedding? Wow. “Do you have reason to think Louis is a phony?”
I had to confess that I was already mentally spending my bookshop betting pool winnings. I desperately needed new running shoes.
“For one, he’s always full of excuses as to why he can never join us for dinner.”
“Wait. Have you ever met him face-to-face?” I asked.
A small family passed by us, the little toddlers dressed as Thing One and Thing Two running ahead of their parents on stubby little legs. People often wore costumes to the festival.
“No,” Lydia said. “No one has. Only Mother.”
I thought it strange no villager had, but for Harriette’s own family not to have met him? Odd. Very odd.
“And recently, I’ve discovered that she’s given him money.”
Warning bells went off in my head. “How much money?”
She glanced at me. “Five thousand.”
Those warning bells turned into loud whoops. “Why?”
“Mother wouldn’t say. She said it didn’t matter. Well, it certainly matters to me if he’s taking her for a ride.”
I could see why Lydia was concerned, and I said so.
“You haven’t heard the worst of it. This past Tuesday at an emergency meeting of the Wickeds at Mother’s house, I was in the garden—”
I cut her off. “Why was there an emergency meeting?”
Her lips pursed. “I wish I knew. Mother kept me out of that loop.”
“Is that normal?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Anyhow, I was cutting herbs for dinner when Mother stepped out onto the deck to take a cell phone call. She didn’t see me, but I could hear parts of her conversation. She was speaking to Marcus Debrowski and asking him about changing her will.”
“To include Louis?”
“I assume so. Mother has an appointment with Marcus on Monday morning.” Lydia wrung her hands. “None of us knows this man, but suddenly he’s worming his way into a fortune? I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
Lawcrafter Marcus Debrowski was the village’s best lawyer. He was also my sister Harper’s current sweetheart. Maybe I could squirrel some information out of him—or get Harper to do it for me. She’d probably have better luck.
Nosy to my core, I asked, “Are you currently the sole beneficiary of your mother’s estate?”
Lydia’s spine straightened. “I assume. Well, other than the Wickeds who will inherit their greenhouses, that is,” she added. “And don’t get me started on that.”
Well, if there was a way to pique my curiosity, that was it. “You don’t think the greenhouses should go to them?”
Wind ruffled her hair. “Not really. I’d like the Elysian Fields to revert back to a family-only business.” She glanced at me, a guilty flush in her cheeks. “Even if they do inherit, Imogene is talking about retiring soon to somewhere warm and sunny all year long—I’m sure I can buy her out. Though I can’t imagine her not being at her greenhouse every day. She never had kids, and she treats h
er orchids like her babies. I know I couldn’t just up and walk away from it all. I’ll believe her retirement when I see it.”
Seventy-something Imogene Millikan was an interesting lady. At first glance, she seemed to have bucked the pretentious Floracrafter stereotype since she looked more hippie drippy than high society, but on closer inspection, one could recognize her prim upbringing in her mannerisms and in her speech.
I quickly ran through what I knew about the other two Wickeds, Bertie Braun and her former daughter-in-law, Ophelia Braun-Wickham, which was surprisingly little. Bertie specialized in lilies, while Ophelia worked with saffron crocuses. “And Bertie and Ophelia? Would you try to buy them out as well?”
Lydia said lightly, “They should never have had greenhouses at the Elysian Fields to begin with. My father lost the two greenhouses in a poker game to Bertie’s husband years and years ago. Mother nearly killed him, let me tell you, seeing as how Bertie and Ophelia are Terracrafters. Mr. Braun gave one greenhouse to his wife, and one to his son, Ophelia’s first husband. After Ophelia’s husband died, Ophelia took over that greenhouse.”
I was so shocked, I stopped dead in my tracks. “Bertie and Ophelia are Terracrafters?” I hadn’t known—I’d always assumed they were Floras like Harriette. I did recall Aunt Ve’s telling me that father and son had died in a tragic plane crash almost three years ago.
