By Lydia Wentworth.
She was supposed to have stopped by this morning to sign contracts so I could get to work in tracking down the mysterious Louis. I had called and left a message on her home phone, but so far, she hadn’t called me back.
I almost hoped she didn’t. The whole Louis thing had a sordid feel to it, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be involved.
Plus, I had other matters to deal with. Namely, a ghost. Michael was back—I could feel him around me, much like a hovering cloud.
Whump, whump.
Ve and I were in the office, which made me twitch with anxiety. The office was a source of contention between us—I wanted desperately to organize it, and Ve wanted desperately for it to remain the same cluttered mess it had always been.
As I was the type-A sort, it was enough to send my blood pressure through the roof. Hence, the twitching. I focused on blocking out my surroundings and sat in the chair opposite her desk. “Can I ask you something?”
She glanced up from her computer keyboard. “No, I have no interest in getting back together with Godfrey. We were just having fun.”
“Good to know,” I said, smiling. “But that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
“Oh?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” She leaned back in her chair. “What were you going to ask?”
“Can a Crafter become a ghost? A spirit stuck between two worlds?”
Her blue eyes widened, their golden flecks sparkling. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” I said, drawing the word out into four syllables. “I have a new friend hanging around. Michael Healey.”
Reddish eyebrows snapped downward as she leaned forward. “Darcy, dear, what are you talking about?”
“Michael Healey. His spirit, his ghost, has been following me around since I found his body last night. He’s why Amy’s here, as a matter of fact. He guided me to her this morning.”
She blinked slowly, probably questioning my sanity.
I sighed. “Michael, say hi to Ve, will you?”
Next to me, a light flickered.
“Have mercy!” Ve cried, clutching her heart. “Do it again.”
The light sputtered a few more times.
Ve looked at me. “Why’s he following you?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I was hoping you would know.”
“I—I don’t know.” Her hand rested at her throat. “I’ve seen many things in my years as a Crafter, but I’ve never seen anything like this. You need to bring this to the attention of the Elder, Darcy. She can help you.”
I itched to arrange a stack of papers on the desk. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“You need to set aside your feelings for the Elder and think of Michael. He obviously needs your help in some way.”
“Why me?”
“No clue.”
“Big help.”
“The Elder,” she singsonged.
I groaned.
There was a knock on the back door; then someone yelled, “Darcy! You’ll never believe what happened!”
“Starla,” I said to Ve as I stood up. As I headed for the kitchen, I ran straight into something hot, thick, and squishy that blocked my way. I jumped back. “Ew!”
“Ew what?” Ve asked.
“I think I ran into Michael.”
Ve shuddered. “What did he feel like?”
“I don’t know. Like hot thick gel.”
“Ew,” Ve said, hurrying for the door.
“Darcy!” Starla called from the kitchen.
“Coming!” I yelled back.
I reached a hand out to make sure the path was clear and followed her voice. In the kitchen, Starla practically glowed like Amy had this morning. She had her hands set atop a jack-o’-lantern.
“Look!” she said, pointing at the pumpkin.
“It’s cute,” I said. It had two big star-shaped eyes, an upside-down heart-shaped nose, and a gaping mouth with mismatched teeth. “Did you make it?”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was on my front step this morning.”
“Who put it there?” Ve asked, pouring another cup of coffee.
“I don’t know. But look.” She lifted its top and reached inside.
I shuddered a little. I hated touching pumpkin guts, and even the thought of it gave me the willies.
She pulled out a note, cut into the shape of a star.
I eyed it. “What’s that?”
“Read! Read!” Her blue eyes were alight with happiness as she thrust the paper at me.
Like the moon, you glow
Like the stars, you shine
I flipped the card over. “That’s it?”
“Sounds like you have yourself an admirer, Starla,” Ve said, wiggling her eyebrows.
Starla snatched the note back. “I don’t know whether to be excited that someone likes me enough to go to this trouble, or scared that I have a stalker. Who do you think it could be?”
Ve started throwing out names, including Godfrey’s and Pepe’s. Starla giggled, and I loved seeing her so happy, especially in light of what had happened with Michael.
The phone rang in the office, and Ve went to answer it.
“Who do you think it is, Darcy?” Starla asked.
“On the phone?”
She elbowed me. “Who dropped off the jack-o’-lantern?”
I didn’t have any idea who it could be and only hoped this wasn’t some sort of a joke. “Someone with good taste.”
A light behind Starla flicked once. Michael agreed with me. So help me, I was getting used to his hanging around.
“Awww!” Her eyes glimmered. “Now, who do you think that would be?”
I was saved from having to come up with possible suitors by Ve. “Darcy, dear, the phone is for you. Lydia Wentworth.”
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Starla.
In the office, I couldn’t help but put some wayward pens back into their cup as I picked up the phone. “Darcy Merriweather.”
“Darcy, it’s Lydia. I’m so sorry I missed our appointment this morning.” She sounded breathless.
“Is everything okay?”
“No.” Her breath hitched. “Everything is terribly wrong. There’s been a bit of a crisis here at the Elysian Fields.”
