Witchy Riches (Witchy Fingers Book 4)

by Nic Saint

  “Thanks, you guys!” I called out as Jerry and Johnny walked the dock with slightly quaking legs.

  Johnny turned. ”You’re welcome, Miss Flummox! Always a pleasure!”

  Jerry merely muttered something under his breath that didn’t sound very nice. He obviously was deeply disappointed to return home treasureless.

  And then it was just the three of us and Sam, Spear, Skip and Pierre. And as we said our goodbyes, I suddenly thought I saw a glint of something, and when I looked up, I cried, “Watch out!”

  Captain Dale was charging at us, a hatchet in his hand, his eyes a little berserk, yelling, “Death to all fortune hunters! Die, you landlubbers, die!”

  Fortunately, Edie was quick to stick out her foot and the stout captain stumbled and fell, the hatchet clattering to the plank floor of the dock and then skipping into the water. When he got up, restrained by Sam and Pierre, that berserk look was gone and replaced by one of absolute confusion.

  “What just happened?!” he asked.

  “That’s what I would like to know!” exclaimed Sam, none too pleased.

  Edie placed a hand on the cop’s arm. “It’s fine, Sam. It won’t happen again, will it, Captain Dale?”

  The captain shook his head. “I—I don’t know what came over me…”

  I knew, and so did Edie and Stien. One last trick of the merman. His final achievement. And something told me it was all over now. Over forever.

  Chapter 28

  While all this was taking place, in a domain far far away, Virgil Scattering, badge-carrying member of the Happy Bays Police Department, was busily stalking the gardens of the Yehudi Brevity home.

  The events of that morning had left him greatly disturbed. A proud policeman, he didn’t like to be bullied and unceremoniously shoved aside by the big boys of the NYPD. He’d been solving murders when Sam Barkley and Pierre Farrier were still in diapers. Or at least he liked to think so, for in actual fact he was about the same age as the two detectives. He could solve this murder, he was sure he could, and he didn’t need Sam or Pierre.

  His chief had told him to step aside and let the NYPD handle things, but his spirit had rebelled, so he’d decided to return to the scene of the crime and see if more clues couldn’t be found that might just lead to a breakthrough.

  So he’d entered the domain and was now scouring the garden. He would have scoured the house, for that’s where the murder had taken place and that’s where in his professional opinion clues would most likely be present, but the NYPD had locked the door and taken the key. And as an upholder of the law, he couldn’t bring himself to break into the place, just to prove a point, so he decided that he’d do his clue-searching in the garden, where the killers must have left valuable footprints before entering the house.

  He was sure that those buffoons of the NYPD had overlooked valuable evidence, and he, Officer Virgil Scattering, was going to ferret it all out.

  It wasn’t just his professional pride that was hurt, but his mother had told him, upon hearing the story, that he was an idiot for allowing the NYPD to muscle in on his territory.

  “It’s your town, your jurisdiction and your responsibility,” she’d pointed out huffily. “You should be the one to solve this murder, Virgil, no one else!”

  His mother’s scorn had hit him hard, and he’d decided he wouldn’t rest until he’d found the murderers of that nice Yehudi Brevity. Though to be honest he’d never even met the man. Still, he’d been a Happy Baysian, and Happy Baysians didn’t deserve to be slaughtered in their own home!

  He was sure that outsiders were responsible for the heinous crime, as Happy Baysians were no murderers. And as he walked the garden now, his flashlight out as he searched for footprints that didn’t belong there, he suddenly came upon a very curious sight. A large slab of cement stood resting idly against a tree, accompanied by more and smaller slabs of cement, resting against other trees. The NYPD, when digging out the pieces of cement to find out what, if anything, rested underneath, had casually placed them in their current position, just to have them out of the way.

