It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (32 page)

“Darcy! Just the woman I wanted to see. I need your help.”

It was nice to see her bubbly again. Grief lingered in the dark circles under her eyes—­she still wasn’t sleeping well—­but she’d come a long way from the glazed-­over look she’d been walking around with after Alex’s death. Grief affected people in such different ways. Mrs. P. had shut down, my father had stopped living life, Gayle had thrown herself into work, and Nick Sawyer had turned animosity into an ill-­fated friendship.

“What kind of help?”

“Brute strength.”

“You may have picked the wrong girl.” I jiggled my flaccid arm. Less jiggly now than a week ago, but not nearly as toned as I’d hoped.

“Marcus just propositioned me.”

“Mrs. P,” I said in mock seriousness, “isn’t he a little young for you?”

She threw her head back and laughed—­the Phyllis Diller cackle I loved so much.

She winked. “I think I might be too experienced for
the likes of him. He needs someone a touch more…innocent.”

Suddenly I was wondering what kind of life she had led. She’d only been married twice for goodness’ sake.

“Someone,” she continued, “like
you
.”

I started coughing. She pounded on my back.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I squeaked.

“Just one little date.”

“Um…no.”

“Give it some thought.”

I pretended to think. “No.”

Arching an eyebrow, she studied me. “Ah, do you have your heart set on another? Someone in particular, who you’ve gotten to know well in the last week?”

“If you’re talking about Evan, I don’t think he’s interested.”

She laughed again, and tourists stopped, stared. Her laugh was that outrageous. “All right,” she said. “I’ll let it go. For now.”

“What was the proposition?” I asked.

She linked arms with me and we strolled along the path around the green. It was just about eighty degrees and sunny with a light breeze that kept it from getting too hot.

“He was approached by someone who wants to sublet Alex’s apartment.” Marcus had pulled some strings (and, I suspected, used some magic) to fast-­track having Mrs. P named as the estate’s administrator.

“That’s great.”

“Yes, but more interesting is that this person also wants to buy Alex’s entire inventory, lock, stock, lotions, potions, and all. The buyer wants to keep the store open. Marcus says it’s not quite legal at this point, but as long as all parties involved agree, he can make it happen. So I said yes. The amount will allow me to settle Alex’s remaining lawsuits.”

I stopped in my tracks. “We’re going to have to move
all the stuff back into the shop?” All the stuff we’d just moved out.

Nodding, she said, “Yes, but think of what great exercise it is.” She jiggled my arm. “And of course, I’ll fill out all the proper paperwork through As You Wish. The buyer wants to take possession at the end of next week. Are you available Monday?”

“I’ll check the schedule, but I’m fairly sure it’s open.”

“Good!” She clapped her hands. “I’m so glad that’s settled.” Quietly, she added, “And I’m relieved that a little bit of Alex will live on, through that store.”

I just hoped whoever was taking over was creating all new products. Or the newcomer risked more lawsuits. “Do you know who’s buying it?”

She gazed at me. “I didn’t think to ask. I don’t suppose it matters.”

I supposed not, but I still wanted to know.

“Mrs. P!” a voice shouted. “Mrs. P!”

We turned to find Mimi Sawyer running toward us, her pink witch hat in one hand, papers in the other. She was waving madly, a huge smile on her face.

Breathing hard, she caught up to us. She was so excited she was bouncing.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. P asked her. “I thought you had camp today, little one.”

“Half day.” She gasped for air. “Today. And tomorrow. Found. These.” She shoved the papers toward Mrs. P “In my hat.” Turning the hat upside down, she pointed to a seam that revealed a hidden pocket.

Mrs. P smoothed out the papers and held them at arm’s length so she could read them. “Can’t read a damned thing without my glasses.” She handed the papers to me.

“Oh!” My eyes filled with sudden tears, and I felt like such a sap.

“Tell me it’s not more lawsuits,” Mrs. P said.

Mimi bounced. “Tell her!”

“They’re two birth certificates. For Virginia and for Alexandra. And your marriage license to Mr. Pennywhistle.” The one that listed her former name as Eugenia Clemson. “Raised seals and everything. They’re official.”

“Is your middle name really Bartholomew?” Mimi asked.

