A Witch Called Wanda (iWitch Mystery Book 1)

by Diana Orgain

  Time to get organized, Kate. Plus, I needed to do my nails.

  Where was the menu for Dragon House?

  I wandered through the house. I stopped in the kitchen. On the refrigerator staring at me from under a cookie magnet was the pink menu.

  Sometimes I could miss my own nose.

  How would I ever solve a triple homicide if I was so oblivious? Had I missed clues that had been right in front of me?

  I dialed Dragon House and ordered chow mein, pot stickers, and sweet-and-sour prawns.

  “Anything else?” the clerk asked.

  I ignored the pang of guilt as I added Peking-style spareribs to the order. I reasoned that Jim should be home at any minute and would be starving. Besides, I needed the extra five hundred calories a day for Laurie.

  After replacing the receiver on the hook, it immediately rang back.

  Hopefully, it wasn’t the restaurant calling to tell me my credit card hadn’t gone through. Or worse yet, the sheriff’s department with bad news about Jim. I pushed the thought from my head and reminded myself to stay positive.

  “Kate? It’s George.”

  “George! Where are you?”

  “Is Jim there?”

  “No. He’s still—”

  “I really need to talk to you about something, Kate.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “I’m on your corner. Can I come up?”

  I felt ready to explode at him, but checked my anger. If I blew up at him for causing all this mess, I might not hear what he wanted to tell me.

  In a matter of seconds I heard George making his way up my front steps. I scooped Laurie off the floor and opened the door.

  George’s face broke into a smile when he saw us. “Can I hold her?”

  I hesitated momentarily. What was I afraid of? George had never been anything but a gentleman with me.

  George noticed my hesitation. “It’s cool. I don’t have to hold her. But, I mean, I won’t drop her or anything.”

  I laughed. “I know.” I handed her off to him and sank into an easy chair. “What’s going on?”

  “Things are all messed up, Kate. I don’t know what to do.” He looked at Laurie then back at me. “I met a gal at the restaurant and, well, she’s expecting our baby.”

  I hid my surprise. I had expected to have to beat the information out of him. Why was he suddenly forthcoming?

  Something was wrong.

  “When is the baby due?” I asked.

  “Pretty soon. I’m getting kinda nervous.”

  “Are you going to marry her?”

  George paced the room, bouncing Laurie in his arms. “I don’t know, Kate. I like her a lot . . . well, hell . . . I love her. She’s great. It’s just that, well, you know, she’s pushing me to commit . . . and I’m not good at providing and . . . being responsible.”

  “It’s time to step up to the plate. A baby is a big responsibility. You don’t want your baby out there without a father.” I tried not to think of my own husband currently behind bars. “It’d be like a rowboat with only one little oar in the water. Spinning in circles. Kids need both oars in the water to go places.”

  George gazed at Laurie. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “She doesn’t know about . . . you know, about my being on the streets. When I saw her at the restaurant . . . Damn, she was so cute. Brad knew I had a crush on her. He helped me clean up and make an impression, you know?”

  I nodded. “If you’re worried about my saying anything, don’t.”

  George looked relieved. “There’s something else, Kate. On Monday, when I was going to Michelle’s to make the drop . . .”

  “Drop?”

  George looked at me sheepishly. “I mean, you know, the money or whatever.”

  Anger flared inside me, and I jumped up from the easy chair. “Whatever, what? Were you dropping off money at her house? Or something else? Or what?”

  George took a step back and said firmly, “Money.”

  I raised my voice. “Why? Why not deposit it straight into the bank?”

  George matched my tone. “I just do what I’m told.” We studied each other a moment. He continued, “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that I saw someone. I saw who Michelle was with that morning. I’m scared, Kate.”

  “Who?” I pressed.

  “She was with my girlfriend.”

  I took a deep breath, hoping it would slow my galloping heart. “What?”

  “My girlfriend was over there visiting Michelle.”

  “Kiku?”

  Kiku with the access to the Valium. Sweet, pretty, pregnant Kiku.

  “You know my girlfriend?”

  “What was she doing at Michelle’s place?”

  “Well, she didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Why are you scared? What do you think she was doing there? Did you ask her? Did you interrupt them?”

  “No. I left. Because, see, that’s the thing. I don’t know what she was doing there. What could she have been doing at Michelle Avery’s place?”

  “Have you asked her?”

  He stared at the ground. “No.”

  “Maybe we should talk to her together,” I said.

  The doorbell sounded. George jumped. “Are you expecting someone?”

  I opened the front door, hoping for Jim, but was greeted by the Chinese food delivery guy. I clutched the pink plastic bag and peeked inside. White steaming containers peered back at me. My mouth watered.

  I closed the front door and turned to George. “You’ve got to try this. The best in town.”

  I popped opened a box, pulled out a pot sticker, and handed it to him.

  George sank his teeth into the pot sticker. “Pretty good,” he said through a mouthful. “Hot.”

  I nodded, biting around the corners of my pot sticker, letting most of the heat steam out before popping it into my mouth. “Let’s meet up tomorrow, talk to Kiku.”

  His face fell. “Can’t we do it today? I’ve been avoiding asking her all week.”

