I hadn’t thought of that. Then I realized I didn’t have to. “The chief is a master at coming up with excuses for all of the goings-on in this town. He’ll come up with something.” I looked up as the phone rang. “Percy! Are you here?”
The floor hummed beneath our feet, and vines slid across the ceiling into the pantry.
“Did you know this was here?”
It seemed to take him a moment, then the vines rushed en masse over the other shelves and around the barrier, as though exploring. Learning.
“I’m going to take that as a no.” My call went straight to voicemail. “Chief, get over to the house. We found something. And bring a crime scene tech.”
“Look at this passageway,” Roane said, taking in our surroundings.
I hung up. “Exactly. The other passages seem newer. Better maintained.”
“Yes. And this offshoot was the only part of the passage that was blocked off by another panel.”
“Is that significant?”
“I don’t know. It was purposely concealed, though. No doubt.”
“Then how did the intruder know about it? How did the intruder know about any of this?”
Percy shrank back, and sixty seconds later, Gigi came running up the stairs from her apartment.
Her stunned gaze would suggest she didn’t know about that particular panel either. “Good Goddess,” she said, inching into the pantry. “Where did that come from?”
I stepped through and gave her room to inspect the area. “Gigi, you’ve lived here your entire life. You never knew this was here?”
She shook her head. “I did not.”
Roane stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen as well, even though there was plenty of room. The storeroom was the same size as the laundry room that sat next to it.
“And look.” I pointed to the shelves. “They open into the passageway. None of the others do that.”
She leaned into the passage, careful not to touch anything.
“I called the chief to bring a crime scene tech. There could be prints.”
She nodded and looked around in a daze. “I had no idea this was here.”
“No way,” Annette said, rushing into the kitchen. She’d showered, her hair now in a single bun on top of her head, and gotten some rest if her puffy eyes were any indication. Percy must’ve roused her as well. She poked her head into the pantry. “This is crazy.”
“Are the passageways in the floorplans? You mentioned once you’d seen the original plans from when the house was built in the 1800s.”
“No. The measurements on the plans had to be adjusted to accommodate them.”
“You mean falsified?” Roane asked.
“Yes. It was all very clandestine, but can you blame my family?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean, I come from a long line of witches. Actual witches. Not those poor souls who were killed in the witch trials.”
“And your family needed a way to hide in case history repeated itself and they came for them.”
“Precisely. So you can see why the plans that were registered with the county, as primitive as they are, were a little less than forthcoming.”
Annette studied the entry. “What’s the point of secret passageways if they aren’t a secret?”
“Well, someone knew about them,” I said, waving the chief back to us.
He took one look, and his years of perfecting his legendary poker face, to which every law enforcement officer aspires, were all for naught. He couldn’t have concealed his surprise if I’d paid him to. Which, why would I?
“You found it.” He stepped into the pantry.
“This has to be how they did it, right?”
“Yes. I would say so. Everyone out.”
He shooed us all out of the pantry and called in a tech to process the area, telling her there was a break-in and leaving it at that. The tech, a pretty brunette who was searching for a dog she’d lost a year earlier and a boyfriend she’d lost just before that, came in to dust for fingerprints.
“Gigi, does this change anything?” I stood beside her, her gaze a thousand miles away. “Can you think of anyone who would’ve known about that particular access point?”
She walked to the great room and stood at the window, looking out at the dreary day, her hands clasped behind her back. I followed her, motioning for everyone else to give me a minute alone with her.
“I just don’t know, Defiance.”
“It’s okay, Gigi. We’re getting closer.”
She nodded, and her chin quivered.
I draped an arm around her shoulders. “Gigi, what is it?” I couldn’t imagine how finding that door would upset her. If anything, it got us closer to our goal.
“You can’t imagine what it’s like knowing someone murdered you. Someone hated you enough to take your life.”
“No.” I filled my lungs. “I can’t imagine that, but I don’t think they hated you, Gigi. I think they wanted something. Something you had.”
“The fact that my life meant so little to them is almost worse than the hate. Indifference. A complete and utter lack of care or concern that I was a person. I had a life.”
Her despair washed over me. Made me more determined than ever to find who did this to her. “Why don’t you get some rest? The coven will be here in a little while.”
She nodded, and the chief came in to escort her to her apartment.
Roane and Annette joined me at the window. What many would see as a depressive day, I saw as a work of art. The bouts of nourishing rain. The sunless sky. The soft light that seemed to reflect my own dreams back onto me. The grayness filled my soul in a way that nothing else could.
I turned to them, renewed and refocused. “I have an errand to run before the coven arrives.”
Roane scoffed in astonishment. “Do you, now?”
“Yes.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “With a hunter running around?”
I crossed my arms back. “Roane, you said it yourself. You have no idea if he was even after me.”
Annette crossed her arms too, but just watched our conversation intently.
“And we’re supposed to use that as an excuse to gamble with your life?” he asked.
I pursed my lips, then turned to Annette. “I need to know more about the man at the café. Can you find out where he’s staying?”
