Some Like It Witchy (9 page)

I
didn't dare set Missy down as Scott and I walked toward As You Wish. I didn't trust her not to run off again.

Sliding a glance at Scott, I said, “Do you have pets?”

It wasn't what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask about his morning meeting with Raina, but there were some conversations that needed to be sidled up to, not barged in on with guns blazing.

He said, “I have a neurotic Chi-Pom-something named Boca.”

“Unusual name. I like it.”

“It fit. I found him in an abandoned building in Boca Raton while I was there on a job. And he has a big mouth.”

I smiled.
Boca
was the Spanish word for
mouth
.

“I couldn't leave him”—Scott shrugged—“so he came home with me.”

My estimation of him just went up a notch.

“Is Boca here with you?” I asked. Maybe that was Missy's fascination with this man. Perhaps she smelled an unfamiliar dog scent and wanted to further investigate the source. I had to admit, she was a nosy little thing.

She took after her owner that way.

“He does travel with me a lot, but not this time. He's home.”

“Where is home? Los Angeles?” I asked, stepping off the curb. Across the street, I saw that Ve had been busy in the
time I'd been gone. Her
A VOTE FOR VE IS A V
OTE FOR YE
sign now hung from the front porch railing. This was in addition to the lawn signs dotting the front yard and sidewalk.

The crowd around the Tavistock house continued to thin now that the medical examiner's van had gone. News crews lingered, but soon there would be something else that would grab their attention and they would move on as well. Another murder. A robbery. Something. Raina would soon be forgotten by all except those who knew her well.

I sighed. It was a depressing thought—but one I knew to be true. It's what had happened each time the village had been marred by a homicide.

Life went on.

A fact I believed to be both a blessing and a curse.

“Actually, no,” Scott said. “I'm assigned to the East Coast, anywhere from Maine to Miami. I live here in Boston, in the North End.”

I came to a stop and looked at him. “You live just thirty minutes away, yet you're staying here in the village?” He'd been a guest of the Pixie Cottage for at least a week now.

“A hazard of the job, unfortunately,” he said. “I'm to immerse myself in the town where I'm working. It adds realism to the show if I actually know the town inside and out. It's only this way until the show starts filming, however. Then I'm free to come and go with the film crew. And I do go home when I have time.”

I didn't see a wedding ring, so I pried some more as we crossed the street. “That must be hard on your everyday life.”

He knew what I was getting at. “It's caused more breakups than I care to admit. Fortunately, the last one was amicable. We actually share custody of Boca—that's who he's with now. My ex.” He glanced at me, a small smile on his face. “That sounds strange, right? Having shared custody of a dog?”

Laughing, I said, “Not at all.” I knew all about strange custody agreements for pets. After all, Tilda spent a lot of
time with Lew Renault, an Emoticrafter who'd accidentally stolen her once (long story).

“I travel so much that it's nice to have someone look after Boca. And Derek's good about sending me pictures when I'm away.” He pulled out his phone.

“Derek?” I asked, for clarification.

“My ex,” he said matter-of-factly as he swiped his screen to show me a snapshot of a handsome man holding a tiny brown fluff ball.

“Adorable,” I said, smiling.

“Boca or Derek?”

“Both.” I laughed.

He smiled fondly at the photo. “Yes, well, they're both crazy. Derek is actually more neurotic than the dog. It's his line of work.”

“Is he in the arts?” Artists were notoriously temperamental.

“No. Law enforcement,” he deadpanned. “You're dating a cop, right? You know what it's like.”

There were times in my relationship with Nick that it had been really hard, but we seemed to have worked out the kinks. My snoop job for the Elder certainly had helped smooth some rough edges, but Scott Whiting didn't need to know all those details.

“‘Most everyone's mad here,'” I said with a smile as I winked at Archie, who looked resplendent inside his cage. I pushed open the side gate and set Missy down. She immediately went to Scott's feet to sniff around.

