Gone With the Witch (17 page)

“I was with you all along, Darcy.”

“I was with you all along, Darcy.”

“I was with you all along, Darcy.”

I looked at the pets, who were all staring up at me as though sensing something was wrong.

I stood up, sat down, stood up again.

“I was with you all along, Darcy.”

I thought of all the times I'd seen that bird around the village, and all the times I'd heard the Elder's voice here in this house. Had I never seen her coming or going, because she had
flown
in through Ve's bedroom window?

“Is the mourning dove the
Elder
in disguise?” I said aloud, my heart rate kicking up at the possibility.

None of the pets, however, answered me.

I sat down, stood up, sat down again. I didn't know what to do, where to go, who to ask.

Sensing my agitation, Missy barked. I patted her head. “Is it possible?”

She barked again, but I didn't know if it was a yes or a no.

My head started to ache with how hard my brain was working, trying to connect the pieces of this puzzle.

I twirled the feather between my fingers. “But if the Elder's going around as a bird, how is she doing that?”

Then I recalled something Glinda had said this morning.

“One thing I know for certain is that the Elder can embody all the Crafts and can change from one to another at will. She's Wishcrafter, Broomcrafter, Curecrafter, et cetera, at whim. She knows every Craft inside and out.”

I stood up, sat down, stood up again.

Missy started to whimper. The cats darted under the bed.

Was there a variety of Craft that could morph into an animal? I'd never heard of one, but that meant little. There were so many secrets still to uncover in this village, but I had the feeling I was on the right track with this one.

As soon as possible, I had to find out if there was such a Crafter . . . or if the feather being in the Elder's meadow was just one big coincidence.

And I knew just the mice to ask.

A
s much as I hated to do it, I had to postpone my trip to see Pepe and Mrs. P, but I planned to go see them immediately after meeting Nick at the Wisp.

I packed my laptop into a backpack along with the cord I needed to transfer the data from the spy pen to my hard drive. I grabbed some blank disks and a thumb drive and headed out. I was careful to lock the door behind me as I left As You Wish, just in case the rumors of a petnapper weren't just rumors.

On a normal day, driving to the Wisp, which was two blocks back from the main square, would be faster, but the village green was packed, and a steady stream of cars flowed into the village from the main entrance toward designated parking lots at the far end of the square. If I were to drive, I'd have to sit in that traffic for a while.

I set off on foot, my mind still reeling with the possibility that the mourning dove was the Elder in disguise.

As I walked, I searched branches and lampposts, bench tops and flower urns, for any sign of the bird. Although there was a steady thrum of voices out here on the green, I strained to hear that telltale coo I'd come to recognize so well.

I wasn't altogether sure what I planned to do if I actually spotted the bird—interrogate it?—but I wanted to see it again. Wanted to see if there was something subtly magical about the bird that I'd somehow missed before.

What I needed was a better picture of the bird.

Perhaps the bird had an unusual eye color or there was a magic marking . . .

“Whoa, Darcy!”

A set of hands grabbed my shoulders, and I jumped. It took me a second to realize that I'd almost knocked over Harmony, who'd been headed in the opposite direction.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “You look a little out of it, if you don't mind my saying.”

I needed to push the thoughts of the Elder out of my head for a while. It was the only way to keep my wits about me.

I gave my head a small shake. “I'm just . . . in a rush and wasn't paying attention. Sorry. Any word on Cookie?”

“Nothing. No sightings of her at all today, which is strange. I'm hoping she didn't leave village limits.” Harmony looked toward the woods. “She has a collar on, but she's a hornless breed, and doesn't have the defenses horns would have provided her against predators.”

“I'm sure she's around here somewhere,” I tried to reassure her, but it was strange that there had been no sightings of Cookie today.

“Maybe,” Harmony said. “I'm a little worried about the petnapper gossip. I know Cookie got loose on her
own, but what if the petnapper happened to come across her and took advantage? You hear all the time about these so-called pet flippers. Maybe that trade includes goats.”

“Pet flippers?” I hadn't ever heard the term.

“It's a person who steals a pet, or sometimes even gets it for free—think of all the times you've seen free kitten signs—then puts the animal up for sale online. The flippers don't care where the pet goes as long as they get their money. Could be to a nice family, but it could be to a dog-fighting ring or to a pet-testing laboratory. It's fast cash.”

I felt a little queasy. “That's . . . vile.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze scanned the green. “But maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. After all, Lady Catherine was found this morning, so anything's possible.”

