by Tegan Maher
His eyes ran over my face. “You look amazing just like you are. You don’t need any of that stuff.”
I felt my face flush. It was the first time Grant had outright complimented me since we spent time together during Samhain. I had waited for him to make another move after that, for him to ask me out, but he never did. “Thank you.”
He opened his mouth, and I could tell he was about to say something else, but Laverne came stomping back up the hallway. She stopped in front of him and thrust a piece of paper at him. “I made my purchase from The Craft & Candle at three-forty. Satisfied, Detective?”
He didn’t say anything, just removed the paper from his face. “And where did you go after you left The Craft & Candle?”
“Home. I came straight home.” She threw up her arms. “See, there’s no way I could have killed Mr. Tinker and stolen my family’s charm back.”
“I never said what time Mr. Tinker was killed,” Grant said. “Is there anyone who can verify you were home around four o’clock?”
“I live alone, Detective Wolfe. Who would be able to verify that? My cat? Because if you can find a way to communicate with her, you’re more than welcome to ask her.”
I snorted, then slapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. It just struck me as funny.”
He turned to me. “So as crazy as this island is, you’re telling me it’s not possible to communicate with a cat?”
I shrugged. “Not as far as I know. Laverne? Do you know anyone who—”
“Of course not!” she snapped. “I was being sarcastic.”
I grinned. “My bad. Sorry, Detective Wolfe, I’m afraid the witness was being sarcastic and it’s not possible to question her cat.”
Grant’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. “In that case, Ms. Swindell, I believe that’s all the questions I have for now. I’ll be in touch if I have any more.”
We hadn’t taken three steps out of the house before the front door slammed shut.
“Hit a nerve?” Grant mused.
“Seems that way. Or maybe she’s just miffed you didn’t fall at her feet like she wanted.”
Grant grunted.
I hopped inside the Blazer and buckled my seatbelt. “Now are we going to the Night house?”
“Yes. I want to know what young Kyle was doing at Tinker’s Antiques yesterday afternoon.”
8
Fifteen minutes later, we were once again passing the Songbird place, and I was trying not to curse under my breath at the ridiculousness of driving back and forth like we were.
“So I take it the Night house is around here?” Grant asked.
“Yes. You’ll go around this curve up here and then take a right at the next driveway.”
Unlike the Songbird’s rutted driveway, the Night’s driveway was paved smooth. Also unlike the Songbird’s small stone cottage that was set back deep in the woods, the Nights had knocked down the trees around them and built an imposing stone castle complete with turrets and climbing ivy. The only thing missing was a moat.
Grant whistled. “Is this original too? Like the Bearer cottage?”
“Yes, for the most part. The Nights have lived on this land for over three hundred years, just like the Bearer family on theirs.”
“How old is Kyle, do you know?”
“Around Brenna’s age,” I said. “About twenty-three or so.”
“Mom? Dad?”
“Dad. Kyle’s mom died about three years ago from cancer. I remember because Tamara and I had just moved back to the island.”
“What does dad do?”
“He does something with stocks or trading or something like that,” I said. “Big money. The Nights have always been wealthy though.”
Grant pulled to a stop in the circle drive and shut off the engine. “More modern than Mrs. Songbird’s cottage.”
“Oh, yes. There have been extensive renovations over the years to keep the castle up-to-date but still keep the authentic look of the castle.”
Grant rang the doorbell, and a few minutes later the front door was opened by a tall, thin man with a drastically receding hairline. With a loud sigh he stepped back from the door and ushered us inside. “I figured you were bound to show up sooner or later. Let’s get this over with.”
“Are you Mr. Night?” Grant mused.
“Yes.”
“My name is Detective Grant Wolfe, and this is Serena Spellburn. She’s—”
“I know who Serena is, Detective Wolfe,” Mr. Night interrupted. “Her family goes back generations on this island, just like mine.” His mouth turned up on one side. “I can’t say the same for your family, Mr. Wolfe. That’s unfortunate.”
The sting hung in the air. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to ease the awkwardness, but luckily Kyle Night did that for me.
“Hey, Dad,” Kyle called from the top of the stairs, “I thought I heard…” He trailed off when he saw us standing in the spacious foyer.
“I’m sure they’re here about the murder of Mr. Tinker,” Mr. Night said, “and the disappearance of the Yule Log that originally belonged to our family before stolen by the Bearer family.”
Kyle swallowed, and I swear I practically heard the gulp from where I stood. “Yes, sir.” Kyle quickly descended the stairs and stood in front of us. “It’s a shame what happened to Mr. Tinker. He was a nice old man.”
“You knew him?” Grant asked.
Kyle shook his head emphatically. “No. I mean, yes…but no not really.”
“Mr. Night,” Grant said, “could we maybe go someplace to talk?”
Mr. Night sighed. “Fine. And you can call me Archibald.”
Grant frowned and looked down at his notebook. “I thought your first name was Vlad?”
“Technically, yes,” Mr. Night said.
Kyle laughed. “Every Night son is named Vlad. Heck, I’m probably like Vlad the thirtieth. We always go by our middle names. You can call me Kyle.”
