The Old Witcheroo (8 page)

“Gosh, you make it sound so final, Detective Moore. I hope you don’t mean done-done, as in forever. What would my life be like without you in it?” I teased.

“Of course you are, Detective… Simone, is it?” Luis asked on a chuckle, reminding them he was in on my joke.

I giggled and shook my head as I began to rise. “No. he’s Sipowicz. You know, cranky, easily riled. They’re easy to confuse.”

“Riiight,” Luis drawled, winking at me before he double-checked with Detective Montgomery. “Are we sure we’re done, Detective?”

“We’re done,” Detective Montgomery said, but this time he wasn’t smiling.

Luis held out his dapperly clad arm to me. “Shall we, Miss Cartwright?”

I wagged my fingers over my shoulder and grinned at the pair. “So until the next pointless interrogation? TTFN, guys!”

As Luis escorted me toward the front of the station, I apologized for making him leave his dinner for nothing, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “You pay me quite well. No apology necessary. Besides, you saved me from ordering dessert.” He patted his non-existent belly with a chuckle. “Now let’s get you home. You’ve had a trying day, no doubt. And my apologies about your acquaintance. So tragic.”

Just as we were stepping out the door to the station, three officers charged in, along with Officer Gorton, who, if at all possible, looked even worse than he had earlier, making me pause.

I wasn’t as familiar with these two officers as I was with Sandwich and Officer Nelson, but Officer Gorton appeared pretty frazzled, or maybe a better word was defeated, disappointed. Beaten. Yeah. He looked beaten.

He had something in his hand in a Ziploc bag, which he set on his desk with great reluctance, judging by how hesitant his movements came across, and as I got a closer look (okay, I stood on my tiptoes to see what was in the bag. I did say I was nosy), I saw it was a gun.

Now if that didn’t make me pause, the unfamiliar officer’s words did.

The tall blond one, lanky, with limbs like spaghetti, shook his head when the shorter, baby-faced guy mumbled, “Can’t even believe we found that at Nelson’s.”

“You think it’s the murder weapon?” Spaghetti Limbs asked.

The baby-faced officer’s eyes went grim. “Looks like it’s been fired recently, and it’s the same caliber bullet used to kill Sophia. A 9mm.”

I fought a loud groan.

Have I mentioned I really hate this day?

“
U
gh,” I sighed, letting my head rest on my Madam Zoltar table. It was the morning after Sophia’s murder and I hadn’t heard a single peep from Officer Nelson, but that gun those two officers had found last night had troubled me something fierce, leaving me with a fitful night of nightmares.

“We should have cancelled appointments today, Dove. You’re exhausted,” Win chastised.

“If
I’m
tired, just imagine how Dana feels, Win. No rest until we find Sophia’s killer.” I was so distraught about this gun they’d found, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

“Are we sure those blokes said it was Officer Nelson’s? One hundred percent?”

I nodded, blowing out an anxious breath of air. “I heard the guy who doesn’t look old enough to have graduated the phase of cuddles and warm milk before bed, let alone be a police officer, say they found it at Dana’s. The gun they had matched the kind of gun used to kill Sophia.”

“And where is Officer Nelson? Why can’t we locate him?”

“Well, if he knows they found a gun at his house, and it looks like it might be the same gun used to murder Sophia, I’d bet he’s pretty freaked out. So I’m going to hope his not getting in touch with me means he’s flown the coop. He said they’d look at him hard, but I don’t think he thought for one second they’d find anything, let alone a gun.”

Was that what he’d meant by looking hard at him? Had he, in his rush to cover up a murder, forgotten the murder weapon?

No. That was absolutely mad. I know I should be looking at all angles, even the possibility that Dana was guilty, but he wasn’t stupid. Being a cop, he’d been around plenty of crime scenes, knew all the ways not to get caught. He’d never leave behind evidence so damning—especially evidence so easily found by two newb cops.

“No,” Win defended Dana. “Officer Nelson wouldn’t run away. He’s many things, difficult, inflexible, yes. But he’s no coward. Officer Nelson comes from fine stock—fine, honorable stock.”

I was clinging to that. Clinging so hard my fingers were numb. I hated what this evidence said, what it would do. “Then why was there a gun at his house, Win? The same type of gun used to kill Sophia? A gun Baby-Face says looked like it was recently fired? Whywhywhywhywhy?” I groaned again.