“She was found? Was that the loud cheer I heard a little while ago?”

“It was. Ivy Teasdale found her near the back door of Fairytails. She took her to Marigold straight off. I'm mourning that reward money. I've been looking for Lady Catherine all morning—don't tell Angela.”

I smiled. “My lips are sealed.”

“Do you know what I could do with that money?”

“Buy a miniature donkey?”

She laughed. “No. Just no.”

“Never say never.”

“You're a bad influence, Darcy.”

My phone buzzed. “Sorry. I've got to check that.”

“Actually, I've got to go, but if you could keep an eye out for Cookie, I'd appreciate it.”

“I will,” I promised.

As she walked away, I felt slightly guilty for not keeping hold of Cookie in the meadow last night, but I just couldn't risk anything about the Craft being uncovered.

Sighing, I pulled my phone out of my backpack and
checked the message that had come in. It was from Nick saying he was running late, too.

I let out a relieved breath and pressed on, worrying about pet flippers and the two dogs and cat that were still missing. If I was in the business of stealing pets, the Extravaganza would be the perfect place to scope out potential victims.

It was a disturbing thought that I couldn't shake as I started up the road that led to the Wisp. Had the pets that were missing been stolen? I wished I knew for certain. If for no other reason than that I could start searching online to find them listed in for-sale ads.

I was almost to the Wisp when someone stepped up next to me. “Hi.”

I gasped and nearly fell off the sidewalk into the gutter. My arms looked like windmills until Glinda grabbed one of them and held on until I regained my balance.

“You're awfully jumpy,” she said, laughing at my reaction.

I had to face it—I shouldn't be wandering around the village on my own today. “I didn't hear you come up.”

“I'm stealthy that way. It's one of the things that makes me a good PI.”

“Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't
stealth
with me. I think I lost ten years off my life.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Why so on edge?”

“Baz Lucas.” I quickly told her about how he'd been at Chip's, then later followed me to the Elder's meadow last night.

“That's all very strange. Where's he now? In police custody?”

“Not that I know of. Nick hasn't found anything that implicates him in any crime.”

“I don't like it,” she said as we kept walking. “He doesn't seem the dangerous type, but people do dangerous things when they feel cornered.”

That didn't make me feel better. “Why would he even think
I
was cornering him? I've barely had any contact with him.”

“You said he saw you at Chip Goldman's, right? Maybe you overheard something he wants you to forget.”

That sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to recall everything Chip and I had talked about, but it was all rather fuzzy at this point. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Keep thinking on it. It could be something that seems trivial to you, but is monumental to him.”

There was very little traffic at all in the back neighborhoods, only a passing car or two as we walked along. Clouds dotted the sky, and it was beginning to look as though it might rain.

“What are you doing here, by the way?” I asked.

“Walking?”

I sighed. “I told you I'd get you a copy of that footage.”

“It's not that I don't trust you,” she began, then paused. “No, that's exactly why. I don't trust you. Five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of motivation for you to take that footage to Vivienne yourself.”

My chest ached at her words, and I realized I was hurt by them. Which was all kinds of stupid on my part. She was Glinda. I should have known better than to let my guard down around her. “Oh.”

She stopped walking, looked at me. “Oh? That's it? No snappy rebuttal?”

Shaking my head, I surged forward. “It is what it is. What it always is. What it will always be.”

She caught up to me. “What's that mean?”

I drew up and told her the flat-out truth. “I'd allowed myself to think that we had been forming some sort of strange friendship.”

“Aren't we?” she asked, her eyes full of confusion.

“Obviously not. Friends don't think friends will
backstab them and steal their money.” I started forward again.

“I—”

Heat surged into my face as my temper flared. I stopped and glared at her. “I don't need your money. I don't want your money. I
never
wanted your money. And if you were my friend, you'd already know that.” I took off walking again, my anger making me walk faster than usual.

Glinda jogged to catch up. “I—”

I kept walking as I said, “I told you I'd give you the footage, and I will. That's it, end of story. As soon as Nick gets here, you'll have it, and then you can be on your way.”

She grabbed my arm. “Darcy, stop!”

“What?” I huffed.

“If you'd let me get a word in edgewise, you'd know.”

I tapped my foot.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.” She looked upward and took a deep breath.

When she looked back at me, there was moisture in her eyes, and my anger evaporated. Glinda didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve.

