Ula held up a wait-a-second finger while she tended to a new customer. She returned quickly and shook her head. “Dorothy wasn’t here when I came in at one. I haven’t seen her since last night, when she was eating dinner with Vince. And let me tell you, for a broad who’s in here drinking every day, she really can’t hold her liquor all that well. Two martinis and she was three sheets, if you know what I mean.”
Maybe Dorothy had been telling the truth about having only one or two drinks this morning … had she also been telling the truth about never before seeing the hairpin? “Do you know if there’s anyone around who would know for certain if she was in here this morning or early afternoon?”
“Most of the early-shifters have already left for the day.” Ula glanced around, her dark eyes searching the recesses of the dining room. “Let me ask around. Give me a few minutes.”
I drank my club soda and waited, trying not to wince at the growing noise levels. The late-lunch crowd was loud and my head ached.
My gaze eventually made its way to one of the private rooms behind me, where I’d once taken a cooking class taught by Zoey Wilkins, Glinda’s younger sister. It had been an ill-fated class, though some benefit had come from it. It was where Harper and I had gotten to know Angela Curtis and Harmony Atchison, and also where Harper had started falling for Marcus.
As I thought about Zoey, I wondered if she was the reason Dorothy preferred to drink here, at the Stove, rather than at the Cauldron, the local pub down the street. Did she feel closer to her youngest child here? Connected, somehow, because this had been a place Zoey loved? She’d been an executive chef here when I knew her.
The more I thought about it, the more I doubted the theory. As far as I knew, Dorothy had been just as horrible a mother to Zoey as she had been to Glinda. Worse, even. A true narcissist, Dorothy had little maternal instinct, if any, and despised most mortals, despite having married two of them. She hadn’t told either of the Craft, however, so she still had her full Craft powers.
I often thought she had married mortal men to feel superior, secretly knowing she had abilities they could only dream of. Why they had married her was beyond me.
It had been Dorothy’s second husband who’d wanted to adopt, and poor mortal Zoey had probably never stood a chance at holding her mother’s affections. As far as I knew, Dorothy had never even visited Zoey in prison. She’d cut her off completely after the arrest.
But they’d never had much of a relationship to begin with. Zoey despised Dorothy. An old friend of Zoey’s had once told me that Zoey never felt like she belonged within her family, but I wondered if she’d simply never been welcomed by anyone but her father. And after he’d died …
I couldn’t imagine what it had been like to grow up with Dorothy as a mother. It had been difficult enough for Glinda, who was a full Crafter. But Zoey? As a mortal? I could understand why she had never felt at peace within the family.
“Darcy?”
I turned back to the bar, nearly spilling my drink. “Sorry. I was lost in old thoughts about Zoey Wilkins.”
Ula whistled low. “That was a bad time, wasn’t it?”
“Horrible.”
“You know, for a while I was wondering if that was why Dorothy spends so much time here.”
“I’d been thinking the same thing.”
Ula wiped the counter with a rag. “I actually brought it up to her once.”
“You did? What did she say?”
“It was strange. It was like she was repulsed at hearing Zoey’s name. Told me to never mention her again. She’s a piece of work. Dorothy. Not Zoey. Zoey was just … misguided. Dorothy then snottily informed me that she drinks here because we’re open all day and the Cauldron doesn’t open until five. After that she ordered another Bloody Mary and told me to mind my own business or she’d take her money elsewhere. I try to avoid her as much as possible, if I’m being honest.”
“I don’t blame you. I do the same thing.” And I wished I could have said I was surprised at Dorothy’s reaction to hearing Zoey’s name, but I wasn’t.
“Anyway, Joelle, the hostess, said that Dorothy got here at a little after ten this morning and became sloppy drunk by noon. Stef called Vince to come pick up his mother, but Dorothy left before he arrived.”
Hmm. Vince had been inside Divinitea at 12:50 with Stef when the sprinklers went off. How had they ended up together? And where had Dorothy been during that time? “Is Stef here now?”
Ula knew I was an investigator for the Craft, so had probably deduced why I was asking all these questions.