Lydia smiled at my shock. “Yes. Good ones, too, despite their hostility toward each other, but that doesn’t mean I want them to stay.”
“They don’t get along?” This was news to me.
“Not since Ophelia remarried last year. Bertie doesn’t care for Hammond Wickham at all, and she doesn’t like her four-year-old grandson being raised by a man other than her son. It’s caused much dissension in the family.”
It had to be hard for Bertie to see Ophelia moving on, but she was a young woman. Surely Bertie could understand that Ophelia had a whole life to live ahead of her.
I glanced at Lydia. I had to ask, “Do you feel the same way as your mother toward Terracrafters?”
“Not at all. It’s a stupid discrimination that has torn our family apart. I like them just fine. The only reason I want them to go is that I want the Elysian Fields to stay in the family. As nice as they are, they aren’t family.”
Maybe Lydia could finally explain to me why there was a rift between the Terras and Floras in the first place. “Where did the discrimination originate?”
Wind sent leaves skittering across the path. “Some Floracrafter generations ago deemed himself better than a Terra because a Terra had to work so hard to cultivate a flower, whereas a Flora simply had to touch a stem. It caught on. It’s the age-old theme of white collar versus blue collar. Upper crust versus wrong side of the tracks. Silver spoon versus hard work. Gilded lilies versus dirty fingernails. It’s an embarrassment to our Craft, and I’m doing everything I can to get my mother to see my way of things. I think she finally might be listening, too, as she’s been much friendlier to Bertie and Ophelia in the past few months. Mother holds a lot of clout—other Floras will follow her lead.”
Friendly toward them only in the past few months? I kept a firm hand on Missy’s leash as a squirrel scampered across the path and she tried to chase after it. “I thought the Wicked Widows were best friends?”
“I wouldn’t say best friends. Friends. Friendly acquaintances.” She made a sour face. “Acquaintances at best. Except for Mother and Imogene, who’ve been best friends since their twenties. The Wickeds tolerate one another well enough to keep the Elysian Fields running smoothly. Even though each greenhouse is run individually, the Wickeds understand that people are judged by the company they keep. They hold one another to the highest standards. Mother and Imogene have worked diligently to make sure Ophelia’s and Bertie’s products are up to snuff. But as I said, things have been much better lately. I truly think they’re all actually becoming friends. For real.”
I’d never witnessed them being anything but amiable to one another, but then I supposed Glinda and I appeared to be friends as well. “I’m glad to hear that, but I’m surprised Bertie, Ophelia, and Imogene don’t have their own greenhouses on their own land by now.” I certainly wouldn’t want to work under Harriette’s viper eyes. “Aren’t they all successful wealthy women?”
“Rolling in it,” Lydia said with a bit of wonder. “Certain flowers are a hot commodity, and the Wickeds grow the rarest varieties. Except for Ophelia—she’s happy sticking with the tried and true. ‘If it ain’t broke,’ she always says. I can’t blame her. She’s the richest of them all, thanks to her expensive little red saffron threads. Do you know it takes seventy thousand flowers to make one pound of saffron?”
“That’s a lot of plants.”
“No, Darcy, that’s a lot of money. Saffron sells for hundreds of dollars an ounce. More than gold.”
“Where is all the saffron grown?” Surely not in her greenhouse—it was big but not seventy thousand flowers big.
“She has a plantation in Spain, but she keeps a crop in her greenhouse for local markets.”
“All that money but they still use your mother’s greenhouses?” It didn’t make sense.
In the shadows of the path, Lydia looked more her age. “It’s not the greenhouses, Darcy. It’s the land. The name Elysian Fields comes from Greek mythology, the place where heroes and those chosen by the gods were buried.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.
“The land under the greenhouses is rumored to be where the very first Crafters in this region were buried, long before cemeteries and grave markers. Simply put, the Elysian Fields are magical.”
“Wow,” I said, wrapping my brain around that. “Is that how you can produce naturally black flowers?”
