But I suddenly realized that a big chunk of my day was on hold. I was supposed to start cleaning out Patrice Keaton’s house. What was going to happen there was anyone’s guess at this point. I couldn’t exactly call Elodie and ask. I’d have to wait for her to come to me.
“I’ll do that,” Mrs. P was saying. “I can work the guilt like no one’s business. It’s all in the voice’s quiver.” She demonstrated. “I’m just a poor little old lady….”
“That’s good,” I said, awed. “Really good. I’d buy what you were selling.”
She winked at me. “I’ll remember that.” Her voice sobered. “I heard you had quite the day yesterday, finding that mummy and everything.”
I glanced around at all the shops lining the square. “Does everyone know?”
“I’d say so,” she said. “I heard it from at least three people. It’s a shame what happened to that woman.”
“Did you know Patrice?”
“In passing,” Mrs. P said. “She was one to keep to herself. Loved that girl of hers something fierce.” She glanced up at me. “I’ve been hearing rumors that her death had something to do with the Anicula. That Patrice had misused it and had suffered the consequences.”
I tipped my head. “Unless the amulet could stuff a grown woman in a suitcase, then cover her with tons of clutter, I’d say that theory is a stretch.”
Mrs. P nodded absently. “Magic can be dangerous.”
“Not that dangerous. Someone is behind her death. Maybe someone who wanted the Anicula.”
“Is it missing?” Her eyes went wide. “If that amulet falls into the wrong hands…”
“Good question. Elodie says the Anicula was stolen six months before Patrice died. No one seems to know where it is—or what it looks like. Do you?”
She shook her head.
“Someone has to know what it looks like,” I said, stretching my other leg.
“Elodie, I should think.”
Pretty much the only person I couldn’t pester right now. I bit my lip. “Do you think the library would have any information on it?” The village library had an extensive section on witchcraft. Historians all over the world traveled here for research.
“Not likely.” She tapped her chin, then snapped her fingers. “The Elder might know.”
I remembered my last trip to see the Elder. The time she revoked my powers for a day because I’d broken a Wishcraft Law. Seeing her again wasn’t high on my priority list. “Anyone else?” I asked weakly.
Mrs. P laughed, obviously understanding my reluctance. “There is someone else who may know.”
“Who?” Anyone was better than seeing the Elder.
Mrs. P motioned to the tents. “Andreus Woodshall. The Anicula originated with his family.”
“It did?”
“A few centuries ago.”
“How did it end up with Patrice?”
“No idea,” Mrs. P said, taking a sip of her coffee. She patted her spiky hair to ensure it was still in place (it rarely moved), and said, “But I bet there’s a good story there.”
Yvonne had mentioned that Mr. Macabre had dated Patrice only because he wanted the Anicula…. If it had rightfully belonged to his family, he was probably trying to get it back.
“Is he as creepy as people say?”
She cackled again. “Creepier.”
Great. Just great. Maybe the Elder wasn’t such a bad option after all.
“Are you working today?” I asked.
“Of course. Someone needs to keep an eye on Vincent Paxton. Keep your enemies close, right, Darcy?” Mrs. P winked.
True. So true. Through her late granddaughter, Mrs. P had close ties to Lotions and Potions and had given herself the part-time job of looking after Vince, the shop’s new owner. Not only did she want to ensure that he blended his lotions and potions properly (which had been a problem with the prior management), but she wanted to keep an eye on what Vince was up to. As a Seeker, he was desperate to learn everything about the Craft and had made it clear that he would stop at nothing to get some answers to whether the village was truly magical.
I harbored more than a little suspicion that he might be the village’s Peeper. Only because of his desperation. He had convinced himself there was witchcraft afoot in the village—and was out to prove it. It was easy to picture him breaking into village homes to look for evidence of the Craft. It would also explain why nothing had been taken during these “burglaries.” They were fact-finding missions only.
But before I openly aired my suspicion (in case I was wrong), I wanted to do a little investigating of him first. “Right,” I said. “And if you could, find out if Vince whittles.”
“Whittles? Wood?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Darcy Merriweather?”
“Too much.” I laughed.
Missy tugged on her leash. She was ready to run. “We should go. I’ll talk to you later, Mrs. P.”
She saluted us and said, “I’ll let you know how it goes with Ve.”
“Don’t forget the guilt,” I called over my shoulder as I started jogging away.
“My specialty,” she yelled back.
As Missy and I circled the village green, I could feel a pair of eyes on me, watching my every move. Yet every time I looked, I couldn’t single out one person openly staring.
I ran faster and thought about the Anicula. I was going to have to meet with either Andreus Woodshall to find out more about the amulet and its powers…or the Elder.
Neither sounded particularly inviting, but I figured Andreus was the lesser of two evils.
As I let that thought settle like a lump of cold oatmeal in my stomach, I realized I was starting to doubt the Anicula’s existence.
Was it legendary, as Pepe had said?
Or mythical?
