Evan picked a piece of lint off his sweater. “The jury’s out.”
I had a feeling it would stay out until Fisk underwent a fashion intervention.
“I don’t suppose you know where Fisk hangs out. Or with whom?” Maybe a friend would know where he was.
Speaking of friends, Michael still hadn’t returned. I didn’t feel his pulsing energy in the shop. He had been gone for a while now, and I was starting to worry.
Then I checked myself. What could possibly happen to him? He was already dead. This took my mother-hen worrying to a whole new level.
Evan ran his finger along the edge of the table. “I only know of Michael and Amy. . . . Did you hear that she’s now missing, too? Probably ran off with that delinquent.”
Large photos Starla had taken decorated the walls. Beautiful close-ups of all kinds of treats. My favorite was the shot of the double chocolate mocha cake. It made me crave it every time I saw that picture. “Actually, she didn’t.”
Eagerly, he leaned in. “You know where she is?”
I winced. “At Ve’s.”
His blue eyes grew wide. “Do the police know? Of course they don’t know,” he said, “or else Glinda wouldn’t have stopped by here three times today already, asking if I’d seen or heard Amy come home.”
That’s right. She lived upstairs. “Maybe Glinda just likes your cake pops.”
“That is possible,” he acceded. “Now tell me everything. Why is Amy at Ve’s?”
I told him all I knew, and as I finished the tale, I stared in wonder at a spot on the wooden floor. One of the slats was moving, an eensy bit at a time, sliding to reveal a dark cavity.
“Uh, Evan?” I said, motioning.
He looked down. “It’s all clear, Pepe,” he yelled.
Pepe, his little mouse whiskers twitching, pulled himself up and out of the hole. He dusted himself off, adjusted his vest, and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “It took you long enough.”
“I didn’t hear you knocking,” Evan said, bending over and placing his cupped hands on the ground. Pepe climbed into them, and Evan lifted him onto the table.
It seemed to be a familiar routine to them.
With a smile, Evan added, “Darcy was yammering on and on.”
“Hey!” I said. “I do not yammer.”
Pepe bowed. “Ma chère, how is the glowing one?”
“Still glowing. And resting,” I said. “Missy’s keeping her company. Do you come here often?”
His tail swished. “Oui. I cannot keep away from the chocolate cheesecake. It is a weakness.” He rubbed his belly and looked longingly at Evan.
“Subtle.” Evan stood and cut off a nibble of cheesecake. He placed it on a teacup saucer and brought it back to the table.
“Non. Effective,” Pepe said with a toothy grin as he picked up his treat.
Out the front window, I saw the crowd slowly start to dissipate. I was curious to know what exactly had happened to Imogene. I spotted Nick walking along with Glinda at his elbow, and I ignored a sharp stab of jealousy. On the bright side, she looked exhausted. Yes, still gorgeous, but droopy. That cheered me up a little.
Behind them, I was a little surprised to see solemn-faced Lydia and Willard Wentworth standing off to the side watching what was going on. I presumed that Willard had called her when he saw the hubbub at the festival because I had thought Lydia said she’d be working in her greenhouse all day. Willard wore a BLACK THORN apron, as if he’d left his shop in a hurry.
Starla was bustling around snapping pictures of anything and everything. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she still had an air of happiness about her.
“What do you two think of Starla’s secret admirer?” I assumed Pepe knew about the jack-o’-lanterns. In a village this small, word tended to get around.
Evan blew out a breath. “She’s over the moon. I just don’t want her to get hurt. Do you have any idea who it is?”
“Not a clue,” I said. “Did you hear about his latest note? ‘Beautiful are you; Beast am I’? What kind of man goes into a potential relationship comparing himself to a beast? It’s as if he’s warning her off before he even meets her.”
Evan tapped his chin. “Who’s the furriest in the village?”
“Hands down, Roger Merrick.” He was a local Geocrafter, and I was pretty sure he had hair coming out of every pore on his body.
Evan scrunched his nose. “He’s happily married, plus he’s old enough to be her father. Gross.”
“You asked,” I said.
Pepe coughed. “Perhaps the Beast reference was not literal.”
“What do you mean?” Evan asked.
“Perhaps,” Pepe said, dusting his paws free of cheesecake crumbs, “Starla’s admirer is concerned that there’s an element to his being that she will not find attractive.”
“But not literal,” I said, musing. “More like a personality trait.”
“Oui.”
I leaned down and looked him in the eye. “You know something, don’t you?”
A bead of sweat popped out on his forehead. He glanced down, pulled a tiny pocket watch from his vest pocket, and made a show of looking at it. “Look at the time! I must be going.”
He darted for the edge of the table. Evan grabbed Pepe’s tail, stopping his progress.
“Unhand me!” Pepe demanded.
“You know who it is, don’t you?” Evan prodded.
Pepe looked nervously at me. “I may have seen a man dropping a pumpkin off at Hocus-Pocus this morning. . . .”
“Who?” I asked. “Who is he?”
“Non! I cannot say! Now let me go.”
“Not until you give up the information,” Evan said.
“Ruffian!” Pepe said, gnashing his teeth.