“Joaquin Ferebee? On it. Wait, why?” she asked, suddenly intrigued. “Did something happen to him since this morning?”
“No, and I’d like to keep it that way. I felt something a few minutes ago. A… release. Like he’s made a decision that goes against the universe’s plan for him.”
“Okay. I’m on it.” She hurried up the stairs to her laptop, and I refocused on the wolf beside me.
“And you can be my chauffeur. Unless you have someplace to be?”
“Other than attached to your hip?”
I grinned. That would work.
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in the waiting room at Richter, Richter, and Richter Law, Real Estate, and Wedding Offices. The purple waiting room of Richter, Richter, and Richter Law, Real Estate, and Wedding Offices. I hadn’t seen Mrs. Richter in all her purple glory since the day she’d nervously insisted I sign the papers to accept a house named Percival. A house that had been bequeathed to me by a total stranger. That stranger turned out to be my grandmother, of course, and Percival the wonderful, warm house I lived in now, but Mrs. Richter had been scared to death of him. Poor guy.
I’d also previously met her assistant, Tad, the sandy-haired one who kept chancing furtive glances Roane’s way. I could hardly blame him. I often did the same thing.
Roane sat with his legs outstretched, his elbows on the armrests, and his hands clasped in front of his mouth as he scanned the waiting room with a look of mild horror on his face. As much as I loved purple, I could see where it would be a bit overwhelming to the unprepared.
He looked out the wind
ow to the parking lot. “I take it that’s her car?”
I followed his gaze to a purple crossover. “Yep.”
Mrs. Richter stepped out of her office with a young woman in tow. “Don’t worry, Cynthia. I’ll call the DA now and get the exact charges. But remember, they have to prove your aunt was trying to kill your uncle with that frozen chicken to convict her. They have to prove intent, and that won’t happen.”
“Even though she screamed at him she was going to kill him with a frozen chicken when she attacked?”
Mrs. Richter winced. “Let’s see what the DA has to say, shall we?”
The woman nodded, shook her hand, and headed out, stumbling only slightly when she spotted the large Adonis sitting in the waiting area.
Tad cleared his throat, loudly, to clue Mrs. Richter in to the fact that she’d just broken client confidentiality by saying all of that in front of us.
The woman’s startled gaze landed on Roane. Then me. Then back to Roane, where it lingered a long moment before returning to me. “Ms. Dayne,” she said, and I was surprised she remembered me. I’d only met her the one time, and that was over six months ago. She still wore head-to-toe purple, a sharp business suit with lilac heels to match.
I stood. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“How could I forget those remarkable blue eyes?”
Ah, yes. She’d loved my eyes.
“Please, come in.” She waved us into her office, then sat behind her desk. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here about the house.”
Though her poker face was perfectly respectable, the soft gasp gave her away. “Percival?”
“Don’t worry, I’m keeping him.”
She relaxed and fell back against her chair. “I’m so glad to hear that. He… he’s not my biggest fan.”
While I wanted nothing more than to ask what exactly had led her to such a conclusion—I’d never known Percy to be outright mean to anyone—I had more pressing business to attend to. “Did anyone inquire about him after Ruthie passed away?”
“Inquire?”
“Yes. Like has anyone come in asking about the house? Maybe someone who wanted to purchase him or just find out the ownership status?”
Her brows slid together. “I’m not following.”
Roane and I glanced at each other, then I reiterated, “Is anyone interested in Percy? Is there anyone that you know of who wants to purchase him?”
She glanced down, shaking her blond bob slightly, then looked up and blinded us with a huge, welcoming smile. “Ms. Dayne. It’s so good to see you. What can I do for you?”
Admittedly, I was thrown. After a quick glance at Roane, who was clearly just as confused, I tilted my head and said, “Percival? The house?”
Fear flashed behind her eyes before she caught herself. “You… you don’t want to keep him?”
I spoke slowly, now worried more about her sanity than my own. And that was saying a lot. “No. I mean yes. I want to keep him.”
She released a breath she’d been holding and sank back against her chair. Again. “I’m so glad to hear that. He… he’s not my biggest fan.”
“Mrs. Richter, are you okay?”
“I am now. I was worried. So, what about Percival?”
I knew the odds of what I was about to do, but I had to risk it. “I was wondering if anyone inquired about him after Ruthie passed away.”
“Or before,” Roane said, and he was right. If the person who poisoned her wanted Percival, they may very well have been inquiring weeks in advance. Or even months.
“True,” I said, returning to Mrs. Richter.
“I don’t understand.”
Giving it one more go, I said hesitantly, “Has anyone talked to you about Percival? About who gets him now that Ruthie is gone? Or even before she passed. Who would get him if anything should happen to her?”
“Percival?”
“Ruthie’s house. The one she left me?”
She rubbed her forehead, then looked back at us. “I’m Beth. Beth Richter. How can I help you?”
We were going backward. It was like she was forgetting more every time she tried to answer our questions.
