Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) (12 page)

“No. That was Pluto.”

“You’re deflecting. You’re avoiding. You’re driving me out of my mind! We’re a good team together, Win. We are. You
know
we are. Let me help you figure it out. Wouldn’t you feel better knowing if she really betrayed you? What if she didn’t and you’ve been persecuting her all this time for no good reason? What if your memories of your love affair don’t have to be tainted with doubt?”

His sigh was long and low. “Maybe I’m just not ready to find out the details? That’s the best I can offer you right now, Stevie. If you want my squishy girl feelings on this, here they are. I was deeply in love with Miranda. My alleged homicide—and I only use that word because you’re correct, I don’t know with one hundred percent accuracy she was the one to actually pull the trigger—all points back to her being a double agent, and taking sensitive information I’d given her then feeding it to a sworn enemy. Thus making my demise a forgone conclusion, either way. Right now, it’s all speculation on my part, but I’m not clear as to whether I’d rather leave it alone because it would cut me deeper or because I was played for a fool. Does that work for you? Or did I leave out an emotion you haven’t demanded I display?”

I simply smiled. He was still testy, but less defensive. But I still wasn’t prepared to lend him my theory on the possibility of Miranda still being alive. I’d thought a lot about the potential for faking her death, and it was pretty high. She had been or was, after all, a spy. I kept that card close to my chest for the time being.

“See how easy that was?” I puffed my chest out and pretended to be Win. Lowering my voice and using a British accent, I repeated what I’d heard. “I loved Miranda. She hurt me. I don’t have all the facts. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the facts. Those are my squishy girl feelings on the subject, Dove.”

Belfry whistled his approval. “Niiice, Boss. You forgot a ‘bloody hell,’ but good show!”

Win laughed, leaving me relieved. “I’m quite used to keeping things close to my chest. That’s what spies do, Stevie. We don’t get involved.”

“Oh yeah? Well, guess what, Winterbottom? You’re involved with
me
.” I thumbed my chest. “Whether you like it or not, I got you, babe. I’m your earthly eyes and ears. So stop being so quick to wheedle information out of me and offer up some of your own. My book’s written. You know it all. But we’re only on Chapter 1 of your opus. So, speaking of chapters, let’s turn the page. Did Miranda buy the house before you? Why does everyone in town talk about a woman living at our house, but either dying or disappearing?”

“Yes. She bought it before me and I bought it from her estate. I bought it because…well, because it reminded me of her. We’d had plans to…renovate it.”

Again, my heart twisted. He’d bought a house because the love of his life died. But that also meant Win bought it before he found out she’d allegedly betrayed him. Setting aside his reasons for buying the house, now we were getting somewhere.

“It was easy enough to find out, if you’d contacted the real estate agent who sold it, Stevie. It’s a matter of public record.”

I shook my head and wagged my finger. “Um, no. You don’t get to call me a slacker amateur sleuth. It’s all I can do every day not to start digging things up on the Internet about you.”

“I’ve been scrubbed, you won’t find much.”

“But that’s not why I don’t do it. I don’t scour the web because you asked me not to, so I don’t.”

“Which was how I knew I could trust you.”

My heart skipped a beat, a solid beat. This was even more unfamiliar than all the other emotions Win evoked in me. “All good things. Now trust me some more and tell me why she bought the house? Was the intent for the two of you to retire from spying and live out your spy lives in Ebenezer Falls?” I waited, my pulse racing like a Kentucky Derby mare.

But the jingle of the chimes on the front door thwarted all further conversation as I assumed my eleven o’clock had just arrived. “This ain’t over, Spy Guy,” I muttered.

“I’d be disappointed if you kept your claws sheathed,” Win quipped.

“Daughter!”

Oh, hey, look. My
dad’s
here.

I fought an enormous grin as he sauntered toward the back of the store. He wore a casual sports jacket in a crisp navy blue with a pale blue lightweight sweater beneath it. His hair was shiny and black under the store’s lights, slicked back away from his forehead, and his eyes were blue pools of warm greeting.

I jumped up, startling Whiskey, who immediately hauled himself off the floor, his big body knocking into a chair before he came to rest at my side, sniffing the air.

