“Oh?” I asked, hoping to get him talking while I thought of a way to bring the conversation back around to Evan.
He waved a hand. “You don’t want to hear my tale of woe. Poor, sad Scott.”
“Tales of woe are some of my favorite kind. Plus, I have tissues in my bag. I’m prepared.”
“Were you a Girl Scout?”
“Not hardly.” My dad barely had time to eat and sleep, never mind planning extracurriculars for his daughters.
“Sounds like a story there.”
The bells jingled as several more customers came in. Finn was doing a great job keeping up. I mentally patted myself on the back. “One tale of woe a day is enough. Now tell me how those cookies have led you to distraction.”
“My mother,” he said, shaking his head.
Ah. Our tales of woe might not be so dissimilar. “My mom died when I was young, too. It’s . . . You just never get over it.”
“That’s the thing, Darcy,” he said. “I don’t know whether she’s alive or dead. She left when I was young, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“Sometimes it’s easier to go into denial, you know? Push the thoughts away. Then something happens like eating cookies that tasted like her cookies and the floodgate opens. Where is she? What’s she doing? Does she have other kids?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t imagine what that was like, living that way.
“Thanks,” he said. “I just wish I knew where she was. Peace of mind, you know?”
My nerves jumped, and I accidentally dropped my napkin. As I bent to retrieve it, I mouthed the wish spell, blinking twice to cast it. As I sat up, I said, “Have you thought about hiring a PI?”
“I did, once. He couldn’t find anything.”
I didn’t know what to say, but I kept careful watch on his face to see if the knowledge of where his mother was suddenly popped into his head. If it had, he had a good poker face. He wasn’t giving me a thing.
“See?” he said. “A tale of woe.”
“Definitely woeful.”
“It’s part of the reason I chose my job,” he said. “I travel. A lot. I’m always hoping to catch a glimpse of her somewhere.”
“Well, I hope you do someday.”
“Me, too.” He tossed his napkin on the table. “But for now, I should get going before I eat the bakery out of business.”
“Evan wouldn’t mind,” I said.
Scott looked back toward the kitchen. “Since you’ve been so kind to me, I’ll play along with your matchmaking effort and promise I’ll ask Evan out. I’m not really in the market for a relationship, but getting coffee or lunch will be a nice change of pace. As long as he doesn’t ask me to be on TV, too.”
My jaw dropped yet again. “You knew?”
Laughing, he said, “You weren’t very subtle. And it’s part of my job to read people, remember?”
“I will from now on.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for Missy,” he said, heading to the door. Giving me a nod, he walked out.
He wasn’t gone but thirty seconds before Evan was at my side. “Well?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said, gathering up my plate. “But I’m hopeful you’re going to at least get a coffee date out of this. After that, it’s up to you.”
Evan’s smile lit him from inside out. “I owe you big-time.”
“Yes, you do.”
He rolled his eyes, kissed my cheek, and went back to the kitchen. As I headed out, I said, “Bye, Finn!”
He said, “Have a good one, Darcy.”
“You, too.”
I hoped Finn wasn’t as good at reading people as Scott. Because if he found that I’d used him, I didn’t think that would go over so well.
At all.
Chapter Nineteen
I was on my way to the library when my cell phone rang. Cherise.
“The eagle lands at noon,” she said, then hung up.
Dodging a lamppost as I tucked my phone back into my bag, I could only shake my head. Cherise was taking this sidekick thing very seriously.
I was passing Lotions and Potions when I peeked in and saw Vince at the register. Wearing a neck collar. He glanced up and waved.
Pulling open the door, I stuck my head in.
“Stylish, no?” he asked, striking a model’s pose.
“Did you have another accident?”
“No. Cherise gave me this to wear for a few days. I think she took pity on me and is trying to buy me some time before I give Starla another driving lesson.”
That sounded like Cherise. “Milk it for all its worth.”
As I ducked back out, he smiled and said, “I plan to.”
It was a quick walk from Lotions to the library. I wanted to finish going through the Toil files, and I also wanted to see if I could locate an obituary for my mother. I’d thought of doing so last night when I was here, but after talking with Scott, I wanted to see it more than ever. Even though I knew what had happened to my mom, there was still so much I didn’t know.
Floodgates, as Scott had said.
On the green, most of the Roving Stones tents had been set up, and my gaze zeroed in on one in particular. The Upala tent—it belonged to Andreus. He was unpacking a storage container when he suddenly looked up and turned his head my way.
For a second, I was caught in his stare, but then I got a grip on myself. I gave him a finger wave and kept going. So, okay, I was walking a little faster than normal, but I blamed that on all the caffeine I’d had today.
Denial and I got along swell.
A soft voice broke the normal quiet of the library as a librarian read to a group of preschoolers, who seemed enraptured by a story about a flying pig.
Ah, the magic of books. The kind of magic that had nothing to do with witches or spells or charms. And was perhaps even more powerful.