  “I can’t today. I’m . . . I’m waiting for Jim to come home.”

  “Doesn’t he normally get home around five? We’ve got plenty of time.”

  My stomach flip-flopped.

  How much should I tell George?

  “Sit down. Let me get us plates.”

  I made my way to the kitchen and scrambled for a couple of place settings and napkins. Obviously, George didn’t know about Svetlana. Where had he been yesterday morning?

  I returned to the living room to find George staring down at Laurie.

  “She sure doesn’t cry much.”

  “Ha. Not while she’s being held. Just try to put her down to have lunch.”

  I scooped generous portions of steaming chow mein onto each plate. George looked around for somewhere to set Laurie. I indicated the bassinet with my fork and proceeded to shovel a sweet-and-sour prawn into my mouth.

  George was able to easily extract himself from Laurie. Sitting down to eat, he said, “Babies don’t seem so hard. I don’t know what everyone makes such a big deal about.”

  I refrained from letting my eyes roll into the back of my head and continued to devour the food on my plate. I managed to mumble, “Just wait.”

  We ate in silence for a moment before I asked, “George, before we saw you at the pier yesterday, where were you?”

  He eyed me suspiciously as he slurped up a noodle. “Why?”

  “Svetlana Avery was found murdered. Same gun that killed Brad.”

  George’s fork clattered onto our hardwood floor. He stood, then sat back down. “Oh my God. How do you know?”

  “Jim’s still in jail. Homicide has been questioning him about you. They told him about Svetlana. They have a witness who saw a man leaving her apartment.”

  George’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He stood. “I gotta go.”

  I grabbed his arm. “No,
you don’t! Where do you think you’re going? You have to get to the police station! Jim’s still in jail because of you!”

  He pulled his arm free. “Sorry. Things are really getting screwed up. I gotta go . . . I gotta try and fix . . .” He bolted toward the front door and pulled it open.

  “Wait, George! Where were you yesterday? Was it you at Svetlana’s? Is that why—”

  George bounded down the steps. “I’ll call you later. Don’t worry about Jim. I’m gonna fix everything.”

  My heart plummeted to new depths.

  Laurie let out a distressed wail as though sensing my panic. I rushed toward the front window.

  Where could he be going? I wanted to follow him, grab him by his ear, and drag him to the police station. I should have never settled for talking to him.

  Why hadn’t I called Mr. Crane after George called me? I could phone him now, but what good would that do? George was already gone.

  I picked Laurie up and nestled her into my shoulder. I paced, willing an idea, any idea, to come into my mind.

  Hopelessness and exhaustion bore down on me.

  I was fighting back tears when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone, praying it would be Jim.

  I was greeted by a far too chipper voice. “Hi, Kate? This is Rachel from Dr. Greene’s office. You haven’t made your six-week appointment yet and I was calling to see if I could schedule that for you.”

  I took a breath. “Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” I said, trying to match her cheerfulness.

  “How are you feeling, Kate?” Her voice suddenly carried more weight.

  “I’m fine,” I said, nearly choking on the lump that was rapidly forming in my throat.

  “Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

  What an understatement. One infant, three murders, a jailed husband, and a new career. No. I wasn’t overwhelmed !

  “I guess you can call it that,” I managed.

  “Do you have the baby blues?” she asked.

  “Baby blues?” I repeated.

  “You’re not . . .” Her voice changed to a whisper. “Depressed , are you?”

  “No, no, no,” I repeated a little too gregariously, jarring Laurie from her sleeping position on my shoulder.

  “It’s very common, Kate. You don’t need to feel ashamed. Should I have one of our specialists call you?”

  “No. I’m fine. Really, just fine.”

  “Let me just make a note here.”

  “What? A note? A note where?”

  “In your file. I’ll have someone call you.”

  “What are you writing in my file? That I’m depressed? Don’t write that. I’m not depressed. I’m fine.”

  “It looks like Clara has an opening this afternoon. She’ll call you around three, okay?”

  Rachel hung up, leaving me with a dial tone in one ear and Laurie wailing in the other.

  A note in my file?

  Another thing to live down. Like the poor rating Laurie and I had gotten on breastfeeding. Only this felt worse. I was in this one all on my own.

  I fell into an exhausted catnap on the sofa, with Laurie cuddled beside me. When the phone rang again, it interrupted a dream I was having about being stuck in the desert, dying of thirst.

  I clucked my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth. No wonder. When was the last time I’d had anything to drink?

  I stretched for the cordless phone, trying not to disrupt Laurie.

  My voice cracked as I squeezed out a greeting.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” Mom asked.

  “Mom! How are you? How’s Hank?”

  “We’re both fine. Now, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I can tell by your voice.”

  “I just need to get something to drink.”

  “No, that’s not it. What’s wrong?”

  I sighed. How could she know? Maternal instinct?

  “Nothing.” My voice cracked further and tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No,” I sobbed.

  “I’m coming over.”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I said into an empty receiver.

  <><><>

  Mom arrived within ten minutes. She wore a huge hat with feathers on it, as though she had just stepped out of an old Errol Flynn movie.

