“I know.” Smiling, I leaned my head against hers.
“You’re going to marry Nick,” she said.
I laughed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling.”
“I think he should ask me first, don’t you?”
“He will.”
For some reason tears filled my eyes. “You think?”
“No, Darcy. I know.”
I didn’t know. But I hoped with all my heart.
She squeezed my fingers, then let go of my hand. “I’d better get back inside to finish packing up our booths.”
“Thanks for doing all that. I’ve got to drag myself off this bench to go see Natasha’s sister.”
“Right. About Titania.”
“Annie,” I corrected. “It’s her new nickname.”
“Cute. It fits her,” Harper said as she stood up. She started to walk away, then looked back at me. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Remind me to send Troy a thank-you card one of these days, okay? We probably never would have come to this village if not for him. Seems to me, he did me a big favor, too.”
I met her warm gaze. “And you call me the sappy one?”
“Shut up.” She came back, kissed my cheek, then strode away.
I was willing myself to stand up and go when I heard the flutter of wings. The mourning dove had landed on a lower branch of a Rose of Sharon tree not five feet from the bench. Its shimmery neck bobbed as it paced back and forth along the branch before it slowed to a stop and tipped its head, looking my way.
For a moment, I simply watched it, trying to determine if the bird had any unusual features I could identify, but it was too far away to make out any detail.
Then I recalled the spy pen in my hand. If I could get a couple of pictures of the bird, I could enlarge them on the computer for a better look. . . .
As surreptitiously as I could, I aimed the lens of the spy pen toward the tree and snapped at least four photos before someone sat next to me. I turned, expecting it to be Harper again. Instead I found Ivy fanning her face with an Extravaganza program book.
Perspiration beaded along her hairline. “I just needed some fresh air. It’s stifling in there.”
She’d ditched the wig and sunglasses but still wore the shift dress she’d had on earlier. I supposed she no longer needed a disguise, seeing as she wasn’t hiding from the Extravaganzers anymore.
With a loud burble, the bird flew into an upper branch of the tree, hidden by glossy green leaves. I tucked the spy pen into my backpack.
“Do you need anything?” she asked. “You look a little rough around the edges.”
“It was a tough morning.” It seemed everyone already knew what had happened, so I didn’t feel the need to explain.
“Is Baz going to be okay?”
“The doctors think so.”
“Is Vivienne still on the run?”
“As far as I know.”
“It’s been a bad weekend all around. I’m going to need a vacation after all this is said and done,” she said. “I’m not sure how relaxing it will be, since I can afford approximately one night at a campground after the financial hits I took this weekend. And camping has never been my idea of fun. The bugs alone . . .” She shuddered.
I had to agree with her about that. “But I heard you came into a bit of a windfall today, so why not go somewhere nice?”
Her eyebrows dipped in confusion.
“You found Lady Catherine?” I prompted. “Didn’t you collect the reward?”
Fanning faster, she said, “Oh, that. I wouldn’t say found so much as came across her. Dumb luck, really.”
“Came across her at Fairytails?”
“Word sure gets around fast, doesn’t it?”
“Small village,” I said with a shrug.
“Yes. At Fairytails. I came around the corner and there she was, sitting by the back door as though waiting for a grooming appointment.”
“That is lucky.”
“Don’t I know it? That reward money couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Especially if you want to upgrade your vacation.”
She set the program down on her lap. “I would, but I need to use that money to pay the judges’ honorariums. Dorothy’s been harping on me about how she doesn’t work for free. I’ll be more than happy to pay her off. Thankfully, Reggie’s been as patient as a saint, and Godfrey’s been great, too. He’s a good guy.”
“The best,” I said.
“So, the reward money will go to good use. I suppose the only good news is that I heard whispers among everyone inside about what’s going on with the Lucases and Baz’s affair with Natasha.”
So the news of the affair had leaked. It had been only a matter of time. “How’s that good news?”