“I don't trust easily, that's all,” she said. “Too many people have betrayed my trust. I—I'm sorry. Truce?”

It was the first time I'd ever heard Glinda issue an apology for her bad behavior. “All right,” I said reluctantly. “You're just lucky I believe in second chances.”

She gave a smile, and it lit her whole face, making it look as if she were glowing from the inside out. “I must be on my fifth or sixth chance with you by now.”

“True enough. Then you're just lucky I'm a big sap.”

She said, “You really are.”

I laughed. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

“It's not a cross,” she said softly. “It's a badg—”

She was cut off by the ring of her cell phone. She gave
me a wait-a-sec finger and glanced at her screen and frowned. “Hello?”

I could hear a male voice, but not what he was saying.

By the stricken look on Glinda's face, it wasn't good news.

“What? When? Where?” She peppered him with questions. “I'll be right there.” She hung up and looked at me. “I have to go.”

“What's wrong?”

“Someone just tried to steal Clarence.”

“Tried? Or did?”

“Tried.”

Thank goodness. “Did Liam see who it was?”

“I don't know. I have to go. Liam's freaked out.”

“The pen . . .”

“Bring me the footage when you get the chance.” She paused a beat. “I trust you with it.”

I rubbed my hands together. “And here I was just wondering what I could do with the five hundred grand. Another addition on the house . . . A new car . . . A bunch of miniature donkeys . . .”

“Donkeys?”

“Long story,” I said, laughing.

Glinda shook her head and waved over her shoulder as she took off running down the street, her blond hair flying out behind her.

I was still laughing as I turned back toward the Wisp.

Laughter that died on my lips when I saw Baz Lucas step out from behind a large oak tree.

B
az took a step toward me, and I held out my arm. “That's close enough.”

In that instant, I heard a sound so soothing I immediately relaxed a bit. It was the coo of a mourning dove, and it was somewhere nearby. I wasn't alone.

The Elder was with me.

I could feel deep down that it was true—that she was using the bird as a method to travel in and around the village. Why had I never noticed the immense comfort the bird's call had brought to me before now?

Confusion slashed across Baz's features. “What? Why?”

Bolstered with the knowledge that I had the governess of the Craft as potential protection against Baz, I took a moment to study him. The past twenty-four hours hadn't been kind to him. He, like Vivienne, was still wearing the clothes he'd had on at the Wisp yesterday.
His shirt was untucked, and his long coral-colored cargo shorts were filthy. Thick stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and his hair was flat on one side, standing on end on the other. Cuts and scratches covered his arms, his legs, including one nasty-looking wound near his ankle that I was sure had come from Pepe.

And what I saw of him didn't paint the picture of a cold-blooded killer, but rather a man who'd lost control of his life.

“Why were you following me last night?” I asked.

“How did you—” He ran a hand down his face. “I refuse to deny it. Yes, I followed you into the woods, but quickly lost you in the growing darkness. I sought your help, nothing more. I didn't know where else to turn, and Vivienne always spoke so highly of you and your sleuthing skills at your job through As You Wish.”

He'd thrown me for a loop. “Help? With what?”

“I am fearful. Fearful the police are going to look no farther than my doorstep for Natasha's killer. Fearful I am being used as a scapegoat.” His voice rose louder and louder. “Fearful my good name will be forever besmirched because of the company I chose to keep, and for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fearful that perhaps I will be the next victim.” Taking a shuddering breath, he dropped his chin to his chest, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

Once again, he reminded me of Archie, with his theatrical litanies. But if Baz was looking for an encore, he was not going to get it from me.

“Did you kill Natasha?” I asked.

He wasn't wearing his glasses, and he squinted as if trying to read my facial features to determine if I was kidding. “No! Why would I?”

I wasn't sure I believed him. His dramatics hinted that he was an actor, and he'd probably picked up a lot of tips being the movie buff that he was. “That remains
to be seen. One theory is that you wanted revenge because Natasha might have been responsible for your food poisoning at last year's Extravaganza.”

“What? That's nonsense. Why would she do such a thing?”

“Why? So you'd have to withdraw Audrey from the competition, and Titania could win.”

“You're joking.”

I shook my head. “Like I said, it's a theory.”

“It's a ridiculous one.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Natasha wouldn't have stooped to such a level. Yes, she liked to win, but not by cheating. She had self-respect, which was why . . .”

“Why what?”

