Wisteria Warned

by Angela Pepper

  “He means well, but silly Jerry is trying to map things that should not be mapped.” She reached into a leather bag that was slung over one angular shoulder. “That reminds me. I found this map in the back room. If it’s not your aunt’s, I’m sure she will pass it along to the appropriate party.”

  I took the map and unfolded it. It was a simple map of the town—the kind given out to the small number of tourists who passed through during the summer months. One segment had a nasty burn mark right through it, and the whole thing was stained brown by what smelled like coffee.

  “The map has no intrinsic value,” Maisy said. “But your aunt may wish to keep it for sentimental reasons.”

  “I’m sure there’s a great story that goes along with this map.”

  Maisy said nothing.

  I refolded the map. I’d left my purse at the table with Bentley, so I slipped it into the side pocket of my pencil skirt. “Thanks for your advice about the dollhouse. We’ll look into your Animata theory.”

  “I have some advice to give you about dating a vampire.”

  “Uh...”

  “Get him to bite you as soon as possible,” she said, not waiting for my permission. Typical Maisy. “Get it out of the way so the game of will-he-won’t-he isn’t hanging in the air. Then you can move on to the more fun games.” She gave me a knowing eyebrow-waggle.

  “You’ve dated a... creature of the grave?”

  She puffed up proudly. “I’ve dated every kind of creature. Even Jerry Lund.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, Zara.” She turned to smile at herself in the mirror as she rubbed her pinkie finger across her enlarged upper lip. “Some creatures are more fun than others.”

  I stayed quiet. I struggled with the idea that gorgeous Maisy Nix she had dated Dr. Jerry Lund, the creepy coroner. Aside from the fact he looked like a bullfrog, the man had to be twenty years older than her.

  Still smiling at herself in the mirror, Maisy said, “Zara, make sure that door’s locked, and I’ll tell you a few more things about dating supernaturals.”

  Chapter 13

  When I got back to the table, I found that Bentley had stayed out of trouble, unlike me—not that getting supernatural dating tips was trouble. Not necessarily.

  Bentley caught me up on the investigation, though there wasn’t much to tell. The team still hadn’t identified the house, or its residents.

  But, on the positive side, the WPD hadn’t yet received a new missing persons report.

  Bentley began talking more quickly, moving his hands animatedly as he told me about his new theory: One of the children in the dollhouse seemed to be doing homework, with books spread out on the table, therefore we still had plenty of time before the kidnapping happened. Kids were currently on summer vacation.

  “And kids never do homework in the summer,” he said.

  “You can’t say never. Zoey does homework in the summer, if she can get the textbooks for the next semester.”

  “But most kids do not. As a detective, I have to focus on the general rules of human behavior, not the exceptions.”

  “I guess you would have to.” I tilted my head thoughtfully. “Okay. I see your point. We have at least a month to crack this one.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “And I’m glad to hear your daughter is so dedicated to her studies. I was a good student myself, always striving to make the academic list, but I never considered doing homework on summer vacation.”

  “Zoey’s a special kid. I got lucky.” Movement outside the window caught my eye. A group of people in colorful fitness clothes jogged past. Dreamland Coffee’s downtown location was well situated along a popular jogging route. Many exercise groups used the large cafe as their endpoint, and Dreamland’s delicious desserts as their rewards.

  My thoughts drifted to my daughter.

  After a moment of daydreaming, I asked Bentley, “What do you think the starting wage is at the museum? They probably hired her on the spot.”

  He turned to follow my gaze, then kept turning, watching Maisy Nix as she walked by with a bus pan full of dishes. He rotated back to face me and said, in a low tone, “Maisy Nix is back. You can take the lead on asking her for information.”

  “Already done. We had a chat in the ladies’ room.”

  “You did? Without me?”

  “It was in the ladies’ room.”

  “Even so, I would have liked to have been present.” His nostrils flared, and his fingers twitched as he reached for his coffee mug.

  “Trust me, Bentley. You would not have wanted to be present for that conversation.”

  He took a sip of black coffee, then leaned forward as he looked into my eyes, his silver irises gleaming. “You promised not to keep things from me. Your word is your bond.”

  A chill traveled down my spine. “I promised not to lie to you. And I’m not. It was better that you weren’t in there, and not just because it’s a ladies’ room.” I felt my cheeks flushing. “Let me make a bubble, and I’ll tell you every word she said.”

  He leaned back, seemingly satisfied by this.

  I cast a sound bubble for privacy, then shared Maisy’s theory about Animata, how the energy might be powering the dollhouse to make its predictions.

  There was one detail I wasn’t sure about. “Did Krinkle say there had been a mother doll originally, and it disappeared from the house? Or did she make the house without the doll?”

  “There was a mother doll,” he said. “When she assembles the dioramas, it doesn’t show a crime yet. Then, while she’s not looking, the crime happens. That’s what happened with the others. The woman in the green dress got her throat cut, the toaster fell into the tub, and the young man on the couch was beheaded.”

  “If this Krinkle woman was serious about preventing crimes, she would set up a camera to catch the killer.”