For half an hour I jogged through the village’s neighborhoods, staying well clear of the Enchanted Trail’s path, which branched into the woods. I had to admit that I was a little bit skeeved out by the possibility of someone watching me. And for as much as I turned it over in my head, I couldn’t figure out why someone would be, either. Why me? Why now? Were the person’s motives somehow tied to me finding Patrice’s body? Too many questions for which I had no answers at all.
The neighborhoods were enough to take my mind off the matter. Each house had an off-the-scale quaint factor. Most homes throughout the village were historical in style—usually Victorian based. There was a whole street full of colorful gingerbread houses, another of quaint cottages. Large oak trees were in abundance, full of leafy branches this time of year. Come autumn, acorns would be gathered—not just by squirrels but by Crafters, as well, to be used in spells, fashioned into talismans, or placed in the windows of their homes to ward off evil and bring good luck.
I ran for a little longer, trying my best to focus on my pace, which after two months of running could be described only as leisurely.
Missy bounced along beside me, her tiny tongue hanging from her mouth, as I slowed to a stop in front of Harper’s bookshop. The colorful pastel-striped awning overhead offered welcome relief against the bright sunshine. Ivy cascaded over the edges of a long rectangular wrought-iron window box, which also held an abundance of commonly found annuals. Pink petunias, purple salvia, and white verbena were in full bloom, along with a silvery spiky plant that offered height and texture. Harper had done well.
As I turned to go into the shop, I noticed Marcus Debrowski coming my way down the sidewalk carrying a to-go cup from the Witch’s Brew.
When he spotted me, he came to an abrupt stop.
“Do I look that scary?” I asked, running a hand over my damp hair.
He took a step backward. “I’m beginning to think you’re bad luck, Darcy. First Alexandra Shively a few months ago, and now this?”
“Ah. You heard the news about Patrice.”
“Everyone’s heard
the news.” He came closer. Missy wagged her tail, and he bent and patted her head. “I told you not to take that job.”
His suit was impeccably pressed. His hair was combed neatly to the side and slicked back with gel. His belt matched his shoes, and I would bet my life’s savings that his socks matched his shoe color as well. He probably ate a high fiber cereal for breakfast. He was just that kind of guy.
“I know,” I said. “So you’re really not going to like the favor I’m going to ask.”
He folded his arms. “No, I’m probably not. But ask anyway.”
“I kind of sort of need a private investigator’s license.”
His eyes grew wide. “Why?”
“I was kind of sort of hired by Elodie to find her mother’s killer.”
He didn’t look as taken aback by the idea as I feared.
“And she doesn’t think the police are capable?” he asked.
I thought of Nick. “She didn’t say that. She thinks the killer was after the Anicula, and I might be able to snoop in a way the police can’t.”
“Among Crafters,” he said, understanding.
“Mostly.”
“You do know that a private investigator’s license isn’t easy to come by. There’s all kinds of training you have to go through, including—since you have no experience—apprenticing under another PI for years.”
“I know. That’s the case for mortals, at least.” I blinked sheepishly at him. As a Lawcrafter, he could magically get me a license, no questions asked. To a mortal, it would look like I’d done all the requirements.
My blinking seemed to have no effect whatsoever. He was shaking his head. “No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
A flash of movement inside the shop caught our attention. Harper moved about, dusting books and shelves.
Marcus couldn’t take his eyes off her. He rubbed his chin. “Maybe we can make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” I asked reluctantly, not sure I liked where this was going.
His green eyes sparkled. “I get you the license, and you get me a date with Harper.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s bribery!”
“No, Darcy, that’s bargaining. We lawyers are good at that.”
I glanced at Harper.
“And,” Marcus added, “you have to promise me that you’ll actually study how to be a proper PI. Learn the rules, go to a shooting range. If you’re going to act as a PI, you need to know how to be a PI. Take it or leave it.”
“Well, since we’re bargaining, if I agree to this deal, you have to make some concessions yourself.”
I liked Marcus, and I thought that Harper would too if she just got to know him a little better. It was the only reason why I was even contemplating his offer.
“Like what?” he asked.
I told him.
His eyes widened. “You think it would help?”
“Definitely.”
“All right, then. Shake?”
We shook hands, and he strode off, a little kick in his wingtips.
If Harper found out what I’d just done, she would kill me. I just had to make sure she never figured it out—which was easier said than done. I didn’t know anyone smarter than she—or anyone who knew me better. I tapped on the window and she smiled when she saw me, making me feel a teensy bit guilty.
After unlocking the door and letting me and Missy in, she folded her arms and said, “For the love, Darcy. I’m getting really jealous.”
In the small kitchenette in the back of the shop, I filled a bowl with water and set it before Missy, who lapped with enthusiasm. “Why?”
Harper held up her hands, fingers popping up one by one as she ticked off reasons. “First, two weeks after moving here, you find a dead body. Second, yesterday, you find another dead body. Third, you have some crazed woodsman in your backyard watching you. Fourth, Nick Sawyer is a serious catch. And fifth”—her thumb shot out—“give me a sec and I’ll think of a fifth.”
