by Blythe Baker
“Yeah, you too, Aunt Candace,” I said. “I’ll see you guys later.”
I sighed heavily as I hung up the phone, before pulling back onto the road.
“Well…” I said as we rounded a corner and the rest of town appeared on the horizon. “I wouldn’t trust Delilah’s word about Olivia’s husband being the one who killed her. I met him. There was no one else around. He was a mess. It broke my heart because I know what it’s like to lose someone you love so dearly.”
She is related to Silvia…Athena said. It’s possible she was just lying to you.
“Yeah…” I said. “But why, though? What would she have to gain?”
I chewed on my lip as we made our way through town, heading toward the antique shop.
I had no reason to believe the word of a Griffin, especially not when Delilah so obviously hated me for my involvement in the death of her sister. She’d admitted her sister had it coming, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still furious with me because of it.
But there was a nagging suspicion way at the back of my mind…
What if Delilah had been telling the truth?
There was only one way to find out.
I was going to have to talk to Mr. Foster again.
7
Funerals were not only uncomfortable in an emotional way. No. They were also uncomfortable because of the clothes people wore. Everything in shades of black and grey. Thick fabric, long and unflattering dresses, shoes that were worn maybe two or three times a year.
We hadn’t even been out of the house for twenty minutes before I was already sweating through the cardigan I’d thrown over my black knee-length dress.
“Does this dress make me look fat?” Bliss asked, staring at her reflection in the car window as we made our way toward the church.
“Sweetheart, no,” Aunt Candace said. “But I certainly could’ve done to lose a few pounds before squeezing into this number.” She ran her hands over her hips, frowning. “Why are these dresses made from such unforgiving material?”
I was trying to discreetly scratch my back. More than anything, I wished I’d worn the slip Bliss had offered me. The dress itself was so itchy I could barely stand it.
I hadn’t gone to Burt Cassidy’s funeral, but in retrospect, I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to handle it. The whole thing had been so troubling, and all the business with Silvia had happened so fast…
The church was packed with people. Every pew was full, and Bliss, Aunt Candace and I had to slide into one with a family far in the back row.
Soft murmurs filled the vaulted room as I looked around. The casket sat at the end of the aisle, just beneath the handsomely carved podium. A portrait of Olivia was resting on an easel.
My stomach twisted into knots. She was such a pretty woman. She really couldn’t have been more than a few years older than I was. Her hair was cornflower blonde, and she had round, rosy cheeks. Her smile was wide and genuine. She looked like the kind of person I would’ve liked to have been friends with.
“So you think whoever killed Olivia is here?” Bliss asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” I said.
“I’m not completely convinced it wasn’t Delilah,” Bliss said. “I don’t care what she told you.”
“Normally, I’d agree with you,” I said, my eyes scanning the room for anything suspicious. “But it was like she knew something about the husband. Something he’d probably rather have stayed secret. And she mentioned he was in politics, and a really good actor…”
I felt a tug on my sleeve. “Is that Olivia’s husband?” Bliss whispered to me.
I followed her gaze toward the front.
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes falling on the tall man rising to greet someone coming to offer condolences before the service.
His face was set in a blank expression. He nodded as the elderly gentleman in front of him said something with a sweeping gesture.
“Wow, he doesn’t exactly look upset, does he?” Bliss asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Yeah…” I said. More knots twisted in my stomach. “He looks completely different than he did when I met him a few days ago.”
“What do you mean?” Bliss asked.
“He looked like a mess,” I said. “Greasy hair, dirty clothes, just miserable and pathetic. But now…”
His brow furrowed, and looked around the room as if he’d rather be anywhere than at this funeral.
“It’s like he’s bored…” Bliss said, disgust coating her words.
“Delilah did say he’s a good actor,” I said, clinging to the image of him at the mortuary. “And the last thing a person wants to do is go to pieces at a funeral like this.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Bliss said, sitting straighter. “But something just seems…off about him. He’s wearing a suit that probably cost more than what Mom paid for the lodge.”
“He does seem different…” I said.
The pastor appeared a few minutes later, and the service began.
It was a short and sweet service. Olivia and her husband didn’t have any children, but her sister came up to the podium to share a few memories. She only made it about halfway through before dissolving into tears and had to be escorted back down to her seat by her husband.
When the pastor asked if anyone else had anything to say, most eyes in the room shifted toward Mr. Foster.
He didn’t respond.
“See?” Bliss said.
“It’s just because he’s put on the spot,” I whispered back.
“Why are you determined to think he’s innocent?” Bliss asked.
The answer flickered immediately across my mind. “Because I’ve been in his shoes. And I believed him when he told me how devastated he was.”
“Then maybe he was just fooling you, too,” Bliss said. “I think I’m with Delilah on this one. There’s something dark in that man.”
Was I letting my own past govern how I felt about this whole situation?
After the service, there was a reception in the gym. Some casseroles, cookies, and salads were offered to guests.