I had the feeling he was about to take a bite out of Evan’s hand, and I was about to warn him when Evan suddenly let go.
In a flash, Pepe leapt off the table, scurried to the hole in the floor, and dove in headfirst, leaving Evan and me staring after him in wonder.
“For such a chubby familiar, he sure is fast,” Evan remarked with wonder in his voice.
I stood up. “I won’t tell him you called him chubby. His teeth are really sharp.”
Evan smirked. “Thanks. Where are you off to?”
Truth was, I wasn’t sure. “I have to uncover whether the elusive Louis is real or make-believe, find Fisk, look for Tilda, see what I can find out about Imogene’s poisoning, check on Amy, ask Marcus Debrowski about wills, and figure out why Fisk and Michael were fighting over the moon. So . . . a nap sounds good.”
Evan’s laughter rang in my ears as I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, thanked him for the cake pop, and left the shop. As I stepped outside, the chilly wind felt like it was boring into my soul. It was time to dig out my winter coat from Aunt Ve’s garage. Another thing to add to my to-do list. I glanced up at the bakery building, taking note of the windows on the second floor. As I watched, I could have sworn that a curtain shifted.
I turned around and went back inside the bakery.
Evan gave me a puzzled look. “All right,” he joked. “You can have another cake pop.”
I smiled. “Actually, I was wondering . . .”
“What’s that look in your eye?”
“As landlord, you have keys to Michael and Amy’s upstairs apartment, right?”
“Yes . . .”
I batted my eyelashes. “Can we take a quick look?” I wanted to make sure no one was up there, snooping around. If I had any measure of luck, I’d find Fisk hiding out.
“You know,” Evan said as he rummaged around drawers, “there are rules that protect tenants’ privacy.”
“Your point?”
“Aha!” He pulled out a key ring and jangled the keys hanging from it. “No point at all. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Evan unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open.
Whump, whump.
Ah, so this was wher
e Michael had been.
His energy was calm, so I hoped that meant he’d found some peace being in the space. Rightfully so—it was an adorable apartment, and amazingly clean for housing two young adults.
The walls had been painted a light grayish blue, and were adorned with bold-colored artwork. The furniture was sparse, just a couch and a couple of chairs in the living space. In the adjoining dining area, a wooden table had been painted a bright cheery yellow. A vase of flowers sat on the tabletop. Black roses. Dead black roses.
I swallowed over the sudden lump in my throat.
There was a lumpy sofa that looked like it was a pullout. Which made sense since there was only one bedroom.
“The police have already been through here,” Evan said. “Last night. They took a laptop and a couple of files. Nothing much else.”
I glanced around. No landline phone, so checking for messages was out. I remembered seeing Michael’s phone on the seat of the van. I wondered if the police had found anything on it—a text message identifying his killer would be nice. But probably too much to hope for.
I walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. Had it been Michael doing the same earlier? Or had someone else been in the apartment? Someone like Fisk.
“Was there something in particular you were looking for, Darcy?” Evan asked.
A floorboard creaked, and a voice said, “Yes. Was there?”
Evan and I spun around. Glinda Hansel stood in the doorway to the only bedroom. She wore a pair of gloves and a seriously ticked-off expression.
Evan dramatically grabbed his heart and said, “Scare a man to death, why don’t you?”
Glinda ignored him and focused on me. If her bright blue eyes could kill, I’d be out cold on the floor. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“We—ah, heard a noise,” I lied.
Evan caught on. “As a landlord, I had a duty to check it out since I know the apartment is supposed to be empty.” He lifted an eyebrow, challenging her.
She didn’t take the bait. As a police officer investigating a crime, she had every right to be here.
I silently groused at Michael, however. He could have warned me we weren’t alone. An extra whump or something. It wasn’t too much to ask.
Glinda leaned against the bedroom doorjamb. “A word of warning, Darcy. I know you fancy yourself some kind of sleuth, but sticking your nose into a police investigation is going to get you in trouble. And not only that,” she added with a touch of malice in her voice, “if it’s discovered that any officer of the law has been sharing confidential information with you, then that person would be in trouble, too. Maybe even lose his job. Get my drift?”
Next to me, I heard Evan meow under his breath.
I could feel my anger simmering. “Is that a threat, Glinda?”
“Not at all, Darcy,” she said, saccharine-sweet. “Like I said, it’s a warning. What you do with it is entirely your choice.”
* * *
Do No Harm, Do No Harm.
I kept repeating the phrase over and over as I took the Enchanted Trail home from the Gingerbread Shack. It was longer, yes, but it would give me time to get my temper under control before I made it home and took it out on innocent family members.
As I walked, I kept an eye out for Tilda and called her name intermittently. I even made kissy noises, though to my knowledge she had never once responded to the sound before (she was above such things). It just seemed the thing to do.
Oooh, that Glinda. All shreds of civility were gone. Meow was right. The claws had come out. War had been declared.
But as I walked along, one thing kept nagging at me.
She was right.
I picked up a stone and hurled it into the woods, throwing it as hard as I could. Whisking away the angry tears in my eyes, I tried to calm down.
I felt a gentle nudge on my upper arm.
Whump, whump.
“I’m okay,” I said.
