Be Careful What You Witch For (A Family Fortune Mystery) (4 page)

6

A few minutes later, Mac’s signature knock sounded on the door. “Great,
now
he’s here,” I muttered to myself. I had hoped for a romantic evening at home before I acquired a teenager. Mac and I hadn’t had much time together since we decided to try again with our relationship. Our plan for secrecy made it all the more difficult. Seth was the only person who knew we were dating—he’d seen Mac giving me a good-bye kiss one evening and straight-out asked me about him. Then in the fall, Mac got involved in a murder case in Grand Rapids. An extended stay in Saginaw followed while he wrapped up old business before resigning from that force for good and joining the Ottawa County Sheriff’s Department full-time. We’d been on a couple of dates in the past few weeks before the festival duties had sucked me back in. We were elevating the “taking it slow” idea to a whole new level.

Mac didn’t wait to be invited in but drew me into a long kiss on the front porch. My knees started to feel like liquid as he steered me inside toward the staircase.

“Oh man, this again?” Seth said from the landing.

Mac jerked away from me and I almost fell backward onto the bottom step.

“Seth?” Mac peered up the stairs.

“Hey.” Seth raised one hand and let it drop. It had taken a long time for Seth to not snap to attention in Mac’s presence. A few moments like this one had led him to believe Mac was just a guy after all and not someone to be feared.

Mac looked at me.

I shrugged. “Surprise?”

“I didn’t know you were expecting Seth,” Mac said, a formal note creeping in.

“It was a last-minute thing—”

“I wanted to surprise—”

Seth and I began at the same time. I held my hand up like a traffic cop.

“Seth wanted to come to the last day of the festival. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” I looked at Seth as I said this so he would know it was my rapidly cobbled cover story. As usual Seth caught on right away.

“Huh. Well, it’s good to see you again, Seth. Is that Tuffy up there with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here.” Seth gestured behind him where the dog was cowering.

“He did okay on the plane? I thought he freaked out when you flew home with him in August.”

Leave it to Mac to remember every detail I wished he would forget.

“They came by car,” I said, and tried to steer Mac back into the living room. I hadn’t prepped Seth about not telling anyone, especially Mac, that he had basically run away. Law enforcement officers take that sort of thing seriously.

“Well, I’m going to bed. Night.” Seth and his companion retreated down the hallway.

Mac craned his neck to be sure they were gone.

He put his arm around my shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “This kind of puts a dent in my plans for the evening.”

His proximity and scent of pine trees had me cursing Seth’s timing.

“Mine, too.” I turned toward him and was just settling my arms around his neck when the doorbell rang. My porch hadn’t seen this much traffic in one night since Mom, Vi, and Diana had marshaled the neighbors to do a smudging to remove any traces of the old owner’s spirit after I moved in.

I opened the door to Tom Andrews. Tall and lanky, with dark hair and brown eyes, he flashed a sheepish grin.

“Clyde, sorry to bother you so late but I . . .” He trailed off as Mac stepped into the doorframe.

Tom
did
snap to attention when he spotted his boss.

“Detective McKenzie! I didn’t know you were here.”

“What is it, Andrews?”

“Oh, well . . .” He looked from me to Mac and back again. “I wanted to ask Clyde about something.”

“You know I don’t want you including civilians in another murder case. This better not be about the death in the woods.” Mac took a step forward, not that any further intimidation was necessary. I cleared my throat to remind him not to threaten.

“No, sir.” Tom stepped back. “I just got a report about a young teen traveling with a small dog. I came to see if Clyde thought it could be Seth.”

My shoulders slumped, and I could feel the heat of Mac’s stare on the back of my head.

“Why would you get a report about Seth?” Mac asked.

“I’m not sure it was Seth.” Tom warmed to his tale and stepped inside. “The report just said a bus driver in Kalamazoo reported a teenager had smuggled a dog onto a bus. He thought they looked a bit lost. He went to find the kid at the bus station but couldn’t. Then he got to thinking about it and reported a possible runaway.” Tom took a breath to continue, looked from me to Mac, and stopped.

“Clyde, did Seth run away from home?” Mac asked.

“Not exactly.” I gave Mac my most winning smile. “He came to visit me . . . without his parents’ knowledge.”

Mac smiled back, but in a threatening way. “Call your sister—I don’t want the NYPD dealing with a false missing persons claim.”

“She doesn’t know he’s missing yet,” I said.

Mac closed his eyes for a few seconds.

“Seth told her he was staying with a friend,” I said.

“When are you planning on telling his mother where he is?” Mac’s jaw was clamped so tight, I was worried about his molars.

“I’ll call her tomorrow.” I glanced at Tom, who looked devastated that he’d caused trouble. “It’ll be fine. Seth is safe, he’s with family. Grace won’t mind.”

Mac stared at me for a moment to let me know he didn’t buy that for a second.

“Um, I’ll just be going now.” Tom backed onto the porch and tripped over the large pumpkin left over from Halloween. He caught himself on the porch railing before squashing it.

After watching to be sure he’d made it safely off the porch, I shut the door and turned to Mac. “Do you think he suspected?” I asked.

