Some Like It Witchy (3 page)

By her mellow reaction, I figured she hadn't yet heard that Cherise and I had been the ones to find the body. Otherwise, Ve would be peppering us with questions with relentless focus.

Harper had inherited her morbid curiosity straight from our aunt.

I hopped off the swing to open the gate for Ve, enjoying the feel of soft grass under my bare feet. Much better than the heebie-inducing phantom blood feeling. “What's that?” I asked, nodding toward the plastic roll.

Ve's golden blue eyes flashed with excitement. Shifting the bundle, she bent to pet Missy's head. “My new election sign and campaign slogan. Want to see?”

“Of course,” I said. It was a nice distraction.

With a flourish, Ve unrolled the sign across the lawn. The theme (patriotic with red, white, and blue lettering) was immediately obvious, but the slogan was another story, as it was upside down.

“Oh dear,” Ve murmured, quickly making adjustments. “There.”

I read.

A VOTE FOR VE IS A VOTE FOR
YE.

Laughing, she clapped her hands. “Isn't it fabulous? It's terrible enough to be memorable and cheesy enough to be fun. Like me.”

Coming down the steps, Cherise deadpanned, “Terrible and cheesy?”

Ve flicked her friend an annoyed glance. “Memorable and fun.”

I glanced between the two of them. Though they'd been friends for years there was always an undercurrent of
something
beneath the affection. Competitiveness, maybe.

“I like it,” I said of the banner.

Missy barked as though agreeing with me.

Personally, I felt as though Ve didn't need any signage at all. She had most voters on her side. Not many around here wanted expansion, fearing it would destroy the village's quaintness.

Archie swooped down to the grass for a closer look. “I feel the usage of
ye
is sadly lacking in modern day vernacular. I approve.”

“Thank you, Archibald,” Ve said, patting his head. “I'll be glad when this election is over and done with.”

Me, too. Ve had been running mostly on adrenaline these past few weeks, and I was having trouble picking up the slack with As You Wish. I'd actually had to turn away a few requests this past week.

As a personal concierge service, we were in the business of assisting clients with anything and everything. From house-hunting to housecleaning. From planning parties to gift shopping. Due to the name of the business, a lot of times clients simply wished flat-out for what they wanted done. That was when my job was easy, because I could use my talents as a Wishcrafter. A simple spell later, and the task was complete. It
was when no wish was made that it became fun and exhausting, fulfilling, and time-consuming.

Running the company wasn't something I was comfortable doing on my own, and it made me wonder what would happen if Ve won the election. Could she juggle both jobs?

“My lovely ladies, I must bid farewell,” Archie said, bending into a deep bow. “I have conversations which to overhear at the Tavistock house.”

“You'll fill me in later, right?” I asked.

He cleared his throat and said, “‘Get used to disappointment
.
'” He lifted off.

“Are you throwing
The Princess Bride
back at me?” I called after him as he circled above. “The nerve. The gall. The . . .” I searched my brain for more overdramatic barbs.

“If the gibe fits!” His laughter resonated as he quickly disappeared over Terry's rooftop.

Ve glanced at me, humor wrinkling the corners of her eyes. “You two might be spending too much time together.”

It was entirely possible.

“How do you remember all those quotes?” Cherise asked.

I shrugged and plucked a dandelion from the lawn. “Good memory.” I didn't mention all the hours I'd spent watching movies while growing up and during my bad marriage. Some things were better left unsaid.

“Amazing,” she murmured.

“Now tell me, Cherise,” Ve said as she crouched to roll up her sign. “This business with Raina. What's to happen with the sale of the Tavistock house? There was a deadline for tonight, correct?” She winced. “Bad choice of words, considering . . .”

“We don't know.” Cherise looked crestfallen. “I don't exactly want to contact Kent right now to inquire.”

Ve looked upward, assessing her friend. “Do you really still want to live there after someone was killed inside?”

“Oh, that doesn't bother me,” Cherise said, waving a hand
in dismissal. “A cleansing spell or two and the place will be good as new. Would it bother you?”

Ve shrugged. “Maybe. Darcy?”

“I'm with Cherise on this one. After a cleansing spell . . . and hiring a good cleaning company, I'd be fine.” I'd learned to accept a lot about death over the course of the past year. I wasn't afraid of it. Killers, yes. Death, no.

The blood, however, had to go.

Ve nodded thoughtfully. “A cleaning crew is a must.”

Cherise said, “I suspect the murder won't take away from the home's appeal. Those interested will still be interested. The house's location really can't be beat.”

Ve stopped rolling the banner. Suspicion clouded her eyes. “Because it's next door to Terry?”

I glanced over at Terry's place and saw him peeking out the window again. He might actually be nosier than I was. Which was saying something.

