My cheeks went hot.
I am not jealous.
I am not.
Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous. But more than jealous, I’m downright exasperated with Harris and Rosemary Endicott and the nonsense Lida fed us about waiting to meet with them as though we’d been blessed to have a meeting with the king and queen.
Harris was just a red hot jerk, and I got the feeling Rosemary went along with it because she was too afraid to lose everything if she didn’t—even at her son’s expense.
When they’d finally graced us with their presence—almost a full thirty minutes after Lida had taken our coats and we’d been seated back in the atrociously dark room with all the dead animals staring us down—they’d mostly sat stoic and enduring, answering each question I asked as though I’d put bamboo shoots under their nails.
But then Win stepped in, and there was good ol’ boy laughter, slaps on the back, and flirty, cooing sighs from Rosemary, who twirled her shoulder-length, garishly died big red hair.
I kid you not. She twirled her hair, folks.
“You don’t say?” Harris howled, his puffy cheeks turning red with laughter at Win’s story about some trip he’d once taken to Australia, where he’d been so busy taking a selfie on a cliff, he’d almost fallen to his death.
Rosemary leaned forward and put a hand on Win’s thigh, giving him a coy but flirtatious glance. “But how did you manage to save yourself?” she breathed out, her words hushed and almost seductive as they escaped her ruby-red lips.
I folded my hands in my lap as my eyebrow shot up in the air. I suppose he was going to omit the part about how he was being chased by a madman spy from France, and the French spy fell to his death.
Win winked conspiratorially and removed Rosemary’s hand, putting it back on her own lap with a pat. “Nothing more than pure luck, Rosemary. My sweater caught on a limb on my way down and stopped my fall. I somehow managed to climb my way back up. Sheer luck, I tell you!”
Rosemary smiled, the diamonds in her ears and at her wrist glinting in the weak afternoon light trickling in from the huge windows behind us.
“Aren’t you the clever one?” she gushed.
Sooo clever. Ugh. I have to tell you, I’m beginning to understand how hard it must be to be in a relationship with a celebrity. While Win wasn’t famous, I don’t doubt his movie-star good looks and witty personality are quite similar.
And if Harris was jealous (there’s that word again) of the attention Rosemary paid Win, he was good at hiding it, leaving me to wonder at the state of their marriage. He’d gnawed on the end of that unlit cigar, even offered one to Win—who’d declined—and treated him as though they were long lost pals.
But when I asked a question, he answered dismissively, as though I should be in the kitchen, making him a ham sammich and pouring him a Tom Collins.
Still, I persisted, redirecting the conversation away from Win and his adventures. “Back to the issue at hand, Mr. Endicott. Do you know anything about a Divinia? Are you at all familiar with that name?”
Win simply cocked his head when I asked, but I know he was wondering why I’d done so.
I don’t know why the name was sticking in my craw. That and the flogger felt so disjointed in relation to Wade’s death, it was probably stupid to even bring it up.
Yet… Why had that flogger and the business card been hidden away? Were they hidden away? And if they weren’t hidden, why hadn’t Wade ever shared the item with Kirkland? Even as a “look what I wore as a costume” joke?
“Mr. Endicott? The name Divinia? Does it mean anything to you?”
He looked at me as though I’d called his mother a cuss word. “Who? I don’t know what in all of Heaven and Earth you’re talking about. What kind of hokey-schmokey fake has my boy gotten himself mixed up with? Maybe you should leave this to the police, because you’re not making any sense at all, young lady. Not a lick.”
I tried not to fume when I asked my final question—because none of the other questions had proven fruitful, and I was at my boiling point, but I ignored his dig and moved forward the way I’d promised Win I would. I didn’t take the bait, and for that, I let myself enjoy a moment of pride.
“So, Mr. Endicott, before we wrap this up, can you tell us if you’ve ever seen Wade argue with anyone? Do you know anyone who didn’t like him?”
