“Don’t fight it,” I chastised. It didn’t matter what I told her, she wouldn’t remember after the fact. That was another thing I loved about this particular truth serum. The only ones who remembered after being subjugated were other witches. “Just tell me. What’s the deal with Buddy and Blair?”
Mitzi fought answering for another full minute, but ultimately gave in. “I always hated that stupid woman.” She positively dripped with vitriol, which I found interesting. “You have no idea how terrible she was.”
“I’d love to hear about it.” I futzed with Mitzi’s paint palette but wasn’t cruel enough to mess with her painting. Even I have my limits. “How did Buddy and Blair meet?”
“I already told you. They met in college.” Mitzi was obviously frustrated about her loose lips, but she continued talking. “They dated in college, but if you hear Blair tell it now it was only one date even though they really spent an entire semester together.”
“Who told you that?”
“Buddy.”
“Maybe he was lying and Blair was telling the truth,” I suggested. “Have you considered that?”
“Of course not. Buddy is many things, but he’s not a liar. In fact, he’s militant about telling the truth. He tells the truth over and over again, even when people are tired of hearing it. He might exaggerate a bit, but he’s no liar.”
“Just a braggart.”
“Definitely a braggart.” Mitzi clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified by what had spilled out.
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved off her horror. “You won’t even remember in an hour.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I said so. Go back to Buddy and Blair. I’m surprised they stayed in touch over the years if they dated for only a semester. That hardly seems the basis for a lasting friendship.”
“Oh, they weren’t in touch until about four years ago.” Mitzi dropped her hands and her expression turned dark. “Then, out of nowhere, Blair came calling. I bet you can’t guess why.” She looked smug.
“Buddy is the mayor of a very small town that has exactly one claim to fame,” I replied, “an expensive resort that a woman addicted to plastic surgery would just love to visit. I’ll bet she was hoping he could get her a deal on the procedures.”
Mitzi’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know that?”
“I’m smarter than I look.”
“You’d have to be.”
I noticed Mitzi didn’t act embarrassed when she said what she really thought about me. Apparently she was only upset that Buddy might find out. What I knew wasn’t particularly worrisome. Ah, if she only knew the truth.
“Did Blair and Buddy have regular meetings when she came to the island? I understand she was a seasonal sprucer. That means she visited four times a year. Did she meet up with Buddy each time?”
Mitzi scowled. “Yes. I don’t know if he insisted or she did, but they had lunch each visit. They reminisced about old times. Blair put on a big show about how she screwed up by letting Buddy get away. It was … annoying.”
“Were you invited to these meetings?”
“I was invited to the first one, but Buddy said I made Blair uncomfortable because I was jealous. I mean … as if. She’s twenty years older than me and spends all her time recovering from plastic surgery. Why would I be jealous of her?”
I almost felt sorry for Mitzi. Her life obviously hadn’t turned out as she thought it would. Being married to Buddy had to be some sort of karmic punishment. There was no other explanation. Still, she stood by him. For a man like Buddy to make his wife feel less than she was seemed almost cruel.
“You had no reason to be jealous of her,” I agreed without hesitation. “Buddy should thank his lucky stars that you actually lower yourself to share a bed with him every night.”
“Exactly!”
I bit back a smile. “As for Buddy and Blair, was there any talk of her leaving her husband for Buddy?”
Instead of reacting with anger – which I expected – Mitzi burst into raucous laughter. “Oh, you’re so adorable. I can’t believe you think that. That’s not how Blair works. She wasn’t interested in Buddy. She was interested in the perks he could provide. Trust me, if he ran out of twenty-five-percent-off passes she would’ve run out of time to visit with him.”
That actually made sense. “Why didn’t Buddy admit to knowing her at the resort yesterday?”
“He was upset. He didn’t want to believe it was her. He also didn’t want to break down in public. That’s not his way.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “Did Buddy have a rough night?”
“He drank all day and passed out early. He has a heckuva hangover today.”
“And you don’t think Buddy killed her?” I had to ask the question. I’d gone this far. There was no turning back. “That’s not possible?”
Mitzi was legitimately appalled. “Of course not. Buddy is a big teddy bear. He would never physically hurt anyone.”
“Not even if he felt he was being used for a break on plastic surgery?”
“Never.” Mitzi was adamant. “Never ever.”
“Okay.” Goddess help me, I believed her. “So you’re saying Buddy wasn’t trying to be cagey yesterday. He was simply caught off guard and didn’t know how to react.”
“That’s exactly it. He wasn’t trying to hide anything. Why would he? I mean, be honest, do you really think Buddy could’ve chased down a healthy woman and bashed her over the head with a rock?”
She had a point. “No. I get what you’re saying.” I licked my lips and took a step back. “Thanks for sharing so much interesting information. I greatly appreciate it.”
“I still don’t know why I did it.”
“That’s okay. You won’t even remember doing it in a little bit.” I offered her a half-wave before heading for the coffee shop. I’d gotten the information I needed out of Mitzi, but it appeared to be a dead end. Even if Buddy felt used, that wasn’t a very strong motive for murder … especially when the victim had a better one sharing a vacation with her. The mistress was the obvious choice. Now I only had to track her down and sucker her into taking a drink from me.
