A Witch Called Wanda (iWitch Mystery Book 1)

by Diana Orgain

  Nothing seemed out of place. The room was impeccable.

  Where could she be?

  I peeked into her closet for boogeymen.

  No killer hiding there.

  The open front door probably meant nothing.

  Could she be having the baby?

  Oh, God!

  I imagined Kiku running out of the apartment, looking for help, leaving the door open. I hoped nothing was wrong.

  I glanced down at a jewelry dish that held several small gold rings. All too small, I was sure, for her to wear at the moment.

  I glanced down at my own hands. I had yet to replace my wedding ring. I fingered a pretty gold necklace and matching earrings.

  Hmmm, all gold.

  No silver like the bracelet I’d found.

  I ambled over to the bedroom window that overlooked the apartment house gardens. There, I saw Kiku bent over a bed of dahlias.

  I pried open the window and called out to her. “Kiku! What are you doing? You shouldn’t be gardening!”

  Kiku looked up and squinted toward the window. A look of recognition crossed her face. “Only a few flowers,” she said with a laugh. “For Baby.”

  “Yes, but it’s not good for you. I don’t think so anyway. You shouldn’t be on the ground like that.”

  I don’t actually know anything about gardening. Jim is the green thumb in our family. But I certainly didn’t like seeing a nine-month-pregnant lady on her knees, weeding!

  “It’s okay! My mother gardened until I was born.”

  I was unconvinced. “Oh. Well, all right. But come inside now. It’s getting cold.”

  Kiku struggled to her feet, holding a few cut dahlias in her hand. She disappeared into a doorway and a few minutes later I greeted her at her front door.

  “The door was open,” I explained. “I was worried about you, so I came in.”

  “I didn’t remember where I left the key, so I leave door open.”

  I stared at her. Ah, the forgetfulness of pregnancy. I had locked myself out of my car three times and had been warned by AAA road service that I had exceeded the maximum calls. One more call would have cost me at least a hundred and fifty dollars.

  “You can’t leave the door open, though,” I protested.

  “Why? Neighbors good people.”

  “But I walked right in. What if . . . well, what if it wasn’t me and . . .” I stopped myself.

  What if I was the one in danger? After all, Kiku had been with Michelle that morning and had access to Valium.

  Kiku waved a hand in the air, dismissing my objection, and proceeded to the kitchen. I followed her and watched as she placed the dahlias in a bright vase.

  Kiku turned and looked at me expectantly. “You come for haircut?”

  I laughed. “Ah! No.”

  “You need a trim.”

  What was the harm?

  “Sure. Yes. Go ahead and trim.”

  She motioned me to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit.”

  From a drawer she pulled out a plastic wrap and whipped it around me. She grabbed a spray bottle and spritzed my hair.

  I fingered the bracelet in my pocket. “Kiku, George is my brother-in-law.”

  Kiku spun me around to face her. “Brother?” she cried happily. “I didn’t know. Didn’t know you were George’s sister.”

  “Sister-in-law. I’m married to George’s brother, Jim.”

  Kiku selected a pair of scissors from the drawer. “George has brother? I no meet.”

  “Do you know where George is now?” I asked.

  She stood behind me and evaluated my hair. “At work.”

  I turned around to see her face. “Yeah, but what’s he do exactly?”

  “He works at restaurant, El Paraiso. That’s how we meet. He’s a chef.”

  A chef? Oh brother, she didn’t know a thing.

  “Kiku, George told me he saw you at Michelle Avery’s place the morning she was killed.”

  She turned me around and proceeded to whack at my hair. I tried not to shudder at the length of the locks that were falling around me.

  I suddenly remembered the play Sweeney Todd. Probably questioning someone about her whereabouts on the morning of a murder while she’s holding sharp scissors wasn’t a smart idea.

  “Yes,” she said without skipping a beat.

  “You told me you didn’t know Michelle Avery.”

  She stopped cutting my hair. I turned toward her. Her eyes were glossy. “No, I mean, I didn’t know Michelle dead. George didn’t tell me. I went to see her about George’s job.”