Whump-whump-whump-whump.
I glanced around, but saw nothing unusual. I could only feel the weight and the increased heart rate from my tagalong’s agitation.
She hesitated before saying, “It’s part of it. I can’t tell you more,” she said. “It’s top secret.”
I smiled at her serious tone. “Really?”
“Darcy, you wouldn’t believe the lengths people would go to replicate our flowers.”
It was all so fascinating, but I set the Wickeds aside for now and tried to focus on what had led us down this conversational path. Harriette’s will. “What about your sister?”
“What about her?” she snapped.
Whoa. Okay. Even though Lydia didn’t share her mother’s prejudices, I sensed some bad blood with her sister and wondered where it came from. “Is she in your mother’s will?” Trista Harkette had been disowned. . . . I presumed that meant from Harriette’s will, too, but I wanted to know for sure because I was nosy like that.
“She hardly needs the money.”
It was true, thanks to the AbracadaBra, but since she was a Floracrafter, the Elysian Fields were her legacy, too. “And you do?”
“It’s not the point, Darcy,” she said dismissively. “Trista does her own thing, always has. She doesn’t deserve any part of the Elysian Fields. She hasn’t earned it.”
“Like you?” I asked softly, suddenly realizing why Lydia had snapped at her sister’s name.
“Damn right, like me. I’ve done everything ever asked of me. I married another Flora to please my mother, I work sixteen-hour days, I love that place—I’ve done everything right. The Elysian Fields are my reward. Mine alone. Well, mine and Willard’s.”
So much for her statement about reverting the Elysian Fields to a family business. Lydia wanted the place to herself—and by the way she’d absently tacked on Willard’s name, I had a feeling he’d be lucky to get a twelve-by-twelve plot of land to garden.
Lydia drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. I get a little worked up thinking about people taking things that they haven’t earned, which brings me back to this shyster Louis. He shouldn’t get anything from my mother.” Kicking a stone across the path, she added, “It makes m
e sick to think that someone may be preying on her and her fortune.”
Chirping crickets suddenly silenced as Missy approached a clump of grass. As soon as she walked past, the sound started back up.
“Unfortunately, Darcy, I don’t have much information on Louis at all. That’s why I need your help.” She stopped walking and faced me. “I have to stop Mother from making a huge mistake. If Louis doesn’t exist, I need to protect her from making a complete fool of herself. If he does exist, then what is he hiding? Why won’t he meet us? Why is he borrowing money? Not only is Mother risking her fortune, but I’m worried what a man of compromised morals would do if he learned about the Craft. He could ruin everything.”
It was an angle I hadn’t thought about. There were, of course, safety precautions in place to deal with nosy mortals. And to deal with Crafters who stepped out of line. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come down to turning Louis into a frog.
“Will you take the job, Darcy? Will you locate Louis and find out what he’s all about?”
“As You Wish’s motto is No Job Is Too Big or Too Small,” I said. For some reason, however, I had a feeling this job was going to be quite the challenge. “I’ll certainly do my best to find out as much as I can about Louis, but, Lydia, what if I prove that he’s a perfectly nice man?”
Her face tightened. “Then I’ll just have to find another way to stop them from getting married, won’t I?”
Chapter Four
The village green was ablaze in flashy festival lights—bright autumnal colors—and the usual delicate white fairy lights, twinkling prettily in the darkness as Missy and I crossed the village green, headed toward Spellbound Bookshop, Harper’s store, to pick up Mimi. The scent of fried dough hung in the air, along with the crispness of the season. There was still a huge crowd gathered in front of the public parking lot, so activity amid the festival booths was limited. The caramel apple stand had no line at all, but I no longer had an appetite. Even for caramel apples. Which was saying something.
Lydia and I had set up a time for her to stop by As You Wish in the morning to fill out the necessary paperwork for me to start working on finding Louis. I didn’t have much to go on, which made me nervous, but one way or another I’d track the man down.
The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 4
