My father looked at me. “Is this true?”
I dropped the checkbook back into the drawer. “They shouldn’t serve margaritas at their stupid school fundraisers that start at five o’clock without any food around for parents who’ve come straight from work.”
“Always blaming others for your choices,” my father said with a nod. “You are so much like your dear mother.”
Zoey chortled.
I swiveled my head and said, “Run upstairs and get me a pair of socks, would you? I didn’t want to go snooping through your drawers.”
She glanced at Rhys and said, “What’s different about today?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. That wasn’t fair of her to say. I’d always respected her privacy. Most of the time.
“Socks,” I said with my I-mean-business tone.
She slowly finished flattening the empty Eggo waffles box, sighed dramatically, and left me alone in the kitchen with the bad influence.
“Don’t you dare undermine me,” I said to him. “I’ve always done my best to set an example for my child. Whenever we were in the grocery store, I wouldn’t even eat a grape to taste-test the batch without putting a quarter in the little box. And if it was the kind of store that didn’t have a box, I wouldn’t sample. I’d buy a pound or two and play grape roulette. Do you know how many times I paid a small fortune for grapes that were full of giant seeds or too sour?”
“Sounds like someone has a case of... sour grapes.” He grinned at his joke.
“Why bother,” I muttered under my breath. “You can’t explain parenting to someone who’s never been one.”
The rubbery grin on his face fell off so fast I almost heard it thud.
“That’s not fair,” he said. “I never had a chance to be a parent.”
“And you never will.”
I dumped my coffee in the sink, untouched, and turned to leave.
“We’ve got mini golf today,” he called after me. “We have a reservation for a tee time, and you promised you’d come with us.”
Right. Mini golf was the horrible thing I’d agreed to. Whacking a plastic ball through a tacky theme park was the kind of thing I normally enjoyed, but I didn’t want to taint it with my father’s company.
“Yeah, yeah,” I called back over my shoulder. “I’ll go, but you’re paying.”
I headed toward the front door, planning to take a walk to clear my mind.
While I pulled on some tennis shoes by the door, I called up the stairs, “Zoey, I’m stepping out for my coffee. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“What about your socks?” She stood at the top of the staircase with a handful of socks.
“I changed my mind about the socks.”
She glared down the stairs. “It was never about the socks, was it?”
“We’ll discuss socks later,” I yelled back, reaching for the front door.
I yanked open the door. A man was standing in the doorway. It was Detective Bentley, one fist raised at knocking height.
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Were you just headed out?”
“No,” I said sarcastically. “This house has very old hinges on the doors. You need to whip the door open regularly so it doesn’t seize up.” I whipped the door back and forth in a fanning motion. “Like this. Listen. No squeaks.”
“No squeaks,” he agreed.
Chapter 25
After three more swings of the door, I closed it behind me and stomped down the porch steps. Detective Bentley ran after, jogging to catch up. He was wearing another gray suit, or possibly the same one he’d been wearing the day before.
He called after me, “Wait up, Red.”
I stopped and whirled around. “You did not call me Red.”
“Riddle,” he said. “I was calling you Riddle, but you didn’t let me finish.”
A likely story. I resumed walking at top speed. “What are you doing here?”
He fell into step beside me. “I’m here as requested, to provide an update on the Tansy Wick case.”
“It was my aunt who cast...” I coughed into my fist and started again. “It was my aunt who asked you to stay in touch. You should be lurking around outside her door, not mine. How long were you out there, anyway?”
“Long enough to hear you yelling at your daughter about sex.”
“Sex?”
I was temporarily speechless. Had I been yelling about sex? I reviewed what had happened and what Bentley must have heard. I’d been talking to Zoey about the zoo, and about socks. He heard me yelling about socks, not sex.
The mix-up was so absurd that my outrage drained out like water from a busted irrigation hose. So what if my father snuck Zoey into the zoo for free. She was a good kid. She knew the difference between right and wrong. A single incident of bending the rules wasn’t going to spoil her permanently.
“I was yelling about socks,” I said to Bentley. “As in s-o-c-k-s. I asked her to get me some socks, and then I changed my mind.”
“I swear I heard you say sex.”
I gave him a playful smile. “Detective Bentley, they say people hear what they want to hear.”
He didn’t smile back. “You’re not wrong,” he said stiffly. “The ears are not perfect digital recorders. The brain is only too happy to fill in the blanks. That’s why witness testimony is notoriously unreliable, and I’m afraid it only gets more corrupted as time passes.”
We reached the corner of the street and looked both ways in unison. A car drove by, and I caught a glimpse of our contrasting appearances. He was the dark-haired square man in a gray suit. I was the bright, fun one, with my red hair and green clothes.
He asked me, “Where are we going, anyway?”
“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling there’s a place a few blocks from here that makes the most incredible mint mochas, blended with ice. I’ve got a wicked craving for something minty fresh.”
“You are dressed for something minty fresh.” He looked pointedly at my ivy-patterned blouse and green jeans. “I’ll go with you.”
“Good, because you’re buying. I stormed out of my house without my purse. It really kills the impact of a dramatic exit if you go back for your handbag.”
