Stuck in the Middle Witch You (A Middle Witch Mystery Book 1)

by Danielle Finch

  “They came here to tell me something. Something about Nick.”

  “And what would that be? That he’s a loser?” Grant sneered. “Everybody knows that. I don’t know why you need them to tell you.”

  “Mr. Bateman, please,” Martin interrupted. “Your sister is going through a difficult time, as I’m sure you are, but I don’t think this conversation is of any help to either of you.”

  “And what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to assist Miss Bateman,” Martin responded calmly. “We need to protect Seth’s legacy.” He waved his hand at the paintings on the wall.

  Grant snorted. “What legacy?” He walked into the living room and smacked the back of his hand against one of the paintings. “You think anyone is going to buy this crap?”

  Raine slipped past him and sidled up to me.

  “Grant, how can you say that? Martin says Seth was on the brink of greatness.” Lydia looked at Martin. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  “The brink of greatness, my ass,” Grant laughed.

  “That is correct. There has been quite a bit of interest in Seth’s work,” Martin said.

  “Oh really?” Grant folded his arms over his chest. “And do tell me, Mr. Art Expert,” he said, sarcasm dripping from each word, “who exactly is interested in Seth’s work?”

  “I don’t care for your tone, Mr. Bateman, but yes, I am an art expert, and recently I’ve sold a number of Seth’s paintings to collectors. And as ghoulish as it may sound, with Seth’s death the value of his work will be much greater.” He looked at Lydia and gave her a rueful smile.

  “Tell me something, where do these so-called collectors live?” Grant asked.

  “Well, I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” Martin sniffed.

  “Let me guess.” Grant put a finger to his chin and looked up. “Hmm, how about Dallas? And maybe Palm Springs. Oh! And Boston?”

  As Grant recited cities, I looked at Martin. His eyes were wide in disbelief. Clearly, Grant knew something and it was freaking Martin out.

  “And Toronto,” Lydia said.

  We all looked at her.

  “Grant has offices in all those cities.” She walked up to Grant. “How could you be so cruel? You bastard!” She drew her hand back and slapped his face.

  Grant pulled his head back but didn’t move away. I had a feeling Lydia wasn’t the first woman to slap him.

  Raine leaned closer to me. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Lydia heard her. “Grant is the ‘collector.’ He’s the one who bought Seth’s paintings.”

  Martin gasped. “That’s not possible. His name wasn’t on any of the purchases.”

  “He probably had his employees make the purchases, to keep his name out of it,” Lydia explained.

  Grant didn’t say anything, but the smug look on his face confirmed that what Lydia was said was true.

  “But why?” Raine asked.

  Lydia let out a shaky sigh and went back to the barstool. “If Seth was making enough money he could finally move back to New York. That’s all he ever wanted, and Grant knew that.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Raine said, a look of confusion on her face. “Why didn’t he just sell the property in the first place and stay in New York?”

  “He did it to spite Grant. He never wanted to live here, but Grant refused to help him when he lived in New York.”

  “No one ever helped me. Why should I help him?” Grant said, the smug look still on his face.

  Lydia looked at Grant for a long time before speaking. “You realized Seth was just as stubborn as you, and that the only way he was going to sell was to get him back to New York and the life he loved. And when he was all settled in and happy, you were going to stop buying his paintings. He’d be broke and you’d swoop in with an offer he couldn’t refuse. Only that didn’t happen, did it?”

  I felt like I was in the middle of one of the Potter sisters’ soap operas. Eleanor and Esther would’ve loved this. Deceit, betrayal, bribery. The only thing missing was a pregnant mistress. Or a long-lost twin with amnesia.

  We all looked at Grant. He didn’t answer Lydia, only folded his arms across his chest and smirked at her. He reminded me of a schoolyard bully taunting his favorite victim.

  Lydia continued, “That’s why you designed that ridiculous ‘artist’s residence’—you thought it would appeal to his ego.”

