A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery (8 page)

Openmouthed, I stared at her. “Are you implying that someone would want to hurt
me
?”

She sniffled and dabbed at her red nose with a wadded tissue. “Of course not, dear. But of the two of us, however…
I
wasn’t the one who stumbled across a dead body today.”

Great. She had to go and bring that up. I’d been happily in denial about finding Patrice Keaton’s body, and now all those queasy feelings were back.

Evan brightened, his blue eyes wide, his color high. “Do you think Patrice’s killer is after Darcy?”

“Could be, my boy, could be,” Ve said, patting his hand.

“Hello!” I cried. “I’m standing right here.”

Missy had curled up in her dog bed by the back door and was watching us with drowsy eyes. Tilda, Ve’s Himalayan, eyed us warily from the top of the steps on the upper landing. It was late, and she wasn’t pleased that her beauty sleep had been disturbed.

Archie had flown home. He lived next door with Terry Goodwin, who happened to be the ex-husband of both Cherise Goodwin…and Ve. To hear Ve tell it, the man had spent the last ten years living next door to her, trying to win her back. I’d yet to see him express any devotion. I’d never even met him as he was a bit of a recluse.

“It only makes sense, dear.” Ve sneezed. “However, I am sorry if it upsets you.”

Evan wrinkled his nose and patted her hand. “Sometimes it hurts to speak the truth.” He glanced at me. “And to hear it.”

“Why would the killer come after me?” I viciously dunked my tea bag. “I don’t know anything.”

Evan said, “Ooh, maybe the killer thinks you do!”

Ve perked up. “That’s true. In my opinion, killers are very paranoid.”

I stared at her. She was serious.

“You two are impossible.” Cranky, I sipped my tea.

Evan rolled his eyes and adjusted his ice pack.

“You poor boy,” Ve soothed. “Do you need more ice?”

“This one’s still good.” He held up the bag and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “See, you can’t be angry with me, Darcy. I’m injured.”

He was right. I couldn’t stay mad at him. Especially since that knock on the head could have been really bad if he wasn’t so hardheaded.

“And thanks to me, we now know someone’s out to get you,” he added, ruining any sympathy I had for him. “We can be proactive. Take appropriate steps to protect you.”

I eyed the stairs. I just wanted to go to bed. “No one is out to get me.” I willed myself to believe it.

There was a knock at the back door, and I went to answer it. A village police officer stood on the back step. Not Nick, unfortunately. Even more unfortunate was that the woman standing there was stunning. Glorious blond wavy hair, brilliant blue eyes, generous smile. Her hot-pink MINI Cooper was parked at the curb. I tried not to be jealous that Nick would now be working closely with her.

“Darcy Merriweather?” she asked.

“That’s me,” I said. “Come in. Did you find anything?”
Please say no. Please say no.

“Glinda Hansel!” Ve exclaimed. “Is that you?”

“Ms. Devany, how’re you?” Glinda broke into a wide toothpaste-ad smile.

Glinda? Her name was really Glinda? Like the Glinda the Good Witch from
The Wizard of Oz?

“I’m fine, just fine,” Ve said.

My aunt was obviously lying. She was sick. Really sick. I was going to call Cherise in the morning to find out why her curing spell hadn’t worked.

“You’re working late,” Ve added.

“New kid on the force,” Glinda said. “I have the night shift for a while.”

“Tough hours,” Ve sympathized. “How’s your mother?” Ve asked tightly, as if she was doing it only because it was proper etiquette.

“Oh, you know,” Glinda said. “Feisty as ever. She’s looking forward to your wedding.”

Ve said, “I was a little surprised she agreed to come, considering, well, you know.”

I looked between the two of them. What? What did Glinda know?

“I know,” Glinda said. “But she doesn’t want to miss Sylar’s big day.”

Not Ve’s big day.
Sylar’s
big day. I was dying of curiosity. Evan, too. He looked at me with eyebrows raised in question.

Ve smiled—a little too brightly to be genuine. “Dorothy’s a good friend to him.”

Dorothy Hansel. I’d have to get the scoop from the biggest village gossip aside from my aunt—Archie.

“Now, what’s that you got there in your hand?” Ve asked.

Wooden curlicues filled a small plastic evidence bag.