“Hi…” Dad? I wasn’t sure I was ready for that title yet. “Um…Hugh. What brings you to Madam Zoltar’s?”

He smiled broadly, holding out his hands to me—hands I took without reservation. “Every father wants to see where his daughter works. I thought maybe we could have that lunch? Somewhere private, of course. Perhaps my room at the inn? The mob of people seeking my autograph somewhere public would only interrupt our getting to know one another.”

I fought a giggle along with Win, who sputtered a cough. “I have an eleven o’ clock appointment, but it shouldn’t take long. We could meet back at the inn around noon, maybe one?”

And I could do some snooping.

Hugh cupped my chin. “Perfect. Shall we say one o’clock? I’ll take care of everything.”

I grinned, standing on tiptoe to press a shy kiss to his cheek. “We shall.”

Hugh gave me a quick hug before turning to take his leave, but he stopped mid-stride and cocked his head.

Which made me cock
my
head in confusion.

Which is what I’m guessing was the inspiration for Win to bellow, “Intel alert!”

But wait. Then I heard something, too.

“Don’t believe a word he says, y’all! He’s the one! He’s the one!” yelped a disembodied female voice, dripping with Southern charm.

M
y eyes flew open wide in shock. “Was that… Did I…?”

“You heard her?” Win blustered, his shock just as clear as mine.

“Who are you?” Hugh demanded, his normally smiling face going hard.

“He ain’t who he says he is, bless his wee heart. Not who he says he is. Not who he says he is! Not who he says he is!” the voice repeated, picking up steam in an almost eerie echo-like taunt.

“
Who
isn’t who he says he is?” Win demanded, his shout abrasive to my eardrums.

“Yeah?” I asked into the room, my eyes flying to Hugh. “Who are you talking about?”

“He did it! He did it! Y’all are gonna find—” And then the voice cut out completely on me. But obviously not for Win and Hugh.

“Identify yourself!” Win demanded in an almost simultaneous request with Hugh, whose face was getting harder by the second.

“Whoever you are, we need to know
who
you’re talking about,” Hugh said from stiff lips, his words curt.

And then she was back, but only momentarily. “
Hiiim!
” she screamed so loud, another one of my patched-together snow globes shattered and crashed to the ground. Gosh dang it. What was it about my snow globes being used as a point of reference for attack?

Whiskey began to bark wildly, running toward the shelf housing my globes as Belfry flew up in the air, landing on my shoulder to burrow into my hair with a shiver. “What’s the deal, Boss? Who’s at it now?”

I grabbed Whiskey to soothe him, stroking his big head as Win said again, “You’re not making any sense!”

Hugh held up one of his perfectly manicured hands and narrowed his eyes. “Identify yourself or I’ll end this conversation right now! I can’t help if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about!”

And then there was silence and the remains of my snow globe in pieces on the floor in a small puddle of water.

I broke the quiet when I asked, “Did anyone recognize the voice?”

“No. Never heard it before, Dove.”

The storm clouds on Hugh’s face suddenly parted and his warm charm returned in their place. “Neither have I.”

And then the spirit’s words sank in. Not the fact that I’d actually heard them, that crazy could be addressed later. No. It was the words themselves. The spirit said “he” wasn’t who he said he was.

Hadn’t we gotten the same message just last night from who we assumed was Masters about my mother?

And what other “him” was in the room aside from Hugh?

My eyes went to his face, now sunny and cheerful. “When pressed to identify who she meant, the spirit said ‘him.’ There’s only one
him
in the room,” I murmured, my legs wobbly.

But Hugh looked astonished, his eyes going wide. “Daughter, surely you don’t think she meant
me
?”

I backed away a little, grabbing the broom in the corner. I hated that I did, but I didn’t really know Hugh. I’d been so exhausted last night, I hadn’t had time to look him up on the web. That chore was on my list of things to do later this afternoon.

But just because he had a website didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of murder.

“Stevie!” he yelled, his voice harsh and rife with disappointment. “I would never say I was something I’m not. I am The Hugh Granite!”

“But are you two Hugh Granites? Movie stars kill people, too…”

He reached for my hands, his eyes imploring me, but I was afraid now, so I took another step back, putting the broom between us.

“The spirit said nothing about killing anyone, Stephania! And spirits often become confused.”