  Grant shrugged. “Hey, it’s business. I did what I had to do.”

  “You had no right!” Martin exclaimed. “Do you realize what you’ve done? His work will be worth nothing now. Nothing!” He raised his fist and shook it, just as Dora had done when we’d driven past her.

  And that’s when it all made sense.

  Seth had been trying to get our attention. But not by shaking his fist like Dora, instead he’d done what Edward had—he moved things.

  The tube of paint that Raine had stepped on… that was no accident—it had been put there on purpose. The color was the same blue as in the painting that had fallen off the gallery wall—a painting that Martin had done. Seth had been trying to tell us something.

  I looked at Martin as he continued to shout at Grant, and I remembered his wet hands and the smell of pine cleaner when we’d arrived at the gallery.

  Martin had killed Seth.

  But I had to be sure.

  “If Seth was making money, why all the unpaid bills?” I indicated the stack of bills on the counter.

  “What are you talking about?” Grant said.

  Lydia handed him the papers.

  Grant glanced through them and looked at Martin. “You were his dealer; where did all the money go? I paid a small fortune for those stupid paintings.”

  “I have no idea. I paid him his share.” Martin backed away from Grant.

  “Let me see those,” I said, indicating the bills. Grant thrust them at me.

  I knew what I expected to see—or, rather, not see. I flipped through them once, then once more to be sure. I looked at Grant. “You said Seth phoned you at the gallery, just before you went outside, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “How do you know it was Seth?”

  “Because he said it was.”

  “Are you sure? Did you recognize his voice?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t talked him in over a year. What are you getting at?”

  “There’s no cell phone bill here.” I waved the stack of bills.

  “So? Maybe it was the one bill he paid.”

  “I don’t think he owned a cell phone,” I said. “He didn’t like technology.”

  “That’s right,” Raine said. “He told me he didn’t even own a computer. He said we were all going to end up with cancer.”

  “Are you calling me a liar? He phoned me right before he died.” Grant pulled his phone out of his coat pocket. “Look.” He swiped at the screen and held it up. “Look at the time stamp.”

  I knew he wasn’t lying. He had gotten a call, but it wasn’t from Seth. I took the phone from him and tapped the number on the screen.

  “What are you doing?” Grant asked. He reached out to take the phone back, then stopped. “What’s that?”

  We could hear what sounded like music coming from outside.

  I walked out the door and stood on the porch, listening. The wind had picked up and more clouds were moving in. Drops of rain started pinging on the metal roof over the porch. Grant came up behind me, and we stood there for a moment until we heard the music again.

  I watched him walk down the stairs and toward the sound. It was coming from Martin’s car. Grant pulled the door open, reached into the car, and pulled out the ringing phone.

  I recognized the music: The Four Seasons, by Vivaldi. “That’s Martin’s phone,” I said. “He’s the one who called you, not Seth.”

  And then we heard Lydia scream.

  Chapter 23

  We raced back into the cottage. Lydia was cowering in
the kitchen. Raine and Martin were in the living room, standing in front of the easel. Martin was behind Raine with his arm wrapped around her neck and the other pointing a pair of scissors at it.

  My stomach lurched and my heart started racing.

  “Stay right there,” Martin growled. “Any closer and she’s dead.”

  “What the hell are you doing? Drop the scissors!” Grant demanded as he came up behind me.

  “Shut up, you pathetic piece of crap.” Martin’s cultured voice was gone and there was a crazy look in his eyes.

  Grant took a step toward him, but I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t.”

  Raine’s face was ashen and her whole body was trembling.

  “Martin,” I said quietly, “why don’t you just let her go? You know if you hurt Raine, it will only make things worse for you.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He laughed maniacally.

  “Grant, what’s going on?” Lydia asked. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men. “Why is he doing this?”

  “He killed Seth.” Grant looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.

