“‘Whatever happens tonight, I will never, ever, ever speak a word of it,’” he quoted.
“Now is not the time for movie trivia,” I said, slapping Evan’s face, trying to get him to focus.
“Now, now,” Archie said in a clipped tone. He sounded a lot like a British James Earl Jones. “If you don’t know the answer, you just have to say so.”
I didn’t want to admit I had no idea what movie that line was from.
“The Hangover,” Archie supplied. There was a smug lilt to his voice.
I glanced at him. “You’ve seen The Hangover?”
“You haven’t?”
“Doesn’t seem like your standard fare,” I said.
“I’m full of surprises,” he said, ruffling his feathers to shoo Missy away from licking him. “As are you, apparently. What did you do to poor Evan?” The white rings around his eyes practically glowed in the dark.
So caught up in the image of Archie watching such a guy flick, I’d momentarily forgotten about Evan. Most days, I could find him at the Gingerbread Shack, his bakery. With his clean-cut ginger-blond hair and sparkly blue eyes, he was adorable. But not my type. Nor was I his type—he was gay. We bonded over mini cupcakes and how handsome we both thought Nick Sawyer was.
Over the past few months, Evan had become one of my closest friends. My stomach was in knots, seeing him this way. “Are you okay to move?”
Missy ran circles around us, but she wasn’t barking. In fact, she looked like she wanted to play.
Evan struggled to sit up. He moaned and held his head. “What happened?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I said.
He winced as his fingers palpated a giant goose egg rising above his temple. “I—I’d been visiting Ve,” he said. “She wanted some last-minute changes to her wedding cake, so I came over with some options.”
“And they were so bad she bopped you on the head?” Archie asked.
Evan made a sour face at the bird.
I examined the knot on Evan’s head. It looked painful. “Go on,” I said.
“When I was leaving, I thought I saw someone hiding in the woods, watching your house.”
I stiffened. “The Peeper Creeper?” I asked.
“The who?” Evan said.
“The neighborhood Peeping Tom,” I said. “There have been a couple of sightings tonight.”
“I’m not sure. When I called out, the person took off. I gave chase, but the next thing I knew I was coming to on the ground in the woods. Whoever it was must have knocked me out somehow.”
Archie whistled low.
Evan gazed at me. “That’s not the worst of it.”
“No?” I said. “Because being attacked in the woods is pretty bad.”
“Darcy.” Evan took my hand. “I think the person had been waiting for you to come home.”
Missy growled.
Panic fluttered in my stomach. I made an instant decision. “Come on,” I said, tugging Evan to his feet. “It’s probably going to be a long night, so let’s go inside and make you comfy. Then we’re calling the police.”
Ten minutes later, as I poured hot water into Evan’s teacup, I said, “You can’t know for sure the person was lying in wait for me.”
I was doing my best not to be freaked out. A village police officer was in the woods, sweeping the area with a flashlight, looking for any evidence. I had high hopes that Evan was mistaken, and that, in fact, no one had been watching the house at all.
That he’d imagined a confrontation.
That his huge goose egg was a figment of my overactive imagination.
Closing my eyes, I wished it and everything. When I opened them again, Evan was still sitting across the kitchen island, solemnly stirring sugar into his tea with one hand and holding an ice pack to his head with the other.
Damn it. I loathed my inability to grant my own wishes and suddenly completely understood the Anicula’s appeal.
“You’re right, Darcy,” Evan said. “The person could have been lying in wait for Ve.”
“Dear heavens!” Ve exclaimed. She was wrapped in a chenille robe, her long coppery hair pulled up in a twist. Dark circles drooped under her eyes and her cheeks were aflame with fever.
I didn’t understand why Cherise Goodwin’s spell hadn’t cured her. When I’d asked Ve, she’d had no answers, either. It was very strange.
Ve pressed her hands to her chest. “Who would want to hurt me?”
Openmouthed, I stared at her. “Are you implying that someone would want to hurt me?”
She sniffled and dabbed at her red nose with a wadded tissue. “Of course not, dear. But of the two of us, however…I wasn’t the one who stumbled across a dead body today.”
Great. She had to go and bring that up. I’d been happily in denial about finding Patrice Keaton’s body, and now all those queasy feelings were back.
Evan brightened, his blue eyes wide, his color high. “Do you think Patrice’s killer is after Darcy?”
“Could be, my boy, could be,” Ve said, patting his hand.
“Hello!” I cried. “I’m standing right here.”
Missy had curled up in her dog bed by the back door and was watching us with drowsy eyes. Tilda, Ve’s Himalayan, eyed us warily from the top of the steps on the upper landing. It was late, and she wasn’t pleased that her beauty sleep had been disturbed.
Archie had flown home. He lived next door with Terry Goodwin, who happened to be the ex-husband of both Cherise Goodwin…and Ve. To hear Ve tell it, the man had spent the last ten years living next door to her, trying to win her back. I’d yet to see him express any devotion. I’d never even met him as he was a bit of a recluse.
“It only makes sense, dear.” Ve sneezed. “However, I am sorry if it upsets you.”
