A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery (19 page)

Pepe waved his paw. “
Non
,
non
. The more important query is why were you atop a garbage can?”

“Or, perhaps,” Godfrey said with a chuckle, “we do not want to know.”

“I want to know,” Harper said, sitting in a deep leather chair. “Spill it.”

“Which part?” I said, teasing them. “The part where Ve thought Sylar might be dead inside the shop and told me to break in? Or the part where I found shredded wedding invitations in the trash? Or”—I drew out the word—“the part where I saw Dorothy proposition Sylar with a steamy kiss?”

“Ew,” Harper said.

“Ew,” Godfrey echoed, shuddering.

Pepe whistled. “Perhaps you should explain all three.”

I did. And asked them, too, if I should tell Ve what I had seen.

“Definitely,” Harper said. “Since you’ve been blabbing about it all around town, it’s bound to get back to her.”

I opened my mouth to debate the word “blabbing” when I realized she was right. I had been. I sat on the ottoman. “I’ve turned into the town gossip.”

“No,
ma chère
; that is Archie’s title. You’re seeking counsel. There is a difference.”

Harper snorted. “A subtle one.”

I frowned. I was going to have to tell Ve. I put my head in my hand and looked at them. “I should probably also tell you about the threats.”

“What threats?” Harper balled her fists like she was getting ready to throw a punch on my behalf.

“From Dorothy.” I recounted what had happened behind the shop.

“I never liked that woman,” Godfrey said.

Pepe laughed. “Only enough to ask her to marry you.”

My eyes widened. “What?”

“Temporary insanity,” Godfrey said, tucking away his pins. “I had sense enough to call it off.”

“When was this?” Harper sat on the edge of her seat.

Godfrey stroked his snow-white beard. “Between her second and third husbands, about ten years ago.”

“Why did you call it off?” I asked, ducking into the changing room. I carefully took off my dress, trying to avoid the pins.

“Oh, the usual reasons,” Godfrey said. “It was clear she was in love with Sylar, even back then. She was always stealing my supplies for her hobbies, of which she had many. And she tried to burn down my house.”

I poked my head over the curtain. “Seriously?”

“A wee little fire.” Godfrey didn’t sound too traumatized by the event.

“My tail was singed while putting out the flames,” Pepe said with dismay. “I loathe that woman.”

“Was she arrested?” Harper asked.

“No. No.” Godfrey took the dress I handed out. “I didn’t press charges.”

“Why not?” Harper demanded.

“Simple,” Godfrey said. “She said if I did, she would return with a gallon of gasoline.”

I came out of the dressing room. “And you believed her?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asked.

I recalled the look in her eye when she warned me and suddenly felt queasy. “She really is crazy, then.”

“Oh,
oui
,” Pepe said. “It’s best you heed her warning and keep your distance.”

Unfortunately, that was going to be impossible. “Is she a Crafter?”

Godfrey said, “A Broomcrafter.”

Harper and I stared at him. I’d never heard the term.

He waved his hands. “You know, she makes witches’ brooms. So we can fly?”

Harper lit up. “We can really fly on brooms?”

Oh, dear Lord. She was going to be doing loopdeloops in the night sky before I knew it. Another thing to worry about.

“Alas, only on certain dates,” he said.

I was grateful he didn’t elaborate and hoped beyond hope that Harper would let the matter drop. My mind was whirling with all this information about Dorothy, doing its own loopdeloops. “Is it possible she can cast a recantation spell?”

“Certainly,” Pepe said. “Any Crafter can if she knows the proper spell.”

“What are you thinking?” Harper asked, eyeing me warily.

I tied my sneaker. “I’m just wondering if Dorothy is the reason why Ve isn’t getting better.”

We all sat in silence for a moment, weighing the gravity of my statement.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Godfrey finally said. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

L
ater that night, the Sorcerer’s Stove was quiet as Harper and I entered.

She said, “By the way, I couldn’t find any reports online about any woodcarving serial killers.”

“Good to know.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should let your guard down.”

“Okay.”

“Wood shavings,” she muttered. “It’s just plain strange.”

Several tourists and a couple of locals sat eating dinner. The bartender was cleaning glasses and looked at us hopefully as we approached.

“Sorry,” I said. “We’re here for the cooking class.”

Harper said, “Speak for yourself. I need a drink.” She climbed onto a stool.

