The Goodbye Witch

by Heather Blake

  Mimi, Harper, Ve, and I looked at one another. Any one of us could cast the spell.

  “Don’t look at me,” Harper said. “You know how I feel about that wishing stuff.”

  Harper hadn’t quite come around to our culture.

  “I’ll do it,” Mimi said. She cleared her throat. “Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay.” Her left eye twitched twice, the telltale sign a spell had been cast.

  I held my breath for a second—wishes made by other Crafters had to first go through Elder approval (apparently she used some sort of supernatural messaging system to know when a wish was made), and there was bound to be lag time while she pondered. If denied nothing would happen at all, except a summons to appear before the Elder for explanation would be sent to the Crafter who’d made the wish, kind of like court-ordered arbitration. If approved, the wish would be granted ASAP.

  A bottle of extra-strength aspirin appeared in my hand so suddenly that I almost dropped it. I bobbled it, finally gaining a good grasp.

  “Even though it still freaks me out, magic is cool,” Harper said.

  “Way cool,” Mimi agreed.

  “Thanks, Mrs. P.” I jumped up and headed for the refrigerated case next to the cash register that held bottles of water and soda. I slapped two dollars on the counter to pay for it before Harper could give me the business about freebies.

  “No problem, doll face.” After a moment, Mrs. P added, “We should look on the bright side of Starla’s current situation. With Kyle’s death there is no longer a threat on Starla’s life, so for that we should be grateful. It’s one hell of a silver lining.”

  “We’ll have Starla and Evan move in with us for a little while,” Ve said, adjusting her long scarf as she made the pronouncement. “No doubt the police will have the brownstone cordoned off until it can be fully processed. And though Starla is safe now, I would feel better knowing she is under our roof, with friends, until this is all sorted through.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Me, three,” added Mimi.

  Missy barked.

  Mrs. P said, “I’ll run to the market and pick up duplicate ingredients for that stew we were going to make.”

  Disheartened, I thought of all the groceries left behind in Starla’s foyer and hoped the melting ice cream wouldn’t stain her carpet. It was such a trivial thing in light of all she had going on, but it was one more thing I hoped she didn’t have to worry about.

  “She will likely have little to no appetite when she gets back to As You Wish, but she’ll need to eat something.” Mrs. P patted her white spiky hair and stood up. Suddenly, her face drained of color, and she wobbled a little bit, holding out her arms for balance.

  I jumped up and grabbed hold of her, easing her back onto the couch. “Mrs. P! Are you okay?”

  She blinked, trying to reorient herself. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little woozy. I skipped lunch. . . .”

  Lunch, my foot. This wooziness had nothing to do with food. “I’ll call Cherise.”

  “No, no,” Mrs. P said, waving me away. “I’m fine. Good as new. Right as rain.”

  “Eugenia,” Ve said, “let us call Cherise.”

  “Yes,” Mimi said, her brown eyes wide with fear.

  Missy barked as though offering her agreement.

  “I’m already dialing,” Harper said in a singsong.

  “Have her meet us at As You Wish, Harper,” Aunt Ve said. “Eugenia, you’re coming home with us.”

  Mrs. P laughed. “You’re all a bunch of thugs.”

  “Well-meaning thugs,” I said.

  She patted my face and narrowed her gaze on me. “Well, someone had better make another trip to the market.”

  Someone. Meaning me. I smiled. “I’ll go.”

  “I’ll go with Darcy,” Mimi said.

  “And who,” Ve asked, motioning toward the front door, “is going to deal with him?”

  Vince Paxton had his hand up over his eyes as he tried to peer into the shop.

  Chapter Twelve

  Melting snow left small rivers along the sidewalk as Mimi, Vince, and I splish-splashed our way toward the market.

  Vince said, “We have to do something. We can’t let the police railroad her.”

  He looked none the worse for wear after last night’s memory cleanse. A dark stocking hat covered most of his floppy brown hair—only a few strands stuck out around his ears, curling under his lobes. He was bundled in a thick barn coat and his boots were covered in a thin film of salt. His eyes . . . well, they looked tortured. Despair crowded his pupils and anguish creased the corners of his eyes behind his glasses.