  “His job?”

  “Yes. I went to restaurant. George no there. I worry, maybe he fired. Baby is coming, we need money.”

  “What did Michelle tell you?”

  Kiku turned me around and proceeded with the haircut. “Michelle said he still worked for her. At restaurant. She said George good worker. But now I’m worried again because she and Brad are dead!”

  What about the wine at Michelle’s place? Someone had drunk wine with Michelle. Kiku wouldn’t have been drinking in her condition, right? So maybe Michelle had had another visitor.

  “Did you see anyone else coming or going from Michelle’s place?”

  Kiku remained silent for a moment. “No.”

  I wondered about her hesitation. Then I realized she was studying me and my hair.

  My breath caught. “Is everything okay?”

  “You’re beautiful!” She smiled and brandished a mirror in front of me. The cut, while far shorter than I would have ever conceded to under other circumstances, looked stunning. I felt sassy and hip.

  “Thank you.”

  Kiku smiled. “Ten dollars.”

  I laughed. “You deserve twenty, at least.”

  I dug into my pockets.

  No wallet.

  It was in the diaper bag, along with everything else. I pulled out the bracelet.

  “Uh . . . Um . . . I forgot my wallet, but I’m good for it. I promise.” I handed her the silver bracelet. “This must be yours.”

  “No.”

  “It has to be. It fell out of George’s bag.”

  She read the inscription on the bracelet. “What’s ‘berry’?”

  I shrugged. “I thought you’d know.”

  She studied the bracelet in silence. “Why George have that?” She handed it back to me. “If he has other woman, I . . .” She picked up the discarded hair scissors and snapped them open and closed. “I kill him.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “I don’t think he’s seeing another woman. Maybe someone lost it at the restaurant or something. See, the clasp is broken.”

  Kiku nodded but remained pensive. After a moment, I put it back into my pocket.

  She moved to get a broom. I got up. “Let me do that.” As I swept my curls, I said, “Yesterday you told me you didn’t know Svetlana Avery. Did you mean you didn’t know she was dead?”

  She paused for a split second and said, “No. I don’t know Svetlana.”

  Hmmm.

  She said she’d been shopping. That could be true with all the baby gear around, but then where had the gear been this morning?

  I finished sweeping. “So, looks like you’re ready for the baby with all that stuff.” I nodded toward the living room. “Where’d you get it?”

  Kiku smiled. “Babies R Us.”

  Great.

  If she had shopped at a neighborhood store, I might have been able to check her alibi, but there was no way with a megastore. Everyone’s anonymous.

  <><><>

  I arrived home exhausted but felt exhilarated when I saw Jim seated on the couch chatting to Mom and holding Laurie.

  He stood when he saw me. I rushed over to him and embraced both him and Laurie. “You’re home, home, home!” I squeezed him tight, holding on to him and breathing him in.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” he said into my hair. “I shouldn’t have let George get to me like that. If I had kept my cool, none of that would have happe
ned.”

  I shushed him. “Don’t worry.”

  He pulled away to look into my face. “I do worry. You’re totally stressed out . . . or . . . or depressed.”

  I glared at Mom, who raised her shoulders and gave me her best I-couldn’t-help-it look. “The nurse called a little while ago.”

  “I’m not depressed!”

  Jim hugged me. “I know. I know. Overwhelmed.” I nodded. He continued, “I hated putting you through that.”

  “And me,” Mom piped in. “You put me through it, too. I worry, too, you know.”

  Jim smiled down at Mom, who was still seated comfortably on the couch. “Thanks.”

  Mom waved her hand in a gesture that said it was nothing. As if on cue, Laurie wailed.

  Jim patted her. “I know. You, too.”

  “It’s almost six. I think she’s hungry,” I said.

  “I’ll second that,” Jim said, handing Laurie to me. “It’s Friday night. How about I take us all out for pizza?”

  Mom winked. “That’s a nice idea, hon, but I have a hot date tonight.”

  “Oh, Mom, can you ask Hank a question about Valium for me?”

  Jim and Mom looked at me curiously.