“I don’t know. Maybe Baby-Face doesn’t know his guns from his arse and he was just speculating. But I can assure you, Officer Nelson is no silly knob. He’s a policeman. Would someone well-versed in crime scenes actually do something as stupid as leave a gun he’d used just lying around so his colleagues could find it? That’s absurd. I’m convinced if that is indeed the gun used to kill Sophia, it was a plant.”

I checked my phone for the hundredth time in an hour to see if Dana had texted me something—anything. But there was nothing. “I just don’t know what to think anymore, Win. You’re right; it’s too obvious, just leaving evidence like that lying around. But who would frame Dana for murder?”

“I don’t know, Dove. What I do know, is we have an appointment with Merrily Watson in five minutes. Can you devote your full attention to her needs or will you lose focus with Officer Nelson weighing so heavily on your mind?”

I raised a tired hand and readjusted my turban. “I’ll be fine. She should be easy enough. She just wants to contact her sister Hester about some recipe for blueberry jam she can’t seem to locate.”

The town’s end-of-summer fair was coming up, and the Watson sisters (who’d quite rebelliously, some would say scandalously, kept their maiden names even after marriage) made jam that was always a huge hit. They never failed to sell out. Since Hester Watson died, Merrily had floundered without her sister’s assistance in the kitchen.

The grand prize at the fair was at stake, an all-expense-paid vacation to Maui and two thousand dollars. And even though Merrily very loudly proclaimed she thought all mediums like me were the devil incarnate, she’d broken in her desperation to claim the grand prize she considered rightfully hers.

“All right then, while we have a few minutes, have you looked Sophia up on Google?”

“Got that covered, Winterbutt,” Belfry twittered. “Not a whole lot about her. In fact, almost nothing at all. Not even a Facebook page. No pictures of her or anything either, but she’s on LinkedIn as a librarian. She just turned thirty last month. Graduated high school in 2003, went to some online college to get her librarian’s degree. Likes hiking, glassblowing, romantic comedies, and cooking. Loves to read, especially spy novels like Clancy and such.”

“She doesn’t have a Facebook page?” I asked, astonished. “Who doesn’t have a Facebook page these days? Even Officer Nelson has a Facebook page.”

“I don’t have a Facebook page.”

“That’s because you’re dead, Winterbutt,” Bel teased.

“Maybe that was what Sophia was going to tell Dana—why she wouldn’t accept his proposal?”

“Because she didn’t have a Facebook page? That’s hardly a reason not to marry a bloke, Stevie.”

“No. I mean, maybe she was hiding something? Everyone I know, even Chester, has a Facebook page. She’s young. She grew up in the era of social media just like me. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t have one.”

“A valid point, indeed. One certainly worth looking into.”

“When we’re done with Merrily, maybe we should pay a visit to Sophia’s apartment? I’m sure the police have searched it, but I just feel like if I can absorb some of her vibe, get a feel for who she was privately, maybe I’ll be able to find some answers.”

“That’s those witch powers comin’ back, Boss,” Bel encouraged. “Told ya that farthead wasn’t gonna win.”

Whiskey barked his approval.

I chuckled. The farthead Bel was referring to was Adam Westfield, the man responsible for stealing my powers in the first place. A dead but still powerful warlock, who also took a run at taking me out just a couple of months ago.

If not for my mother, Dita, he’d have succeeded. I still can’t believe my mom saved me, but she had. Worse, I can’t believe I underestimated Adam Westfield’s wish to see me vanquished. He was playing for keeps. I shuddered to think what would happen to me if he managed to get me into the afterlife.

But he hadn’t totally won. I’d been having spurts of my old powers flash in and out, and one of those powers, the ability to feel a person’s emotions, all part of being a good medium, had popped back up recently. It was hit or miss, but it was worth a shot.

The chimes on the front door jangled, indicating Merrily Watson must have arrived, but instead I found Liza, the amazing recent college graduate who ran my store, smiling down at me.

I love Liza. She’s colorful and cheerful and her heart is made of pure gold. She’s who keeps this place running, especially during a busy summer like we’d had this year.

Liza is Madam Zoltar’s granddaughter, and remains one of my favorite people in the whole world.