“Nope.”
Was she still with Vince? Was that why he wasn’t answering his door?
Ula leaned in, setting her elbows on the bar top. Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, “Are you looking for Dorothy because of the fire at Divinitea? Because every witch in this village knows Dorothy wanted to burn that place to the ground. We’re just surprised it took her so long. And poor Leyna Noble …” Moisture made her eyes shiny. “I’m feeling a little guilty about that.”
“About Leyna’s death? Why?”
Slinging the dishcloth over her shoulder, Ula crossed her arms and hesitated only a second before saying, “Because I thought she was just blowing off steam.”
“Leyna?”
“No, Dorothy.”
“I’m confused,” I said, trying to make sense of what she was telling me.
“Dorothy was tipsy, and I thought she was only blowing off steam, so I didn’t report it when …”
“When what?”
Pain flashed in Ula’s eyes, and with a deep sigh, she said, “Two days ago, Dorothy sat right here at this bar … and threatened to kill Leyna with her bare hands.”
Chapter Seven
I was watching kittens play in the big bay window of the Furry Toadstool when I saw Amanda approaching in the glass’s reflection.
“How’re you holding up?” I asked after giving her a quick hug.
She drew in a deep breath. “I’m … I don’t even know. I think I’m running on pure adrenaline.”
It sounded to me like she was in a state of shock, and I hoped that Dennis and his miracle calming cures would be nearby when the shock wore off and Amanda came crashing down. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“You’re already doing it, Darcy. Knowing you’re looking into the matter helps set me at ease. I know you won’t let up until you find the truth of what happened to Leyna.”
A lilac scent wafted off her—some sort of lotion or perfume—but it couldn’t quite cover the hint of smoke that clung stubbornly to her skin. Her damp hair was twisted into a braid, and her long dress swirled around her ankles as she walked over to a nondescript door located between the pet shop and the jewelry store.
“I’ll help any way I can. Are you ready to go up?” I asked.
With a deep inhale, she nodded.
The raised wooden sidewalk that ran along this bank of shops creaked underfoot as I walked toward the door, feeling a flash of regret at leaving the kittens behind. There had been something so calming about watching them tumble and play.
We zigzagged up multiple sets of stairs until we reached the top floor that housed two apartments. Leyna’s was the rear unit that faced the woods behind the building. Amanda unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open, allowing me to go inside first.
Vanilla scented the air as I took in the tiny living room and an even tinier kitchen. Off the living space, there was a small bathroom and a bedroom that fit a queen-size bed but left no room for a nightstand.
“How long has she lived here?” I asked.
Amanda closed the front door. “Four months, give or take a week or so. I know it looks like she hasn’t moved in, but she was a minimalist. She didn’t believe in clutter.”
Clutter … furniture. Tomatoes, tomahtoes.
There was only a sofa and a hanging TV in the living room. I spotted the TV’s remote control tucked into one of the couch cushions. The
re was no cable box, no DVD player. There were no books, no houseplants, and no tables.
Two stools sat next to the kitchen’s peninsula. The countertops were bare. On the stove was a small pot full of dark liquid and vanilla bean pods. Homemade potpourri.
I opened a cupboard door and found a stockpile of metal tea canisters, a silver infuser, two mugs, and an electric teapot.
“Did she love tea?” I asked. “Or is all this simply to practice reading tea leaves?”
“She did love tea, as do I. That shared passion is why we decided to open Divinitea. It had been a dream of ours since we were little girls having tea parties with pink plastic teacups. Leyna knew how to read tea leaves even back then—she taught me how to do it.”
I turned to her. “You know how? Really?”
“I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I can hold my own.”
“So you could reopen Divinitea one day if you wanted.”
“I could, but I don’t think I will. It wouldn’t be the same without Leyna, plus I’ll always be worried about Dorothy coming after me.”
“There’s time to decide the shop’s fate, so please don’t make any decisions yet. And as for Dorothy … I’m not convinced she did this.”
This being the murder.
