It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (20 page)

“It can be anywhere.”

Nick’s words came back to me.

If Alex was killed for another reason and the watch taken to throw suspicion on the pickpocket, then that watch is never going to surface. It’s probably at the bottom of the Charles.

If that watch was the key to this murder, then finding Alex’s killer might be impossible. I thought about Ve
and her belief in Sylar’s innocence. While I trusted her instincts, I also recognized that she’d had four husbands. Her choice in men might be lacking.

Alex’s shop was the corner unit, four shops down from Spellbound. As we neared, my heart sank. The back door had been completely boarded up with plywood.

“Plan B just went down the tubes,” I said.

“Why?” Evan asked.

I knew his eyes were swollen, but surely he could see the huge plywood sheets covering the door.

“No way to get in.”

Evan pulled down his bandanna and smiled (I think). He pulled a key from his pocket, walked over to the residential door next to the shop, and slid the key into the lock. The door swung open.

I stared. “Where’d you get a key?”

We strolled inside, as casual as could be, and closed the door behind us. Evan flipped on a light next to the door. There was a connecting door to the retail space on my right, and a wooden staircase led upstairs.

“Alexandra gave it to me a while back. She thought someone should have a spare in case she lost hers. She trusted me,” he said softly.

For a while there, I’d forgotten they had been friends, and how hard this must be for him. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed, but I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” just didn’t feel like it was enough.

Evan reached up and squeezed my hand back.

After a second, I said, “What are we looking for exactly?”

Evan opened the connecting door to the retail shop. “Alexandra kept all her recipe cards in a wooden chest on the counter behind the register.”

I’d seen the chest the night before. Elaborately carved, it had stood out as something special. The pink witch’s hat had been atop it.

“If we can find the formula card for the lotion she gave me, then maybe we can figure out how to counteract it.” Evan tiptoed along the hallway, looking left and right as though he expected someone to jump out and scream “boo” at him.

He was making me nervous.

Someone had drawn the shades on the front windows—­probably the police to deter looters or gawkers—­and the shop was filled with dim light that gave off an eerie glow. Goose bumps rose on my arms.

The shop still held that musky smell mixed with a strong hint of cinnamon and vanilla, and in the (muted) light of day, I could see why. Along a short wall, there were several clear bins stacked atop each other—­the kind you might find at a penny-­candy store. Each held a different herb or root or spice. Everything from cinnamon sticks to gingerroot. I spotted bins for milk thistle, evening primrose, ginseng, licorice root, vanilla beans, chicory root, aloe, and cayenne.

Evan had stopped short and I bumped into him. “What is it?” I asked.

“The box is gone.”

“Gone?” I scooted around him. Sure enough, the box I’d seen last night was missing. I thought back. When the police came to investigate the break-­in, they hadn’t removed anything.

What did that mean?

Evan checked behind the counter, in the back office, in cabinets and drawers. The box was missing.

Just as we were about to leave, a crash sounded above our heads.

I jumped, my heart pounding, as I looked upward.

Evan steadied me. “Someone’s upstairs.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “I bet whoever it is has the formula box.” He started for the stairway.

I grabbed his hood and yanked him back.

“Darcy!” he whispered fiercely.

“You just can’t go storming up there. Whoever it is might be armed.”

He looked around and grabbed a can of furniture polish from the storage closet. I refrained from making any jokes about polishing off the burglar, though it was tempting.

We crept up the stairs, treading softly on the steps. As we neared the top, I could hear the prowler moving around in Alex’s apartment.

Evan went first into the apartment, checked to make sure it was clear, then waved me in. The place was a mess. Furniture ripped, books tossed, drawers upended. The intruder had been thorough.

The burglar was currently in Alex’s bedroom, to my right. Evan took a stance next to the doorway, the furniture polish aimed strategically.

I went to stand behind him and tripped on a book.

The apartment went deathly quiet.

My breath caught and my heart hammered in my throat. I took cover behind the sofa.

Silence filled the air, creating a tension so thick I thought I was going to choke. I pressed my hands together to keep them from shaking. Still, no sound from the bedroom. Were we just going to wait each other out?

