A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery (10 page)

It reminded me that Starla was meeting her date for coffee this morning. I glanced at the Roving Stones tents, at the people milling about, and wondered which vendor she had a date with. Starla deserved a little love in her life, so I really hoped it worked out. But I did question what would happen when the fair moved on to the next city….

It was a beautiful morning with hardly a cloud in the sky. Birds tweeted high in the trees, and dew sparkled on the gorgeous flowers planted around the square. I headed for Mrs. P’s bench under the birch tree to stretch out and wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Mrs. Pennywhistle sitting there enjoying the morning sun. A rolled newspaper was tucked under her leg, and a cardboard coffee cup sat next to her. Its rim was liberally
colored in deep red lipstick. Mrs. P loved her cosmetics.

“Good morning, Darcy! How’s Ve this morning? Any better?”

Mrs. P and I had become fast friends after we’d been mixed up in a murder case. She was eighty if a day and was one of the most energetic people I’d ever met. Rarely did she wear anything other than a hot-pink velour tracksuit, and today was no exception. When I’d first met her, she’d reminded me of Phyllis Diller, and that impression hadn’t changed. Her hair stuck out in points, starburst-style, she wore too much makeup, and her laugh was almost identical to the famous comedienne’s. But one thing that was quite unique to Mrs. P was the fact that she was a Vaporcrafter—she had the ability to vaporize into thin air. It was a seriously impressive talent.

“Not better at all. I’m starting to get really worried.” I put my foot on the bench and stretched my calf. Missy was on a mission to sniff every blade of grass in the vicinity.

Worry pulled at the wrinkles around Mrs. P’s eyes. “Wasn’t Cherise supposed to stop by yesterday?”

“She did come by, but so far nothing’s changed. Aunt Ve is still feverish, she’s not eating, and she keeps saying she’s fine. I’m going to call Cherise later on—maybe she can explain.”

“Should I bring over some soup? I make the best turkey and wild rice soup around. Ask anyone.”

I smiled. “That would be wonderful. Lay on the guilt about how hard you worked to make it. Make sure she eats it.”

Mrs. P laughed her outrageous cackle. A few of the Roving Stones vendors looked our way.

The talk of food reminded me that I had my first cooking lesson tonight. I also had to check in with Evan
at the Gingerbread Shack to make sure Ve’s wedding cake was on track and pop in at Bewitching Boutique with Harper to try on our maids of honor dresses for final fittings.

But I suddenly realized that a big chunk of my day was on hold. I was supposed to start cleaning out Patrice Keaton’s house. What was going to happen there was anyone’s guess at this point. I couldn’t exactly call Elodie and ask. I’d have to wait for her to come to me.

“I’ll do that,” Mrs. P was saying. “I can work the guilt like no one’s business. It’s all in the voice’s quiver.” She demonstrated. “I’m just a poor little old lady….”

“That’s good,” I said, awed. “Really good. I’d buy what you were selling.”

She winked at me. “I’ll remember that.” Her voice sobered. “I heard you had quite the day yesterday, finding that mummy and everything.”

I glanced around at all the shops lining the square. “Does everyone know?”

“I’d say so,” she said. “I heard it from at least three people. It’s a shame what happened to that woman.”

“Did you know Patrice?”

“In passing,” Mrs. P said. “She was one to keep to herself. Loved that girl of hers something fierce.” She glanced up at me. “I’ve been hearing rumors that her death had something to do with the Anicula. That Patrice had misused it and had suffered the consequences.”

I tipped my head. “Unless the amulet could stuff a grown woman in a suitcase, then cover her with tons of clutter, I’d say that theory is a stretch.”

Mrs. P nodded absently. “Magic can be dangerous.”

“Not that dangerous. Someone is behind her death. Maybe someone who wanted the Anicula.”

“Is it missing?” Her eyes went wide. “If that amulet falls into the wrong hands…”

“Good question. Elodie says the Anicula was stolen
six months before Patrice died. No one seems to know where it is—or what it looks like. Do you?”

She shook her head.

“Someone has to know what it looks like,” I said, stretching my other leg.

“Elodie, I should think.”

Pretty much the only person I couldn’t pester right now. I bit my lip. “Do you think the library would have any information on it?” The village library had an extensive section on witchcraft. Historians all over the world traveled here for research.

