A Witch to Remember

by Heather Blake

  I put my arm around her for a quick side hug.

  She took a deep breath. “Does it feel like the air is cleaner today? It just seems like I’m breathing a little easier.”

  “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

  Higgins’s tail was thrashing the air as if he agreed as well, but I realized he was leading me toward a hot dog vendor packing up his stand. I tugged hard to the left to get the big dog back on track.

  Last night my mother had insisted I tell her where I had procured the Elder tree seed, and I’d explained all about the mysterious Hildie, who’d turned out to be my great-great aunt. She’d been the Elder before my grandmother. Mom had also told me why I’d been sworn to secrecy about the seed—because if Mom had known of its existence, she would have been obligated to ask for its return. Only Elders were supposed to be entrusted with the magical seed, and until this point no one had known the power it held. Except Hildie, apparently.

  In another few steps, we came upon the area where Feif Highbridge’s tent had stood. It had been taken apart and was lying in pieces on the ground, waiting to be packed onto trucks and moved to the next city. Where it would undoubtedly remain on the truck.

  Feif hadn’t surfaced yet, and his absence bothered me a great deal. If Sylar was guilty, as we suspected, why would Feif run?

  “Have you checked on Sylar this morning?” I asked.

  “I called this morning, but he was asleep. He’s stable for now.” She took a deep breath. “Last night, to see him injured on that stretcher, begging me to stay with him. I couldn’t say no. I hope you understand.”

  “I understand compassion,” I said. Neither of us knew for certain that he was behind the poisonings, but he was still the prime suspect. Nick was seeking a warrant to check Sylar’s house—what was left of it, at least—his business, and his car for anything related to antifreeze, and he’d be questioned further once he was well enough.

  Then she said, “I hate thinking Sylar could be a killer. I always liked him. He was a bit pompous sometimes, but I felt like he had a good, well-meaning heart at his core.”

  “I thought so, too,” I said. “I hate that I might have been wrong.”

  Could be. Might have. Sylar was innocent until proven guilty, but if not him … I was out of suspects. At the thought, my mind immediately went back to Feif and his sudden disappearance. It didn’t feel right. My instincts told me there was more to it than him skipping town. I just couldn’t explain why I thought so.

  “It’s such a rare occurrence when you’re wrong, that’s why,” she said, a hint of humor in her voice.

  I said, “Come on. I’m wrong all the time.”

  “Like when?” she asked. “Name one time in the past week.”

  “Like when I thought Carolyn might be guilty. Or Feif. Or Dorothy. Or that Andreus gave me that stone. Or—”

  She smiled. “Point taken. I won’t tell your boss what a lousy guesser you are. Speaking of … tell me what happened with the Renewal. All I’ve heard about is Dorothy. How did it go with Harper?”

  I spent some time telling her everything that had happened, including why my mother, my boss, was still the Elder when Harper hadn’t taken an oath. There were tears from both of us by the time I finished.

  We walked in silence for a few moments before Glinda said, “I keep thinking it shouldn’t have come to what it did with my mother.” She sighed. “Do you think the poison made Dorothy behave more irrationally than she would have otherwise? Made her make the bad decisions and choices? Or did it just accentuate what was always there?”

  Dorothy’s lab results had come back and were conclusive. She’d been subjected to long-term antifreeze poisoning. “Hard to say.”

  “Part of me hopes it was the poison. She was always a cruel woman, but she wasn’t a monster. Not until all this happened.”

  Rage and hatred.

  Whether it had been the poison that triggered the dark shift in Dorothy or whether she had simply reached her own breaking point, we might never know.

  But for Glinda’s peace of mind, and for the sake of trying to lighten that heavy weight on her chest, I said, “Poison can definitely cause personality changes.”

  “I just wish …”

  I looked over at her and she met my gaze, her eyes glassy with tears.

  “Never mind,” she said. “There’s no point in looking back. It’s time to move forward.”

  “You know, one of the many things that stands out to me from last night was Vince telling Dorothy that we should all be working together. I think the Coven will take that to heart, moving forward. It’s time Craft laws change—without eliminating our meaningful traditions. There’s a balance there if we all take the time to find it without the backdrop of hurt and anger.”