Harris sat up in his big armchair and looked directly at me, maybe for the first time, as he gnawed on the cigar stub. “Didn’t like him enough to murder him?” He shrugged his wide shoulders in disinterest and took a sip of his bourbon before he said, “I don’t know. I didn’t know that boy well enough to know who his friends were or who they weren’t.”
I decided to hammer home the notion that Harris and Rosemary were negligent parents, both in compassion and attention—because I was seething, writhing in his clear misogyny and bigotry.
Now my eyes narrowed as I gave him a return glare. “So what you’re saying is, you didn’t spend much personal time with your son and his husband? Was that by choice, Mr. Endicott, or by design?”
I’m almost certain I saw Rosemary wince, but she covered it quite well when she grabbed her wine glass and took a long sip, remaining quiet.
Harris leaned forward, his beady eyes glittering as his scowl zoomed in on me. “What are you sayin’ here, young lady? I’m not sure I like your tone. It isn’t a secret me and the boy don’t get along—never have. Not since he was a toddler. We don’t have a single dang thing in common. He doesn’t like to hunt or fish or watch a ball game. He likes flowers, of all things. Flowers and musicals. Even Rosemary doesn’t like flowers or musicals. So why would I hang around the two of ’em and talk flowers and musicals?”
Because he’s your son?
I refused to cower under Harris’s hard gaze, refused to cringe. Instead, my spine stiffened, and I decided to leave Win to finish up before I climbed out of my chair and tipped Harris over in his to watch with satisfaction as his hard head crashed against the ugly marble floor.
Rising, I tucked my purse against my side and stared down at the couple in all their garish opulence, realizing they were probably a dead end—and I was glad for it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go chat with Lida now.”
“Thank you for your time, Harris,” Win said, rising, but I waved my hand at him.
“You stay and chat—we wouldn’t want good bourbon to go to waste, would we? I can handle talking to Lida on my own.” Before I turned to go find the kitchen, where I’m sure, at this hour, Lida was busily cooking dinner for these hideous skin sacks, I gave them both my haughtiest look. “Should you remember anything that might lead us to finding the person who murdered your son’s husband, you can give me a call—or if you’d prefer a face-to-face meeting, I’ll be at Kirkland’s, helping him with funeral arrangements. Have a lovely evening.”
I swept out of their living room with a regal tilt to my head and a brisk walk and made it all the way to the entryway, only to realize I had no clue where the kitchen was—or if Lida was even in the kitchen.
Deciding to make a left down a long hallway, my shoes clacking on the shiny marble floors, I passed what I think was a library, and then a bathroom. There were more animal heads mounted on the wall along the way, watching me with their glassy eyes as I crept toward the end of the hall.
Lida found me, rather than the other way around, but I was grateful to see her. At the very least, she appeared to truly care about Kirkland and his well-being. Maybe she’d paid better attention to the goings on in Kirkland’s marriage than Harris and Rosemary.
Also, I often find the staff in a household know more about what’s going on in the house than the people who actually own it.
“Lida! Can I grab a couple of seconds with you? I’d just like to ask you a question or two.”
She gave me a faint smile, but then her eyes darted toward the other end of the hallway. As she approached me, I noticed our coats over her arm.
“Miss Cartwright,” she said in an almost unmistakably urgent tone. “Here are your coats.”
I took them from her with an expression I’m sure she read as confused. “Thank you, Lida, but before I go, I was hoping we could have a moment to chat?”
But she shook her head and looked around again as though someone might be listening. “Here’s your coat, Miss Cartwright, and your charming friend Mr. Winningham’s, as well.”
“Okay, but—”
She pulled me close and drove what felt like a slip of paper into my hand. “Have a lovely evening. It was nice to see you again.”
She scurried off down the hall just as a rather large man in a black suit with a bald head and a sour expression came around the corner.
He nodded to me and swept his hand toward the path back to the entryway. “Miss, may I escort you out?”
I felt quite ushered out when he took me to the front door and told me to wait, that he’d fetch Win. Though, it did give me time to look at what Lida had stuffed in my hand.