“I’m Defiance. Defiance Dayne? I was asking about—”
Without taking his gaze off her, Roane covered my hand with one of his own, cautioning me. He was right. If I kept going, her entire memory could be wiped out. I guess that answered my question about the culprit having magics.
“We’re getting married,” Roane said, and Beth and I both gasped in unison.
“Congratulations!” She jumped up and shook both of our hands in turn while I glared at my fiancé. “Do you have a date in mind yet?”
“No!” I said quickly, and Roane chuckled. “No, we still have to think on it.”
“Well, don’t think too long. October weddings are lovely.”
“October?” I asked, my voice an octave higher than usual. “Since there are only a couple weeks left, I was thinking more along the lines of something in, say, a few years?”
Beth laughed and looked at Roane. “A little nervous, is she?”
“A little,” he confirmed.
“Well, you will make a gorgeous bride. And… my goodness, your eyes are stunning.” She leaned closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of blue before.”
Those were pretty much the same words she said to me when we first met. “Thank you. We just wanted to make sure you’re free to take on another wedding.”
“Of course.” She sat back behind her desk. “I have to keep my schedule fairly open for court dates and open houses, but planning weddings is my favorite thing to do.”
“Excellent. We’ll come up with a few dates and get back to you?”
“I look forward to it… Defiance, was it?”
“Yes. Defiance Dayne, and this is Roane Wildes.”
“It’s so nice to meet you both.”
We stood to leave. “And can I just say, you have to be the busiest woman I’ve ever met.”
“Pfft.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I have to keep busy. I have too much nervous energy. I was ADHD before it was called ADHD.”
“I hear you. It was nice to meet you.”
“And you. Check out my website for a few possible locations. They book up pretty fast.”
“Thank you, I will.” We stepped out of the office, nodded to Tad, and left the purple in our wake.
I pulled my coat closer as we walked to the truck, though the day was warming up nicely. “Roane, what just happened?”
“It’s hard to say. A spell of some kind, but I’ve never heard of anything progressive like that.”
“Exactly. The more we asked, the more her memory slipped. That’s messed up.”
“Agreed.”
He opened the door for me and waited for me to get in before closing it and climbing into the driver’s side. He’d never done that before, and I had to wonder if he felt the hunter nearby.
When he started the truck, I said to him, “I have one more errand.”
“I’d rather get you back to Percy.”
“It’s important.”
He offered me a reluctant nod, and I gave him the address of a little shop on Essex. We had to park two blocks down and weave our way through the crowds that were undeterred by the frigid weather. Witch-themed decorations peppered every doorway and kiosk on the street, and the scent of fall hung heavy in the air.
Honestly, it was like the place was created just for me. The excitement and fervor stirred something deep inside. Though, admittedly, Roane stirred something deeper. Maybe it was the way he walked, his gait predatorial. His gaze alert. His silhouette alluring. And his ass… Even in the leather kilt, the shape of his steely buttocks was decidedly and beautifully round.
As usual, he garnered a lot of attention. I was growing used to the looks. Some startled at first and then mesmerized. Some longing. Every once in a while, he’d glance over his shoulder to make sure I was still behi
nd him, but for the most part, he scanned the area like a huntsman looking for prey.
The Witchery, a small black building with gold lettering, sat between a florist and a clothing store. We stepped inside to the tinkling chime of a bell, and a girl folding T-shirts at the register waved a hello. The owner, a woman named Love, had a fantastical mixture of items for sale, from touristy knickknacks to authentic witch-related paraphernalia.
Annette had told me about the run-in she’d had with Love, but she never told me exactly what happened. Whatever had transpired between the two happened while I was on hiatus, and it was enough to get Annette banned from the store for life.
Hopefully, Love and I were good, because I had questions. Lots and lots of questions. Though, for the time being, I’d try to keep most of them to myself.
“Let me know if I can help you with anything,” the girl said. She looked more high school cheerleader than witch’s apprentice, but I sensed instantly what she was searching for: her diary. The one that laid bare her perpetual pining for a boy named Jamie in great and sordid detail, replete with cut-outs and graphic illustrations. The girl had talent. The fact that it had been missing for the last week mortified her, but if she knew who took it, she’d be even more mortified.
“Thank you,” I said, scanning the store for its owner.
Like the last time I’d visited, I walked in during a palm-reading session. An older woman dressed to the nine-and-a-halves was having her palm read on a small raised platform near the back of the store. It was separated from the rest of the store by a three-foot iron rail with a swing gate. So anyone could listen in on them if they tried hard enough.
At first, I found that odd, but I realized she could actually block off the area. To a degree, at least. She had accordion-style panels tucked into one corner that she could pull across the area to give the client some privacy. Maybe she used those if the client was concerned about confidentiality.
An older gentleman sat in a small waiting area up front, reading the latest issue of The Witches Almanac. Perhaps the woman’s husband indulging his wife’s whims?
Love, only a little younger than Annette and me, had long blonde hair that she’d low-lighted with black and red. The bright streaks had been a shimmering purple a few days ago, but I had to admit, I liked the fire-engine red. She looked like a young and witchy Lauren Bacall.
Beguiled Page 14