It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (5 page)

He winked. “I promise I’ll save you a dance.”

I smiled and played along. “You may regret that. I have two left feet.” Flirting with Evan was easy and safe—because if my instincts were right, I wasn’t his type. And my instincts were usually right.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said solemnly.

I made no commitments as I grabbed a couple more cakes and two cups of punch, and headed back as everyone
found seats and settled in. Unfortunately for me, Alexandra Shively had finished her conversation with Marcus and had taken a chair a few down from Ve and Harper. Her legs were blocking the path to my seat, and her curls were quivering menacingly, truly looking like snakes.

Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed. “Pardon me, please.”

Nick Sawyer was but two feet away. I could feel his gaze on me, burning with its intensity.

“Healthy appetite you have there,” Alexandra said loudly, eyeing my plate.

For a second I wondered what she’d look like with punch streaming down her face, then quickly tamped down my temper. I couldn’t let this woman get to me. “The cakes are so delicious I couldn’t help myself. Evan’s poor face, though. I wonder what happened to him,” I said innocently.

She arched a pointy eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

I held firm on the cups so I wouldn’t
accidentally
spill on her. “Would you excuse me, please? The meeting’s about to start.”

Her feet slowly drew back under her folding chair. “As you
wish
.”

I rather wished at that point her foot had been sticking out so I could stomp on it as I passed. I was really beginning to resent my inability to grant my own wishes. I bit out a “thank you” and scooted past a few other people before finally sitting down.

I could still feel Nick watching me. Chancing it, I glanced his way. Our eyes locked, neither of us blinking. My heart beat so hard against my rib cage I thought for sure Aunt Ve could hear it.

I quickly looked away, feeling a blush again. Ve was smiling at me as I passed her a cup of punch. “Nick is cute, no?”

I handed the tasty goodies off to Harper, who had a
distraction of her own—Vince Paxton. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“If you like that sort,” I said.

“What, tall and gorgeous?”

“Men.” Evan would have no competition from me.

She patted my hand. “You’ll recover, Darcy.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. I stole another look at Nick, and found him still looking at me.

“Why is he still staring?” I whispered.

“It could be your sparkling personality.”

“You’re joking about the glitter at a time like this?”

She laughed. “How did everything go with the Goodwins?”

“There were a few issues, but overall, I think it went well.”

“Issues? You should have called. Did you lose my number?”

She had made me memorize her three phone numbers (business, home, cell) and had written them on a sticky note and stuck it to my dashboard
and
programmed them into my cell phone. “No, Aunt Ve.”

The gavel banged again and Sylar boomed, “Take your seats, everyone.”

“You’ll have to tell me about the issues later,” Ve said.

I rubbed my temples, trying to ease a growing headache. I spared Nick another look and was surprised to see a young girl at his side, maybe eleven or twelve years old. She looked enough like him to suggest she might be his daughter.

He caught me watching him—again. His hard eyes softened just the smallest bit. My stomach got that gushy feeling again.

The gavel banged, distracting me, and I tried to stay focused on the proceedings. Ten minutes later, after roll call and the Pledge of Allegiance, my patience was rewarded—the reason the special meeting had been called was announced.

“Friends,” Sylar said loudly, his thick eyebrows drawn downward. “I am truly disheartened to verify that the rumors are true.” He paused dramatically, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering on a face here, there. “There is indeed a criminal among us.”

W
hereas my heart was pounding earlier, it was barely beating now.

Had the village found out about Harper? Was it truly this big a deal that it needed a special meeting? It wasn’t as if she were a violent felon. She had been charged with a misdemeanor. She hadn’t even spent one day in jail!

The eruption that followed Sylar’s announcement had died down. He said, “Two tourists filed claims with the Enchanted Village police today. Both had been pickpocketed.”

A gasp went through the crowd. I tried to think back to the afternoon—where had Harper been?

She certainly didn’t need the money. My father had left us both good inheritances. But no, that didn’t make sense. She broke laws only for what she deemed good causes. How would that principle relate to pickpocketing? Unless…unless the tourists had gypped a server their tip…or something along those lines that would cause Harper to seek retribution.