She began picking at her fingernails. Flick, flick. “Because, Darcy, no one is connecting Natasha’s death to the Extravaganza any longer. It’s such a relief. Now if I could only convince them all that there is no petnapper on the loose . . . I might be able to salvage this event. I’m already daydreaming ways to make it bigger and better next year. Lots of pizzazz!” she said, complete with the use of jazz hands.
“You don’t think there’s a petnapper? Or, as Harmony thinks, a pet flipper?”
“It’s unlikely,” she said quickly. “Especially here in the village. This is one nosy town. I mean, you already knew I found Lady Catherine—and where I found her—and that was only a few hours ago. Pets get loose all the time—I should know. My clients are always asking me to hang Lost flyers in the window of Fairytails.”
Now that she said it, I recalled seeing one the last time I’d been in there with Missy. Just how many pets had gone missing in the village lately?
And how many, exactly, had been clients of Ivy’s?
I started to wonder just how much dumb luck was involved in her finding Lady Catherine. Or . . . perhaps . . . how much planning had gone into it. After all, it was just a couple of hours ago that I had thought the Extravaganza was the perfect place to scout targets if I were a petnapper.
But what if the petnapping had been an inside job all along?
* * *
I was still wondering if Ivy was the mastermind behind a petnapping ring as I walked around the back of the Wisp five minutes later.
I hadn’t let on about my suspicions to her, but I had a lousy poker face, so I assumed she had known what I was thinking. Which was probably why she’d quickly proclaimed that she had to get inside and had hotfooted it back into the building.
I was still feeling a bit weak in the knees as I headed for the rear of the property, to the spot where Archie had told me he’d freed himself after his attempted birdnapping.
It was easy to see where his struggle to get out of the sack had taken place, as the grass was matted, some of it uprooted.
However, there was no sign of a bag at all.
I quickly sent a text to Nick, asking if one of his officers had retrieved the bag Archie had escaped from. Then I sent another that said there was no rush to answer—that I knew he was busy but I didn’t want to forget to ask him. Then I sent a third text that said there might be somewhat of a rush as I suspected Ivy might be a petnapper. I sent a fourth asking about the surveillance videos at the Wisp. A fifth to tell him that I loved him.
I hoped the last would soften the irritation caused by the first four.
Carefully walking around the area, I looked for any clue that it had been Ivy who might have taken Archie. She’d told me she’d been inside the building with the police when it happened, but she could have been lying about that. It was an easy enough alibi to check now that I had reason to.
How much would a beautiful, talkative, somewhat pretentious macaw get on the black market?
I wasn’t sure, but it had to be a l
ot for someone to try to steal him in broad daylight.
I’d been so sure a Crafter had been involved because there had been no witnesses and that made it seem that witchcraft might have been involved, yet Archie had been certain it was a mortal simply because of the consequences otherwise.
If it turned out that Ivy, who was very much a mortal, was in fact the one who had tried to abduct him, I was never—ever—going to hear the end of it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Natasha Norcliffe had lived in a studio apartment not far from Chip Goldman’s building. I was due to meet with her sister, Alina, there in twenty minutes, so I figured I had time enough to make a quick stop at the Bewitching Boutique on my way over.
I needed to ask Pepe and Mrs. P about the possibility of a Craft I didn’t know about, but I also wanted to ask a favor of Godfrey.
A crystal bell on the door chimed as I went inside, and Godfrey looked over at me. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and he quickly said something to the woman he’d been assisting, then rushed over to me.
“My darling, Miss Darcy, come with me. Come, come.” He took my hand and pulled me to the back room of the shop, one of my favorite places in the village. I glanced around at the hundreds of bolts of colorful fabrics, the shiny notions, and the tiny door carved into the baseboard with a miniature bell hanging next to it. There was no doubt about it. The sewing room in the Bewitching Boutique was pure magic.