  “The phone call Grant supposedly got from Seth came from Martin’s phone,” I said. “Martin pretended to be Seth to get Grant to come outside. He was going to frame Grant for the murder.”

  “But that boy did it. We saw him.” Lydia didn’t understand.

  “We only saw what Martin wanted us to see. Jason had nothing to do with it. Seth was killed before Jason ever went outside.” I kept talking, hoping to keep Martin distracted. I could see the tips of the scissors indenting the skin on Raine’s neck. “When Grant was giving his speech, Martin went outside and put Seth where Grant would find him, but instead of Grant finding Seth, it was Jason.”

  “It should have been you,” Martin sneered at Grant.

  “Why would you do that?” Lydia looked at Martin, tears streaming down her face. “What did he ever do to you?”

  “Seth found out you were stealing from him, didn’t he?” Grant said. “He confronted you, and the only way to cover it up was to kill him and blame me.”

  Martin hesitated and I knew Grant was right. “I never stole anything! I only took what was mine.”

  Raine cried out as Martin gripped her tighter.

  “Of course you did,” I said in a soothing voice, trying to calm him down. “You worked hard for him.”

  “You’re damn right I worked hard. Do you know what it’s like trying to sell art nobody wants? And then he has the nerve to fire me.” His lip curled, and he pointed the scissors at Grant for a moment. “It’s your fault I had to kill Seth. You did this. He saw your ridiculous model and laughed. And he blamed me, said I was in on it with you, that it was a conspiracy. He was crazy.” Martin laughed. “Riding that stupid bike, refusing to touch a cell phone or own a computer. And he insulted my work. Can you imagine? That lunatic had the nerve to tell me I was a hack!”

  “But why did you come here to help me?” Lydia asked. “I thought you wanted to save Seth’s work.”

  “He didn’t come here to help you,” Grant said. “Don’t you get it? He was going to sell Seth’s work, maybe throw a couple of bucks your way, and steal the rest.” He started inching closer to Martin. “You thought you’d walk away with a pocketful of cash, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t move or she dies!” Martin gripped the scissors tighter, his knuckles turning white, and I flung my arm across Grant’s chest.

  “That’s right, honey,” Martin jeered at me. “You stop the big bad man before he gets somebody else killed.” He looked at Grant. “Or do you want me to kill her too?”

  Grant took a step back.

  Martin pulled Raine with him and shuffled backwards, away from Grant. The terror in Raine’s eyes broke my heart.

  “Pick up the tape,” he instructed Lydia.

  She didn’t move from behind the counter.

  “Do you want to be next?”

  She tensed and shook her head tightly.

  “Tape his hands together.” Martin nodded at Grant.

  “You don’t need to do this. I’ll pay you whatever you want,” Grant said.

  “It’s your money that got your brother killed. You think it’s going to help you now?” Martin sneered.

  Grant said nothing. The defeated look on his face said it all. He couldn’t buy his way out of this.

  “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  Grant turned so his back was facing Martin. Lydia pulled at the tape with shaking hands and started wrapping it around Grant’s wrists.

  When it was done to Martin’s satisfaction, he told her to rip the roll off. Lydia tried to tear it, but she couldn’t.

  “You imbecile,” Martin said to Lydia, then looked over at me. “You do it.”

  I took hold of the roll, pinched it between my fingers, and tore.

  “Now tape her up,” he said to me.

  Lydia stood beside Grant and turned around. I taped her hands as loosely as possible. I knew it wouldn’t help her escape, but I didn’t want to hurt her.

  “Both of you, sit over there.” He nodded at the sofa.

  Grant and Lydia eased themselves down onto the threadbare sofa.

  I glanced out the window behind them. The sky had grown darker and the rain was falling harder. I looked at Martin. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and a droplet was slowly dripping down his cheek. He had Raine’s head pulled tight against his chest. The sight filled me with anger. I had to do something—but if I tried to use my power I might not be fast enough. The blades of the scissors were just too close to Raine’s neck.

