Harper rocked on her heels. “I’m going to be working here at the bookstore part-time.”
“We’re glad to have her,” Gayle said. “I’ve not met someone so knowledgeable in so many genres since my Russy died.”
I noticed Vince’s frown and wondered how he and Gayle got along. Was Harper about to become a pawn in some sort of power play they had going on?
Harper’s vast knowledge came as no surprise to me. As an English lit major, she loved all books, all genres, and a bookstore was her kind of heaven—even if I thought it might not be the best use of her degree.
I opened my mouth to ask her if taking this job was such a good idea, but quickly snapped it closed. It wasn’t my decision to make. I couldn’t keep watching over her, trying to protect her, trying to make her decisions.
“If that’s okay with you, Ve?” Harper added.
“Whatever makes you happy.” She patted Harper’s cheek. “We should get going home, though. Tilda shouldn’t be left alone for so long with Missy.”
Tilda was the family cat, who was none too pleased with a new dog in the house.
Ve looked around. “Has anyone seen my scarf? I found my sweater, but not my scarf.”
“Not since you handed them both to Sylar,” I said.
“Maybe he still has it,” Ve said. “But has anyone seen him? He was supposed to walk back with us.”
“He was here a minute ago,” Gayle said.
Ve looked toward the back door. “He probably stepped outside for a moment. He wants me to think he quit smoking, but I know he still sneaks a few cigarettes a day.”
“I’ll check for him,” I offered. I cut through the romance section and walked along a narrow hallway, past a restroom, a small kitchen, a storeroom, and an office.
I opened the back door and was surprised to find Sylar kneeling on the ground, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Rain fell steadily.
Sylar’s glasses wobbled on his nose as he looked up at me, his face drained of color. Rain dripped off his chin. It was then that I noticed that he was kneeling over someone.
I stepped forward. Alexandra Shively lay on the ground. My breath caught when I spotted Ve’s beautiful turquoise scarf knotted tightly around Alexandra’s neck.
“We need to call the paramedics,” Sylar said in a small voice.
There was no use. Alexandra’s face was swollen, blood trickled from her nose, and her eyes were wide-open and bulging, but not seeing anything at all.
She was very clearly dead.
Chapter Five
Fluffy white clouds hung low in the morning sky when I woke up to the tap, tap, tap of water dripping from the gutters. For a second I was disoriented, wondering where I was, where Troy was, and why his side of the bed was cold.
Then realization struck hard and fast, like a sucker punch in the gut. I rolled over, hoping the swift pain would subside quickly. It usually did. I came nose to nose with Tilda. The Himalayan’s light blue eyes shone as she swiped a paw playfully at my cheek and flicked a whisker in my direction. She let me scratch behind her ears and reluctantly let out a soft purr.
It was progress. I was on a mission to win her over. If the fur balls hacked up on my bedspread every other day were any indication, Tilda wasn’t happy I had moved in. Over the past few days, though, I felt more and more like she was coming around. She often followed me when she thought I wasn’t looking, and now here she was purring in my bed.
I glanced around for Missy, who usually slept with me, but she must have cleared out when Tilda came in. Smart dog—Tilda’s claws were sharp.
As I stretched and yawned, I squinted at the small digital alarm clock on the nightstand. It was just before seven. The storms had lasted most of the night, but today was supposed to be warm and sunny. A perfect June day.
I listened for sounds in the house—the perking of the coffeepot, Missy’s toenails on the wooden floors, the soft drone of the morning news.
All was quiet except for the squeaking of the floorboards down the hall. Someone was awake. This early it had to be Aunt Ve. She was definitely an early riser, often up and about as early as five a.m. On the flip side, she was usually tucked into bed with a romance novel and a mug of peppermint tea by ten every night.
We were a lot alike. I was usually up bright and early and tucked into bed at a reasonable (well before midnight) hour, which might sound boring to some, but to me…it was comfort. I found reassurance in routines, in regularity.
