“It’s obviously not ideal but I don’t think it’s so bad,” Zoe said, turning around with a shrug. “We just need to get him to look in the mirror. He’s the one who put himself in this position with his deception, after all...”
I finally looked to Patrick, who nodded.
“It needs to be done, Cricket.” But I saw the muscle ticking in his jaw and I knew I’d struck a nerve. It wasn’t lost on him that what we planned to do to Mitch was quite similar to what he’d been unintentionally doing to people for most of his life.
I shook away the thought, remembering the final words of the prophecy. If the stakes were so high that not finding the mole could mean losing Maude, we’d have to do what we had to do.
“Okay,” I said grimly, “let’s make this happen, then.”
Chapter 11
"Oh, my," Marilee cooed as she stepped through the door with a flourish. "Those reporters are shameless!" In spite of her words, she turned and gave them a wave and a smile before stepping aside and letting her husband in behind her.
A low droning sounded in my ear and I winced. If there was any question that Mitch had either connected with the magic of the box in some way or was working with Verbena, I didn't need to wonder any longer. Zoe's magical alarm system had provided our answer.
The only question that remained was whether the former policeman was guilty of being a dirty cop on the take, or something a whole lot worse…
"Reporters are nothing but jackals, in my opinion. Every one of them, profiting off the pain of others," Mitch said with a tight smile as he handed me a foil-covered tray that I had to assume was his famous stuffed mushrooms.
I waved my free hand, inviting them into the living room. "Yes, well...I keep thinking they'll get bored, but so far, they're proving to be pretty committed."
Patrick, who had been seated on the couch scrolling through his phone, rose to his feet as we entered the room.
"Byrne," Mitch Rasmusson said stiffly.
"Deputy," Patrick replied with a curt nod.
"Nope, not any more. Call me Mitch. I'm just a regular civilian like you all, now," Mitch corrected. He stuck a hand out and waggled his fingers for Patrick to grab hold. "Look, I know we've had our differences, but to be honest, I was just doing my job. The Sheriff and I do this good cop/bad cop thing, and--"
"Not a problem," Patrick cut in smoothly, shaking Mitch's hand. "I understand how it is when you're not the boss. Sometimes you have to do things you don't necessarily want to do."
Touché, Patrick.
Given the fact that Rasmusson hadn’t bought Patrick’s story about being nothing more than an underling in the Organization, with no knowledge about the true goings on, it was a definite jab at the former deputy. And, clearly, Patrick’s meaning wasn't lost on Rasmusson, whose cheeks turned ruddy, matching his hair.
"For what it's worth, I think you'll beat those charges."
"I think you're right," Patrick agreed.
"Well, Patrick, I think it's really fortunate you and Cricket met in the midst of this whole mess. But it's a shame about your daddy. What exactly were his religious beliefs that had him all in knots about witches?" Marilee asked, slipping her light wool coat from her shoulders and handing it off to her husband to take care of as she prepped for a rousing night of interrogation.
I set the tray on the dining room table and took the coat from Mitch, watching him as he watched Patrick, paying close attention to his response.
"My father had a lot of issues, and I don't claim to know where they began or how he justified his actions. Let's just say that I'm glad to be free of him and his twisted ideas. Can I offer you a glass of wine or a mixed drink, Marilee?"
"Oh, uh, yes, please. Rosé, if you have it? And Mitch will just take a beer."
Patrick nodded. "Why don't you two have a seat at the dining room table and Cricket and I will get those drinks."
I made quick work of hanging Marilee’s coat and rushed headlong after Patrick into the kitchen.
“Did you hear that? Good cop/bad cop, my arse,” Patrick said with a low snort. “What does he think, we were born yesterday? He thought I was guilty as sin. And now, what? He doesn’t care?”
I ignored Patrick and made a beeline for Zoe and Mee-maw, who stood side by side at the stove.
“Did you hear it?” I demanded. “The alarm when he walked in?”
“Yup,” Zoe growled. “We both heard it. That ginger weasel is up to no good. We’ve just got to get him to look in the mirror to figure out exactly what kind of no good he’s up to.”
