Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) (17 page)

And that was when I saw the mess—everywhere.

My mother’s clothes were strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other. The beautiful white cabinet doors of the upper row were flung carelessly open, while the complementing steel-blue of the bottom rows were just ajar.

The fire alarm beeped at regular intervals, its annoying chirp going right through me. There was black soot on the hardwood floors with pieces of charred material in it.

Glasses were piled high in the sink, discarded bottles of my mom’s favorite Perrier scattered over the vast landscape of our Italian creamy-white and blue-veined countertops.

Bel was on one of those counters, a tiny bandana on his head, made out of one of my old Carolina Herrera scarves I’d found at a bargain-basement price, as Com pushed at a can of powdered cleanser and yelled, “Timber!” Letting the substance puff out onto the countertop.

Wom sat atop a sponge, twisting his tiny body to cleanse the counter surface. Even Uncle Ding was in on the action. Using a toothbrush held in his mouth, he was disjointedly scrubbing the shiny copper faucet of the vegetable sink.

Bat Dad stood beside them and oversaw the process of whatever it was they were doing. “She’ll be back any minute, boys. We’ve got to clean this up!”

“Too late, boys,” Deloris called, her wings flapping wildly as she hovered over the countertops.

“Ma!” Belfry cried. “You were supposed to be our lookout!”

“What is going on?” I yelped.

Bel was the first to react. He launched himself into the air, flying straight for me to position himself in front of my face. “It was just a little accident. We’ll clean it up, Boss, promise. No big deal.”

“Yeah,” Uncle Ding grunted, spitting out the toothbrush. “Some accident, leavin’ us here to clean up her mess while she goes off to take a long hot bath and a nap. I’ve never been treated so bad in my life!”

“Belfry? Explain,” I ordered.

“I got this, Nephew,” Uncle Ding groused. He kicked the toothbrush into the gorgeous copper sink and strutted to the edge of the countertop, his little hands on his very round body. “Your mother’s a slob. She spent all day complaining about how bored she was while she changed her clothes like a runway model, then she had a little lunch in every room in the house and decided she wanted to iron her dress for tonight. Well, she forgot the iron was on while she was taking that long hot soak I mentioned, almost setting the house on fire, and now she’s napping. Nice, right?”

“Stevie, I caution you. Murder is wrong. Murder is wrong. Murder is wrong. And it’s punishable by death in some states,” Win warned.

“She left you guys to clean up for her?” I squealed in disbelief.

“Well, she didn’t ask. She just left it here,” Bel admitted, his face sheepish. “I couldn’t stand the idea you were gonna have to come home to this, so I gathered the crew and thought we’d try and handle it on our own.”

“Did she not get my call telling her Sandwich was coming over to collect more evidence?”

Com nodded on a tired sigh. “Aw, yeah. She got it, all right. Ignored it. But that guy Enzo—who was workin’ on the touch-up paint in the bathroom—let the cop and his team in. They did another sweep of the parlor and took whatever you told them about and left. She never even woke up from…what was it, guys, her second nap of the day?”

“Two, three, they’re all a blur,” Uncle Ding groused.

“Stephania?” my mother called from the staircase.

Ah, the woman of the hour. “Mother? Please come in here,” I seethed, clenching my fists.

“Murder is wrong, murder is wrong, murder is wrong!” everyone chanted in unison.

I snapped my fingers at the peanut gallery. “Can it, all of you! Mother, come in here!”

Dita breezed in looking fresh as a daisy. She had one of my cute maxi dresses on—cinched tightly at her neck because we weren’t even close to the same size—a chunky gold bracelet, and she smelled suspiciously like my favorite pear perfume.

As she stopped in the doorway and looked at me as though she didn’t see the mess all around her, I reminded myself.
Murder is wrong, Stevie.

“What do you want, Stephania? I’m very busy.”

Murder is wrong, Stevie
. “Oh
, reeeally
? Too busy I guess to clean up the mess you made? Mom, have you no respect for someone else’s things? Look at this!” I spread my arms wide to encompass the “this” I was talking about.

Mom just shrugged her slender shoulders and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You have a maid, don’t you?”

“No!” I bellowed so loud, Whisky whined. “I don’t have a maid, Mother! And even if I did, I wouldn’t treat her this way. But
you
don’t have a maid either. Know why you don’t have a maid? Because you have no money!”

