A Drop of Witch (Sweetland Witch Women Sleuths) (A Cozy Mystery Book)

by Zoe Arden

  His secretary announced my presence, and I was admitted almost immediately.

  “Ava,” the mayor said genially, shaking my hand. “So good to see you.”

  I smiled back at him, guilt creeping into the back of my chest as I took the offered seat. Did I really think that Mayor Singer could have had anything to do with Paisley’s death? He was so kind. So jolly. He reminded me of Santa Claus.

  “What brings you to Mistmoor?” Mayor Singer asked, taking the seat behind his desk. “Though I suspect I might already know.” He laughed and winked at me.

  “You-you do?” I asked.

  “It’s not hard to guess.” He spread his hands wide, grinning at me. I had no idea what he could be smiling about. Accusing someone of murder wasn’t the type of thing most people liked to hear. “You need an extra invitation to my New Year’s party.”

  “Oh!” I said, so surprised that Mayor Singer paused with an invitation already in his hand.

  “That is what you came here for, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I, um, yes. Of course.”

  I smiled back at him and took the invitation.

  “There was no need to come such a long ways. You could have telephoned. I’d have been more than happy to send along a few extra invitations. I thought I’d invited everyone on the island except the tourists, but it seems my secretary missed a few residents here and there. Who is the invitation for?”

  “Detective Hudson,” I said, without thinking.

  “Indeed?” Mayor Singer asked. His brow tightened. “I admit I’m a bit surprised to hear that. I rather had the impression that you were—er—against his visitation.”

  “Yes, well... it’s New Year’s Eve. No one should be alone on New Year’s.”

  Mayor Singer’s face lightened at once. “Quite right. Quite right. I’m glad you’ve thought to include. I’m not sure it would have occurred to me.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all. The more the merrier, I always say.” He rose from his chair, thinking we were done.

  “It’s a shame about Paisley,” I said.

  Mayor Singer’s face darkened. He sat back down.

  “Yes, it is indeed. She had a sweet, kind side to her not many people got to see.”

  Sweet and kind? Were we talking about the same person? “It sounds like you knew her pretty well.”

  His cheeks colored. “Paisley and I dated for some time, many years ago, before I met my wife.”

  “Really? I had no idea.”

  “Why would you?”

  I shrugged, trying to register this new information.

  “Why did you stop seeing each other?” I asked.

  “Why do you want to know?” He began twirling his mustache like an evil villain in a cartoon.

  “Just curious. I only knew Paisley as she was today. I’m kind of surprised to hear you describe her as sweet and kind. I don’t think many people would use those words.”

  “That’s because they never knew her like I did.”

  “She had a lot of enemies.”

  Mayor Singer blanched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Just that Paisley’s death isn’t exactly a surprise for a lot of people. I just hope her killer is caught soon.” I was fishing for information, hoping that if I kept talking, something would slip out of the mayor’s mouth.

  “I thought Polly Peacock was responsible for Paisley’s death.”

  “Well, that’s what a lot of people think, but the truth is there’s no evidence to back that up. It’s just an assumption.”

  “Well, I think it’s a fair assumption, considering what we know about Polly,” Mayor Singer said, rising from his chair again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of planning to do.”

  “So, you don’t think someone else could have been responsible for Paisley’s death?” I asked.

  Mayor Singer hesitated by the door. “Anything’s possible, I suppose. But likely?” He shook his head. “My money is on Polly Peacock.”

  I took a step toward the door, which he now held open for me. He was anxious to get rid of me all of a sudden.

  “Have you spoken to Lottie?” I asked, stalling for time.

  “Yes, I called her the day I heard the news. She was heartbroken.”

  I thought Mayor Singer looked pretty heartbroken himself.

  “Why did you say you and Paisley stopped seeing each other?”

  “I didn’t.”

  We stood staring at each other. I’d clearly offended him.

  “I have to finish preparing for my party,” Mayor Singer said. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask you to leave.”

  “Sure,” I said, finally making my way to the door, a million more questions burning in my head.

  “One last thing,” I said, spinning back around. Something had just occurred to me. I knew how strongly Damon had reacted just to my having coffee with Colt—Detective Hudson. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a jealous streak.

  “What?” the mayor asked through closed lips.

  “Does your wife know about your past relationship with Paisley?”

  “Tazzie?” Mayor Singer asked, his face going white. “Of course. She knows everything about me.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and left the office.

  Note to self: find out if Tazzie Singer had a grudge against Paisley.

  * * *

  1 0

  * * *

  The Alchemic Stone was completely black except for one tiny light at the back of the shop. Colt—I mean Detective Hudson—and I pulled up in his car around eleven and sat there waiting.

  “Why are we here so early?” I asked.

  “Because you always want to be early on a stakeout. You never know what the criminal is going to do until they do it. You don’t want to risk showing up too late and missing your opportunity.”

  “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Well...” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “The last time you were here, it didn’t seem like much of what you did made sense.”