  Virgil, his curiosity piqued, walked up, flicking his flashlight over the strange collection. Seen as a whole, they looked like some modern work of art. Not that Virgil was a lover of modern art, per se, but he’d been taking a keen interest in the phenomenon lately. He’d recently gotten engaged to an actual princess, and had been trying to elevate his soul and imbue it with a modicum of class and style, just to be worthy for his bride when finally they walked the aisle. He’d even been to a vernissage with his mother, though the curious exhibition had merely brought home to him the fact he didn’t get it, whatever ‘it’ was, and neither had his mother, who’d complained that in her day art was more than chicken wire bedecked with pieces of raw meat.

  Curious, Virgil walked over to this constellation, wondering what the artist was trying to convey, but absolutely nothing came to mind. It was still art, he knew, and so he awarded it the respect of one who doesn’t understand.

  He admired the construction from all sides. One was a very large piece, while the others were smaller pieces, all cement blocks, apparently, haphazardly poured into holes in the ground and left to dry. The bottom was rough and shaped like the hole in which they’d been poured, while the surface was smooth, as if someone had taken the trouble to use a steel trowel.

  He nodded appreciatively. He’d heard bankers liked their art, and Yehudi Brevity didn’t disappoint him in that respect. The man obviously had been a man of taste and culture, he could tell at a glance. And it was then that he saw something protrude from the bottom of one of the pieces constituting the concept. He walked up for a closer look, and thought he saw… a toe.

  He jerked back his head, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a few times in surprise. He might not be much of an art aficionado, but he was an okay detective, and this didn’t look like a sculpted toe at all, but an actual, real, human toe. It was a small toe, as toes go, its nail painted a vivid scarlet. In his professional opinion this was a female toe, and his frown deepened.

  And then he did something that would have drawn a frown from any reader of The New Yorker: he picked up one of the shovels the NYPD had left after unearthing the blocks, and gave the block of cement a hefty hit. His purpose was to reveal the toe in its entirety. For he might be the future husband of a princess, and an art novice, but first and foremost he was a cop, and his gut told him something was seriously wrong with this picture.

  Unfortunately, the shovel was no match for the piece of cement, and his efforts barely scratched the surface. And then his hand brushed his belt, and an idea formed in his head. Only once before had he fired his gun in the line of duty, but this situation called for extreme measures. So he took out his weapon, aimed it at the block of cement, stuck out his tongue, and squeezed the trigger. This time, the cement did yield to the pressure, and splintered into three large pieces. And as they dropped down to the ground, something else dropped, too, and Virgil uttered a rather unmanly cry. For the thing that had dropped to the earth was a foot. A woman’s foot. Neatly severed at the ankle.

  Chapter 29

  As Sam and Pierre were speeding home, still reeling after their peculiar diving adventure—though for the life of them they couldn’t remember what exactly had happened between the time they discovered the wreck and the moment they were once again safely aboard the Merry Mary—the call came in. With a loud grunt of annoyance, Sam jerked the wheel and made the car perform a U-turn on screeching tires. Usually Pierre was the designated driver, but this time Sam had done the honors of driving them safely home.

  A local cop had found the body of a woman encased in cement in the garden of the late Yehudi Brevity. He’d found a foot and a hand, and thought it just might be the late Brevity’s young wife Salina Nourse.

  Oddly enough, nobody had reported the woman missing, which just goes to show that even your high-profile socialites can go off the grid without anyone noticing. She hadn’t posted on her Instagram
for a couple of days, no doubt greatly disappointing her millions of followers, but since her husband had been reported murdered, her absence hadn’t come as a surprise. While no doubt there are those callous enough to use such a tragedy as a way of gaining even more exposure and attention, Salina Nourse wasn’t of that ilk.

  When they arrived at the Brevity domain, there were already a dozen cop cars, and Sam saw that the local coroner had also arrived, looking rather bleary-eyed and ill-tempered. This time the mayor had opted not to put in an appearance, and as Sam and Pierre headed straight into the garden, they were met by Virgil Scattering, the cop who’d found the body parts. He was a gangling specimen who appeared extremely rattled and distraught.

  The first question Sam launched at the man was, “What the hell were you thinking snooping around here in the middle of the night, officer Scattering?”