Archie squawked.
“Alice in Wonderland.”
He laughed just like the Cheshire cat in the Disney movie. “Mad, mad, we're all mad.”

Looking at Scott, I shrugged. “I rest my case.”

Scott stared at Archie. “Did that parrot . . .”

I closed the gate behind us. “He's a bird of many talents.” I headed up the side porch steps. “Do you want something to
drink? Coffee? Tea? Lemonade? Ve made a fresh pitcher this morning.”

“Lemonade would be great,” he said, still watching Archie with a lifted eyebrow. “Thanks.”

I left the back door open, letting in some fresh air, and Scott finally followed me inside. In the kitchen, I moved aside a stack of election signs and a bag of buttons that hadn't been there earlier. They were printed with Ve's new slogan. “Please excuse the mess,” I said. “It's been nutty around here with this election.”

He picked up a button. “Ye?”

I set out two glasses. “It's catchy.”

Humor laced his voice as he said, “The election is the real show around here. I've never seen more heated arguments over a new development. Ve and Sylar are true characters.”

“Don't forget Dorothy.”

“She wouldn't let me if I tried. You two seem to have a history.”

I eyed him as I pulled the lemonade from the fridge. I could see why he was good at his job. He slipped prying questions into a conversation with ease. “History that is best left in the past.”

“Ah, it's a secret.”

Tipping my head, I said, “It's really no secret. We don't like each other.”

He smiled.

Filling the glasses, and before he could continue that line of questioning, I added quickly, “I take it you're in favor of the development since it would mean more episodes for the TV show?”

He wasn't the only one who could pry.

He set the button aside. “I'd actually rather not see the land razed. There are homes enough around the village for the show's purposes. Houses like the Tavistock place. I really wanted to feature the house in the show.”

Propping a hip against the counter, I said, “Is that why you were meeting with Raina this morning?”

Sipping the lemonade, he lifted an eyebrow. “Word gets around fast.”

“Small village.”

“But yes, to answer your question. The plan was to have the home's new owner sign on as our first house hunter.”

I spotted Tilda at the top of the steps, peering down from her usual eavesdropping spot as I said to him, “How? I mean, shouldn't you already be filming?”

“TV magic, Darcy. The shows are filmed after the house's closing. Imagine wasting a month of work only to see a house fall out of contract? Once the house has its closing, but before the homeowner moves in—that's when filming takes place. Raina and I were discussing how to broach the matter with the new owner once contracts are finalized. Not everyone wants to be on TV, so sometimes we have to be persuasive.”

Scott should be glad that I hadn't the money to make an offer on the place. He might not have understood why I would refuse to be filmed. “Raina could be very persuasive.”

A flash of sadness crossed his features. “Yes. And even though she wasn't guaranteed the job as host of the show, she
was
the front-runner, and as the home's real estate agent I needed her on board, no matter what.”

“What time was your meeting?”

“Nine. We met in the dining room at the Pixie Cottage. She left around nine thirty, saying she had to meet a client.”

It was easy enough to check with Harmony Atchison, the owner of the cottage, to verify what he'd said. I couldn't imagine why he'd lie about it—as far as I could tell, he had no motive for hurting Raina.

“Did Raina seem distraught at all?” I asked.

He shook his head. “She seemed fine. Busy like always. I don't think there was ever a moment when her brain wasn't working ten steps ahead.”

It was a good description. Raina was always on the go, go, go. As a Vitacrafter, she had endless energy.

“Is Kent truly being considered for the TV host job?” I asked.

He pushed his glass between his hands. “Honestly?”

I nodded.

“No. He's not what we're looking for.”

“I heard Raina asked for him to be considered a cohost. True?”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Small village,” I repeated, shrugging.

“Yes, true, but it wasn't going to happen.”

“Did she know that?”

“Yes.”

“Did Kent know that?”