My stomach flipped. I glanced at Harper. She didn’t look guilty. In fact, she seemed enraptured with what Sylar was saying, hanging on his every word.

“As you know,” Sylar continued, “this is not an isolated incident. Over the past three weeks, nearly a half
dozen claims have been filed. Last summer, we had three incidents in
total
. The reputation of our village is at risk, as are our livelihoods. If news of this spreads, our entire summer season will be affected. We must stop this crime spree and soon.”

Three weeks? I let out a breath of relief. Harper couldn’t possibly be involved. We hadn’t arrived in the village until two weeks ago. How long before I started trusting she’d stay out of trouble, as promised?

Someone called out, “And how are we to do that, Sylar? Our police department is already understaffed and overworked.” The Enchanted Village had only a tiny police force, staffed by four officers, including a decrepit police chief who, to hear Ve tell it, spent more time on the putting green than the village green.

Sylar said, “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing in a professional. Most of you have met Nick Sawyer, but few of you know that he has been in the military, worked for the Rhode Island State Police, and now freelances as a security expert. He’s offered his services to the village to help catch our thief, free of charge. Nick, come on up here and tell us your plan.”

It took all my effort to appear unaffected as my pulse started to pound as Nick strode to the podium. Military, state police, security? My instincts had been right about him being law enforcement.

Which also meant that I had to be very careful. Because my instincts also told me he was someone I could fall for.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

An hour later the meeting had let out and I stood staring blindly at a row of cookbooks while nibbling on the rim of my paper cup. My cooking abilities were sadly mediocre—I knew enough not to starve—but I’d always wanted to widen my culinary horizons.

Nearby, Nick and Sylar were in a deep discussion of
what to do about the local thefts. I was doing my best not to eavesdrop, but it was too easy to listen in.

Nick hadn’t really said much about his plans to catch the thief other than to claim he knew what he was doing.

Smart. If he said much more, he might tip off whoever was behind the crimes. Even if that person wasn’t present at the meeting, word would spread. In a neighborhood this size, everyone would know by morning. He’d handed out business cards and asked everyone to be vigilant. The more people looking for the thief, the better.

Harper was helping Vince set the store back to rights, and Aunt Ve was fussing with the clasp of her locket after it had slipped from her neck during the meeting.

I was studying cookbook spines when I felt someone next to me. It was Marcus Debrowski, the town lawyer.

“Are you a good cook?” he asked.

“Not really. You?”

“Hardly. I’m a master at ordering takeout.”

He wore a dark suit with a light pink shirt, no tie. There was the barest hint of scruff on his cheeks, not quite a five-o’clock shadow. I pegged him to be late twenties, maybe early thirties. Light green eyes, dark hair. He picked up a cookbook by a famous TV chef and flipped through it while also casting glances across the room. “I keep promising myself that one of these days I’m going to learn.”

After the fourth time he looked past me, I followed his gaze. It seemed to be watching Harper and Vince. “I keep saying the same thing. I’m okay with basic recipes, but if it gets too complicated, I’m lost.”

“Every now and again, the Sorcerer’s Stove offers a cooking class. You may want to look into it if you’re staying in the village.” Again the glance past me. “You are staying in the village, right?”

I bit back a smile as he watched Harper. “Yes.”

“Your, ah, sister, too?”

“Uh-huh.”

He caught my knowing gaze and coughed. His cheeks pinkened. “That’s good.”

“Have you met Harper yet?” I asked.

He quickly shook his head. “No.”

“Do you want to?” I asked, trying to help him along.

“I, ah—” His cell phone rang, cutting him off. He looked relieved. “If you’ll excuse me?”

I nodded and watched him wander toward the back door of the shop. I spotted Evan cleaning up and went over.

“Saved you a cupcake.” He handed me a perfect mini devil’s food cupcake.

“Thank you.” I ate it in one bite and wished I had ten more. I even whispered a spell out of pure hope that the Wishcraft Laws had been amended in the last few minutes, but no cupcakes appeared. For shame. “Do you need some help?”