"How long on dinner, Zoe?"
She shot a glance to the timer on the stove before responding. "About twenty minutes. And you guys...we can all have the wheat rolls, but steer clear of the garlic knots. Got it?"
"Seriously?" Mee-maw demanded, gaping at her. "Why couldn't you do it vice versa? Who wants a wheat roll when there's garlic knots?"
"Exactly. Which makes it likely that Mitch will take the garlic knot. If that doesn't work, I've also dosed the cannolis."
"No cannolis, either?" Mee-maw muttered incredulously. "This place sucks."
I waved her off and nodded. "Wheat only. No cannoli. Roger that, Zoe." I grabbed Mitch's beer from the fridge as Patrick took a bottle of blush-colored wine from the refrigerator.
"Let's go see if we've caught ourselves a mole, shall we?" Mee-maw murmured, scooping up the cheese plate she'd made and smoothing a hand over her hair-helmet.
She sailed out of the kitchen and I followed behind.
When we got back into the dining room, we found Marilee standing over the hutch looking at the framed photographs.
"I forgot how much you look like your mama, Cricket. Of course, she was slimmer and had that gorgeous, thick mane of hair and that amazing skin," she clarified, tossing a smile over her shoulder, "but other than that, spitting image."
"Well, she was almost a child herself when she had Cricket, don't forget," Mee-maw said, setting the cheese plate beside Mitch's now-uncovered tray of mushrooms and moving to stand next to Marilee. She bent low and peered down at the image of my parents and three-year-old me, all squished together on an oversized Mamasan chair that used to be the focal point of our living room. "Bree and Cricket's dad got married straight out of high school, and Cricket came just ten months later. Who doesn't have great skin at eighteen? Besides, beauty is overrated. My Cricket's got smarts, and she's probably one of the bravest people I know."
Mee-maw wasn't the mushy type, so her quick defense of me in the face of Marilee's passive aggression made my throat go tight with emotion.
It passed quickly, though, as Mee-maw and I both realized at the same time that Mitch was nowhere in sight.
"Did your husband forget something in the car?" I asked, as Mee-maw shot me a pointed glance.
"Actually, no. He went in search of the little boy's room," Marilee replied with a conspiratorial wink, as if urinating was some sort of dirty secret.
"Why don't I make sure he found it, then?" I said, already making my way across the room into the foyer. I took a quick look inside the open powder room, and a peek into the living room netted me zero results.
Former Deputy Rasmusson had boldly gone upstairs, uninvited. Which meant he was very invested in finding the jewelry box, and had little fear of getting caught in the process.
Was that because he thought he could handle us if he got caught, or because he was acting at the behest of someone else? Someone whose wrath was far more terrifying than anything we could do to him?
I jogged lightly up the stairs, beer in hand, not the least bit concerned about what Mitch might find. Zoe had sprayed a blanket with an invisibility potion and we'd wrapped all our magical items inside, except the cauldron, which she was using to cook, and the mirror, which was in my purse in the kitchen. We'd hidden the whole lot of them deep inside the master bedroom closet. Despite knowing he wouldn't find anything of interest, I still found my adrenaline pumping as I crept down the hallway. Part of
me couldn't wait to hear what he had to say for himself. Would he brazen it out, or make some sort of excuse?
My steps slowed as I considered another, less likely option.
What if he got violent with me? Or, worse, what if Verbena took over his body like she had Connie’s?
I dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. I'd become very familiar with the way Connie had behaved under Verbena's control. I'd know what I was dealing with very quickly. And besides, there were limits to how much she could do through the hands of another, judging by both Connie and Finneas...'s corpse.
And if Mitch decided on his own that he was feeling froggy?
Let him jump.
My wounds were just an annoyance now, and my magic was strong. I'd kick his butt into next week and worry about the aftermath later.
My thoughts were derailed by the sound of low muttering.
"They think they're so frigging smart..."
I followed the sound of Mitch's voice into the bathroom attached to the guest room Mee-maw had been staying in, and found him standing in front of the open toilet tank.
"Everything okay here, Mitch?" I chirped, stepping through the door and eyeing the dismantled toilet with a frown.
