“What are you doing here?” said Mrs. Dice. She was wearing large black sunglasses and a light pink pantsuit.
“Came to see Greer,” said Deacon.
Mrs. Dice gave him a look that said she’d never heard anything crazier. “I guess you can’t visit her at the bar this weekend,” she said, her words dripping with disdain.
Greer’s expression started to look like thunder clouds before a hard rain. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, and a whirl of emotion raced across her pretty features.
This was the first time Mrs. Dice had dared to mention that Greer worked at a bar. She had apparently been saving it for a special occasion.
“I do like to visit her there. It’s good to watch someone who’s good at their job,” said Deacon.
“Is it really that hard to be a bartender?” said Mrs. Dice.
There was no answering that barb, so no one tried. Instead, Charlie changed the subject. “I can’t believe we all have to stay here while this investigation continues,” she said.
“It’s common procedure,” shrugged Mrs. Dice. “I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it quickly for Mason’s sake.”
“How’s Goldie doing?” I asked.
“She’s concerned about the ball tonight,” said Mrs. Dice. “She wants everything to go perfectly, but there’s already been a murder, so she’s torn.”
“Did she consider canceling the rest of the festivities?” Charlie asked.
“She did, but she didn’t think that’s what Mason would have wanted,” Mrs. Dice explained.
Charlie had successfully shifted the conversation from Greer, whose expression was now coming down from torrential rain and lightning to a light sprinkle.
As for Goldie’s decision, given that Mason’s ghost had been at his desk almost immediately after he’d been murdered, I was sure Goldie was right. Mason would want the show to go on. He would want what was best for the Country Club.
“I hear they’ll have bartenders tonight as well. They probably don’t hire bartenders from dive bars, though,” sniffed Mrs. Dice, refusing to be diverted for long.
I watched Deacon try to get hold of himself, then I watched him give up, visibly sick of listening to Mrs. Dice criticize Greer. “I think what Greer does is great,” he said. “It’s hard to be a bartender and she’s really good at it.”
Mrs. Dice’s eyes flashed. For a second Greer looked like she might try to save the situation, then she gave up.
“Being a bartender is not a noble profession. I don’t know what you mean when you say she’s good at it, but whatever it is, it’s not something I would want my daughter to be good at,” said Mrs. Dice.
“What I mean is that it takes a lot of work to be a good bartender, and Greer’s put in the time. She does a great job, and if you ever bothered to come to the bar and see her at work, you’d know,” Deacon shot back.
“I will not be spoken to in such a manner, young man,” said Mrs. Dice. “Kindly leave me be until you have learned how to behave. I can’t believe that your mother raised such a rude individual.”
Without another word she turned on her expensive white heel and clicked away down the sparkling corridor, forcing other guests to skirt around her as she swept past in her fury.
Deacon just stood still, annoyed and breathing hard.
“You didn’t have to do that,” said Greer.
“Yes, I did,” said Deacon, his expression softening when he looked at Greer. “She shouldn’t treat you like that. I think your decision to be a bartender was great.”
“I mean, it’s not helping people or anything, but it pays the bills,” Greer muttered.
Greer had a trust fund, but she resisted using it whenever possible. She wanted to make her own way, and not in the family business of finance. She was mostly good at bartending because she spoke snark before she spoke English.
“What brings you here, anyway?” Greer asked her boyfriend. Her mother had asked the same thing, but Greer seemed to expect a different answer now that Mrs. Dice was gone.
“I heard there was a murder here last night and I panicked,” said Deacon, his eyes clouding. “Of course you’re fine, but I just wanted to come and see you.”
Greer smiled, a blush dusting her cheeks. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to come, though. We’re fine.”
“Oh, I knew you would be,” said Deacon. “Still, a murder at the biggest party of the year is upsetting. I know how much you’ve been preparing for this weekend, and to have this happen is beyond sad.”
We all agreed that it was.
The sky was still an insane swirl of colors, which if anything had become even more pronounced as the afternoon wore on. Streaks of red and gold flashed through the air, and people were coming outside to gasp, point, and take pictures. I had a feeling the pictures couldn’t possibly do justice to the vividness and subtlety of the display.
With one more glance at the sky I made my way back into the Club, my friends following along. It was now mid-afternoon. Whether outside or in, we were surrounded by fashionable and well-dressed people, all of whom were looking concerned.
Charlie was starting to show the strain of an unsolved mystery, fidgeting and glancing at her phone every few seconds. I knew her well enough to recognize that all she really wanted to be doing was writing, and maybe spending what little energy she had left over to worry about the stories Hansen was digging up.
David met us in the lobby and bent his salt and pepper head down to Greer. “I just wanted to let you know that the ban on leaving the Club has been lifted,” he said quietly.
Charlie looked as if she’d been electrified.
“What?” she demanded. “Why would it be lifted? That means we can get away!”
“Yes, but there’s been an arrest in the murder. Given that Mason’s killer is in custody, Inspector Smith doesn’t need to ensure the presence of the Club’s guests any longer,” David explained.