One chubby hand stroked his white beard, the other was set firmly on his hip as Godfrey looked me over. “I heard about your involvement with Baz Lucas’ accident, but I thought certainly you would have hurried home to change by now.”
“No time,” I said. “Well, there was time, but I wasn’t entirely mobile, what with the nausea and the dizziness.”
Godfrey rarely looked as if he hadn’t just stepped out of a fancy men’s magazine, and today was no different. He wore an impeccably tailored suit, designer shirt, silk tie. A pocket square poked out from the pocket of his suit coat, and his shoes shone so brightly that I almost needed to put on my sunglasses to look at them.
His white hair was thin in spots, but he worked with what he had, combing it into a modern-day pompadour. Rosy full cheeks, a big smile, and a trimmed beard almost fully distracted from his bulbous nose. His sympathetic gaze swept over me, still assessing.
“Nausea and dizziness from seeing blood?” he guessed.
“How’d you know?”
“For one, I know it’s a weakness of yours. Secondly, the blood all over your clothes. It’s enough to make me nauseated and dizzy.”
I glanced down and wished I hadn’t. Rusty-looking bloodstains splattered my tank top, my shorts, my bare legs. I swayed. No wonder people had given me a wide berth at the Wisp.
Godfrey grabbed me by my shoulders and sat me on a rolling stool. “You’re a mess. A disaster. I’ll be right back. I need to close the shop for this.”
“For what? I don’t have time—”
“Make time. This is an emergency.”
He zipped out of the room, and I wanted to put my head between my knees to quell the wooziness, but I didn’t know if there was dried blood lurking there, too, so I closed my eyes instead.
“Doll! Holy walking crime scene. You look like you’ve been to war.”
I popped open an eye to find Mrs. P standing on the sewing table next to me. Pepe was just coming out of the door in the baseboard when he caught sight of me as well.
“Ma chère! Are you injured? Shall I call for Cherise?” With lightning speed, he climbed the leg of the table to stand next to Mrs. P.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, swiveling to face them head-on. “Nick’s a little banged up, but he’ll be okay. Baz is in surgery, but the doctor thinks he’ll make a full recovery.”
“I still hold a grudge about the shoe incident,” Mrs. P said, “but I did not wish the man dead. I am glad he is going to be okay.”
“What of Vivienne?” Pepe asked. “Any word?”
“None.”
I heard the jingle of the crystal bell, and a second later, Godfrey burst through the velvet curtains that divided this area from the retail shop. “Now, now. I’ve turned the sign on the door to closed, so we have all the time we need. Where was I?” He clapped his hands twice and a glittery leather journal appeared in his palms. He flipped through the pages. “No, no, no. Ah yes. Here we go.”
“No, here I go. I’m meeting Natasha Norcliffe’s sister about Annie in”—I glanced at the clock—“fifteen minutes. I can’t stay. I just wanted to ask—”
“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time,” Godfrey cut in.
“Annie?” Pepe asked.
“Titania’s new nickname,” I said to him, and couldn’t help smiling.
“You’re keeping her, doll?” Mrs. P asked.
“I hope to. I have to get Alina to sign off on it.”
“Do you have your checkbook on you?” Godfrey asked.
“What? No. It’s at home,” I said. “Why?”
“In that case . . .” He clapped his hands twice and a checkbook appeared. He set it on the table, grabbed a pen from a cup holder, and signed his name with a flourish on a check. He tore it off and handed it to me. “You’ll need this.”
I really needed to use that hand-clapping technique more. “A blank check?”
“I know you’re good for it. Pay me back when you can. Alina is not the warm and fuzzy type in the least, so I doubt she wants the cat—the cat hair alone would probably make her homicidal—but she’ll undoubtedly charge you up the wazoo for the honor of taking Annie off her hands. Perhaps one thousand? Two?” He glanced at Pepe for confirmation.
Pepe said, “Perhaps higher if you reveal your desperation, ma chère. Do not under any circumstances mention the nickname.”