Her bored look of disinterest only served to further infuriate me. “Are you done with your rant now? May I carry on with my evening?”

I might have passed out in disbelief if this wasn’t my mother’s typical MO. I don’t think she ever mopped a floor as I was growing up, or even cleaned a toilet. “No. No you may not. You’re going to roll up your sleeves, or in this case,
my
dress, and help us clean this up!”

She didn’t look at all concerned. Trashing our beautiful house was of no consequence to someone like Diva Dita Cartwright.

“But I have a—”

The doorbell clanged then, interrupting my internal plan to map out a way to smother her in her sleep.

“That will be for me,” she said cheerfully, turning to answer the front door.

“Oh, no you don’t!” I yelled, running after her to grab her arm and swing her around.

The expression she gave me was mortified. “Stephania, let go! That’s my date Raul, and I don’t want to be late. It would be rude.”

“Your what with Ra-who?” I squeaked, gripping her arm tighter.

“Rrraul, Dove. Nice name. If you roll the R it’s very dark and seductive, yes?” Win offered.

“Win, shut it.”

Dita smiled her cat-like smile. I knew it well. Raul was the mouse and she had her kitten heels on. “Raul, Cupcake. He’s that shipping magnate I told you about.”

“Mother, what did I tell you just this morning? You can’t go anywhere with anyone! How can you even consider hunting down a new husband when all the town’s eyes are on you right now? Your husband just died
yesterday
, for gravy’s sake!”

“I’ll wear my sunglasses. They’ll simply think I’m out with a dear friend who’s come to help me through my grief, Stephania. Now, let me go!” She yanked her arm from my grip and ran to the door, flinging it wide to reveal a very handsome man in a tan suit.

Dark and muscled, lean and sensuous, he lifted Dita’s hand and pressed a light kiss to it. His charisma alone, if bottled and packaged, would make millions.

And my mother giggled like a schoolgirl. “This is my daughter, Stephania,” she said in her dismissive tone.

Raul didn’t even have the time to greet me before she was pulling him out the door and down the steps, the clack of her heels echoing in my ears.

“Murder is wrong, Stevie,” Win singsonged.

The cool breeze blew in the door, ruffling the leaves of the arrangements on the dining room table. Defeated, I went to close it, avoiding looking at the parlor. There was no helping her if she didn’t want the help. If she landed in human jail for her behavior, Baba would come and snatch her up so fast, her head would spin.

And it’d serve her right. I hope if she does end up in the clink, she has to eat creamed corn every single meal of her prison sentence.

Just as I was about to shut the door on any hope my mother would ever behave like an adult, Hardy’s face appeared. “Stevie?”

“Oh, Hardy, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. What can I do for you?”

He smiled and handed me a package wrapped in brown paper and addressed to me. “Figured I’d drop this on the way home. Missed it when I made my deliveries earlier today. Guess I’m still kinda shook up after yesterday.”

I leaned against the door and smiled tiredly, taking the lightweight package from him. “That was very sweet. Thank you, Hardy. You have a good night, okay?”

He held up a slender finger as I began to close the door. “One more thing. You kept calling that varmint Bart. I thought it was strange, maybe a nickname for him or somethin’, but the papers called him that, too.”

There was that tingle in my spine. I frowned. “We called him Bart because that’s his name, Hardy.”

Hardy’s face went hard with a scowl, the sun shining on it and accentuating his high cheekbones. “Not when I knew him, it wasn’t.”

“What was his name?”

“I’ll never forget it as long as I live. It was Andrew Forbes.”

A
fter I set the package on the dining room table, I raced to the kitchen to grab my laptop.

“Andrew Forbes, eh?”

“You heard the man, and according to him, he told the police Bart wasn’t Bart but Andrew. Which means, they’ll be looking into it just like we’re going to. It’s just a matter of who finds what first. So, I need to see if I can look up pictures of the Anchor Yacht Club parties. Maybe we can see if he’s mentioned in there.”

“My guess is Bart stole identities. Bad Bart,” Win commented.

I stopped halfway to my laptop and looked at the Bats and Bel, trying so diligently to clean up Dita’s mess. “Guys? Take a break. This wasn’t your mess to clean. I’ll take care of it, but thank you for looking out for me.”

