The Witch and the Dead (22 page)

“It seems to me that there are a lot of factors at play where Miles is concerned. And about that amulet . . .”

I didn't like the warning in his tone. “Oh no. What? Is the ME's office refusing to let us see it? Surely they understand that we won't—”

“Darcy,” he cut me off. “They can't let us look at it because they don't have it. The amulet isn't part of Miles' belongings. There's no record of it.”

I processed what he was saying. “So he wasn't wearing it when he died?”

Nick shook his head. “Again, I'm feeling as though this case is full of question marks,” he said. “The more we dig, the more questions come up.”

“We can't rule out Dorothy. If she was trying to keep Miles from learning about their baby's new family, she definitely had motive to kill him.”

“We can't rule out
anyone
at this point,” Nick said. “And if we don't get a big break soon, this cold case might stay cold forever.”

I
awoke Sunday morning to bright sunshine streaming in the windows and Annie sleeping in Nick's spot on the bed. Sleepily, she looked at me, and I patted her head until her eyes closed again.

Leaning up on my elbow, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was after eight in the morning. Way past my usual wake-up time. I yawned, stretched, grabbed my glasses from where they sat on a stack of three sketchbooks on my nightstand, and eyed the one made of leather, wishing I'd been able to find that four-leaf clover. In the grand scheme of life, it was such a silly thing to want back, but to me it represented so much more than a gift from Mimi.

It represented family.

My family.

I sighed and told myself to let it go. I had the family, and that was all that mattered. I lifted the charm
bracelet Mimi and Nick had given me for my last birthday. Three charms dangled from the sterling silver band. Two of which Mimi had made at Wickedly Creative: a paintbrush to represent my art and a book to remind me that I'd first met Nick in front of Spellbound. Nick had bought a sun charm to add to the collection. He'd said it represented the light I brought into their lives.

Just remembering the moment filled me with such love that I sat there staring at the charms for a long moment, thanking my lucky stars.

And that clover.

Wherever it might be.

Annie stayed in bed as I brushed my teeth, pulled my hair into a high knot, put on my robe and slippers, and went in search of Nick. And for Higgins, too, since he hadn't greeted me with his usual slobbery morning kisses. I knelt on the window bench that looked out over the village square to see if Nick was walking the dogs on the green. And though the paths were busy, I didn't see them.

Down the hall, I peeked in on Mimi. She was sound asleep, her pillow over the top half of her face. Missy's tail wiggled when she spotted me, and she leaped off the bed and ran to the door.

I picked her up and let her give me slobbery morning kisses. In all honesty, I'd missed them. I couldn't fault her for loving Mimi the way she did, however. I knew the feeling. “I don't suppose you know where Nick and Higgins are?”

Her tail stopped wagging.

I took that as a no.

In the kitchen, I checked for a note from Nick, found none. No confetti, either, which told me that Annie hadn't stolen it before I had the chance to read it. The coffee carafe was full, and Nick had set a mug out for me. It was from the Witch's Brew and was in the shape
of a cauldron. I checked the pets' food dishes. Annie's and Missy's were full—because Nick had left them on top of the washing machine. Higgins' bowl was on the floor and licked clean. I set Missy and her bowl on the floor, and she happily dug in.

I took my cup of coffee and opened the French doors leading out to the back patio. It was a beautiful, balmy morning. I breathed deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of the magical scent that I loved so much, but it wasn't in the air.

The bad juju was lingering, and I wished it would just go away already.

A moment later, a mourning dove landed before me, then disappeared into a glittery white cloud that dissipated, revealing my mother floating there. She was dressed in white jeans and a white cashmere sweater. Her hair flowed over shoulders, and I wanted to know her secret to keeping stray strands from sticking to her clothes. My hair tended to shed like crazy, which was why I shied away from white outfits.

“Good morning,” Mom said as she kissed my cheek.

I gave her a hug and wondered if seeing her every morning was going to become a routine. I rather hoped so. “Coffee?”

She shook her head. “I can't stay. I have a meeting with Dorothy.”

“How's Vince?” I asked as I walked over to the porch swing that hung from a trellis that ran along the back of the house. “I assume he's been told by now that he's a witch?”

