Dead Witch on a Bridge

by Gretchen Galway

  Birdie came out of the door to the tasting room in baggy sweater and leggings, her hair buried under a baseball cap, her eyes dull. When she saw Jasper and me, she flinched the way people do when they don’t feel sociable.

  I wondered if she was sick. Livia had always been able to boss her around, and I wouldn’t put it past her to drag Birdie out of bed even if she had the flu.

  “Are you still having car trouble?” I asked Birdie, gesturing to the bike.

  “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “It won’t start, and I don’t have the money to have it towed right now. Until the winter rains start, I can use the bike.”

  “Let me give you a ride. I’m going to Cypress on my way home.”

  Birdie glanced at Livia. “Um—”

  “Go ahead,” Livia said with a loud exhale. “There’s nothing we can do here. I’ll have to call around. Friends of mine in Napa have a restaurant, but I don’t know if they can help out with such short notice.” She walked off to her car and got in.

  When Livia was driving out of sight, I turned to Birdie. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Sure. I mean, of course. Yes, I’m great.” She gave Jasper a nervous smile, and I realized they didn’t know each other.

  After quickly introducing them, I put my bag in the Jeep’s back seat and opened the hatch. “You can fit your bike in here. You look like you should be in bed.”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Birdie said.

  “Would you like me to deal with the enlargements?” Jasper asked. “I’m going to the dentist in Santa Rosa anyway. There’s got to be a place near there where I could get it done quickly.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said, overriding Birdie’s objections about the ride by lifting her bike into the Jeep. “I’ve got a picture of him here that I thought would be good, but I haven’t scanned it yet—”

  “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll bring it in. They can do all that. You want a poster board, right? Something you can set on an easel?”

  I nodded. “The rest will be a digital presentation. Hold on, I’ll get it for you.” The folder of pictures was in the Jeep, and I got it and pulled out the one of Tristan in front of the winery.

  “You sure you only want one?” he asked. “I could get more done. Get Livia off your back.”

  “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “What else are friends for?” he asked, offering a lopsided smile.

  I took a few more out of the folder and handed them to him, and soon he was driving away in his car, and Birdie and I in mine.

  “He’s kind of cute,” Birdie said. “Cool tattoos. I’ve seen him around, but I didn’t know you were, you know.”

  “We’re just friends,” I said.

  She smiled, a hint of her usual sparkle flashing to life. “He wouldn’t mind if you jumped him. It’s written all over him.”

  “No, I really don’t think so,” I said. “It’s not like that.”

  “That’s probably why he’s so depressed. And why he let Livia talk him into coming up here with her. Any excuse to get closer to you.”

  I laughed aloud. “It’s really, really not like that.” I tried to imagine myself in bed with Jasper; it was about as sexy as imagining a gnome in a Speedo. I laughed harder.

  Birdie sighed. “Poor guy.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for him. He’s never once suggested he’s interested in me in that way.”

  “Well no wonder,” she said. “Men would rather die than be laughed at.”

  “I wouldn’t laugh at him if—”

  “I know. You’re too nice,” she said. “But he can feel it, and it’s bumming him out.”

  I fell silent. There was nothing I could say to convince her. If she saw Jasper when Phoebe Day was around, she’d see I wasn’t his type.

  I continued chuckling to myself, unable to stop myself from imagining Willy running around the garden in nothing but a postage stamp of tight Spandex, and Birdie sighed again with misplaced compassion.

  I parked in front of Cypress Hardware and asked Birdie where I could find the poster board. “You can wait here,” I said. “You really don’t look like you’re up for visiting work on your day off.”

  She looked miserably out the window and then opened the door. “It’s OK. You’ll never find it. They put that kind of stuff near pet supplies. Picture frames, cat food, storage bins, kitchenware. All the stuff they think women come in for.”

  Inside, Birdie led me past the cash registers and summer clearance patio furniture to a far corner of the store. I picked out a few hard poster boards, some decorative lettering and tape, a large presentation easel, as well as several smaller stands that Livia would never suspect came from a neighborhood hardware store.

  “This place is amazing,” I said, setting my goodies in a cart. “I always find what I want when I come in here.”

  “Like magic,” Birdie said.

  I glanced up sharply. She was chewing a fingernail, standing behind a vertical pole that held a stack of plastic watering cans in all colors of the rainbow.

  “Magic?” I repeated carefully.

  She met my gaze. “That’s what people say. It’s kind of a joke when you work here. I’ve never met the store buyer, but he does seem to know what people want before they know it themselves.”

  Skin prickling, I felt around me with renewed attention. As far as I knew, the store wasn’t run by witches. I couldn’t feel any familiar magic around me, although that itself was unusual. I’d never thought about it before. I was unusually sensitive, but I couldn’t find a hint of magic anywhere, even on the handle of the shopping cart, which should’ve been contaminated with not only the usual bacteria but also the residue of the many magical beings in the area.

  “I could really use a photo duplication and enlargement service,” I said in a loud, clear voice.

  “You don’t need it anymore,” Birdie said. “Jasper is going to do it in Santa Rosa.”

