Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) (7 page)

He appeared to digest my words before his face relaxed just a bit, his posture going from rigid to loose. “I’m just doing my job. My job is to ask you questions. You do want me to do my job, don’t you? So we can figure out what happened to your stepfather?”

He was right, and I was still holding a grudge about my interrogation after Madam Zoltar’s death, when he’d also just been doing his job. “Fair enough. Keep asking.”

“Did you see Bart with anyone else tonight? Notice anything unusual?”

I didn’t know Bart well enough to know what was unusual. “I saw him here and there tonight. He was mingling with the other guests, talking, eating and doing what people do at parties. We chatted for a bit and then he had to take a phone call.”

“A phone call? Do you know from who?”

As I crossed my legs, I forced myself to remember this was for the greater good. “I have no idea. He just said he had to take it. He was a rather successful businessman, maybe it was some hot stock tip.”

Detective Moore just grunted and scribbled on his pad. “Anything else you can add? Any suspicious activity? Anything out of the ordinary with anyone else at the party?”

“Nothing that I can think of.”

Flipping the small notepad closed, he glared down at me in bad cop mode. “That’s all for now then. We’ll be in touch.”

Just as I rose to go check on my mother, one of the troupe members who’d been a part of the champagne glass act rushed in from outside and took a towel from another male acrobat.

Her slight frame trembled as she dried herself and smiled at the man who’d handed her the towel. Unlike K, in a very American accent, she asked, “Where’s CC?”

Huh. A two-letter name? Definitely a rage-against-the-machine move on CC’s part.

“Out talking to that cop with the poker face,” he said, hitching his thumb over his shoulder.

Her blue eyes, enormous in her tiny heart-shaped face, widened. “Is she telling him what happened with the dead guy earlier?”

I slowed my exit from the dining room and turned my back to the couple, trying to melt into the wall so I could eavesdrop.

“You mean that she slapped him for being a pig?”

My eyes widened. Bart? A pig?

“He was disgusting, making comments about her breasts. He deserved to have his face slapped!”

“Well, now the guy’s dead. That doesn’t look so good for CC.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Al. She didn’t kill him. She slapped him for being inappropriate,” the tiny woman said with disgust in her tone, her teeth chattering with every word.

“Well, the cops asked her where she was at the time, and she was on a break. A break
alone
. That looks suspicious.”

“Interesting,” Win remarked in my ear.

“Look who decided to show up to the party,” I whispered, pressing my fingers to my Bluetooth in case I was caught talking to what looked like myself.

“I’ve been here almost the whole time, Cheeky One. Except, of course, when I went on the hunt for Hugh, whom I was unable to locate unless he was in the loo—a place I’m unwilling to check. You were holding your own just fine with Detective Dog With A Bone, so I thought I’d hover and see what I could see with your mother.”

“And did you find anything?”

“I found that even sobbing, she’s still quite beautiful.”

Grating a sigh, I closed my eyes. “Not helping, Win.”

“Not much else to report. She claims she was in the ladies’ room, freshening up before she continued her search for Bart. As she made her way back out to the front lawn, she saw him in the parlor.”

No matter what my mother did, I would never wish her coming upon anyone, let alone her husband, sprawled on the floor with a sheet wrapped around his neck, dead. But that she was alone when she’d found him wouldn’t look good to the law.

So I crossed my fingers and asked, “Was anyone with her? Did anyone see her go to the ladies’ room?”

“Unfortunately, no. However, she’s stuck to her guns and repeated the same story four separate times for Detective Montgomery, word for word.”

“Is he still with her?”

“Oh, indeed. He’s comforting her as we speak.”

“Then I’d better get back out there before they end up engaged.” I hated saying that about my mother, but it was the straight-up truth. She’d only had one husband who’d died—a mortal, for all intents and purposes—and not one day after his funeral, she was drumming up replacements.

I often wondered if it was because she was afraid to be alone. Yet, I couldn’t reconcile that with her behavior
after
she said “I do.” Once she’d nabbed a man and locked him down in wedded bliss, she didn’t want anything to do with him.