He wheeled around with a start. "Cricket! Yeah, uh...I just tried to flush and it wasn't..." He followed my gaze to where it had stalled on the pair of open cabinets under the sink. "I was looking in there for a plunger." His cheeks were stained crimson as he continued to stammer. "We ate burritos last night, and the stress with trying to find a new job and all."
"Yeah, stress is a real bowel-wrecker," I said magnanimously. "Seems like you got it all squared away now. I'll just wait in here," I said, gesturing to the guest bedroom, "so you can finish up and we can walk back downstairs together."
"Sounds good," he said, relieved to be off the hook temporarily.
I shut the door and waited on the other side while he made a big show of flushing the toilet and washing his hands.
When he was done, he came into the room, a sheepish smile on his face that was almost shocking. As often as his wife smiled—like some sort of magical clown—Mitch's mouth seemed to be fixed into a perma-frown. Too bad the change was so incongruous that it only served to make him look more like a serial killer.
"Sorry about that."
"No problem," I said with a smile, handing him his unopened beer. "For future reference, there’s a powder room downstairs."
I waved for Mitch to precede me and he made his way down the stairs, being sure to hold the railing, and glancing back at me every other step.
As satisfying as the idea of booting him in the ass and sending him ass over tea kettle was, we needed to get this little show-and-tell event underway.
"You weren't kidding about these stuffed mushrooms," Mee-maw said around a way-too-big bite of the sausage and cheese filled mushroom. "This is restaurant quality stuff."
Mitch cracked his beer open and took a long pull before replying. "Thanks. I used to work as a fireman before I traded my hose in for a badge and I was the best cook at the station."
"You should try his four-alarm chili," Marilee cooed from her seat at the dining room table. She was already deep into her over-sized glass of wine and was piling a cracker high with smoked gouda. "He uses bison instead of beef. It's delish."
"Well, I'm sure this won't hold a candle to Mitch's firehouse chili, but I hope you like it. I baked the bread myself," Zoe said, balancing a towering basket of rolls in one hand and a steaming pan in another.
"Oh, it smells divine," Marilee cooed. "Zoe, is your husband going to be joining us tonight? He hasn't been around much lately..."
Marilee's brows rose expectantly as she shook out her napkin and laid it on her lap.
"Actually, no," Zoe shot back sweetly. "Phil and I are spending some time apart right now. He says I'm too insatiable in the sack and he needed to get some rest." Zoe bent low, her ample cleavage on full display as she thrust a serving spatula into the steaming stack of pasta and cheese.
Marilee blinked rapidly, and shot a glance at her husband, who seemed to be suddenly entranced with the tiny "Z" charm dangling around Zoe's neck.
"Yes, well, nothing beats a good night’s sleep, I suppose..." Marilee said, trailing off as her husband snorted.
"I can think of a few things--"
"Can you pass the garlic knots?" Marilee interrupted, a little too brightly.
Patrick's lips twitched as he handed her the basket, snatching a wheat roll for himself.
Once the rest of us were seated, Zoe plated us each some lasagna and I picked through the rolls for a wheat one.
Mitch cocked his head as Zoe selected a wheat one for herself and handed him the basket.
"These garlic knots look so buttery and delicious. All of you watching your figures? Or are these ones poisoned?" he asked with a smile that didn't quite meet his narrowed eyes.
My pulse spiked and I was about to make a joke when Mee-maw cut in.
"Poisoned? Ha! Good one. Why would we wanna poison you? What, cuz you arrested our friend? Don't be silly!" She laughed way too loudly and stuffed a forkful of lasagna into her mouth, but it was too late. Mitch was already setting his roll down, smile fading fast.
"Me and Patrick have a hot date later and I was trying to avoid garlic breath, but what the hell?" I said with a chuckle. Time to take one for the team, and if Zoe did her job right, it wouldn't be a big deal anyway. I'd get a little tipsy along with Mitch while the others took point on asking the questions and getting him in front of the mirror.
I plucked a garlic knot from the basket and plugged it straight into my mouth.
"Sooo good," I moaned around a bite.