“What kind of crisis?”
“It’s h-horrible. Is it possible . . . Can you . . .”
“What?” I asked.
“Can you possibly meet me here, at the greenhouse?”
I didn’t even need to think about it. “I’ll be right over.”
Chapter Ten
Whump-whump-whump-whump.
Michael was agitated as I drove to the Elysian Fields. It was a short drive, maybe ten minutes tops, but it felt like it was taking longer because I had to keep stopping to let tourists cross the road.
I finally made it around the green and into the wooded village neighborhoods behind the square. The Elysian Fields were located at the end of Starry Hollow Road, which ran along the village’s boundary with Salem. It was a beautiful street with expensive houses—the priciest in town.
Tall oak trees lined the cobbled lane, their branches all but bare. A few shriveled reddish leaves remained, hanging precariously until a stiff breeze came along to whisk them away. It reminded me of O. Henry’s bittersweet “The Last Leaf.” Which reminded me of death.
“Can you talk?” I asked the ghost next to me.
He flickered twice.
No.
So it definitely hadn’t been Michael who whispered to me this morning. I wondered who had, but there were more important things to focus on right now.
I drove slowly down the street, past beautifully crafted houses. Nothing ostentatious, just pretty, like grown-up dollhouses in fanciful colors and gingerbread trim. “Do you know who killed you?”
He flickered twice.
No.
“Do you think it was a random act?”
No.
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I slowed to turn into Harriette Harkette’s driveway, the mouth of which was framed by a stacked-stone archway nearly covered in snaking star jasmine vines. Twin metal gates had been pushed open.
Whump-whump-whump-whump.
I said, “You’re nervous to come here.”
Yes.
“Do you think your murder has something to do with this place?”
Yes.
Well, now I was nervous, too.
The tumbled-brick drive forked, one branch headed toward Harriette’s house (and Lydia and Willard’s carriage house), the other toward the fields. As Lydia asked me to meet her at the greenhouse, I turned left.
“But you don’t know who?”
No.
I glanced in his direction, even though I couldn’t see him. “You didn’t see the person?”
No.
Great. I drove beneath another stone arch. The road was bordered on each side by a low stone wall and led to a small gravel parking lot that had three silver sedans parked in it, side by side. Straight in front of me lay acres of fields, recently plowed under. To my left were two identical greenhouses; to my right, two more.
“Ready?” I turned off the car and stashed the keys in my coat pocket.
No answer.
“Michael?”
Yes.
I opened the car door and stepped out, shivering against the chill in the air. Winter would be here soon. “Which one is Harriette’s greenhouse?”
I felt a hot nudge, guiding me to my right. “Thanks.”
A bluestone walkway that started at the edge of the lot was bordered by low evergreen hedges and flower beds filled with colorful hearty annuals. Dwarf trees that had already lost their leaves lent a magical gnarly charm to the landscape.
Tucked away in the hollow of a copse of woods were two gorgeous greenhouses. Framed in white, they appeared to be traditionally built, but I knew they were high-tech with state-of-the-art operating systems and even alarms.
Illusion was part of the village’s charm.
The pathway branched, and a small wooden guidepost pointed left to the inscripted name, IMOGENE and right to HARRIETTE.
The other two greenhouses across the lot had to be Bertie’s and Ophelia’s.
The Floracrafters were clearly separated from the Terracrafters.
For the love, as Harper would say. Segregation among Crafters—it reeked of injustice.
I was headed for the door of Harriette’s greenhouse when it burst open.
“Darcy!” Lydia cried, rushing toward me. “Thank you for coming. There was no way I could get away.” She was dressed all in black from her turtleneck to her black gardening clogs.
As she neared, I could see that she’d been crying. Dark circles rimmed puffy red eyes.
“What happened?” I asked. She’d said it was “horrible.” “Is everything okay? Your mother?”
Whump-whump-whump.
“Mother’s as okay as she can be after what happened. Come, let me show you.”
I followed her down the path and into the greenhouse. When she closed the door behind me, I immediately felt the warmth and humidity of the space. The heady scent of roses nearly knocked me over. The smell was so strong it was almost overpowering.
“Just look,” she said, her voice hitching.
I gasped.
Whump-whump-whump-whump.
Silently, I walked the length of the greenhouse. Two aisles divided three long multitiered benches of plants—two benches ran along the sides of the greenhouse and one straight down the center.
I tried to take in what I was seeing.
On the right bench, dozens and dozens of colorful roses sat in various stages of bloom. From pink buds to full red roses, it was a rainbow of color.
On the left side, however . . .
There were dozens and dozens of black roses. Every last one of them had shriveled and died.
“How did this happen?” I asked in a whisper. The moment seemed to call for a reverent tone.
“I’m not sure.” Her voice shook. “The flowers hadn’t been faring well lately, but as of last night they were all still alive. For them all to die like this so suddenly, we’re working on the assumption that someone sneaked in here and poisoned them.”
“Who would do such a thing?” I asked.
