Evian absently scratched her cheek. “I think I’m behind. What dead woman?”
I told her about Blair Whitney’s unfortunate demise. “Zola said Buddy was having lunch with the victim at the diner yesterday. He didn’t even act like he recognized her when he saw her body at the resort. There has to be a reason for that.”
“Have you considered that he simply didn’t look too closely at the body?” Evian challenged. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d make it a point to look anywhere but at a dead person if I had the choice.”
“That’s because you’re a wimp.”
“Or human,” Evian corrected. “Still, you don’t know that she was murdered. It could’ve been an accident.”
It could have been an accident. But I knew deep down it wasn’t. “I just want to talk to Mitzi. I figure she’ll know about her husband’s relationship with the plastic surgery addict.”
“You don’t know she was a plastic surgery addict.”
“I’ve seen her records. They go on for four pages. She’s had more nips and tucks than the cast of The Golden Girls during their heyday.”
“Nice.” Evian rolled her eyes. “Have you considered that Mitzi won’t know about Buddy’s relationship with Blair Whitney? I mean … if he was doing it on the sly he purposely cut her out of the loop.”
I had considered that ... and then immediately dismissed the idea. “Mitzi always knows where Buddy is and what he is doing. Even if he didn’t tell her who he was having lunch with, she knew.”
Evian tilted her head to the side, considering, and finally sighed. “You’re probably right. Just wait until Mitzi is done with her show. Most people wouldn’t notice if you questioned her live, but she does have one or two fans.”
I had my doubts, but it was only twenty minutes. I could wait her out. “Great. I … .” I frowned when I got to my feet and recognized the water mark on the crotch of my khaki capris. I hadn’t even felt it spreading. She was that good. “You did that on purpose.”
Evian’s smile was enigmatic. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I stomped toward the hallway, ideas of drying myself under the powerful hand units in the bathroom dancing through my head. “I’ll pay you back for this,” I warned.
“I expect nothing less.”
“MITZI, DO YOU have a moment?”
Mitzi jolted when I practically pounced on her as she left the recording booth. Her eyes momentarily widened, reminding me of a trapped animal, until she recovered and regained her senses.
“You gave me a fright, Skye.” She pressed her hand to the spot above her heart. “You should make a noise before scaring the life out of someone. That’s simply proper etiquette.”
Of course she would go there. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean it, not even a little. “I thought you saw me as you were walking out. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Yes, well, I guess it doesn’t matter.” Mitzi has an annoying habit of forcing an extremely chipper and upbeat attitude. I absolutely hate it. It’s unbelievably fake. I’d much prefer dealing with the same petulant teenager I knew way back when because at least that persona felt real. This one was … well, something else entirely. “Did you need something?”
The question dragged me back to reality. “I have a few questions for you.”
“For me?” Mitzi didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “Why would you want to talk to me?”
“Maybe I find you interesting.”
Mitzi didn’t as much as blink as she pinned me with a dark look. Yeah, I should’ve known she wouldn’t fall for that.
“Maybe I need to track down information about the dead woman at the spa and I found out Buddy had ties to her,” I stared right back. There really was no reason to lie to her. “Her name is Blair Whitney, and my understanding is that she was with Buddy yesterday.”
Mitzi was good at hiding her emotions – she’d spent years pretending Buddy wasn’t the most annoying man on the planet, after all – but I didn’t miss the hint of panic that flitted through her eyes. She was terrified about … something.
“I have no idea who Blair Whitney is,” Mitzi offered, recovering quickly. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me.”
She was lying. She wasn’t terrible at it, but she was nowhere near as good at it as me. She was very definitely lying. The question was why?
“So the people who saw Buddy lunching with Blair at the diner yesterday were lying?” I challenged. “My bad. I’ll just head down there and see if I can get a copy of the security camera footage. I know they keep it for a few days. That should clear things right up.”
“Wait!” Mitzi desperately lashed out and grabbed my arm, tightening her grip on my elbow until her fingernails dug in and caused me to want to yelp. I managed to refrain, but just barely. I’m a baby when I want to be. “You can’t go talking out of turn about Buddy and Blair.”
Ha! They did know each other. “Let’s take it from the top,” I suggested, delicately extricating my arm from Mitzi’s talon-like grip. “You really should think about letting go of the acrylic nails. Maybe try some gels or something. I’m sure they’ll hurt less than … that.”
Mitzi wasn’t even remotely apologetic. “What do you want, Skye? We both know you’re not here to ask innocent questions. You think you know something.”
That was interesting. Mitzi’s bitterness was so pronounced that common sense had yet to prevail. There was no way I could know the truth because it had been only two hours since I’d discovered the body. Even I didn’t move that fast.
“I want to know about Buddy’s relationship with Blair,” I said. “Why were they having lunch together yesterday?”
“Perhaps you should ask him.”
“I’m asking you,” I shot back. “Either tell me or I will go straight to him. I’m guessing that will put him in a bad mood when I tell him you could’ve fixed everything by answering my questions. That’s just a guess, of course.”