“Not likely.” She tapped her chin, then snapped her fingers. “The Elder might know.”

I remembered my last trip to see the Elder. The time she revoked my powers for a day because I’d broken a Wishcraft Law. Seeing her again wasn’t high on my priority list. “Anyone else?” I asked weakly.

Mrs. P laughed, obviously understanding my reluctance. “There is someone else who may know.”

“Who?” Anyone was better than seeing the Elder.

Mrs. P motioned to the tents. “Andreus Woodshall. The Anicula originated with his family.”

“It did?”

“A few centuries ago.”

“How did it end up with Patrice?”

“No idea,” Mrs. P said, taking a sip of her coffee. She patted her spiky hair to ensure it was still in place (it rarely moved), and said, “But I bet there’s a good story there.”

Yvonne had mentioned that Mr. Macabre had dated Patrice only because he wanted the Anicula…. If it had rightfully belonged to his family, he was probably trying to get it back.

“Is he as creepy as people say?”

She cackled again. “Creepier.”

Great. Just great. Maybe the Elder wasn’t such a bad option after all.

“Are you working today?” I asked.

“Of course. Someone needs to keep an eye on Vincent Paxton. Keep your enemies close, right, Darcy?” Mrs. P winked.

True. So true. Through her late granddaughter, Mrs. P had close ties to Lotions and Potions and had given herself the part-time job of looking after Vince, the shop’s new owner. Not only did she want to ensure that he blended his lotions and potions properly (which had been a problem with the prior management), but she wanted to keep an eye on what Vince was up to. As a Seeker, he was desperate to learn everything about the Craft and had made it clear that he would stop at nothing to get some answers to whether the village was truly magical.

I harbored more than a little suspicion that he might be the village’s Peeper. Only because of his desperation. He had convinced himself there was witchcraft afoot in the village—and was out to prove it. It was easy to picture him breaking into village homes to look for evidence of the Craft. It would also explain why nothing had been taken during these “burglaries.” They were fact-finding missions only.

But before I openly aired my suspicion (in case I was wrong), I wanted to do a little investigating of him first. “Right,” I said. “And if you could, find out if Vince whittles.”

“Whittles? Wood?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Darcy Merriweather?”

“Too much.” I laughed.

Missy tugged on her leash. She was ready to run. “We should go. I’ll talk to you later, Mrs. P.”

She saluted us and said, “I’ll let you know how it goes with Ve.”

“Don’t forget the guilt,” I called over my shoulder as I started jogging away.

“My specialty,” she yelled back.

As Missy and I circled the village green, I could feel a pair of eyes on me, watching my every move. Yet every time I looked, I couldn’t single out one person openly staring.

I ran faster and thought about the Anicula. I was going to have to meet with either Andreus Woodshall to find out more about the amulet and its powers…or the Elder.

Neither sounded particularly inviting, but I figured Andreus was the lesser of two evils.

As I let that thought settle like a lump of cold oatmeal in my stomach, I realized I was starting to doubt the Anicula’s existence.

Was it legendary, as Pepe had said?

Or mythical?

For half an hour I jogged through the village’s neighborhoods, staying well clear of the Enchanted Trail’s path, which branched into the woods. I had to admit that I was a little bit skeeved out by the possibility of someone watching me. And for as much as I turned it over in my head, I couldn’t figure out why someone would be, either. Why me? Why now? Were the person’s motives somehow tied to me finding Patrice’s body? Too many questions for which I had no answers at all.

The neighborhoods were enough to take my mind off the matter. Each house had an off-the-scale quaint factor. Most homes throughout the village were historical in style—usually Victorian based. There was a whole street full of colorful gingerbread houses, another of quaint cottages. Large oak trees were in abundance, full of leafy branches this time of year. Come autumn, acorns would
be gathered—not just by squirrels but by Crafters, as well, to be used in spells, fashioned into talismans, or placed in the windows of their homes to ward off evil and bring good luck.

I ran for a little longer, trying my best to focus on my pace, which after two months of running could be described only as leisurely.