“We have many enemies, Darcy. People who are jealous of our success. This,” she said, gesturing, “is bad enough, but what’s even worse is that several black rosebushes are missing.”
Whump-whump-whump-whump.
“Smugglers,” she said on a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Smugglers?” I repeated.
“It’s a big business in the flower world, Darcy. Especially when rare breeds are involved. Last year in Europe, the police arrested an orchid smuggler at the airport. He’d been trying to get a dozen rare orchid seedlings across the border. Those seedlings were worth tens of thousands of dollars. Keep in mind that our Witching Hour roses are the only ones on earth that are naturally black.”
“How much would they be worth on the black market?”
“Millions,” she said without hesitation. “I guarantee that whoever stole those bushes is at this very minute having the plant’s DNA tested, trying to figure out how the rose was cultivated.”
“How was it cultivated?” I asked, wanting to know.
“A lot of hard work.” She shifted on her feet. “And a little bit of magic. A spell my mother created.”
Whump-whump-whump-whump-whump.
I fidgeted from Michael’s angst. Something Lydia had said really upset him. The spell? “What kind of spell? To turn the flowers black?”
“It’s complicated,” she said. “And also top secret. Mother won’t share the spell with anyone. Not with the other Wickeds”—she frowned—“and not even with me.”
The door burst open. Harriette strode in with Willard, Lydia’s husband, hot on her heels.
Ashen-faced, Harriette stopped short when she saw me. “Darcy. I didn’t expect to see you. What are you doing here?” Her eyes cut between Lydia and me.
I couldn’t very well admit that I’d come bearing papers for Lydia to sign so I could uncover details about Harriette’s supposed fiancé. “I ah—” I had no idea.
“I asked her to come over,” Lydia blurted.
Harriette skewered her daughter with a piercing glare. “Why?”
Willard hovered in the background, seemingly trying to blend in with the dead plants. He was a hair taller than I, with dark hair streaked through with patches of gray. Ordinarily, I’d describe him as having a pleasant face and a happy—yet a bit snobby—demeanor. But today he looked pained as he shifted and twitched as if suffering from a nervous disorder.
Maybe he was.
The disorder’s name was Harriette.
Lydia threw her hands in the air. “I was so impressed with As You Wish’s planning of your birthday party last night that I decided to hire them to plan a surprise engagement party for you and Louis. I was supposed to meet Darcy this morning to sign the paperwork, but with this crisis, I haven’t been able to get away. Darcy graciously agreed to come here. But alas, I guess the surprise is ruined now.”
Harriette wore a black cashmere sweater and black pants tucked into knee-high boots—black, of course. Her white hair had been combed back into a tight bun, revealing a sharp widow’s peak. A perfectly arched white eyebrow shot up. “A party?”
I tried to look as innocent as possible by glancing around as if interested in the workings of the greenhouse. A rack near the door held many gardening tools (a trowel, a cultivator, a dibber) in an almost-perfect row except for one empty hook. Beautiful tools, too. Spotlessly shiny with worn leather grips.
Lydia nodded. “I’d still like to throw one. Perhaps you’d like to plan it with me? It’s the perfect chance to introduce Louis to all your friends.”
As Lydia talked, Willard had abandoned his spot by the door and had picked up a basket from a spot near the tool rack. He
pulled open a drawer in a worktable and rummaged around until he came up with a pair of ordinary household scissors. I watched as he avoided the black roses and went about snipping fresh roses—probably gathering stock for the Black Thorn. As he cut stems, I blinked in wonder, as another bud magically bloomed in its place.
The village motto was Where Magic Lives. It truly did—and sometimes took me by surprise. Entranced, I watched him work, enraptured with the way stems regenerated with every snip.
Harriette noticed him, too. “Are you using scissors, Willard?” She said “scissors” as if they were the spawn of the devil. “Where are the snips?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Harriette swiveled to look at the tool rack, then spun back around and speared Lydia with a glare. “The snips?”
She shrugged. “They weren’t here when I came in.”
“I suggest you find them,” Harriette said tightly. She turned her beady eyes toward me. “In light of what transpired here last night, a party doesn’t seem appropriate. I’m afraid my daughter has wasted your time, Darcy.”
Lydia, still sticking to the story, said, “It doesn’t have to be soon, Moth—”
“No,” Harriette hissed, cutting her off.
The viper had come out to play.
Lydia straightened. “You’re being—”
“I said no.” Harriette’s snake eyes zeroed in on me.
I tried not to shake in my boots.
“Again, I am sorry my daughter wasted your time, Darcy,” she said.
“It was no trouble on my part at all.” I glanced around. “I am sorry to see what happened to these beautiful flowers. Have you called the police?”
“We will handle the matter on our own,” Harriette seethed. “If not for someone leaving the greenhouse unsecured last night, this might not have happened.”
Willard sputtered. “I—I’m sure I set the alarm.”
“In light of the alarm not going off when someone came inside and destroyed our year of hard work, then I suspect you are mistaken in your recollection, Willard.” The viper’s fangs dripped with venom.
The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 9