Mrs. P laughed. She had grabbed the papers back and was trying her best to read the print. Instead, she ran her fingers over the seals. “It really is. Just don’t let it get around, okay? Might ruin my reputation.” She fluffed her hair. Well, she tried to. It was already poufed to the max.

“Thank you, little one, for finding these. I didn’t think they were important, but now that I have them…” She held them to her chest and tears filled her eyes.

Mimi wrapped her arms around her.

“Snap a picture for me, will you, Darcy?” Mrs. P asked. “I want to remember this moment forever.”

“I never turn out good in pictures,” Mimi said, trying to wiggle away.

“Nonsense.” Mrs. P latched on to her. “You’re beautiful.”

I’d almost forgotten about the camera around my neck. I backed up from them a few paces, took a quick look around to make sure Starla wasn’t nearby, and said, “Say cheese.”

“Cheese!” they echoed.

I clicked the button and looked at the display.

My chest squeezed when I looked at the photo. My skin tingled.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. P asked.

“It didn’t come out,” I said softly.

“Told you,” Mimi said.

“Take another, then!” They posed.

I took another picture. And another. They always turned out the same.

Mrs. P’s happiness exuded on the screen. But Mimi…

Mimi wasn’t visible. Instead, there was a sunburst of bright white light in her place.

Which could mean only one thing.

Mimi was a Wishcrafter.

I quickly made up a lame excuse that I had to leave, and ran all the way home at a dead sprint.

“‘Run, Forrest, run!’” Archie squawked as I passed Mr. Goodwin’s house.

“
Forrest Gump
,” I yelled as I shoved open the gate and ran up the back steps.

“That was a gimme,” he called after me.

Inside, Missy barked. I quickly patted her head. I carefully set Starla’s camera on the counter. “Ve!” I shouted. “Aunt Ve!”

I ran up the back staircase two steps at a time. “Ve!”

No one was home. I ran into my room, grabbed my purse, and dumped it onto the bed, looking for my cell phone. With shaking hands, I dialed Ve’s cell. Her voice mailbox was full. I called Harper at work. It went to voice mail.

Missy was still barking. Tilda came to investigate the sound. Missy took her presence as an opportunity to play and pounced.

Tilda shot off the floor like she’d just been launched from a cannon and landed on the bed next to me. Missy came after her. Everything that had been in my purse went flying in all directions as paws searched for footing.

Tilda streaked from the room, Missy following behind, yapping. For all her maturity lately, I had a feeling that she would never learn her limits when it came to Tilda.

I sat on the edge of the bed and started picking up the mess. I didn’t know what to do about what I’d learned. Mimi was a Wishcrafter. But Nick wasn’t—­he photographed just fine.

Then I remembered something he’d said to me. About how his wife had given up so much for him. She had been the Wishcrafter—­it’s the only thing that made sense. Which also explained why his wishes hadn’t come true! He was a Halfcrafter. He knew about the Craft. How much, I didn’t know, but he cared enough to bring his Crafter daughter back here to the village.…

Did Ve know? Had Nick told anyone? Did Mimi know? Or was she growing up just like Harper and I had?

As I paced, I gathered up my wallet, my comb, and two receipts from the floor.

I had to find out. And I knew of only one person who could tell me for certain.

The Elder.

I needed to meet with her.

Quickly, I gathered up the rest of my stuff and shoved it back into my purse. The last thing I picked up was Alex’s pocket calendar. It had fallen open to a page from last December, and a name jumped out at me. Alex had a series of appointments with one person for a week straight.

I blinked, bits falling into place.

My stomach knotted and filled with dread.

Suddenly, I had a feeling I knew who had really killed Alex.

And hoped I wasn’t right, but grief really did make people do crazy things.

I
’d commissioned Archie to deliver my note to the Elder’s tree. In return I had to promise to play a game of Trivial Pursuit, the
Lord of the Rings
version, with him.

He didn’t stand a chance at that one.

He promised me that he’d deliver the message and get back to me as soon as possible with an arranged time to meet with the Elder.

I walked across the green to the bookshop. My stomach hurt.

Pulling open the door, I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure why I was here. Why I hadn’t simply called the police to deal with it.

I supposed I wanted to be sure. Before I turned someone’s life upside down on a hunch.