Archibald motioned for us to follow him farther inside the house. We crossed the expanse of the tile floor into some sort of fancy sitting room. The dark furniture looked old and yet oddly delicate. Not really the kind of thing I thought Mr. Night would go for, which meant they were probably family heirlooms.
“Please sit,” Archibald said. “Can I get you two something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Grant said. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
Kyle strolled over to the fireplace and leaned against the edge, hands in his pockets. He had yet to make eye contact with anyone in the room.
“Good, because I don’t have much time to spare. I’m a very busy man.” Archibald hitched the front of his pant legs and sat down on the black and red velvet settee. “Let me just say for the record that I had nothing to do with Mr. Tinker’s murder. I quite liked the man. But as far as the Yule Log is concerned, I am not the least bit heartbroken over its disappearance. Those murderous Bearer women hunted down my kin and killed us without provocation. As far as I’m concerned, they get whatever comes their way.” He spread his hands wide. “Now, ask your questions.”
“Actually,” Grant said, “my questions are more for your son than you.”
Archibald’s head snapped back. “My son? What does Kyle have to do with this mess?”
“I have a witness placing your son at the scene of the crime yesterday.”
“What?” Archibald stood and faced his son. “What is this nonsense?”
Kyle cleared his throat. “It’s not nonsense, Father. I was at Tinker’s Antiques yesterday around three. I was—I was looking at jewelry.”
“Why?” Archibald seemed totally nonplused.
“For a Christmas present.”
Raw sorrow passed over Archibald’s face as he sank back down onto the settee, and I had to blink back the sudden onslaught of tears. “Son, that makes zero sense. Why would you be looking at jewelry? Your mother has been dead now for three years.”
“I just was,” Kyle whispered.
“Did
you purchase anything?” Grant asked.
Kyle shook his head. “I didn’t see what I was looking for.”
“Which is?” Archibald demanded.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Kyle said.
“What time did you leave?” Grant asked.
“Around three-fifteen.”
“But you didn’t purchase anything?” Grant pressed. “You don’t have a receipt showing what time you left?”
Kyle averted his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. But I can tell you when I left, Mr. Tinker was in the back helping the other customer.”
I felt rather than saw the change in Grant’s demeanor.
“What other customer?” Grant asked.
“Ms. Warton. She was in the back of the store looking for something. At least I think that’s what she was doing.”
“So you’re telling me,” Grant said, “when you left the store at three-fifteen, Mr. Tinker was alive and talking with a Mrs. Warton in the back of the store?”
Kyle’s face turned red. “Well, actually Ms. Warton isn’t married. She never was. Um, but yeah, she was in the store. She came in around three.”
“And what is Ms. Warton’s first name?” Grant asked.
Kyle’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure, maybe Linda or Lila.”
“You mean Liza Warton?” I asked.
Kyle nodded emphatically. “Yes. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year, so it was kind of a surprise to see her. I said hi when she walked by, but she didn’t acknowledge me.”
Grant stood, and I followed suit.
“Thank you for your time,” Grant said. “Right now that’s all I have. If I need to ask any follow up questions, I assume you will speak with me?”
Kyle pushed himself off the chimney. “Of course, sir.” He glanced up at the ceiling before making eye contact with Grant. “I am truly sorry for what happened to Mr. Tinker, but I’m even sorrier for what happened to the Yule Log. I know how much that log means to Mrs. Songbird.”
“Excuse me!” Archibald exclaimed as he leaped from the settee. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for that woman! Her kind killed our family. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Kyle’s neck turned pink and his eyes dropped to the floor. “Yes, sir.”
9
Back in the Blazer, I clicked my seatbelt and waited for Grant to say something as he pulled out of the circle driveway.
“Well, that was awkward,” Grant said.
I chuckled. “Yes, it was. And it’s only going to get worse for the Nights and Songbirds.”
Grant glanced over at me. “Whaddya mean? And why are you smiling?”
My mouth dropped open. “Oh, c’mon? Tell me you don’t see what is going on there?”
Grant frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Brenna and Kyle?”
“What about them?” he asked. “You mean the fact they’re going to have to carry on the centuries-long feud?”
I laughed. “No! I mean they’re in love. It’s a true Romeo and Juliet story.”
“What? No way.” Grant frowned. “How did you get that?”
I snickered. “Have you never been in love before, Detective Wolfe?”
And just like that, the air seemed to leave the car.
“Grant?” I whispered.
He cleared his throat. “No, Serena, I’ve never been in love before.”
An awkward silence filled the car, and we drove on for a few more miles.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just assumed—you know?”
“What? That I’ve been in love before?”
I let out a soft snort. “Well, yeah. I mean, you’re almost thirty.”
He laughed dryly. “How many times do I have to tell you I have another year or two before I hit thirty? But I get what you’re saying. Do you know where Liza Warton lives?”
“Yes. Go back to the main road and turn left.”
He was silent a few more seconds. “Have you? Been in love, I mean?”