Weaving through the fiction section, I headed for the reference desk. As I neared, I heard another voice, this one not so soft.
“What do you mean it’s missing?” she said.
Biting back a groan, I approached with caution.
Glinda looked up when she saw me and said, “Oh great.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“This day just keeps getting better and better,” she mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” the librarian said. “I can’t find it.”
“Can you look again?” Glinda asked. “Please?”
“I’ve looked five times. It’s gone. I need to file a report. I’m sorry.” She turned to face me. “Can I help you, miss?”
“I’d like to view the Toil and Trouble microfilm from October 1979.”
Glinda crossed her arms and looked at me smugly.
She did smug well.
“Oh dear,” the librarian said. “As I was telling this young lady, the film is missing.”
My gaze zipped to Glinda.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she said. “I didn’t take it.”
I narrowed my eyes.
She held up her hands. “Hey, I handed it over to Colleen Curtis at closing time last night.”
As much as I wanted to blame her, Glinda wouldn’t lie about Colleen. She knew I’d find out the truth.
Then I recalled what Colleen had said about the film being misfiled yesterday . . . Perhaps that had happened again, but by the expression on this librarian’s face, she’d had enough looking.
I asked her, “Is Colleen working today?”
Shaking her head, she said, “Not until tomorrow.”
Glinda said, “Can I see the Boston Globe editions from the same time?”
“I’ll look,” she said, disappearing into a back room.
Glinda gave me some side-eye and said, “At
least you got time looking at the film. Right after you left, Colleen shooed me out because of closing time.”
Boo. Hoo. “There wasn’t much written that’s not in the Globe.” The value of the Toil film was the photos, which told me more than any of the articles I’d read.
Hmm. I wondered if Starla had access to the original images. Because for every one shot published, ten more had to have been taken.
I drummed my fingers on the counter, wondering if I should stick around or come back later. I was supposed to meet Cherise soon, and then later I had that date with Nick. . . .
Plus, I was here.
But . . . so was Glinda.
Floodgates.
There were two microfilm machines more than an arm’s length away from each other. Out of hitting distance. That was good.
The librarian came back, carrying the small box of film. “Do you need help loading it?”
“I don’t think so. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She looked at me expectantly.
I glanced at Glinda. “Are you done?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then why are you still standing there?”
I swore she brought out the worst in me.
The corner of her lip twitched. “Well, excuse me.” She went to one of the machines.
“Dear?” the librarian said.
I leaned in close and dropped my voice, asking her for the Toil and Trouble film for May, twenty-four years ago.
Because Harper had been born on April thirtieth, an article about my mother’s death wouldn’t have been published until May. If there was one at all.
Anxiety dampened my palms and I wiped them on my denim capris. While I waited, I watched Glinda struggle to load the microfilm. After a minute, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I walked over, took the film from her, and loaded it.
Damn my fix-it complex.
“I had it under control,” she said dourly.
“So I saw.”
She nodded toward the back room where the librarian had disappeared. “What’re you getting?”
The librarian had been gone so long I wondered if she’d decided to take her lunch break. Or a vacation day. Or a trip to South America. “A headache.”
As I walked back to the counter, I heard Glinda grumble under her breath, and I was pretty sure I was glad I couldn’t hear what she said.
Five minutes later, the librarian came back, carrying two boxes. “Here you are. Do you need anything else?”
“Not right now. Thanks.”
“If you need me, I’ll be in the computer area.”
I thanked her again and sat down next to Glinda. I quickly loaded my film and my nerves danced as the newspaper came to life on the screen.
Glinda said, “Have you learned anything about the heist’s tipster or the accomplice?”
I stared at her. “Why are you asking?”
“Curiosity.”
I continued to stare.
Finally, she said, “Fine, if you must know, Andreus hired me to investigate Raina’s death.”
Blinking owlishly, I had so many questions about that statement that I couldn’t decide where to start.
One thing I knew for certain, however. She wouldn’t have told me if she didn’t want me to know. A gauntlet had just been thrown. “What do you mean, investigate?”
“I got my PI license.” She smiled. “Isn’t that great? Oh, and I got mine the real way, not the way you did.”
I frowned. Okay, so once upon a time I’d made an agreement with Marcus Debrowski, Harper’s then-admirer, that resulted in me getting a PI license. There had been magic involved. Lots of it. But I’d promised Marcus I wouldn’t use it until I undertook some of the mortal requirements for the license . . . which I’d yet to do. Fortunately, the Elder hadn’t cared about mortal restrictions when hiring me as Craft snoop.
“Isn’t that special?” I pushed the button on the machine and newspaper articles flashed by.
“I think so. I was happy to take on Andreus’s case, considering he’s being railroaded by the police.”
She meant Nick. I didn’t argue—it’s what she wanted.
Squinting at the screen, I tried to ignore her.