His startling likeness to Elvis was one of the reasons why he was so reclusive. Any time he emerged, he was overwhelmed by tourists convinced he was in fact the remarkably well-preserved King of Rock and Roll who had simply been hiding out all these years.

Cherise laughed, but I would swear I saw a smidgen of guilt in her eyes as she said, “Don't be silly. For my home-based business.”

Interesting.
Was Cherise looking to steal Terry? It wasn't all that preposterous, considering it had happened before. . . .

Slowly, Ve stood, giving Cherise a long once-over. “Uh-huh.”

Cherise gave her a little shove. “Stop with you now.”

The more she denied, the more I wondered if Ve had hit on something.

Unblinking, Cherise smiled broadly. Finally, she said, “Oh, look. Kent Gallagher's coming this way.” She quickly rushed past us to the gate, clutching the picket like a lifeline.

Kent's arrival was good timing for her. A perfect change of subject.

Ve slid me a curious look. I shrugged.

With our blatant nosiness on full display, we lined up to watch Kent, dressed in a fancy suit, as he walked across the green toward the Tavistock place. Even Missy had her gaze set on him.

I was a bit surprised to see the little dog still in the yard. She was a notorious escape artist, and I'd become accustomed to her disappearing in the blink of an eye. Yet she always returned home. In the past week, she'd escaped twice and was found by Scott Whiting both times. It seemed the little dog had a crush on the TV producer. It was only a matter of time before she got loose again.

Missy glanced up at me as though sensing what I was thinking. She blinked innocently, then turned her attention back to the street.

“Kent doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry, does he?” Ve pointed out, a judgmental eyebrow raised.

No, he didn't.

“Is he . . . skipping?” Cherise asked, heavy disapproval in her low tone.

It sure looked like he had a kick in his wing-tipped step.

Joining in on the judgment, I narrowed my gaze on him. As he dipped his sage green tweed flat cap at someone passing by, I noted he didn't look all that distraught. No concern. No tears. No . . . torment.

It baffled me. If someone had just told me Nick had died, I'd no doubt fall instantly to pieces. The thought alone sent anxiety coursing through my veins.

But Kent Gallagher?

He certainly didn't appear to be a grieving widower.

A
s we continued to watch Kent stroll toward the Tavistock house, a sudden chill went through me, once again raising goose bumps on my arms. I rubbed the pebbled skin and couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched.

I knew this feeling.

I'd experienced it before. Last summer. When Charmcrafter Andreus Woodshall had stalked me, hoping I'd lead him to a missing magical amulet he wanted desperately. The amulet would have granted him unlimited wishes. Anything and everything.

With senses heightened, I glanced around.

Sure enough, Andreus Woodshall, not so fondly known as Mr. Macabre, leaned against a birch tree on the village green. His thin frame blended in with the multiple trunks, making it seem as though he was just another limb.

A dark, dangerous one.

“What's wrong, Darcy dear?” Aunt Ve asked.

“Look.” Using my chin, I motioned toward the birch.

Pushing fifty years old, Andreus was tall with a dignified air, but he was a man of two faces.

Literally.

In light, he was handsome. Debonair with his silver-streaked dark hair slicked back into a modern pompadour. Dark soulful eyes. Dignified. Regal.

In darkness, his appearance morphed into something evil. Sinister. Malevolent eyes. A malicious countenance.

Currently, the tree's leafy canopy cast Andreus's face in shadow, giving him an eerie, evil look.

Not for the first time he reminded me of Dracula.

He gave us a curt nod of recognition, then turned and strode away.

“I hadn't realized he'd arrived in town already,” Cherise said.

Ve fussed with her banner. “I saw him two days ago at the Witch's Brew, so he's been here for a few days at least.”

“Perhaps he was indeed your source of foreboding earlier, Darcy,” Cherise said.

“Foreboding?” Ve questioned, turning her attention toward me.

I explained the uneasiness I'd felt this morning. The wickedness. After finding Raina's body, I attributed my feelings to the murder, not Andreus.

But now I suspected the two were somehow connected.

It was a theory I had planned to keep to myself, but after seeing Andreus standing there, watching us, I couldn't help but share my thoughts.

“But,” I said, after voicing my concerns, “what does Andreus have to do with Raina? I don't know of a connection, do either of you?”

Cherise said, “Raina and I had spoken of the Roving Stones upcoming return, but she mentioned nothing specifically about Andreus. But the matter of the charm in her hand and the letter
A
on the wall convinces me there is some sort of association.”

Ve wrinkled her nose. “Not necessarily.”

A plane soared overhead, and I also heard the soft coo of a mourning dove perched on the porch roof. The bird spent a lot of time around As You Wish, and over the past months, its coo had become familiar and soothing.

“This is no time to be contrary, Velma,” Cherise said.