  A gust of wind blew through the open window in the kitchen. The temperature in the room suddenly felt as if I had stepped into our walk-in cooler, and then a painting crashed to the floor. Lydia cried out and buried her face in Grant’s shoulder. I looked at Raine and Martin. He still held the scissors against her neck, but he looked startled. I had seen that expression on his face before.

  “Close that window!” Martin ordered.

  I walked over to the window, grabbed the top of the frame and slid it down.

  I turned around just in time to see another painting on the wall behind Martin start a slow slide to the floor.

  Lydia cried out. She wasn’t looking at the painting. She was staring at Martin—or rather, something behind Martin. “What is that?”

  The painting hit the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Still holding onto Raine, Martin turned his head to see what Lydia was talking about.

  Where the painting had been hanging, something weird was happening. The wall seemed to be distorted, like I was looking at it through old wavy glass. But it wasn’t the wall; it was something hovering in front of it—and it was moving toward us.

  Martin saw it and pulled at Raine, and they backed away from the wall.

  “What is that? What’s going on?” he demanded. “Is this one of your tricks?” His question was directed at me. “I know what you are, I’ve heard the stories. You’re doing this!”

  “I’m not doing anything.” There was something else at work here, something sinister. I could feel it permeating the air. The shimmering thing stopped in the center of the room. I could still see through it. It had no solid presence; the easel behind it was clearly visible but distorted.

  Martin backed up again until he was standing in front of Grant and Lydia, his arm still firmly wrapped around Raine’s neck. Everyone’s attention was focused on the middle of the room—everyone except Grant. He was looking up at Martin, who was standing only a foot or two in front of him. If Grant was formulating a plan, I wanted to be ready. I was still standing in the kitchen; I slowly moved to the right so the counter wouldn’t be in my way if I had to act fast. Martin didn’t notice. His eyes were firmly locked on the thing in the middle of the room. I had almost reached the end of the counter when I stopped as a deep growl filled the room.

  “Oh my God,” Lydia cried out. “Make it stop.”

&
nbsp; The shimmering thing had begun to darken and pulsate as the growling grew louder. I could no longer see anything behind it. The thing contracted and expanded once more, then pulled itself into a tight, black ball and, with a roar, flew straight at Martin. He screamed. Grant’s foot shot out, catching Martin in the back of the knee. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, dropping the scissors.

  “Run!” I shouted at Raine as I raced out from behind the counter.

  Martin reached out to grab her leg, but she was faster, and ran behind the counter.

  I sprinted forward and brought my heel crashing down on his wrist as he tried to grab the scissors. I heard a crack and felt something give way beneath my foot. He howled, but I kept my foot planted firmly on his shattered wrist. I shot a look around the room, but the black mass was gone.

  Before I could figure out what to do next, the dark room was suddenly lit up like a football stadium at night. Then the door crashed open and a voice shouted, “Nobody move!”

  Chapter 24

  The light coming through the living room window was blinding, and I couldn’t make out who was standing in the doorway.

  “Shut down the spotlights, Matt,” the figure in the doorway ordered.

  I recognized Matt’s voice over the radio as it crackled in response, and then the lights went out.

  With the spotlights no longer blinding me, I could see that it was Adam Bishop in the doorway. He was standing with his legs apart, gun drawn. I glanced out the living room window. The police patrol boat was bobbing in the water, and in the glow of the running lights, I watched as Matt jumped onto the dock and raced toward the cottage.

  Adam quickly surveyed the scene, then bolted over to Martin. He slid his gun back into its holster and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

  I kept my foot on Martin’s wrist until Adam knelt down and slapped a handcuff on Martin’s other hand.

  “You can let go now,” he said, looking up at me. “I’ve got him.”

  I moved my foot and backed away. He grabbed Martin’s wrist and slapped the other cuff on.

  “Ow!” Martin cried out as Adam pulled him to his feet. “Be careful, it’s broken!”