“Wood shavings.” Glinda’s tone was suddenly serious. “Fresh shavings.”

“Oh?” Ve asked.

My stomach was starting to hurt.

Glinda said, “I’m afraid Evan was quite correct in his assessment, Ms. Merriweather.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Someone sat watching this place long enough to whittle some wood.” Something flashed in her eyes and her lips thinned. “My guess,” she added, “is that it’s probably that Peeping Tom who’s been prowling around. Best to keep an eye out. I’ll make a report. Lock up tight tonight. Windows and doors. I’ll do a full sweep around the house before I go.”

I saw her out, still unbelieving. Someone had been watching the house? Why?

When I went back to the kitchen, I was greeted with grim faces. “We don’t know that someone was watching
our
house,” I said. Someone had to be the voice of reason among us. “Maybe they were watching Terry next door.”

Even I didn’t believe what I was saying.

“Darcy, you’re missing the bigger issue,” Evan said.

“What’s that?” I yawned. It had been an exhausting day.

He fidgeted. “Whoever was waiting for you had a knife.”

A
round midnight, I found myself strangely wide awake. Sleep just wasn’t happening, so I gave up trying. Down the hall, I slowly cracked open Ve’s bedroom door. Hallway light spilled across her bed, revealing her tucked in snugly. She was sound asleep thanks to some over-the-counter medicine that had knocked her out cold. Tilda, Ve’s Himalayan, tipped up her head and looked at me curiously.

“It’s okay,” I whispered to the cat. “Just checking on Ve.”

Tilda flicked an ear, then set her head back into the crook of Ve’s leg.

As Ve snored lightly, I dodged the tissues that littered the floor and made my way over to the bed. I replaced Ve’s tea mug with a glass of water and took a second to feel her forehead. It was still hot.

Whatever illness she had, she had it bad.

I tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar so Tilda could get out if she had to.

The back stairs creaked as I headed for the kitchen. Missy was zonked out in her doggy bed by the mudroom door. She didn’t even flinch as I passed by to put the mug in the sink. I did some dishes, wiped the counters, and was contemplating a bag of popcorn and a late movie when I heard a light tapping at the mudroom door.

Missy’s head shot up, and she growled low in her throat.

“Shh,” I said, wondering who on earth it could be. “You’ll wake up Ve.”

Actually, I was pretty sure a Mack truck crashing through the front door wouldn’t wake Ve, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I looked at Missy. “Who do you think it is?”

Surely the Peeper Creeper wouldn’t knock.

Missy stumbled out of bed, wobbled in her sleepiness, and rushed to the door. Her tail wagged, and I took that as a good sign that whoever was on the other side meant me no harm.

Another knock sounded, this one a little louder. The porch light was on, and when I moved the curtain to peek out, I was more than a little surprised by who was standing there.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Elodie asked as I opened the door. “I saw the light on….”

“Not at all,” I reassured her. “Come in. Come in. Are you okay?”

Mentally, I shook my head. Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. Her mother was dead. Murdered.

She smiled wanly. “I’m doing all right.”

I motioned for her to have a seat at the counter. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Are you hungry?”

“Tea would be nice. I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”

I completely understood. After my mom died, I probably didn’t eat a full meal for months.

As I put the kettle on, I stole a glance at her while she played with Tilda, who’d come downstairs.

Elodie’s blue eyes had lost some luster, her blond curls were a tangled mess, and she looked tired. So tired. Why, I wondered, was she here? At midnight? I didn’t
feel like I could come out and ask straight off. She’d get there in her own time.

“I think,” she said, stroking Tilda, “that I expected this would be the outcome. I kind of knew all along that she wasn’t…” She shook her head. “That she wasn’t here anymore. I felt it. Does that make sense?”

I nodded as I set out two mugs, two tea bags, a sugar spoon, and the creamer. “I’ve heard of that kind of thing before.”

She looked relieved that I didn’t think she was crazy.

“So, I’m probably better off than most would be in this situation,” she said. “I already went through my grieving period when she first went missing. But finding her like that…it’s a bit of a shock.”

A bit
—an understatement.