My eyes widened as I read: Meet me tonight at Kirkland’s nursery at eleven. I have something urgent to tell you, but you mustn’t tell the Endicotts, not even Kirkland. Please come.
Told you. It’s really true. You can always count on the household staff to know all the family secrets.
Chapter 11
“You’re awfully quiet, Dove. Care to share?”
We were on our way home from the utterly horrible hour we’d spent with the Endicotts, and I was deep in thought. I was also deep in aggravation and I knew I shouldn’t be, but I’m only trying to be honest with myself.
And the truth is, I was being unfair to Win, and I knew it, but I was also having trouble getting used to “sharing” this investigation with him.
My job had always been to ask all the questions. Sure, my job also entailed getting the stuffing kicked out of me by a killer, but that was a hazard of the investigation I took on willingly, and Win and Arkady were almost always in my ear to help.
Win’s job had always been to talk out the clues with me and spot/coach me while I was getting the stuffing kicked out of me.
Would I be upset with him if he were still in the afterlife, offering his advice and support? No. Of course not. But I kept coming back to the fact that we’d had very defined roles when we investigated then, versus today. Now the waters were muddied. Our roles weren’t as defined.
And yes, I’m jealous of how good he is at questioning possible suspects. There was no doubt he was better than me, no matter the gender of the subject, and I suspected that was something you couldn’t teach, though he could teach me every form of defense possible
“Stephania?” Win said my name again as we pulled into our driveway, the warm lights from the interior of our house greeting us and reminding me how very lucky I was.
I had no financial worries. I lived in a beautiful home with every luxury. I had people who loved me, and the love of my lifetime was beside me. Four years ago, my story had been very, very different.
As he pulled to a stop and parked, I looked at him in the glow of our driveway lanterns, so handsome and chiseled, and reminded myself, this was the man of my dreams.
Literally, I’d dreamt of the day we could be together, and if I wasn’t honest with him, then who could I be honest with?
Taking his hand after he turned off the car, I smiled. “You’re driving me out of my mind.”
He gazed at me with those dreamy eyes fringed with dark lashes and cocked his head. “I daresay the kind of out of your mind you mean isn’t mad with desire?”
“You daresay right.” Sighing, I turned in my seat to look at him. “Can I be honest with you, Win? Really honest?”
He twisted a strand of my hair around his index finger. “When have you been any other way, Dove?”
“You’re really good at this, Win. Investigating, I mean. Before, when you were up there and I was down here, I did all the physical aspects of the investigation—even the aspects where I took a beating from a crazed killer were mine and mine alone. You coached, you yelled orders, but that part of this thing we do was mine.”
Win let out a ragged sigh. “If you had any idea how difficult some of those times were… To feel so helpless whilst I looked on at my beloved being pounded to a pulp isn’t my strong suit.”
Cupping his jaw, I rubbed my thumb over the stubbled surface and nodded. “I know, but here’s my point. We shared all of the information and details, but the leg work was mine. All mine.”
He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Ah. This has to do with Serafina and, I’d venture to guess, Rosemary, eh?”
“It has to do with anyone you encounter. Your charm is like a million watts. It’s like walking into a dark football stadium and having someone flip the floodlights on. I’m never going to have the stories you have to share. I’ll never have the experience you have. I’ll never be as charismatic as you…and it’s brought out an ugly side to my personality that I’m wrestling with. Jealousy.”
Win cocked his head at me, his eyes still warm as he listened.
“I don’t like myself or how territorial I’m feeling. This has always been our thing. We’ve always investigated crimes together. I didn’t do it before you, and if…” I stopped, my voice hitching because I couldn’t bear the thought. “If there were some reason we couldn’t do it together, I’d stop doing it altogether because nothing would be the same without you.”
Win brushed my hair from my face, his eyes gentle when he smiled at me. “What a conundrum you have here, eh, Dove? First, I appreciate that you’ve shared how you’ve been feeling. I tried to ignore it, hoping it would pass, but your green-eyed monster game is real.”
