Third Witch's the Charm

by Valia Lind

  "How so?"

  "He thought—" Dean pauses, and I can almost see the sadness in his eyes, "He thought I should just trust him and not ask questions."

  "What did he want from you?"

  "To invest."

  "You mean money?"

  "Yes, money. We were going to discuss it at lunch today."

  There's another pause, and I strain to hear anything, but they're both silent. I have so many questions. And now I need to find a way to ask them without raising any kind of suspicion, since I shouldn't have these bouts of information.

  "Do you think he was in trouble?" Detective Ames asks, breaking the silence.

  "Yes." There's no hesitation in Dean's voice. "He sounded desperate when we talked."

  "And talking is all you did?"

  There's definitely something there, the detective is fishing. But what, I can't even think of it. I'm missing a major piece of information.

  "Yes."

  Another slight pause, and then, "So how did your fingerprints end up on his skin?"

  "What?" Penny mouths, her eyes rounding as she stares at me. I shake my head, because I have absolutely no idea what the detective is talking about.

  "Mr. Harvey, why did the deceased have your fingerprints on his skin?"

  My heart drops. This is why the detective wanted to talk to Dean. There's actual evidence that puts him at the scene of the crime. I have no idea what to think about that.

  Get your feelings under control, Duke. You have a murder to solve. Yes, I'm yelling at myself in my mind. I think it might be working.

  "We got into an altercation."

  "A fight?"

  "An altercation." There's hardness to Dean's voice, and I wonder if he's staring the detective down. I can imagine him doing so. Even though Detective Ames is probably at least fifteen years Dean's senior, the handyman can hold his own. Both men are intimidating in their own way, and if I know anything about them—even after such a small amount of time—I know they will not back down.

  "Explain, please." There's a note of hardness in the detective's voice too, and I smile. Dean got to him. I shouldn't feel as proud as I do. What is happening in my brain?

  "He was desperate," Dean replies. It sounds like he turns away from the phone's direction, because his voice gets quieter. Or maybe it's the sadness. There's a touch of it there; I can hear it even across electronic waves.

  "He came at me, grabbed my shirt, I had to pry his hands off me. I didn't want to hurt him, but—when you're desperate like that, you're not thinking straight. So I took him by the wrists and I pulled him back."

  Arthur coming at Dean sounds a lot like Arthur coming at me in my dreams. Curious. There's a ruffling of papers before Detective Ames speaks up again.

  "And what time was that?"

  "Around eleven, I suppose."

  Eleven. Wait. That's about the time I saw him. And he was coming from the direction of the pool house. My brain truly does not want to think Dean has anything to do with the murder, especially now that we've decided to reconcile. But I can't ignore the fact that now Dean is probably the last person who saw Arthur alive. Well, besides the killer. Unless Dean is one and the same.

  I have got to stop this spinning in circles.

  There's more noise over the headphones and then the door opens and Dean steps through. He doesn't notice us but walks quickly past everyone and out of the dining hall. The detective follows him out, his eyes on me immediately.

  "Lose something?" he asks, holding up Penny's phone. I glance at my friend, but she's a pro at this somehow, because she's not even fazed.

  "Oh, my goodness, thank you, detective! I was just looking for it."

  He nods and hands it over, but he's not fooled, that much I can see.

  "Miss Duke, mind if I have a word?"

  He doesn't wait for a reply, but heads back into the room. After I exchange a quick glance with Penny, I follow him in.

  "You have a history with him, don't you?"

  I guess we're not beating around the bush here. Detective Ames walks me over to the other side of the room, away from the officer who's sitting at the interview table. Well, I'm assuming that's what it is.

  "Yes, we're friends." When I say it, I realize I mean it.

  "Can you be objective?"

  "Yes."

  The detective pauses, studying me in that calm way of his. There's a strange sort of connection between us that I can't seem to deny. It's almost like if this were another life, he could be my father. At least, that's what I think a father would be like, considering I've never had one. That’s probably why I blurt out my next question.

  "Why are you letting me help? You're not obligated by any means. You don't know me."

  He takes a second before replying, as if really thinking over the question.

  "I talked to a few people back in Monroe Cove this morning. You have a good head on your shoulders, Miss Duke. And my gut," he smiles a little, "is telling me that your potential is not to be wasted."

  Interesting. I think there might be more to it than that, but the way he says this rings true to me. Maybe he truly sees something in me. And if that's the case, I don't want to fail him.

  "Thank you," I reply.

  "Don't thank me yet. You have to be careful. If anyone else found that phone, they wouldn't be so nice about it."

  I nod in understanding because I know he's right. Sheriff Bernard would've possibly stuck me in jail just to teach me a lesson. But then I think about what the detective just said and how there are people back in Monroe Cove who spoke highly of me. I don't want to fail them either.

  "How can I help you, detective?" I ask, standing up a little straighter.

  "What can you tell me about Dean Harvey?"

  I guess I should've expected the question, but it still takes me a little bit off guard. It makes sense why the detective would want a character witness on Dean, especially after that interview. I focus on staying objective before I reply.