“I’m trying to keep an open mind,” she said somberly, “but it’s easier said than done.”
I opened a few more cabinets and found only the barest essentials. The immaculate bathroom had a utilitarian white shower curtain, white towels, and a white ceramic toothbrush holder and soap dish.
Leyna’s bedroom was painted a light beige, and unsurprisingly she had a white comforter. The only thing keeping it from feeling like an institution was a set of crystals hanging in the window. Afternoon light sent rainbows arcing across the room. I opened the closet door and saw that her clothes were hung by coordinating colors. There was a single photo taped to the inside of the closet door of her and Amanda in front of Divinitea, hammers in hand, that I assumed had been taken when they started renovations. In my quick search of the apartment, I found no other photos.
“Leyna never spoke of close friends? Associates with the festival? Dating?”
“No. As I said before, Leyna keeps—kept—to herself. She wasn’t a sharer.” Amanda gave me a sad smile. “I’m the opposite. Get me talking, and I’ll chat your ear off. I like clutter. I could never live … like this. It would make me insane. But differences are what make the world go round, right? Leyna was brilliant. And generous. She didn’t have to share her gift with the world, but she did. She liked helping people—it made her happy. It helped them heal, mentally and physically, and now she’s gone. It’s not fair.” Amanda’s eyes misted.
“No, it’s not,” I agreed.
I poked around a few minutes more but found nothing that helped explain who might have killed Leyna.
This visit had showed me only one thing.
Leyna’s gift of helping others might have brought her happiness, but it had also forced her to live a very lonely life.
Which made me wonder if it was a gift at all … or more of a curse.
* * *
“It’s impossible,” Andreus Woodshall said emphatically as he shook a bottle of soy sauce over his plate, his black eyes glinting in the abundant light of Ve’s kitchen.
In his early fifties, Andreus had the unusual ability to change his appearance in relation to his surrounding illumination. In regular lighting, he was old-school movie star handsome. Debonair, even, with his slicked-back black hair, high cheekbones, and aristocratic nose. Cary Grant meets Clark Gable. In darkness and shadows, however, he morphed into a monster from a terrifying horror film. Dracula meets the Crypt-Keeper. Crepey skin, hollowed cheeks, evil eyes, sinister scowl. He had earned himself the nickname Mr. Macabre long before I arrived in the village.
Andreus’s personality often shifted with his exterior change as well, matching his appearance. Benevolent versus malevolent. He’d threatened me more than once, but he’d protected me from harm even more. He was an odd, complex man.
When I’d arrived tonight, I’d turned on every light of the first floor of Ve’s house.
A witch couldn’t be too safe.
Andreus used chopsticks to push lo mein noodles around his plate. “Dorothy could not have been the one inside Divinitea today. She did not set that fire. She did not kill Leyna Noble. She might have wanted to, yes, but she did not. Could not.”
“There’s no way around the spell you cast other than what we’ve already ruled out?” I asked.
“No.”
It was just after seven. I had hoped to enjoy dinner, then ease into the whole Dorothy situation. But easing was not meant to be. As soon as we sat down and loaded our plates, Andreus jumped into the investigation with both feet.
I hadn’t said one word about the doubts surrounding the efficiency of his spell to either of them, so I assumed one of the Goodwins had filled them in. My guess was Cherise—she and Ve were best friends.
I tapped my plate with my fork—I’d yet to master the art of chopsticks—while trying to work through my thoughts. I wished Nick had been here to give his insight as well. But he was still at work, piecing together with his colleagues what had happened today between the fire and murder and how Dorothy fit into that puzzle.
Ve said, “There has to be a way Dorothy slipped inside. She threatened to kill Leyna, she loves fire, and she had Leyna’s hairpin.” She topped off her glass of wine. “Darcy, did Ula have anything else to add about the threat Dorothy made on Leyna’s life?”