“I don't know.” He paused, then added, “Instincts tell me all was not right in their marriage. She casually mentioned once that he'd been trying to talk her into franchising Magickal Realty, which she was opposed to. She liked being a boutique agency. He'd even gone so far as contacting a lawyer about it.”

“When was this?” I asked, not mentioning the divorce filing. Or the cheating rumor.

“A week or so ago.”

Another decision Kent had been trying to make without her.

Scott glanced at his watch. “I've got to get going, but the reason I wanted to speak with you in the first place was to inquire about your services.”

“My services?”

“With As You Wish. If the filming permit is granted, I'd like to hire a local crew in addition to our usual union team. Hiring a local team generally paves a long road toward neighborly goodwill,” he explained.

“Smart,” I said.

“I'd like As You Wish to become our staffing agent, so to speak. You know the locals, who's trustworthy, who's a good worker . . . That knowledge is invaluable.”

I felt a pang of unease, simply because if Ve was elected, I didn't know if I could handle the job on my own . . . But I supposed that was a bridge to cross later. “We'd be happy to help you out.”

“Great.” He slid off the counter stool just as Missy wandered back into the house. “Thanks for the lemonade, Darcy. I don't have it often and it reminded me of lemon shortbread cookies my mother used to make when I was little.” His eyes misted. “I'm not much for sweets, but I wish I had a plate of those cookies right now.”

“I'm sorry—did your mom pass on?” I asked as calmly as I could as my nerves jumped. Trying to be inconspicuous, I took his glass and set it in the sink while casting the wish spell in a low whisper. “Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay.” I blinked my left eye twice and the spell was cast. A second later, a plate of lemon cookies appeared on the counter.

Panic sliced through me until I realized he was bent down, patting Missy, and hadn't seen the plate magically appear. I let out a deep breath.

He said sadly, “She's been gone a long time.”

Missy slurped his chin.

My heart went out to him. I knew the pain of losing a mom at a young age. “Well,” I said, “I don't know how these
cookies Ve made will measure up, but hopefully you'll like them. I'll wrap a couple for you.”

Puzzled, he glanced at me with a furrowed brow, then at the cookies, then at me again.

I smiled brightly and lied through my teeth. “Ve's on a lemon kick right now.”

As I grabbed a cookie tin from the pantry, he said, “Do you mind if I try one right now?”

“Not at all.”

He took a cookie, eyed it as though one might look at a stick of dynamite, and took a bite. Closing his eyes, he let out a little sigh.

“Good?” I asked as I filled the tin as full as I could.

“Better than I remember, Darcy. I need to get that recipe from Ve.”

I handed over the tin and guided him to the door. His eyes were still a bit misty as I said, “I'll try to get it out of her, but it's an old family secret.” I had no idea what that recipe was. Maybe the Elder did. I could ask.

He paused on the top step of the porch and said, “A family secret?” He glanced toward the green. “There seems to be a lot of those around this village. See you around, Darcy.”

As he walked off, I glanced down at Missy. “He seems like a nice guy.”

She barked. I took it as an agreement.

Actually, he'd be a perfect match for Evan.

I yelled out, “Hey Scott?”

He stopped, turned. “Yeah?”

“Have you been to the Gingerbread Shack yet?” He'd said he wasn't much for sweets, so it was entirely likely he hadn't.

“No, why?”

“You might want to stop by there while you're in town. Evan makes some of the best treats around. Magical even. You should sample some. You know, all in the name of research for the show.”

“Maybe I will,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and don't tell him I sent you. Just consider it one more village secret.”

He eyed me suspiciously, waved, and walked away.

Missy was staring at me. “What?” I said to her.

She turned and went back into the house.

Operation Fix Evan was well under way.

“N
o, no, no!” Godfrey Baleaux exclaimed when I walked through the door of the Bewitching Boutique.

I glanced behind me, wondering what had set him off. “What?”

