“Understandable,” Angela said with a knowing nod.
“My orchids have kept me busy,” Imogene said. Then she laughed as she added, “They practically need as much coddling as babies.”
“They need more!” Angela smiled. “I tried my hand at growing some at the cottage this past summer and had some success.”
Imogene pushed her glasses atop her head, where they acted as a headband for her out-of-control hair. Her eyes had lit with enthusiasm. “What kind?”
The two slipped into a conversation about orchids that had me zoning out. My black thumb would never cut it at the Elysian Fields.
Imogene laughed at something Angela said, snapping me out of my fugue.
Angela smiled and said, “Listen to me chatter on. You’d think I was petitioning to become a Wicked Widow.”
“Should Harmony be worried?” I joked.
Angela gave me a playful shove. She and her partner, Harmony Atchison, owner of the Pixie Cottage, had been together for a while now and as far as I could tell were as happy as could be.
“Not hardly,” Angela said. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”
“Call me if you have any questions about your gardening,” Imogene said.
I was surprised by the offer, considering Angela was a home-gardener and Imogene was a Floracrafter known for her high-and-mightiness.
Angela thanked her and ducked away.
Not long after that, Ophelia strode over—and I realized that she moved a lot like Harriette. They slinked very much alike.
For a Terracrafter, Ophelia had quite the pretentious air about her—no wonder I had assumed she was a Flora. “Do you know Nick Sawyer?” I made introductions.
Ophelia shook his hand. “You’re the new police chief. A pleasure to meet you.”
The glow from watching Mimi had faded, and Nick was back in cop mode. “I hope you retain that impression, Ms. Braun-Wickham.”
She tipped her head. “Why wouldn’t I? And please call me Ophelia.”
“I’d like to set up a time to ask you a few questions. Both of you,” he said, including Imogene in his response.
“Us?” Ophelia’s hand flew to her chest. “Why ever?”
Nick dropped his voice so as not to be overheard. “It’s about Michael Healey’s death.”
A little of Ophelia’s confidence vanished. Lowering her voice, she said, “I still don’t understand. I barely knew Michael.”
“Because he worked at the Elysian Fields?” Imogene asked.
Nick nodded. “I’m trying to fill in some blanks about his last few months. I’m investigating all loose ends, and his work at the Elysian Fields is a loose end.”
Imogene said, “We don’t know much other than his tasks at the farm, but we’ll certainly help any way we can. It’s tragic what happened to that boy.”
Ophelia said, “Terribly tragic. He was a nice young man. Do you have any leads on the case?”
I saw Harper lurking behind Nick, fussing with some books on a shelf. She was clearly eavesdropping.
“A few. Nothing concrete yet,” Nick said.
“Well.” Ophelia drew her shoulders back. “I’ll certainly be glad to tell you all I know. Which unfortunately for your investigation isn’t much. You may want to speak with Harriette. She was much closer to Michael than any of us other Wickeds.”
Nick smiled thinly and pulled a vibrating cell phone from his hip. He glanced at the readout and said, “Please excuse me for a second.” He trotted off to a quiet corner of the shop.
Ophelia tapped a diamond watch. “We should be off now, Imogene.” To me, she said, “We’re meeting Bertie at the festival to judge the pie contest today. It’s a Wicked Widow tradition.”
“Just the three of you?” I asked.
“Harriette’s under the weather but promised to join us if she feels better.” Ophelia turned away, walked over to whisper something to her husband, and then slinked toward the door where she waited for Imogene to join her.
Imogene lingered at my side, and I had the feeling she liked to keep Ophelia waiting. Finally, she said, “Darcy, please give Mimi my accolades for her performance. She’s a charming girl.”
“I will,” I said.
Imogene leaned in to me and whispered, “Is Ophelia tapping her foot yet?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Tapping her foot and drumming her fingertips on the door.”
With an amused gleam in her eye, Imogene nodded. “Take care, Darcy.” She shuffled off, clearly dragging her feet. I’d never seen her move so slowly.
Nick was back a second later. “I have to go. There’s been a break in the case.”
“What kind?” I asked.
“One of the murder weapons has been uncovered.” He gave me a quick kiss and rushed out the door.
Harper immediately stepped up next to me. “What did he mean ‘one of’?”
As I leaned against a bookshelf, I watched Nick run at a dead sprint across the square.
I quietly explained about Michael’s death.
“Ooh,” Harper said. “Shades of Murder on the Orient Express.”
Running my hand over the rough bark of the bookshelf, I said, “What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you remember? The man died from something like thirteen stab wounds—each inflicted by a different person?”
The story slowly came back to me, and I suddenly realized what Harper was saying. Four methods of murder.
Four perpetrators.
Out the window, I saw Ophelia and Imogene meet up with Bertie. All three turned and looked at the bookshop.
Bumps rose on my arms.
Was it just a coincidence that there were four Wicked Widows?
Chapter Fifteen
A few minutes later, I was still in the bookshop, and I had just wrangled a promise from Harper that she would ask Marcus about Harriette’s will. She was more than willing to be my coconspirator.