  "Dean owns his own company in Monroe Cove. He's well liked and respected in town. We've been working together on a few projects for Mayor Moore recently."

  "Are you...friends?"

  I wonder why the hesitation, but I don't ask.

  "We're new friends. We knew each other when we were young, but we didn't exactly run in the same circles."

  "Why not? You're friends with his brother, yes?"

  My eyes fly up to meet Detective Ames, curious at this line of questioning. He's fishing for something, but I'm not quite sure what. It makes me feel like I should be more careful around him. I don't like that feeling. I want to trust him, not suspect him of who knows what.

  My brain is truly taking itself on a rollercoaster ride. I have to chill.

  "I'm friends with Finn, yes. But Dean wasn't part of that friendship. He had his own friends and activities."

  "So he and his brother are not close?"

  "They are." I narrow my eyes. "What is it that you're getting at, detective?"

  "Just trying to build a profile."

  But that's not it, is it? I can tell, even with my small knowledge of how this whole investigating thing works.

  "Detective Ames?" This comes from the officer and we both turn in his direction. "The next staff member is here."

  "Thank you." The detective nods at the officer before motioning me toward the door. Even though I have a bunch of questions, I leave without asking any of them. On the way, I pass a woman dressed in a suit. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun, not a strand out of place. She looks put together in a way I will never be. She doesn't meet my eye as she passes me, but I know I've seen her before.

  I step out and head toward Penny.

  "What did he want?" she asks as I take a seat at the table.

  "Honestly, a character sketch on Dean, but that's not all."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I have no idea. But he was fishing for something. Did you see who went in there just now?"

  "Oh, ye
s." Penny glances at the closed door. "That's the head maid, I think."

  "Priscilla Janson." Finn appears beside us offering a plate and a name.

  "How do you know?" I ask, reaching for a piece of toast.

  "I asked around while you were in there. I figured you'd need all the information you can get." He glances over at Penny, and I study the two before I sigh.

  "Penny."

  "What? He guessed, okay? It's not my fault you're Miss Investigator over here," Penny replies, taking a bite of her piece of toast and I simply shake my head.

  "I don't want you guys involved in this. The detective is already suspicious—"

  "Of Dean, I know. I talked to him." I look at Finn and notice the concern in his gaze.

  "How is he?"

  "Sad. And frustrated. He blames himself."

  "Finn."

  "Not like that. He just thinks if he went along with Arthur's plans, the man would still be alive."

  I let that sit and marinate for a second. Arthur was definitely into something. I need him to show up in a dream, so I can ask. But if he worked here, there will be people who can point me in the right direction. It's time I started asking questions.

  9

  My first order of business is Lizette, the resort manager. Last night, she seemed as distraught as anyone would be, but this morning, she's running around, throwing orders at anyone who will listen. I watch as she power walks across the dining hall, heading to the kitchen. I jump to my feet, motioning for Finn and Penny to stay put as I casually walk in the same direction.

  The tables in front of the kitchen door are full of food. I watch as Lizette checks over each portion. Grabbing a plate, I slide up to her, and when she notices me, I smile.

  “Oh, hello there,” I say, watching as she puts on her customer service smile.

  “Hello, Miss Duke, are you doing alright?”

  "I was going to ask you the same thing. And please, call me Cassie."

  "If you call me Lizette." I smile at that and pretend to look through the breakfast options before me.

  "To be honest, Lizette. It's been a rough morning. It wasn't like I was planning on discovering a dead body when I came here."

  "Oh, please know this is not a regular occurrence in these parts." She turns to me immediately, her manager hat on as she talks. "Of course, we would be happy to provide any compensation for your misfortune, but we truly hope this doesn't tarnish our reputation in your eyes."

  I know this tactic, which is why I knew mentioning the resort as a whole would get her to pay attention to me instead of dismissing me. I need to get her to open up to me, so I'll take any avenue I can.

  "It's such a tragedy," I say, turning my full attention to her. "Have you worked with him long?"

  "Oh yes. Arthur has been here longer than I have."

  "You've only been here—?"

  "Four years. I came to take over for the owners. They were at retirement age and needed someone to live on the property and make sure everything was running smoothly."

  "That's a great opportunity. Have you run a resort before this?"

  "Never." She chuckles. "I've been a manager at a few hotels, moving around a bit, but nothing like this."

  "Were you a world traveler before you settled here then?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't call it that." She chuckles again, and her gaze turns somewhat distant. "I just wanted to live in a few places, that's all."

  I nod, but something about that seems vaguer than not. It's probably because she doesn't want to spill her life story to a total stranger, but I'm being extra suspicious. Understandably.

  "Has running this resort been everything you ever wanted?"

  "It kind of has," she replies right away, her eyes still in a faraway gaze. "It's so beautiful here, and the people are great. It's definitely the best place I have lived."

  "So, you haven't had any major issues with anyone?"

  "No, we're like a big family around these parts. It's why Arthur's death is going to hit us so hard. Excuse me." She moves away then, turning her attention to the elderly couple on the other side of her. I leave as well, but I've only taken two steps when a voice reaches me.