  Officer Scattering gulped, like a nervous bulldog pup, and then said, in a strangled voice, “L-l-looking for clues, sir. I mean, detective. I mean, sir.”

  He stared at the man. “Did you just say you were looking for clues?”

  The cop nodded. “Yes, sir, Detective Barkley, sir. I thought perhaps certain clues had been overlooked and I was looking for them, as it were.”

  He frowned. He had nothing against an industrious cop, but why would the guy be snooping around here in the middle of the night? He didn’t get it.

  “The house was locked, Detective Barkley,” continued the officer, his eyes wide, like a kid caught smoking in the bathroom. “And you took the key.”

  “Of course I took the key. Can’t leave the house open to prowlers.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. But that’s why I checked the garden.”

  He decided to let it go. “All right, Scattering. Show us what you got,” he grumbled, and followed the cop to the strange and eerie collection of cement sculptures. One of the pieces had been shot to pieces, and a foot was lying amongst the wreckage. Scattering, apparently startled by the discovery, had accidentally fired another shot, and hit the next piece of cement, liberating a nicely manicured hand, carrying a sizable ring that glinted in the powerful lights officers had set up around the new crime scene.

  He bent down to study the hand, and the giant rock.

  “It’s Mrs. Brevity’s ring,” Officer Scattering indicated.

  “How would you know?” he grunted.

  “My mother is an avid follower of the social media, Detective Barkley, sir. And a great fan of the late Mrs. Brevity. Salina Nourse showcased her engagement ring many times. It was reportedly worth at least four million.”

  “Christ,” he said, rubbing his chin.

  He then gestured at a cop who stood ready with a jackhammer. Ever so carefully, he applied the power tool to the biggest block of cement and started chipping off pieces. And as they watched, the cement cracked, and a woman’s torso became visible. The coroner, standing next to Sam, eyed it with a weary look on his face. The torso was clad in a creme-colored diaphanous dress.

  “That’s Salina Nourse’s dress,” exclaimed Officer Scattering. “Vera Wang.”

  “Make up your mind, Scattering,” Sam grumbled. “Is it Salina Nourse or this… Vera Wang?”

  “Vera Wang is a brand, Sam,” said Pierre softly. “Women’s clothes.”

  “Oh. Right.” He coughed. “I think we better arrest Fibril and Nelson.”

  “I think you’re right,” agreed Pierre as more and more of the woman’s torso became visible.

  He walked over to Officer Scattering, who looked pretty white around the nostrils, and shook the man’s hand. “Great job, Scattering!” he growled.

  “Thanks, Detective Barkley, sir,” responded Scattering, visibly pleased.

  And as he and Pierre walked away from the crime scene, he growled, “I can’t believe our guys never spotted that damn toe.”

  “They weren’t paying attention to the cement,” said Pierre. “They figured it was simply used to cover something—they never thought what it meant to cover was hidden inside.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. After their diving adventure he had the feeling he might never get warm again. Though Mrs. Brevity’s mangled body might also have something to do with the chill creeping into his bones.

  They’d just gotten into the car when the radio crackled again, and this time the message came that the team had found more blocks of cement.

  “How many more?” he barked.

  “Enough to suggest that two more bodies are buried here, Detective.”

  Sam glanced at Pierre. “Is this night ever going to end?”

  Chapter 30

  We'd just returned to the house, and were seated at the kitchen table, regaling a bleary-eyed Gran with the story of our eventful night, when the doorbell rang. We all hurried over into the hallway. Someone calling at the house at this time of night probably wasn't the mailman. To my surprise, we found Sam and Pierre at the door. They both looked knackered.

  The moment Gran opened the door, they walked in. “We’re here to arrest Orrick Fibril and Karie Nelson,” Sam announced without preamble.

  If Gran was surprised, she didn’t show it, but instead led both officers to the staircase, and then up to the rooms she’d awarded Orrick and Karie.

  And as we hovered in the hallway, watching the events unfold, I told my sisters, “Looks like Gran is going to be a gardener and a housekeeper short.”