Evan wrinkled his nose and patted her hand. “Sometimes it hurts to speak the truth.” He glanced at me. “And to hear it.”
“Why would the killer come after me?” I viciously dunked my tea bag. “I don’t know anything.”
Evan said, “Ooh, maybe the killer thinks you do!”
Ve perked up. “That’s true. In my opinion, killers are very paranoid.”
I stared at her. She was serious.
“You two are impossible.” Cranky, I sipped my tea.
Evan rolled his eyes and adjusted his ice pack.
“You poor boy,” Ve soothed. “Do you need more ice?”
“This one’s still good.” He held up the bag and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “See, you can’t be angry with me, Darcy. I’m injured.”
He was right. I couldn’t stay mad at him. Especially since that knock on the head could have been really bad if he wasn’t so hardheaded.
“And thanks to me, we now know someone’s out to get you,” he added, ruining any sympathy I had for him. “We can be proactive. Take appropriate steps to protect you.”
I eyed the stairs. I just wanted to go to bed. “No one is out to get me.” I willed myself to believe it.
There was a knock at the back door, and I went to answer it. A village police officer stood on the back step. Not Nick, unfortunately. Even more unfortunate was that the woman standing there was stunning. Glorious blond wavy hair, brilliant blue eyes, generous smile. Her hot-pink MINI Cooper was parked at the curb. I tried not to be jealous that Nick would now be working closely with her.
“Darcy Merriweather?” she asked.
“That’s me,” I said. “Come in. Did you find anything?” Please say no. Please say no.
“Glinda Hansel!” Ve exclaimed. “Is that you?”
“Ms. Devany, how’re you?” Glinda broke into a wide toothpaste-ad smile.
Glinda? Her name was really Glinda? Like the Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz?
“I’m fine, just fine,” Ve said.
My aunt was obviously lying. She was sick. Really sick. I was going to call Cherise in the morning to find out why her curing spell hadn’t worked.
“You’re
working late,” Ve added.
“New kid on the force,” Glinda said. “I have the night shift for a while.”
“Tough hours,” Ve sympathized. “How’s your mother?” Ve asked tightly, as if she was doing it only because it was proper etiquette.
“Oh, you know,” Glinda said. “Feisty as ever. She’s looking forward to your wedding.”
Ve said, “I was a little surprised she agreed to come, considering, well, you know.”
I looked between the two of them. What? What did Glinda know?
“I know,” Glinda said. “But she doesn’t want to miss Sylar’s big day.”
Not Ve’s big day. Sylar’s big day. I was dying of curiosity. Evan, too. He looked at me with eyebrows raised in question.
Ve smiled—a little too brightly to be genuine. “Dorothy’s a good friend to him.”
Dorothy Hansel. I’d have to get the scoop from the biggest village gossip aside from my aunt—Archie.
“Now, what’s that you got there in your hand?” Ve asked.
Wooden curlicues filled a small plastic evidence bag.
“Wood shavings.” Glinda’s tone was suddenly serious. “Fresh shavings.”
“Oh?” Ve asked.
My stomach was starting to hurt.
Glinda said, “I’m afraid Evan was quite correct in his assessment, Ms. Merriweather.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Someone sat watching this place long enough to whittle some wood.” Something flashed in her eyes and her lips thinned. “My guess,” she added, “is that it’s probably that Peeping Tom who’s been prowling around. Best to keep an eye out. I’ll make a report. Lock up tight tonight. Windows and doors. I’ll do a full sweep around the house before I go.”
I saw her out, still unbelieving. Someone had been watching the house? Why?
When I went back to the kitchen, I was greeted with grim faces. “We don’t know that someone was watching our house,” I said. Someone had to be the voice of reason among us. “Maybe they were watching Terry next door.”
Even I didn’t believe what I was saying.
“Darcy, you’re missing the bigger issue,” Evan said.
“What’s that?” I yawned. It had been an exhausting day.
He fidgeted. “Whoever was waiting for you had a knife.”
Chapter Seven
Around midnight, I found myself strangely wide awake. Sleep just wasn’t happening, so I gave up trying. Down the hall, I slowly cracked open Ve’s bedroom door. Hallway light spilled across her bed, revealing her tucked in snugly. She was sound asleep thanks to some over-the-counter medicine that had knocked her out cold. Tilda, Ve’s Himalayan, tipped up her head and looked at me curiously.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to the cat. “Just checking on Ve.”
Tilda flicked an ear, then set her head back into the crook of Ve’s leg.
As Ve snored lightly, I dodged the tissues that littered the floor and made my way over to the bed. I replaced Ve’s tea mug with a glass of water and took a second to feel her forehead. It was still hot.
Whatever illness she had, she had it bad.
I tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar so Tilda could get out if she had to.
The back stairs creaked as I headed for the kitchen. Missy was zonked out in her doggy bed by the mudroom door. She didn’t even flinch as I passed by to put the mug in the sink. I did some dishes, wiped the counters, and was contemplating a bag of popcorn and a late movie when I heard a light tapping at the mudroom door.
Missy’s head shot up, and she growled low in her throat.
“Shh,” I said, wondering who on earth it could be. “You’ll wake up Ve.”