  “I’m not sure we’d be able to make a positive identification. The dolls are only two inches tall, and the faces aren’t detailed. Besides, the evidence would never hold up in a court of law.”

  “I wasn’t serious about the camera.”

  “Why not? Like you said, if the woman was serious about preventing crimes, it’s the next logical step.”

  “I like how you apply logic to things that defy logic.”

  “Krinkle could come out of retirement and head up a new department at the WPD. A pre-crimes department.”

  “Wow. You’re really running with this idea.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, it would generate new legal and ethical issues. Can you charge someone with a crime they were going to commit before you stopped them?”

  “No, but you could still stop the crime.”

  “But if they aren’t charged with anything, what’s to prevent them from trying again the next day?”

  I nodded. “Sounds like this pre-crimes division of yours could turn into a glorified criminal-babysitting operation.”

  He rubbed his temples. “And to think, at one point I was blissfully in the dark about magic. I had no idea how lucky I was.”

  “You don’t really feel that way, do you?”

  He frowned. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t go home again.”

  My phone buzzed.

  “It’s Zoey,” I reported. “The museum offered her a job on the spot.” Just as I’d predicted.

  Bentley grumbled, “They didn’t call me to check her personal references.”

  “Not everything is about you,” I teased.

  “Tell her congratulations,” he said. “I’m proud of her.”

  He was proud of her? Someone took his job as bodyguard very seriously.

  The joggers who’d run past earlier filed into the coffee shop noisily. Even through the sound bubble, they were loud. It wasn’t just their voices, it was their energy and their bright clothes.

  Bentley slugged back the rest of his coffee, then said, “I wouldn’t mind dropping by the community center to check out that support group. The Awakenling
s.”

  “That’s a great idea. You should totally do that. Even if you can’t tell them all the gory details about your big life changes, you can get some emotional support.” I shook my fist at him in a congratulatory gesture. “Good for you, admitting that you’re not too big and tough and masculine to get some help with all of your feelings.”

  He stared at me steadily, the muscles around his mouth and eyes twitching, as though his face couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or delighted.

  “For the investigation,” he said flatly. “We should find out more about The Awakenlings as part of the investigation. Krinkle’s spouse has been gone for years, but in the absence of a spouse, a good detective looks into a suspect’s affiliations.”

  “Krinkle is a suspect?”

  “She’s a person of interest.” He got up from his chair. “A third party may have been using the group to gain access to Temperance Krinkle.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” I grabbed my purse and followed him out. I turned to wave goodbye to Maisy, but she was busy making hot drinks for the joggers and didn’t meet my gaze.

  Chapter 14

  We reached the community center ten minutes too late to catch anyone from the group meeting. The front lobby smelled of chlorine from the swimming pool, and was full of people.

  “They normally run for a couple of hours,” said the woman at the front desk. “But it was a smaller group today, so they must have gotten through their business faster than usual.”

  A noisy family ran by, a squealing toddler in a bathing suit in the lead.

  “Their business?” Bentley asked. “Tell us more about the group.”

  The receptionist stared at him blankly. “They bring in a lot of donuts,” she said dully. “If you’d like to know more, sir, I suggest you attend a meeting.”

  I elbowed Bentley. “Did you hear that? Donuts.” I smiled at the woman behind the desk. “What about donuts with the rainbow sprinkles? Do they bring in those ones?”

  She frowned. “I believe they bring in a variety. That’s what most people do. They usually bring in far more food than needed. I’m always throwing out donuts at the end of the day.”

  “What a waste,” I said. “Now I’m hungry for donuts.”

  Bentley raised an eyebrow. It was the you-just-had-lunch look.

  The receptionist said, “If you go to the large meeting room right now, you can help yourselves to whatever’s left over.”

  “Perfect,” I said, heading toward a hallway that was full of people with white-painted faces and striped shirts.

  “It’s the other direction,” she called after us helpfully. “Up the elevator, on the top floor.”

  I changed direction, as instructed.

  Once the elevator doors closed, Bentley said, “Tell me what’s going on. Did you cast a spell? What did you find out?”

  “I didn’t cast any spells,” I said. “Don’t you want a donut?”

  He didn’t find this very amusing.

  “It’s a gut feeling,” I explained. I remembered what Kathy had said about witches putting too much stock in feelings, and brushed the insult aside. I had my reasons, and my logic. It just happened to manifest as an intuitive feeling before I figured out the rest.

  Bentley was giving me a skeptical look.

  My brain finally caught up to what my gut was thinking, and I understood my impulse. “A couple of people might still be up there,” I said. “If I know anything from the community meeting spaces at the library, it’s that people love to linger after a meeting. The receptionist said everyone from the meeting left already, but how would she know for sure? This place is a zoo, between the art classes and the pool, and whatever those people in the mime makeup were doing.”

  “They were miming,” he said.

  “But not very well,” I said.

  “Well, no. But not everyone is excellent at everything they do.” He paused. “Not like some of us.”

  “Was that a compliment umbrella that you just opened over both of us?” My gaze dropped from his silver eyes to his mouth. His very attractive mouth. The elevator hummed as it climbed up three floors. I couldn’t stop looking at the detective’s mouth.