  “If the Coven wants to create some sort of committee or council to collect and oversee ideas for amendments and additions to the laws, I’ll be happy to lead it.”

  A fresh start. For a lot of us.

  Maybe a job such as that would help erase Dorothy’s shadow from darkening Glinda’s life. “That’s a great idea. I’ll pass it along.” I let Higgins stop for a moment to sniff a water fountain. When we started off again, I said, “Have you seen Vince today? I stopped by his place earlier, but he wasn’t home, and the shop had a CLOSED sign on it.”

  “After he filled me in on what happened at the meadow, he went to Noelle’s house. He spent the night there.”

  Cherise had healed his shoulder, good as new. It wasn’t the outward wounds I was worried about, however.

  I recalled Dorothy’s parting shot to him.

  You disappoint me.

  Words like that from a parent left lasting emotional scars. And it was all because he hadn’t followed her evil ways.

  “Noelle’s probably the best medicine for him right now,” I said.

  “Is there a medicine for when your mother tries to kill you?”

  “No, but Noelle loves him, and I think he loves her, and love is what he needs right now.”

  Love was what he’d always needed. Not from anyone else, but from himself. He’d stood up to Dorothy last night, for what he knew was right even when it came at great risk to himself. I hoped that meant he’d finally buried the last of his self-hatred.

  The breeze blew Glinda’s hair into her face. “I’m hoping I can talk him into a vacation. Me and Liam, him and Noelle. Somewhere far away from this village, just for a little while. A cruise, possibly. What’s that smile?” she asked.

  “I’m just trying to imagine Vince lounging on a cruise deck, fruity drink in hand. If you go, I want pictures.”

  “The better to bribe him with?”

  “You know me too well,” I said.

  We walked the length of the green, the dogs sniffing the whole way. I spotted a construction truck in front of Divinitea. Contractor extraordinaire Hank Leduc, Terry Goodwin’s nephew, looked to be studying the building. I was happier to see that Starla stood by his side, chatting away. The two of them had flirted for months before Starla took a step back from the budding relationship. I’d always thought they’d be good together, so I was hopeful she was about to dip her toes back into those particular waters.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee at the Gingerbread Shack?” Glinda asked. “I think it’d be a safe haven from the gossip going around the village this morning.”

  I laughed. “Clearly, you don’t know Evan well enough yet.”

  She smiled. “There’s time.”

  I glanced at the bakery. “I already had my one cup of coffee for the day, but I could always go for a therapeutic cupcake.”

  “There’s always herbal tea …”

  I made a face. “I’m not really a fan of herbal tea. Only black. Because, well, caffeine.”

  She said, “I actually don’t like tea at all, so you don’t have to explain it to me. There’s always hot chocolate …”

  She actually doesn’t like tea.

  Vince’s voice suddenly buzzed around
my head. I put my hand on Glinda’s arm.

  “What is it? Are you okay, Darcy?”

  “In Stef’s kitchen the other day, there was a Witch’s Brew cup on the counter that she emptied into the sink. It had tea leaves in it. I watched her rinse them away.”

  “Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “Why is that bothering you?”

  Higgins licked my hand, probably wondering why we had stopped. I said, “Stef doesn’t like tea. Vince told us so himself, remember?”

  Our gazes went to the Sorcerer’s Stove. “So why did she have a cup of tea?”

  My thoughts raced. “What if it wasn’t her cup of tea?” I asked.

  “If not hers, whose? Where are you going with this, Darcy?”

  In my head, I saw images of Feif that Monday morning, a tea cup in his hand, the red tag fluttering in the breeze. The tea bag had been in his trash can at the Pixie.

  The cup had not been.

  He’d been looking for Stef that morning. What if he had lied to Evan about finding Stef at the Stove later that day and had found her elsewhere? “I think it was Feif’s cup.”