Actually, I was pretty sure a Mack truck crashing through the front door wouldn’t wake Ve, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
I looked at Missy. “Who do you think it is?”
Surely the Peeper Creeper wouldn’t knock.
Missy stumbled out of bed, wobbled in her sleepiness, and rushed to the door. Her tail wagged, and I took that as a good sign that whoever was on the other side meant me no harm.
Another knock sounded, this one a little louder. The porch light was on, and when I moved the curtain to peek out, I was more than a little surprised by who was standing there.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Elodie asked as I opened the door. “I saw the light on….”
“Not at all,” I reassured her. “Come in. Come in. Are you okay?”
Mentally, I shook my head. Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. Her mother was dead. Murdered.
She smiled wanly. “I’m doing all right.”
I motioned for her to have a seat at the counter. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Are you hungry?”
“Tea would be nice. I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
I completely understood. After my mom died, I probably didn’t eat a full meal for months.
As I put the kettle on, I stole a glance at her while she played with Tilda, who’d come downstairs.
Elodie’s blue eyes had lost some luster, her blond curls were a tangled mess, and she looked tired. So tired. Why, I wondered, was she here? At midnight? I didn’t feel like I could come out and ask straight off. She’d get there in her own time.
“I think,” she said, stroking Tilda, “that I expected this would be the outcome. I kind of knew all along that she wasn’t…” She shook her head. “That she wasn’t here anymore. I felt it. Does that make sense?”
I nodded as I set out two mugs, two tea bags, a sugar spoon, and the creamer. “I’ve heard of that kind of thing before.”
She looked relieved that I didn’t think she was crazy.
“So, I’m probably better off than most would be in this situation,” she said. “I already went through my grieving period when she first went missing. But finding her like that…it’s a bit of a shock.”
A bit—an understatement.
“To know that she’d probably been there all along is just eating at me.” Her gaze flicked up to me. “The police think the broken air-conditioning is why she”—she gulped—“mummified. It was the perfect temperature, plus being under all that stuff…That’s why we never smelled anything.”
I couldn’t believe she could talk about this so openly.
Tilda nudged Elodie’s chin with the top of her head. I’d never seen the cat so cuddly. Could she possibly sense Elodie’s inner turmoil and be trying to console her?
I eyed her. I had my doubts. Tilda was all about Tilda.
The kettle began to hiss and whistle low. I pulled it off the heat before it became too loud and poured hot water into the mugs. I dunked the tea bags and pushed a mug her way. Why is she here?
Drawing in a deep breath, she inhaled the steam from her mug and said, “Do you know about the Anicula?” She held my gaze. Suddenly, she looked older than her twenty-four years.
“Just found out about it today.”
She scratched under Tilda’s ears, and I could hear purring. “People are bound to talk about it since Mom’s been found. You should have heard all the gossip when she went missing. The rumors.” She sipped from her mug, dunked her bag, added more sugar, and sipped some more.
“About?” I asked, being blatantly nosy.
“About how my mother had brought on whatever happened to her. That she misused the Anicula. That she was cursed.”
“Any truth to that?”
Her eyebrows snapped downward. “Not possible. My mother respected the Anicula too much. It’s very powerful. Life-changing,” she whispered. Her gaze flicked to me. “I think whoever killed my mother wanted the Anicula.”
“Who knew about it?” I asked.
“Just about every Crafter who knows my family. Some mortals, not a lot.”
“Mortals know about the Anicula? It’s not limited to the Craft?”
She shook her head. “The powers given to charms, talismans, and amulets are created for ev
eryone, mortals and Crafters alike, to use. However, Crafters usually keep the really special charms to themselves.”
“I had no idea,” I said.
“But here’s the real kicker. My mother didn’t even have the Anicula when she disappeared. Someone had stolen it six months before.”
Yvonne’s theory that Patrice had made up that story ran through my head. “Are you sure it was really stolen?”
Elodie sighed. “You’ve been talking to Yvonne.”
Guilty, I nodded.
“There are a lot of people who thought my mother was lying about the Anicula being stolen, but she wasn’t. Someone broke in and stole it. Took it right off her neck when she was sleeping.”
It didn’t sound likely—who slept that deeply? But then I thought about Ve upstairs and the Mack truck and realized it was entirely possible.
Elodie gripped her mug. “Darcy, I want to hire you, through As You Wish, to find my mother’s killer.”
I could feel my mouth drop open. “I, ah—” Our motto of no job too big or too small might just prove impossible after all. “We’re not private investigators, Elodie. I would need a license for that.”
She stood up, still holding Tilda. “It doesn’t have to be a formal investigation. I just want you to ask a few questions. Snoop around. Everyone in the village knows you played a big role in finding Alexandra Shively’s murderer a couple of months ago. I just want you to do the same for my mom.” Setting Tilda on the floor, Elodie stretched and headed for the door.
I wanted to ask her about the fight she’d had with her mother, but before I could, she said, “You’ll start as soon as possible?”
What could I do but accept? I nodded.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m counting on you, Darcy, to help me find out what happened to my mom.” After a brief second, she said, “She would have liked you.”
A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 6