“Wahooo!” Wom screeched, kicking up a cloud of the cleanser as he soared to the ceiling.

But Bat Dad flapped his wings in a curt reprimand. “Wom Bat, you get down here right now, young man! Stevie was kind enough to allow us to stay in her home, the least we can do is help out when she’s in need.”

Wom dropped to the kitchen’s center island like a bomb, dragging his body back to where he’d been scrubbing. “Fine. Let’s go on vacation somewhere else next year, huh? How do you feel about Bali?”

I chuckled, tucking my finger under Bat Dad’s chin. “I appreciate it, Melvin, but you guys go.” I swished my hands at them to shoo them off to better things. “Scoot. You must be due for a nap by now.”

Bel flapped his wings and hovered in front of my face, his eyes searching mine. “Boss? I’m gonna be honest. Your mother sucks dirty toes. She’s horrible, and I can’t stand to watch any more of this kind of behavior from her. Either you handle it, or I will. I don’t care if it’s overstepping my boundaries as your familiar or not. Someone needs to put her in her place. She’s mean to you, and I don’t like it.”

“I know I need to speak to her, Bel—”

“No. You need to set
boundaries
with her, Stevie. Boundaries. Like the kind that make it perfectly clear you’re not her punching bag or her cash cow. Enough’s enough.”

He was right. Everyone was right. It was just summoning up the courage and making the promise to myself that I’d stick to my guns and no longer allow it.

“You’re right, and I promise when this is over, I’ll talk to her.”

“Fair enough. C’mon, guys. Let’s let Stevie do her thing. Whiskey!” Bel whistled. “C’mon, buddy, let’s play ball!”

As the Bats, Bel, and Whiskey left the room, I sank into one of the kitchen chairs and sighed in relief. The peace settling over the house wasn’t just audible, it was spiritual. I felt my mom’s tense, hyper presence leave my space and took a deep breath.

“It’s been a very long day, yes, Dove?”

I tucked my chin into my hand and kicked off my work boots. “Yes, Spy Guy. Very long.”

“What shall we do about your mother? Bel’s right, Stevie,” Win said, his tone soft. “I don’t know that I had the entire picture, or if I really thought any parent could be as despicable as Dita is. Even after you warned me, described her to me. But I have it now. I, unlike Bel, am not afraid to overstep anything when it comes to her poor treatment of you. She might not be able to hear me, but there are other ways to be heard. This must end.”

Flipping open my laptop, I shrugged my shoulders. “What
can
I do? It’s clear whatever I say means nothing to her. Which is probably why I avoid confronting her to begin with. It’s a very bad idea for her to be out with Rrraul right now, but you see how well she listens to me. She’s impossible.”

“Was she really always like this?”

As dysfunctional as the day was long. “As far back as I can remember. There were no cookies and milk when I got home from school. Actually, come to think of it, when she was between husbands and low on cash, the house kind of looked like the kitchen does right now.”

“My heart is heavy for you. You were so under-nurtured. I don’t understand how
you
became so nurturing.”

My cheeks went hot. Must have gotten that from my father’s side of the family. “I wasn’t totally under-nurtured. Dita had witch friends from her coven who dropped by from time to time. I could always call them if I needed anything. Mostly, anyway. She was never one to coddle or dote. Everything is always about Dita. Every once in a while she’d do something nice for me. Buy me a cake at the supermarket for my birthday or whatever. I often wondered why she had me in the first place. It’s obvious I wasn’t planned.”

Win enveloped me in his warmth. “She had you so you could help others like Madam Z and Liza and Carlito, and most especially,
me
.”

I wondered what it would be like to have a real hug from Win, but I brushed that thought aside as I focused on this new information about Bart or Andrew or whoever.

As I looked at my computer screen, I rolled my eyes. “If you were ever wondering how Dita found so many millionaires, I think this is our answer.” Pointing to the screen, I almost laughed at the site she’d visited.

Millionaires.com: Where money
can
buy happiness.

“Bloody hell, that woman is relentless,” Win growled.

Rubbing my hands together, I asked, “So where do we go to find out if Bart is stealing identities? How do we find out?”

“Well, as it so happens, I know a person who knows a person. Now, if I can just
recall
the person who knows a person, we’ll figure out a way to contact him.”

“Okay, you think about your person, I’ll go to the Anchor Yacht Club’s website and see if we can find any pictures.”