It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (13 page)

Starla gave me a sideways look, one full of curiosity. “You’ve heard of Dr. Goodwin?”

I left out the part about how I made his wife and daughter disappear, and tried to sound casual. “Aunt Ve mentioned something about him. Apparently, he’s popular around here?”

We had slowed to the pace of a fast walk. Starla’s fair skin had flushed a bright pink. “Very popular, and therefore booked up for the foreseeable future. Evan tried to get an appointment, but because he’s a new patient, it will be three months.”

“Even for an emergency?”

Starla rolled her eyes. “The receptionist said if it was an emergency to go to the emergency room.”

My heart was starting to beat harder. I successfully veered around a foraging squirrel. “That might not be a bad idea.”

“Trust me, I’ve suggested it. Boston has some of the best doctors in the world. But Evan is being stubborn—he keeps hoping his skin will clear on its own. Maybe he’ll listen to you. Are you still coming by today to see him?”

I nodded, although I felt guilty that I also needed to see if he had an alibi for the time of Alex’s death.

“Good. I really hope you can talk some sense into
him and get him to a doctor.” Huff, puff. “I hate to see him suffering.”

Maybe I could ask Cherise for a favor. After all, I knew she was a Curecrafter and I figured she owed me, using me the way she did to get her wishes granted.

There were no Craft laws against what Cherise had done other than ethical ones. Crafters were very aware that they shouldn’t take advantage of one another or their powers. I could only figure that Cherise was really desperate to piece her family back together to abuse my powers like she had.

Starla and I jog-walked in silence for a little bit before passing in front of Lotions and Potions. Starla craned her neck as we went by. “Did you hear about the break-in last night?” She glanced my way. “Evan and I were watching a movie, and heard all the hubbub.”

A cramp was starting somewhere near my liver. I pressed my hand into it and forced a wry smile. “A little bit. I was there.”

She came to a sudden stop, and her jaw dropped. “Details!”

I explained what had happened and hoped she didn’t notice the gaping holes in my story.

It didn’t escape my notice that she had specifically mentioned that she and Evan had been watching a movie when the burglar hit. Had mentioning it just been her being her normal friendly self? Or had it been because she wanted to give herself and Evan an alibi?

I hoped I wasn’t being too obvious when I asked, “Which movie were you watching? Anything good?”

She stumbled a bit, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, then righted herself. Her blond eyebrows rose, and a bead of sweat slid down the side of her face. “Something with Denzel Washington. Evan has a crush.”

“Don’t we all?”

She laughed. “Guns, running, shouting.” She shrugged as she trotted along. “I get all the titles mixed up.”

It sounded plausible, especially since I couldn’t keep those movies straight, either. Even still, something wasn’t sitting right. I didn’t quite trust what she was saying.

Had Evan been the intruder? I supposed it was possible. Though neither Nick nor I saw a face, the burglar had been on the small side, and thin. It could have been Evan. If I were in his shoes, I might have broken into the shop, too.

Which also made me think about the way the intruder had disappeared in a dazzling cloud of smoke. If it was Evan, did that mean he was a Crafter? Was it possible? And if he was a Crafter, was Starla?

I glanced at her. Her pink cheeks had turned red with exertion. She didn’t appear to be trying to pull one over on me.

“So you didn’t see who it was?” Starla asked.

“It was too dark, and the intruder was wearing a hooded cape.”

“A cape? How dramatic.”

Dramatic
. The word reminded me of Evan’s mention that he was involved in theater. He might have access to a cape from the wardrobe department.

“Very.” I’d try to get more out of Evan today instead of pushing Starla. The cramp in my side was subsiding as we passed a crowded Witch’s Brew. A nice scone sounded good right about now, but I figured Starla might notice if I suddenly steered off course and headed straight for the baked goods. My flaccid arms might notice, too.

Most of the haze had burned off as we rounded a curve. Birds chirped happily, the green grass glistened with dew, and the sun warmed my face. “It’s bound to be another busy day here,” I said, my words coming out in staccato bursts. My chest was burning, tight with the strain of exercise, a foreign concept to my body. Summer weekends were the village’s busiest time. Tourists came in droves to soak in the enchantment.