Ve rolled her eyes. “I'm rarely contrary. I'm not denying that Andreus might have some involvement. I simply meant Andreus's association may not be with Raina personally, but with the house itself.”

Tourists had gathered across the street, lining the village green to get a glimpse at the commotion. One of my closest friends, Starla Sullivan, was in the midst of the fray, snapping pictures of the goings-on. Although her main source of income was as the owner of Hocus-Pocus Photography, she freelanced at the
Toil and Trouble
, the village newspaper.

I perked up, remembering that Raina Gallagher had been Starla's agent when she bought her new house just a month ago. A small cottage not far from the village square. Her old place, a beautiful brownstone, had been put up for sale after I'd found a dead body on her sofa.

It was as good a reason to move as any. Especially when the dead man had been her ex-husband.

I sighed, not wanting to remember the case. It had been an emotional roller coaster.

I wondered if Starla or Evan (her twin brother who'd helped with the house-hunt) had picked up any strange vibes from Raina—or gleaned any info that would be helpful right about now. I added them to my list of people to talk to.

“I don't understand,” I finally said to my aunt. “Do you think Andreus was one of the bidders on the Tavistock house?
Was Raina his real estate agent? If so, why would he kill her? What's his motive?”

Ve patted my arm. “You're getting ahead of yourself, my girl. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if Andreus
was
a bidder on the home. His family has strong ties to that house.”

“They do?” I asked. “How?”

On the fringe of the crowd, I spotted real estate agent Noelle Quinlan. In her early thirties, she was tall and slender and easily stood a head above most of the other gawkers. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her expression, which was usually perpetually exuberant, remained cheery as she watched the goings-on. Like Kent, she didn't seem upset over the murder, either. And it suddenly struck me why. Her company, Oracle Realty, was the top rival of Raina and Kent's, and I realized Raina's death could only help Noelle's business. . . . Everyone knew Raina was the go-getter at Magickal Realty and now that she was gone, I suspected the business would fall apart. Allowing Noelle to swoop in and pick up the pieces.

Cherise suddenly gasped and grabbed Ve's arm. “How could I have forgotten? Sebastian.”

“Yes,” Ve said, nodding. “Sebastian.”

“Who is Sebastian?” I was completely confused as I turned my full attention to the pair of them.

Color rose high on Cherise's cheeks as she waved her hand about. “Oh, oh, oh. And the
diamonds
.”

Tipping her head, Ve nodded and repeated in acknowledgment, “The diamonds.”

“Okay, you two,” I said, wagging a finger. “Stop repeating each other and tell me what you're talking about.”

A breeze swept down the street, further loosening Aunt Ve's hairdo and apparently her tongue as well.

“Once upon a time,” Ve began, “there was a man who was engaged to a woman. She was a bit of a spoiled princess, and he was a bit of a criminal. . . .”

“Oh dear God.” Cherise shook her head. “Perhaps we
should sit down for this if it's going to be a long-winded narrative.”

Ve frowned at her. “Would you like to tell the story, Cherise?”

“Yes, please. I'll die an old woman before your telling is done.” She faced me. “Sebastian Woodshall is Andreus's father. Ages ago, he and Eleta were engaged until he stole a bunch of diamonds. After being anonymously tipped off, the FBI closed in. Sebastian died in a subsequent shoot-out. Eleta became a hermit. The diamonds were never found, but are believed—despite numerous searches by the FBI—to be inside the Tavistock home. The end.”

In shock, I blinked as I tried to process what she said.

Diamonds and shoot-outs. It seemed like something out of a movie. Wait . . . “Was Eleta Andreus's mother?”

“Oh no,” Cherise said. “That's a whole other story. Sebastian was a bit of a playboy, and Zara Woodshall—Andreus's mother—finally had enough of him when she learned that he was cheating with Eleta. Served him with divorce papers . . . When was that, Ve? A year before the heist?”

“Thereabouts,” Ve said, nodding.

“How long ago did all of this happen?” I asked.

“Late seventies.” Ve sighed wistfully. “I was such a young thing then. Only recently divorced from Terry, in fact.”

“And I'd just started dating him,” Cherise piped in.

I wondered if Terry could feel the mental game of tug-of-war they played with him. Each had an arm and were pulling for all their worth.

I did some mental math. Andreus, now almost fifty, had been a teenager when his father died. Thirteen. Maybe fourteen. How traumatizing. I turned to face Cherise. “I can't believe you didn't mention the diamonds before now, especially since we've spent a good amount of time in the Tavistock house. I wouldn't think missing diamonds are something easily forgotten.”

“Not exactly forgotten,” Cherise said, her brows drawn
low, “but purposely pushed into a dusty corner of my mind. It was a dark time for the village, Darcy. One best left in the past.”