She cocked her red, spiky head and patted my hand. “You look exhausted, Stevie,” she sympathized, pulling out a chair next to me to sit down. “I can cancel with Merrily, if you want to sneak out the back.”

But I dismissed her notion I was tired. “Nah. I’m fine. Listen, quick question about Sophia.”

Her eyes instantly went watery beneath her blue eyeliner. “Dang, sorry,” she apologized, swiping her thumb under her eye. “I really loved Sophia. I can’t even begin to tell you the kind of help she was when I was studying for my degree. As you know, I was really stressed when my grandmother died, and she was always ready to help find books I needed for a paper I was working on. I can’t believe someone would…”

“Me either, kiddo. So did you know much about her? Like where she came from, stuff like that?”

Liza chuckled. “Are you sleuthing again, lady? Haven’t you had enough being roughed up? The last time looked like you’d been part of a gang initiation. Don’t you have enough to do with this place to keep you busy?”

I gave her a weary grin. “You know I can’t help myself, Liza. But this is a valued member of our community. I won’t sleep until they catch whoever did this. I can’t bear the idea that Sophia’s killer is on the loose, and if I can help in some way then I will.”

“Nobody knows better than me,” Liza said on a smile. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the details about Sophia since yesterday, and it’s the darnedest thing, but I don’t ever remember her saying where she was from. And we had lots of conversations, too. But now that I look back, I guess they were mostly about me and my struggle to get through school, or we talked about whatever I was studying at the time. Geez. This should teach me to be less self-absorbed, huh?”

“I’m positive Sophia didn’t feel that way, Liza. She loved her patrons and she loved chatting with them. So one more question before I let you go. Did she buy a postcard here recently?”

Liza bobbed her head, her eyes bright. “You know, she did. She bought the one of the steamboat out in the Sound. The dinner cruise one. Said Officer Nelson had made plans for them to go sometime soon. She looked so happy, and the way she said his name…” Liza took a deep breath and let her head hang between her shoulders. “Well, it was obvious she was crazy about him.”

I gulped and nodded. “Did she mention who the postcard was for? Where she might be sending it?”

Liza looked stricken. “No, and I didn’t ask. I wish now I had. I read in the paper today no one knows where her family is. It makes my stomach hurt to think she has no one to give her a proper burial, Stevie. No one to remember her. So I decided to organize a candlelight memorial tonight at nine. On the steps at the library. Spread the word, would you, please?”

“I will. I’ll be there, in fact. Do you need help organizing anything?”

“Nope, Boss. We’re all good. Carlito and I took care of everything.”

Carlito and Liza had been dating for a couple of months now, and together as a couple, they always made me smile.

As Liza rose, I asked, “Anything else you remember that might be important? Any conversations at all about Officer Nelson she might have divulged? I don’t want to be nosy—well, not in
that
way, anyway, but anything would help at this point. For Dana’s sake, you know?”

“I get it. I wish I had more. If I think of something, I’ll give you a holler. Do you need me to stay to keep Miss Watson in line or can you handle the Jam Princess on your own?”

“I got this. You go do what needs to be handled for Sophia’s memorial and I’ll see you tonight.”

Liza dropped a quick kiss on my cheek, ruffled Whiskey on the head and was gone, just as Merrily Watson breezed in.

I rose and held out my hand to her, but she just sniffed her disapproval and waved me away, leaving only the scent of her favorite perfume, White Diamonds, in her wake.

Still, I smiled courteously anyway. “Can I get you anything, Miss Watson? Water? A cup of tea?”

She dropped her enormous black purse on the table with a plunk and sat down in the chair right next to mine, her wrinkled lips making a thin red slash across her face. “You can get me that recipe and get it fast. Maui waits.”

The rumor in town was that Merrily had very little to do with actually making the jam, and everything to do with taking the
credit
for making it away from her sister Hester. Now that Hester, the town champion for six years running, had moved on to the Great Beyond, and she could no longer donate her prize winnings to whatever charity held her favor, Merrily wanted to win—and she had no intention of donating anything.

Which was likely why Hester had hidden the recipe before she’d died to begin with.

I began as I always do with a pushy client like Merrily, as I gazed into her small eyes lavished with miles of blue eyeshadow, and gave her my disclaimer. “I did mention we might not make contact, didn’t I, Miss Watson? Sometimes the dearly departed don’t always want to come out and play.”