  I cursed inwardly. I had been attempting to see if I could make the photo department, which had not existed when we walked in, suddenly appear and fulfill my need.

  But Birdie had spoiled my test. “You’re right,” I said. “Forgot.”

  A woman turned the corner and waved at us. It was Carolyn, the woman who had given me Nick’s number. She held a stack of glossy kitchen design brochures.

  “Hi, are you still looking for pictures for Tristan Price’s memorial?” Carolyn asked.

  “I am,” I said.

  Glancing from side to side, Carolyn pulled out a manila folder from the stack of brochures. “These were dropped off at the store.” She cleared her throat. “Anonymously.”

  I took the folder from her, wishing I’d run into her before Jasper had left for Santa Rosa. Maybe I could scan them in and email them to him. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Carolyn sighed, visibly relieved to have handed over the contraband, and turned to Birdie. “Sorry to hear you’re leaving us.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Birdie avoided my gaze. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “Leaving?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry. Wasn’t it common knowledge?” Carolyn asked. “They told us at the morning meeting.”

  Birdie shrunk another inch. “I gave notice. I’ve got two more weeks.”

  “But why? I thought—” I stopped, realizing I’d put Birdie in an awkward position. She’d seemed to love working at Cypress, and there weren’t many steady jobs in Silverpool. I turned to Carolyn. “By the way, thanks for this,” I said, holding up the envelope.

  “I apologize, Birdie,” Carolyn said. “I didn’t realize everyone didn’t know.”

  “Everybody knows or should know,” Birdie said. “What’s in the envelope? More pictures? Is it from when you and Tristan were spending all that time together on that project?”

  Frowning, Carolyn clutched her brochures against her chest. “Oh, no, these were just dropped off by somebody. I didn’t see who.” Her expr
ession morphed into a professional smile. “Excuse me, I need to get back to work. It was nice running into you both. See you, Birdie.”

  “See you,” Birdie said.

  I didn’t say anything else to Birdie until I’d gone through checkout and we were out in my Jeep again. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward spot,” I said.

  “It’s not awkward, not awkward at all. Don’t worry about it. My fault. I should’ve said something. I forgot. I just get so used to walking in there, you know? It totally slipped my mind. That I won’t be there anymore. Soon. Eventually.”

  I started the engine but didn’t back up. “Birdie?”

  She sank into her seat, head down.

  After a moment, I threw the Jeep in reverse and headed for our neighborhood. “Hey, forget it,” I said. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  She looked out the window and said nothing. For the first time since I’d met her, I wished she would talk more.

  A few quiet minutes later, my Jeep pulled up in front of her house. She opened the door and jumped out before I could think of anything else to say.

  “Birdie—”

  “I’m really sorry. I’m really sorry,” she said, waving as she turned away.

  “Your bike,” I said, climbing out.

  “Oh! Right. I forgot. Thanks.”

  As we worked together to haul it out of the back, she continued to avoid meeting my gaze. I watched her lift it up the steps to roll it into the front door of her cottage, a spare, one-story structure similar to my own, not much larger than a three-car garage in a suburban McMansion.

  She waved at me and closed the door.

  I drove the short distance to my own driveway, glancing at her house in my rearview mirror, wondering.

  I didn’t know if I should be worried, suspicious, or both.

  Or why.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The morning of the memorial service was cold and hazy with a low, damp fog that was worse than rain. This moisture was useful only for the redwood trees, which pulled it out of the air but not enough to fill the rivers—or the wellspring.

  I parked my Jeep in the visitor parking in front of the winery and carried the easel and as much as I could carry of the other visual displays into the tasting room. Livia was already there, rearranging the flowers. When she saw me walk in, she rushed over and grabbed the easel.

  “Finally,” she said.

  “The service is in an hour,” I said.

  “People are already arriving. Jasper brought me the portrait last night.”

  I’d spent the day before making a collage of the photos I’d received from friends, neighbors, and those who wanted to be anonymous. Carolyn’s pictures caught Tristan in his bathrobe, which explained why she didn’t want to be identified with them. The photo booth shots Birdie had given me seemed too small and precious to glue to a board, so I’d scanned, enlarged, and printed them myself at home on glossy paper I used for advertising my beadwork. Something about Tristan’s face in those photos from Birdie looked more like him, the real man behind the glamour, than any of the other pictures or even my memory of him. Layers of deception, I thought of it now. Not just vanity, not just magic, but lies. He was hiding his crimes.

  Even after a day or two, I was still feeling bitter about how he’d been as greedy as my father—simply less honest about it. Mostly, though, I was mad at myself for being taken in. Malcolm Bellrose’s daughter shouldn’t have been such an easy mark.

  Livia put the easel next to the biggest bouquet of flowers and set the enlarged portrait from Jasper on it. His artificially young face smiled at them, handsome as always, but now I saw a sneaky shadow in his eyes.

  “Do you think it’s big enough?” Livia asked.

  I swallowed a retort that it would never be big enough to capture Tristan’s ego or insatiable appetites. “It’s perfect. And the TV will be playing the slideshow.”

