I twitched one finger threateningly. “The next level is Toy Poodle.”
She ran toward the front door making a sound halfway between terror and delight, just as I knew she would.
Chapter 17
Zoey returned to the kitchen, ashen-faced. She said in a hushed town, “Mom, there’s a man at the front door. It’s the guy from the murder house.”
I whispered back, “What does he want?”
“He asked for Winona Vander Zalm.” Winona Vander Zalm was the former owner of our home. She’d been dead for close to a year, which was how I’d come to be in possession of her magical house.
“That’s odd,” I said.
“I know, right? I didn’t want to tell him she’s dead. He’s had a rough day.”
“But he already knows Winona’s dead. He’s the one who told me how she went.” I shook away the thought and patted my daughter on the shoulder. “That was kind of you to spare his feelings, Zoey. I’ll go talk to him.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You’re a good kid.”
She grabbed Boa, huddled the white fluffball in her arms, and ran upstairs to her room. I went to the front door, checking my outfit as I did. I was still wearing the morning’s gray wool suit, and felt grateful I hadn’t changed into sweatpants yet. Heaven forbid I wear comfortable clothes and not have my hair perfectly in place, or Arden was liable to mistake me for a homeless person like Fatima had.
I reached the front door, which stood ajar. Standing patiently in the shade of my front porch was Arden Greyson. He wore jeans and a plaid short-sleeved shirt. In one hand, he carried a fishing tackle box. His dog, a chocolate-brown Labradoodle, sat not-so-patiently at his side. When Doodles saw me, she pranced on the spot and wagged her tail so hard that her whole butt swung back and forth.
“Mr. Greyson,” I said.
He gave me a double take, as though he truly had been expecting the elegant and well-preserved Winona Vander Zalm.
He squinted at me. “Zara, is it? Zara Riddle?” He switched the tackle box to his left hand and offered me his right to shake.
“That’s right.” I shook his hand, which felt weak and boneless. “I moved in here with my daughter back in March. We’ve met a few times. I bought this house after Ms. Vander Zalm passed away earlier this year.”
He limply withdrew his hand from mine and slapped it against his forehead. “Darn my spotty memory. I knew that.” He shook his head. “Was that your daughter who answered the door just now?”
“Yes. My daughter, Zoey.”
“The poor girl must think I’m crazy, ringing your doorbell and asking to see a dead woman.” Another head shake and a sheepish smile. “Please apologize to her on my behalf. I’ve had a difficult day, and I suppose it slipped my mind that Ms. Vander Zalm was no longer with us.”
I leaned to the side and glanced past him down the street. Most of the crime scene vehicles had moved on from in front of his place. Only a single unmarked van remained.
Arden Greyson followed my gaze. “I suppose you already heard the news.” His voice was gritty with pain. The crime scene flashed in my mind. The red streaks on the walls. The headless body. The blood congealing on the black leather of the sofa.
“I’ve heard,” I agreed.
“Bad news travels like wildfire,” he said.
I took a step back, inviting him to come in. My manners were not perfect, but I knew better than to make a person discuss their loved one’s recent homicide on my front porch.
“People will talk,” I said. “Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?”
“Why, thank you for the kind offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose.” His words said no, yet he didn’t turn to leave.
“I insist.” I waved him in. It was what Winona would have wanted.
Doodles trotted in confidently. She didn’t need a third invitation. Her owner followed, muttering apologies for interrupting my day. The dog barked sharply and trotted to the base of the stairs. She stood up on her hind legs and sniffed the railing—the railing that Ribbons slid down regularly.
Arden stared mutely at his dog, who was attempting to climb the stairs on two feet so she didn’t have to take her moist brown nose off the tantalizing smells of the railing.
Arden asked Doodles, “What is it, girl?” He asked me, “You don’t have peanut butter smeared on the railing, do you?”
“She must be smelling our cat,” I said.
Arden frowned. “It must be a real special cat.”
