Gone With the Witch (22 page)

“There was time,” Nick said, “but only barely. Red lights or any traffic would throw off the timeline.”

There had been a lot of traffic in the village yesterday. “It would be just about impossible for him to be the one who'd driven that car that hit Baz.”

“Yes, but you of all people should know, Darcy, that the impossible is always possible in this village.”

True. Very true.

He set us to swaying again. “Right now he's my best lead.”

That was surprising. “What about Vivienne?”

“The driver's seat of the car was pushed back.
Vivienne wouldn't have been able to reach the pedals if she'd been the one driving the car. And, yes, Vivienne could have pushed the seat back on purpose to avert suspicion, but why would she? If she was trying to avoid suspicion she wouldn't have used her own car and certainly wouldn't have left cyanide pills behind.”

All very good points.

Nick went on. “Chip's tall—he would have had to move the seat to get behind the wheel.”

I recalled how Chip had towered over me. He never would have been able to drive that car without moving the seat backward, and he'd probably been in too much of a rush to move it back when he abandoned the vehicle.

“Chip's coming into the station later today with his lawyer, and hopefully we'll get some definitive answers.”

“But what about Vivienne?”

“By not coming forward, she's only adding to my suspicion that she has something to hide, but I don't think she did run Baz over.”

“I'm growing worried about her. Now that we know she wasn't behind that wheel . . . where is she?”

“You think something happened to her?”

“I just don't know.”

“Me neither. Hopefully, I'll know more after I talk to Chip.”

“You'll let me know right away?”

“You're on speed dial,” he said with a smile.

I heard the gate squeak again, and looked up to find a beautiful blond woman walking toward us.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Glinda said. She held a small leather portfolio in her hands. “I thought I could take a look at that spy pen footage if you have time.” She glanced at Nick. “Do you want me to come back later?”

I presumed she was asking because like Starla, Nick wasn't too keen on Glinda, either, though his dislike
didn't run nearly as deep. Mostly because he knew how much his daughter loved Glinda.

Nick gave me one last squeeze and stood up. “Stay,” he said to her. “I've got to get to work.”

Glinda opened her mouth, then snapped it closed again, and I wondered what she had been planning to say. Whether it had something to do with the fact that she used to work with Nick . . . or something to do with Vivienne's case. Finally she said, “Okay.”

Nick looked at me. “I cleared my text messages from my phone, so feel free to fill them up again. Let me know about that,” he said, motioning to the cloak on my lap.

I stood. “I will.”

Glinda and I watched him go, and I made a mental note to oil the gate hinges as soon as possible. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned to me and said, “You two are sickeningly cute together.”

“I know,” I said with a smile. “You should hear Harper mock us.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “I—I'm happy for you both. You and Nick.”

“That hurt, didn't it?”

She bent at the waist as she laughed. “You have no idea.”

“Well, thanks. We are happy.”

“What's that you have there?” she asked, eyeing the cloak.

“A Crafting cloak, but I'm not sure whose it is. It was used to abduct Archie, and I'm guessing all the other village pets that are missing as well. It's an older cloak, so mortals wouldn't be able to see the person, and Crafters wouldn't think twice about seeing a witch walking around in one of these.”

Her eyes widened. “I—I don't even know what to say about that.”

Which was odd, because there was something in her expression that hinted she had a lot to say about it. Opening the back door, I motioned her inside ahead of me. “I just need a minute to get the spy pen footage onto a disk and then you can get on with your day.” I'd quiz her about the petnapper while I was downloading the file.

“Actually . . . ,” she began as she scooted past me.

I noticed Missy stood in the doorway of the mudroom, her head cocked as though she was wondering why in the world Glinda was here and what she was up to.

I knew that feeling well.

Glinda held up the portfolio. “This is all the material I've gathered during my investigation of Baz. I was hoping you'd take a look at it with me. The spy pen video, too.”

“Me? Why?”

“I'd really like an extra set of eyes to help me look it all over. I feel like I'm missing something, and I trust you and your eyes. I can pay you . . . I mean, I can become a client, if you want to write this off as a job for As You Wish.”

I held her gaze for a moment, looking for any hint that she was somehow using me. I didn't find one.