I glanced down and noticed the book that I tripped on had been a Bible. A piece of paper was sticking out of it. I slowly dragged it closer to me. I pulled on the paper, which turned out to be the corner of a photo. It was of a little girl, maybe six or seven. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I flipped the photo over. “Virginia Clemson, Aged Eight” was written on the back.

Clemson. I knew the name, had just heard it that afternoon. It was the name of the Vaporcrafter family Godfrey Baleaux had told me about. Coincidence? I hardly thought so.

I tucked the photo in my pocket as the floorboards squeaked. The intruder was on the move.

Just like that, my heart was pounding again, my palms sweating, my throat tight. My whole body tingled with adrenaline.

Creak
,
creak
. The person was being cautious, moving slowly.

I shifted and peeked out from behind the couch just as I heard Evan yell, “Stop right there!”

The sound of the furniture polish spraying filled the air along with a lemony scent. I spotted the burglar barreling forward with the wooden box in his hands. Dressed all in black, he was a dark blur hurrying toward the stairs.

I stuck out my foot. The creep went sprawling, sending the box flying. It bounced, then skidded down the stairs. In a split second, Evan ran forward and jumped on the guy’s back. The man easily pushed him off and scrambled to his feet. He was down the steps and out the door in a flash.

I helped Evan up. “Did you get a good look at his face?”

Evan shook his head. “It was mostly covered with a drawstring hood, and he was moving too fast.”

It had been a man, though. Tall and trim but wiry and strong. Not the same person who had broken into the shop the night before.

I tried to catch my breath. My adrenaline rush was still strong, and my hands were shaking. I wished I could remember something about the man—­his shoe type, if he was wearing jeans or trousers…something. But the whole scene had happened so fast I didn’t get a good look at anything other than the box in his hands.

We looked down the steps. There were recipe cards everywhere. Evan started gathering them up.

I looked around at the devastation. “We need to call the police.”

Evan’s eyes widened; then he shook his head. “We can’t, unless you want to go to jail. I know I don’t.”

Jail wasn’t exactly on my list of must-­visit places, either, but we needed to do something. The police had to be involved. I needed a new plan.

Unfortunately, the only plan I could come up with involved Nick Sawyer.

D
ark clouds had brought an early nightfall as I walked Evan oh-­so casually back to my car, handed him my keys, and grabbed my purse from where I’d tucked it under the front seat.

He was going to take my car to his place, and I’d meet him there later to pick it up and to see if he’d found a miracle cure in the box of cards he clung to.

I waved good-­bye, fished around in my bag, and pulled out Nick Sawyer’s business card. And then did something I never thought I’d do.

I called him.

My stomach fluttered when he answered, his voice rough-­and-­tumble and yet at the same time smooth and promising. I shook my head at even thinking such things. Smooth and promising? Promising of what?

Then my mind flashed to a fantasy of him kissing me.

Oh. That’s what.

What
was
it with me? I cleared my throat—­and my thoughts. “Hi, Nick, it’s Darcy Merriweather. Could you maybe meet me behind Lotions and Potions? As soon as possible?”

“Is this about the pickpocket?”

“Not quite.”

“The break-­in last night?”

I swallowed hard. “Not really.”

He was sounding impatient. “Then what?”

“The break-­in today.”

Silence stretched. A second. Two. “Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.

I didn’t want to loiter behind Lotions and Potions, so I took my time walking the fence line in the alley, looking for anything shiny. Most of that time was spent along the fence area behind Spellbound Books. Crouching, I searched for any disturbed areas, and didn’t find so much as a weed out of place.

I was in the midst of looking when Spellbound’s back door opened. Harper came out, carrying a bag of trash. She spotted me, stopped, and stared.

I stared back.

“Well?” she said.

Slowly, I stood. “Well what?”

“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing back here, examining the ground?”

Kicking at a pebble, I shrugged. “I might be looking for a watch.”

She shook her head and swung the garbage bag into the closest Dumpster. “Don’t you think I already did that?”