When Troy and I first started dating, he said he found my quirks charming. By the time I kicked him out, my quirks had turned into excuses for his bad behaviors. I didn’t like to travel, to entertain, to go out every night…to give up on a marriage because of a few difficulties. No, those were his specialties.
I rolled into the middle of the bed just because I could and tried to tell myself I enjoyed all the extra space. Scratching Tilda’s head, I listened to her purr as I contemplated buying a twin mattress.
I tried to recall what time Aunt Ve had finally come in last night but realized I didn’t know. I’d planned to wait up for her but had fallen asleep sometime around three. Last I’d seen of her, she was still at the bookstore and was waiting for Marcus Debrowski, whom she had retained on Sylar’s behalf, to return. Turned out he was the best Lawcrafter around. From there, she planned to go to the village police station, where Sylar had been taken to be questioned more extensively by local detectives.
Things weren’t looking too good for Sylar at this point. I couldn’t help but think back to the wish he had made about Alex. Had Sylar taken matters into his own hands? Hard to believe he would, especially since people knew of his intense dislike of Alex, but I didn’t know him well enough to judge if he was capable of committing cold-blooded murder. I didn’t want to think so. Didn’t want to think someone I’d found likable and pleasant could have a darker side. But I also knew people were complex and complicated. Nothing was black-and-white. No one was perfect, and heaven knew we could make mistakes. And hide who we truly were, good or bad. Or both—I’d certainly been fooled before.
And well, wasn’t I hiding, too? I was a witch. It had been almost too much to comprehend at first, but as the days slipped by and I used my powers more and more, the truth of who I really was had begun to slowly sink in. Not that I could tell many about it.
Tilda swatted my face again, this time with a bit of claw and a sharp rrreow.
Apparently I’d been fooled again, this time by a fluffy white and gray Himalayan in need of an attitude adjustment. “Just when I was beginning to like you,” I said to her.
Tilda stared at me with an air of superiority before hopping off the bed. She pranced to the door, threw a look over her shoulder, and let out a sharp, insistent, thoroughly ticked-off rrreow.
It was a familiar meow. She was hungry. (She was always hungry.) Odd that Ve hadn’t fed her already…usually it was the first thing she did every morning.
I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand—I was in no mood to deal with my contacts—and pulled my hair into a loose ponytail. After slipping on a pair of shorts, I zipped up a sweatshirt, brushed my teeth, and finally followed a prissy Tilda along the upstairs hallway to Ve’s room.
The door was open wide, and her bed hadn’t been slept in, which meant she probably never came home last night.
The wood floor creaked under my feet, which roused Missy from Harper’s room across the hall. Whereas Tilda was reserved, Missy was all enthusiasm. She charged through the doorway, her feet nearly flying out from under her, an out-of-control snowball. She lost her footing and slid straight into Tilda and both bumped into the wainscoting. Tilda shrieked and hissed and started swiping, claws fully extended. Missy, perpetually optimistic, licked Tilda’s ear and then yelped as claws made contact with her nose. More hissing ensued before Tilda gave one final swipe and took off.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance.” I rubbed Missy’s curly-topped head and checked for damage. A small scratch ra
n across her nose, but it wasn’t too bad. I was glad to see some of her former wild and crazy attitude come through. Maybe her shift in personality was just a result of growing up. I supposed that made perfect sense, and I felt no vet appointment was needed after all.
Harper stuck her head out the door. “Everything okay out here?”
I noticed her hair was wrapped in a towel—she’d been up for a while apparently. “Fine. Missy had a little run-in with Tilda. You’re up early.” She rarely woke up this early voluntarily.
“I start my new job this morning, remember?”
In the midst of all that had happened last night, I had forgotten. Harper had a new job at Spellbound Books. I opened my mouth, but before I could get a word out, she said, “And don’t try to talk me out of it.”
I snapped my mouth shut, reconsidered my choice of words, and said, “Is the bookshop even open today? After what happened last night?”