  “But what could they have done?” asked Edie.

  “Yeah, they looked like such nice people,” agreed Ernestine.

  I didn’t necessarily agree with her. Especially that Orrick looked like a denizen of the underworld to me. But then all gardeners probably look like that. It’s all that time spent killing all kinds of garden pests, of course. It gives them a sinister outlook on life and strengthens their homicidal tendencies.

  Sam and Pierre came down the stairs, a handcuffed but dignified-looking Orrick and Karie accompanying them, while Gran appeared unruffled by this new development. I wanted to ask Sam what was going on, but the look he gave us made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for questions and answers.

  After a curt nod from Sam and a smile from Pierre, the two detectives were off with their prisoners, and I carefully closed the door behind them.

  The moment it latched, the three of us turned to Gran, and simultaneously asked, “What’s going on?! What did they do?!”

  Gran held up her hands. She was looking positively grim-faced now.

  “A good thing you did what you did, girls,” she told us.

  I exchanged a puzzled glance with my sisters. “What do you mean?”

  “The merman,” she said. “It’s a good thing you defeated him, otherwise more people would most certainly have died by the dark magic he weaved.”

  “But what did Orrick and Karie do?” Edie asked.

  Gran sighed. “Such a pity. It’s so hard to find a great gardener these days. And a housekeeper like Karie Nelson. They’re worth their weight in gold.”

  “Yes, but what did they do?” repeated Edie.

  “I just hope Sam will not be too hard on them.”

  “Yeah, but what did they do?” insisted Edie.

  “Orrick had just outlined his plans for the garden and I quite liked them.”

  “Gran! What did they do?!” cried Edie.

  “Mh? Oh, well they buried Yehudi Brevity’s wife, of course.”

  “They did what?!” I asked, flabbergasted.

  “Well, Mr. Brevity killed his wife, so naturally when he asked Karie and Orrick to get rid of the body they did. You can hardly blame them.” She shook her head again. “Loyalty should be rewarded, not punished.”

  I gasped, and the others gaped at Gran. “You can’t be serious,” said Stien.

  “You’re not seriously considering keeping them on, are you?” asked Edie.

  “Of course I’m keeping them on. Where else am I going to find such dedicated staff? I just hope that one day they’ll do for me what they did for Mr. Brevity.
”

  “Bury the body of your partner after you murdered him?” I asked.

  She frowned at me. “They didn’t kill Mrs. Brevity, Strel. They merely disposed of the body as instructed. You can hardly hold it against them.”

  I rolled my eyes. This was so weird…

  “But why did Brevity kill his wife?” asked Ernestine now.

  “Because of the merman, of course,” said Gran. “Brevity and his friends took a diving trip and dove to the wreck of the Albion, like dozens before them. Look, there are victims and victors in this world, sweetheart. The merman simply brought out the worst in them. Victors became murderers, and victims became, well, dead. If you hadn’t interfered, Jerry Vale might have killed his associate, Sam might have killed Skip, and Spear might have killed Pierre. And of course the merman might have killed the three of you.”

  “So Brevity killed his wife, but then who killed Brevity?” I asked.

  Gran smiled. “His diving buddies, obviously.” She pinched my cheek, something I hate, and said, “You did good, honey. You did very good.”

  “Thanks, Gran,” I said, accepting the rare compliment.

  “Tomorrow we’ll hand Gresham his treasure, and we can leave this whole terrible thing behind us,” she said. “And now it’s time for bed, my dears.”

  We stared after her as she mounted the stairs, and when she was out of earshot, I asked, “Do you think she knew all along what was going on?”

  “I’m sure she did,” said Edie. “I’m sure she knew exactly what that Hayes Suggur was all about.”

  “But then why didn’t she tell us? She could have saved us a lot of trouble.”

  “No, she couldn’t,” said Ernestine. “Even if she’d told us Captain Suggur was actually a merman we still would have had to go out there to defeat him. And also, maybe we’re at our best when we don’t overthink things.”

  “Well, there’s no danger of that,” I said.