She was too busy socializing and having her hair done to spend quality time with her new husband. So maybe it was just the thrill of the chase, and when she captured her conquest, the fizzle ran out.

I slipped out of the dining room and through the entryway, skirting the new crowd who’d entered as the police milled in and about, asking questions of each of the guests.

Stepping out onto the porch, I saw my mother sitting with Detective Montgomery. He had that enthralled look on his face all men had when they were caught up in Dita’s spell, no matter how powerful they were.

Great googly-moogly. I had to act fast. “Mom?” I held out my hand to her and smiled. “Come with me and I’ll get you some of that tea you like so much.”

Detective Montgomery patted her hand and gave her his card when she shot him a questioning glance. “It’s fine, Miss Cartwright. I’ve got all I need for now. We’ll be in touch.”

My mother rose, fragile as a wilting flower, took two steps and collapsed against me, letting me help her inside. Forrest came up from the rear and flanked her from the other side, taking most of the weight off me as we led her to the kitchen, which had now begun to clear out.

I sat her down on one of the chairs by the enormous windows overlooking the Puget and set off to make her some tea, but I didn’t have to bother. Carmella, my contractor Enzo’s wife, was already on it.

She held up the cup, her normally messy bun atop her head looking quite sleek tonight. She wore the pretty gold and blue sparkly caftan I’d given her for her birthday just last week. “I got this, kiddo.”

“How did you know what she liked?”

“Oh, your mother and I had a nice chat earlier. I learned plenty,” she said on a wink. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to warn me she knew what a diva my mother could be, or if mom just dominated their conversation with all things Dita enough that Carmella now knew her bra size.

Taking the steaming cup from her, I smiled warmly and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Have I told you you’re the best lately and that I positively adore you?”

She tweaked my cheeks with chubby fingers and grinned. “Just the other day when I brought you some stuffed manicotti, I think. You were talking all sorts of gobbledygook. Lifelong commitments, moving in together. Now go be with your mother. I’ll make sure everything else is handled with Petula and crew,
capisce
?” she asked in her New York accent.

I blew out a breath in relief. “Marry me, Carmella. Leave Enzo and let’s just do it,” I teased.

Her chuckle, warm and hearty, rang in my ears as she made her way out of the kitchen.

“You look beautiful tonight, Carmella! Tell Enzo I said so!” I yelled after her, smiling as I brought the tea to my mother.

Forrest looked to me, his eyes full of genuine concern, because that’s just who Forrest was. A good guy. “Should I leave?”

My mother’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist. “No man as handsome as you should ever ask that question.” Then she chuckled, tinkling and airy as she smoothed her hand over her hair and batted her eyelashes.

Uh-huh. I give you the
real
Dita.

I grabbed Forrest’s hand, too, and motioned him to sit next to me. “It’s fine. Stay, please.” I could use the support.

Then I looked into my mother’s eyes—eyes so like mine. “So what happened, Mom? Was Bart in a bad space?”

She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her eyes, letting tears fill them. “He was fine, Stevie. Everything was fine. I don’t understand…”

“Understand what? Do you think he would harm himself? Do you think he’d…” I couldn’t say it out loud.

My mother shook her head. “I don’t know. As far as I knew, he was very happy.”

That statement worried me. As far as she knew? The trouble was, she never looked deeply enough or past her own needs and emotions to know if anyone else was suffering, ever.

So I patted her hand and encouraged her to drink her tea by pushing it toward her. “Have some tea, Mom. It’ll warm you.”

But my mother flapped a hand and wrinkled her pert nose. “Forget the tea. I just told that woman I liked it because don’t
all
mothers my age drink tea? The best way to make friends is to be just like them. Find me some whiskey, Stephania, honey. That’ll warm me up just fine while I hunt for Bart’s insurance policy.”

Yep.

Heeere’s Dita.

A
s the last staff member cleared the kitchen, I let Forrest take my hand and lead me to the front door and back out onto the porch.

The lights still glowed everywhere, leaving a dreamy ambiance that, had a death not occurred here tonight, would leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.