Mac shook his head. “I doubt it. His detective skills are still in the . . . development stage.”

“Wanna beer?” I asked.

Mac shook his head. “No, I should be going.” He looked up the stairs. “And I have a lot of interviews lined up tomorrow on this Godwin case.”

He pulled me in for another kiss and I was just forgetting everything else when I heard feet pounding on the stairs.

“Clyde—oh . . . still? I thought I heard the door close.” Seth stood halfway down the stairs examining the walls, the ceiling, the banister, anything to keep from looking at Mac and me.

Mac released me. He sighed, saluted Seth, and went out the front door.

7

Even with the extra hour that the end of daylight saving time had given us, the next morning was more hectic than usual with another dog to walk and a teenager to wake up. It took more than one try. Calling pleasantly from the hallway didn’t work. Calling less pleasantly from the doorway didn’t work. Then I tossed some dog treats onto the bed and watched the melee ensue. It brought back memories of when Seth and I had been thrust together as partners in a dog-walking business engineered by Vi. Though I gave up the dog-walking when Seth went back to New York, I regularly missed hanging out with Seth and the dogs.

After breakfast and a quick walk with the dogs, we piled in the Jeep to go pick up Diana. She’d called to ask for a ride to the festival. Dylan’s junker had broken down again and he needed to borrow her VW.

Both cars were in the driveway when we pulled up, so I parked in the street.

Diana lived in a small chalet-looking house that was partly obscured by vines and trees. It was the same house she’d lived in since moving to Crystal Haven as a kindergartner. Her mother had planted herbs, flowers, and shrubs over the years. Diana loved plants and couldn’t bring herself to prune or cut down anything. It showed in the spring when the vegetation launched its campaign to take over the yard. Alex had been known to sneak over to her house when she was at work and “clean up.” Now, in the fall, the foliage was subdued, the beautiful colors fading. Still, the deep shadows made me feel that they were all just biding their time until their world domination.

Seth and I climbed the stone steps to the porch and I raised my hand to knock when I heard Dylan’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Why can’t you just trust me on this?” His voice was hard, angry.

I couldn’t hear a reply.

“He wasn’t as great as you thought. Seeing the good in people is one thing, being blind to true evil is another.”

Seth’s eyes had become round, he looked back longingly at the Jeep. Before I could offer any reassurance, the door flew open and Dylan stood there, his head turned away to shout, “Whatever!” He spun back around and I watched as his face reassembled itself from anger to confusion to an uncomfortable smile. He was my height with straight black hair that he wore spiked all over his head. He had a gold hoop in one eyebrow, which drew attention to his gold-brown eyes. Diana stood just behind him in the hallway, her orange curls and bright green eyes denying the sibling relationship. The only thing they shared was their mother’s upturned nose and creative sensitivity. Diana’s mouth formed a circle of surprise.

“Hi, Clyde.” Dylan hooked his thumb over his shoulder and shrugged. “Just some sibling bickering.”

It sounded a bit more heated than their usual squabbles but I smiled in return.

Dylan was looking at Seth, obviously trying to place him.

“This is my nephew, Seth,” I said. “You haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Seth?” Dylan held his hand out at waist height. The last time they’d met, Seth had been wearing Harry Potter robes and clutching a wand.

Seth raised his hand in greeting.

“Sorry, dude. Don’t you hate it when people remember you as only a little kid?” Dylan put his fist out and Seth bumped it with his own. The male greeting ritual complete, I gestured at the door.

“Oh, yeah. Come in.” He held the door wide, glanced at Diana, and said, “Later.”

Dylan bounded down the steps and hopped into the VW. It sprayed gravel as he pulled out.

Diana gave a wobbly smile. “Seth, I didn’t expect you. . . .”

“Seth really wanted to be here for the last day of the festival,” I said.

Seth nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. I better go check on the guys.” He gestured toward the car and hastily retreated. He was remarkably good at sensing the mood in a room and avoiding uncomfortable situations.

After he shut the door, I turned to Diana, who already had her hand up.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

I doubted that. “Okay, what?”

“You’re going to say Dylan doesn’t appreciate me and he doesn’t respect me and I shouldn’t let him take advantage.”

I shook my head. We had argued enough about her brother over the years and I had thought all that more than once. “No, I’ve already said all those things.” I let out a breath and met her gaze. “I was going to ask who Dylan thinks is evil.”

Diana twirled one of her fingers through a ginger curl and bit her lower lip.

“It’s Rafe.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He’s had it in for Rafe since my parents died. It’s the reason he left town in such a hurry after their funeral.”

That explained
some
things, like why Dylan hadn’t stuck by his sister, and why she had tolerated it. I gestured toward the living room. A brother hating a murder victim felt like a sit-down conversation.

“You never told me that. I knew they didn’t always get along but I thought that was because Rafe tried to step in as a substitute father. I figured Dylan resented it and just wanted to get away.” I sat next to her on the couch.