  That’s what had been bothering me about Feif. He wouldn’t have given up on finding Stef until he spoke to her. He knew his charms and had full confidence in himself. Even when Leyna had threatened to expose his phoniness to the world, he’d stood his ground. It was against his character to run.

  “Feif?” Glinda’s voice resonated with shock. “What? How? Why?”

  I told her what I’d been thinking. “I don’t know the why yet. We need to talk to Stef. If nothing else, she lied to us about seeing Feif that day.”

  “If nothing else … You don’t think she had something to do with his disappearance, do you?”

  I started for the Stove. “I don’t know. My mind is spinning. Don’t you see, Glinda? Stef was at Divinitea the day Leyna died. She was down that hallway during the time frame Leyna went missing. I didn’t even think of her as a suspect, because, well, she’s Stef. And by all accounts she didn’t know Leyna at all.”

  “Stef wasn’t even supposed to be at Divinitea that day—Vince talked her into going. Why would she just randomly kill a stranger and light the place on fire? It doesn’t make sense.”

  The dogs kept the rushed pace as we hurried toward the restaurant. “It doesn’t make any sense, but yet …” I raised my arm to show her the chill bumps. “I’m feeling evil in the air all of a sudden.”

  “Damn,” she said. “Okay, let’s talk to her. See if we can trip her up with the tea cup or find inconsistencies with her timeline for Leyna’s death. Look, there’s Stef right there, coming out of the Stove.”

  Stef held a cardboard box as she walked quickly toward the closest public parking area near the playhouse. I could see her car parked in one of the spots near the street.

  “Stef!” I called out. I picked up my pace, which Higgins thought was an invitation to run. “Whoa!” I yelled. “Higgins! Slow down!”

  He didn’t listen to a word I said as he raced along the sidewalk. I had to let go of his leash or risk my arm being pulled from its socket.

  Clarence strained to go after him, but Glinda managed to keep him in check.

  He had much better doggy manners than Higgins.

  Higgins galloped ahead, his nose in the air. It was then that I saw Stef had a to-go bag on top of the box. “Higgins!” I took off running. “Stef! Look out!”

  I wanted to question her, not knock her unconscious.

  She paused at hearing my voice, looked over her shoulder, and let out a scream. She dropped the box and jumped sideways out of the way, just as Higgins leaped. He bit the takeout bag, shaking it side to side until a burger and fries fell out. He happily slurped up the mess he’d made.

  “I am so sorry,” I said to Stef. “Are you okay?”

  She had her hands to her heart. “I thought I was a goner.”

  Glinda bent to pick up the box while Clarence joined Higgins in the doggy buffet.

  Maybe Clarence didn’t have better manners after all.

  “We were hoping to run into you,” I said, “but not like this.”

  “Why did you want to run into me?” she asked, suspicion bright in her eyes.

  “We had a few more questions about what happened to Leyna.” Glinda held out the box to Stef, and the flaps on the bottom suddenly gave way. The box’s contents crashed at our feet. A small glass bottle shattered when it hit the sidewalk, as did a picture frame. I cringed when I saw it was the picture of her husband that had been in her office since she’d first started working at the Stove.

  “Watch the glass. I’ll tie the dogs up,” Glinda said. She tugged Higgins and Clarence over to the playhouse’s fence, loped their leashes around the iron spindles, and gave them a stern, “Stay.”

  Glinda returned, crouched down, and said, “Stef, this box looks like you packed up your desk. You weren’t fired because of what happened to Darcy’s milk shake, were you?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I quit. All the crime in this village is too much for me. It’s time to move on.”

  I tried to pick the photo out of the glass before it was torn during the cleanup. When I lifted the corner, I realized there was a photo behind it as well. Two, actually.

  “I can get those,” Stef said, reaching for the pictures.

  But if she was trying to hide them, it was too late. I’d seen both. One was of Stef and her husband, quite young, in a hospital room. Stef held a small baby in her arms. The other was of the baby alone. A perfect round face with a head of fluffy blonde hair.

  I handed the photos to Stef, a question in my eyes and a motive taking shape in my head.

  Motive always led to the killer.