“I'll brew another pot of coffee.” I walked into the kitchen, set the cloak on the back of the counter stool, and said, “And just so we're clear: Today you're not a client. You're a friend.”

G
linda had collected a hodgepodge of evidence against Baz, none of it the nail in his proverbial coffin.

Lots of photographs of him going into Natasha's place, and of her going into his, but none of them together except for some steamy backlit silhouettes on his bedroom window shade. She had some receipts from local hotels, but Baz had always checked in under an assumed name, and he and Natasha had never arrived together.

“Now I see why you desperately wanted that footage from the hallway of the Extravaganza.” I tapped the photo of the silhouettes locked in an embrace that sat on the coffee table in Ve's family room. I kept coming back to that photo time and again, and I couldn't quite pinpoint why. “I can't believe he had an affair under his own roof. He has such nerve. Where was Vivienne?”

“At work. And she thought he was, too.”

Right here, right now, I despised Baz Lucas with a passion.

My computer was open to the video I'd taken of him and Natasha. Other than some minor sound issues, peripheral clicking noises in the background, the footage was all Vivienne would need to prove a case of adultery against Baz. It was all there in full sound and color.

I couldn't help watching Natasha with a sense of regret. That I should have been able to stop what had happened somehow. She'd been so . . . alive on the film. And even though her sister had implied that Natasha didn't love Baz, she had certainly played the part well. Which made me wonder if she had in fact loved him.

We would never know.

Glinda and I sat on the sofa and worked quietly, sifting through material. Glinda bumped my shoulder and motioned across the room. “Why does she keep staring at me that way?”

Missy glared at Glinda from her spot on the armchair across the table from us.

“I don't know. Maybe she's wondering where Clarence is.”

Glinda frowned and went back to watching the tape. It was her third time through.

I stretched my arms over my head and nearly knocked Annie and Tilda off the back of the couch. They were nestled together like a semicolon, and I thought that maybe instead of a dog, Aunt Ve should consider getting another cat.

“What am I seeing?” Glinda asked, eyeing the video.

“Five hundred thousand dollars?”

She smiled. “No, there's something . . . off. It's like it floats into my brain but is gone before I can grab hold of it.”

“I don't know. I don't see anything. Maybe you can
tell
me
what's with this picture?” I asked, tapping the silhouettes again. “I keep coming back to it.”

“Forget that,” she said. “What's with all the pictures of this bird?”

She clicked off the video and opened a new window on the laptop that showed the shots of the mourning dove I'd taken with the spy pen in front of the Wisp. I'd forgotten I'd even taken them.

“Have you taken up bird-watching in your spare time?” she asked, a pale eyebrow raised.

“Something like that,” I said.

The four images of the bird were on the screen side by side, and in a blink they were gone as Glinda toggled back to the video, set her elbows on her knees, and leaned in close to the screen.

I went back to sorting through the photographs of Baz.

“There!” Glinda cried. “Right there.”

She paused the video.

It was a freeze frame of a swirl of colors. “How can you see anything? It's blurry.”

She was staring at the screen. “That's because your arm was in motion as you pulled it back into the room after Baz and Natasha walked away.” She unpaused the footage, rewound it, and played it again. “Right here. Keep an eye on that spot.” She rewound again. “See it?”

My eyes were starting to cross. “I don't—wait.” I looked at her. “Is that . . .”

“I think so.”

It was just a flash of motion, a hand perhaps. “Someone else was there in that hallway.”

“Yes.”

So we hadn't been the only ones who'd been spying on Baz and Natasha. Someone had been hiding in the recessed doorway of the room next to ours.

“There's no way to tell who it is,” I said.

“No,” she agreed, clicking off the video. “But it's one more piece of the puzzle.”

With the video closed, the images of the mourning dove popped up again, and this time, something jumped right out at me. I slid off the couch onto the floor and pulled the screen close.

“Are you okay?” Glinda asked.

“Do you see this?” I asked, pointing to a line on the bird's back.

“Yeah. It's probably from the pen. Cheap quality. . . .”

“It's not the pen,” I whispered.

I glanced from the first picture to the fourth and back again. After the first shot, a thin stripe appeared, running from the top of the bird's head to its tail. With each subsequent shot, the stripe thickened.

“What is it?” Glinda asked.

