The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

  “I’ll meet you out front, under the portico.”

  I hung up and held the phone out. Amy took it.

  “When you go to the hospital, remember what I said,” I reminded them. “And don’t trust anyone.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I had no choice but to bring Tilda with me to see Hot Rod/Lew at the hospital, which was located just five miles outside village limits. She sat primly in the passenger seat without making any fuss at all over the slippery ride.

  She never ceased to amaze me.

  Tree branches glistened with fresh snow, but the sun was peeking out, promising that the dusting we’d received wouldn’t be around long. I turned into the hospital parking lot, headed toward the front entrance. I waited for a young couple in a crosswalk before I turned into the roundabout in front of the main entrance.

  There was no sign of Hot Rod.

  I parked and, almost immediately, my phone buzzed. I pulled it from my purse and looked at the screen. Starla had sent me a picture. I clicked the button to open it.

  It was another jack-o’-lantern.

  The message beneath the picture said, At six thirty meet me, under the big birch tree.

  My phone buzzed again—another text message coming in. In all caps, Starla wrote: WHAT DO I WEAR???????

  Smiling, I wrote back.

  ME: Body armor.

  HER: Not funny.

  ME: Kind of funny.

  HER: Not the least little bit.

  ME: Dark skinny jeans, silk floral tank top, cocoa cashmere cardigan. Boots. Body armor.

  HER: Thank you. Still not funny.

  I glanced up and spotted Hot Rod headed for my car. He looked like a stereotypical professor in his dark pants and tweed suit coat. He was so unlike the Hot Rod from Friday night that it was hard for my brain to wrap around the change.

  Tilda glanced at me, as if asking why we were here. Reaching over, I scooped her up, just as Hot Rod reached for the door handle.

  As soon as he sat down, Tilda squirmed out of my arms and dove into his. He held her close, and I felt a little betrayed as her purrs filled the silence.

  Finally, Rod looked at me.

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” I said, thinking of all the things I wanted to ask him. “How’s Harriette doing?”

  His chin jutted stoically. “Not well. They’re prepping her for bypass surgery. I need to get back, so I don’t have long.”

  I understood. “Do I call you Rodney or Lew?”

  “Lew is fine.”

  “Okay, Lew.” I smiled and said, “Why’d you keep my cat?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. I knew it was wrong to keep her, but she was so friendly, so happy. I fell in love. Didn’t I?” he said, addressing those last words to her.

  She twitched a whisker. Purr, purr, purr.

  The traitor.

  “I don’t know how she even got into my bag in the first place, but she didn’t seem the least bit put out by it. She settled right in with me. It was nice to have another energy around. One that wasn’t unhappy or stressed or grieving.”

  “Like Fisk?”

  “He was waiting on my porch steps when I arrived home Friday night. He told me about Michael. I hadn’t realized that the body in the parking lot . . .” He shook his head. “He was a good kid. A nice boy. Such a damn shame.”

  “Are you why Harriette hired a stripper for her birthday party? Did she know that you were going to be the entertainment?”

  He smiled. “Oh yes. We had a great laugh about it.”

  “I can’t help but feel manipulated somehow, but I can’t figure it out. How did you know I’d choose your company? And how could you two possibly know I’d choose you over the other entertainers?”

  “It just went to show that you have good taste,” he teased. “And as mine is the only company in town, if I hadn’t received a booking, then Harriette would have made a phone call to Ve to recommend the site. It wouldn’t have mattered who you chose—I would have showed up saying the other entertainer had fallen ill or some other excuse. Harriette wanted me to meet her friends and family in a somewhat neutral setting. Then she’d spring my identity on them at a later time.”

  I could only imagine that kind of shock.

  “How can you do what you do?” I asked. “I mean, with your type of Craft?”

  An Emoticrafter, one that absorbed everyone’s emotions around him.

  “My Craft is why I do what I do. First and foremost, the company provides a living for me. I can run it from home, with very little interaction with live people.”

  “But the parties . . . They’re packed with people.”

  “Yes, but it’s the only time I feel absolute joy and happiness from others. Hardly anyone is ever upset at a party. It keeps me going. It’s places like this”—he motioned to the hospital—“that make me want to hide from society. Even now, I can feel your anxiety. Your fear.”

  My fear was that I wasn’t going to be able to figure out Michael’s killer before someone else was hurt.

  “Maybe you can do a little dance and cheer me up?” I joked.

  “Rain check,” he said.

  “Deal. Can you answer me one more thing?”

  “Seems fair.”

  “Has Harriette been loaning you money?”

  “Just once. I needed some roofing repairs, and there had been an error at the bank. . . . I repaid her as soon as I was able to get the mistake sorted out.”

  “I’m having trouble understanding your relationship. Harriette’s known for being so . . .” Harsh, critical, snobbish.

  “I know,” he said. “But as you might have learned today, there’s so much more to her than meets the eye. I can feel it, even when others can’t see it.”

  “You love her,” I said.

  “Very much.”

  “It was Ve who stuffed Tilda in your duffel bag. She hoped you would return the cat that night and stay for a little wine. . . .”