  His face tightened.

  Great. Make him mad then sit alone in his car with him for two hours. Brilliant.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly I thought I’d misunderstood him.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking at me. His gray eyes flashed in the moonlight, sending a tingle of excitement down my back.

  “You’re... sorry?”

  “Yeah. I should never have... I made a lot of mistakes the last time I was here.”

  “No kidding.” It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I clamped my hand over my mouth and blushed. “Sorry, you’re apologizing and I’m being a jerk.”

  “No, I deserve it,” he said. “I wanted so much to prove myself last time I was here, I didn’t stop to think much of the time.”

  I bit my bottom lip, wondering if I should shut up now or ask another question. “Why do you feel like you need to prove yourself? Do you really care so much about what your colleagues think?”

  “Sure, I care about that, but it’s more than that.” He took a deep breath. “My father died when I was twelve.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “He was a COMHA agent. The last time I saw him, we argued. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I told him that was the last thing I would do. I wanted to be a musician.”

  “A musician?” I laughed. I couldn’t picture Detective Colt Hudson, so formidable and serious, as a musician.

  “I play saxophone.” He winced. “Played saxophone.”

  “You gave it up?”

  He nodded.

  “After my dad died everything changed.”

  “How did he die?”

  I heard the gulp without seeing it. “He was murdered.”

  “Oh.” I wished there was something I could say to take away th
e pain I knew he felt, but from experience, I knew there wasn’t. So, I said the only thing I could. “I understand.”

  He reached out and gently patted my hand. His palm was warm and sweaty but in kind of a good way. It made me feel safe.

  “I know,” he said.

  His hand lingered on mine for a second, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Damon’s jealousy had been founded after all. It was nice to sit with a man and not worry that he was judging me. With Damon, I always felt like I was being judged.

  I pulled my hand away and shifted in my seat.

  “So, did they catch the guy?” I asked.

  Colt shook his head. “No. That’s why I joined the agency. I wanted to get the guy who did it.”

  “And?”

  “So far, the case is cold.”

  We sat in silence for several minutes, each of us contemplating the strange relationship we’d formed. In the space of six months, we’d gone from enemies to antagonists to friends. I paused. Friends? Was that what we were now? I looked at him from the corner of my eye. Maybe we were, I admitted.

  “Why’d you ask me to come with you tonight?” I said.

  He shrugged. “After you used Snowball to make your escape this morning,” I bit my bottom lip as he snuck an amused look at me, “I’m starting to realize that maybe you’re a little stronger than I gave you credit for. And you’re going to do what you want to do, whether it’s safe for you or not.”

  I smiled. “Sounds like you’ve known me all my life.”

  I reached into my bag for a drink and when I looked up again, I saw something moving in the dark.

  “Colt,” I said suddenly, jumping in my seat. I pointed toward the store. He followed the direction of my finger and his eyes widened.

  “It’s her,” he said, dropping his voice. “She’s here.”

  “Are you sure that’s Polly?” I asked.

  We watched as a woman dressed in black walked carefully past the front door toward the back. It was impossible to make out her face. She was wearing a hat and had her hair pulled up under it so that none of it was visible.

  “Right on time,” Colt muttered.

  I looked at the clock and realized Colt and I had already been sitting here a whole hour already, talking.

  “If it’s not Polly,” I started to say.

  “Then it’s still suspicious,” Colt finished for me.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Let’s go around back. See what we can hear.”

  I followed Colt’s lead as he moved around the side of the building. The back window was open and we could hear voices inside, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Finally, Anastasia’s voice pealed through the night.

  “Polly!” she yelled.

  “That’s it. Let’s get in there,” Colt said. The back door was still unlocked when he tried it. He opened it soundlessly, and we crept into the back room, which was more like a studio apartment than a typical store room. Anastasia held her psychic readings back here.

  We moved closer to the front, where the women were still talking.

  “You stay here,” he whispered.

  He ran forward. I could hear startled screams as he shouted, “Polly Peacock, you’re under...”

  His voice trailed off. It was killing me not knowing what was happening. Everyone had suddenly stopped talking. I went out front and saw Margaret Binford staring at Colt. She was standing in front of a display of dark green stones and looked angrier than I’d ever seen her.

  “You have no right to be here,” Anastasia shouted.

  Colt was stumbling over his words. “I-I thought...”

  “I know what you thought,” Anastasia snapped. “I’ve told you and Sheriff Knoxx both that I haven’t heard from Polly. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”

  “Margaret,” I asked, “what are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to Anastasia, as if it’s anyone’s business.”

  “Talk to her about what?” Colt asked. He’d recovered his composure. “And why wait till midnight?”

  “I had a few questions for Anastasia that I didn’t want anyone overhearing.”

  “Questions?” I asked.

  “Some information came my way regarding Polly that I wanted to cross check with Anastasia.”

  “What information?” I asked.

