“I’m fairly sure it’s closed today, what with what happened to Patrice and all.”
Ve’s eyes closed. “Have mercy. With all this hoopla, I forgot all about poor Patrice. Let me think. Let me think.”
Missy was napping in her dog bed, and Tilda was swatting at the sage.
Ve suddenly snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. The Roving Stones. Someone at the fair is bound to have a banded agate sphere.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Oh, Darcy dear, those Stoners have everything.”
Smiling, I said, “I’ll keep that in mind and see what I can find.”
Ve said, “Could I ask another favor while you’re out?”
“Of course.”
She held up a finger and trundled off down the hall to the office. A moment later she was back, a piece of paper in hand. “Jonathan Wilkens faxed over the final wedding menu this morning. He needs our approval by noon. Could you run this over to Third Eye and get Sylar’s go-ahead?”
I took the note. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Take your time. We can’t cast the spell until midnight.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s the witching hour, Darcy.”
Of course.
I gathered up my wallet and tote bag. “I’ll leave Missy here with you. She’ll scare off any potential intruders.”
We both looked at the small dog, who sleepily raised her head and yawned. A small pink tongue stuck out. Way out.
“I’ll hurry,” I said.
Ve laughed. It was music to my ears. She’d been so sick lately that there hadn’t been much humor.
I headed for the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs. P is stopping by later with some soup.”
“Lovely,” Ve said. “And, Darcy, for the agate?”
I didn’t like how she wouldn’t quite meet my eye. “Mmm-hmm?”
“There’s one vendor in particular who’s bound to have it.”
“Who?” I asked, even though I knew. I just knew.
“Andreus Woodshall.”
Of course.
Archie’s cage was empty as I walked out the back gate. I glanced at Terry Goodwin’s house. It was a simple two-story red-shingled gambrel with cozy window dormers. A flagstone path twined to the front door, and a picket fence lined the yard. Hedges had been neatly trimmed, perennial gardens bloomed throughout the yard, and it made me wonder who kept up with the landscaping. Because as long as I’d lived next to the man, I’d never laid eyes on him.
A sign dangled from a lamppost that read Terrence Goodwin, CPA, but I’d never seen a customer go inside. In fact, the only person I’d ever seen enter the home was Dennis Goodwin, Terry and Cherise’s son.
Interesting. Several people told me Terry was an “interesting” man, but would never elaborate. As I walked past, I noticed that as always, the drapes had been pulled tight. It reminded me suddenly of Patrice Keaton’s house, and I couldn’t help but wonder what lurked inside Terry’s home.
It might just be time I paid him a friendly visit. Say hello. Maybe bring him some brownies or something. No, not brownies. Tartlets. After all, since I was going to learn to make them tonight at the Sorcerer’s Stove, I might as well put that knowledge to work.
I looked both ways before crossing the cobblestone street, headed for the green. Glinda Hansel’s pink village police car cruised past. She gave me a finger wave and kept on going.
It reminded me that I wanted to find out more about her mother and what she had to do with Ve and Sylar. Why would she have any reservations about attending the wedding? Was there a history there?
Honestly, after Sylar had been accused of murder, I’d thought I knew pretty much all there was to know about him. Widower, philanthropic optometrist, casual gambler (he liked to occasionally bet on the dogs), and generous with jewelry (but had poor discretion with inscriptions).
But obviously I was missing something. Maybe something big. Maybe not. I had to find out which, because it might be important to what was going on with Ve’s health.
On the village green, I looked around. Ve had told me that Andreus Woodshall’s stall was called Upala. I limped my way through the maze of tents (among those: Gemtastic! Hot Rocks, Gold Diggers, Natural Elements, Geode Dude), looking for the right one. Some vendors were already hard at work, pitching their merchandise to anyone who walked by. Others simply sat back, allowing their products to speak for themselves and customers to come to them.