“Nothing that makes much sense,” I said, waving off the bottle Ve held out. “That’s one of the reasons why Ula didn’t take the threat seriously. She said Dorothy came in Thursday afternoon, huffing and puffing, all worked up about something, mumbling and cursing under her breath. When Ula asked her what was wrong, Dorothy said something about Leyna playing mind games with her. That’s when Dorothy added something along the lines of ‘If Leyna’s joking, I’ll kill her with my bare hands.’ ” I used air quotes and dropped my voice to mimic Ula’s.
Air quotes were vastly underrated, in my opinion.
“Joking about what?” Andreus asked, refilling his wine glass.
“No idea,” I said. “According to Ula, Dorothy ordered a gin and tonic and a sandwich and didn’t say anything more about it. She ended up falling off her stool that night, and they had to call someone to pick her up.”
I pulled a piece of pork from the fried rice and handed it down to Missy, an adorable gray-and-white mini Schnoodle, who eagerly lapped it up. Her stubby tail wagged as she licked her lips.
Though technically Missy was my dog, it had become clear to everyone that Missy wanted to live with Ve. Thanks to a ramp that connected our backyards, Missy was free to come and go between the two homes at will, but she hadn’t spent the night at our house in almost six weeks. However, she still popped in some afternoons for a quick visit, mostly after Mimi came home from school. Those two had an undeniable bond.
I gave Missy another piece of pork and patted her head as I glanced around for Tilda, Ve’s almost-always cranky Himalayan. As usual, I found her at the top of the back staircase. Her blue eyes were closed, as though she wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to us, but her tail swished side to side, giving away that she was awake.
“The evidence against Dorothy is undeniable,” Andreus said. “But I know my spell. Dorothy could not breach Divinitea, and that is that.”
I tended to agree with him, but I couldn’t deny the mounting evidence either. I set my fork on my plate. My stomach had been upset most of the day, and I couldn’t force myself to eat, even though Chinese food was usually a favorite.
“Are you unwell, Darcy dear?” Ve asked when she saw me push my plate away. “You’ve barely touched any of your meal. Should I ask Cherise to stop by?”
“Thank you, but there’s no need for that. Just a little headache and upset stomach,” I said. “It’s been a long day of seemin
gly talking in circles about Dorothy. I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Dorothy tends to make me nauseous, too,” Ve said wryly, “so I commiserate.”
“The evidence is quite compelling,” I said. “Maybe she did get past Andreus’s spell.”
“Are the two of you not listening to me?” he asked, a hint of outrage in his tone. “She could not get past that spell. You do believe me about the spell, do you not?”
“Of course,” Ve assured him. “It’s just that Dorothy is devious. She could have found a loophole.”
“She’s famous for loopholes,” I said. “And it doesn’t look good for you that you’re friends with the Hansel family. I thought Amanda was going to keel over when she found out you were Glinda’s godfather.”
“And who, pray tell, told her?”
I coughed and slid a finger down the side of my water glass. “That hardly matters.”
“I do not like my impeccable character being challenged. Why are you smirking, Darcy?”
“Impeccable?”
“Is it not?”
I tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. “You’ve lied to me plenty of times.”
“Have I?” he asked, his eyes suddenly twinkling.
“Well, to name a few occasions, there was the time you acted as though you had no idea who Dorothy was, even though you’re a close family friend—and had been for decades. The time you flat-out lied about breaking into Patrice Keaton’s house. Let’s not forget that you have a sister you conveniently never bothered to tell anyone about, and I vote that we don’t even get into the whole diamond thing. Yes, you’ve lied.”
He chuckled. “So I may have misled you a few times. But,” he added, all traces of humor vanishing, “my Craft reputation is impeccable, and it takes precedence over any friendships. I am not lying about that spell. Dorothy did not set that fire or kill Leyna. I stake my reputation as a Charmcrafter on it. Not only that, I stake my life. Ve’s life, too.”
“Hey now!” Ve said, dropping her chopsticks. “Why’re you bringing me into this?”
He patted her hand. “That’s how serious I am.” He looked my way again. “You’re going to have to trust me on this situation, Darcy, or someone is going to get away with murder.”
A Witch to Remember (Wishcraft Mystery) Page 7