  On the wall above the tasting bar was a large flat-screen that had been used for marketing and informational videos. Now I went over with my bag and set up the video, about five minutes of fade-in, fade-out images of the dearly departed and the picturesque scenery of Silverpool: the vineyard in each season, the Vago River, the little downtown, the old redwood grove. I did not include a picture of Silverpool Bridge, thinking that would be too evocative of his death.

  “What music did you choose?” Livia asked me from across the room. While Jasper arranged chairs, she set a single white rose on each one.

  At that moment, I realized there were three fairies behind the bar with me, all green-skinned, one twice as tall as the other two. With the tall one’s help, they were drinking the wine through the still-corked bottles, which were about the same size as the short fairies.

  I looked around the room. Jasper and Livia didn’t seem to notice them.

  Of course they didn’t. Fairies were invisible. I’d had this problem before—even witches weren’t supposed to be able to see fae who didn’t want to be seen.

  “Music?” Livia repeated.

  I stepped out of the way of the tall one, who was staggering around the floor near my feet. “Music?” I asked, trying to focus on Livia.

  “For the slideshow,” she snapped.

  “I didn’t put any music in it. Just pictures.”

  Livia looked as if she might cry. I almost felt sorry for her. My grief had been softened with disillusionment, but hers was still full strength.

  “I can hook up my phone,” Jasper said. “Did you have anything in mind? Classical, modern, any old favorites of his?”

  “I should’ve realized she wouldn’t think to do the music,” Livia muttered, turning away from me.

  I wanted to push aside the two small fairies who were huddled in front of my laptop like moths around a porch light, but then they’d know I could see them and might cause trouble. Some fairies loved to screw with technology. I wouldn’t be surprised if they short-circuited the motherboard just for fun. Ignoring Livia for a moment, I set up a quick protective spell around my laptop, TV, cables, and cords.

  All three of the fairies shook their heads in disgust and went back to the bottles of Silverpool chardonnay on the shelf under the bar. I thought about setting up a boundary spell around the wine, too, but other people were arriving and I didn’t want to be seen drawing circles in empty air, sprinkling something from a black pouch on the refreshments.

  I left the bar, went out to my Jeep, and made two more trips to bring in the other displays. As I set them around the room, Livia followed me, correcting my aesthetic choices, but I was too distracted by the fairy party behind the bar to care. The scent of magic from so many witches gathering—there were several locals as well as Jasper and me—could be a powerful draw for the spirit people. Three wasn’t too bad.

  I went up to Jasper, who was attaching his phone to the audio system, also behind the bar. The fairies were ignoring him, a small mercy.

  “Set up a protective you-know-what around your phone,” I said quietly.

  “You think somebody would steal it here? In the middle of a funeral?”

  I shook my head and glanced at the fairies he couldn’t see. The tall one was right at his elbow, smirking and playing with his vape pipe.

  “Fae,” I said in Jasper’s ear.

  “You can see them?”

  Even to friends, I didn’t like to admit it. “Strong feeling,” I said.

  He nodded and cast a quick spell around his phone. I left him to find a seat by myself near the back.

  Then I saw Nick Takata already sitting there, scrolling through his phone. Cleaned up for the service, he wore black jeans, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, and clean gray-and-black running shoes.

  I walked over to him but didn’t sit down. “Hi,” I said. “Nice of you to come.”

  He didn’t look up from his phone. “I didn’t come for you.”

  Annoyed by his rudeness, I took the seat right next to him and gave him a friendly smile. “Such a good-looking
chain,” I said, dropping my gaze briefly to his neck.

  “I’m not going to give you the key.”

  “All right,” I said.

  He gave me a suspicious look. “Even if I had it, which I’m not saying I do.”

  “Why would you?” I asked. “Tristan wouldn’t have wanted you to keep one.”

  Nick crossed his legs away from me. “He was happy with my work.”

  “I’m sure he was. It’s a beautiful cabinet.”

  Suddenly he turned and leaned toward me. “Leave me alone,” he snarled into my face. “You and your… Just leave me alone.”

  I recoiled, embarrassed at how several people in the room turned to see what was the matter. Knowing how he felt about witches, I shouldn’t have approached him at Tristan’s service. “I’m sorry,” I said, standing up. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.” I moved to the other side of the room and found a seat in a middle row.

  Over the next half hour, several dozen more people arrived to pay their respects, mostly people I didn’t recognize, about half of them witches. Birdie and Carolyn walked in together and sat in a middle row. At some point I noticed Phoebe Day had already arrived; wearing head-to-toe black, she sat in the front by herself.

  When I saw she didn’t have Lorne at her side, I relaxed into my seat.

  “Boo,” said a voice in my ear.

  I jumped and turned to see my father standing behind my chair. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I said. He enjoyed sneaking up on people as well as treasures. “Why are you here?”

  “Emotional support.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “For you.”

  I pushed it off, noticing the heavy gold watch on his wrist. “I don’t want it. Since when do you wear a Rolex?”

  “Just holding it for a friend of mine,” he said.

  “Is that what you’re calling it these days? Holding?” I asked, turning away from him.

  He didn’t move away from my seat. I could smell the hint of magic on him as he leaned down, breathing into my ear. He must’ve used it to get here.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.