I tried not to get distracted by all the shiny baubles. A few steps ahead, set slightly apart from the other tents, I finally spotted a fluttering gold banner stamped UPALA. Three of the four tent walls had been rolled up, leaving the rear wall down, and I could see the back of a man inside the booth as he chatted with a customer.
Tall, dark-haired, trim. Sounded like the description of Mr. Macabre.
So far, I hadn’t gotten the willies, so I proceeded with caution.
Oh-so-slowly, I approached the stall, pretending to be fascinated with the dozens of displays. It was easy to pretend—the displays were gorgeous. There was a rainbow of color splashed in front of me. The table nearest me was full of vintage tiered stands that showed off jewelry of every kind. Antique silver boxes held loose stones and gems. On the table opposite me, I could see clusters of crystals and minerals like amethysts and citrine, among others I didn’t recognize. Blues and whites and greens. They were stunning.
But the star of this booth was the front table. It was all about opals, loose ones and those that had already been fashioned into jewelry, small charms, amulets, and talismans. Common white opals were mixed with red and blue opals. There were charms, pendants, earrings, rings. The darker-hued stones, the ones streaked with vivid blues, reds, and yellows, were mesmerizing.
“See anything you like?” a deep voice asked.
Startled, I looked up and into a pair of stunning black eyes. They belonged to the man who was working the booth. A man who couldn’t be Mr. Macabre, unless Andreus had learned how to turn back time—this guy appeared to be in his early twenties.
“I, uh—,” I stammered.
He was gorgeous. Drop-dead. He was the kind of guy that when most women saw him they immediately started wondering if they’d shaved their legs that morning or had the foresight not to have worn granny panties.
Most women.
Not me.
I was too busy thinking that a man that pretty was too good to be true. From his jet-black hair, olive skin tone, perfect five-o’clock shadow (at ten in the morning), full lips, and strong jaw, there had to be something wrong with him.
Something. Anything.
“You like the opals?” he asked, trying to lead me along. His voice was cool, confident, charming.
I nodded and absently pointed to a blue opal set in gold and rimmed with diamonds.
“You have good taste. The black opal is the rarest of the opals, and one of this clarity…it is almost impossible to find.”
I found my voice. “How much is it?” It would be perfect for Aunt Ve. Just her style. Maybe I could get it for her wedding and fulfill the whole “something blue” part of the day.
“Twenty-eight thousand.”
Shocked, I snapped out of my stupor. “Say what?” At that price, Aunt Ve was going to have to do without.
He laughed. “It is rare, as I said.”
“You have a twenty-eight-thousand-dollar gem out in the open? Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?”
His black eyes narrowed, and his whole countenance changed from one of friendliness to one of danger. Imminent danger. “No one would dare.”
With a look like that, I believed it. I shifted my weight, trying to resist the urge to take a giant step away from the table.
In a blink, he was back to looking more personable. “There are more affordable options. There are plenty of reasonably priced genuine stones. And, if you must, the white opal is a nice choice, as are”—he said this with some distaste, I
could tell— “synthetic opals.” He shuddered.
“Why sell them if you don’t like them?”
“They pay the bills. Not many have the means to purchase the black opals.”
“I may be slow on the uptake, but isn’t this opal blue, not black?”
“The base of the gem is black. What you’re seeing is the play of color within the gemstone. Because it’s a dark stone, most sunlight is absorbed, allowing the colors within to really shine. This one happens to have much blue inside. But there are others that burst with color.”
He pointed to several examples that appeared, to my untrained eye, to be made of every color of the spectrum. They practically glowed with their brilliance. “They’re beautiful.”
“Would you like to try something on?”
I shook my head. I had a feeling that if I put one on, I wouldn’t want to take it off. “No, but thank you. I actually stopped by looking for Andreus Woodshall. Is he around?”
Again, the man’s eyes darkened into black beads. “He will be back any moment now.”
Why that made me want to hurry right along, I had no idea. I reminded myself that he might have some answers about Patrice Keaton’s death. “I guess I’ll come back.”