Another nudge.
I sent a watery smile in Michael’s direction. “I will be okay. Soon.” I picked up a small twig and hurled that into the woods. Throwing things was making me feel a smidge better.
Glinda was right. I wasn’t a police officer. I was a civilian. Nick could lose his job for sharing information with me. And though he often held back a lot of what he knew about cases, he probably told me a little too much.
“You could have warned me that she was in the apartment,” I said.
He flashed three times. I’m sorry.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. For what happened to you.” It was crucial to keep in mind what was truly important. “I promise you I’ll figure it out.”
He blinked four times.
“Thank you?” I guessed.
Yes.
“You’re welcome.” What few leaves were left on the trees rustled in the breeze. “I do have some questions for you. Okay?”
Yes.
“Did you create the Witching Hour spell?”
Yes.
“Did Harriette help in any way?”
No.
“Did you give her permission to call the spell her own?”
Yes.
“Why would you do that?”
He, of course, didn’t answer. I was going to have to pay a visit to Harriette. I drew in a deep breath. “Other than you, how many people know the spell?”
He blinked two times.
Two others. “Harriette?”
No.
“Fisk?”
No.
“Dash?”
No.
“Any of the Wickeds?”
No.
“Lydia?”
No.
“Amy?”
No.
“I’m stumped.” And worn out. It had been a long day already. “I’ll keep thinking on it.” I’d list every person in the village if I had to.
A small footbridge led from the trail to a small path behind As You Wish. I passed Ve’s massive garage and debated about going inside to get a winter coat. I bypassed it for now, feeling the need for food that didn’t have a high sugar content. Not that I didn’t love fried dough or cake pops, but my body was craving something warm and comforting. Soup, maybe.
Opening the back gate, I saw Archie in his cage, regaling a small group of tourists with the narrative prologue from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast movie. Dramatically, he quoted, “‘As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope’”—he threw a look my way and winked— “‘for who could ever learn to love a beast?’”
Amazed, the tourists clapped and clapped as if Archie’s version were the greatest thing they’d ever heard. He basked in the glow, lapping up the accolades. I was surprised he didn’t take a bow, but then that might have tipped off his audience that something magical had just happened, rather than a macaw with good memory repeating something it heard on TV.
Was it a coincidence he was quoting from Beauty and the Beast? I doubted it. My guess was that he also knew the identity of Starla’s secret admirer. Maybe I could get the information out of him later. He was easily bribed with games of Trivial Pursuit, The Lord of the Rings version.
I waved to him and unlocked the mudroom door. As I stepped into the kitchen, I hoped with all my might to see Tilda peering dismissively at me from her favorite spot at the top of the staircase, but she wasn’t there.
As I started up the steps, I didn’t see Tilda, but I did hear voices. Ve’s and another woman’s. Not Amy’s. No, this was the woman I’d heard several times over the past few months. The one Ve denied existed. The one I suspected was a familiar. I always believed it to be Tilda or Missy—but with Tilda out of the house, that only left Missy.
Was she really a familiar? Or . . . was there another critter in the house I wasn’t aware of—a mouse, a fly, a bird?
I stealthily crept up the steps, hoping to catch a glimpse of whom Ve was speaking to—and as I did so, I blatantly eavesdropped on the conversation.
&
nbsp; “I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Ve was saying. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have known. He came to me with concerns, and I didn’t take him seriously enough.”
Ve said, “Again, you couldn’t have known.”
“I have to figure out what happened.”
“I believe Nick and Darcy are working on that. The investigation is in good hands.”
The woman said, “I will continue my investigation as well. And Amy . . . We must protect her as well. If Michael’s killer realizes . . .”
“She’s safe here staying with Darcy and me,” Ve said.
“You misunderstand, Ve. It is not about location. We must protect her from herself. She is young, naive, and entirely too trusting. She has no idea of the power she holds within and the lengths to which someone will go to get that power if it is uncovered that she holds it. Michael didn’t fully understand, either, but he trusted me enough to indulge my wishes about keeping the true ownership spell a secret. I failed him by not realizing the extent of the danger he was in. I will not fail the girl as well. She is safe here as long as she stays invisible. It is her only true protection right now.”
Whump-whump-whump-whump.
My curiosity was killing me. As I lifted my leg to take another step up, the office phone rang. I was momentarily torn. Answer it or spy on Ve? But then I realized that if Ve came out of her bedroom and found me lurking on the stairs . . . Not good.
I quickly backtracked to the kitchen as the phone rang a second time. I yelled, “I got it!” up the steps to let Ve know I was home more than anything. I dashed into the office and grabbed the phone. “As You Wish, this is Darcy. What is the wish you wish today?”
“Hi, Darcy,” a man’s voice said. “This is Rod Stiffington.”
I sat down and automatically started straightening piles of papers. “Rod, hi. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes. It appears as though, well . . . It appears as though I’ve been stiffed, Darcy.”
Oh, the images that flashed through my head. I wasn’t proud.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said carefully.
“I went to cash the check Ve wrote me last night. There had been a stop payment made on it.”
I was speechless. I fumbled for something to say. “Can you hold for a moment?”
The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 15