Ve nodded. “A very dark time. It was agreed upon a long time ago to put the matter behind us. Move on. Essentially pretend it never happened.”

Pretend. Even though lives had been destroyed and pricey precious jewels were still missing.

“Which is easier said than done,” Ve added. “Especially when mortal treasure hunters keep popping up in the village every now and again.”

“Treasure hunters?” I asked.

“Oh sure. It was widely publicized by the media that the diamonds are suspected to be in the Tavistock house,” Ve said, “and despite the fact that the FBI searched the place top to bottom and found nothing, that belief has never changed. The treasure hunters show up a couple of times a year, usually when the media revisits the cold case. Many an attempt has been made to ask Eleta's permission to look for the diamonds on the property. . . .”

“Some even went so far as to try to break in,” Cherise said, shaking her head.

“All attempts failed miserably,” Ve added with a smile. “Thanks to Eleta's stubbornness and a little magic.”

“The rumor that Eleta cast a spell to keep people out of her house is true then?” I asked.

Ve nodded. “It's true.”

Cherise said, “Once Sebastian died, Eleta closed herself off from society. She wanted to be left alone with her grief. She adored that man.”

“True, true,” Ve agreed, “but there was another spell that was cast by her as well. One that hid the diamonds.” She cocked her head. “The FBI didn't know what they were up against during their searches.”

I'd learned a lot about spells in the year I'd lived here, and one thing I knew was most spells died with the person who
cast them. In other words, after Eleta passed away, her house was no longer protected against unwanted visitors, and if the diamonds were also under a spell, they could now be found.

“How many diamonds were stolen?” I asked. “What was their value?”

Ve and Cherise looked at each other a long time before Ve said, “It was Boston's biggest diamond heist.”

“Wait.” Stunned, I glanced between the two of them. “You're not talking about the Circe Heist, are you?”

Both had gone pale, as though simply talking about the robbery gave them the willies.

“Yes, it was the Circe Heist,” Cherise confirmed hesitantly in a hushed yet reverent tone.

My shock came out in the high-pitched tone of my voice. “Andreus Woodshall's father stole the
Circe
diamonds?”

No wonder the media periodically revisited the case! It wasn't only Boston's biggest diamond heist, but the
country's
as well.

Anxiously, Ve looked around and shushed me. “Keep quiet, Darcy.”

Cherise added, “Supposedly, Sebastian had an accomplice, but no one ever figured out who . . .”

Ve shot her a quelling look, and she snapped her mouth closed.

In a strained whisper, I said, “That was tens of millions of dollars in diamonds.” Tens. Of. Millions. “And they're hidden in the Tavistock house? That's a big motive for murder.”

I suddenly recalled the paneling that had been pried loose in the closet near Raina's body. Had she walked in on someone looking for the diamonds and was killed because of it?

“Around here the monetary value of the diamonds is irrelevant, Darcy dear,” Ve said, still looking around as though afraid of being heard. “The diamonds were—
are
—priceless.”

“I don't understand,” I said, confused again. “If they were priceless, how is the monetary value not a factor?”

“What do you know of Circe?” Cherise asked quietly.

Trying to drum up what I could remember of the mythology course I took in high school, I shrugged. “Not much. Mythical Greek goddess. Liked to turn men into pigs.”

“
How
did she turn men into pigs?” Ve asked, much like a teacher testing me.

With a start, I realized the answer she was looking for. “She was a sorceress.”

Aunt Ve quirked an eyebrow.

My jaw dropped, and I whispered, “She was a
Crafter
?”

“One of the first,” Cherise confirmed.

“But she didn't exist,” I said. “Mythology isn't real . . .”

Aunt Ve
tsk
ed. “Has this village taught you nothing, my dear?”

My head spun with new information.

“It is a shame,” Cherise chimed in, “that people thousands of years ago were more enlightened than today's society.”

“Does everyone in the village know about the diamonds?” I was amazed I'd never heard about them before now.

“Most, mortals included, who have lived here a long time surely do,” Cherise said.

It was almost too much for my mind to contemplate.

A mythical goddess who had been very much real.

Circe had been a witch. And her magical diamonds were reportedly hidden in the Tavistock house.

Ve's gaze softened, and she patted my arm. “It's a lot to take in, Darcy. The primary source of Circe's power was her magical staff,” she explained. “The first magic wand, so to speak. It was nothing more than a stick, but the center of it had been hollowed out and filled with tears collected from other gods. Tears that turned into diamonds once they fell from the eyes of the gods. Magical diamonds that provide their owner unlimited power. Power that rivals the Elder's. Sebastian Woodshall wanted that power. According to Eleta, Sebastian believed that Circe was the first Charmcrafter and that the diamonds belonged with a Charmcrafter descendent.”

“Well, that,” Cherise said with a roll of her eyes, “and he rather fancied himself a god.”