Missy bounced along beside me, her tiny tongue hanging from her mouth, as I slowed to a stop in front of Harper’s bookshop. The colorful pastel-striped awning overhead offered welcome relief against the bright sunshine. Ivy cascaded over the edges of a long rectangular wrought-iron window box, which also held an abundance of commonly found annuals. Pink petunias, purple salvia, and white verbena were in full bloom, along with a silvery spiky plant that offered height and texture. Harper had done well.

As I turned to go into the shop, I noticed Marcus Debrowski coming my way down the sidewalk carrying a to-go cup from the Witch’s Brew.

When he spotted me, he came to an abrupt stop.

“Do I look that scary?” I asked, running a hand over my damp hair.

He took a step backward. “I’m beginning to think you’re bad luck, Darcy. First Alexandra Shively a few months ago, and now this?”

“Ah. You heard the news about Patrice.”

“Everyone’s heard the news.” He came closer. Missy wagged her tail, and he bent and patted her head. “I told you not to take that job.”

His suit was impeccably pressed. His hair was combed neatly to the side and slicked back with gel. His belt matched his shoes, and I would bet my life’s savings that his socks matched his shoe color as well. He probably ate a high fiber cereal for breakfast. He was just that kind of guy.

“I know,” I said. “So you’re really not going to like the favor I’m going to ask.”

He folded his arms. “No, I’m probably not. But ask anyway.”

“I kind of sort of need a private investigator’s license.”

His eyes grew wide. “Why?”

“I was kind of sort of hired by Elodie to find her mother’s killer.”

He didn’t look as taken aback by the idea as I feared.

“And she doesn’t think the police are capable?” he asked.

I thought of Nick. “She didn’t say that. She thinks the killer was after the Anicula, and I might be able to snoop in a way the police can’t.”

“Among Crafters,” he said, understanding.

“Mostly.”

“You do know that a private investigator’s license isn’t easy to come by. There’s all kinds of training you have to go through, including—since you have no experience—apprenticing under another PI for years.”

“I know. That’s the case for mortals, at least.” I blinked sheepishly at him. As a Lawcrafter, he could magically get me a license, no questions asked. To a mortal, it would look like I’d done all the requirements.

My blinking seemed to have no effect whatsoever. He was shaking his head. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

A flash of movement inside the shop caught our attention. Harper moved about, dusting books and shelves.

Marcus couldn’t take his eyes off her. He rubbed his chin. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” I asked reluctantly, not sure I liked where this was going.

His green eyes sparkled. “I get you the license, and you get me a date with Harper.”

My jaw dropped. “That’s bribery!”

“No, Darcy, that’s
bargaining
. We lawyers are good at that.”

I glanced at Harper.

“And,” Marcus added, “you have to promise me that you’ll actually study how to be a proper PI. Learn the rules, go to a shooting range. If you’re going to act as a PI, you need to know how to be a PI. Take it or leave it.”

“Well, since we’re bargaining, if I agree to this deal, you have to make some concessions yourself.”

I liked Marcus, and I thought that Harper would too if she just got to know him a little better. It was the only reason why I was even contemplating his offer.

“Like what?” he asked.

I told him.

His eyes widened. “You think it would help?”

“Definitely.”

“All right, then. Shake?”

We shook hands, and he strode off, a little kick in his wingtips.

If Harper found out what I’d just done, she would kill me. I just had to make sure she never figured it out—which was easier said than done. I didn’t know anyone smarter than she—or anyone who knew me better. I tapped on the window and she smiled when she saw me, making me feel a teensy bit guilty.

After unlocking the door and letting me and Missy in, she folded her arms and said, “For the love, Darcy. I’m getting really jealous.”

In the small kitchenette in the back of the shop, I filled a bowl with water and set it before Missy, who lapped with enthusiasm. “Why?”

Harper held up her hands, fingers popping up one by one as she ticked off reasons. “First, two weeks after moving here, you find a dead body. Second, yesterday, you find another dead body. Third, you have some crazed
woodsman in your backyard watching you. Fourth, Nick Sawyer is a serious catch. And fifth”—her thumb shot out—“give me a sec and I’ll think of a fifth.”

“You’re demented,” I said with a smile. “You know that, right? Only you would think those first three were reasons for envy.” I didn’t want to talk about Nick and how he was definitely a great catch. But there was a big, glaring issue with that comment. He wasn’t the least bit caught—not by me at least.