Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (4 page)

Carrie carefully avoided looking Wendy in the eye. "I know," she replied quietly.

Wendy silently berated herself. With everything that she had been juggling ever since she began working on the documents for the exhibit, she had forgotten to invite Carrie to the party. No wonder the girl had been so quiet the past few days. All around her library and museum employees alike were talking about the exhibit, and she had been feeling left out. The more so, Wendy was sure, because Derek would not have neglected to invite the two museum interns. They were far too easy an audience for him to impress with his knowledge and prowess for him to forget to invite them.

“Carrie,” Wendy began, “I know this is last minute, and I apologize for not mentioning it earlier, but would you like to come to the opening party tonight?”

Wendy watched as the creases between Carrie's eyes relaxed and flattened out, and she knew that the impending event had been on the girl's mind.

“I wouldn't miss it,” she said quietly.

Having remedied that oversight, Wendy spent the next hour finishing the remaining exhibits.

As she expected, Magda wandered into the library around nine that morning. She had a smile on her face and a hanger covered with a white plastic bag in her hand.

"Is that for me?" Wendy asked her with more than a little trepidation in her voice.

Magda called out a response as she marched by without stopping, "I'll show you later."

Wendy muttered to herself, "I can't wait."

Even with her nerves on edge for the party that night, the rest of the working day passed in a blur of activity. There were more visitors that day than there had been the day before, and more than one group had particular questions or had wanted insider information that only Wendy could provide. Carrie had interrupted her several times before lunch with queries that were easier for Wendy to simply answer in person than to relay the information through Carrie.

If she was being completely honest, she didn't actually mind. Many people went into library work because they didn't want to interact with people, or they weren't really any good with people. Not Wendy. She loved sharing her passion with others, and there was no better audience than an especially inquisitive library visitor. Honestly, if they were inclined to ask specific questions about a library, they had to be Wendy's brand of nerd.

All told it was a pleasant day, and if the impending party and the outfit she would be expected to wear preyed on her thoughts, it didn't show to anyone else.

"Here I am," Magda announced as the clock ticked past closing time. "We have a full hour to get you ready, and I intend to take advantage of it." Magda was already dressed to kill, in a short blue dress that landed where her thighs began and hugged her slender, almost boyish figure. Her hair, which was already perfect, had been retouched and restyled. Her makeup was absolutely flawless, her dark eyes perfectly lined in charcoal with purple shadow that made them pop.

In short, she looked like a model, and Wendy was the average girl next door. Feeling defeated before she even began, Wendy eyed the hanging bag without comment.

Magda followed her gaze, as it scanned her perfectly coiffed form and landed, full of doubt, on the hanger. "Stop worrying. You have me, don't you?"

Wendy couldn't deny that. With Magda on her side, she might even look like she belonged.

With a flourish that clearly demonstrated how much she expected Wendy should react, Magda ripped off the plastic wrapping and revealed the outfit.

The best that Wendy could say for it was that it had been recently cleaned.

When she saw the look on Wendy's face, Magda scowled and shook her head. "Just wait," she sounded annoyed. "You'll admit that it looks great by the end of the night. Or," she paused ominously, "I give up on you."

Wendy managed to crack a smile at Magda, though not at the outfit. "I wouldn't want that."

"Neither of us would want that," Magda commented dryly. "Without you, I wouldn't have any friends left."

Wendy harbored more doubts than she could express, but the look on Magda's face told her that she shouldn't argue. Like a good lemming, she decided to follow the leader and plunge off the cliff into the fashion unknown.

Looking at it on the hanger, Wendy could point out every rationale she had for why the parts of the ensemble had been earmarked for the garbage. The skirt was far too short and had been when she had packed it away three years earlier. The top was sparkly and shimmery and looked pristinely new, which it was since Wendy could not remember ever having worn it. The color palette, at least, was her, charcoal gray on the bottom and deep purple on top. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad, as long as she could keep the skirt from crawling up all night. The last thing she wanted to do was be yanking it down over her behind every five minutes.

Just as Wendy had consigned herself to the inevitable, Magda revealed the last straw.

"And these," she smiled as she spoke, "I picked up special."

Wendy's eyes opened to their limits, and her words caught like burrs in her throat.

"No," she finally croaked.

"Oh, yes," Magda answered.

Wendy shook her head. At this she would draw the line. Never, in this lifetime or the next, would Magda get her into
those
.

When Wendy walked into the foyer, where canapés and cocktails were being passed on polished silver trays, she felt all eyes turn to her. By nature, she was a modest woman. When she thought to herself that the entire room had turned its attention onto her, it was because that was the truth. Everyone in the room knew her by reputation, if not personally. None of them had ever seen her look like this.

"I'll get even for this, Magda," Wendy muttered to her friend under her breath.

Magda had already left her side, even after promising she wouldn't, and was immediately surrounded by a motley crew of men of all shapes and sizes. Magda looked bored, but she caught Wendy's eye and winked.

"Go get 'em," she mouthed.

Wendy stuck out her tongue. "I should never have let you talk me into this," she said to no one. Then she realized that she was beginning to look more and more like a loony who talked to herself, so she forced herself forward and into the swarm of people.

"You look great," Magda had insisted, just moments before. "You'll knock them dead."

Wendy was still whirling from the whole makeover experience, and she knew she sounded dazed when she responded. "Why do I want to knock them dead?"

Magda had raised one eyebrow, studying her in the reflection in the mirror. "Honey, if you have to ask, it has been far too long since you have."