Mee-maw shot me a scowl and grabbed one, too. "I'm not supposed to after my heart attack, but one little roll ain't gonna hurt." She tore off a bite and chewed, eyeing Mitch expectantly.
"Seriously, Zoe, you outdid yourself on these," Marilee said around a bite of her own, holding the bun aloft. "You should sell these at the bakery, don't you think, Mitch?"
Mitch nodded slowly, his tensed shoulders relaxing some. "They sure look good," he agreed, taking a tentative bite.
Conversation centered around the meal for a few minutes as we all tucked in to our food.
"So, Mitch," I said, turning the subject to something more personal while also taking the attention off the buns. "Fireman, policeman...what's your next evolution going to be?"
Mitch swallowed and shrugged. "You know, I'm not really sure. I just knew that I was tired of seeing the worst of humanity. It burns you out. I want to focus on the good in people, going forward."
"Luckily, my parents have always been very generous, so I have a trust fund we can dip into if the investment takes a while to pan out,” Marilee said with a conspiratorial nod. “Plus, I’m excited to have Mitch around during the day. I'm going to teach him how to play Mah Jongg next week!"
Mitch looked like he'd rather take a nail gun to the gonads, but Marilee didn't seem to notice.
A sudden giggle bubbled from my lips and Marilee’s smile wavered.
“You don’t like Mah Jongg?” she asked breezily, as if the answer didn’t matter to her in the least, but I could see the hint of irritation in her face, and that only seemed funnier.
Another giggle rolled out of me as I shrugged helplessly. “No, I do. It’s great. Or, at least, it looks fun. I think I drank my wine too quickly, is all, and I haven’t eaten much today.”
Mee-maw scoffed. “You ate muffins this morning, and then you had chowder for lunch, and I saw you snork down a whole Snickers bar just, like, two hours ago.”
I should’ve been annoyed at Mee-maw for putting my business on the street and taking my stellar excuse away, but that all suddenly seemed hilarious, too, and soon enough, I was off to the races as my giggles turned to full on belly laughs.
“Cricket, darlin’, you all right, then?” Patrick asked, leaning in to take my hand and giving it a squeeze.
I knew
what he was trying to tell me…to calm down because I was acting very strangely, but hell if I could stop it.
Luckily for me, Mitch had started laughing, too, and Mee-maw quickly joined in.
“What in the world…” Marilee said, shaking her head in confusion. But a second later, she burst into a peeling fit of giggles while Zoe and Patrick watched us all, bemused.
“She was like, ‘I’m going to teach him how to play Mah Jongg’,” Mee-maw wheezed.
“And his face…oh my gah,” Marilee said, tears of mirth streaming down her face now.
Mitch slapped the table in silence but his whole body shook with silent laughter.
“He doesn’t want to play Mah Jongg. He hates all my friends, anyway,” Marilee continued, pausing to catch her breath and let out a snort-laugh that only sent us into further hysterics.
I watched through tears as a smiling Zoe stood and headed out of the room, saying something about more wine. For the next few minutes, the four of us laughed like college students at the end of Thirsty Thursday, and tried in vain to catch our breath.
By the time Zoe returned with the handle of the mirror poking out of the pocket of her apron, my stomach ached and I was gasping for breath.
“Patrick, why don’t you take Marilee into the kitchen and the two of you start up a pot of coffee, hmm? Seems like some of us may have drank a little too quickly,” she said with a patient smile.
“Oh, thank you, but if I drink coffee this late, I’ll be up all night,” Marilee protested through her laughter.
“Please,” Patrick urged, locking his gaze with hers. “I would appreciate the honor of your company.”
His blue eyes seemed to drill into hers and she nodded slowly. “Yes, of course,” she said, tossing her napkin onto the table and rising.
To witness the ease with which Patrick convinced her was sobering, and the laughter died on my lips as the two of them left the room. Had it been that way with me, as well? Had his charms been so powerful that all he had to do was ask, and I was putty in his hands?
“Mah Jongg,” Mitch said with a groan, still laughing. I could see the hilarity of it was starting to wear off and that shook me out of my maudlin thoughts.
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