“Not as special as she thinks she is,” I said.
He chuckled. “That’s cats for you.”
I waved for him to follow me back to my extra-spacious kitchen. He set the tackle box on the ample island’s counter and scanned the room. His wrinkles melted and his eyes grew wider as he scanned.
“It’s real nice, what you’ve done with Winona’s place,” he said. “Funny. The kitchen is smaller than I recall. That’s memory for you.”
“Really? I swear it’s bigger than it was yesterday.”
His eyebrows knitted. “Beg your pardon?”
I waved a hand. “Just a joke about my housekeeping skills.” I filled the kettle and listed the selection of teas available. He chose a Rooibos blend, and took a seat at the island. Doodles came in just long enough to whimper at her owner before she trotted out again—presumably to sniff around for the wyvern. Good luck, I thought. I could never find Ribbons if he didn’t want to be found, and I doubted the dog would do any better no matter how keen her nose.
Arden didn’t speak until after he’d taken his first sip of tea.
“There was an accident,” he said. “Or I suppose it wasn’t an accident. My great-nephew was killed last night. He’s the one who was renting the apartment above my garage.” He stared into the honey-colored tea. “It’s a real mess up there. They gave me some cards for the people who clean things like that. Did you know there are people whose jobs are to clean things like that?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of my own tea. “I’ve never used those services before, but I understand it’s a special type of job.”
“You’re a librarian, isn’t that right?”
“I am.”
“You must know all sorts of things.”
“I have picked up a fair bit of information over the years. Some of it useful, some of it not so much.” Doodles entered the kitchen and came to my side for some reassuring pets. Her coiled fur was impossibly soft. I wanted to bury my face in her silky ears. How could terrible things like beheadings happen in the same world that also had soft Labradoodles?
After a stretch of silence, I said, “Mr. Greyson, I’m very sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. I guess when things like this happen, neighbors bring over casseroles. I’m not much of a cook, but I’ve learned you can use the potato chip crumbs at the bottom of the bag for a great casserole topping, and I can always give it a shot.”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” he said. “There must be something about this house, that it only attracts good women. Winona was an odd bird, but she had a good heart. I suppose the reason you found me on your porch today is because there’s still something of Winona left behind here in this house.”
Little did he know!
He brought his gaze up to meet mine. “Do you believe in that sort of thing? People leaving behind a sort of energy?”
“I can’t say that I don’t.” I gave him a gentle smile. “I have a very open mind.”
He turned toward the kitchen’s only window, a far-away look in his eyes. “I swear I saw Ishmael walking through my house this morning, right when I was heading out fishing. I figured he’d snuck into my place to grab some coffee. Typical bachelor, he was always short on some thing or another. I started talking to him like he was there, except when I followed him into the kitchen, he wasn’t there.” His eyes flicked from the window to mine. “Must have been his ghost.”
He stared at me, unwavering.
I answered slowly. “P
lenty of people have reported seeing ghosts. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I’m not crazy. Forgetful, yes. And eccentric.” He grinned. “Maybe too eccentric for my own good.”
“Nothing wrong with a little eccentricity.”
“I knew you’d understand,” he said, sounding relieved. “Now, I’d like to ask you a question. If it’s none of my business, just say so, and I’ll leave it be.”
“Sure. I mean, ask away.”
He leaned back and rubbed his chin as he gave me a long look.
Finally, he spoke. “Now, what is it that makes a beautiful, smart woman such as yourself want to become a librarian?”
I let out a surprised laugh. I’d been expecting something a lot more personal.
“A woman like you could have been anything, I imagine,” he said. “Why did you want to spend your days with a bunch of musty old books?”
Still laughing, I struck a finger in the air. “First of all, the materials in a well-run library should never be musty.”
I went on to tell him about the cleaning and preservation systems used by modern libraries.
He asked another question, and then another, becoming more interested with each answer.