His plump cheeks infused with color, and he dramatically pressed his hands over his heart. “Dost my eyes deceive? Are you wearing linen pants, Darcy?
Linen?
Have I taught you nothing? Linen is for after Memorial Day and not a moment before. And are those flip-flops? Dear God, I may never recover.”

I stretched out my leg to show off my foot. “They're nice flip-flops. Dressy, even.”

“No such thing. Surely you have a nice sandal at home. A wedge, for the love of man.”

My nice sandals were now in police custody. “Nope.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Where have I gone wrong?”

“It's not you. It's the weather. It's hot.”

He shook his head as he came toward me. “We must suffer for our art. You have to change clothes . . . I'm sure I have something around here that's just right.”

“
You
can suffer. I'll keep cool in my linen pants and flip-flops.”

“Such impudence. You're taking after your aunt more and more every day.”

I didn't mind the comparison. I adored Aunt Ve. Once
upon a time she had been married to Godfrey, whom she sometimes referred to as the rat-toad bottom dweller. Though these days she resorted to that name only when she was especially irritated with him. Which happened more frequently than one would think, considering they were close friends.

After pressing noisy kisses on my cheeks, he held me at arm's length. “Other than that, you're not looking too shabby for being the Grim Reaper.”

I rolled my eyes. “You've been talking to Archie.”

Godfrey glanced over his shoulder at the customers in the shop and dropped his voice. “
Au contraire.
Archie's been talking to
me
. I can never get a word in edgewise with that bird. I saw him in the back alley earlier spying on Kent Gallagher. He's not very subtle, is he?”

“Have you met Archie?
Subtle
is not a word in his vocabulary.”

“True, true, he does like to be the center of attention, doesn't he?” Godfrey asked, his lips curved in amusement.

“Always.”

I'd tried to locate Nick before heading here, but he had left the Tavistock house and wasn't answering his cell phone. I left him a message about the possibility of Raina being pregnant and also Kent's possible mistress.

“I'm assuming you're here to see Pepe and Eugenia?” Godfrey said. “Because you've made it clear you're not in the market for an outfit actually in season.”

“Talk about not being subtle.”

He laughed, a loud guffaw that stretched the fabric of his fancy vest. “Touché, my dear. Go on to the back. You know what to do.”

I patted his cheek and put a little swagger in my walk so my flip-flops would snap extra loudly.

Godfrey mumbled something about sassiness as I strode past the dressing rooms and pushed aside the curtain leading to the sewing room. I took a brief moment to glance around.
It was one of my favorite spaces in the village. With the colors, the textures, and the various notions scattered about, it should have been chaos. It wasn't. Instead, it was happiness.

After soaking up the ambiance, I quickly crossed the room and knelt down next to the far wall. A small arched door had been cut into the tall baseboard, and I leaned down to make sure the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign wasn't hanging on the tiny knob. I'd made that mistake before and didn't want to repeat it.

There wasn't a sign, but I could hear raised voices from within the wall.

“It
is
a word,” Mrs. P was saying.

“
Non
, my love. You are mistaken.”

I couldn't help but smile at the tone of Pepe's voice. He was clearly trying not to lose his patience with Mrs. P. The honeymoon period of their relationship was apparently winding down.

“I am never mistaken,” she said coolly.

“Come, come. It is possible you've confused it for
mush
or
mosh
or
smoosh
. But I can assure you that
m-o-u-s-h
is not a word. I might also add that the use of your
S
tile in this particular situation is perhaps not your wisest choice for such a valuable letter.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. They were obviously playing Scrabble. Despite their competitiveness, they loved to play games, whether board games or cards. Sometimes their cutthroat playing tactics got the better of them.

“Perhaps,” she said, snarkily, “it is not your wisest choice to offer up such opinions without being asked for them.
Moush
is a perfectly lovely word, and if you do not stop arguing with me, then I will show you its meaning when I moush you against the wall.”

As I believed she would make good on her threat, I decided it was a good time to interrupt. I tapped on the wood twice. “Pepe? Mrs. P? Hello?”