  “It’s nothing, really. At least I hope not. Ask him how many five-milligram tablets are a lethal dose when combined with wine.”

  <><><>

  Jim and I decided to celebrate his homecoming with an outing to our favorite Italian pizzeria. It was relatively close to our home, but not walking distance, so we circled endlessly looking for parking.

  Finally, Jim pulled to the front of the building. “You and Laurie jump out and I’ll find a spot.”

  I was more than happy to take him up on the offer. My legs were aching from running around all day, and besides, I was famished. I grabbed Laurie and her car seat and entered the restaurant.

  Tony, the son of the owner, greeted me. He had been acting as host for as long as Jim and I had been coming here. “Kate! Long time no see. Now I know why. She’s beautiful, like her mommy.”

  Although Tony was in his thirties like me, he looked twenty. He was tall and slim, with dark curly hair and a permanent smile.

  “Always the flatterer. I see you haven’t changed.”

  He grinned as he ushered me to a booth. “Where’s Jim?” he asked.

  “Looking for parking.”

  He nodded, letting his lips form a thin line. “He may be a while, then. What can I get you to drink.”

  “I’ll have a ginger ale. Oh, and a high chair please.”

  Tony looked puzzled. “Isn’t she too small to sit in a high chair?”

  “I know a trick.”

  He returned with my soda and the high chair. I flipped the highchair over so it was upside down and placed Laurie’s bucket car seat securely on top of the legs.

  “I’ve never seen that before,” he said.

  The restaurant door flew open and a flustered Jim made his way in. Eyeing Tony up and down, he threatened his usual, “I’m going to stop coming here unless you do something about the parking situation.”

  Tony laughed. “Good to see you, too.”

  As soon as Tony was out of earshot, I leaned across the table. “Have you noticed he doesn’t age?”

  “Do you have the hots for him or something?” Jim asked through a smile.

  “No. Just for you, because you’re so lovable.”

  “And free.”

  “Yup. Men with a record really turn me on.”

  Jim laughed in spite of himself. His face looked drawn and his eyes were bloodshot.

  I reached across the table for his hand. “Was it awful?”

  “The conditions? No. It was remarkably clean and quiet, actually. But it still sucked being away from you and jelly bean. And stressing over whatever the hell George has gotten himself into.”

  I squeezed his hand. “So what happened at the lineup?”

  “Not much that I could tell. They told me to walk into a room with four other guys. We stood there, turned around, posed. I prayed.”

  “Did you see the witness?”

  Jim shook his head.

  I fingered the menu. “After everything that’s happened, I was scared, you know, scared that they would actually try to build a case against you or something.”

  “God, me, too. Crane made it sound like the wrong person is identified more often than not. But even so, he told me the cops probably couldn’t hold me even if they did get a match, because it would have been circumstantial evidence, and I guess they need more than that for a homicide arrest.”

  “Like a smoking gun.”

  Jim raised his eyebrows and nodded. I filled him in on George’s story about the missing gun. Jim’s face was grim as he listened.

  Tony appeared with an antipasto, compliments of the chef, his father, who peered at us from behind the pizza oven and yelled, “Beautiful baby, it’s about time!”

  Tony asked, “What will it be tonight, the usual or something else?”

  Jim glanced over at me. I nodded. “The usual.”

  Jim dipped his bread into olive oil. I continued my George story and ended with the impending birth.

  “Is he going to marry Kiku?” Jim asked.

  “He says he doesn’t know yet. And when I went over there to give her this bracelet, she said it wasn’t hers.” I pulled the silvery metal out of my pocket and showed Jim.

  He took the bracelet from me and read it. “Where’d you get this?”

  “It fell out of one of George’s bags. Do you think he’s seeing someone else?”

  Jim shrugged his shoulder. “God, honey, with George, who knows?”

  He scooped salami into his mouth, looking miserable. He motioned to Tony and ordered a beer. I poured olive oil on my bread plate and dipped the bread in silence. Laurie cooed and ah-gooed from her bucket seat, determined to get our attention.