“I hope so,” Starla puffed. “The green cleared out
pretty fast yesterday after those police reports were filed.”

I slowed to a stop. “Police reports?”

Starla bent at the waist and tried to take in gulping lungfuls of air. “You didn’t hear?”

I shook my head. “What happened?”

“The pickpocket struck again.” She sank into a crouch.

I sank down next to her and we both plopped to the ground, sitting on the grass, off the pathway. “How many times?”

“Five, to the tune of about two hundred dollars each, give or take.”

A thousand dollars. I could feel my eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Starla said. “It’s a little shocking.”

“I hadn’t heard a thing.”

“It happened during the late-afternoon, early-evening hours. The green was a ghost town by eight.”

I’d been too wrapped up with Aunt Ve and then the Goodwins to notice.

“It’s not going to be too long before the media catches wind and descends full force—they’re already sniffing around Alexandra’s death. This could be disastrous for the upcoming dance—and the village itself. I’m not sure this is a job Nick Sawyer can handle on his own.” Her eyes brightened. “Maybe we should help him. Form a task force or something.” She gestured with excitement. “I’m on the green most of the day with my camera, anyway. I can be a lookout or something.”

What was with the people in my life willingly jumping into the thick of things? Wasn’t anyone content with minding their own business anymore?

Then a little stab of guilt pricked my conscience. Hadn’t I thought about going into Lotions and Potions alone last night? And been more than willing to when Nick arrived? That wasn’t exactly minding my own business.

So why was a cringe my first reaction to Starla’s plan?

Nick, I realized.

Somehow in the past two days, he’d been shoehorned into my life. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Or him. He stirred things in me that I’d rather leave covered in emotional dust.

I had to be careful around him. Not just to guard my feelings, but to protect my heritage as well. He was bound to question what he’d seen last night, and because I’d seen it, too, it seemed reasonable that he’d come to me with questions and theories.

“I can take Missy for more walks than normal,” I said, pushing Nick out of my thoughts, “and also ask Harper to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, even couples and families.”

Starla’s color was slowly returning to normal. “You don’t think the pickpocket is working alone?”

I picked at some grass. “It seems like someone working alone would stand out around here. But if there’s a pair, or even someone using kids as a distraction, then they might be easy to overlook.”

Starla was nodding as she stood up, dusting herself off. “I’m still not convinced that whoever is stealing from the tourists didn’t kill Alex, too. That watch was worth a fortune.”

True, which made me think just the opposite—the pickpocket would be long gone if he was sitting on a fifty-thousand-dollar watch.

“I’m not sure how much Nick would like us helping him out,” I said. In fact, I was pretty sure he’d hate it. “So maybe we shouldn’t tell him just yet?”

Starla nodded. “Good point. We’ll keep it on the down low for now. I need to head off and check on the bakery—Evan’s going to miss another day of work. I’ll see you later?”

“Noontime sound okay?” It would give me enough time to paint the wombat piñata this morning.

“Perfect,” she said. “I might be a little late, but don’t leave without seeing me.” Her tone shifted, turning serious. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“What?” I asked.

“You’ll see. Something illuminating.” She waved and ran off, heading toward the Gingerbread Shack.

Something illuminating.

It didn’t sound bad, but for some reason my stomach was now full of dread.

A
fter scooping up the wombat from the back porch, I made my way into the kitchen, where I found Aunt Ve at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon. I set the wombat on the counter. It wobbled, then steadied. The scent of coffee hung alluringly in the air, and though I was sorely tempted, I went straight for the fridge and a cup of filtered water.

Ve eyed the wombat. “What’s that?”

“The wombat piñata.”

A thin eyebrow slowly rose. “It’s very…artsy.”

She was trying to be nice. Behind the rim of my glass, I smiled. “It’s not done yet.”

“Oh, thank God.”

I didn’t take any offense. Right now it looked rather unfortunate, a newspapery blob. But in my mind’s eye, I could see the outcome and it was going to be wonderful.