“Nothing. It does not matter now. Natasha did not slip anything into my food or drink. How would she have even known Audrey would be popular? It was only Audrey's first year in the event, and I had to pull strings with Ivy to even get a booth. Unless you're suggesting Natasha intended to poison any person whose pet she deemed competition? If so, you must believe her to be a sociopath, in which case I would start to question
your
sanity.”

It wouldn't be the first time.

“She was kindhearted and misunderstood, not a sociopath.”

Kindhearted? For a moment, I wondered if we were speaking of the same person.

He had, however, made a good point about Natasha and the food poisoning. Had she intended to poison
whoever
was the top competition?

There were too many variables in that situation. The timing alone would have been a nightmare with determining front-runners, what time their owners were scheduled to eat, and how to even tamper with their
lunch, especially if they'd brought it from home and not bought it at the event.

It seemed a stretch, as Glinda would say.

Suddenly, I questioned if Ivy had been wrong about Natasha altogether. Had the accidents she'd been so worried about simply been accidents? Not sabotage at all? I almost groaned thinking about it. All the time I'd spent on this case, all the snooping . . . I could have enjoyed the Extravaganza as a guest instead of a competitor. I certainly wouldn't be standing here with Baz wondering if he was a killer.

I shouldn't have taken the case.

The thought flitted through my head, and I shoved it aside, hating hindsight with all my heart.

When was I ever going to learn to say no?

“To be honest,” Baz said glumly, “I have always suspected Vivienne had something to do with my illness that day.”

“Vivienne?” I adjusted my backpack, shifting the weight from one shoulder to the other. “Why would she?”

“We'd had a huge row the night before after she accused me of cheating on her.”

“Were you cheating?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Totally relevant.”

He looked at his hands, stretched at his fingers, and frowned at their ragged condition. “No, it is not.”

I was growing weary of him. “I'm going to ascertain from your nonanswer that you were.”

“That is your prerogative. On the matter, you will not hear otherwise from me.”

“Because of the prenup?” I asked.

His dirty fingers curled into fists. “I curse the day I signed that paper.”

I was sure Vivienne was cursing the day she married him, so I considered it a wash between them.

I recalled how two days ago, Vivienne had sat in the front parlor of As You Wish and told me how desperately she wanted Audrey to win the Extravaganza. “Would she really have sacrificed the chance for Audrey to win the grand prize to seek revenge on you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Have you ever seen Vivienne angry?”

“No.”

“The term she-devil comes to mind. If her desire that day was to punish me, she would have had tunnel vision. The competition would not exist next to my suffering.”

With that, I crossed off any notion of a reconciliation between the two of them. There was no love lost on Baz's part, and my empathy increased for Vivienne that she'd been living with his apathy for so long.

At this point,
I
wanted to give him food poisoning.

“She denies tampering with my food, but what else would she say?”

“So, you were cheating on her, you suspect she gave you food poisoning, and you've compared her to a she-devil. Why did you stay married?”

“Divorces are costly.”

My head was starting to ache. “I suppose that leads me to the second theory as to why you might kill Natasha: You wanted to be rid of Natasha before Vivienne found out that you were cheating. Again, that prenup was in play.”

Drawing his shoulders back, he puffed his chest in self-righteous indignation. “Natasha was merely a friend. An acquaintance, rather.”

“Yes,” I said dryly. “I saw how friendly you were with her in the hallway of the Wisp yesterday afternoon when the two of you stepped out from the storage closet together. I seem to recall you declaring your love and promising that you two would be together forever very
soon. That's a level of acquaintance I could do without from you, by the way, so don't get any ideas.”

A vein pulsed in his forehead and sweat popped up on his brow. “You were spying on me?”

“No,” I corrected. “I was spying on
Natasha
. Glinda, however, was spying on you, if that makes you feel better.”

“Glinda?”

“She's a PI now, did you know?”

Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Did Vivienne hire her? I've seen them together quite a bit lately.”

“It's not for me to say.” Two could play his game of nonanswering.

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the curb. He set his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I don't know what is happening.”

I sat next to him. “Did you love her?”

“Natasha?”

“Yes, Natasha.”

Fat tears filled his eyes and he blinked them away. “More than anything. It was a whirlwind relationship. We'd only been seeing each other for a month. I fell so fast for her. So hard and fast. She wasn't like the others.”

The others . . . the other women. I clenched my teeth.

“Natasha was . . . special,” he said. “I don't know what I'm going to do without her.”