“To know that she’d probably been there all along is just eating at me.” Her gaze flicked up to me. “The police think the broken air-conditioning is why she”—she gulped—“mummified. It was the perfect temperature, plus being under all that stuff…That’s why we never smelled anything.”

I couldn’t believe she could talk about this so openly.

Tilda nudged Elodie’s chin with the top of her head. I’d never seen the cat so cuddly. Could she possibly sense Elodie’s inner turmoil and be trying to console her?

I eyed her. I had my doubts. Tilda was all about Tilda.

The kettle began to hiss and whistle low. I pulled it off the heat before it became too loud and poured hot water into the mugs. I dunked the tea bags and pushed a mug her way.
Why is she here?

Drawing in a deep breath, she inhaled the steam from her mug and said, “Do you know about the Anicula?” She held my gaze. Suddenly, she looked older than her twenty-four years.

“Just found out about it today.”

She scratched under Tilda’s ears, and I could hear purring.
“People are bound to talk about it since Mom’s been found. You should have heard all the gossip when she went missing. The rumors.” She sipped from her mug, dunked her bag, added more sugar, and sipped some more.

“About?” I asked, being blatantly nosy.

“About how my mother had brought on whatever happened to her. That she misused the Anicula. That she was cursed.”

“Any truth to that?”

Her eyebrows snapped downward. “Not possible. My mother respected the Anicula too much. It’s very powerful. Life-changing,” she whispered. Her gaze flicked to me. “I think whoever killed my mother wanted the Anicula.”

“Who knew about it?” I asked.

“Just about every Crafter who knows my family. Some mortals, not a lot.”

“Mortals know about the Anicula? It’s not limited to the Craft?”

She shook her head. “The powers given to charms, talismans, and amulets are created for everyone, mortals and Crafters alike, to use. However, Crafters usually keep the really special charms to themselves.”

“I had no idea,” I said.

“But here’s the real kicker. My mother didn’t even have the Anicula when she disappeared. Someone had stolen it six months before.”

Yvonne’s theory that Patrice had made up that story ran through my head. “Are you sure it was really stolen?”

Elodie sighed. “You’ve been talking to Yvonne.”

Guilty, I nodded.

“There are a lot of people who thought my mother was lying about the Anicula being stolen, but she wasn’t. Someone broke in and stole it. Took it right off her neck when she was sleeping.”

It didn’t sound likely—who slept that deeply? But then I thought about Ve upstairs and the Mack truck and realized it was entirely possible.

Elodie gripped her mug. “Darcy, I want to hire you, through As You Wish, to find my mother’s killer.”

I could feel my mouth drop open. “I, ah—” Our motto of no job too big or too small might just prove impossible after all. “We’re not private investigators, Elodie. I would need a license for that.”

She stood up, still holding Tilda. “It doesn’t have to be a formal investigation. I just want you to ask a few questions. Snoop around. Everyone in the village knows you played a big role in finding Alexandra Shively’s murderer a couple of months ago. I just want you to do the same for my mom.” Setting Tilda on the floor, Elodie stretched and headed for the door.

I wanted to ask her about the fight she’d had with her mother, but before I could, she said, “You’ll start as soon as possible?”

What could I do but accept? I nodded.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m counting on you, Darcy, to help me find out what happened to my mom.” After a brief second, she said, “She would have liked you.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d gotten myself into. I followed her into the mudroom, where she pulled open the door, stepped out, then abruptly turned around.

“Oh, and, Darcy? If you’re really all that concerned about having proper licensing to snoop around, you might want to see Marcus Debrowski. He can probably help you out.”

Help me…
magically
. It was something to think about.

I
barely slept at all and woke up early the next morning with a lot on my mind. Dawn was slipping under my window shade, and now that it was light out and I felt relatively safe from any big bad wolves lurking out there, I unlocked the window and lifted the sash a few inches.

I slipped on my glasses and glanced out over the village green, blinking when I saw a man standing under the birch tree across the street, near Mrs. Pennywhistle’s bench (her favorite sunning spot). His silhouette was in shadow, but he was tall with dark hair. From this distance—I squinted—he looked a little bit like Vincent Paxton, former murder suspect, owner of Lotions and Potions, and Seeker. When I’d waved to him in the Sorcerer’s Stove yesterday, I’d never expected him to stake out my house.