Mitzi narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’d be surprised what I’d do.” I’d gone this far so there was no backing down now. “I want to know what Buddy was doing with Blair Whitney. If you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to come up with my own conclusions … and you know how my mind works.”
Mitzi was appropriately disgusted. “Yes. Sewers are cleaner.”
I snorted. “Good one. Now tell me about Buddy and Blair.”
Mitzi turned somber, her shoulders drooping as she wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. The lunch wasn’t a big deal. It’s not as if Buddy was cheating on me or anything. Don’t even think about spreading that rumor.”
Given his size, I often wondered how Buddy managed to keep his wife satisfied. That was another reason I thought she immersed herself in her knitting. I wisely decided to keep that to myself for the time being. “I don’t think Buddy was cheating on you.” That was mostly true. “I know he had lunch with a woman who turned up dead, though, and then he pretended he didn’t recognize her. There has to be a reason for that.”
Mitzi balked. “He was surprised. I mean … stunned really. He didn’t believe his own eyes at the time. He wasn’t trying to be purposely evasive.”
She sounded convincing and yet I wasn’t sure I believed her. “What is Blair Whitney to Buddy?”
“She’s … um … an old friend.”
Yeah, and that sounded even less convincing. “Fine.” I threw up my hands in feigned defeat. “I’ll take my questions to Buddy. I don’t have time to play games with you.”
“Don’t you even think about it!” Mitzi practically screeched the words as she clawed at my arm. “He’s having a rough enough time now without having to deal with you.”
I had no idea what to make of that statement. “Let’s try this again, Mitzi,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “Tell me how Buddy and Blair knew each other – and do it right now – or I will track down your husband a
nd start peppering him with uncomfortable questions. Those are your only two options.”
Mitzi’s glare told me whatever animosity she harbored would be doubled after this altercation, but I couldn’t be troubled to care.
“Fine.” Mitzi blew out a frustrated sigh that caused her dark bangs to flutter. “Buddy and Blair went to college together. It was a lifetime ago and it wasn’t a big deal.”
There were hints of truth in Mitzi’s response, but that didn’t explain everything. “Why hide it?”
“Blair didn’t want anyone to know she went to a community college – especially in New Jersey, although I have no idea why that would be such a big deal. And she wanted to keep the meeting on the down low.”
“So, she’s not from around here?”
Mitzi shook her head. “The mainland.”
“And she’s just an old friend of Buddy’s?”
Mitzi enthusiastically bobbed her head, as if she were trying to convince me with chin movements alone. “They’ve known each other a long time. It’s completely innocent. Buddy is not to blame for this. He has no motive, and you know what a good guy he is.”
Oh, I knew. He told everyone he ran across what a good guy he was. He wanted to make sure people understood the magnitude of his greatness. “Are you sure that’s it, Mitzi?” I wanted to believe her – part of me did, in fact – but something still felt off. I couldn’t put a name to it.
“I’m sure.” Mitzi folded her arms across her chest. “It’s simply a terrible coincidence.”
There were a lot of terrible things going on in regard to Blair Whitney. I didn’t think any of them were coincidences.
“Well, thanks for your time.” I pasted a bright smile on my face. “I’ll let you get back to your knitting.”
“So, you’ll let it go?” Mitzi looked hopeful.
“Of course,” I lied. “Buddy is a good guy. He’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”
Mitzi needed to hear them, so I said the words. That didn’t mean I believed them, at least entirely. There was definitely something else going on here.
Six
I went home after leaving the radio station. I needed to think and I wasn’t a fan of doing that in public places.
Swoops had clearly been on a rampage during my absence. Every bra and panty set I owned was strewn about the living room. I narrowed my eyes when I realized he’d actually taken the time to make the lamp look like a busty woman. I screeched at the second floor, where I knew he was hiding.
“Why do you feel the need to do this?”
Swoops didn’t immediately answer. In fact, it was so quiet I wondered if he’d fled outside to avoid my wrath. Then I realized I was only kidding myself. Swoops would never deny himself the joy he received when watching me melt down, so I studied the spindles at the top of the stairs for a hint of movement.
“Come down here and pick up your mess,” I ordered, adopting my best school master voice. “I didn’t make this mess and I want you to pick it up.”
Still nothing. I would have to try something else. “I brought you a present.” I dug in my messenger bag until I came up with two cans of corned beef hash. I made one brief stop on my way home because I figured bribery might be in order depending on the plan I came up with, so I was prepared for Swoops’ special brand of Armageddon.
Corned beef hash. Corned beef hash.
He hooted and chirped as he suddenly appeared on the landing that led to the second floor.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. It’s your favorite.”
Yum. Feed now.
I shook my head. “You have to clean up the mess you made if you expect me to cook this for you.” I adopted a stern expression. “You know the rules. If you make a mess, you have to clean it up.”
I didn’t make a mess.
I offered an incredulous expression as I widened my arms and gestured toward the explosion of panties and bras. “Well, I certainly didn’t make this mess.”
Not me. Not me. More tittering as his belligerence ratcheted up a notch.
“Really?” I so wasn’t in the mood for my theatrical familiar and his unique brand of mayhem. “If you didn’t do it, who did?”