  “Ah,” he said.

  “She’s going to be crushed when she finds out you’re taken.”

  He smiled at me. “I am a bit of a heartbreaker.”

  “I can see that about you.”

  “I should go back inside. Fisk called to let me know he will be here soon, and I want to be with him in case the police give him any trouble.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Harriette wanted me to give this to you. She said that if the alarm on it sounded, you’d know what to do with it.”

  The alarm would sound only if someone had stolen the last black rosebush. “Tell her not to worry. That I’ll take care of it.”

  Lew put his hand on mine. “Be careful, Darcy.” Then he looked Tilda in the eye and said, “Good-bye, sweetheart. Thanks for keeping an old man company.”

  She continued to purr even as he got out of the car. I watched him go, dodging people as if they had the plague. I set her back on the seat, and she put her paws on the window and stared after him. Then she glanced at me.

  A heartbreaker indeed.

  “You cannot go live with him,” I said.

  She flicked an ear and swished her tail. “Reow,” she cried.

  “Still no.”

  “Reoooow.”

  I sighed. “Maybe we can work out some sort of visitation schedule. Maybe.”

  With that she settled into the passenger seat, looking smug.

  As I drove away, I felt as though I’d just been conned by a cat.

  * * *

  I dropped off Tilda at As You Wish and watched with barely disguised merriment as she gave Ve the silent treatment.

  I was becoming more and more convinced that Tilda was a familiar. Why she wouldn’t speak to me, I had no idea, but I supposed it didn’t matter much. I’d come to care for her and her neuroses no matter what.

  Archie sat on my shoulder, and Harriette’s phon
e was in my pocket as I walked toward Spellbound to update Harper on all that had happened. Michael was also somewhere nearby.

  Whump, whump.

  He’d returned to me during the car ride back to As You Wish, and Tilda hadn’t reacted even the slightest bit—but I was fairly sure she’d made him sit in the backseat.

  Archie said, “I knew all along Fisk was innocent.”

  “Really now?”

  “You do not have to take that tone. I’m quite intelligent, you know.”

  Because of the police investigation, the festival was closed for the day. It would be open nightly for the rest of this week, and then pack up and move along after next weekend. “Good to know.”

  “Or that tone, either.” He huffed at my sarcasm.

  I ignored him. “Have you heard any updates on Ophelia or Bertie?”

  “Ophelia is home and resting. Bertie is still in the hospital. She should make a full recovery.”

  “Good news.”

  “Indeed.”

  The sun had melted the snow from the sidewalks, but it still remained on the bushes and branches. Grass tips poked out from beneath a blanket of white. I passed an urn filled with Dash’s deep purple flowers, and they still looked healthy as could be even though they were now frosted with delicate flakes.

  “And how about Hot Rod?” I asked. “Did you know he and Lew were one and the same?”

  “Of course.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I saw that,” he said.

  I said, “Don’t make me pluck a feather.”

  He scoffed. “‘Honey, I don’t want to hurt you.’”

  I said, “You’re cranky.”

  “Little Murders.”

  “I knew that all along.”

  “Touché, Darcy, touché.”

  “Why are your feathers ruffled this afternoon?”

  He glanced at me, and I swore if a macaw could pout, he was doing it. “Did you have to bring her back?”

  “Tilda is family. Of course I had to bring her back.”

  “I was afraid of this scenario.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re plotting?”

  He launched off my shoulder and soared high into the sky, laughing like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I was going to have to put a tracking collar on Tilda as soon as possible.

  Archie swooped back down and flew alongside me. “I must now relieve myself of your abuse and report back to the Elder. She is most anxious for your report.”

  “Tell her I said hi,” I said drily.

  He laughed as he flew away. I crossed the street, and as I passed Lotions and Potions, I glanced inside. Vince was at his workstation, scooping the innards out of another pumpkin. I waved and kept on going.

  Then, I stopped short as what I’d seen hit me. Slowly, I backed up. Vince looked up again, a quizzical look in his eye. I glanced at him, at the pumpkin, at him again.

  Beautiful are you; Beast am I.

  I recalled what Pepe had said about how Starla’s secret admirer might not be a literal beast. Only someone who considered himself unworthy.

  I swallowed hard, afraid to meet Vince’s eyes. Afraid to know the truth.

  He was a Seeker. A desperate Seeker at that. There were so many reasons why this was wrong. Why it would never work.

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the screen.

  STARLA: SO NERVOUS.

  A second later, there was another buzz.

  STARLA: But so EXCITED.

  I bit my lip and glanced at Vince. Met his eyes. Felt a chasm form deep in my heart.

  There were so many wrongs to this, yes, but from what I could see in Vince’s eyes, there might possibly be one right.

  He cared for her.

  I could see it in his face. His naked emotion, pleading with me, because he realized I’d figured out his secret.

  I stood there for a long second, unsure what to do. I wanted to protect my friend, but I wanted her to be happy as well.

  Finally, I took a deep breath, gave Vince a half smile, and walked away.

  I texted Starla as I walked to the bookshop.

  ME: Stop worrying. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

  Fine, fine, fine.