  Bentley must have noticed me staring. His voice low and husky, he said, “What else did you and Maisy talk about in the ladies’ room?”

  “Witch stuff.”

  “Such as...?”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors open. I charged out, skipping toward the meeting room. Bentley followed in a brisk but professional walk.

  I pushed open the door to a big room. A big, empty room. “They’re all gone,” I said dejectedly. “So much for my gut feeling.”

  I walked over to the refreshments table. Some donuts had been left behind, but none of the good ones with the rainbow sprinkles.

  Bentley walked toward the large window. “Zara,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement. “What’s that over there?”

  I joined him at the window and followed his gaze. Immediately, I saw what he meant.

  From the third floor of the community center, we had a perfect view of several residential streets lined with houses, including one that appeared to be missing a wall. Someone had built the house—or renovated it—to have one side that was almost entirely glass. From where we stood, we could see directly into the home’s back yard and the house itself.

  I gasped. “That looks exactly like a dollhouse.”

  “And not just any dollhouse. It’s the same one we saw at Krinkle’s house.” He squinted, then took a step back. “Do you see what the family is doing in there?”

  I squinted, but squinting could only do so much. “No.”

  “I can.”

  “Then your eyesight must be a lot better than mine. There’s too much glare on the glass for me to see inside.”

  He turned and looked at me. “My eyesight is better than yours.” His cheeks rippled as he clenched his jaw.

  My gut felt heavy. My arms were heavy at my sides. He’d seen something bad. I’d been joking about donuts, and staring at Bentley’s mouth, and I hadn’t been thinking at all about that family in the house. That poor family.

  I asked, “Did you see the mother inside the house?”

  “No. Just the father and two boys.” He looking out at the house again.

  I turned and squinted. I still couldn’t see past the glare on the glass. My head felt dizzy. In half an hour, when the sun shifted, I might have been able to see inside. But we probably didn’t have half an hour.

  I remembered the enchanted sight-enhancement gel I kept in my purse. I could apply the goopy gel to a pair of sunglasses, and that would allow me to see past the glare, but there was no need. Bentley could see for me. He was my seeing-eye-creature-of-the-grave. All I had to do was ask.

  My voice was hoarse. “What are they doing now?”

  “One of the boys is sitting at the dining room table. He has stacks of books next to him.”

  “But it’s the summer.” I pressed both hands flat against the meeting room’s window, framing the dollhouse between my thumbs and fingers. “The summer! He shouldn’t be doing homework. This isn’t right. We were supposed to have more time. You promised we had more time.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, then, “It’s happening.”

  It was happening.

  Chapter 15

  The glass-walled house was within walking distance of the community center, but we took Bentley’s car so we would have it in case we needed to leave the house in a hurry.

  While he drove, he called in to the WPD and gave an update about where he was heading.

  “The address is 2319,” he said to the young woman on the other end of the call.

  He cruised slowly past the house, which we’d had to identify from the alley side, since the front looked just like the others up and down the block. He parked up the street, out of sight of the residence. The block was lined with sturdy-looking trees—the kind that had thick branches perfect for
hanging rope swings. In fact, the tree we parked under had a rope swing on the sidewalk side.

  The person on the other end of the call was Persephone Rose, the junior officer who’d come to see me at the library earlier in the week. She answered over the car’s speakers. “Why does that number sound familiar?”

  I said softly to Bentley, “It’s because she looked it up on a license plate for the Greyson case.” I remembered it clearly because 2319 was my favorite four-digit number. When viewed in a mirror, it spelled the word PIES. Sometimes I remembered the number incorrectly, as 5319, which was almost the same, but with a backwards S.

  Persephone Rose asked, “Is there someone else in the vehicle with you?”

  “Yes,” Bentley said. “Ms. Zara Riddle is assisting me this morning.”

  “But you told me—”

  He cut her off with a gruff command. “Do you have that name for me?”

  There was the sound of keys being tapped, then, “The residence at 2319 Aubergine Street belongs to William and Veronica Tate.”

  “Anything on them or the address?”

  “Looks like the house was vandalized two years ago.”

  Bentley gave me a look, then told her, “Go on.”

  “It... was... nothing,” she replied, her voice having that flat detachment of a person multitasking, skimming text, and summarizing. “Halloween before last, some local teens hit the trees in front of the house with toilet paper. It wasn’t targeted at the Tates. The kids did half the block before Detective Fung rounded them up with the help of Old Man Wheelie.”

  “Thank you for that,” Bentley said. “I’ll report back after I speak to the Tates.”

  “Wait,” she said hurriedly. “Do you really think someone’s going to kidnap that woman? I’m so confused about what’s going on. Is this a training exercise or not?”

  “I don’t have a crystal ball,” he replied tersely, then he looked over at me.

  I held my hands up and mouthed the words me neither.

  “Detective Bentley?” Her voice was weak, fragile. She sounded like a kid asking their parent for one more glass of water, stalling for time because they’re afraid of the dark and the monsters in the closet.