Rarely had I enjoyed such an enthusiastic grilling about my profession.
The time passed, as it always does in these rare magical moments, quickly and without friction.
* * *
Arden Greyson and I talked our way through three cups of tea each. We talked about libraries, then the educational system, then everything that was right and wrong with generations not our own, and then we finally moved on to politics, both national and local.
Arden had some interesting theories about Mayor Paula Paladini. He believed she was part of some Illuminati-like secret organization. I found this both scandalous and hilarious. He thanked me for humoring his eccentricities, and we moved on to a discussion of home renovations, and what type of landscaping gave the biggest boost to a home’s resale value.
Doodles eventually wore herself out sniffing for wyverns. She rested on the kitchen floor at her master’s feet, perking up when he slipped her the occasional ladyfinger cookie from the plate on the table.
When Zoey wandered into the kitchen, smacking her lips and eyeballing the remaining ladyfingers, it was nearly five o’clock. Arden Greyson and I had been talking for hours, and not about the recent tragedy. Since his mention of Ishmael appearing as a ghost in the house, the topic hadn’t come back around to the homicide.
Zoey poured herself a big glass of water and joined us at the kitchen island. She reached for the tackle box Arden had brought with him and lightly ran her fingers over the rusty buckles.
“You can go ahead and open that,” Arden said good-naturedly. “Do you have an interest in fishing lures, young lady?”
She flipped up the buckles and opened the lid with a rusty creak. “Some of the girls at school use these kind of feathers for earrings,” she said.
“They sure do.” He chuckled. “There was a time, not long ago, when you couldn’t get the feathers because the teenagers kept buying out the stock.”
I asked, “Did you catch anything this morning? You were out fishing, right?”
“Didn’t even get a nibble,” he said.
“That’s too bad.”
Zoey lifted the top tray out of the tackle box and peered into the darkness. “Ooh,” she exclaimed. “What’s that?”
He followed her gaze and his face lit up. “That,” he said proudly, “is a karambit.”
“A karambit,” Zoey repeated. She reached in and pulled out the knife. It had a carved bone handle and a long curved blade, like the letter C. Unlike the metal of the fishing tackle box, the blade on the unusual knife was fresh and new. It gleamed under the kitchen light, appearing almost white.
“It’s so light, and the grip is perfect for my hand,” Zoey said. She used the blade to swish the air in front of her in a very un-Zoey-like motion.
Something in the air shifted, as though agitated by the slashing of the sharp blade. My skin prickled, and my senses sharpened.
I silently noted that the curved blade was the perfect shape to wrap around a human’s neck. In fact, if applied with enough force, it might be used for decapitation. Were we looking at the murder weapon? Had Arden walked it right into my house, under my nose?
I met Zoey’s gaze and sent her a look. Be careful. She acknowledged my unspoken warning with the smallest of blinks—a gesture that would likely go unnoticed by the owner of the knife who was sitting with us.
“What’s it for?” Zoey asked brightly, still swishing the knife.
“Oh, this and that,” Arden said casually. “I understand they use them in the Philippines for farming. You could use it to rake roots and gather threshing.”
“Neat,” Zoey said. “It’s like a sickle.”
“I found it in the trash,” he said.
Zoey and I exchanged a look.
“When?” I asked. Had it been that morning?
“A few weeks back,” he said casually, not picking up on the tension in my voice. “I don’t know why my nephew was throwing out a perfectly good knife. Funny thing is, it’s so sharp that it cut its way out of the bag, almost like it didn’t want to be thrown out.”
Zoey and I exchanged another look. The knife had its own intentions?
Arden went on. “I figured I might put it to use gutting fish, but I haven’t had the chance yet.”
He continued talking about fishing in the local waters, and how things went with the various seasons. His voice blurred in the background.
