Cleo blinked at Win in what appeared to be surprise, but there was something else. Something else I couldn’t identify.
Still, it was definitely there between the frown of her auburn eyebrows and in her dark eyes. “No. Nuh-uh.”
Boo-hiss. Where are you, Nana Concetta?
And the moment I thought that—was the moment I saw her.
Standing in the corner of the reading room by the shelf where I had more battery-operated candles, their flames silhouetting a woman with red hair much like Cleo’s.
It was exactly like Cleo’s.
In fact, everything about her was exactly like Cleo.
Had we gone from sorority sister squabbles to cloning catastrophes?
Cleo’s clone waved to me and smiled.
Well, at least she was a friendly clone.
That had to count for something, right?
Chapter 3
Cleo’s lookalike moved her lips and Win cocked his head, leaning into the space. “I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he said to the room. “Can you slow down?”
Without thinking, I blurted out, “Do you have a family member that’s passed who strongly resembles you, Cleo? I mean, exceptionally so?”
If Cleo looked surprised by Win’s question, she was positively green from my inquiry. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white. “I…I do. Er, did.”
Could that be Nana Concetta appearing as her childhood self?
No. That couldn’t be right. She had on a pair of light-up sneakers. Not to mention, it wasn’t often an entity was able to appear in any other way but the way they’d looked when they died.
“Who?” I asked, still not thinking about the shock Cleo might suffer from such a question. Staring harder at the entity, I made note of her clothing. “Did this person ever wear a pair of denim overalls and a pink shirt with frilly sleeves, and light-up sneakers?”
Now Cleo blanched and went white, making her freckles stand out against her pale skin. She appeared as though she might answer, but then her lips clamped shut and she shook her head. But not as if the answer was no. Her expression came across as disbelief.
“Wait!” Leslie said, holding a finger up in the air. “Remember that night we were sitting around in the dorm, just you and me? Because we didn’t want to go to that stupid frat party with Tammy? So we ordered nachos and cheese and drank beer and talked about when we were kids. Didn’t you say you had a twin that died when she was twelve?”
“You told us you both had a stomach bug that night,” Linda accused, her blue eyes dark and swirling.
But Leslie waved her off. “We did have a stomach bug. His name was Chip Carter and he was a jerk the two of you were besotted enough with to drink warm keg beer and play beer pong while gross sweaty guys drooled on you.”
Tammy flicked her French-tipped nails at bridesmaid number three and rolled her eyes. “I was hardly besotted, Les. I was dating Jason by that time. My now fiancé. Don’t you remember?”
“Yeah,” Linda snorted. “I remember, but that didn’t stop you from chasing after him.”
“Or you, Linda,” Tammy shot back. “You were the one who had to have all the boys.”
Linda shrank back at her friend’s harsh statement. “I’m not like that anymore.”
Wowzers. Were these women friends or were they frenemies? I don’t know about other people, but I can tell you for sure, if I had a bevy of girlfriends like this, I’d move to the farthest regions of the earth and live out my life in hiding totally friendless.
They were positively awful to one another.
Looking to Cleo, realizing I’d blurted something out that had frightened her, I sought to soothe her. “Cleo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you all right? Shall I stop?”
But she shook her head, her shoulder-length hair falling over her eyes, her face paler than pale. “No. I don’t want you to stop. Les is right. I did have a sister. A twin. Her name was Carys and she died when she was twelve. She drowned. Those sneakers were her favorite things in the world at the time. We both…we both had a pair. How did you know?”
My heart constricted again. How awful to lose a sibling at such a young age. “I’m sorry, Cleo.” I hesitated for a moment, but then I asked, “How awful for you and your family. Are you certain you want to keep going?”
Carys continued to wave at me, occasionally pointing at her sister. Her sneakers flashing rainbow colors and her mouth moving with lighting speed.
“Is she really here?” Cleo squeaked, her eyes round and wide, full of wonder and fear. “Like for real?”
Looking directly into her eyes, I nodded. “She’s really here, Cleo.”