The murder. I didn’t want to say the words aloud. I didn’t even like thinking them. My mind flashed to the image of Alexandra in the back alley, and my stomach rolled.
And to think that I had considered the Enchanted Village so safe. How wrong I’d been!
Harper leaned against the doorframe, her eyes filled with curiosity. “Did you get a really good look at the body?” She’d always had a morbid interest in forensics. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and maybe there’s a clue on Alexandra’s body as to who really killed her. Because it couldn’t have been Sylar.”
“No, I didn’t get a good look,” I lied, very clearly picturing Alex’s lifeless body. Harper would be beside herself with the details of Alex’s bulging eyes, swollen tongue, and bluish coloring. “Besides, I’m sure the police have it covered.”
I also thought there was a reasonable chance Sylar had killed Alex, but I kept that opinion to myself. Last night, as soon as the police had taken Sylar away, Ve and Harper had gone back and forth about who the “real” killer could have been and had even started making a list of possible suspects. I thought of the two of them playing detective and almost groaned. Harper was all about a good cause, and if she felt Sylar was innocent, I could only imagine the lengths she’d go through to prove it.
And Ve. Poor Aunt Ve. She was as caught up in what happened as any person could be. Last night she had loudly and insistently proclaimed Sylar’s innocence to anyone who would listen.
Harper lifted one eyebrow as though she thought I was crazy for putting all my trust in the police, but she didn’t press for any gruesome details. “As far as I know, the store’s open, and I’m due in at eight. I thought I’d get there early—it’s important to make a good impression, don’t you think?”
She wasn’t fooling me. Getting to the shop early meant she’d have more time to snoop in the back alley. Was crossing crime-scene tape punishable by law? I wondered. I could already imagine the phone call from the local police station to come bail her out.
I had a very good imagination.
“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?” I said as I headed for the stairs.
“You worry too much, Darcy,” she called after me.
That was true. I was an excellent worrier, a trait that had kicked in right about the time my mother died.
As sunlight filtered through the picture window in the kitchen, there was no sign of a ticked-off Tilda. I filled her food bowl and gave her fresh water. When I reached for the coffee carafe to fill it, I found a note from Ve taped to the pot.
Darling girls,
I didn’t want to wake you when I came in for a change of clothes. Please cover for me today at As You Wish. My Day-Timer is on my desk with today’s appointments. I am not sure when I’ll be back, but I will check in as soon as I can. So far Sylar has not been charged; however, he is not being released. With hope we will both be home soon.
Love, love, love,
Auntie Ve
She must have been in and out early this morning. I was surprised I hadn’t heard her—usually I’m a light sleeper. After setting the coffee to perk, I slipped on a pair of sneakers and grabbed Missy’s leash. We headed for the village green.
It was still too early in the day for tourists, but locals were already out and about. Several people were jogging, others walking their dogs, and there was a steady stream of customers headed into the Witch’s Brew for their morning paper, coffee, and gossip.
There would be a lot of the last this morning, what with the murder and all. If Sylar had been concerned last night that the petty thefts were going to hurt tourism, I could only imagine what was going to happen now.
As Missy and I walked a lap around the green, I found myself drawn toward Alex’s shop, Lotions and Potions. A village police cruiser and the police chief’s unmarked vehicle were parked at the curb and people were moving around inside the shop and in Alexandra’s second-floor apartment. I watched as a man in a tan suit came out carrying a bulging trash bag. I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d found.
“What do you think they’re looking for?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned and found an out-of-breath Starla Sullivan holding a wriggling Twink. She set him down and Missy commenced in sniffing the littler dog.
“A signed confession from the murderer?” I joked.
Starla smiled, and it practically stretched from ear to ear. It lit her whole face, brightening her eyes and making her glow. Her name fit her perfectly. “That would be convenient,” she puffed out.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just made a run for it when I saw you over here. Guess I’m a little out of shape. I need to add more cardio to my workouts.” A runner jogged past us and gave a friendly nod. “Jogging,” Starla said, lighting up again. “I should start jogging. No, we should start jogging. It’s always more fun to run with a partner. What do you think?”