“I’ll buy.” He rubbed the light stubble on his chin. The dark circles under his eyes and the new stubble reminded me of how Chet had looked the previous week. Bentley wore his stubble almost as well. In fact, it made him seem more human and less like a robot.
“Bentley, have you been up all night?”
“Time is of the essence with a missing person,” he said.
My pace faltered, and I stubbed the toe of my tennis shoe on a raised sidewalk slab. I did that thing where you skip for a few paces to pretend the tripping was on purpose.
Bentley regarded my dance moves with suspicion, as was his way.
“I’m sorry you lost sleep over the case,” I told him, and I meant it. I truly was sorry I hadn’t told him the full truth. He would never find Tansy alive, because she was already dead.
“Well, I’m sorry your friend’s gone missing,” he said.
I would have said Tansy wasn’t my friend, and that I didn’t know her, but that was no longer true. I’d met her dogs and seen her left-handed snail garden. We’d shared an existential death tantrum. And we’d gardened.
After a block of walking in the morning sunshine, I asked, “Do you have any news?”
He seemed to have been awaiting an invitation to speak. “We found bones on the property.”
“Oh?” Bentley wasn’t too sharp if he was reporting to me about the chicken bones.
“Canine bones,” he said. “They match the description of Tansy’s two dogs, but our crime scene techs noticed something strange.”
“How strange?”
“The bones are stripped clean. Whatever happened to Jasper and Coco, it might have happened years ago.”
“That is strange,” I agreed. It occurred to me that the chicken bone my aunt had found had been as clean as a boiled
bone pulled from soup stock.
“There’s more,” he said, and he listed off juicy details he’d uncovered about the woman.
I nodded and reacted appropriately with soft cries of surprise, even though the stories he’d uncovered about Tansy would have been easily explained if he knew the true nature of her business. The woman grew magical herbs for witches. The rumors about her supplying love potions and such were, in all likelihood, true.
We reached the entrance for the nearest location of Dreamland Coffee, a locally-owned small chain. Dreamland had the most amazing iced mint mochas. I had been there before, but it had fallen off my radar, despite having the best coffee in town. It must have been Tansy’s spirit who’d led me there. Bentley leaned toward the door but didn’t open it yet.
He stared at me carefully and asked, “What do you know about Tansy’s involvement with your aunt?”
“Just that they’ve been friends for a few years. Why?”
“I heard a strange story.”
“I’m sure you did. Plant it on me. I’ll tell you if it sprouts.”
He frowned at my metaphor but continued. “The two of them produced a zero-calorie sandwich spread that tastes exactly like mayonnaise but has zero calories.”
“Actually, I have heard about that.” I hadn’t. Tansy pushed the information through my head. “They called it Zeronnaise. Unfortunately, Zeronnaise was not a viable consumer condiment, due to unanticipated side effects.”
“Did you know Zeronnaise was officially classified as a bio-weapon?”
Now I did. “Oh?”
“And it’s currently in use by the military.”
I gave him a sidelong look. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“Maybe I am.” He gave me a slow wink. “If I did have information such as that, it would be highly classified, and I’d be in big trouble for sharing it with you.” He looked down and shuffled his shiny black shoes. “In fact, I don’t know why I told you at all. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
I knew. He was there because of my aunt’s spell. She was one powerful witch.
A trio of young women filed out of the cafe. The last one smiled at me as she held open the door for us. Bentley and I had been standing outside the door long enough to attract some curious stares.
I smiled at the young women, made a comment about the heat being “great weather for pollination,” and waved for my detective friend to go inside.
“Come on, Bentley,” I said. “You can tell me more of your highly classified secrets over some icy-cold caffeinated beverages.”
* * *
The mochas were cool and extravagantly minty, as promised by the cafe’s signage.
Bentley filled me in on more details of his investigation. He’d gotten a lot accomplished in less than eighteen hours. Much of his work had been computer-based, as rich people don’t appreciate being phoned in the middle of the night to chat about the last time they’ve seen a reclusive neighbor.
Tansy Wick had last used her bank card on Thursday at 3:10 p.m. at a coffee shop near the outskirts of Wisteria, not far from her country estate. The coffee shop was part of a local chain called Dreamland Coffee. They had several locations in the area, including two in Wisteria, one of which Bentley and I were currently sipping mint mochas inside.
At the other location, the owner, a woman named Maisy Nix, recalled seeing Tansy on Thursday afternoon. Tansy was a regular customer who came in about twice a week. That afternoon, she’d tied up her two dogs at the front, ordered her favorite drink plus a Montreal-style smoked meat sandwich, then sat on the sidewalk patio. She’d been alone as usual, but she wasn’t lonely, thanks to her loyal dogs Jasper and Coco, who were well trained and didn’t beg for table scraps. The owner came outside to chat for a bit and gave the dogs their biscuit treats, as was their routine.
That was the last time anyone had seen Tansy. She’d missed a Friday-morning appointment with her massage therapist. Her vehicle was parked in her garage, and her house was unlocked. There was no sign of any theft or violence on the property.