I pulled her off. “After the class. Your knife skills are dangerous enough without involving alcohol.”

The bartender, a young woman named Ula, said, “I’ll be here. And there will probably be plenty of seats.”

“Why’s it so quiet?” Harper asked as we headed toward the kitchen.

Jonathan stood near the demonstration kitchen, talking to an official-looking man with a clipboard.

I didn’t want to mention the food poisoning issue to Harper if she hadn’t yet heard about it. I was afraid she might turn around and walk out the door. “Probably just a slow night.”

The cooking class was from seven to eight. After that, we had plans to stake out Vincent Paxton’s house to see if he might be the Peeper Creeper.

Jonathan greeted us with a smile, looking none the worse for wear after his episode behind the restaurant this afternoon. Which was to say, he didn’t look
worse
. He still looked terribly unwell.

Jonathan didn’t make introductions to his clipboarded friend, but as we passed, I saw a badge clipped to his shirt that read
HEALTH INSPECTOR
.

Uh-oh
.

The demonstration kitchen was small, but big enough for eight cooking students. Three long and wide peninsulas designed in a U shape filled the room. Two of them, the legs of the U, had four stations apiece, and the bottom of the U was where Zoey Wilkens stood in a spotless white chef’s jacket and toque, prepping ingredients. She barely looked up as we came in, and I noticed stress lines creasing her forehead, drawing down on the corners of her mouth.

No wonder. The health inspector had the power to close down the restaurant. I thought back to Jonathan’s explanation of his and Zoey’s argument. That it had been a business dispute.

Had he been telling the truth? Was there something going on with the restaurant that would involve the police
and
the health inspector?

Zoey looked up and managed a smile. “Come in. Come in.”

Marcus nodded to me from his spot at one of the tables, and I held in a smile as I went and sat next to him. He’d taken almost all my advice from this morning.
Gone were his tightly pressed suit and tie, his shiny loafers. He was wearing dark jeans, blue suede sneakers, and an argyle sweater vest. His hair was gently tousled, sticking up in little tufts. The only thing he hadn’t done was remove his contacts in favor of glasses.

“Good job,” I whispered. He was utterly adorable. “But where are your glasses?”

He leaned in and whispered, “They need adjustment and Third Eye was closed. Hi, Harper,” he said as she sidled up next to me.

She did a double-take, and I really had to bite my lip to keep in my smile as her eyes filled with sudden interest in the lawyer.

I knew my sister well.

As she did me. Her gaze shifted to me. Her eyes had filled with suspicion as she said, “Marcus, I barely recognized you.”

“Really?” he said, playing dumb.

“The clothes…” Her cheeks were turning a soft pink.

Being bribed had never felt so good. The only thing left was for my sister to say yes to a date with Marcus and my PI license would be on its way.

“This is the casual me,” he said. “Did you think I wore suits all the time?”

She coughed. “No, no. Of course not.”

I was silently gloating when the next student walked into the room. I hoped my gasp of surprise wasn’t too loud.

Vincent Paxton gave a friendly wave and took a spot on the other side of us, next to Harmony Atchinson, the owner of the Pixie Cottage, and two villagers, Angela and Colleen Curtis—a mother and daughter I’d seen around but had never met. We all said friendly helloes as we investigated our ingredients.

A few minutes before seven, Starla rushed in, completely out of breath, as if she’d run the whole way.

“I’m here!” she cried, quite unnecessarily, and took the only empty spot left—next to Harper. Starla leaned forward. “Marcus! Hubba-hubba.”

“Indeedy-Pete,” Harmony echoed. “If I wasn’t taken…”

“I’m sitting here,” Angela said to her, good-naturedly.

Harmony put her arm around her. “I said
if
.”

I smiled at the pair, who I’d had no idea were a couple.

Colleen, who looked to be nineteen or twenty, rolled her eyes.

Marcus smiled, laughed, and blushed. “Thanks.”

Harper snapped her head to look at Starla, as if weighing whether she was competition.

Starla was oblivious to the scrutiny. “Vince! You like to cook?”

I wondered how her date had gone with Lazarus Woodshall. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her since this morning—which felt like an eternity ago.