Mr. Foster was standing in a corner beside Olivia’s sister, who was clutching a tear-stained tissue for dear life, and they were shaking hands and accepting hugs from people who’d come to the funeral to show support.
Bliss and I stood off to the side, eyeing him. Aunt Candace had sat down with some friends, leaving us to put our heads together.
“Are you going to go talk to him?” Bliss asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He probably wouldn’t even remember that he met me that day. He was so distraught at the time.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t that be a good tell?” Bliss asked. “If he recognizes you, then he was in his right mind, right?”
I glanced over at her, and her eyes were shining with interest.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at her.
“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “Because if this guy’s a scumbag, then we can help nab him so he gets the punishment he deserves.”
I sighed. “True.”
“And doesn’t Olivia deserve to have the truth about her death known?” Bliss asked. “It’s only fair to her.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Alright. Do you want to come with me? Offer your condolences?”
“Sure,” Bliss said. “I’ll help you figure out if he’s guilty or not.”
We walked over behind the food tables, taking a spot at the end of the line slowly making its way toward Mr. Foster and the rest of the family.
His face was like stone as he shook hands. His answers were short, and everyone seemed to spend more time with Olivia’s parents and sister than with Mr. Foster.
Soon, it was our turn. My heart was beating rapidly as we walked up to him.
“Hi, Mr. Foster,” I said.
“Evan,” he said shortly. Then his gaze sharpened as he looked down at me. “Ah, you’re the lady I met at the mortuary earlier this week, are
n’t you?”
I stared up at him. How was it possible this was the same man? Where was the pain-stricken expression? The tears? The distant look in his eyes? “Yes, I am. Marianne Huffler.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’ve been making a name for yourself in this town, Marianne. So, did you know my late wife?” The tone of his voice sounded as if he was asking about the weather, or if I’d prefer a soup or salad for lunch.
“Um, no,” I said.
“We didn’t have the pleasure,” Bliss said, leaning forward. “Hi, Bliss Brooks. Daughter of Candace Brooks, owner of Mountainview Lodge?”
“I’m familiar with the place,” Evan said with a nod. “So what brings you both here, then?” he asked.
“Well, after meeting you the other day, I thought we’d come and offer our condolences,” I said. “I once lost someone very important to me, and I know – ”
“Well, we appreciate you coming,” he interrupted. “Olivia certainly would’ve been pleased that so many people have showed up to support her family…even if she wouldn’t have wanted to be seen with this many people while she was still alive…” he said, muttering under his breath.
“I’m sorry?” Bliss asked.
“It’s nothing,” Evan said with a tight smile. “Thank you, ladies, for coming, but if you’ll excuse me, I have an important phone call to make.”
He sidestepped around us, pulling his cell phone from the pocket inside his jacket.
“Can you believe him?” Bliss hissed in my ear as we walked away from the receiving line. “He just blew us off. Not to mention how unconcerned he seemed about his wife being dead. I’ve been to funerals were the second cousins three times removed were more remorseful than he was.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “He was so upset just a few days ago, but even I can’t say that this is his way of saving face in front of all these people…”
“Cain Blackburn officially released her cause of death as a natural death, right?” Bliss asked. “So maybe this guy thinks he’s off the hook?”
A chill ran down my spine.
“And what was all that about you making a name for yourself in this town?” she asked. “You’ve only been here, what, two months now? Yet all these big shots already know who you are and stuff – ”
It was like someone had hooked me up to a jumper cable. “And you know why that is, right?” I asked.
She blinked at me, and then recognition lit up her face. “Because they’re all Gifted – ”
I jabbed her in the ribs with my elbow before grabbing her hand and dragging her away from a group of older ladies who were now giving us the stink eye.
“Yes,” I said when we were well out of earshot behind a pillar along the outer wall. “They’re all Gifted. So does that mean he’s aware of the magic in town?”
“Could be Gifted himself,” Bliss said. “Which would explain how Delilah knows him. Didn’t you say he was on the city council with her sister?”
“Yeah,” I said. “And that might also explain why his wife’s death looked natural, but obviously wasn’t that simple. Even Cain Blackburn thought something weird was going on…”
“But what could he be?” Bliss asked, scratching her chin with a pale pink fingernail. “Cain obviously would’ve suspected him outright if he was a vampire.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t have told me that, though,” I said.
“No, but he would’ve dealt with it on his own and wouldn’t have even said anything to you, right?” Bliss asked.
“Probably not, yeah,” I said. “Okay, well what about a spell weaver?”
Bliss shook her head. “I may not be all that far into my training, but I would’ve recognized him at the guild hall. There aren’t a lot of male spell weavers, so he would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb.”
“Okay, well…that doesn’t leave a whole lot of them left,” I said. “Maybe he’s a werewolf?”
“Ooh, I like that theory,” Bliss said. “Happened at night, right? What if he changed in front of her, killed her, and can’t remember it? Or what if it was completely an accident and that was why he was so upset?”