“Heavens no!” Godfrey agreed. “She’ll know she has you on the ropes if you do.”
I looked between them. “I don’t understand. . . .”
Mrs. P sat on the edge of the table, her tail curved behind her, her tiny white feet dangling. “Alina is . . . How do I put this?”
“She’s a con artist,” Godfrey supplied. “I recall once Alina tried to swindle me out of a designer dress by staining it in the dressing room herself and claiming it had already been damaged. She wanted a steep discount. I banned her from the store.”
“Alina used to live in the village?” I asked.
“Oui,” Pepe said. “She and Natasha moved here some years ago, and Alina made no secret of her aspirations to snag herself a rich tourist.”
“She succeeded, too.” Godfrey pushed another stool next to mine and sat down. “He’s ancient, but he’s rich. Filthy rich. He moved her down to the Cape, and they live in a big mansion on Buzzard’s Bay. She’s just waiting for him to kick the bucket to collect her payment for marrying a geezer.”
“If she’s so rich, why would she charge me an arm and a leg to adopt Annie?”
Mrs. P said, “Because, doll, she can. She’d rob her own sister and probably has. I don’t believe anyone was more relieved than Natasha when Alina moved away.”
“Alas, not for the reason you might think,” Godfrey said. “Keep in mind they were both rotten apples from the same tree. Natasha was relieved only because she no longer had competition to snag herself a rich tourist as well.”
“Instead she seemed to have landed herself a rich villager in Baz,” I said. “Do you think she loved him at all?”
Godfrey once again stroked his beard. “The romantic in me wants to believe so, but I doubt it. Natasha loved one person, and one person only. Natasha.”
Pepe and Mrs. P nodded.
If that was true, and Natasha had been killed because of her relationship with Baz, she’d certainly paid a high price in her quest for wealth. The highest.
I looked at the clock. “I have to get going, but I
had a couple of questions for all of you.”
“No, no,” Godfrey protested. “You cannot leave looking like you do. You are much too lovely to be roaming the village looking like an extra from the Walking Dead.”
Mrs. P stood up and rubbed her hands together. “Something ultrafeminine. She’s always wearing jeans and T-shirts.”
Pepe snapped his fingers. “The vintage yellow Chanel.” He motioned to his neck. “The one with the bow.”
I jumped off the stool. “No, no. No Chanel, and definitely no bows. No nothing, actually. I’m fine. Perfect, in fact. I’ll just run home and—”
“Calm, Darcy, calm,” Godfrey said, smiling. “I know just the thing. Trust me.”
He recited a spell under his breath and twirled his index finger in a tornado motion. I slammed my eyes closed, not entirely sure what was about to happen to me, but I did know one thing: I trusted him.
Brightness, like a flash of lightning, filtered through my closed eyelids, and I popped open an eye and squinted at Godfrey.
He was patting himself on the back. “Who’s the best fairy godfather in all the land? I am, that’s who.”
“I may be ill,” Pepe intoned.
Mrs. P smiled wide. “You look gorgeous, doll. Just gorgeous.”
I looked down at myself, then hurried to a mirror. Gone were my blood-splattered clothes, replaced with skinny white jeans and a short-sleeve teal-green top that had fancy embroidery at the neckline. Gone were my sneakers, replaced with airy brown leather sandals that had straps crisscrossing the top of my feet. My hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and my makeup looked fresh and natural.
My skin glowed, and for the first time since the accident, I felt clean. Truly clean. No heebie-jeebie feeling to be found.
I gave Godfrey a hug. “Thank you.”
He cupped my chin. “Anytime. Now, what was it you wanted to ask of us?”
“I was wondering if you still have a surveillance system that monitors the back alley?” With Fairytails a few doors down, his footage would show whether Ivy had been telling the truth about where she found Lady Catherine.
“Of course,” Godfrey said. “Why?”
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