Leslie elbowed her friend. “C’mon, Cle, you don’t really believe this whack, do you? This psychic?” Then she turned to me. “Oh, sorry. Correction. I meant, the lady who sees dead people. This is all stuff she could have researched about you beforehand. You don’t believe her, do you?”
Cleo’s face went red. It was easy to tell she wanted to believe me, but her friend’s skepticism left her feeling embarrassed and angry enough that she was clearly torn. Hence, she lashed out.
“Shut up, Leslie! You don’t know how horrible that time of my life was. You’re always so negative about everything. Everything! It’s maddening. How do you know for sure Madam Zoltar can’t see dead people? You don’t. Now, I paid for this, and I didn’t ask any of you to chip in. If you don’t like it, and you can’t sit here while I do, then go back to the motel!”
“Cle, seriously? This is all just a bunch of bull and you know it! Do be scammed by this fruitcake.” Leslie’s face had gone from disbelief to outrage.
But it was Win who’d had enough. He abruptly pushed his chair from the table, scraping loudly against the floor as he went. His jaw was tight, as were his next words.
“I’ve had quite enough of you, Miss Cleary. I won’t have you blatantly insult my intended with your cruel comments. You’re rude and ill-mannered. I’m going to politely ask you to excuse yourself from our shop.” He pointed a finger toward the front of the store, his lips a thin line, a scowl on his handsome face.
While I was all atwitter in his defense of me, he knew this happened all the time. Maybe no one had ever called me a whack…well, not after paying real money for a reading. But I’d had plenty of skeptics. I was used to it. In fact, not long ago, a murderer had called me a quack.
I didn’t get Win’s upset. Skepticism was a given in our line of work.
Suddenly, Cleo sat upright, taking my attention from the drama of Win and Leslie. The look on her face left me wondering if maybe she felt Carys’s presence. Her twin was right behind her at this point, looking worried.
But what Cleo said next made me sit up and pay attention. “Wait! I’m sorry, Mr. Winningham, but I just remembered something. But first, Leslie, keep your big mouth shut and stop calling me Cle. It’s Cleo!” Then she turned to me, her hand still in mine, her dark eyes intense. “Carys and I…we had our own language. You know, like twin speak. I think that’s what it’s called. We’d talk really fast, slur our words, all sorts of stuff. The point is, only we could understand each other. Our parents used to tease us about it all the time. Maybe that’s what she’s doing? Trying to communicate with me the way we used to as kids?”
Win forgot about booting anyone from the store and sat back down, but not without a scathing glance in Leslie’s direction. “That makes perfect sense, Miss Wallace. Unfortunately, I can’t understand a word she’s saying. It all sounds—and certainly no insult intended—starkers. I can’t decipher any of it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you can’t, Benedict Cumberbatch two-point-o,” Leslie spat with an edge of thick sarcasm to her tone.
And that was that. Cleo, red-faced and already hot under the collar, jumped up and in one swift move, clocked Leslie right in the face, making all the women gasp out loud and hop out of their chairs.
Leslie’s head snapped back and, as a result, her chair tipped backward with
her, knocking her to the floor, blood spewing from her nose.
Where Cleo then chose to make her next move.
She hopped on Leslie and grabbed hold of her hair, yanking her head upright. “I’m so sick of you being so mean! You never know when to stop!”
“Cleo!” Tammy yipped. “Have you lost your mind! Stahhhp!”
I was so shocked, it took me a moment to react, but when I did, I grabbed for Cleo’s arms. I hadn’t tussled with killers only to come away with zero knowledge about how to restrain one.
I hooked my arms under Cleo’s armpits, losing my turban in the process and, using my legs as an anchor, I lifted her away while Win yanked Leslie out from under her.
Cleo fought me like an uncaged tiger, snarling and yelling her protests, but I latched my fingers together and pulled her elbows back. “Cleo! Please stop!”
Leslie, on the other hand, began struggling, twisting in Win’s arms and bellowing, “Let me go, you jerk! I’ll have you arrested for assault!”