I tilted my head back and laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at hiding my emotions. I got snippy, and it’s all because you’re really good at this and I’m not as good. I felt inferior and, in my inadequacy, I turned into real jerk, and I hated myself. So I decided to tell you rather than let it fester because I was being woefully unfair to you.”
“I would never want you to hide how you’re feeling, Dove. We’ve almost always been honest with each other. But I love you—deeply—without condition. I want nothing more than your happiness. But here’s something I want you to consider. Will you hear me out?”
As I nodded, a weight lifted from my shoulders. It felt good to spill the beans. It felt right, as did most things with Win. “Always.”
“We’re coming at this investigation from very different angles, and I think that’s why we’re clashing. Or you’re clashing and conflicted. I’m coming at this from a spy’s angle. I’m playing a part, and my part is never to blow my cover. So if I’m overtly dashing, I’m simply doing what I know. To be quite frank, I don’t always know I’m doing it. I had to rely on those traits, charisma, etcetera, to get me in the door. But of all the parts I’ve played, I’ve never played the part of investigator.”
The revelation of that statement made complete sense to me, and his clarity, his reasoning was yet another factor in why I loved him so.
“On the other hand, you’re coming at it from the investigative angle—more like an officer of the law You want answers. You’ve never had to play a part to get those answers. Still, I’d like to think we can mesh the two.”
“You mean like Bad Cop and Prince Charming?”
His laughter rumbled through the car. “I’m quite flattered you consider me a Prince Charming, but I was hoping more for a relationship similar to Sherlock and Watson.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Sherlock’s kind of a jerk to Watson, and Watson takes an awful lot of guff. I mean, I love old Sherlock’s crazy mind, but he uses Watson as his whipping boy. How about we aim for more Cagney and Lacey? Or Tubbs and Crockett?”
“Tubbs and who?”
I flicked his collar with my fingers. “Miami Vice? Don Johnson. Ice-cream-colored suits, tans, lots of bikinis and beaches. You’ve never seen it?”
He gave me a look of pure confusion before
he smiled. “I don’t think that made the BBC’s cut. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be whomever you’d like, Dove, as long as we can do this together and we find a way to successfully gel all our moving parts.”
That made perfect sense. “So, I’ve been kind of testy…”
“Testy is as testy does, Stephania,” he answered on a chuckle. “I certainly don’t want to step on your toes, and I’d never want to clip your investigative wings, which is likely why I stumbled so dreadfully when we were talking to Kirkland. I’m used to wheedling information out of people, coaxing them, not asking direct questions. I surely didn’t mean to interrupt while you were questioning him, but I admit, it knocked me off my bloody game.”
I grinned at him and poked his shoulder playfully. “You? Off your game? Say it ain’t so, International Man of Mystery.”
“I fear we have some adjustments to make now that we’re doing this together on the same playing field. Or is it that you’d like me to bow out entirely?”
That thought left my heart heavy. That absolutely isn’t what I wanted. “Never. We’ll always be partners in solving crimes, and I’m glad we talked. I can’t promise I won’t still be a little annoyed at how easy it is for you to worm information from people—especially a googly-eyed woman—but I’m going to try.”
Win shot me a comical look. “Googly-eyed? Is that what you’d call it? I can’t say as I ever recall a woman being googly-eyed over me.”
“That’s because you’re not a woman and you can’t see it. Maybe it’s even because you’re so used to it, it’s commonplace. But I, as a woman, have been watching every female you encounter, wooed by your good looks and charm, become thoroughly googly-eyed.”
Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulled me near, making my heart skip a beat. “Alas, there’s only one woman whose googly eyes matter to me.”
I giggled. “Would that be moi?”
“You?” he asked in an astonished, high-pitched gasp. “How presumptuous to assume it’s you, Stephania Louise Cartwright.”
Witch Perfect Page 11