Bart’s body had been removed and taken to the morgue while my mother sobbed, something I wasn’t sure was real or for show. All the guests in their fancy clothes had gone, too. The questioning was over for the time being. There was nothing left to do but be alone with my mother. And I hated that I dreaded it.

“You gonna be okay?” Forrest asked, pulling me close.

I let my cheek rest on his chest and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

He pressed his chin to the top of my head. “Good to know. So lunch this week if you can break away? Bring your mother if you’d like.”

“You don’t really want me to do that, but you’re a standup guy for asking anyway.”

His deep chuckle rumbled in my ears. “She’s quite a card, your mother.”

“Um, yeah. She something all right.” Leaning back in his arms, I smiled up at him, his warm eyes comforting me. “Thanks for sticking around during this mess.”

“I wouldn’t have missed tonight for the world. I’m sorry it ended so badly.”

“Me too. So lunch later this week it is. I’d better get back inside before my mother breaks the Internet trying to figure out Bart’s passwords.”

“I was a little surprised she was already thinking ahead. Very levelheaded of her.”

It took everything I had not to snort out loud. “Someday, I’ll tell you all about my mother and her level head.”

“I can’t wait,” he teased, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “Night, Stevie.”

“Night, Forrest,” I murmured back, wiggling my fingers as he let go of me before disappearing down the steps and across the lawn.

Kicking off my shoes, I stooped to pick them up and decided to wait just another moment to go back inside and help my mother.

“Stevie? I have intel,” Win said, his tone ominous.

I sighed as I looked up at the stars. “Intel?”

“A spirit here—no face, just a voice—says not to believe everything you see.”

My head hung between my shoulders as a sardonic laugh spewed from my lips. “Oh, that’s hugely helpful. Bet it has to do with my mother. I think Dita just proved what she shows the world isn’t real. If that spirit’s contacting you because of her, it should be telling that to all the people she encountered tonight, including Carmella, who bought her Mary Poppins routine lock, stock and tea.”

“Hold on—more coming…”

Did I want to know what was coming? Would it be something horrible about my mother? Some piece of information I was better off not knowing?

“The spirit says—a male spirit, in case you wondered—your mother isn’t what she seems… How curious, don’t you think?”

Rolling my eyes, I headed back inside. “Tell your spirit he’s like twenty years too late. I’ve always known she gives good face. She’s only been my mother for almost thirty-three years. If he really wants to help, tell him to find Bart. Some answers would be nice.”

“I’ve been waiting here on Plane Limbo since you found him, but no sign yet. Either he immediately crossed or he’s drifting.”

“Well, if you see High Planes Drifter, tell him we have some questions, would you?”

“I am nothing if not your minion, Dove,” Win joked.

“Did you ever find Hugh?”

How could a man claim to be my father then take off without another word? I wanted to talk to my mother about it, but it was a pretty precarious time to bring up something she never wanted to talk about to begin with.

“I haven’t seen him since his confession. I looked everywhere, too. I’d like to chalk this up to someone attempting a scam with you, but my gut says something else.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll have to ask my mother about him. Not looking forward to that conversation.”

“But you must protect yourself, Stevie, and your mother.”

“Stephania? Who are you talking to? I thought everyone had gone home?” my mother called from the kitchen.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s a relief to finally tell another living soul I have a ghost. “It’s my ghost, Mom. His name is Win. Or Crispin Alistair Winterbottom, if you’re into long names that sound like they belong to a British butler.”

“Oh,
Stephania,
will you never learn?” Win asked on a chuckle.

She cocked her head, looking up from the laptop as I took the seat across the table. “Your ghost? I thought you could no longer hear the dead? You said you lost your powers, during our last phone call.”

“I did. And we didn’t have a phone call, Mom. I left you a message and you sent me a text back saying Bart said you shouldn’t get involved because of council reprisal.”

“Must you make mountains out of molehills, Stevie?”

No. I mustn’t. This wasn’t healthy. No rehashing, especially now that her husband was dead. We had more important things to discuss—like anything that would be helpful in finding Bart’s killer.

Dropping my shoes in the corner by the mudroom just off the kitchen, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know how I can hear Win. I just can. He showed up one day, and we’ve been together ever since.”