  “What’s with the hat? Were you fencing?” I asked as Mom quickly diapered Laurie.

  “Isn’t it fabulous! I got such a deal on it.”

  “Clearly.” I giggled.

  Mom ignored me and gathered the lunch remnants from the living room. On her insistence, I collapsed onto the couch while she did the dishes and made us tea.

  Over tea, I reluctantly filled her in on my new client, my hopes to launch my own PI business and stay out of corporate America, Jim’s arrest, Svetlana’s murder, and George’s sudden departure.

  Mother’s eyes remained glued on me as I finished telling her about Rachel’s call and the dreaded note in my file.

  Mother chuckled.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Darling, you have enough to worry about without fretting over a note in a chart.”

  “I want you guys to be proud of me.”

  “I am proud.”

  “I know you’re proud of me. I mean, you’re my mom. You’re proud of me the way I’m proud of Laurie. I mean, all she can really do is lie there, but I’m proud of her because she’s mine. I’m sure that’s how you feel about me, but I want you and Jim and Laurie to feel proud of me, proud of my accomplishments. And what am I really accomplishing?”

  Mom looked at me, perplexed. “Darling, you just had a baby! You’re starting your own business. You’re accomplishing a lot. You’re going to be very successful. You are successful.”

  She leaned across the coffee table and squeezed my hand. “Don’t be upset. Honestly, this is just the hormones. Don’t be so mopey. Have some tea, cheer up. Jim will be home any minute.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The police couldn’t possibly hold him overnight again. Jim was with you yesterday morning.”

  “I’m not considered a credible alibi. I don’t think so anyway. And even if I was, I won’t be now that they put that note in my file.”

  “You’re not depressed, are you?”

  Was I?

  I did feel a heaviness.

  I suppressed a yawn. “I feel like I haven’t slept, I mean really slept, since before Laurie was born. And I feel like I won’t sleep until I get to the bottom of these murders, either that or until she’s eighteen.”

  Mom smiled and patted my hand. “I’d tell you to sleep right now, but I know you better than that. Go find George. And this time, don’t let him get away. Drag him to the police station, even if he’s kicking and screaming. I’ll watch Laurie.”

  <><><>

  I tied a bright gold, cranberry, and orange striped scarf around my neck, hoping to give myself a little lift and relieve my washed-out and tired-looking face. The weather was starting to change from balmy Indian summer to chilly fall so I grabbed my leather jacket and put it on. I searched my dresser for car keys. I felt so light, preparing to go out without Laurie, I thought I was forgetting something.

  Where were my car keys?

  Ah! Diaper bag.

  Where was the diaper bag?

  I thought back to what seemed like an eternity ago—this morning.

  Oh, yes. I had flung the bag across the living room.

  It lay curled in a heap by a corner side table. I rummaged through it and located my keys.

  Mother eyed me from her position on the couch. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find my mind. I know it’s here somewhere.”

  Mother smirked. “Give it a few weeks, Kate. You’ll feel like yourself in no time.”

  I shoved the keys into my jacket pocket and fingered a slithering piece of metal. I pulled it out
. In my hand was the bracelet I had pocketed a couple weeks ago, outside the medical examiner’s office with Michelle.

  “What’s that?” Mother asked.

  I shrugged. “A bracelet. It fell out of one of George’s bags.”

  Laurie woke and wailed, and Mother got up to get her. “I’ll see to her. You go on.”

  I studied the bracelet a moment. Silver with the inscription BERRY on it. The clasp was broken. Could it be Kiku’s?

  •CHAPTER SEVENTEEN•

  The Fifth Week—Determination

  When I arrived at Kiku’s, I was surprised to find the door slightly open.

  I knocked and called out, “Kiku!”

  No answer.

  I knocked again and called louder.

  A chill ran down my spine. I reached into my pockets, searching for my cell phone.

  Shit.

  It was still in the diaper bag on my living room floor.

  I pushed the front door open and called again. “Kiku!”

  Nothing.

  I stepped into the apartment.

  Goose bumps shot up my arms. I scanned the living room, half expecting to see Kiku lying face down on the floor. What I saw instead was an abundance of baby paraphernalia. A swing, a bouncy chair, and a shimmering white bassinet filled the small room.

  Maybe she’d had her baby shower? That would explain the apartment door being ajar. Maybe someone was helping her carry up the gifts and she’d be back any second.

  I surprised myself by feeling left out. Of course. Kiku didn’t know I was her baby’s aunt. George had probably never told her about his family.

  On further thought, she couldn’t be bringing in gifts. The stuff that was here was already assembled. If she was bringing things up, she’d probably bring everything up at once, then assemble it later.

  Baby gear always comes in a box, with the ridiculous statement: “Easy to assemble.” And I don’t care what they claim—none of it, ever, could be opened or closed with “just one hand.” The boxes are covered in lies.

  I walked farther into the apartment. Everything looked normal in the kitchen.

  Why was Kiku’s door open?

  Had someone kidnapped her?

  I imagined Kiku tied up hostage style in someone’s filthy garage, gagged, her pregnant belly protruding.

  I tried to shake the thought from my mind as I made my way into her small bedroom, looking for any kind of distress.