To Catch a Witch

by Heather Blake

  She said, “They argued this morning before the race because Ben thought she shouldn’t run today. That she should rest. But she laughed it off. She seemed fine. Energetic, even.”

  “You saw her?”

  “I did. I was standing in line for the portable restrooms. The trailhead’s right there.”

  “Did Ben follow her onto the trail?”

  “No. He went back to the tent to change for the race.”

  “And you?”

  “I went to find a bathroom, since the line for the portable restrooms was a mile long. Angela at the bookshop took pity on me.”

  The doors of the portable restrooms had been frozen shut, thanks to Vince’s magical mischief. And though I had no reason to doubt her, I wondered if there was a way to verify if she was telling the truth about Ben going back to the tent. I immediately thought of Starla. She’d been taking photos of the race. It was possible she’d caught the comings and goings around the trailhead this morning. I made a mental note to check with her.

  Looking off in the distance, Quinn said, “The last I saw of Abby, she seemed happy and healthy. No sign she’d even been sick. But I do think something went terribly wrong, Darcy.” She faced me, determination overtaking the grief in her eyes. “Because she wouldn’t have willingly been on that bridge otherwise.”

  “Why not?”

  “Abby was terrified of heights. She lived in a one-story house for a reason. She went out of her way to avoid all bridges when running. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s never run the Aural Gorge Trail. Not once. She didn’t go there willingly this morning. I’m sure of it.”

  She did sound sure—there was steel in her tone. I said, “It’s possible she took a wrong turn in the storm. There were whiteout conditions.”

  “No. She knew those trails like the back of her hand. She could run them blindfolded.” A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she opened her mouth to say something more, then closed it and shook her head. Trembling even more now, she said, “I should go. I need to plan Abby’s services.”

  I decided I’d pushed enough, but would let Nick know he needed to interview her sooner rather than later. “Will you let me know about the services?”

  She nodded, tucked the snack box under her arm, and pulled open the door.

  As I watched her walk away, I had the undeniable feeling she was hiding something.

  Something big.

  Chapter Eight

  Evan was finishing up with the couple who’d come in moments before as I stepped up to the display case. His baked goods were works of art, and I never ceased to marvel at their intricacies.

  “I cannot believe the news about Abby,” he said as I stepped up to the register. “She was just in here yesterday, so full of life.”

  Evan wore his usual uniform of jeans, a dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and a white apron. His ginger-colored hair was neatly combed in a mini-pompadour style that was new, and his blue eyes blazed with good health and happiness.

  I glanced around the shop. It had cleared out, a rare lull. “I can’t believe it either.”

  “Tell all,” he said, dropping his voice as he leaned across the countertop, propping himself up with forearms strengthened from years of hand-mixing his batters. “What did Quinn have to say about Abby’s death?”

  “Seems to me you heard it all. Didn’t anyone teach you eavesdropping is bad manners?”

  “Only if you get caught.” He grinned, flashing pearly white teeth. “But I couldn’t catch it all because Quinn’s back was to me, and then I had a customer. So, spill.”

  I spilled as I ordered, and he whistled low at the news that Joe and Madison perhaps weren’t the people we thought them to be.

  “I can see that,” he said. “Now that I’m looking for it. Even when they’re sociable they’re aloof. Kind of cold.”

  I thought about this morning in the event tent, how they’d kept Quinn outside the group, instead of inviting her into their tight circle. Madison had spent most of the time talking with Lucinda, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t even said hi to me this morning, even though I had helped plan the race. I hadn’t really thought much of it at the time, but maybe being aloof was the norm for them—and not the exception.

  “Do you remember Duncan Cole?” I asked, thinking about Quinn’s strange reaction to hearing his name.

  “Oh yeah, I remember Duncan.” He fanned his face. “Tall, dark, and delightfully buff. He didn’t come in here much, but I’d see him running from time to time in those tiny shorts and tank top.”

  Evan was one of my jogging buddies, and I was starting to suspect he wasn’t running as a form of exercise but rather a form of ogling. I couldn’t judge him too much. Back when I first started, my jogging workouts had increased once I knew I could bump into Nick from time to time. “Don’t go getting yourself all worked up. What would Scott think?”

  Evan and Scott had been dating since last spring, and Evan had recently shared that Scott was thinking of moving to the village.

  “He’d think it was a damn shame he’d never caught a glimpse of Duncan in those shorts. How long has it been since Duncan moved away?”

  I laughed as I ordered a dozen of Harper’s favorite bakes and added another half dozen to take home with me later on. “Last spring.”

  Evan perked up. “Has he moved back to the village? And why are you interested in him? Do you think he had something to do with what happened to Abby?”

  “They’d broken up right before he left the village. And I’m not sure he has anything to do with anything, but he’s a puzzle piece. I need to find him, see if he has an alibi.”

  Or, Nick did. I couldn’t exactly explain to Duncan why I wanted to know.

  “Well, you won’t find him in here. Balefire people are usually granola people. Not chocolate ganache people.”

  “You say that, but you just said Abby was in here yesterday. She’s a Balefire person.”