Although she was largely feeling uncomfortable, Wendy had to admit that there was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that she looked good. She always looked
nice
in a professional sort of way, but tonight she looked
good.

After a long pause wherein many conversations in the room stopped, Wendy moved forward. She took two full steps on her own before she stumbled and nearly fell, grasping at the nearest solid object to stop her fall.

"Steady, there," said a chuckling male voice.

Wendy blushed to the roots of her hair. The solid object had not been an object at all but a man's arm, outthrust to take another drink, and Wendy was now literally hanging on it.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "It's the shoes." In her embarrassment, Wendy simply blurted out the truth; Magda would almost certainly have come up with a witty comment or convincing lie. She would never be any good at this, she decided.

"They do look hazardous."

The man's voice was low and soothing, and Wendy nearly lost the thread of their, albeit weak, conversation in simply listening to the words that came out of his mouth.

"What?"

He smiled, and Wendy saw perfect white teeth spread out in a neat row. "The shoes," he said slowly, "they look hazardous."

"Oh, right." Great, Wendy thought, he must think she was slow. At some point she would need to say more than three syllables in a row, just to prove that she could.

Unfortunately for her linguistic abilities, the man in front of her was absolutely gorgeous. It wasn't just his voice, though that was hypnotic on its own. He was tall and wide enough to suggest a muscular frame without being overwhelming. He had thick blond hair that fell across his forehead in waves so flawless they looked styled. His suit was immaculate and tailored as perfectly as a second skin. There was nothing pretentious about his perfection, however; he exuded pure masculinity.

His eyes, which were wide set and the color of a storm over the sea, were staring at her with concern. "Are you all right?"

Wendy coughed, attempting to clear out whatever phantom impediment that had lodged itself there. "Yes, fine." By some miracle, she found her voice. "I am sorry for grabbing onto you like that."

The man laughed again. There was something melodious and attractive about the sound; it matched his looks perfectly. "I don't mind in the least. What are you drinking?"

Wendy whipped her head back and forth. The variety of beverage seemed to run the gamut of pints of beer to fancy cocktails. It was, naturally, a cash bar. The Museum was a non-profit, after all.

"Champagne?" she posed it like a question. In fact, she was entirely unsure what to order in this situation. Beer seemed too lowbrow for the company.

The man snapped his fingers, and a very correct, very young waiter appeared at his elbow. "A glass of champagne for the lady. And an IPA for me. Whatever you have on draft."

Internally, Wendy cursed. The waiter was gone before she could change her mind. She liked champagne; the bubbles did wonderful things to her insides. Still, had she known she would have rather ordered a beer.

The young waiter reappeared in moments with two well-filled glasses. Wendy handled her champagne flute like a foreign object. The man raised his glass in a tiny salute and waited while she clinked her glass gently against his.

"Archer."

"Wendy."

Archer kept his eyes on hers while they took a drink simultaneously. "My good man," he said next, and though he was still looking at her, the waiter had not yet removed himself. It was as though he had known he might still be needed, and if Wendy
were any judge, there would be an excellent tip for him at the end of the night if he stayed close by.

"This beer is excellent. Please bring another for Wendy."

Wendy's stomach dropped into her too-tall shoes and did backflips back to its original position. Her beer arrived as though by magic. Now that, she thought, would be a 'parlor trick' worth learning.

The first long drink broke the barrier of her lips like cool river heading out to sea. After her nervousness about the outfit, followed by literally falling on the most attractive man she had ever seen in real life, it was more refreshing than any drink she could consciously remember.

She was actually smacking her lips by the time she swallowed.

"Good, isn't it?"

Wendy heard the smirk in his voice. She'd been caught off guard in their first encounter, so this seemed like a good time to go on the offensive. "So what kind of a name is Archer, anyway?"

He was completely nonplussed. "A middle name. My first name is Richard. Never liked it much."

"Fair enough. It took me years to get used to Wendy."

"What brings you here tonight, Wendy?" He lingered over her name.

If she didn't know any better, she would think this guy was flirting with her. "I work here," her answer was shorter than she had intended, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Fascinating. In what capacity, if you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind." Wendy took another very satisfying sip of her beer. "I'm the head librarian on the other side of the building." Even talking about the two halves of the North Harbor Historical Library and Museum demarcated the difference between the museum end the library side. There was a very obvious physical barrier between the two in the form of long hallway that led back to the offices - museum offices on the right, library offices on the left. Through no fault of anyone, perhaps it was just human nature, there wasn't much interaction between the two sides. Wendy, as the head librarian and only restorer, did some restoration work as needed for the library, but she was really the only one who did much crossing over. Wendy's thoughts strayed to Carrie, and she realized, with a pang of guilt, that she should be looking out for the girl. Carrie didn't know many people aside from Magda and herself. As fond as Wendy was of Magda, she knew her friend wasn't the sort to seek out and shelter an eighteen-year-old girl who happened to find herself out of her element.

"Head librarian," Archer repeated with a knowing smirk. "Why does that make me feel like you are going to rap my knuckles with a ruler?"

"Only if you're naughty," even as the words fell from her mouth like vomit, Wendy was aching to take them back. She hadn't meant to say anything provocative. Really, she hadn't, but the way the word rolled off her tongue, it was barely short of obscene.

Archer raised one eyebrow and studied her, his expression showing shock but not the distaste she anticipated. When he answered, the flush that infused Wendy's cheeks darkened from pink to purple.