Clover did it. Not me. Never me.
I wrinkled my forehead. Clover? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Clover was Zola’s familiar, a cute little skunk who acted like a lovable dog when strangers got a gander at her. She loved being petted and pretended to be roadkill so people would stop and then exclaim in delight when she made a miraculous recovery. Yeah, I found it a bit cloying, too.
“Clover did this?” I prowled through the house for an entry point. I’d spent the better part of two weeks familiar-proofing my house because that hairless cat beast kept getting inside and spouting fortune cookie nonsense while sitting on my chest and making me believe I was suffocating as I jerked out of a dream every morning. “How did she get in?”
Hole.
“What hole?”
Kitchen door.
There was a hole in the kitchen door? I was going to go scorched earth on that skunk if that was true.
I stalked into the kitchen and planted the cans of corned beef hash on the counter, ignoring Swoops as he fluttered into the room and landed next to them. He made cooing sounds as I studied the bottom of the aluminum door, frowning when I realized something had indeed knocked out the center panel to gain entrance.
“Son of a … ! I’m going to turn that skunk into real roadkill if she’s not careful.”
Cook. Cook. Cook.
I cast an irritated glance over my shoulder and found Swoops rubbing himself over the cans. It was almost as if he were caught in a romantic dance of sorts. “Clean up the living room and I’ll cook it for you.”
Now.
“Clean first.”
Cook first.
“I will cook when you’re finished cleaning,” I snapped. “I pay the bills here. That means I’m in charge.”
Swoops narrowed his onyx eyes. Cook.
“Clean.”
Ugh. Swoops staggered across the counter and clutched his wings to his chest as he mimed a fainting spell. Feeling weak. I will surely die without food.
“You’re not going to die.”
Fading away. Fast. He fell to the counter and fanned a wing. The light is fading. I’m coming to the other side, Mama. I will be with you soon.
Since Swoops’ late mother was my former familiar, a surly creature who liked to hide in the toilet and bite when I got up to use the facilities in the middle of the night, I had trouble mustering any sympathy. “If you see your mother tell her I don’t miss her.”
Mama. I’m crossing into the light. I don’t want to be alone when it happens. I hope you’re waiting for me so I don’t cross the Rainbow Bridge by myself.
“Oh, geez.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “If I cook the hash, do you promise to pick up that mess you let the skunk make while you were supposed to be guarding the house?”
Swoops opened one eye. Yes. But hurry. My life force is draining.
“Your life force is fine,” I muttered, grabbing a skillet from the cabinet beneath the counter and glaring. “I can’t believe I fall for this every single time.”
Cook. I can feel the life flowing into me again. But it might only be temporary.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
SWOOPS DID NOT CLEAN the living room. I really didn’t expect him to. In addition to being overly dramatic he is ridiculously lazy. Once he finished his corned beef hash – all the time eyeing me because I made some for myself – he declared he needed a nap and disappeared to the hammock I’d installed for him in the corner of the living room. There he proceeded to snore so loudly I couldn’t come up with a good idea on how next to approach my project.
That’s how I ended up in the woods by the resort. I needed cackleberries, and they were available in only one spot … which just happened to be near the Cottonmouth Copse. No, that’s not its real name. I call it that because the trees there a
re the sarcastic sort because they drink from the Blathering Brook and essentially spend their days drunk.
No, you didn’t mishear me. In this particular spot the trees are alive with something other than the sound of music.
“Well, look who it is. It’s Little Miss I Swear Like a Trucker.”
I cringed at Agatha’s voice. She was only one of the trees in the copse, but she almost always insisted on talking first. For the record, not everyone can hear the trees. It’s a witch ability (one I wish I didn’t have) and the trees get overly chatty when we pay them visits because they spend a lot of time isolated and watching the doings in Eternal Springs from afar. They like having something other than fellow trees to poke.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” I trilled, doing my best to pretend I was happy to partake in the visit. “How is everyone doing this fine and wondrous day?”
“Oh, she’s been smoking the wacky-tobaccy again,” one of the other female trees said. I couldn’t quite identify her voice because she often got fed up and ignored me when I visited. “That can be the only explanation.”
“I haven’t been smoking wacky-tobaccy,” I shot back dryly. “If I had, you can bet I wouldn’t waste the buzz visiting you guys.”
“You’re always so grumpy when you visit,” one voice said. “Why are you so unhappy?”
“Yes, Skye, why are you so unhappy?” Agatha intoned. “Why are you so profoundly whiny? Why do you insist on swearing rather than choosing your words? Why can’t you be pleasant for five minutes of every day?”
Ugh. I so did not come out here for this abuse. “I need cackleberries. I promise I won’t hang around long, so there’s no reason to get your leaves in a bunch.”
“Such a funny girl,” Agatha said. “I can’t believe you’re still single with a mouth like that.”
In Agatha’s world, almost everything I said was akin to a curse word. She didn’t think I carried myself like a proper lady. I was totally fine with that. I didn’t want to be a proper lady. That was the one thing I never wanted. Because her soul was left over from another time – she helped run the school at its inception – she looked at things in a very different manner.
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