That wouldn’t be so hard, right?
Right?
Eight
I was happy to leave Mitzi to her painting. I was fairly certain fuming would be involved in that endeavor – at least until the serum wore off – so I was happy to make my escape. My next stop was the resort to track down the mistress and daughter and dose them, but I figured it was probably wise to stop by the front desk first.
Dylan was there, just as I expected. Instead of lighting up when he saw me, he made a cross with his fingers and extended it in my direction. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Aren’t crosses supposed to keep vampires away?” I hunted through the mint bowl on the counter and came back with a green one. “I’m not a vampire.”
“You are a blood-sucking fiend.”
It seemed he was still upset. I would have to fix that. “You’re coming to karaoke tonight, right?”
Dylan lowered his fingers, but only a bit. “Of course. It’s Friday night. Where else would I go?”
“Well, I just want you to know that I’m really looking forward to our dance.” That was the biggest lie of all. I hate dancing. I’m rhythmically challenged. Plus, well, Dylan makes sighing sounds whenever he manages to get one of us out on the dance floor. He’s like a teenage girl who finally gets a chance to dance with her crush and somehow ends up pretty in pink or something. No, seriously. I swear I saw that in a movie once.
“Really?” Dylan brightened. “Are you just saying that because you don’t want me to be angry with you any longer?”
I honestly didn’t care if Dylan was angry – at least under normal circumstances. I did care if he was angry enough to cut me off from information, though. “I really am.” I forced a bright smile. “I’m sorry that Augie came down on you. You have to understand, th
at’s not because of you or me. That’s because he’s Augie and he takes joy in making others miserable.”
“Oh, I don’t think … .” Dylan trailed off and let his eyes snag on something over my shoulder. I knew without turning around that it was Augie.
“Mr. Taylor, I hope you know that I wasn’t saying that about you.” Dylan sounded downright terrified. “I respect you far too much to ever say anything behind your back.”
“Way to be brave, Dylan.” I clapped him on the shoulder before swiveling to find Augie, hands on hips and frown on lips, staring at me. “Hello, Augie.”
“My name is August.” His tone was clipped. “No one calls me Augie. You’re the only one who insists on doing it, and I want you to stop.”
That was a damnable lie. Everyone in town called him Augie. That was his nickname as a child and it stuck. No matter how badly he wanted to shake it, it simply wasn’t going to happen.
“Does your mother still call you ‘Augie the froggy’?”
Augie scowled. “She never called me that!”
“I distinctly remember her calling you that.”
“You called me that when you wanted to irritate me,” Augie corrected. “My mother would never call me that because she’s a saint. I mean … an actual saint.”
I sobered despite myself. Rumor had it Augie’s mother was battling an illness they were trying to keep quiet. Augie’s sister moved from Eternal Springs more than a decade before, which left Augie as his mother’s only caregiver after his father died shortly after Augie finished high school. Bringing Augie’s mother into our continuing bickering probably wasn’t the smartest – or nicest – idea.
“I’m sorry.” I meant it. “I shouldn’t have teased you about your mother. How is she doing?”
“She’s … fine.” Augie averted his gaze and I knew that was a lie. I also knew it wasn’t my place to push him.
“I’m still sorry.” I forced a smile. “I won’t tease you about your mother again. That was out of line and unfair.”
“Well … .”
“There are plenty of other things to tease you about,” I added, grinning. “I don’t need your mother to mess with your mind.”
Augie rolled his eyes and stepped to the desk so he could look at the computer Dylan was using. “You’re not giving her information, are you?”
Dylan’s shoulders stiffened. “Of course not, sir. You can trust me.”
“I would hate to have to fire you,” Augie persisted. “Skye is not allowed to poke around our files. No one is allowed to poke around our files. That includes her other little buddies that you have a soft spot for, too.”
“I won’t let anyone see the records, sir.” Dylan sounded like a deranged Army recruit. “I’ll guard them with my life.”
“Oh, geez!” I blew out a sigh as I scorched Augie with a dark look. “Way to terrorize him, Augie. You’re going to give the poor kid a complex.”
“I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t such a busybody.”
“I’m not a busybody. I’m a curious soul. Curiosity is good. It means I’m intelligent.”
Augie snorted. “What idiot told you that?”
“I tell myself that at least once a week.”
“And that’s why you’re a menace.” Augie crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned a hip against the front desk. “What are you doing out here? I would have thought you had your hands full with other things. I mean … where is your bat? You didn’t bring him, did you?”
“Swoops is at home sleeping off a corned beef hash coma,” I replied. “No one will see him until nightfall.”
“Corned beef hash?” Augie wrinkled his forehead. “Are bats supposed to eat corned beef hash? I thought they ate fruit and bugs.”
“Yes, well, Swoops has a refined palate. He’s not like normal bats.”