  Or had been.

  My stomach suddenly hurt so much that even the devil’s food cupcakes didn’t seem appetizing.

  “Abby wasn’t a regular. I can count on one hand how many times she’d been in here, and that was mostly picking up orders for Quinn and for special occasions, those kinds of things.”

  “Was yesterday a special occasion?”

  He gently set cupcakes, opera cakes, truffles, and chocolate mousse cups into one of his fancy boxes and wrapped string around it. “It’s so sad to think about it, really. She was ordering a wedding cake.”

  “A wedding cake?”

  His eyes bright with a secret he was ready to tell, he said, “She and Ben were eloping. On Tuesday.”

  “What!”

  “Yeah. She was ordering a cake to be picked up that day.”

  “What!” I said again.

  “I know,” he said. “I didn’t think they were that serious.”

  Me, either. I’d spent a lot of time with Abby over the past month, and she hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t even hinted there was a wedding on her mind.

  I cupped my face with my hands. “I can’t … I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “She paid in full. In cash.”

  “Does Quinn know? Does anybody know?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Abby came in alone. I’ve been hearing all morning about how Abby and Ben had been fighting last night and this morning, and I’d been wondering if it was about the wedding. Weddings truly bring out the worst in people. Consider yourself warned.”

  My wedding was months away, but for some reason I’d been dragging my feet on the planning. “Good to know. Quinn mentioned the fight this morning had been about Ben not wanting Abby to run the race.”

  “And last night?” he asked. “I heard there was a big blowup between them behind the Sorcerer’s Stove.”

  It never ceased to amaze me how fast gossip spread in this village.

  “Quinn didn’t say.” I made a mental note to ask her about i
t the next time I spoke with her. “What do you know about her? You said she’s a regular?”

  “For years she’s come in at least twice a week. Chocoholic. Mortal. Late twenties. Grew up near the Berkshires.” He tapped his chin as he rattled off the bullet points of Quinn’s life. “Moved here and started working for Balefire two, three years ago. Abby was her best friend. They were close. Like sisters.”

  “Does she date?” I took the cups over to the coffee station. I filled mine with dark roast and wondered if Harper would rather tea. I settled on a green tea for her, hoping the antioxidants would prove miraculous.

  “Not that I know of. Quinn’s a bit of a workaholic.”

  “Money?”

  “I get the feeling she scrapes by. Sometimes she digs for change to pay for her cream puffs. You think she had something to do with Abby’s death?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t imagine it, but you never know. I need to check out her alibi.”

  I happened to glance out the window as a couple on the sidewalk strode past. I did a double take. It was Marcus Debrowski—Harper’s Marcus—and local real estate agent Noelle Quinlan, who looked as though she was in the midst of an animated conversation. Her hands flew this way and that as she talked, emitting a continuous stream of steam from her mouth.

  As if sensing someone was watching him, Marcus’s head turned my way. Our gazes met through the snow-flecked glass. My heart fell just looking at him. With a hangdog expression, long unruly hair, dark eye circles, and pasty complexion, he looked as miserable as Harper.

  He broke the eye contact, and with a few more steps, the two crossed the street and were gone.

  “How’s Harper doing?” Evan asked, clearly having seen what had distracted me.

  “That first box of pastries is for her.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah.”

  I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, my hand shaking a bit. “Do you know if Marcus and Noelle…”

  Vigorously, he shook his head. “No, they’re not.”

  I blew out a breath. Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure how Harper would’ve handled that news.

  “Penelope Debrowski sold her house. She’s moving south to warmer climes.”

  Penelope—Marcus’s mother. His family dynamics had imploded months ago after a cold case murder had become suddenly very hot. Marcus’s mom had gone into hiding the day his father was arrested—I hadn’t seen her in the village since. Not even a glimpse. His dad, facing murder charges, had died of a heart attack in early January while awaiting trial. Some thought it was a blessing the family hadn’t had to go through the stress and shame of a public trial. But I wasn’t one of those people. I knew the pain of losing a parent. There were no blessings whatsoever.

  At the time, I had believed, incorrectly, that the death of Marcus’s father would have sparked a reunion between Marcus and Harper. It was the murder case, after all, which had split them up to begin with. Marcus had decided he didn’t have the time or energy to devote to Harper while trying to defend his father and keep his mother from falling apart.

  While I could understand his reasoning, I wished he had leaned on Harper instead of abandoning her.

  “It might be the best for Penelope,” I finally said, wondering if she’d find the peace she longed for somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t remind her of the murder case—and her role in it—day in and day out. Then I wondered if such a place existed. I doubted it. “And it might be the best for Marcus and Harper too. With his mother gone, maybe they can pick up the pieces of their relationship? Hopefully. Maybe?”

  Empathy flooded Evan’s eyes. Somberly, he said, “I heard Marcus has a contract on his house, too. He’s leaving with Penelope.”

  My chest ached suddenly as if someone was sitting on it, pressing out every last bit of air. “You’re sure?”

  “Noelle told me herself this morning. She was on her way to meet with Marcus and his mom. You know how she talks.”