Harper frowned when she saw me. “Someone steal your magic wand?”

I smiled at what was becoming a familiar greeting from her. “Long day. Illuminating, as Starla would say.”

“Are you talking in riddles on purpose?”

I didn’t want to get into it with her about Mimi. Not yet. Not before I talked to the Elder.

Glancing around, I noticed that there was only one other person in the shop. A man browsing the mystery section.

I motioned her closer. She leaned in. “I think I know who killed Alex.”

Gayle rose from behind the counter. “Oh?” she asked.

My cheeks heated. “I, ah, didn’t see you there.”

She held up a tiny screwdriver. “Just fixing the printer.”

“Who?” Harper said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter. Her eyes were rounded with curiosity. “I keep going over it in my head. And though Vince is a front-­runner, I really can’t see him killing his golden goose. And Ramona? She’s just too nice.”

“Sometimes niceness has nothing to do with it. Does it, Gayle?” I asked.

“Of course it does,” Harper said. “Nice people just don’t go around killing other people.”

The man from the mystery section had moved closer to us. Clearly eavesdropping.

“Well,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “Let me present this scenario to you.”

Harper nodded eagerly. Gayle had gone pale.

“Imagine you’re living your dream life, happy as a clam. You and your husband just opened your own shop, and business is good. Life is good.”

“Okay,” Harper said quietly, stealing glances at Gayle.

“Imagine your husband, who has heart problems to begin with, gets sick. The flu. It was bad last year, remember?”

“How could I forget? I was sick as a dog for a week.”

I remembered, too—­I’d been the one to take care of her.

“Well, your husband’s been sick for a while. He’s just not getting better as quick as he would like, but he hates doctors and refuses to see one. But he’s heard of a woman in the village who sells medicinal offerings, homeopathic treatments. All-­natural. Completely safe and proven to work. He thinks maybe she might be able to help him.” I was filling in blanks with conjecture, but by
the look on Gayle’s face, I knew I wasn’t far from the truth. “So he goes to see her every day for a week, swallows whatever she tells him to. But instead of getting better, he dies suddenly. A heart attack, the medical examiner says—­from heart disease. But you blame her. Wait months for your revenge…”

Harper’s head turned side to side, looking between me and Gayle. “This is all hypothetical, right?”

Softly, Gayle said, “I went and confronted her after he died. She told me all she did was give him herbal tea and wasn’t responsible. When I asked what kind, she told me. She gave him licorice tea. Licorice! Any numskull herbalist knows you shouldn’t give licorice root to someone who has high blood pressure. That tea killed him. It caused his heart attack sure as I’m standing here. I figured out what a fraud she was too late to help Russ, but I could sure as hell stop her from hurting someone else. I just needed time to figure out how.”

Harper looked stunned. Her mouth had fallen open, and her eyes were shiny with tears. “Were you just going to let Sylar take the blame? Vince? Ramona?”

Gayle set the tiny screwdriver on the counter. “I believed the police would eventually clear Sylar—­I mean, come on. Sylar wouldn’t hurt anyone. Ramona, too. My plan was that Vince would be arrested. That he’d get locked up and stay there. All his talk about witchcraft. He’s just as bad as Alex was and maybe more dangerous because he doesn’t know how deadly it can be.”

“You planted the watch on his desk?” I asked.

“Of course I did,” she said. “I thought the police would search the shop.” She shook her head. “They didn’t search thoroughly enough.” In one quick motion, she reached under the counter and pulled out a handgun. The same one that had fired the warning shots a few days ago.

“Whoa!” Harper said, backing up.

“I did everyone a favor,” Gayle said, waving the gun.

I’m not sure Mrs. P, Evan, or Mimi would agree. Never mind Sylar, Vince, and Ramona.

“Put the gun down, Gayle,” I said. My heart hammered, my palms dampening.

I wanted to jump the counter, protect Harper. But I was scared to death that any sudden move might make Gayle fire.

“No.” She raised the gun, but didn’t take aim at me, or Harper, either. She raised it to her temple. “It’s time for me to go, to be with Russ.”

The man from the mystery section stepped forward, a gun drawn. “Police. Lower your weapon.”

Harper slid around the counter, toward me.

Gayle shook her head, closed her eyes.