  “No one’s railroading her,” I said, trying to reassure him. “Nick would never let that happen.”

  Squeals of laughter floated through the air. The village ice skating rink was packed with tourists enjoying the beautiful afternoon. It seemed so odd how life went on as normal for many when for some life was falling apart.

  Kyle’s death hadn’t seemed to upset the village’s equilibrium. Tourists strolled the sidewalks, the shops were busy, and no one appeared to have a care in the world other than enjoying the day.

  Of course, right now, Kyle’s death was unexplained and not a grisly murder—as had happened in the past. For that I was grateful.

  “Darcy, how can you say that?” Vince asked. “Why would they be questioning her?”

  “Because his body was in her house,” Mimi said, shrugging. “It’s protocol.”

  I glanced at her. Not many twelve-year-olds would know the word, let alone use it in a sentence.

  He eyed her as though he’d forgotten she was there. “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it,” I said, edging out of the way as a couple passed in the opposite direction, “but you do have to accept it. I predict she’ll be back at my place in time for dinner.”

  “This whole situation stinks to high heaven. I can’t help but think that this is some elaborate plan to frame Starla for his death. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it seem like she’s guilty, starting with those weird sightings of him, and then putting his body in her house.”

  It was an interesting theory. But the only person I could think of who’d want to frame Starla was Kyle himself. And I wouldn’t put it past him to try. One last twist of the knife in her heart.

  I needed more time to think about it, to talk it over with Nick.

  But I also recalled Mrs. P’s theory that someone may have killed Kyle on Starla’s behalf. “I’m sure we’re all going to be questioned,” I said, casting the first line as I fished for information.

  A cloud moved across the sun, throwing Vince’s frown into shadow. “Why would we?”

  “Because we all didn’t like Kyle,” I explained. “I’d get your alibi ready if I were you.”

  He paled. “Me?”

  “Of course. You’re dating Starla. It only makes sense that you’d be questioned, too.”

  Mimi nodded. “You’re probably going to be at the top of the suspect list. Rival love interests and all that. You could have acted in a jealous rage and killed your girlfriend’s ex-husband.”

  His eyes widened as he glanced at me. “She’s kidding, right?”

  She wasn’t. Love interests were usually the first suspects. I didn’t really think Vince had it in him to kill Kyle, but I wanted him to squirm a bit. “It seems plausible to me.”

  “Look, Darcy,” he said, “I know we’ve had our differences, but I’d never do anything to hurt Starla. If I had killed Kyle, I certainly wouldn’t have left him in Starla’s living room.”

  “Would you have put him in a big hole in the Enchanted Forest?” Mimi asked.

  I shot her a look. She raised her eyebrows, widened her eyes innocently, and shrugged.

  Vince stared at her as though she had three heads. “Big hole?”

  “Never mind her—she just has a good imagination. Do you have a good alibi?” I asked, still wanting the information.r />
  “I . . . No, not really. After I left your house I came straight home. I . . . read for a while, then went to bed.”

  There was a hitch in his voice, a stammer that told me he wasn’t being altogether truthful. My instincts were usually right, but I couldn’t be sure about which part of his alibi was a lie. The going straight home or the reading.

  “No one to vouch for you?” I asked.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I did order pizza around nine thirty. The delivery guy can back me up. But after that, no. Do you think the police are really going to question me?”

  I didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”

  He let out a breath and a cloud of white steam puffed from his lips. “I’ve been down this road before, as you know. I don’t really want to go down it again. But for Starla, I will. I’ll do anything I can to help her.” His eyes softened, glistening. “She’s everything to me. It’s killing me that she has to go through this and I can’t help—not even a little.”

  Mimi sighed.

  He had been down this road before, as a murder suspect in a local woman’s death. He’d been cleared of that charge, but some big character flaws had been revealed. I didn’t want to like Vince, I really didn’t. But there was no denying his feelings for my best friend. And because of that, I liked him a little. Only a little.