Oh, you bet I knew that. I could spend all day telling you stories about the confusion spirits can experience, or even create because sometimes they’re not in their right minds. They’re as confused as those they’re trying to contact. But this had been very specific.

I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat, licking my dry lips as Win spoke in my ear. “He’s correct, Dove. She said nothing about murder. Let’s think this through. Remember how we talked about controlling our impulses, Stevie.”

Was I hearing Mr. Ultra-Cautious right? Think it through? We knew nada about Hugh, except what he’d told us. Were we just going to take him at his word because he was my father? Maybe we’d discounted his involvement in Bart’s death too soon?

“
Please think this through
,” Hugh echoed, his eyes filled with hurt.

So I held up my hand, letting the broom handle rest in the other. “I’ll do that. But I’d like to do it alone, if you don’t mind,” I said from stiff lips.

“I guess our lunch is off then?”

Gosh. Even as I added him to my list of murder suspects, he was still adorable. I hated seeing the hurt on his face, the way his wide shoulders slumped in defeat.

Lifting my chin even as my legs trembled, I nodded. “For the time being. I’d like you to go now, please.”

Now he lifted his jaw, square and defiant. “I shall, but this isn’t over. I won’t give up on us, Daughter. You’ll see you were wrong and I’ll wait until you do.” He all but clicked his heels and pivoted, heading toward the door where, just before he opened it, he squared his shoulders and smoothed back his hair.

And then he was gone, with just the chimes to announce his departure.

I finally let out a heavy breath, my fear dissipating, leaving me sad.

“How are you, Dove?” Win finally asked.

“Horrified. Mortified. Disgusted for even suggesting such a thing.”

“But better horrified than dead, m’love. You must take precautions on the off chance your instincts, and mine as well, are wrong.”

“It can’t be him, Win.”
Please don’t let it be him.
“But who else could the spirit have meant?”

“She was quite evasive. I don’t know what it is about the spirits, but ’twould seem many get stuck on repeat. We can’t take everything they say as reliable.”

I nodded sadly, my heart heavy. “Did she say anything else?”

“Nothing either Hugh or I could understand, certainly.”

“Okay then. For now, Hugh stays on the list,” I offered with more resolve than I had. “What else could she have meant? He was the only
him
here.”

“It could mean many things, Dove. Let’s let that go for a moment and focus on something absolutely amazing. You heard the spirit as clearly as both Hugh and I! Surely that’s cause for a twerk?”

A small rush of excitement skipped through my veins before it fizzled. “I don’t have a twerk in me right now. I mean, this has happened before, right? A brief glimpse into my old life then nothing for weeks and weeks.”

I was referring to the last major bind I’d been in when another madman was chasing me down and I’d shot sparks from my fingers, just like I’d once did when I was a witch, casting spells. But I’d quickly fizzled, and then nothing until today.

“That’s true, but that’s not to say you won’t experience this at more frequent intervals now. Never give up, Dove,” he soothed, his warm aura surrounding me as though he were using his arms to envelope me in a hug.

“Yeah,” Bel agreed, tugging my hair as he nuzzled my cheek. “Don’t give up, Boss. This might only be the beginning of you getting your powers back.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I didn’t say anything more. I was too torn up about Hugh. Grabbing my turban, I put on my Madam Zoltar garb just as the chimes rang on the door, signaling my next client’s arrival.

Setting aside my anguish, and the image of my father so hurt, flashing through my mind’s eye, I set about doing what I was here to do.

I put a warm smile on my face, held my hand out and welcomed him, and made him comfortable.

But my heart was damn heavy while I did so.

* * * *

After I called Sandwich to let him know about what I’d seen under the chest of drawers in the parlor—keeping the information very vague, of course—I decided, before I headed to the inn to question some of the Cirque acrobats, I’d stop in and see Chester and Forrest for a cup of coffee and an egg salad sandwich. I needed some comfort food to ease the ache in my chest.

I tied Whiskey’s leash to the post under the awning Forrest had put up for customers with pets and kissed his muzzle. “I’ll be right back. Promise to bring you a treat.”

As I entered, Chester grinned at me from his favorite ice-cream-colored table and waved me over. “There she is. Come give ol’ Chester a hug. One’s in order after last night, Sunshine.”