It was a Wishcrafter, that's what it was. One under the Lunumbra spell. “I think—”

The doorbell rang.

Missy leaped off the armchair and skidded around the corner on her way to the front door, barking the whole way. I reluctantly stood up. Annie hopped down and followed me to see who had rung the bell, and Tilda stole Annie's spot.

“I'll be right back,” I said to Glinda.

I peeked out the sidelight and was surprised to see Angela Curtis standing on the porch. I picked up Annie so she wouldn't run outside and opened the door. Missy's tail wagged as she crossed the threshold to greet our visitor.

“Hi, Darcy,” Angela said, reaching down to rub Missy's head. “Sorry for dropping in unannounced.”

“No, no, it's fine. Come on in. Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I can't stay.” She followed me into the family room and looked surprised to see Glinda. “Oh, you two are working. I'll come back. . . .”

Missy took the long way around Glinda as I set Annie down next to Tilda and said, “It's fine. We needed a break anyway.”

“You're sure you don't want coffee?” Glinda asked.

Angela smiled. “No, thanks. I've got to get back to work at the bookshop. I'm on break.”

Forty-something Angela had started working for Harper part-time late last year, and it had been a match made in heaven. Angela loved books almost as much as my sister did. Even more, perhaps, not that I'd ever say so in front of Harper.

With her auburn hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and wearing jeans and a heather gray T-shirt that read “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again,” she didn't look her age, or that she could possibly have a daughter in college.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. “Is Harper okay?”

“Oh! She's fine. Everything's fine. I didn't mean to worry you.” She wrung her hands. “I've actually come by to ask a huge favor of you.”

“Name it,” I said.

“This morning when I went into work, I saw your paintings in the bookshop. The ones from the Extravaganza? Harper was getting them ready to return to you, but I was hoping . . .”

I'd forgotten that Harper had collected them from the Wisp for me. It had been a crazy few days.

“You see, Harmony's birthday is later this week, and I've been searching high and low for the perfect gift. She's never been easy to buy for. You should see what I go through at Christmas. It's a nightmare.”

The two had been together for almost a decade now, so that was a lot of presents.

Angela's face lit as she said, “But she really,
really
, adores your painting of the white mouse. I'd love to be able to give her something so special for her birthday,
seeing as I've run her through the wringer with this Cookie situation.”

“Has Cookie been found?” I couldn't help asking.

“Not yet.” Sighing, she shook her head. “We've had to get back to work, so we can't search as much as we'd like. And we don't have the deep pockets Marigold has to offer a huge reward.” She shrugged. “We can only hope for the best.”

Glinda suddenly busied herself with straightening photos. “I'm sure she'll show up soon.”

“That's what we keep telling ourselves, anyway,” Angela said. She glanced at her watch. “I have to get going. . . . Darcy, is it possible I can buy that painting? It'd mean the world to Harmony, which means it would mean the world to me.”

“It's yours. Free of charge,” I said.

She jumped up. “I can't let you just give it to me.”

“You can and you will.” I stood up, too. “I insist. You both have helped me out a time or two. It's my way of saying thanks.”

She gave me a hug. “Thank you so much. I can't wait to see Harmony's face when I give it to her. All right, I need to get back. My boss . . . you know how she is.”

I laughed. “Oh, I know.”

Angela gave me another hug. “You don't have to see me out. Thanks again! Bye, Glinda!”

Glinda waved.

“I'll keep looking for Cookie,” I promised as Angela walked down the hall.

“Well, I wish you'd find her, because we're not having any luck on our own. See you later!”

As the front door closed behind her, my skin tingled, and I whispered the simple spell to grant her wish under my breath.
Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay
. I winked my left eye twice, and the spell was cast. Because Angela was a mortal and the wish had
followed all Wishcraft laws, the wish was granted immediately.

In my mind's eye, I saw where Cookie was, inside a large garage filled with woodworking tools and projects in various stages of completion. She was prancing around, looking perfectly content.

I knew the space; I'd been there before.

Almost as important as seeing where she was, I saw who she was with.

Slowly, I turned to face Glinda. “Something you want to tell me?”

She dropped her forehead against the table and turned her face a bit to peek at me out of one eye. “I can explain everything.”