  As we neared Lotions and Potions, his shop, I thought it was a good time to ditch him. “You should go back to work and try not to think about it too much. I’ll have Starla call you as soon as she gets back.”

  He nodded. “If you talk with her before then, tell her I’m thinking about her, okay?”

  “I will,” I reluctantly agreed. I wasn’t keen on sharing his lovey-doveyness.

  After ducking into his shop, he turned and gave us a quick wave.

  I thought again of the possibility that someone had killed Kyle to protect Starla. I didn’t want to believe that Vince could have done it. I really didn’t—for Starla’s sake.

  But it would be foolish of me not to consider it a possibility.

  * * *

  The second trip to the Crone’s Cupboard proved uneventful, and afterward Mimi and I decided to make a quick pit stop at the Bewitching Boutique to visit Pepe before heading home.

  There were several customers in the store, and Godfrey was in his glory as he helped them shop.

  We smiled and waved and headed straight into the sewing room at the back of the shop. This room was one of my favorites in the village. It was warm and cozy and filled with clutter—which should have driven me crazy, but didn’t. Two sewing machines sat side by side on a long table and everywhere I looked there was fabric of all colors, patterns, and textures. Bright hues, pale pastels. Swirls, florals, plaids. Silk, cotton, taffeta, tulle. It was easy to get caught up in it all—and I normally would have, but I’d been distracted by a stunning gown displayed on a dress form in the middle of the room. The white silk charmeuse column dress was breathtaking with its sheer overlay embellished (especially at the neckline) with pearls, iridescent sequins, and crystals. The design looked so familiar, yet I couldn’t quite place it.

  I fingered the intricately beaded sheer cap sleeve and wondered why Godfrey and Pepe were working on such an old-fashioned dress. Someone’s wedding gown, perhaps? I felt a twinge of envy, simply because the dress was so beautiful.

  Mimi bent down and knocked on an arched door cut into the baseboard as Godfrey came rushing into the room, pulling up short when he spotted me standing next to the gown. Swiping at his brow with a handkerchief, he stammered, “L-lovely to see you ladies.”

  “Is something wrong?” I asked him, concerned with his red cheeks. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m quite well,” he said, glancing at Mimi as though looking for inspiration. “I just, ah, wanted to say hello.”

  I looked between the two of them. As I did the color on Mimi’s cheeks rose to match that of Godfrey’s. “Why are you two acting so strangely?”

  “Pshaw,” Godfrey said. “Strange is as strange does in this village.”

  Tipping my head, I studied him. “What does that even mean?”

  Uncomfortable, he laughed somewhat maniacally. “Pepe! Remove your rodent self from your slumber and say hello to your guests!”

  Pepe’s door flew open, banging against the white baseboard. He stomped out, dressed in a full-length cotton gown like something out of a Dickens novel. “Need I remind you, this is the week of my discontent? Did no one notice the DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door?”

  Sure enough, a small sign hung from the door’s door-knob. I would have needed a magnifying glass to read it, though. “Sorry to disturb you, Pepe.”

  “Darcy!” His little mouse cheeks turned rosy as well. He glanced at Godfrey, then Mimi, then me again, then gulped.

  “Look who dropped in!” Godfrey said brightly.

  I searched each of their faces. Something was up. Way up.

  “I’m sorry, too, Pepe,” Mimi said. “I didn’t see the sign when I knocked.”

  “Non, it is all right.” He waved away our apologies. “I have already watched all the seasons of Downton Abbey available, and doing so has left me no more cheerful, but only instilled within me a fervent desire to employ a houseful of servants.” He eyed Godfrey as though sizing him up for a butler’s uniform.

  “Your discontent is why we stopped by,” I said, rooting through grocery bags. “My apologies that it is not from the Gingerbread Shack, but desperate times and all.” I produced a small container with a perfect sliver of cheesecake visible through the clear plastic. “What is discontent without calorie-laden treats?”

  “Ma chère,” Pepe bowed, “you indubitably know the way to this mouse’s heart. Merci.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said as I set the plastic container on the floor and patted his head.