She sat next to me, lifting her feet up to tuck beneath her. “He has. He's processing. It's a lot to take in.”

He'd wanted so badly to know who his mother was, and also to be a witch. He'd gotten those wishes, but at what cost? “Has he met you?”

Missy toddled out, saw my mother, and picked up
her pace. With a not so graceful leap, she joined us on the swing. I patted her head, and she settled in between us.

“Not yet. Dorothy will take him under her wing for now. I'll be keeping in close touch with her.”

“Lucky you.”

She laughed and the sound filled my soul. “The luckiest.”

The sun lit the dazzling leaves on the trees beyond the fence. The reds, oranges, and golds appeared to be glowing. We swayed. “Did Dorothy really not know that Vince was her son?”

“She hadn't a clue.”

Birds chattered from the woods, and a squirrel ran along the fence pickets. “But you knew. . . .”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Did you know Dorothy had memory-cleansed Ve?”

“No. I wish I did. It would have saved me a lot of worry over the years about what had taken place that weekend.”

“Seems dangerous, Crafters being able to cleanse anyone they please without consequence, yet I have to admit, it is handy at times.” I'd had to use it myself more than once.

She smiled. “Whether to limit the usage of the memory cleanse is one of those things that has been brought up time and again at Coven of Seven gatherings. No one can ever agree on limitations, however, so it remains ungoverned for the most part.”

I gave us a push with my slippered toe. “Who, exactly, is in the Coven of Seven?”

She patted my cheek. “Good try.”

It had been.

We swung in silence for a few moments. I could have sat with her, like this, all day long.

I said, “Do you know if Miles' death involved Crafting at all?”

“Other than the Crafters themselves who are involved?”

“Other than.”

“I'm not sure what you mean . . .”

“I've been thinking about what Steve Winstead told me last night. About Penelope and the blood on her hands. If she killed him, there's only one way she could have transferred his body to Ve's garage. The Special Delivery Spell. The Elder would know if she'd used it, wouldn't she? Since Penelope had used magic in a criminal manner?”

“A record of that would have been kept, yes. However, I've searched the archives for any infractions relating to Miles Babbage and there was only one, and it didn't relate to that particular spell.”

One? Then I remembered. “Penelope's powers.”

My mother nodded.

“She told Miles, didn't she?”

“Yes. From what I've discovered, she felt the need to be honest before they eloped.”

“Was he memory-cleansed?”

“He was, shortly after Penelope was whisked away to Cape Cod.”

We swayed for a moment before I said, “If Penelope killed Miles, his body should have been in the bunkhouse. But it was gone by the time Steve returned to check on him. . . . So what happened to the body?”

“Do you know for certain she killed him?”

“No, but she had a lot of blood on her hands, so something tragic happened.”

“But according to the medical examiner Miles was strangled, wasn't he?”

I rubbed my temples. “Yes.”

“Then how does the blood factor in?”

“I don't know . . . yet.” I needed to speak with Penelope. The sooner the better. Right now all I had was Steve's word of what had happened that night, and suddenly I wondered if he'd been telling me the whole truth.

Glancing up at the sun as if judging its placement in the sky, Mom gave a little sigh. “I must be going. You'll figure out what happened to Miles, Darcy. I have faith in you.”

At least one of us did. “Thanks.”

“You know where to find me if you need me.”

I did.

I waved and Missy barked as my mother disappeared into a glittery cloud. A mourning dove flew off, headed in the direction of the magical meadow where she lived.

As I watched her go, I wished I'd thought to ask her if she knew where Miles' amulet was. Even though it no longer held any power, it was still made of enchanted clay, so there was a chance she would be able to find its location. I'd trek into the woods later to ask her.

I sat on the bench a little while longer before heading back into the house to refill my coffee. Afterward, as I headed for my office to check voice mail, I happened to glance at the front door.

Looking in, Higgins had his nose pressed to the sidelight, and drool dripped down the glass. “What in the world?”

It sounded like someone knocking as his tail thumped the front porch. I peeked outside. Nick was in the grass on his hands and knees with a magnifying glass.

I pulled open the door and Higgins gave me a bath in kisses. I gave him lots of love and he soon turned his attention to Missy, who didn't tolerate his kisses nearly as well as I did.