“The case is certainly a difficult one. So many suspects. I mean, was the murder personal? Or was Raina in the wrong place at the wrong time? So many questions. But I do know one thing for certain.”
I sang Christmas carols in my head.
Loud ones.
“I know that whoever killed Raina holds a grudge against Andreus. Why else frame him? It’s that simple. And it’s that complicated.”
It was an angle of the case that Nick and I had touched on, but hadn’t revisited. Why frame Andreus? “It seems to me that Andreus was an easy target. If someone knows about the diamonds, then they know Andreus’s father stole them.”
“I think it’s deeper than that,” Glinda said. From the corner of my eye, I saw her shrug as she said, “I think someone has a personal score to settle against him.”
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t ask why.
Focusing on the screen, I skimmed articles. If only these files had been digitized. It would have been so easy to type in my mom’s name and wait for the computer to do the work for me.
“And it has to be someone who knows Andreus’s mother.”
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. I turned my head.
Don’t say anything, don’t say anything. Deck the halls with boughs of— “Why?”
“Just a hunch,” she said, turning her full attention to the screen.
It served me right. I shouldn’t have nipped at her bait.
“Personal scores can entail many things, however. A business deal gone wrong. A spurned lover, of which he’s had many . . .”
“Ew.”
“I try not to think about it too hard,” she said. “But the angle with his mother is an interesting one. It’s the key to this case, I believe.”
“Well, good luck with that.” I continued to skim, ready to give up simply because I couldn’t stand listening to Glinda any longer.
LOCAL WOMAN DIES IN OHIO CRASH
My heart slammed into my throat, lodged there, making it hard to breathe.
The short article was dated a week after the accident and told only the bare basics. Former proprietress of popular village business As You Wish, Deryn Octavia Merriweather (née Devany), thirty-seven years old, had died after a single car accident on a Cincinnati roadway. Survived by husband, Patrick, daughters, Darcy and Harper, and sister, Velma Devany. There was an Ohio address listed to send flowers.
I couldn’t stop staring at the word proprietress.
As You Wish had once been my mother’s company?
“Darcy? Are you okay?”
“I—” Nope. My throat was too thick to get a word out.
Had my mom turned it over to Ve when she left for Ohio? Or had Aunt Ve inherited the business?
Either way, I should have known.
Shouldn’t I?
“Darcy? Seriously, you’re starting to scare me.”
“I—I’m fine.” I was. Just a little shocked.
“Right,” she said, standing up and disappearing.
Words swam in front of my eyes. Why hadn’t I been told? It was easy enough to do so. Hey, Darcy, As You Wish started as your mom’s company. How hard would that have been? Lots of people had to have known, too. Anyone who’d grown up here.
Then I thought about what Mrs. P told me yesterday, when she let it slip that there was a year’s waiting period to learn about the Elder.
You didn’t ask.
I didn’t buy that excuse in this case. Which meant that for some reason, it was being kept from me. Why?
It’s the nature of secrets, Ms. Merriweathe
r. They’re meant to be kept.
Andreus’s words haunted me. This was why secrets were kept. Because uncovering them sometimes led to more questions.
And pain.
“Here,” Glinda said, pushing a bottle of cold water into my hand. “Drink.”
“You’re not allowed drinks over here.”
“For crying out loud, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Drink it.”
I twisted off the cap and drank.
Glinda leaned over my shoulder, reading. Her voice was gentle when she said, “Your mom?”
If she made one crack, so help me, I’d lay her flat right here and now. “Yes.”
“Pretty name. Unusual. Deryn. What’s it mean?”
“I don’t know.” My dad had always called her Dee. Suddenly I wondered if that was only his pet nickname for her, or if others called her that as well. Another question to ask Ve.
“You okay?” Glinda asked.
I looked up at her and was a little surprised when I saw concern in her eyes. “I think I like it better when you’re mean to me.”
“Oh, me too. You think being nice to you is easy? Don’t get used to it.”
I smiled. “That’s better.”
She sat back down in her seat. “How old were you when she died?”
“Seven.”
“That’s rough. Though I have issues with my mother—Lord, how I have issues—I can’t imagine not having her around. Truthfully, a little distance would be nice. I wouldn’t mind if she moved, to, oh, Florida.”
“Me neither. She’s a piece of work.” I didn’t add that I hoped Glinda would go with her. It was the least I could do since she’d brought me water and all.
Looking haunted, she said, “Imagine growing up with that.”
For the first time, I tried, but I couldn’t quite because I didn’t want to be scarred for life. Dorothy was as narcissistic as they came. No wonder Glinda was so screwed up.
I carefully took the microfilm out of the machine and put it back in its box. I stood up. “Thanks for the water.”
“You’re welcome.”
As I started to walk away, Glinda called out to me.
I turned. “Yeah?”
She clenched her fist, released it, clenched it again. “Is Mimi okay?”
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