“You’re demented,” I said with a smile. “You know that, right? Only you would think those first three were reasons for envy.” I didn’t want to talk about Nick and how he was definitely a great catch. But there was a big, glaring issue with that comment. He wasn’t the least bit caught—not by me at least.
Her brown eyes widened with excitement as she not-so-patiently pressed for details. “Any idea who was in the woods?”
“No.”
“Is it true the person had a knife, that he was carving something?”
“Probably.”
A little of the excitement left her eyes, and a thread of fear wove into them. “Carving what?”
“Wood.”
“Oh, thank God. I was worried it was a small animal or something.”
My stomach rolled at the thought. “Way to make me feel better,” I said, erasing any guilt I’d been feeling.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, not really sorry at all. Her face pinched. “Why wood?” Her brows were drawn in concentration as she tried to wrap her brain around the situation. She liked to have all the answers—even when there were none to be had. “And what kind of wood?”
Was she serious? “I have no idea. Brown wood.”
“You need a crash course in forensics, Darcy.”
I disagreed. I’d leave the forensics stuff to her.
She shook a doggy biscuit out of a box she kept under the counter and gave it to Missy. “Do you think it was a message of some sort?”
I wasn’t sure what kind of message wood shavings sent. “Again, I have no idea, Harper.”
“Don’t get cranky with me. Someone has to figure out what’s going on.”
Missy crunched away. I kind of wished I had a cookie, too. A big one. “The police are looking into it.”
“Be that as it may, I’m going to do a search on woodcarving serial killers. See if there’s a chance of any being in the area. Wood carving. So strange.”
I held in a smile at her renewed enthusiasm. “You do that.”
“You’re mocking, but you never know what might turn up.”
“The person in the woods could have been someone who likes to randomly sit in the woods at night and whittle. For fun.”
She rolled her eyes.
I didn’t blame her. No one just sat in the woods and whittled in the dark. I had been only trying to make myself feel better. “Or it could have been the Peeper Creeper, who is simply creepy and not dangerous.”
“True. Whittling is kind of creepy.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“Whittling isn’t creepy. It’s an art form.”
“Well, it’s creepy when the whittler is watching you.”
She had a point.
“It would be nice if we could figure out who the Peeper was and rule him out as the person who was in your backyard,” she said.
“Actually…”
“You have an idea? Who? Who?” She bounced up and down like a giddy schoolgirl.
“Are you up for a little investigating?” It was an unnecessary question. Harper was always up for a little investigating.
“Am I breathing? Who are we investigating?”
“Vincent Paxton.”
She drew in a breath. “You think…”
“I suspect. I don’t know anything for sure. That’s why we need to investigate.”
Nodding, she said, “I’m in.”
We made plans to snoop later, and I clipped on Missy’s leash and headed for the door. “Don’t forget our fitting this afternoon.”
“How could I?” She bent down to give Missy love and affection.
Harper wasn’t exactly a fancy dress kind of a girl, and it was only her love for Ve that was getting her into one of Pepe’s chiffon confections for the wedding.
As she pulled open the door to see us out, she stuck out her thumb. “Number five. You have Missy. I miss her.”
It had been hard for Harper to leave Missy behind when she moved out, but we al
l thought it best that Missy stayed with me and Ve since we worked out of the house and had more time for her.
I tipped my head. “Are you doing okay on your own? You know, you can always move back to Ve’s and lease your apartment upstairs.”
Harper waved away the suggestion. “I’m fine. Just a little lonely sometimes without Missy to play with.”
Missy turned in circles, yapping, her tail wagging.
Harper had said nothing about missing her big sister, but I could read between her lines quite well. I made a mental note to spend as much time with her as I could. But when? Then I had a thought. One that would help me on two fronts.
“How do you feel about cooking?” I asked.
“If you mean microwaving, I’m a pro.”
That, I knew. “The Sorcerer’s Stove is giving cooking classes. The first one starts tonight. I’ll be there. You should sign up.”
Missy barked as if in agreement.
“I don’t think so,” Harper said. “Kitchens and I don’t get along. Remember the time I tried to make you a birthday cake and nearly burnt the house down?”
“You were six.”
“My culinary skills haven’t changed much.”
She was so stubborn. I was going to have to play dirty. I wanted her to be there, not only to get her out of her apartment, but because Marcus would be there as well. I had a date to finagle. Getting them in the same place at the same time was half the battle.
I put on my best innocent face and set the bait. “That’s a shame, especially since Jonathan Wilkens will probably be there. Maybe he’ll say something about dating Patrice Keaton. Or reveal why Roger Merrick blames him for Patrice’s death. I guess I’ll just have to give you all the details tomorrow. If I remember them. Unless, that is, you change your mind about those classes…”
Harper narrowed her eyes. “You know me too well.”
“So?”
She smiled. “I’m in.”
Chapter Ten
On my way home, I stopped at Mrs. P’s empty bench. I sat and pulled my cell phone out of the tiny pocket in my jogging shorts. I didn’t usually run with my phone, but I had a call to make. One that had to be out of Ve’s earshot.
A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 8