“Except for the dog bones,” I said.
“I have a theory about those,” he said. “They might have been from her previous pair of dogs, Jojo and Casper.”
That would explain the condition of the bones, but it was strange. “Tansy had dogs named Jojo and Casper before she had Coco and Jasper? That’s diabolical.”
“People keep telling me she’s an eccentric woman.”
“Have you met her brother, Vincent Wick? He’s my least favorite municipal employee.”
Bentley fidgeted with the straw in his iced coffee. “Where do I rank on your listing of municipal employees?”
Higher than Chet Moore. “You’re doing all right.”
Bentley leaned forward and looked around furtively, even though we were the only two customers currently inside the coffee shop and the whirring fans of the refrigeration units covered our voices from the staff. I hadn’t deemed it necessary to cast a sound bubble spell.
He said quietly, “I found geological surveys that show underground caves beneath the Wick property, but we haven’t been able to locate an entrance.” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “And there are other surveys that are more recent, except they don’t show any caves. Just solid bedrock.”
“The caves are secret caves,” I said, nodding. “If I had caves on my property, I wouldn’t want people to know, either.”
“Who’d want caves?”
“Caves are wonderful. You can use them to grow mushrooms or to age certain kinds of cheese, like Gruyère.”
“Gruyère? You know what? I’ve never been interested in any kind of cheese that doesn’t come on a pizza.” Bentley frowned and added, “Why am I telling you that?”
“Why not? We’re friends.”
I leaned forward to sip my frozen drink. I hit a pocket of air, making a noisy slurping sound with the wide red straw. He watched me.
“Don’t stop,” I said, gesturing with my hand for him to continue. “What else are you thinking about?”
“Tansy Wick dressed in shades of green,” he said. “From her official government ID to social media photos, she wore green in every picture. And the drink she ordered from Dreamland Coffee that day was an iced mint mocha.”
I finished slurping my drink and pushed it away.
His steely gray eyes narrowed. “What kind of game are you playing, Ms. Riddle?”
“I don’t know,” I answered quite honestly.
“You’re dressed like Tansy, drinking her favorite drink. There has to be an explanation.”
There was, but telling him wasn’t my job. Not until I cleared it with at least one other adult.
“Detective, have you heard of people who are highly sensitive? Empathic?”
He only watched me.
“Sometimes I pick up on things,” I said. “Certain energies.” It wasn’t far from the truth. “I don’t mean to, but I start doing the things they like to do. I must be highly suggestible. I’d probably be a stage hypnotist’s dream.”
“You take on the qualities of missing people?”
“Or the deceased.”
“Is Tansy deceased?”
I bit my lower lip. “The energy does feel quite strong,” I said.
“That must be very difficult for you.” He reached across the table and put his hand on mine. “Maybe with the right dose of medication, you can shake these paranoid delusions of yours.”
I pulled my hand away. “Forget what I just said.” I wove my bluffing spell through my words. “Forget that. Forget this whole interaction, from the minute you showed up at my door.”
The air around us tightened. His eyes flashed as my magic took hold. “Okay,” he said.
Okay? Was it really that easy?
He turned his hand over on the table to be palm up and stared at it. “My life line is changing,” he said.
“You’re not going to trick me into doing a palm reading.”
He curled his
fingers into a fist. “Why was your aunt following me last night?”
“It’s a small town. What makes you think she was following you?”
“Never mind,” he said. He lifted his hand from the table as though it was very heavy and began rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is the sleep deprivation talking. I didn’t see your aunt last night, just an old man with a cane. But the man reminded me of her.”
“Oh, that’s her disguise,” I said in a joking tone. “Zinnia does her best spying dressed up as an old man with a cane.”
He kept rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You really do have the most robust appreciation of the absurd, Zara Riddle.”
“Thanks,” I said for the second time, with even more pride. “You’re very perceptive.”
And he was.
He’d apparently seen through my aunt’s magical disguise. But why had she been spying on Bentley?
Chapter 26
Atlantis Mini Putt and Water Adventure Park looked about as busy as you’d expect a mini golf place to be on a Sunday afternoon with great weather. My father steered Foxy Pumpkin into one of the farthest parking spaces. We’d arrived there in time for our tee-time reservation, but just barely. I found it preposterous that a mini golf place took reservations and suspected it had been a lie my father told to get us out the door at a reasonable time.
Tansy, who’d been fairly quiet that day, from my coffee date with Bentley to the drive to Atlantis Mini Putt and Water Adventure Park, began stirring when I got out of the orange car.
The minute I stepped onto the plastic artificial turf that mimicked grass, the gardener ghost inside me bristled with annoyance. Why not real grass, like a real golf course? Didn’t small children who’d been dragged away from their computer screens for one measly afternoon deserve a more natural outdoor experience? I found myself agreeing with the cantankerous lady. Real turf, such as the manicured Crenshaw bent grass used on upscale courses, would cost a fortune to maintain, but it would be more aesthetically pleasing and thus more nourishing to the nature-craving soul.
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 2 Page 18