Arden Greyson claimed he hadn’t used the knife, but what if someone else had? What if it was the weapon that had been used on Ishmael? There had to be a reason it was now inside my house. Ghosts had their ways of affecting the living. It was possible Ishmael had used his ghostly hands to influence his great-uncle into walking across the street and dropping the murder weapon practically at my feet.
Zoey continued to play with the knife, switching it from one hand to the other. Better it’s in her hands than his, I thought.
Arden met my eyes and gave me a questioning look. “The young one is comfortable with a blade,” he remarked.
I chuckled and said, “My daughter, the weapons expert.”
Arden said to her, “Careful. It’s awfully sharp.”
How would he know if was sharp if he hadn’t used it yet?
She carefully returned it to the tackle box. “That was fun,” she said.
I put my hands on my hips and playfully said, “Really? That was fun? Who are you and what have you done to my daughter?” I smiled as I explained to Arden, “My daughter is normally afraid of knives, or so she claims whenever you ask her to chop vegetables.”
“Kids outgrow their childish fears eventually,” he said sagely.
“So they do.”
I kept smiling, and at the same time, I cast a mild camouflage spell over his fishing tackle box. The spell was, from what I could gather, designed to keep unexpected guests from noticing messes. My aunt had taught me how to cast it over piles of unfolded laundry and a whole variety of things that I just happened to have examples of in my house. It didn’t make things invisible, but it did cause them to blend with their environment to avoid detection by visitors. If my hastily cast spell worked, Arden might forget his tackle box on my counter.
I got up from my chair and glanced around theatrically.
“Speaking of chopping vegetables, we should probably get dinner started,” I said.
Arden squinted at the window. “Is it that time already?”
Zoey chimed in, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” She shot me a wide-eyed, now-what look.
I said to Arden, who was still gazing at the window, “Mr. Greyson, would you like to stay for dinner?” Please say no.
He immediately got to his feet. “No,” he said softly. “I’ve already taken up more than my fair share of your hospitality.” His dog jumped up an
d smelled Arden’s outstretched fingers for cookies. Arden turned, swept his gaze through the area where his tackle box sat under the camouflage spell, pressed his lips together briefly, then proceeded toward the door. The spell had worked.
Zoey trailed along behind us as I walked Arden and Doodles to the front door. Zoey caught my eye, nodded toward the kitchen, and raised an eyebrow. I gave her a quick eye flash to let her know that getting the tackle box was part of my plan. All the better for me to get the karambit tested as evidence.
Arden walked out the front door and paused on the porch. “Ms. Riddle,” he said slowly.
In unison, Zoey and I chirped, “Yes?”
He glanced back over his shoulder just long enough to say, “If you do happen to make one of those casseroles with the potato chips on top, I wouldn’t say no to such a thing.”
I pointed a finger at him. “Your wish is my command.”
Doodles trotted down the stairs and led Arden Greyson away.
Chapter 18
As soon as Arden was gone, Zoey ran back down the stairs and met me in the kitchen where we both took another look at the knife.
She asked, “How can something so pretty be used to murder?” She took it by the handle again and swished in through the air.
“I’d tell you not to touch it, but I guess you already got your DNA all over it when Arden was here.”
“Not my DNA,” she corrected. “But it probably is coated with my epithelial cells, which might contain my DNA.”
“My daughter, the weapons expert and also the crime scene investigator.”
She made an excited sound. “Can you test for DNA with magic?”
“I believe that’s a job for science. However, I can do this.” I cast a threat detection spell over both the karambit and the tackle box. This time, the spell didn’t splash back in my face like used toothpaste, but it didn’t reveal anything helpful, either.
Zoey balanced the knife on one finger. “What type of metal is this? It feels a lot lighter than it looks.”
“Maybe it’s hollow.” I got an idea and snapped my fingers. “Hold that thought! Your great-aunt gave me something before she went on vacation.” I grabbed my purse and pulled out a tube of ordinary-looking lipstick. I removed the lid with a flourish, revealing a ravishing shade of red lipstick.
Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Page 13