But Win wasn’t having another second of her nonsense. Efficiently carrying her to the front of the store, he set her on the sidewalk and stepped back inside, cool as a cucumber, locking the store door behind him.
As for me? I was gritting my teeth and clinging to Cleo, who was in a complete rage-fueled fit. “Cleo! Enough!” I yelped. “Stop now or I’ll call the police!”
“Cleo, please listen to Madam Zoltar and cut it out! You need to calm down!” Linda pleaded, pushing Cleo’s hair from her face to wrap her fingers under her chin. “Listen to me. Calm down.”
Cleo’s chest heaved, but I felt her body begin to relax a bit when Tammy bent at the waist in front of her. “The hot British guy threw Leslie out. Stop freaking. She’s gone. Chill, honey. Please.”
Cleo’s violent outburst made me wonder if these women weren’t used to their friend acting out. She’d gone from zero to one hundred in half a second flat.
At Tammy’s words, Cleo was immediately contrite, her body going limp as she whispered with a torn sob, “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that.”
Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t typical Cleo behavior, as I’d first thought?
“I think it’s best for all concerned if you ladies take your leave,” Win said, and he didn’t sound as though he were asking.
Oh!” Cleo cried as she looked around at the scattered candles on the floor and the tipped-over chairs. Somehow, the beaded curtain separating the store from the reading room had lost a few rows of beads. They lie scattered all over the floor. “Oh, Madam Zoltar, I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for everything,” she sobbed.
Win didn’t give me a chance to say a word, he cut me off and pointed to the door. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Wallace. I would, however, ask again that you and your friends take your leave and not return.”
Tammy’s face was stricken, her cheeks crimson red as tears gathered in her eyes. “I’ve never been asked to leave somewhere before!”
“There’s a first time for everything, Miss Parker. I suspect someone should have asked you to leave long ago. Regardless, have a lovely afternoon with your friends. Best of luck to you and yours on your special day,” Win replied stiffly, motioning for them to beat it.
I blinked, not wanting to undermine my beloved, yet wanting to loudly protest his choice all at the same time. I get that he was defending my honor, but sheesh, wasn’t kicking them all out and banning them a little harsh?
Without looking back, Tammy and Linda grabbed their purses, huffing their way to the front door.
Cleo lingered for a moment as she looked at Win in apology, her dark eyes shattered. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Winningham. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I was just tired of Leslie’s scathing, judgmental attitude about everything. Like she’s so superior to the rest of us. I didn’t mean to hit her, it just happened.”
In a way, I was glad she’d cold-cocked Leslie. She was mean, that much was the truth, but more than that, she was discourteous and selfish.
But what else was there to say now? What was done was done. I squeezed Cleo’s hand. “I think it’s best you do as Win asked and go, Cleo. I’ll refund your money. Look for it on your bank statement.”
When she eyeballed me, my heart did that thing again where I was sympathizing with the person who’d just torn our store up when instead I should be fit to be tied at the mess I’d have to clean.
“But what about my sister? What if what she wanted to tell me something important?” she asked, clearly fighting a sob.
Win rasped a sigh. “I couldn’t understand what she was saying anyway, and if what you say is true, that it was a language only the two of you understood, I likely never will. Clearly, there’s no point. Now, please join your friends, Miss Wallace. Good day.”
With that, he turned on his heel and retreated to the back room while Cleo escaped out the front, crying the whole way.
I was left holding the bag with Carys waving to me from across the room, her flashing sneakers lighting up the dim corner.
“What the frack was that about, Win?” I asked as we headed to one of several of Eb Falls’ local motels.
Cleo had left her purse and bracelet behind, and after cleaning up the mess the bridal party left behind, I insisted we return it to her rather than bring her back to the scene of the crime, so to speak. She’d already been plenty humiliated today.
We’d decided to walk so I could get my steps in. Also, it wouldn’t hurt for Win to cool off a bit. I’d bided my time broaching the subject, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Do you mean asking those hens to exit our store after that woman Leslie was so vulgar?”