  I did. “I’m going to need to double my order.”

  Nodding, he quickly added more pastries to my box.

  Was it was possible Harper knew the news about Marcus moving already? Was it why she had taken a drastic turn for the worse in the last couple of days?

  Wouldn’t she have told me, though?

  Maybe. Maybe not. She’d been keeping a lot to herself lately. Internalizing her pain and her feelings. It could be one more thing she’d stuffed down instead of dealing with.

  “Is there anything I can do for Harper?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going to help her at this point. If she doesn’t know Marcus is moving, it’s going to … I can’t even think about it.”

  “I can start a baking club.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “She’d actually like that.”

  “Consider it done.”

  A mournful silence fell over us as Evan finished the orders. The weight on my chest had lessened, but it was still there. Squeezing. My heart felt like it was literally breaking for my sister.

  Evan pushed the pastry boxes toward me and said, “On the house.”

  “Thank you. You can write it off as a charitable expense.”

  “Too much paperwork. What the IRS doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

  His words reminded me of the ledgers Abby wanted me to look over. And of Joe’s desperation to get them back. I told him about them.

  “What’re you thinking?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. “Is he embezzling?”

  “Whoa there, Sherlock. I’m not sure about anything right now.”

  “If he was embezzling and Abby figured it out … I think Joe could be your lead suspect.”

  “There’s nothing to suspect until we get official word from Nick or the medical examiner’s office.

  He leaned in. “But, come on. What do you think, Darcy? Was Abby’s death an accident or something more sinister?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said as I gathered up the boxes. “All I know is that the more questions I ask, the more I’m realizing there’s more to this case than meets the eye.”

  Chapter Nine

  “He’s late because this house call is a waste of time,” Harper said. “I know it and he knows it.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I sat on the sofa, sipping my coffee, taking the brunt of her frustration and trying not to panic.

  She’d refused to even take a bite of any of the goodies I’d brought, which was a sure sign to me that she was dying. Imminently.

  Dennis Goodwin couldn’t arrive fast enough to suit my needs. The fact that he was ten minutes late only added to my anxiety. So help him if he canceled at the last minute. I’d bundle up Harper and track him down if I had to.

  Pie slept through Harper’s ranting, stretched languidly along my thigh. He snored in soft little snuffles that ordinarily I would have found charming. But not now, with my nerves on edge. I gave my leg a jiggle, hoping to stir him enough to change his breathing patterns without waking him up. He kept on sleeping. And snuffling.

  Gripping my cup so tightly that the paper dented beneath my thumb, I said, “He’ll be here soon, I’m sure. The streets are still a mess.” He was driving in from the Salem coastline where he lived with his wife and young daughter.

  I watched Harper pace, and wondered for the millionth time since I stepped into her apartment whether she knew Marcus was leaving the village.

  Unfortunately, she looked so pitiful it was hard to tell. Hunched shoulders, pale skin, bloodshot eyes, and gaunt cheeks. She was still dressed in her robe but had added thick, fuzzy socks to the outfit.

  “Have some tea,” I said.

  “You promised you wouldn’t nag anymore.”

  I wagged a finger. “Not until you get the all clear from Dennis.”

  Her chin jutted as she realized she hadn’t caught that loophole. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “It’s not for thirst. It’s for health.”

  “No thanks.”

  It was hard to tell if
she truly didn’t want the drink or if she was simply being stubborn. I suspected it was both.

  She hadn’t asked me a single question about Abby Stillwell since I’d come in. I figured that was because she knew I’d barter for the answer, making her eat or drink before filling her in.

  She was right. I would.

  It was probably driving her as crazy as her pacing was driving me.

  I had texted Starla on my way from the bakery to here, and she’d been more than happy to show me her photos of the race later this afternoon. She loved being involved in my investigations. If I ever hired any investigative sidekicks, there would be plenty of applications.

  “Has Mom been by?” I asked as innocently as I could.

  “We had lunch yesterday. You didn’t tell her about this appointment, did you?”

  “Nope,” I answered truthfully. She’d already known. “Any reason you wouldn’t want her to know about it?”

  “She spent most of the time yesterday nagging me to go to the doctor, but there’s no need to worry her when there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Well, I’m pretty worried.”

  She huffed and rolled her eyes. Plopping down on the couch across from me, she crossed her legs and began bobbing the leg on top. Up, down. Up, down. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Okay.” It seemed to me that she doth protest too much, but I was wise enough not to say so aloud.

  We sat in tense silence, save for Pie’s snuffles, until we heard heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  I jumped up and quickstepped to the door, pulling it open before Dennis even made it to the landing. I met him out there.

  “Darcy,” he said with a nod.

  “Dennis,” I said, nodding back. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  Dennis Goodwin, Cherise and Terry’s son, and I had butted heads in the past, but eventually put those days behind us. I hoped. Cantankerous with little tact, he came off as a total blowhard. Yet, I knew that beneath his crusty exterior, he had a big heart. He just didn’t like anyone to know it.

  “You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” he said with his usual lack of grace.