Of course she would have, Ms. Forensic Investigator wannabe. I should have thought of that before I got down on my hands and knees in the alley. Because, as meticulous as it was, I could easily imagine the microscopic germs I may have picked up.

Dusting off my khaki pants, I suddenly wished I could take a bath in hand sanitizer. “Just double-­checking,” I said. Then I glanced at my watch. “It’s late—­what are you still doing here?”

“Overtime. There’s been an issue,” she said in a soft voice.

“Issue?”

“Gayle is freaking out, not sure what to do.”

“What kind of issue?”

“A health department issue. She thinks that Evan Sullivan may have contaminated the treats he brought to the village meeting the other night.” She scratched at an imaginary hive on her neck. “Vince started getting hives yesterday on his arms and back. Then today, when I was talking to Ramona Todd, I noticed she had welts on her hands and wrists. Then, I ran into Mrs. Pennywhistle at lunchtime, and she had some on her neck. They were all at the meeting the other night. They all ate the little cakes.…”

“I ate the cakes, too, and feel just fine.” I resisted the urge to scratch my arms. The power of suggestion was intense. “Besides, Evan said he’s not contagious.”

She shrugged. “Just telling you what I know. Gayle has spent the afternoon with her lawyer. She’s terrified she’s going to be sued. And Vince has been at the hospital, trying to get some relief.”

I dropped my voice, leaned my head close to hers. “Is Vince a Crafter?” I hadn’t thought so—­not with the way he went on about witchcraft and his willingness to talk about it with reporters.

“Mortal, but he’s very interested in the subject. Trust me, he goes on and on.”

“You know you don’t mind.”

She smiled shyly and didn’t deny it.

“He’s a Seeker, then?” I asked.

“I—­”

“Harper?” Vince’s voice carried.

We jumped apart, tried to look innocent.

Vince filled the back doorway, his hand on his heart. “Oh, thank God. I just got back and couldn’t find you. Then I saw the door open, and I started having flashbacks to the other night.” He wiped his forehead, ran his hand through his curly hair. His bright blue shirt brought
out the color in his eyes—­and the bright red blisters on his forearms. He saw me looking and quickly pulled his sleeves down.

“Just taking out the trash and ran into Darcy.”

I wanted to kick her.

“In the alley?” he asked.

“Shortcut,” I said quickly. “To, ah, the Pixie Cottage. I was going to check on Mrs. Pennywhistle.”

As the lie escaped my lips, I realized the alley
was
a shortcut from the Pixie Cottage to the neighborhoods behind the green. Was that why the Pixie Cottage owner Harmony Atchison had been in the alley the day she saw Ramona and Alex fighting?

Vince said, “Mrs. P has been acting strangely lately. When I saw her today, I was pretty sure she was still wearing the same clothes from Thursday night.”

The night Alex died.

I was really beginning to suspect that there was more going on with Mrs. P than her concern about the village’s future. Was she declining mentally? Other than her appearance, it didn’t seem so. Yesterday, she seemed lucid. Sad but lucid. Yet wearing the same clothes—­and not doing her hair—­for three days was anything but normal for her. “Do you know if she has family nearby? Maybe one of us should call them and let them know what’s going on. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Harper teased, but there was a softness in her eyes.

“Help what?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“Getting involved. Fixing. Nurturing.”

I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. I shrugged. “I’d want someone to do the same for me.”

Harper’s eyes filled with understanding. I mothered everyone because my mother hadn’t been around very long—­and because I’d taken over as Harper’s pseudo mom at a young age. It was all I knew.

Suddenly, I was remembering all the arguments Troy
and I’d had about starting a family. How badly I’d wanted one. How badly he didn’t.

Then he left, found a new wife, and had a baby right off. The perfect little family.

What should have been
my
family.

I bit my cheek so I wouldn’t focus on the swift, stabbing pain in my chest.

It was in the past. I had to leave it there.

“It’s a nice thought, Darcy, but I don’t think she has any family left,” Vince said. “I remember her saying once that she was the end of the line.”