As usual I couldn’t read his expression, but I could read Charlie’s, and it conveyed nothing but consternation. “An arrest already? How is that possible? Who do they think did it?”
“Simon Simone.”
Chapter Eighteen
Goldie had gone off to the police station, so there was hardly anyone we could talk to about what had happened while we were “out for a walk.” Undaunted, Charlie marched right up and demanded an explanation from Hansen Gregory, who had just come in and was looking for a quiet corner to work in. He had a story to write, but as far as Charlie was concerned her need to know took precedence over his need to write.
Greer and I set off for our room, and Charlie caught up with us before we were halfway down the corridor. Apparently Hansen either hadn’t had much to say or had condensed the story to the barest essentials.
Simon Simone had been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Mason Haroldson. All other details would be provided in due course.
“You don’t think he did it?” Charlie asked eagerly.
“No way,” said Greer. “I know he’s a lot of bluster, but that’s all it is. He isn’t a killer.”
Charlie bit her lip. “I wonder what evidence they have against Simon.”
“Did Hansen know?” I asked.
“All he said was that a lot of witnesses saw them arguing. I confirmed that for him, and I guess Simon was seen leaving the premises yesterday afternoon and returning in the evening. He was reluctant to say where he went, or why he’d left.”
By then we were at the door to our room, but when I tried to open it, it stuck a little. That was the only warning we had.
My eyes didn’t adjust to the darkened room right away, but my ears worked fine.
“Shut the door!” Paws yowled.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, standing in the doorway and trying to get my bearings in the darkness.
“Getting a facial! Do you have any idea how much work it is to keep up with these ghosts? Downright exhausting. I’m going to wear myself out,” moaned the cat.
Sure en
ough, there were three other ghosts in the room, one giving Paws a facial, another giving him a pedicure, and the third massaging his feet.
“You’re ridiculous,” said Greer, letting the door close behind her.
“Thank you,” said the cat, reclining again. There were cucumbers over his eyes and he looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. The other ghosts smiled at me politely but looked like they wished I weren’t there.
“How was your afternoon?” Paws asked. “Did you catch the fish?”
Everyone made a face. Even the ghosts who were pretending not to listen knew he was speaking in bad code.
“Let’s talk about it when you finish your pampering session,” I suggested.
“If you insist,” he said in an airy voice.
Half an hour later the ghostly spa employees were gone and we could talk openly about the case.
“Your nails look pretty,” said Charlie.
“Thank you, the red matches my fur,” purred Paws.
“It sure does,” Charlie beamed.
“Now tell me everything,” said the cat. “I need to stay still for a bit longer anyhow so I don’t mess up my toes.”
“Do cats have toes?” Greer whispered to me.
“This cat does,” said Paws.
We filled him in on our afternoon of adventure. He was impressed that we hadn’t gotten caught, and even more so that our success was all down to my magic.
“Maybe the police officer had bad eyesight,” he suggested archly.
“Can’t you just for once give me credit for doing something well?” I demanded.
Paws shook his head. “Certainly not.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Anyway, the sky is a funny color too.”
“Yes, that happens from time to time. I suppose I should tell you what that means.”
“You know what that means?” I gaped.
“Of course I do,” said the cat.
We all waited.
“Oh, you want me to tell you right now?” Paws looked surprised.
“Right now,” I said through gritted teeth.
“It means there’s a powerful witch in town and she’s putting all the other witches on notice,” explained the cat.
“Notice of what?” Charlie asked.
“To watch out. Witches don’t like to be messed with. For example, if a witch is doing that to the sky, she’s certainly not going to get a demand to appear before the Witches’ Council. Quite the contrary. The Witches’ Council will appear before her,” said Paws.
“That can’t be very many witches. You must know who’s behind it,” I told him.
“See, this is the problem with giving information. You always want more,” said Paws sadly.
“I’d be plenty happy if all the other witches just left me alone,” I said.
“Where’s the fun in that?” said Paws.
“You and I have very different ideas of a good time,” said Greer.
“I know. I understand what it is and you do not,” said Paws.
“Doesn’t he ever nap?” asked Greer of the universe at large.
“By the way, that came for you while you were gone,” said the cat, nodding toward the corner.
“Who are you talking to?” Charlie wanted to know.
“Lemmi,” said the cat. Sure enough, there was something tucked away in the corner, hanging from a hook.
I stood up and went to examine it.
“Who dropped it off?” I said.
“Some lackey,” said the cat.
“You’re so charming when you’re you,” I said under my breath.
I reached out and touched the garment bag. It looked like there was something long inside.
“What could this possibly be?” I whispered.
When I opened the bag, I found the most beautiful dress I had ever imagined, except maybe for Greer’s. The soft fabric and stunning design made any dress I had ever seen before seem dull and unexciting. The skirt was long and flowy (that’s a technical term) and the bodice would hug me in all the right places. The dress was sleeveless, but the straps were full and still perfectly appropriate.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I said in awe.
“Wow,” said Greer.
“I’m speechless,” said Charlie. “For once,” she added with a grin.