“Sure. Starla usually helps me with the strike; it’s a lot of work for one person.”

“Strike?”

“Sorry. Theater term. Taking down the set after the show’s over.”

“Do you act?”

“I wish. Haven’t been able to land a role quite yet, but I am the best stage manager around.”

I was a bit sad that he hadn’t phrased his wish properly so I could grant it. The person who makes a wish has to implicitly declare his wish, not just express a desire. So for Evan’s wish to be granted, he would have to say, “I wish I would land a role.” Of course, the more specific the wish, the better, but we Wishcrafters can work wonders with what we’re given. “Modest, too,” I said.

He laughed and bowed with a flourish.

I helped stack trays and fold tablecloths. Nick, I noticed, had moved to look at the gizmos and gadgets that hung on pegs at the register. He was clearly eavesdropping
on our conversation and not being the least bit subtle about it.

“Where did you move from?” Evan asked, making conversation as we worked.

“Ohio,” I said.

“Do you have family there?”

Suddenly uneasy, I said, “Not anymore.”

Evan’s face scrunched. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so nosy.”

“It’s okay. How about you? Have you always lived here?” Most Crafters had lived in the village their whole lives, which would make it easier for me to determine if he was one.

“About four years,” Evan said. “The bakery used to belong to our grandfather. Starla and I inherited it after he died, except Starla found out pretty fast that she can’t bake, so she decided to take up photography. It all worked out. I need to rinse the punch bowl—I’ll be right back,” he said.

I spotted Nick headed toward me just as Sylar called out, “Nick, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He waved him over to where Harper stood with Vince.

I hoped Harper could hold her own against Nick. I was worrying about it when a young voice said, “Hi, I’m Mimi Sawyer. Well, it’s Demetria, but everyone calls me Mimi. Are you Darcy or Harper?”

It was the girl who’d been standing with Nick earlier. “I’m Darcy.”

“I’m twelve. How old are you?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Thirty. Are you Nick’s daughter?” Might as well just ask since I was so curious.

“Yep.” She leaned on the folding table. Her leg swung back and forth. “I heard you just moved here.”

“Two weeks ago.”

“We moved here two years ago from Providence after my mom died.”

She spoke rapidly, and I was struggling to keep up.
“I’m sorry about your mom. Mine died when I was seven.”

She looked up at me, the pain clear on her face. “It stinks, doesn’t it?”

“Completely.”

“Is your dad still alive?”

She asked in the way only a child could. Sincere yet without realizing how pushy she was being. “No. He died four months ago.”

“Oh. That really stinks.”

“Yeah, it kind of does.” I thought about my dad. Patrick Merriweather had once been a doting father, but after my mother died, he’d become a workaholic who rarely spent any time at home. I suspected throwing himself into his work helped him avoid the two people who most reminded him of his greatest loss. So I, at seven years old, had pretty much taken over raising Harper. I liked to think I did a good job—if one didn’t count all the trouble she gets into. I didn’t.

It had been a bit of a blow to find out from Ve that Dad had known we were Wishcrafters and had chosen to keep it from us. My and Harper’s lives might have been so different if we’d known about our heritage.

“Are you still in school?” I asked. It was mid-June and summer breaks were starting.

“I go to a private school, so I’ve been out for a few weeks. Did you know you’re all glittery?” Mimi asked.

“I do. I had a job tonight playing the tooth fairy.”

“No offense, but you don’t really look like a fairy.”

“My wings are in the car.”

A tiny smile pulled on her lips. “That makes all the difference.”

I laughed. She was a bright, funny kid, this girl, with her dark spiraling curls and inquisitive brown eyes.

“Do you live in the village?” I asked.

“At the end of Old Forest Lane. My dad’s workshop is there, too.”

“Workshop?” Thunder cracked along with my nerves. It had started raining again.

“He makes cabinets and furniture and all kinds of stuff when he’s not doing the security thing. He calls it his passion.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s always in his shop.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Nick was staring at us while Sylar talked and talked.