  I’d been so close when I’d guessed Sylar’s motives. Hating Dorothy, wanting to silence Leyna before she could reveal his truths.

  I’d just had the wrong killer.

  Stef grabbed the pictures and held them close to her body, the blank side facing out. “I’m sorry,” she said, stooping low to place the photos back into the box. “I don’t have time to chat. Some other time?”

  She quickly threw a journal, pens, and a calendar into the box.

  “I think you should make time,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and texting a 911 to Nick, along with our location.

  Because I recognized the baby in that picture. It was a newborn Zoey Wilkins. Glinda’s little sister. Her adopted sister.

  Stef’s biological daughter.

  Why hadn’t I seen it? She and Zoey had the same nose, the same high forehead and hairline. The same color eyes. It had all been right there before my eyes this whole time.

  “Nick’s on his way,” I said. “I told him to meet us here with police backup.”

  Stef froze, her gaze going to the ground.

  That’s when I noticed the liquid pooled under the broken bottle. It had a greenish tint and an oily sheen. It looked a lot like antifreeze to me.

  I thought back to the day at the bar when I’d asked Stef to hand me a to-go cup. If she’d had that bottle in her pocket, it would have been easy enough to pour some into the cup when she transferred my shake from one container to the other.

  It now made perfect sense why no one had seen anyone messing with the drink—the tampering had been done behind the bar.

  I said, “I can’t believe you tried to poison me! And don’t even try to deny it. I know it was you. All it’s going to take is one lab test on that antifreeze from that broken bottle to match what was in my cup that day …”

  Stef had to have known antifreeze would be easily masked in a drink—it was probably why she’d chosen that particular poison in the first place. It would have been easy to hide in a cocktail, especially. Like the ones Dorothy loved to drink at the Stove, where Stef had access to her every time she drank there.

  Stef eyed the liquid on the ground. “I knew you had seen Feif’s tea at my house, and I didn’t like the loose end. When I saw you eyeing my coffee at the bar, I truly
thought you’d put it together, and I knew I had to do something drastic.”

  Why had I not seen how absolutely crazy she was? I tried not to blame myself too much. She’d masked it so well behind a friendly smile and a sad story of widowhood.

  She went on. “Since you told me you’d been questioning Sylar, I thought I’d push the investigation in his direction that afternoon. I really never intended to hurt anyone but Dorothy, but sometimes there’s collateral damage.”

  Loose end? Collateral damage? Dear god.

  And now it made sense why she’d had the poison at hand. Undoubtedly, she kept it in her office for Dorothy’s frequent visits to the bar.

  Stef’s gaze darted left, then right. She looked like she was going to make a break for it.

  “Don’t even think about running,” I said. “You won’t get far. Not between Glinda and me, and Higgins. And here comes Nick, too.” I nodded down the sidewalk—he was sprinting toward us.

  Clenching her jaw, Stef said, “It doesn’t matter now. I got what I wanted. Dorothy is dead.”

  Glinda looked at me, confusion clouding her eyes. “What am I missing?”

  I reached into the box and pulled out the pictures.

  Glinda’s eyes widened. “You’re Zoey’s mom?”

  “I gave birth to Zoey. I got pregnant at sixteen, and Adam and I were not prepared at all to raise a baby. We decided the best thing for all of us was to give her up for adoption.”

  “Hers was a closed adoption,” Glinda said. “How do you even know who she is?”

  “I saw her once. And you, actually. At the beach, years and years ago. Zoey was around one at the time, and still so recognizable by that hair. I knew who she was the minute I saw her. You two were there with your dad.”

  “Zoey’s dad,” Glinda corrected. “My stepdad.”

  Stef went on, not seeming to care. “You were all having a blast, laughing and playing in the waves. I followed you home, just out of curiosity. From the address, I learned your names. And I left the village that day feeling like I made the right decision. Zoey had seemed happy. She had a family who loved her. Obviously, I hadn’t seen Dorothy that day, or I would have known immediately I’d made a huge mistake letting that woman anywhere near my child. I didn’t know how bad of a mother she truly was until I came back looking for Zoey a year and a half ago …”