“Is there something I might help with? I am, after all, his son. Lazarus Woodshall at your service.”
I knew he had been too good to be true. The son of Mr. Macabre. Why hadn’t anyone warned me? “I, ah, need a banded agate sphere. Do you happen to have one?”
There was curiosity in his eyes as he sized me up. I supposed there weren’t too many mortals who asked for banded agate spheres.
He nodded. “Certainly.” As he bent and rummaged beneath the tablecloth, he said, “Have we met before?”
“No.”
“Are you a local?” he asked.
“Yes.” I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly feeling eyes on me again. Goose bumps popped up on my arms, and I wished he would hurry.
He peeked up at me. “New to the village?”
“Yes.” My gaze swept the area. I couldn’t see a single person looking my way. Rubbing my arms, I said, “Having any luck down there?”
Laughing, he stood, holding a beautiful stone orb the size of an apple, and set it on a small wooden pedestal. “Agate, a good protection stone.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Are you in need of protection, Ms. Merriweather?”
The hair on the back of my neck rose. I was just about to ask him how he knew my name when I heard someone calling me.
“Darcy!”
I broke Lazarus’s hard stare and turned to find Starla heading my way.
“Shopping?” she asked, looking bright and peppy in a pastel pink miniskirt and white blouse.
“Kind of,” I said. “Are you working?” She should be, but she didn’t have her camera with her.
She blushed and quietly said, “No, I’m on break.”
“Oh, right! The coffee date.”
She stomped on my toes, yet kept a tight smile on her face.
“Yow!” I said. First my ankle, now my toes? “Why’d you do that?”
“What?” she asked innocently. Then she turned and blinked her eyelashes at Lazarus. “Are you almost ready to go?”
My mouth fell open as I looked between them. Lazarus was Starla’s date?
She kept mooning at him, yet his hard gaze never left my face.
I shivered.
I had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.
Chapter Twelve
The agate orb, safely wrapped in plastic, was tucked into an Upala shopping tote as I headed for Sylar’s shop to get his approval of the wedding menu.
I kept looking over my shoulder at the Upala tent, where I’d left Starla with Lazarus. Andreus still had not returned—for which I was oddly grateful.
Apparently, I needed to work on the confidence part of my sleuthing tactics. I mean, after all, how bad could the man be? Surely, everyone was exaggerating his creepiness. Macabre. Dracula. People like that just didn’t exist.
Did they?
I was going to have to find out if I wanted to uncover what had happened to Patrice Keaton—or find out exactly what the Anicula looked like. I glanced at the Charmory. Crystals sparkled colorfully in the window, but a large CLOSED sign hung on the door.
Up ahead, I saw Mimi going into the Gingerbread Shack and decided to drop in as well. I wanted to see how Evan was faring after his knock on the head last night.
Bells tinkled as I pulled open the door. I inhaled the delicious scents inside the cozy shop. Chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon.
“Darcy Merriweather!” Evan cried. “What is this I hear about another run-in with your stalker?”
Mimi’s eyes lit. “You have a stalker? Cool!”
I stepped up next to Mimi and put my arm around her as I rolled my eyes. “One, we don’t know that he’s my stalker. Two,” I said, addressing Mimi, “it is not cool. You’ve been hanging out with Harper too much.”
Thankfully, no one else was in the shop, so I quickly filled them in on what happened this morning. The bump on Evan’s head had shrunk a bit, but was now colored a dark blue. “Is your head okay?”
“Just sore to touch, and I have a tiny headache. You two want the usual?”
Mimi and I nodded. Her long curly hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a simple pair of denim shorts and a light blue V-necked tank top. She wasn’t into makeup or boys quite yet, but I was sure the time would come—very soon—that boys would take notice of her. She was growing into quite the beauty.
“I have a question.” Mimi’s nose wrinkled and her eyebrows snapped downward. “Did your stalker—”
“Stop calling him that!” I interrupted.