“Doesn’t explain his behavior now, though,” I said. I didn’t point out that there were no outward signs of injury, either. Surely there would’ve been if she’d been killed by a wolf? Still, I was in no position to discount theories. Maybe shape shifters had ways of killing people invisibly?
“But was it a full moon the night that Olivia was killed?” Bliss asked.
I pulled my phone out, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I pulled up the phases of the moon for the month of June. “It was two days from full,” I said, staring down at the chart.
“Close enough, maybe?” Bliss asked. “I have no idea, though. This is something you’d need to ask a werewolf about, I guess.”
Another trickle of icy fear ran down my spine. “Well…I do know one werewolf who’d probably be able to answer my questions. And maybe he’d even be willing to see me.”
8
It took me almost a week to get in touch with Dr. Lucan Valerio. The owner of the local bank, it was no wonder that he was as busy as he was. Even still, I called and left three different messages with three different secretaries, and either he just never got any of them, or he was snubbing me.
It was eight days after the funeral and I was starting to think that the latter was true.
I was knee deep in taking inventory on a Friday afternoon when I heard the bell ring signaling we had a customer at the antique shop. We’d had a ton of donations from some vacation properties, and part of me wondered if some of it was from the Foster house. Was Evan trying to get rid of the memory of his dead wife?
It turned my stomach to even think about it.
I groaned, looking down at the fact that I had wedged myself between a shelf of mismatched kitchenware and a frilly blue armchair, trying to reach a box labeled “Hardware” that Mr. Cromwell was looking for.
“Coming!” I hollered down the ladder leading up into the attic. “I’ll be right down.”
I yanked myself free from the chair’s grasp and told myself I’d get the box later, after I’d cooled down a bit. I swung my leg over the opening and slid down the ladder.
I brushed off the dust and some cobwebs from my hair before stepping out into the storefront.
Warm summer sunlight streamed in through the windows that I’d washed the day before. The new sign that Abe had ordered looked great against the glass, and had been complimented by some tourists passing through.
But those weren’t the things that drew my eye. It was Dr. Valerio, standing near the counter, waiting patiently.
“Marianne,” he said, an easy smile stretching across his face. “How do you do?”
He was as gorgeous as ever, with his Italian accent and his honey-yellow eyes. His clothes, ever stylish and almost out of a different time, were clean, well-fitting, and wrinkle free.
It was almost possible to forget what he really was.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said. The intensity of his gaze was making my knees weak. I was glad I was standing behind the counter. “How are you?”
“Quite well, thank you,” he said with that deep voice that I’d found myself thinking about more than once. “I’ve stopped by to see if Mr. Cromwell has my order?”
“Um, yes,” I said, kneeling down behind the counter. A small brown paper package labeled Valerio sat on the shelf. I stood and set it down in front of him.
“Thank you very much,” he said, smiling at me.
“Of course,” I said. My cheeks turned pink. “Um…Dr. Valerio? Did you by any chance get my messages?”
Dr. Valerio’s brow furrowed. “Messages? No, I don’t believe I have.”
“I called the bank and left some messages with your secretaries,” I said.
His face shifted to a more puzzled expression. “How strange. I – ” His eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh, Marianne…my deepest apologies.
I have indeed received your message, but my secretaries must have gotten your name wrong. I was very confused all this week when a person named Carianne Huffin kept trying to get hold of me. I thought it was a joke of some sort, and so I never bothered to return the calls.” He shook his head with a heavy sigh. “It seems I shall have to ensure the bank’s communication systems are upgraded. My deepest apologies.”
Relief washed through me. Even knowing who he was, I didn’t believe that Dr. Valerio would lie to me. There was kindness in his golden-hued eyes.
It didn’t hurt that he was as gorgeous as he was…
“It’s fine,” I said with a dismissive wave. “Stuff like that happens. I guess I should be clearer on the phone next time.”
“What was it you needed?” he asked, lifting the package off the counter and examining it.
“Well…” I said, remembering exactly what it was that I needed from him. I glanced around; we were the only two in the store, but I didn’t know if Abe would be able to hear. “I just have some questions for you, but it would be better if we were to speak without the possibility of eavesdroppers.”
“I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, would you like to come to dinner at my home this evening?”
I blanched, my cheeks scarlet.
“I know that Friday night might not be the best night for last minute plans, as I’m sure you were hoping to enjoy the beginning of your weekend,” he said.
“No, that’s fine,” I said before the words were even formed in my head.
He smiled even more broadly.
Then there was a flicker of something in his gaze. His eyes focused on something just above me.
He reached out toward me, and I froze. What was he doing?
His fingers brushed against my hair near my ear.
Blood was thundering in my head.
He withdrew his hand, rubbing his thumb against his other fingers, and smiled at me. “Not to worry. I’ve removed the cobweb from your hair.”
“Oh…” I said, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I ran my fingers through that part of my hair. They were trembling. “Yeah. I was up in the attic.”