Missy snoozed in her bed by the door, and Tilda watched us with feigned disinterest from the top of the steps. I could hear Harper upstairs, singing.

Singing.

At seven in the morning.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I frowned.

Ve said, “She’s been like that since she woke up. I think she likes that new job of hers.”

Undoubtedly, but I think she also liked her new boss. I kept that bit to myself and took a good look at my aunt. She looked none the worse for wear after all those gin and tonics—for all she’d been through, for that matter. Her coppery hair was pulled back in a tidy twist; her makeup was flawless.

“Some breakfast?” Ve asked.

“Sure. You’re chipper this morning. Considering all that’s happened.”

She shook a spatula at me. “I’m a woman on a mission.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve decided to be proactive about Sylar’s predicament.” The red rising in her cheeks matched the vibrant scarlet tunic she wore, paired with pristine white capri pants. “I’m going to offer a reward for Alexandra Shively’s watch. Whoever has that watch holds the key to this whole case. If I know one thing for certain, it’s that Sylar is not a killer. The police need a little more proof, however.”

It wasn’t a bad plan. I pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee. “How much of a reward?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

I almost dropped the mug. “Do you have that kind of money?” I really didn’t know. Though we always knew we had an aunt—she sent us birthday and Christmas cards every year—before she had come to visit Harper and me, I had met her only once before. At my mother’s funeral. My father had done his best to keep Harper and me separated from this part of our family tree. Aunt Ve had honored his wishes to raise us as mortals and promised to keep her distance from us until the time was right. It was a decision, on both their parts, that I wasn’t sure I agreed with. Harper and I should have had a say, made the choice ourselves.

Ve smiled as she removed bacon from the frying pan and set it on a plate covered in paper towels. “My fourth
husband, God rest his soul, was very sweet, very generous.”

Fourth husband? This was the first I’d heard about any marriages. “How many times were you married?”

She slid a plate over to me. “Just the four.”

Just.

“The first one, I was madly in love, but too young to know what I really wanted, or how to make a relationship work. He had no clue, either, and eventually left me for greener pastures.” The eyebrow arched again. “Cherise.”

I choked on a piece of egg. “Goodwin?”

She smiled a sneaky smile. “None other.”

As I let that sink in, my appetite vanished. I suddenly remembered how I had made Amanda and Laurel Grace disappear. I pushed my plate away.

“Husband number two was”—she shook her head—
“a huge mistake. A rebound, if you will. Number three I prefer not to discuss, the rat, toad, bottom dweller. Thankfully, number four restored my faith in men.” She chomped on a piece of bacon.

“Were they Crafters?”

“The first and the third.”

I tipped my head. “If you’ve married mortals, how come you still have your power to grant wishes? I thought all Crafters lost their gift if they married a mortal.”

Ve wagged a finger. “Only if you tell the mortal you’re a witch.”

Seemed like going into a marriage with such a huge secret would doom the union from the start. It might explain Ve’s marital track record. “Isn’t that kind of secret hard to keep?”

“Not as hard as you may think, but it does begin to take a toll on the marriage.”

As I thought about that, my conscience nagged. It was time to fess up about what had happened to Laurel Grace and Amanda. “About the Goodwins…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Darling, so serious all of a sudden! What happened?”

There was no way to sugarcoat the situation. I explained everything, from the marital squabble to the vanishing act in the kitchen.

“Do no harm, right?” I said to Ve.

“This is quite the unusual situation, I admit, but you’re absolutely correct. The wish would not have been granted if Laurel Grace and her mother were put in harm’s way. Undoubtedly, they’re at a vacation hot spot, relaxing. No matter where you wished them, Darcy, rest assured they still have free will to call home, to come back.”

“I don’t have to wish them back?”

“Oh no. Unless someone else makes the wish, and their motives are pure of heart.” She set the empty skillet into the sink. “You may want to contact Cherise and ask her about wishing the pair back.”

Maybe I should. It would be nice to not worry about the two of them. “I’m surprised you and Cherise are still friends.”

“Misery loves company, dear.”

I pushed cold eggs around my plate. “Are they divorced, then? Cherise and ex number one?”