A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery

by blake, heather

  That had been the understatement of a lifetime.

  It was a miracle she was sitting there.

  There was a tap at the back door, and Nick stuck his head inside. “Darcy? You called?”

  Missy squirmed, and I set her down. She bounded over to the door as I waved him inside. He bent down to rub Missy’s ears before coming into the kitchen.

  All it took was one look at our faces before his dark eyes shifted from those of a curious boyfriend to those of a hardened policeman. “What’s going on?”

  Standing close to him, I felt the warmth of his body and moved a little closer. I cared for him more than I had ever dared to admit. I was working up my nerve to confess those three little words, even within the silence of my own head. It had been a long time since I’d said them to a man—my ex-husband had been the last, and we’d been divorced for more than two years now. But even as lousy a husband as Troy had been, he was a saint compared to Kyle Chadwick.

  Starla related what she’d seen on the green, and fresh tears filled her eyes. “He was exactly the same as he was two years ago—maybe a little thinner, but the same crew cut, the same square face, the same piercing eyes. I always thought that if he came back he’d wear a disguise. Change his hair color, grow a beard. But no. He was just . . . him. And he was watching me.”

  I shivered.

  Harper shuddered.

  Nick dragged a hand through his dark hair. He knew the history of Kyle Chadwick, the village’s most notorious fugitive. “Starla, are you sure it was him?”

  “The longer I sit here, the more I doubt myself. But I took pictures. They’ll prove it one way or the other.” She pushed the camera toward him. “You know what he looks like, right? From his mug shot and the Wanted posters?”

  Fortunately, Kyle was not a Wishcrafter—or else his photos would be nothing but bright starbursts. He was a Manicrafter, a witch with magic hands. And he was a sociopath.

  “I’d know his face anywhere.” Nick drew in a deep breath as he reached for the camera and flicked the power switch. He hit the button to review the photos and clicked and clicked and finally looked up at Starla.

  “What?” she asked, lifting off the stool at his strange expression. “It’s him. Isn’t it him?”

  “How many pictures did you take this afternoon?” he asked.

  “Of just Kyle or everyone?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Hundreds. I was wrapping up my afternoon rounds when I saw him.”

  Nick’s brown eyes were flat and unreadable as he turned the camera around. “Then it looks as though someone might have tampered with your camera.”

  “What do you mean?” She grabbed for the Nikon and let out a little cry.

  I leaned over her shoulder as she continued to click a button, despite the message on the review screen.

  FOLDER CONTAINS NO IMAGES

  There was no photo of Kyle.

  There were no photos at all.

  They’d all been deleted.