On one hand, I felt bad for him, for losing someone he clearly loved. On the other hand, he was a lying, cheating slime. It was that hand that wanted to reach out and smack him upside his head.

He could have divorced Vivienne long ago and dated Natasha on the up-and-up, yet he had chosen money over happiness.

And look where it had gotten him.

“At Natasha's urging, I decided it was finally time to leave Vivienne. My lawyer has been working on drawing up the papers. Natasha and I were planning to get
married and move out of the village. . . . The divorce has been a long time coming,” he said, sliding me a wounded-puppy-dog look. “I tried to make it work, time and again, but Vivienne wasn't the same after her accident.”

“Baz?” I said, talking through my clenched teeth.

“Yes?”

“Let me give you a tip, okay?”

“Sure,” he said reluctantly.

My jaw started to ache. I made myself relax. “If you want me to feel even an ounce of sympathy for your current predicament, do not, and I repeat,
do not
in any way, shape, or form tell me that you broke your wedding vows—time and time again from what I hear—because of something your
wife
has done. Understand?”

His Adam's apple bobbed as he nodded.

“Do you know anyone who'd want to hurt Natasha?” I asked.

“Enough to kill her? No.”

“Did anyone else know of your affair?”

“Chip Goldman apparently did. He was going to blackmail me, and I'd have paid him, too, to keep him quiet, but he collapsed. . . . I think the cops are trying to pin his death on me.”

“You did leave him for dead.”

“'Twas only because I thought he was
already
dead! I should not be held responsible. I did not place the cyanide in that repulsive green liquid he was consuming.” He patted his pocket, where I saw the outline of a phone. “My lawyer's been calling all morning, telling me that the police want to interview me again. I have a bad feeling about all of this. A very bad feeling. I will not be railroaded. I'll find who killed Natasha myself and make them pay! I'll cast locust upon their house! Vengeance will be mi—” His eyes went wide.

Nick's black-and-yellow police car had turned the corner and pulled up to the curb next to us. He hadn't
even stepped out of the car when Baz jumped to his feet and took off running down the middle of the street.

In a flash, Nick's door flew open. He'd just jumped out when a white car roared to life from where it had been parked at the end of the street. The motor revved as the driver gunned the engine, leaving skid marks behind along with the scent of burning rubber.

“Nick!” I screamed.

He glanced back over his shoulder and dove out of the way just as the car zoomed past. He landed with a grunt on the asphalt and rolled toward the curb.

“Baz!” I yelled. “Look out!”

Baz turned around, but it was too late. The car clipped him, sending him flying into the front lawn of a house nearby. The car kept on going, skidding around the corner and out of sight.

I was dialing for help as I ran first to Nick's side. “Are you okay?” I asked him, not wanting to touch him in case he was seriously hurt, yet at the same time wanting to grab him and hold him tight.

“Fine,” he huffed, clearly winded. He tried to sit up, couldn't. “Go. Baz.”

I didn't want to leave his side, but I knew I had to see if Baz was okay. I gave Nick my phone to talk to the emergency dispatcher and sprinted down the street. Baz was flat on his back, moaning in pain. I took one glance at the bone sticking out of his upper leg and nearly passed out.

Blood and I didn't get along.

Dizzy, I focused on Baz's face, where—thank the heavens above—there was no blood to be seen.

“Baz?”

He groaned.

“Help's coming.”

“Car,” he said through chattering teeth. “Hit.”

“I know. I saw.”

“Vivie—,” he mumbled.

“Vivienne?” I repeated. “Was she the one driving?”

He nodded, his eyelids fluttering, then closing.

Vivienne was the one who'd hit him? I hadn't been able to see anyone in the driver's seat. The car had gone by too quickly. But now that I thought about it, Vivienne did drive a white car. . . .

I glanced at Baz and saw how pale he had become and wished with all my might for help to arrive soon, because I knew that broken bone in his leg had been his femur, and all that blood suggested that he might have severed an artery as well. It was a deadly injury. Until help came, there was only me. I was definitely not the right witch for this job, but I would do my best to keep him alive.

I slipped off my backpack and pulled off my T-shirt, grateful to be wearing a tank top beneath it. I didn't know how to make a tourniquet—had only seen them applied in movies—but I knew Baz needed one or he'd die from blood loss. Finding the side seam of the shirt, I yanked for all I was worth and the material split, creating one long cloth strip.