I sighed and looked out the window. “Once.” I scoffed. “Or at least I thought I was. Cameron was a fellow chef at the school Tamara and I attended. He was what I thought I wanted. A fellow chef, smart, funny…human.”
“Human?” Grant mused. “You wanted to fall for a human? Why?”
I shrugged. “I thought it would be less complicated. And I think secretly I wanted to know what it was like to just be…normal.”
“What happened?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “It’s too painful.”
“I’m a good listener.”
I smiled, eyes still shut. “I’m sure you are.”
When I felt Grant squeeze my leg, my eyes flew open.
“I mean it,” he said. “You can tell me anything.”
I turned and faced him. “Okay. We’d been seeing each other for a few months. And it was nice, ya know? No pressure about the relationship because we were both busy with school. He said he respected the fact that I wanted to spend so much time perfecting my recipes with Tamara, and that he needed time alone too so he could focus.”
I stopped talking because I couldn’t speak past the sudden lump in my throat. The pain of the betrayal was still there, but now instead of sorrow I felt anger. True anger at what Cameron had done.
“Then what happened?” Grant prompted.
I sighed. “One night, he stayed over and—and while I slept, he went through my things. He found my chef’s journal, something every pastry chef has, and took photos of my recipes.”
“I’m almost afraid to know how you found out what he’d done.”
I snorted. “For our class final, we had to dazzle our instructor with a dessert using certain ingredients. They were pretty much basic ingredients, but we could also add whatever we wanted to make the dessert pop. Well, he created the same recipe I did…only there was one problem.”
“What?”
“My recipes all have at least one magical secret ingredient complete with a spell added…sometimes they have two. The basic recipes have been handed down through the generations, but the magic is never written down because it comes from the heart. He had no idea. So when the time came for the instructor to taste the desserts, not only was his missing key ingredients, but the presentation was all off. But mine was over-the-top good. The instructor couldn’t stop raving about it.”
“I bet that didn’t go over well,” Grant said.
I snorted. “Can you believe Cameron accused me of purposely sabotaging him?”
“What?”
“Yeah. He claimed I didn’t hide my book of recipes hard enough because I wanted him to find them and use them and fail the class! I deliberately withheld certain ingredients so he’d fail.”
Grant grinned. “Did he fail the class?”
I grinned back. “Almost.”
We sat there in silence for a few seconds, and I marveled at how freeing it felt to tell that story.
“Then what did you do?” he demanded. “Did you report what he’d done.”
“No. I stopped seeing him, obviously, and when Tamara and I finished our degrees, we left and came back to the island.”
“So he still has your recipes?” Grant asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe. But they won’t do him any good without the missing ingredients and the spell that binds them together.”
Grant emitted a low wolf-like growl, and I blinked in surprise. When he didn’t acknowledge the sound, I pretended not to notice.
10
“Turn right at the next road,” I said. “Then follow it until you get to the crossroads and take a left on Magick Drive.
“Is there anything specific I need to know about the Wartons?”
“Liza is around my mom’s age, but they weren’t friends because the Wartons are known to dabble in black magic.”
“Meaning?”
“Simply put? Witches use their powers for good. Those who deal in black magic use their powers for evil. The Wartons have walked that gray line for as long as I ca
n remember, but from what I understand, Beatrice is trying to change their reputation. My mom did tell me once that Liza left the island to attend college, and I think she even has a degree in science or something like that.”
“I’ll be sure to ask.”
“She came back to the island and opened her shop, The Craft & Candle. She makes her own products. I recently learned she retired about eight months ago and her daughter, Beatrice, is running the store full time now.”
“So Liza Warton has a daughter but never married?” Grant mused.
“That’s right. It was pretty scandalous at the time. Liza refused to name the father of the baby, and she raised Beatrice on her own. The driveway is up ahead on the left.”
Liza Warton lived in a modest two-story brick house with black shutters, black window frames, a dark roof, and a black front door. Even the pillars on the front porch were painted black.
“You’d think with all the black it would be creepy,” I said, “but I actually think it’s quite beautiful.”
The front door opened and a stunning woman with long, wavy red hair stood in the doorway. I guessed her to be in her late thirties. Her youthful, rosy complexion set off her captivating lilac eyes. “Can I help you?”
“We are here to see Ms. Warton,” Grant said.
“I’m Ms. Warton.”
I squinted and cocked my head. “We’re looking for Liza Warton.”
The beautiful woman laughed. “My dear, Serena. It hasn’t been that long has it?”
I frowned. “Liza?”
“Of course, dear. Who else did you expect to answer the door?”
“Uh…no one. You look—well, you look amazing.”
She flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “Why thank you. It’s nice hearing a compliment come from someone so lovely as yourself.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. The last time I’d seen Liza Warton, she looked her age. But that had been over a year ago when I’d been in her shop. I didn’t usually shop at The Craft & Candle simply because I didn’t care for the Warton image. Now I wish I’d paid more attention to the anti-aging crap she tried to sell me that day.
“Ms. Warton,” Grant said, “my name is Detective Grant Wolfe. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”