  And as I pulled open the door to Harper’s store, I wished with all my might that I was right.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Harper drummed her fingers on the edge of her cushy chair.

  The caffeine had not yet worn off.

  “So, if Harriette is being framed, then this isn’t like Murder on the Orient Express at all.”

  There were a few customers in the bookstore, browsing. Angela Curtis, Harper’s part-time employee, was back at work, and she said that Harmony was back to relocating articles, bandage and all. Michael’s medical records had fortunately come back all clear.

  I glanced over at the children’s nook, and realized how much I missed Mimi on days I didn’t see her. Which, luckily, wasn’t often.

  I carefully blew into my coffee mug and thought about the little dark-haired boy I’d seen sitting there yesterday. Ophelia’s son. I wondered how he was doing today. How deep did emotional scars go? Did the person who attacked Ophelia even stop to think about what the repercussions of witnessing such a crime would do to Jacob?

  Of course not. The person committing these crimes was obviously a sociopath. No remorse. No concern.

  I sighed as Harper continued to babble on.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Maybe this is more like And Then There Were None.”

  “How so?” I asked, more to keep her talking than anything. Honestly, I was a little tired and didn’t want to hold up my end of the conversation.

  Undoubtedly, I would not win the Sister of the Year award.

  “Do you remember the story?” she asked, her eyes alight with enthusiasm and the remnants of twelve cups of coffee.

  “Vaguely.”

  “Well, there was this island, right?”

  I nodded, trying not to smile.

  “And all these criminals that were never convicted of their crimes, for one reason or another.”

  “Are you saying Michael and the Wickeds are criminals?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Hush,” she said. “So, they’re all sent this mysterious invitation to the island. There might be money involved in luring them—I can’t quite remember. Anyway, there are ten of them. And one by one each of them dies.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said.

  “But there are only ten on the island, right? So who killed all of them?”

  The story was vaguely coming back to me. “One of them wasn’t really dead, right?”

  She snapped her fingers. “Right. He killed everyone; then he died of some terminal illness in the end.”

  Maybe it was because I’d had a long day, but I wasn’t getting the connection to Michael and the Wickeds. “Maybe this case has nothing to do with an Agatha Christie book at all.”

  She frowned. “Don’t you see that it possibly has everything to do with this story?”

  “Not rea—” I was cut off by a loud bleating sound. It startled me so much, I spilled coffee on my pants.

  Harper nearly fell out of her chair. She looked all around. “What is that sound?”

  I quickly set my mug on the table and pulled Harriette’s phone from my pocket. I figured out how to silence it and jumped up. “The bait has been taken.”

  Whump-whump-whump.

  Harper glanced around, feeling the disturbance in her force. She wasn’t distracted long—she grabbed the phone out of my hand. “How does the GPS thing work?”

  I grabbed it back. “Look at the map. See the blip? The bush must be in a car—it’s moving at a good clip.”

  “What do we do?” Harper asked, jiggling foot to foot. “We need a car. We have to give chase. Can I drive? Which way is it going?”

  “First, you really need to switch to decaf, and second, this isn’t The Italian Job. Besides, you need to stay here.”
>
  “What? Says who? I’m the boss. I can do what I want.”

  “Says me. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But not for you?”

  “For me, too, but I’ll be careful. However, if you’re with me, then I can’t be careful about me if I’m too busy worrying about how careful you’re being.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Huh. I can’t believe that made sense to me.”

  “You need to stay here.” The phone blipped.

  Harper leaned over my shoulder for the update. The car had turned onto the village square.

  We ran to the front window and looked left. Nothing. Not a darn thing. No car in sight.

  The phone blipped again. We looked at the map. The car had stopped.

  “Where is that?” Harper asked.

  The car was in the service alley behind several shops. Lotions and Potions, the Trimmed Wick, Bewitching Boutique, the Black Thorn florist.

  My heart thumped against my ribs. The Black Thorn. It had to be.

  Harper had put it together, too. “Looks like I might have been wrong about the And Then There Were None theory, and you were right about Lydia.”

  “Or Willard,” I added.

  “Or both,” she said.

  I shuddered, not sure what to do.

  “Go, go!” Harper said, pushing me out the door. “Stay hidden, keep low, get a visual. Do not make contact. I’ll call the police. Go!”

  “Decaf!” I shouted as I stumbled onto the sidewalk.

  I smiled at a couple walking by, trying to pass myself off as a sane person. It was a tough sell if judged by the way they kept a wide berth.

  My heart hammered as I headed down the sidewalk. I took a sharp left down the wide passage between buildings. When I reached the service alley, I pressed my back to the wall of Lotions and Potions and peeked around the corner, making a quick assessment.

  Several Dumpsters stood near a tall fence separating the alley from the neighborhood homes on the other side. A silver sedan was parked at the far end of the alley. I saw Willard exit the back of the Black Thorn and walk over to the car. He took something out of the backseat and carried it into the shop.

  I glanced at the phone for an update, but it didn’t beep. The black rosebush was apparently still in the car.

  Quickly, I darted across the alleyway and hid behind a Dumpster. I followed the fence line, keeping low.