  After a few pulls on his beer, Jim said, “You know I care about George, Kate. But all my life he’s always been more trouble than he’s worth. It breaks my heart. You gotta know that. Here’s the person who’s the most genetically similar to me on the planet and . . . if he’s like that . . . I can’t be too far—”

  “Stop. You know you’re nothing like him. Genetically, okay, I get that. But come on, you guys are totally different.”

  “It didn’t feel that way today, sitting in jail and then having to do a lineup. It was the low point of my life.”

  I scooted out of my side of the booth and slid in next to Jim. He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “How do we get out of this, honey?”

  “Mrs. Avery hired me to find out who killed Brad. I can solve this, Jim.”

  He smiled. “Leave it to my lovely wife. She’ll get us out of the hole by digging deeper.”

  “I can solve this.”

  “I’m sure you can, what with all the experience you have.” He grinned in spite of himself. “You know, I’ve got to admit it, honey, if you really want something, you keep on insisting until you get it.”

  “I really don’t want to go back to the office.” I rubbed his back. “How can filing drawings, managing schedules, and making coffee compare to being with you and Laurie? Plus I really want to keep you out of jail.”

  Jim smirked. “Tell me your best theory.”

  Just then a piping hot pizza, topped with Gorgonzola, pancetta, and caramelized onions arrived at our table. “I’ll whisper it in your ear.”

  He served me a piece of pizza, placing his hand on my thigh. “This gets better and better.” He leaned in close to kiss me. “And by the way, I love your new haircut.”

  •CHAPTER EIGHTEEN•

  The Sixth Week—Separation Anxiety

  At 7 A.M. Laurie and Jim were both still sacked out from the day before.

  I got out of bed. I had only a week and a half left of maternity leave. Ten days. Two hundred and forty hours.

  I needed to build up a reserve of milk. I pulled out the cartoon instructions from Paula
and did my best to produce a bountiful supply. I yielded three ounces. Ridiculous! How did other women do it?

  I grabbed my to-do list:

  To Do:

  1. Find Brad and/or Michelle and/or Svetlana’s killer.

  2. Speak to Michelle’s sister, KelliAnn.

  3. x Make O.B. appointment.

  4. Mail thank-you cards.

  5. Get some sleep.

  6. Print business cards.

  7. Go grocery shopping.

  8. Figure out how to solve this crime and find a way in the world with my own little PI business.

  I needed to meet KelliAnn, Michelle’s half-sister, give her my condolences, and see if she had an insight into these awful murders.

  Since it was Saturday, Jim could babysit. I left him with the precious three ounces of milk and instructions to use formula if Laurie was still hungry. I studied Laurie before I left: her eyebrows were darkening but the hair on her head remained a delicate strawberry blond. I fought the desire to sit and study her all day. How could I miss her already if I hadn’t even left?

  When I arrived at KelliAnn’s place, I rang the bell and was buzzed up.

  KelliAnn stood in front of her door. She had beautiful red hair, the kind that is so red it looks almost orange.

  Real red hair, not out of a bottle.

  She was tall and thin, clad in a clinging purple sweat suit with a silver chain around her neck. From the chain hung an old-fashioned heart-shaped locket.

  She was only a few years older than Michelle and me, maybe thirty-five or -six at the most, yet she hadn’t aged well, probably due to a combination of her fair skin, smoking, and/or stress. Her face was lined and she seemed a little angry.

  Not unusual, I imagined, for someone whose half-sister had been killed a week ago.

  “KelliAnn?”

  She looked me up and down. “Yes. Can I help you?”

  I extended my hand. “Kate Connolly. You probably don’t remember me; I was in Michelle’s class at Holy Rosary.”

  She smiled, showing off astonishingly white teeth. I self-consciously ran my tongue over my own.

  How were people getting their teeth so white these days?

  “I do remember you.” Her face darkened. “You found Michelle, right? Come in.”

  I entered the spacious apartment, decorated in cream and green. It was fastidiously clean; the hardwood floors shone and every surface seemed to sparkle. I sat on a leather armchair. She hovered over me. “Something to drink?”