A moment later, the door swung open, and Pepe stuck his head out.
“Mon amie!”
He wiped his damp brow with a tiny handkerchief and blinked at me from behind his gold-framed glasses. “Impeccable timing.”

Mrs. P rushed past him, giving him a little shove as she passed. “Dollface, what lousy timing you have! I was just about to win a contentious game of Scrabble.”

It had taken me a while to become adjusted to seeing her as a familiar. It helped that she actually resembled her old self. Between the spiky hair between her ears, her big grin, her rosy cheeks, and pink velour dress . . . she looked like Mrs. P Just smaller. And furrier. After five months, however, I almost couldn't imagine her as anything other than a boisterous little white mouse.

The best part of it all, however, was the fact that she was perfectly one hundred percent healthy. Her heart would never again give out.

“I can come back,” I offered.

In deep thought, Mrs. P tapped her chin with delicate little fingers while behind her, Pepe shook his head emphatically no.

“You're here now,” she said, waving a hand. “My victory can wait a few more minutes.”

I suddenly heard a crash and noticed Pepe had disappeared. He popped out of the doorway a second later, looking abashed, with redness coloring his cheeks. “My apologies! I'm such a clumsy old thing. I accidentally knocked the game off the table while fetching a fresh handkerchief.” He waved the cloth as though to verify his story.

Mrs. P squeaked, her eyes widening.

Before she could say anything, he grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss on the top of it. “I shall make it up to you,
mon amour
.” He added three more kisses.

Oh, he was good.

She let out a sigh, then a laugh.

Oh, how I loved her boisterous laugh.

Looking up at me, she said, “How can I stay mad at him when he does that?”

I shrugged. “You can't.”

She patted his cheek. “I will win the rematch.”

He chuckled ominously. “We shall see about that.”

I cleared my throat.

Both looked up at me, and Pepe gasped. “Is that linen?”

“You and Godfrey are more alike than you realize,” I said to him.

He straightened his red vest. “There's no need to be insulting.”

Pepe had lived with the Baleaux family since becoming a familiar hundreds of years ago. Even though they were not related by blood, he and Godfrey showed classic signs of sibling rivalry. Their squabbles often led to threats of biting (by Pepe) or acquiring a cat (by Godfrey). Yet underneath it all was a loyalty that ran deep.

“I'm getting a crick in my neck, doll.” Mrs. P motioned for me to pick her up.

I scooped them both up and set them on the sewing table. I sat on the stool so I could look at them face-to-face. “If you have a few minutes to spare, I have some questions I'm hoping the two of you can answer.”

“Ah, about poor Raina, I presume,” Mrs. P said. “How's the case going, doll?”

“Slowly so far,” I said, giving them a quick recap. “It's
entirely possible that Raina was killed for personal reasons, but there's also the chance that she was just a pawn used by someone looking for the diamonds. I need more information on the Circe Heist.”

Pepe's whiskers, which had been twirled into a fancy mustache, twitched. “It was long ago,
ma chère
.”

“But your memory is long, is it not?” I asked. “You're always saying so.”

Mrs. P elbowed him. “She's got you there.”

“I truly do not know much.”

“What about the accomplice? Do you know who it was?”

“Ah yes, the mysterious Phillip. As far as I know, he's never been identified. There's no one named Phillip in the village. After Sebastian died, Crafters were quite happy to forget the incident ever occurred.”

It seemed to be a recurring theme, but information had to be out there somewhere. I decided a trip to the village library was in order. It would be helpful to read archived newspaper articles written at the time of the heist. Or, perhaps, if I was lucky, the microfilm has been digitized and I could search the old papers from home.

“Most Crafters are grateful the diamonds remain hidden,” Mrs. P added. “Their power is dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Like Andreus's?” I asked.

“There are many,” Pepe said softly, “who cannot be trusted with such power.”