I grabbed his hand and stopped him from walking farther. As the breeze from the water blew across the sidewalk and the early stages of the tourist season began to bring the local establishments to life, leaving the scent of donuts and crab cakes in the air, I sensed something was really off with my fiancé.
“Well, of course I mean that, but more to the point, I mean, why did you get so upset that Leslie called me a whack? She doesn’t get points for originality there. Or are you forgetting our last tango with a killer when he called me a quack? Or the dozens of other times someone has been, at the very least, skeptical. It comes with the territory.”
Win sucked in his cheeks, gazing down at me. “Stephania, when the killer called you a quack, we didn’t know he was a killer. And something else to keep in mind, we were trying to get information about a crime. Surely you wouldn’t have me berate someone in the height of an investigation even though I wanted to clean his clock. The circumstances were different.”
“But she was a customer, Win.”
As the cloudless sky beamed sun down on his head, he frowned at me in that Win way. “No, Stephania. Cleo was the customer. As I recall, it was her card used to pay for that whole mess, correct?”
Tucking my purse under my arm, I nodded. “Uh-huh. But that still doesn’t explain why you became so irritated with a skeptic. I thought we agreed they existed and it was best to ignore them.”
He bristled, the muscles of his body flexing beneath his shirt. “Not when the customer is calling you a liar. I don’t take kindly to loud, vulgar skeptics—no matter what we agreed. I won’t have you mistreated.”
Still, I couldn’t help but dig my heels in and push the issue. “But maybe her sister Carys needed our help. She appeared for a reason, Win.”
“But I couldn’t understand her reason, Stephania. It made absolutely no sense. I wouldn’t even know how to relay it to her. Although, I wasn’t given the chance before pandemonium erupted and that horrid woman spoke ill of you—again.”
That was fair.
I stared up at him for a minute before I decided to pick my battles. This wasn’t one of them. The Backstreet Boys singing at our wedding was a worthy battle. Leslie Cleary? Not so much.
I rubbed his forearm with what I hoped was a soothing hand. “How about we keep our options open and if Carys comes back a
gain, maybe you repeat what she’s saying—if you can, that is—and I’ll take a vid on my phone and we can play it back for Cleo or something?”
Win didn’t even hesitate. “Consider it done.”
Standing on tiptoe, I dropped a kiss on his lips. “Thank you, Knight in Shining Armor. I appreciate your continued support.”
Win ran his finger down the tip of my nose. “I detect sarcasm, Mini-Spy.”
I grinned at the return of the old Win. “You detect correctly. However, it doesn’t make my sincerity any less real.”
“Isn’t sarcasm the absolute antitheses of sincerity?”
“I don’t know. I’m not smart enough to know what antitheses means.”
He chuckled, deep and low. “Ah, Dove. You are a delight. Now, shall I treat you to an ice cream cone after we return Cleo’s things? Your favorite? A double scoop, German chocolate and mint chip waffle cone?”
I reached up and pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. “You’re not my International Man of Mystery. Not if you’re offering me an ice cream cone before we’ve even had a proper lunch. Did you OD on too much quinoa and kale yesterday? Because I think it’s messing with your head.”
He grabbed my hand and we began walking toward the motel again. “I’m keeping our relationship spontaneous. I know you’d much rather have a sweet than a boring cheese toastie, why not do what pleases me most—making you smile with a whimsical indulgence?”
“You’ll get no argument from me then. Let’s drop Ronda Rousey Junior’s purse at the desk at the motel and get thee to the ice cream parlor to whimsically indulge me, pronto.”
Win smiled his charming smile and squeezed my fingers with his. “Ronda’s a wrestler. Not a boxer, but as you wish, my Dove.”
Swinging our hands together between us as we strolled along the sidewalk past the brightly colored awnings of downtown, I wondered if Win was buttering me up. I don’t know for what, but ice cream felt a bit like appeasement.
Don’t get me wrong, you say ice cream, I say “flip yeah.” Yet, I still wondered if there was something more behind his anger than just the insults aimed at me.
Where There's A Witch, There's A Way (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 13) Page 3