  “If you had information about Polly,” Colt said, “why not bring it to me or Sheriff Knoxx? Even Sheriff Maxwell in Mistmoor?”

  Margaret snapped, “Because the last time I offered my help, Ava made it abundantly clear that she didn’t’ want it.”

  My face flushed with combinations of emotions I could have done without. Anger... embarrassment...

  “That’s it! Everybody out! Including you!” Anastasia yelled, pointing to Margaret.

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because I don’t like your questions any more than I like theirs.”

  “Everyone, just calm down. Ms. Binford, if you have information regarding the whereabouts of Polly Peacock, then—” Colt began.

  “Not her whereabouts,” Margaret said, her eyes gleaming. “Her escape. There’s more to it than just her desire to kill Ava.”

  Colt’s face darkened.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, watching him.

  “Polly doesn’t just want to kill you,” Margaret said.

  “All right, enough!” Colt barked, pushing me back toward the exit. “Anastasia’s right. We have no business being here.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, fighting him as he tried to force me back. “What’s she talking about?”

  “It’s irrelevant.”

  “Ava,” Margaret said, taking a step toward me as I struggled against Colt. “Polly wants her powers back.”

  “What are you talking about? She can’t get her powers back. That’s impossible.”

  Colt picked me up and swung me over his shoulder. He carried me outside as I beat against his back with my fists.

  “What is the matter with you?” I screamed. “Put me down!” I grabbed his ear and pulled hard.

  “Ow!” he yelled and dropped me on my feet.

  “What are you trying to hide from me?” I demanded.

  “Ava, let me explain—”

  The back door creaked open as Margaret stepped out. “Perhaps he doesn’t want you to know the truth.”

  “What’s the truth?” I asked.

  “Polly wants her powers back, and she’ll do whatever she must to make that happen. Including sacrificing those around her.”

  “You don’t mean... like an actual sacrifice?” I asked.

  Margaret nodded. “Five people.”

  “Five!”

  “And you will be her last victim, Ava. She doesn’t just plan to kill you.”

  I tried to gulp but my mouth was dry.

  “What does she plan to do?” I asked.

  “She wants your soul. And she’ll steal it by whatever means necessary.”

  * * *

  1 1

  * * *

  “M-my soul?” I stuttered, trying my best to push back the hysterics threatening to overtake me. My heart was racing. Somewhere overhead thunder sounded in the distance.

  “I’m sorry,” Margaret said. “I know this can’t be easy to hear.” She really did look sorry, too.

  I turned to Colt.

  “And you knew about this?” I demanded, anger gratefully overtaking the panic. “You’ve been here for days and haven’t even thought to mention this to me?”

  “Ava, I’m sorry. I wasn’t permitted to tell you.”

  “Not permitted?” I screeched.

  Anastasia had come outside and was watching us with irritated fascination.

  “I was told that everyone involved was on a need-to-know basis. Especially you,” Detective Hudson said.

  “And you didn’t think I needed to know that Polly wants to steal my soul?!”

  Detective Hudson hesitated. “It wouldn’t have served any purpose to have told yo
u.”

  “Not serve a purpose?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “It wasn’t my call to tell you or not tell you,” he said. “I report to the Council on Magic and Human Affairs. I have to do what they tell me to. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Dean Lampton.”

  I was seething. I could tell that Detective Hudson had begun to grow angry himself, though what right he had to be angry I couldn’t have said.

  “What about Polly having to kill five people? Not just me, but five people,” I repeated. “After Paisley was murdered, didn’t that seem like need-to-know information?”

  His eyes flickered. “I wasn’t certain it was Polly who’d killed her.”

  I waved my hands through the air, flapping them like a wild bird attacking its prey. I didn’t care if I looked foolish. I was too mad to care about anything other than being mad.

  “So, that was just a coincidence?” I yelled. “Paisley dies right after Polly escapes but you’re not sure it’s related?”

  The calmer I tried to make myself, the louder I got. I dismissed the tiny voice inside my head that tried to point out I had also questioned whether Polly was Paisley’s killer. That no longer mattered, not with this new information.

  “Listen for a minute, would you?” Detective Hudson said, his voice thick with frustration. He took me by the shoulders. “I wanted to tell you. I did.”

  I pushed him away.

  “I trusted you, but you’re the same self-important liar you were the first time you came here.” I turned from him and went up to Margaret.

  “How did you find all this out?” I asked her.

  “Yeah,” Detective Hudson said from behind me. “How did you find this out? It’s classified information.”

  “I was head of the Witch’s Council for a decade,” Margaret said, holding her head high. “Do you honestly think that the Witch’s Council and COMHA don’t talk? I have friends in higher places than you can imagine.”

  Detective Hudson seemed stunned by this revelation. He had finally stopped yelling at Margaret and was looking at her with a fresh perspective. So was I. She was the only one here telling me the truth.

  “You said there’s supposed to be five victims,” I said, trying to keep my head clear.