She took a deep breath. “Did your visitor hear you talking with Archie?”
My mouth dropped open. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. What if the intruder was a mortal? Or worse, a Seeker? “What if it was overheard?” I asked Evan. It would be hard to explain how a macaw could carry on a conversation with me. “Could I lose my powers?” It was, after all, what I’d always been told.
He set four mini devil’s food cupcakes on a plate and slid it across the counter. “I don’t know, Darcy.”
As I paid (I always insisted), I could feel dread curling in my stomach. I was suddenly a nervous wreck about possibly losing my powers. I hoped that the intruder didn’t realize who the voices belonged to—that would be the best outcome.
“If the Peeper heard something he shouldn’t have, the Elder will let you know,” he said. “So, for now, try not to worry. No news is good news for you.”
That was easy for him to say.
Mimi and I sat at a high pub-style table. I couldn’t help but notice she had her mom’s diary with her again. I’d warned Mimi many times that she probably shouldn’t be carrying it around the village, but she confessed that she hated letting it out of her sight. It was like having a bit of her mother with her at all times.
Which, of course, was hard to argue with.
“Maybe,” I suggested to her, “we should get a book jacket for your mom’s journal.” I bit into the cupcake and let the chocolate melt on my tongue. Evan was a cupcake master. As a Bakecrafter, he should be. “So it doesn’t look quite so important.”
“Maybe,” Mimi said, popping one of her cakes into her mouth whole.
I made a mental note to see if Harper had any book protectors in stock.
Mimi looked up at me, her brown eyes full of curiosity. “How did Starla’s date go? Have you heard anything?”
“Starla?” Evan piped up. “She had a date? What date? When was this date? With whom?”
I didn’t blame her for not telling him with whom. I kind of wondered if she would have told me if I hadn’t seen her at the Upala booth. The son of Mr. Macabre. I shivered. “One of the Roving Stones vendors. For coffee. No big deal,” I said, lying through my teeth. There was no reason to freak him out—he had an overp
rotective streak where his sister was concerned. It was just coffee. One date, done. Lazarus would be moving on before long.
I know I wouldn’t be sad to see him go. How had he known my name? Why had he known my name?
“Maybe she’ll fall in love with him and he’ll fall in love with her, and then he’ll stay in the village and they’ll live happily ever after,” Mimi said.
I stared at her, trying to hide my horror at the thought. “I think it’s just coffee.”
She pouted. “Well, they could fall in love.”
“She is ready for a relationship,” Evan said, wiping the table next to ours.
Suddenly my cupcake wasn’t sitting so well.
“Do you think he brought her flowers?” Mimi asked. “Or candy?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“What’s Starla’s favorite flower?” she asked Evan.
He shrugged. “She likes them all.”
“And candy?”
I eyed her. What was going on in her head?
“Chocolate-covered cherries,” he answered.
Mimi turned to me, her brown eyes big and wide. “What’re your favorites, Darcy?”
“Mine? Why?”
Evan shot me a party-pooper look.
I sighed. “Flowers? Well, I’m a simple daisy kind of girl. And candy? York Peppermint Patties.”
“Cheap date,” Evan murmured with a smile on his face.
“And you?” I pushed some crumbs around my plate.
“Well, since you asked. I’ve never had a date bring me flowers. Mine tend to bring alcohol.” He pulled a wry face. “You think that says something about me?”
I laughed. “Would you prefer flowers?”
“Actually, I’m rather fond of gin. I do like my martinis. That being said, I think I’m a single red rose kind of guy.”
Mimi sighed happily with a dreamy look in her eye. She was apparently a hopeless romantic.
Smiling, I grabbed my bag and stood up. “I need to go see Sylar about the wedding menu. Everything all set with Ve’s cake?”
Evan made an a-okay sign with his fingers. “I’m going to start the layers this afternoon.”
A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 10