“Besides that you’re crazy?”
Starla wasn’t movie-star thin, but she wasn’t heavy, either. I was naturally average bordering on the thin side (good genetics)—thank goodness, because I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body.
She laughed. “Come on. Everyone can use a little toning.”
“Why are you eyeing my triceps?”
“Well, now that you mention it”—she jiggled the loose skin on my upper arm—“it is kind of…”
“Be nice.”
“Flaccid.”
Flaccid. No one wanted to be flaccid, least of all me. “That’s not nice.”
“But honest. I’m always honest. I bet it jiggles when you wave. Go ahead, wave.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Just try it.”
I figured it was easier to do what she asked than protest. I waved. Sure enough, my skin jiggled like Santa’s belly.
An approaching jogger mistook my jiggle test as friendliness, waved back, and altered his course to head toward us.
As he neared, recognition hit fast and fierce and my heart started beating a crazy rhythm.
“Good morning,” Nick Sawyer said as he slowed to a stop, his lean calves and upper arms glistening with an oddly appealing sheen of sweat.
“Good morning,” Starla and I said in unison.
I fought the urge to hide my flaccid arms, and instead focused on keeping Missy from jumping all over him. I could completely understand why she wanted to, but it just wasn’t polite. “Down, Missy!”
“She’s all right,” Nick said, squatting so Missy could have free access.
Lucky dog.
No. I gave myself a hard mental shake. No, no, no. He was just eye candy, and if my father, a dentist, had instilled in me one lesson, it was that sugar was bad for me. Very, very bad.
“Here comes the computer,” Starla said, motioning toward Alexandra’s shop again. Her blond ponytail swung as her head turned.
Sure enough, a detective was carrying out a hard drive and a laptop.
“I can’t believe I missed all the excitement last night,” Starla added. “Alexandra wasn’t the friendliest
sort, but she was always nice to me, and Evan really adored her. I heard you found the body, Darcy. Do the police really think Sylar’s guilty? How’s Ve holding up?”
Her questions spun in my head, twisting and twining, making me a little dizzy. I noticed Nick looking up at me—he was still squatting, lavishing Missy with scratching and belly rubs. “I haven’t seen her since last night. I found a note this morning that there haven’t been any big changes. No news is good news?”
“What about Alexandra’s watch?” Starla loosened Twink’s lead and the dog bunny-hopped over to Nick to get his share of attention. “I’d say that’s pretty big news.”
Nick’s brow furrowed and a bead of sweat slid down the side of his stubbled jaw. “What about her watch?”
I thought back to the night before, to the rain falling, to Sylar bending over Alex’s body. I could see the puckering of her silk dress, the water beading on her legs, her arms. Her bare arms. Her fancy watch was gone.
“Whoever killed her stole it. It’s all the talk over at the Witch’s Brew,” Starla said. “Speculation is running high that the local thief stepped up his game and killed Alexandra for her watch. According to Shea Carling at All That Glitters, that watch was worth almost fifty thousand dollars.”
I gaped. “Fifty thousand?”
Starla tightened the band of her ponytail as she said, “She would know, too, since she sells Harry Winston pieces in her store.” She dropped her voice. “Shea let it slip that Alexandra had come to her a few weeks ago to get an appraisal. She said Alexandra hinted that the watch had been a gift from a boyfriend, someone local, though Shea doesn’t know who. There was an inscription on the watch, though. ‘A Madness Most Discreet.’ Sounds like a loving relationship, eh?”
“Shakespeare,” Nick said. “Part of one of his more famous love quotations.”
“Well, well,” Starla teased. “Don’t tell me you’re a romantic at heart.”
He didn’t so much as blush. “I think I read it on a mug at the gift shop.”
It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 5