His statement struck me hard. “The same reason why the Elder's identity is kept secret.” So she wouldn't be used. Abused.

Mrs. P. fidgeted. “That's quite a segue, doll.”

“Ve mentioned this morning that the diamonds' power was similar to the Elder's. Do you two know who she is?” I asked, point blank.

“What is this, Darcy?” Mrs. P asked, concern in her eyes.
“What's with the questions about the Elder? What does she have to do with Raina?”

Letting out a breath, I said, “Andreus mentioned to me that most everyone in the village knows who she is. I know that's not true, but I can't help but wonder why I haven't been told. I think I've proven I can be trustworthy.”

Pepe's eyes narrowed. “He should not be speaking so openly of the Elder.”

Mrs. P patted his hand while saying to me, “Ah, doll. Don't fret so. There's a year's waiting period before any new Crafter to the village can possibly learn of her identity. You've been here only eleven months. Patience, my dear.”

“A waiting period?” I perked up. “Why hasn't anyone ever said anything?”

“You've never asked,” she said, lifting her slim shoulders in a gentle shrug.

A year. Next month will mark a year that I'd lived in the village. Suddenly, my spirits lifted. I'd waited this long . . . what was another few weeks?

“But,” Pepe said, wagging a finger, “it is not a guarantee you'll be told even after a year. I do not want you to get your hopes up that it will happen on a certain date. Many have lived in this village for decades and do not know. And it is only the Elder herself who can share the knowledge. No one else is allowed to reveal her identity.”

And just like that, my spirits deflated.

“However,” Mrs. P said, throwing him a side glance, “I think the Elder has proven she trusts you by giving you the investigative job.”

My spirits picked themselves up, dusted themselves off.

“True, true,” Pepe said. “As Eugenia so eloquently put it, patience, my dear. All will be revealed in due time.”

I narrowed my gaze on them and repeated my earlier question. “Do you two know who she is?”

“Indeed we do,” Pepe answered finally, keeping his gaze fixed on me.

I didn't ask who it was—they couldn't tell me diddly-squat without getting into trouble with the Elder. Her orders were
not
to be disobeyed. Otherwise Crafters faced immense consequences. Like losing their powers. Or being turned into a frog.

I'd try to be patient about her identity, but I did have other questions that they might be able to answer. “How long has she been Elder? Andreus mentioned that he'd been at her appointment many moons ago. I'm guessing that's at least ten years.”

Pepe took off his glasses and used his handkerchief to clean the lenses. “Yes, it's been that long. Plus some.”

“Twenty years?” I pressed.

“Somewhere thereabouts,” Mrs. P murmured, examining her nails.

“Thirty years? Was it around the time of the Circe Heist? Is the Elder Andreus's mother?”
That
would certainly be quite the surprise.

“No, no,” Mrs. P said, shaking her head. She looked at Pepe. “Whatever did become of his mother?”

“Zara Woodshall moved to the South Shore about six months after she and Sebastian divorced,” Pepe said. “When Andreus asked to stay behind with his father, she reluctantly acquiesced.”

“Did he return to her after Sebastian's death?” I asked.

Pepe shook his head. “No, he moved in with friends of the family here in the village. He was just starting his teenage years and didn't want to be displaced. However, he visited his mother often.”

I said, “Cherise mentioned Sebastian had been cheating on Zara with Eleta. . . . Did Andreus hold any ill will toward Eleta for breaking up his family?”

Mrs. P said, “I believe Sebastian took full responsibility for that, doll. Zara knew full well what she was getting into with Sebastian but loved him enough to take the risk. Just as
Eleta knew. There's something magical about those Woodshall men.”

Pepe gave her a sideways glance.

She said, “What? I'm not blind. Women tend to fall for them hard and fast and become a little obsessed. Eleta never recovered from Sebastian's death and went a little off the deep end. It was only weeks after his death that she became a recluse, never leaving her house again.”