“I think he did feel that way. And initially, that’s what I thought as well. A few years ago, Dylan came here for a long weekend. You were already in Ann Arbor by then.” She stopped and looked down at her lap before continuing. “He found Rafe here having dinner and they fought. I don’t even know what it was about, to be honest, but
they
sure did. Dylan said something about knowing what Rafe had done. Rafe just laughed. That made Dylan even angrier.” She stared into space, her brow wrinkled. “Anyway, Rafe left in a hurry and Dylan wouldn’t tell me what he was talking about—until last night.”

“What?” I put my hand on hers.

She took a deep breath. “He thinks Rafe killed my parents.”

I pulled my hand away and stood up. “Is he serious?”

“He claims he has proof. He came back this week to confront Rafe, not for the festival.”

I didn’t like where my thoughts were leading me. If the bread had been doctored with peanuts, Dylan had been given multiple opportunities to do that. He’d been with Diana for the whole week.

“Do you know if he ever did confront Rafe?”

She shook her head. “He says they never had the chance to talk alone. He says Rafe was avoiding him. It’s certainly true that I didn’t see much of Rafe this week while Dylan was here.”

“Has he told you what this proof is?”

“It has something to do with a grimoire that my father found just before he died.”

“A grimoire?”

Diana rolled her eyes at me and huffed. “A Book of Shadows? A spell book?”

“Oh, like the one you write all your spells and potions in? Isn’t it just a notebook?”

Diana got up from the couch and went into the kitchen. She returned holding a spiral notebook, its pages stained, the cover filled with doodles.

“This is my working notebook, or grimoire. I write down the mixtures of herbs and the words to say for different spells. If I come up with something I like, I add it to the family grimoire. It’s kind of like a family recipe book. Ours has been passed down for five generations through my mother’s side. In my family it always passed to the oldest daughter.”

“Why haven’t you ever shared this with me before?” I sat on the couch again.

Diana shrugged. “I sort of figured you knew we had one, and I’ve shown you some of the books I’ve used in the past. But, mostly, because it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Still, old secret books are the kind of thing you tell your best friend . . .” I was mostly kidding but should have known better and realized Diana would take me seriously in her current mood.

“It’s not like you ever expressed an interest in anything Wicca.” She sat down, hard. “Your mother acts like I’m either crazy or deeply misguided most of the time, and Vi has been secretly asking for the lottery numbers for years. She seems to think I can do a ‘winning spell.’” Diana’s face got pink and her hair seemed to get bigger, and curlier.

“I was just kidding. Calm down.” I reached for the notebook and then stopped myself. “May I?”

She nodded and handed it over.

“First of all, my mother looks at
everyone
as if they’re crazy or misguided. She looks at me like I’m crazy, misguided,
and
ungrateful. Try living with that.” I thought for a moment. “There’s really nothing to say about Vi.”

I flipped through the book, which was filled with Diana’s perfect printing. She’d even sketched some of the plants she used. When I got to a spell about how to see your future, I flipped it shut.

I took a deep breath. “I’ve been keeping something from you as well.”

She took the book back and waited.

“I’ve noticed a few times in the past, when you’ve done spells with me, that they seem to cause the dreams.”

“You mean
those
dreams?”

I nodded. Diana knew how I felt about my psychic abilities. The dreams and occasional visions came unbidden and were, frankly, unwelcome. I had been trying for years to get them to stop. It was the main argument I had with my family—they thought I was throwing away a gift. Like a singer who wouldn’t sing, or a star pitcher who preferred knitting to baseball. Mom and Vi, who wished they had inherited my grandmother’s talent, constantly nagged me to “focus on my gift.” What they didn’t understand was that rather than feeling empowered by the knowledge, I felt helpless. The dreams were always bad news and I had never been able to change the outcome.

“Oh, Clyde. I’m sorry. I only did spells with you for protection. I never did anything meant to bring on your dreams.”

“I should have told you, but it didn’t come up that often.” I grabbed her hand. “You can’t tell anyone about this. If my mom and Vi get wind of it, they’ll become Wiccans. Can you imagine the spells Vi would come up with?”

Diana laughed. “They would certainly put their own spin on it.”

“But what does this grimoire have to do with Dylan and Rafe?”

“Dylan claims that Rafe and my dad had a fight about a grimoire my dad found. You remember my dad had the used bookstore and he was always haunting garage sales and estate sales for old books?”

“Sort of.” What I mostly remembered about Elliot Ward was his sense of humor. He loved to tell jokes followed by a deep, rolling laugh that forced you to join in no matter how terrible the joke.

“Rafe was at our house for dinner about a week before my parents died. I wasn’t there, but apparently the three of them were drinking and reminiscing. Dylan was outside shooting baskets and came in for a Coke. They must not have heard him come in, because he overheard them arguing about a book.”

“Why would they argue about a grimoire?”

“Dylan wondered the same thing. He walked down the hallway so he could see what they were doing in the living room. The volume was ancient and falling apart, like an old family Bible. My dad was showing Rafe something toward the back and then he slammed it shut and said, ‘You’re done.’”

I sat back on the couch. It sounded like a threat, but Elliot was one of the gentlest people I had ever known.

“What do you think it meant?”

“Dylan thought there was a spell in the book and my dad was threatening Rafe with it. But now he has a new theory—” Diana’s phone buzzed in her pocket.

Her eyes grew wide when she answered. “We’ll be right there.”