  “But what is this business about desperate times?” he asked, blinking slowly behind round glasses set high on his nose.

  “I haven’t yet told him what has happened,” Godfrey acknowledged. “I heeded the DO NOT DISTURB sign because the instances in which I have infringed upon the request my ankles have been nipped.”

  Pepe was a biter. Especially where Godfrey was concerned. The two were like bickering siblings—always ready to spar but the love was always there behind the jabs thrown. Pepe had lived with the Baleaux family since becoming a familiar so I suppose Godfrey was like a brother. In a weird, magical kind of way.

  Although Pepe was the village historian, he had revealed little about himself to me. Learning about the week of his discontent—and his loneliness—was the most I’d discovered about him since I moved to the village.

  I wanted to know more. About Godfrey, too. He was a Cloakcrafter, yes, and one of Aunt Ve’s exes, but was he as lonely as Pepe?

  Would he, perhaps, be looking to date?

  “What has happened?” Pepe said, motioning for Mimi to pick him up. Bending over, she cupped her hands, and he jumped into them.

  Placing him on the edge of the sewing table, she giggled. “Your feet tickle.”

  Twirling his whiskered mustache, he said, “Most have ticklish feet. My feet tickle. It is a talent few possess. Now tell me what I have missed in the village.”

  Mimi and I took turns telling the story of how Kyle had been found dead in Starla’s brownstone. And then we rehashed the conversation that had taken place at Spellbound.

  There were still no answers. We all had to wait to see what the autopsy would reveal.

  “I’ll take a stroll over to Wickedly Creative,” Pepe said. “To see what I can overhear.”

  “You can’t do that,” I said. “It’s the week of your discontent. You’re in lockdown mode, right?”

  He fussed with the hem of his dressing gown. “Truthfully, I have grown tired of my discontent.”

  “Should I take back the cheesecake, then?” I asked with a smile.

  “Do and I shall bite your hand.” He leapt off the table and p
ushed the plastic container through the opening in the baseboard.

  Godfrey chuckled.

  Mimi said, “We probably should have bought him a whole cake instead of a slice.”

  Pepe’s voice carried from his hole. “She is a wise girl.”

  I eyed Godfrey. “This may seem like it’s out of the blue, but I’m wondering if you’re seeing anyone right now.”

  Grabbing my hand, he twirled me around. “I thought you’d never come around, Darcy. Dating that,” he rolled his eyes, “stodgy policeman.”

  “Hey!” Mimi protested.

  I laughed. “You know as well as I do that he’s not stodgy. And I’m still dating him.”

  Godfrey dropped my hand. “There goes my grand plan for a trophy wife.”

  Pepe appeared in his doorway dressed in his little red vest. The fur between his ears was damp, combed back in a slick ’do. “You wish.”

  I tensed at the word “wish” but because Pepe’s statement hadn’t been phrased properly according to Wishcraft Law (I wish that . . .) I was under no obligation to grant the request.

  “Indeed,” Godfrey said on a sigh.

  “Well, I don’t know about a trophy wife, except that the woman I have in mind is truly a prize, but how do you feel about older women?” I asked.

  Godfrey caressed his beard. “How old? As old as Pepe? Because I do possess some standards.”

  Pepe gnashed his teeth, cleared his throat, and said, “‘For age is opportunity no less than youth itself, though in another dress, and as the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.’”

  “Pretty,” Mimi said.

  He bowed. “Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”

  “You’ve been hanging around with Archie too long,” I said. I didn’t know if I could handle dramatic readings from both of them.

  “Blowhard,” Godfrey said in a huff.

  I wasn’t sure if he referred to Longfellow, Pepe, or Archie.

  Pepe, however, needed no clarification. He took immediate offense and charged at Godfrey while gnashing his teeth, but Godfrey quickly picked him up by the tail and held him at arm’s length. As Pepe dangled, he swung little fists this way and that. Godfrey paid him no attention whatsoever. “Now who is it you have in mind, Darcy?”