I realized how far I’d come in my relationship with her, at least in terms of my moral code. Since we’d moved to the Enchanted Village, it seemed like my moral compass had aligned itself with hers, rather than the other way around.
It was a little disconcerting how willing I was to be unethical just because I had a good reason. . . .
Which was how Harper had been explaining her exasperating behavior for years.
Maybe all that time she’d been right—and I’d been wrong.
It was a painful admission, even making it to myself.
Was it possible the Wickeds were guilty of Michael’s death? Plausible?
I tried to sort it out. Michael had left the bakery around seven. I had found his body at eight thirty. That was an hour and a half of unaccounted time. When had he actually arrived at the lot? And when had he been killed?
Thinking back to last night, I remembered that Ophelia, Imogene, and Bertie had all arrived at Harriette’s party together at eight sharp. Harriette had come in later. With respect to time, it could have worked. But plausibility?
Why would all four of them want him dead?
He said he’d died because of something to do with the Witching Hour roses. . . . But why exactly? What about them led to his murder?
I needed to find out how many people knew that it was his spell that created those black roses. Harriette had to know, of course. But who else? I wished that Michael were here so I could pepper him with questions, but he had yet to return.
I needed to find someone who knew more about what Michael was doing at the Elysian Fields—someone who knew Michael inside and out.
I needed to find Fisk.
I’d just clipped on Missy’s leash to take her home before I went to the festival when Angela, standing behind the cash register, let out a small cry.
I spun around and saw panic filling her eyes. Her hand shook as she held a cell phone. “I have to go,” she said to Harper as she ran to the door, stopped, ran to the back storeroom and came out with her coat.
Harper said, “W
hat’s happened?”
“It’s Harmony.”
“Is she okay?” I asked, anxiety twisting through me.
“She sent me a text message.” Looking around, she lowered her voice. “Apparently she found the weapon used to stab Michael Healey. I have to go.”
I took a peek at Harper, who looked disappointed that she couldn’t leave Mimi to run the shop so she could accompany Angela. She shooed me with her hands. “Go with her, Darcy! She’s a friend in need.”
I bit back an exasperated sigh. This had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with Harper wanting the scoop on what Harmony had found.
Angela grabbed my hand. “Come on!” She yanked open the door, sending the bells into a jingly fit, and took off down the sidewalk.
I jogged to keep up with her. Missy trotted at my side. “Where are we going?”
“Harmony has been working in the Dumpster behind the Sorcerer’s Stove. The new owner is renovating the restaurant before reopening,” she said, “so Harmony thought it would be great pickings.”
In addition to owning the Pixie Cottage, Harmony was also what she liked to call an “article relocator.” In plain terms, she was a Dumpster diver, who had the talent to transform junk into masterpieces. I once saw a table she’d made from a broken window frame; it was gorgeous.
Angela gulped for breath by the time we reached the restaurant. The architecture of the building was one of my favorite styles in the village. A stone cottage with a central chimney, leaded glass windows, and a board and batten door, the place looked as though it had fallen out of Hansel and Gretel. The police had already cordoned off the street, and I didn’t see Harmony in the crowd. “Do you know where she is?”
Angela shook her head and sent a quick text message.
We waited impatiently. A moment later, Angela’s phone buzzed, and she said to me, “Around back, on the Enchanted Trail.”
We skirted the crowd and accessed the path near Third Eye Optometry. We found Harmony sitting alone on a bench in the garden behind the Sorcerer’s Stove. Police officers swarmed the area.
Angela hugged Harmony and said, “Are you okay?” She held her at arm’s length, checking for herself.
I was alarmed to see a bandage on Harmony’s hand. “Were you cut?”
“Just nicked,” Harmony said.
I shuddered.
“Nicked?” Angela gasped. “Let me see.” She examined the wound. “I think you should have a doctor look at this. It might need a stitch or two.”
Harmony laid a hand atop Angela’s. “I’m fine. The paramedic already cleaned it up. Someone’s trying to track down Michael’s medical records to make sure I don’t have to worry about any blood-borne diseases.”
I shuddered again. I couldn’t help myself.
Harmony smiled at me. “And the paramedic gave me a Valium, which is why I’m so damn calm.”
I kind of wished the paramedic would give me one, too. I was freaking out.
Missy set her paws on Harmony’s legs and wagged her tail. Harmony rubbed her ears. “You’re such a good dog,” she sang.
I smiled. Missy had a calming effect on people.
Angela asked what had happened, and Harmony said, “I was digging—oh my gosh, I found the most beautiful window; you should see it—and as I was pulling it out, I felt something poke me. I thought maybe there was broken glass in the Dumpster, but when I dug farther, I found a pair of gardening snips. Razor-sharp ones at that. At first, I was thrilled. They’re beautifully made—expensive, I can tell, with a leather grip. I probably could have sold them online for more than a hundred dollars. Then I saw the dried blood on them, and my brain put it together that this was probably the weapon used on Michael. I practically fell out of the Dumpster to get away from them. I called the police . . . and now here we are.” She was the one shivering now.
Angela looked around at the officers combing the area. “Are you allowed to leave?”
Harmony nodded. “Nick just didn’t want me walking home alone.”