“I don’t get the fuss,” said Paws, sounding unimpressed.
Charlie, Greer, and I all glared at him; he didn’t appear to notice.
After checking to make sure my hands were perfectly clean, I reached out to touch the dress. It felt as good as it looked.
“Who sent me something like this?” I said.
“I don’t know, but whoever it is, they’re awesome,” said Greer. She and Charlie had crowded around my shoulders to get a better look.
“Is there any message with it?” Charlie started hunting around the dress to see if there was a card or a tag. After a lot of searching she stepped back, still confused.
“I don’t see a signature or anything. Who would drop off a dress and not claim it as their gift?” she wondered.
“Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be sent to Lemmi,” said Greer. “Is that possible?”
I looked at Greer, hoping she couldn’t possibly be right about that. But she had a point, it was a shocking gift, and even more puzzling in its anonymity.
“No,” Paws yelled from the bathroom. He came trotting back out. “Sorry, was doing some touchups on my nails.”
“Was there a card?” I asked the eternally frustrating cat.
“She just said this is for Lemmi Hubb,” said Paws. “There was no mistaking the name. The woman didn’t stutter. She didn’t mean to say Hanni Tub, for example. Not that you’re like a tub, although if you keep eating those brownies . . .”
“Thanks for your help. As usual.” I turned back to the dress, unable to take my eyes off of it for long.
“Have you ever seen anything so lovely?” I wondered.
“You’re going to be a knockout. And you were worried about not having a dress!” Greer grinned.
She was happy that I was happy. Before the trip, when I’d been disappointed and worried she’d been stressed about it. She wanted Charlie and me to have a nice time, never mind that she also wanted us to see the Iriswood Country Club as a stuffy hodgepodge of nonsense. Since we were going she wanted us to enjoy it, but she didn’t want us to lose sight of the wealth and privilege that underpinned the place.
“Let’s do this thing,” said Charlie, looking determined. “You’ve got the most beautiful dress in the world, and we have only three hours left to get ready. We’re letting it sink down to the wire!”
There was still something worrying me, so before I let us get immersed in preparations I asked, “With Simon Simone arrested, what is Goldie going to find for tonight’s entertainment?”
“No idea,” said Greer, “but I’m sure she’ll come up with something. Nothing has ever knocked her off track before.”
As she said it, she started to help me get my dress out of the bag. It wasn’t until I’d set the garment protector aside and was again examining the dress that I noticed Charlie standing back, gazing at us quietly.
“Now I’m the only one who doesn’t have a show-stopping dress,” said Charlie.
“Your dress is beautiful,” I said.
Chapter Nineteen
Devin and Derek couldn’t contain their excitement any longer. They burst into our room looking dapper and prepared to share all the gossip with us.
“Wow, you two look like knockouts,” said Devin. “Mom really outdid herself with the dresses this year. Hi, Lemmi.”
“She must have really wanted you to come,” said Derek.
Greer made a face. “I doubt that.”
Her brothers exchanged a look but kept quiet.
When I came out of the bathroom, both guys’ jaws fell open and a blush crept up my cheeks. They were impressed.
“You’re sparkling,” said Devin.
; “That’s obvious,” said Derek.
“Tell her she looks nice,” said Greer, her jaw set.
“Nice, she looks awesome,” said Derek. He couldn’t seem to get over it.
Eventually I just laughed and ignored them.
“You definitely have to dance with us tonight,” said Devin.
“Dance?” I asked stupidly.
“Yeah, this is a ball. Of course there will be dancing,” Derek rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to wear a dress like that you have to show it off.”
“Maybe,” I said. I had never danced before except at a couple of awkward college parties, and I was sure those didn’t count.
“Did Mom get that dress for her?” Derek asked.
“It appeared mysteriously,” said Charlie with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, so Lemmi has a secret admirer?” Derek asked, sounding a little disappointed.
“Probably Mavis just arranged for someone with an extra dress to send it along,” I said.
“No way is that anyone’s extra dress, and women aren’t that nice,” said Derek with confidence. “No one with such a beautiful dress would give it to you so you could look like that. Whoever it might be, she’d want it for herself.”
“How exactly does Lemmi look?” Greer asked curiously.
Derek blushed all the way up to the tips of his ears.
“Any news?” Charlie asked, rescuing Derek by changing the subject.
“About the murder?” Devin asked.
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “They arrested Simon Simone, right?”
She had called Lena to get permission to write the next day’s article, but she hadn’t gotten started on it because she’d had bigger fish to fry, specifically, sneaking away from the resort to get some background information. Unfortunately, our escapade hadn’t ended up being all that useful, and she was about to be bowled over by yet another twist of the plot.
“They released Simone half an hour ago,” said Derek.
“What?” Charlie sputtered. She was already reaching for her purse and notebook, forgetting that she was wearing a fancy gown.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Greer asked.
“To investigate,” said Charlie, padding toward the door.
“I can tell you there’s no point,” said Derek.
Witch Way Round (Witch of Mintwood Book 6) Page 14