“I have no idea,” Vince admitted. He had big puppy-dog eyes, tousled hair, and a nerdy air about him. Harper had once had a crush on him, but it hadn’t lasted long. “But I know I can’t afford to keep eating out. That’s why I’m here. I need all the help I can get. I can burn water.”

“Been there, done that,” Starla said. “The pan never recovered. Thankfully, Evan does most of the cooking.”

Both siblings were Cross-Crafters (part Bakecrafter, part Wishcrafter), but Evan had inherited the bulk of baking abilities and Starla the ability to grant wishes. Her baking skills were terrible, and Evan’s wish-granting was extremely limited.

Not that she’d say anything about that aloud. We were in mixed company. Vince was a Seeker, and though I was pretty sure Harmony was a Crafter, I didn’t know about the Curtises.

I glanced at Zoey. I wasn’t sure about her, either.
Jonathan was a Foodcrafter. Was she? Her skills certainly rivaled his in the kitchen.

“Darcy,” Harmony said, “is it true that Evan ran into the Peeper Creeper in the woods behind your house?”

“What?” Starla said. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“Probably the same reason he hadn’t heard about your date.” They were keeping secrets from each other. There seemed to be a lot of that going on in the village lately.

It was Starla’s turn to flush.

“Date?” Angela asked, latching on to this latest development. “With whom?”

Starla waved her hand in dismissal. “Doesn’t matter.” She glanced around nervously. “Isn’t it time to start?”

I glanced across the U to find Vince frowning at his bowls of fruit, but I wasn’t sure what had caused his change of demeanor.

“Almost,” Zoey said. “We’re just waiting on Jonathan.” She looked toward the door and bit her lip. “You’ll see you have several options for the tartlet. Pears, apples, or apricots. Or you can go wild and mix and match. The choice is yours.”

She drummed her fingers on the countertop and looked at the clock again.

Harmony said, “Darcy, what’s it really like inside Patrice’s house? Is it as messy as everyone’s saying?”

I wasn’t really comfortable talking about business. “Let’s just say she liked to collect things.”

Colleen leaned forward. “I heard she has all kinds of jewelry in there. Gems and stuff.”

“Some,” I said.

“What was the call today about some opals being stolen?” Angela asked. When I looked at her with a question in my eyes, she said, “I have a police scanner.”

“Opals were stolen from Patrice’s today?” Marcus asked.

I said, “They’ve been recovered and are back where they belong.”

“Who took them?” Colleen asked.

Harper said loudly, “Zoey, why is the health department here?”

Sometimes I loved my sister more than I could express.

“The health department is here?” Angela asked, glancing around. “You don’t have rats again, do you?”

“Rats?” I gasped, resisting the urge to hop atop my station. Ve had mentioned a rodent problem, but I’d been picturing a mouse or two—and they’d looked a lot like Pepe.

Zoey broke out in a sweat. She wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve, disturbing the little blond hairs that poked out from beneath her hat. Her blue eyes had grown wide. “No, we don’t have rats.”

“But you
had
rats?” Harper asked.

“I’ll be right back,” Zoey said, wiping her hands on a towel. She rushed out of the room.

Harper looked from face to face. “They had rats?”

“Hundreds,” Harmony said, shuddering. “I had to put my permanent article relocation on hold for a long time after that.”

What Harmony called “permanent article relocation” others called “Dumpster diving.” Her hobby had come in handy a few months ago when she overheard something that helped solve a murder investigation.

Angela nodded. “It was an epidemic. The restaurant was forced to close, kids couldn’t walk to school, and all the businesses in the village suffered when the tourists got word.”

“Evan was on twenty-four-hour alert,” Starla said, “trying to keep them out of the bakery. It was horrible.”

“I remember that,” Vince said. “It was what, two years ago? Three?”

“Two and a half,” Colleen said. “I was a senior, and I was so glad I could drive to school instead of having to take a shuttle bus like the younger kids. Homecoming was canceled, though, because of all the rats under the bleachers.” She pouted. “I was up for homecoming queen.”

Angela patted her arm in sympathy.

I had been thinking that the term “epidemic” was a bit of an exaggeration, but now I wondered if it wasn’t extremely accurate.

“What happened to them all? The rats?” Harper, I noticed, had her gaze glued to the floor as though a rodent might run by at any moment. She had a history with rats—having freed dozens of them from a science lab in college. Not that there had been enough evidence to charge her with anything.