  "Oh please, no one is going to miss Arthur. Not after the hassle he's become." I turn toward the voice and find a woman in her early sixties, sitting at the end of one of the tables. Gray hair piled on top of her head, wearing expensive jewelry and a sweater combination straight out of those rich old timey movies. She looks at me expectantly and then at the chair near her. I don't hesitate to take a seat.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean that I've been here every year for the last ten, and I can tell you that in the last few months I have heard more arguments than ever. It was like this place became its own soap opera, with scandal, and now apparently, murder. Goodness gracious me, this is the best vacation ever."

  The woman is lost in her own glee, so I hope she misses my look of surprise before I mask it.

  "You're the one who found him, aren't you? I heard some whispers."

  "You find me at a disadvantage then. I'm Cassandra."

  "I'm Victoria. I've been friends with the Sanchez's for a decade now. It was such a shame they decided to hand over the reins to that woman. Between her and that Priscilla, this place isn't what it used to be."

  It's like I don't even have to ask the questions. Victoria is playing both parts here. She leans closer to me, lowering her voice.

  "If I were you, I'd have a talk with Priscilla for sure. She's a hard woman, but she tells it like it is, instead of sugarcoating it like Lizette here. She's been kissing butt since she arrived."

  "You don't think that's part of her job? In customer service?"

  "Pash, no one wants to be lied to. You tell the truth, that's how the world works. And if you lie, you get burned. Now run along and ask your questions. I've been watching you make your rounds. I like you. You have a sharp mind."

  I don't hide the smile as I nod at Victoria and stand.

  "Oh, and that boy toy of yours." Victoria stops me with a hand on my arm. "I'd go check on him if I were you. He seems to be having a difficult time with this."

  She nods in the direction of the main hallway, and I don't bother correcting her on her assumption. I have been concerned about Dean, and it's probably time I go check on him.

  I find him outside on the patio. There are people pretty much everywhere. The officers are still taking statements. I can only assume the detective is interviewing those he knows will have information before he moves on to the rest. I'm still feeling the weird connection to him, but I file that away to think about later. Right now, I have to ask Dean the hard questions.

  "I figured you'd come find me sooner or later."

  "How are you doing?" It's not the question I should be asking, but it's the first one I blurt out. Dean looks over at me, a small smile on his lips. He's leaning forward, his hands wrapped around the top of the railing as he watches people walking by.

  "I keep thinking if only I took him up on his offer, if only I had helped him."

  "You can't really think it would've changed anything," I reply. This earns me a confused look.

  He stands up straighter, turning fully to face me. We're much like we were last night, only a few feet apart, unsure of our foundation.

  "How can you say that with such confidence?" he asks.

  "Because I think whoever did this? They had a plan long before you showed up here. Arthur was into something, something that got him killed, and you can't blame yourself for that." There's a touch of passion in my voice, and I realize I want to protect him.

  Well, this is news to me. I'm really just pulling out all the stops here.

  "You are right," Dean surprises me by saying. "I should really listen to your expertise." His lips curl up in a smile, and I know he's not mocking me. He's actually telling me he trusts what I have to say.

  "Dean, I have to ask you some tough questions."

  He stares down into my ey
es, as if searching for something, before giving me a firm nod.

  "Fire away."

  "The altercation you got into with him—"

  "You know about that?"

  I shrug, "I'm getting good at the investigating."

  "Of course. Sorry, what about it?"

  "Well, you said you pulled him off you. What happened after?"

  Dean doesn't break eye contact and he doesn't hesitate.

  "He said he would do anything to make things right, but he didn’t think he had the time. I told him we could talk in the morning. And then—then I left him."

  "Where was this?"

  "In the gardens near the pool house. He was in there, working. At least I thought so."

  "What made you think that?"

  "The ground around him and in the flower beds was turned up. Like he'd been digging."

  What gardener would be working at eleven at night, digging up flower beds? He may have just been doing busy work, to keep his mind off things. He was definitely in the middle of something after all. In any case, I make a mental note to see if the detective found anything in the gardens.

  "And after you left?"

  "I found you."

  The intensity in his gaze doesn't escape me. It's like I'm holding my breath too. We reached new ground last night, a new level in our relationship, and we both feel it. I can see it in his eyes like I can feel it in my heart. But this whole murder thing is really complicating my outlook. And it's also making it difficult to stay objective. What a lovely time I've decided to have feelings.

  Focus, Cassie. Focus.

  “When you left him, how did he seem? Was there anyone else around?”

  “No, no one. Arthur was distressed and maybe a little frantic, but I left him working.”

  I remember Dean coming out of those woods. He didn’t seem frazzled or like he’d been in an altercation. We stare at each other once more, and I’m really struggling to stay objective here.

  "Is there anything else you're not telling me?" I ask, breaking whatever moment we were having. I mean, I know it was a moment, but I'm uncomfortable with the moment. Also, now is not the time, so here we are. With me breaking the moment. My mind is officially a jumbled mess.