Angela tugged her to her feet. “Come on then. Let’s go. Darcy, can you let Harper know that I won’t be back to the bookshop?”
I said I would. Harmony patted Missy’s head and gave me a wan smile; then they headed along the trail and disappeared from view.
When I looked back at the Dumpster, I saw Nick coming toward me. This time when Missy pranced toward him, he didn’t ignore her. In fact, he knelt down and scratched her chin.
I crouched next to him. “How sure are you that those snips are one of the murder weapons?”
“Fairly sure. I’ve sent them to the crime lab. I wish they hadn’t been found in a Dumpster, though. Too many contaminants.”
As Nick was part Wishcrafter by marriage, I couldn’t grant his wishes, so I didn’t even attempt to cast the spell.
“With the renovation going on, the dirt alone . . . ,” I said.
“The strange thing was that the snips had feathers stuck to them.” He smiled wryly. “I wonder what’s been cooking in the restaurant.”
I tipped my head. “Feathers?”
“White ones.”
“Thin? Fluffy?”
“Where are you going with this, Darcy?”
“It’s just that last night Harriette was wearing a black dress that was trimmed in white feathers to her party.”
Nick stood. “I think it’s time I paid Harriette a visit.”
I agreed. “Those snips . . .”
“What?” he asked. “Do you know something about them?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that this morning, when I was at Harriette’s greenhouse, there was a rack with gardening tools with leather handles. There was an empty spot that indicated one was missing—according to Harriette, it was the pair of snips.”
Nick cursed under his breath.
“So,” I said, catching his eye, “when you go to question Harriette, you might want to bring along a warrant.”
* * *
As I didn’t think the festival was the best place for Missy, I dropped her off at home to keep Amy company, and I headed for the pie-tasting contest to spy on the Wickeds.
On my way there, I stopped at the fried dough booth. I really wanted a caramel apple, but I would wait for Nick to fulfill his promise.
I was starting to get a little worried about Michael. He still hadn’t returned. What could he possibly be doing?
I’d just stuffed a piece of dough into my mouth when I practically ran into Starla, who was working the festival as a freelance photographer for the local newspaper, the Toil and Trouble.
Starla had been appropriately named. With her bright eyes, her white-blond hair, and radiant personality, she simply shone like a glimmering star in a dark night sky. “Darcy! You’re not going to believe it.” She was suddenly distracted by my fried dough. “That looks amazing.”
“Believe what?”
She grabbed a hunk of my dough and took a bite.
“Hey!” I said.
“Friends share.” She grinned as she wiped powdered sugar from her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw that.” She blinked prettily.
Reluctantly, I handed the whole plate over to her. She beamed as I went and bought myself another one. When I came back, she was already done with hers.
Although she was my first best friend ever, she was not getting this dough, too. I held it close and said, “Now, what am I not going to believe?”
“Oh! That. I got another one.”
“Another what?”
“Jack-o’-lantern.” Starla took a quick picture of a baby being handed a spider-shaped balloon. “It was sitting outside Hocus-Pocus late this morning when I opened up the shop.”
“Did it have another note inside?”
She nodded, her eyes alight.
Again, I hoped this wasn’t some creep playing tricks on her. It was, after all, the season of trickery.
“It said, ‘Beautiful are you; Beast am I.�
�”
I nearly choked on a nibble of fried dough. “Beast?”
“I know,” Starla said, adjusting her camera strap. “That sounds ominous, doesn’t it? Yet, it’s kind of romantic. I mean, Beauty and the Beast is a love story. It’s about looking deeper into someone’s soul and not being deterred by what’s on the surface.”
She’d obviously been putting a lot of thought into this.
“I could use a happily-ever-after for a change,” she added on a sigh.
Her last few relationships had been big duds, so I couldn’t blame her for wanting something long lasting.
Just as long as it wasn’t with some pumpkin-freak stalker.
“I wonder who it is,” she said dreamily.
I had absolutely no idea. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon.”
“You think so?”
I nodded.
Looking like a kid at Christmas, she smiled ear to ear, then straightened and tried to erase the grin from her face. “Okay, I’m going to just pretend like none of this happened. I have work to do. Besides, I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
I didn’t know who she thought she was fooling. Her hopes had risen higher than a kite caught in a windstorm.
“I’ll catch you later.” She skipped away.
Actually skipped.
Whoever her secret admirer was, he couldn’t have planned this better. I half believed that Starla had already fallen for this mystery man from the sheer romance of it all.
I just hoped she didn’t fall as hard as that kite when the wind died down.
I stood on tiptoe and glanced around, trying to get a feel for the layout of the festival.
It looked like the pie judging was being held under a tent near the haunted house. I could see it was standing room only, and I hoped I could edge my way inside.
As I scooted past a little girl whose face was painted like a panda bear, I yelped when a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me to a stop.
Chapter Sixteen
“Sorry,” Trista Harkette said. “You didn’t hear me calling you.”
Sœurs.
Pepe’s term for sisters jumped into my head. Even though they didn’t have much contact with each other, Trista and Lydia certainly had the same method of getting a witch’s attention.
The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 13