“Just like you’re not like a normal woman.” Augie ran his tongue over his teeth as he regarded me. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
“I missed Dylan and wanted to visit him.”
Dylan’s smile was so wide it almost blinded me.
“Stand down, Dylan.” Augie was rueful. “She’s messing with you again. We talked about this yesterday. You can’t believe anything she says when she’s blowing sunshine up your behind.”
“I never blow sunshine up anyone’s behind,” I countered. “It doesn’t sound very hygienic.”
“Ha, ha.” Augie flicked me between the eyebrows, causing me to rear back. “What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t going to leave it alone. I had no choice but to ’fess up or leave. Luckily for him, I had two motivations when I decided to visit the resort. I only had to own up to one of them to get out of this.
“I’m here to talk to Abigail. I want to see if she’s going to rule Blair Whitney’s death an accident or a homicide.”
Whatever answer he expected, that wasn’t it. “I guess that makes sense. I can answer that question for you. I just came from Abigail’s office.”
“So, what did she say?”
“She’s going with non-conclusive.”
I should’ve seen that coming. “You have got to be kidding me!” It took everything I had to keep from exploding and unleashing a mini-tornado on the room. “You know that means it was murder, right? The simple fact that she can’t call it an accident means it was murder.”
“I’m well aware.” Augie looked distressed by the admission. “I don’t think there’s any question about the blow being deliberate. I happened to be in there when Abigail took a closer look and there’s no way a fall caused that much damage. It looks like Mrs. Whitney was hit at least twice, more likely three times.”
Now that right there was interesting. “Have you questioned the mistress?”
Augie narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even supposed to know about the mistress.”
“I know about a lot of things I’m not supposed to know about.”
“That’s nothing to brag about.”
“I think it depends on where you’re standing.”
“You just have to have the last word, don’t you?” Augie made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and shook his head. “Skye, I’m not going to let this go. I’m going to do my job. You’re a reporter. It’s not your job to solve murders.”
“Who says I’m trying to solve a murder?”
“I know you.”
Sadly, he knew me better than most. It was an uncomfortable feeling. “I’m not trying to solve a murder. I’m merely trying to get information. I need to play up what a wonderful woman Blair Whitney was in my article, after all. It needs to be a celebration of her life, not a commentary on her death.”
I thought it was a positively brilliant way to go. Augie didn’t fall for it. Instead he leaned closer and wagged a warning finger in my face. “Don’t stick your nose in this. That’s the last thing I need.”
“Did I say I was going to stick my nose in this?”
“No, but you never admit when you’re about to do wrong. Instead you pretend it’s all a misunderstanding … even if you’re sitting in the back of a cop cart when you’re denying being up to no good as the golf course sprinklers spray red water all over the place so it looks as if a massacre happened on the grounds.”
Ugh! I can’t believe he brought up that incident. It happened, like, ten years ago. I was young and dumb … and, well, drunk … at the time. “I still maintain I didn’t do that. I think the sprinklers were temporarily possessed.”
“Right.” Augie made an exaggerated face. “I am warning you. If you stick your nose into this you won’t like it when I yank it out.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that.”
I WAITED UNTIL I WAS SURE Augie was otherwise engaged – and by that, I mean he was mediating a squabble between three of the maids, all of whom looked as if they wanted to smother him with their boobs to see who the ultimate winner would be – before slipping into the spa area of the reso
rt. I was familiar with the layout, and what I would have to do to gain entrance.
Without batting an eyelash I pressed my hands to my face, whispered a small spell and ran my hands over my hair as my features changed. I saw my new appearance as I passed the mirrors on the wall. My new look was young and chic, matching one of the masseuse’s I knew was in the parking lot dealing with a car issue that I may or may not have instigated. I didn’t have much time to get answers, but I had more than a few minutes to poke around.
To be fair, I didn’t really change my looks. It’s more that I enacted a glamour, and the image others saw was what I wanted them to see. It was a fun bit of magic I’d mastered in high school. It had come in handy a time or two since then, mostly because Augie was right; I am a busybody. Sometimes I simply want to know things. I can’t help it. That’s why I became a journalist.
“Hey, Margo.”
It took me a moment to realize the secretary behind the desk was talking to me as I passed. I offered a lame hand salute that caused her to make a face. I pretended it was all totally normal and slipped into the hallway leading to the massage rooms. I was familiar enough with the layout to know where I needed to go.
I stopped in front of the board on the wall and mentally flipped through the three names listed. I didn’t care about the first two, but the third was a different story.
Lena Preston. She was the mistress’s mother in our tangled web of family intrigue. She was still at the resort – although if I were her I would’ve bolted the day before – and she was in desperate need of some massage therapy. The good thing about that is massages make women chatty … especially if you gave them a magical jolt. Just think of it as witchy acupuncture and don’t dwell on the ethics too much.
The room was dark when I let myself in, the only light coming from a small nightlight in the corner. The room was wired with speakers so that relaxation music – the sort of stuff that sounds like ocean waves beating flutes to death on rocky shorelines – filled the room as I moved closer to the table in the center of the space.
Bat Out of Spell Page 7