I sat on the bottom step of the porch stairs, set my coffee next to me, and tightened the sash on my robe. Higgins and Missy darted about the yard, sniffing far corners. I stretched out my legs, felt my heart swell. Softly, I said, “How long have you been out here?”

“Not long,” Nick said.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looked over at me. “I'm going to find it.”

“Nick . . .”

“No, Darcy.” He stood, stretched, and rolled his shoulders back as though he'd developed some serious kinks. He left the magnifying glass on the ground as he walked over to me and sat down. “It's too important to let go. I'll spend every morning for the rest of my life out here if I have to. I'll find it.”

“You don't have to do that.”

He thumbed a teardrop from the corner of my eye. “I want to do that. Just like I want to spend every day of the rest of my life here with you.” He took hold of my hands, drew in a long deep breath, and said, “Darcy, will you—”

“Is this a private party?” Harper asked as she strolled up the walkway, carrying a paper sack from Spellbound. “If so, you need to work on your party clothes, Darcy. Godfrey would be appalled.”

Nick stared at me, smiled. “So close.”

I couldn't help smiling back. I leaned my forehead against his. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He gave me a kiss and went back to his search.

Harper's face scrunched in disgust. “You two . . .”

“Hush,” I said. “You and Marcus are just as bad.”

Something flashed in her eyes as she took Nick's spot next to me. Something bleak.

“What's wrong?” I asked. It was clear something was. “Is it Marcus?”

The bleakness turned to despair and Harper looked away, suddenly fascinated with the paint on the newel-post.

I bumped her with my shoulder. “Harper?”

When she finally looked back at me, I could tell she was trying hard to keep her emotions in check. “He, um, he . . .”

“What?”

Nick, I noticed, had stopped looking for that clover.

“He's just kind of torn up about what's going on with his parents. He's taking it hard. What Steve Winstead said about Penelope . . .” She swallowed. “He went to talk to her about it last night. He didn't come home.”

Home. To Harper.

“Did he call?” Nick asked.

She nodded. “Eventually. After I left eight thousand messages on his phone. He gave me some excuse about needing to stay at his parents' house last night. I knew this would happen.”

“What?” I asked.

Her eyes were clear and bright with moisture as she said, “That they would tear us apart. It's starting. I can feel it.”

As much as I wanted to discount what she said, I couldn't. Harper's feelings weren't to be taken lightly. She knew things. I didn't know how. Maybe it was part of the magic that lived within
her
. And I couldn't help but recall the look of pity Oliver had given me yesterday as well. I said, “You won't let that happen.”

She gave me a wan smile. “I know I'm stubborn, and I'm up for the fight, but I don't know if I can compete against them. They're his parents. . . .”

I took hold of her hand. “He loves you.”

“I know he does. I just don't know if it's enough.”

“It is,” I insisted.

Holding my gaze, she nodded. But I could tell she didn't believe it.

She gave my hand a squeeze, then released it. “Enough about me. I brought you something. A housewarming gift.” She handed me the bag.

“But the housewarming is next weekend,” I said, trying to hand it back.

“I was going to save it, but as I watched Nick crawl around out here on his hands and knees for the past three hours, I thought he needed a break.”

“Three hours?” I said to him. “You said ‘not long.'”

He gave me an impish smile. “When you compare three hours to the rest of my life . . . it's not that long.”

“Nick.”

“Open the present,” Harper said. “I'm getting a headache. I think Starla's migraine was contagious.”

Yeah, they'd caught it from the men in their lives. I looked at my sister and immediately wanted to go find Marcus to shake some sense into him.

“Open it,” she said, dragging the words out. “I have a store to open in two hours.”

I laughed. “All right.”

From the bag, I pulled out a heavy square-shaped package. It was badly gift wrapped in red paper, the corners bunched, the edges uneven. Harper never had the patience for wrapping, and I'd come to love the way she presented gifts. If I ever received one that looked professionally done, I'd have to question her wellness.

I slowly peeled back an edge.

“For the love,” Harper wailed. “Today is not the day to torture me, Darcy.”

Nick laughed and motioned to the present. “What is it?”

I quickly ripped off the rest of the paper, squeezing it into a ball. I tossed it at Harper.