The Old Witcheroo

by Dakota Cassidy

  “I need to get into her apartment, Dana. Do you have a key?” I needed a feel for who Sophia was; my own feel, not someone’s interpretation.

  He gave me a sheepish look, his eyes sliding to the floor. “No. We decided to…well, to wait until the time was right, if you know what I mean, and we both thought a key would only tempt us into breaking our commitment to wait.”

  Goddess, these two were the cutest ever. Ever, ever. They made me want to put my head down and cry, they were so adorable.

  “He’s almost too good to be real, Stevie,” Win muttered, his admiration crystal clear. “He makes the rest of us look like sodding cavemen.”

  I nodded my head without thinking and sighed, maybe just a little breathy and forlorn. Dana was a really good guy. A good guy who’d lost his love.

  And I had to find a way to fix that.

  Dropping the corn dog on the counter, I wiped my hands on a towel. “Okay, so here’s my next plan of action. I’m going to do something illegal that I can’t tell you about because you go all Law & Order on me. But I’m doing it anyway. I need you to stay in touch. No matter what. Understood?”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked, rising to loom over me.

  I squinted up at him, my head pounding to beat the band. “Didn’t I just say I wasn’t going to tell you? If you want my help, buddy, you’d better adjust to my unorthodox sleuthing. I don’t always play by the rules. Now scram, and stay clear of your house for the time being, and for sure call me if they want you to come back down to the station. Okay?”

  The bob of his head was curt. “Okay.”

  I waved him off then went in search of my rental car keys (if you’ll recall, my cute little Fiat rests at the bottom of the drink after my last run-in-with-a-killer catastrophe) and my purse.

  But Dana stuck his head back around the corner of the doorway. “Stevie?”

  “Yeah?” I asked distractedly, already in Sophia’s apartment in my head while I dug in my purse.

  “I know this is going to sound crazy coming from me, but can I ask you a question?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and let his head hang low. “I don’t know…you’re always talking about vibes and ghosts and whatnot. I guess I’m just curious.”

  “You can ask me anything you want, and if I can answer, I surely will.” Goddess, where were my keys?

  “I know you found her, so I thought maybe you might have a feel for…” He paused and sighed before he spoke again, his tone somber, riddled with anguish. “Do you think Sophia knew how much I loved her before she…”

  My head snapped up, and when I saw his face, my heart literally trembled in my chest in time with the throb of my nose.

  I had to clench my fist to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks. But I still nodded a reassurance. “Yeah, Dana. I do. I really, really do.”

  He smiled then, a sad, wistful smile, and nodded before he turned and left.

  Chapter 8

  A sharp whistle caught my attention just as I swung into Strange Brew to grab a cup of coffee before going to Sophia’s.

  “What the heck happened to you? Looks like you got hit in the face with a sledgehammer,” Chester, my surrogate grandfather and favorite all-round Eb Falls senior, called to me from his usual seat in the corner of his grandson’s coffee shop.

  Strange Brew is one of my favorite haunts, and even though the owner, Forrest Sherwood, and I can’t seem to nail down anything solid in the way of a personal relationship, nothing was ever awkward between us because of it. I did my thing, he did his, and sometimes we met in the middle.

  I had mixed romantically friendly feelings about Forrest. He’s great to look at, a great conversationalist, intelligent, and I love his grandfather, but…

  There’s that word. But. It’s the but part of this whole on-and-off dating thing with Forrest that I can’t quite pin down. I don’t know what’s missing because truly, he’s the total package.

  So I smiled at Chester and waved, or I tried to smile, but it hurt my nose. Who knew your nose was so connected to every other aspect of your face? “Just whacked myself in the face. No big deal.”

  Chester stuck his thumbs under his signature red suspenders and clucked his tongue with eyes that scrutinized me. “That ain’t what Merrily Watson says.”

  Ugh. That woman. “Really? What did Merrily Watson say, Chester?”

  His bushy eyebrows crunched together in a frown. “She says you put on some show for her today when you tried to contact her sister Hester.”

  Did she also mention the show she put on for her husband Conroy when he bought the cow? I wondered. But instead, I bit my tongue. “Did she then? Well, you know me, Chester. I aim to please. No one leaves MZ’s without a proper show from the Great Beyond.”

  Chester reached up and bracketed my face with his gentle hands, assessing my nose with worried eyes. “Say, you listen here. You don’t look so good, Sassafras. Yer nose is the size of my backside after two custard-filled donuts and a bear claw. I think you need to see the doc. So, c’mon, grab your coffee and I’ll walk you over there. Cain’t have my favorite girl with a broken snout. How’ll that look to the boys at shuffleboard?”

  I patted his hands and released myself from his grip. “Nah. I just need some caffeine and a bucket of aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

  He sighed and pointed to his chubby, weathered cheek with a wink. “Gimme one right here before you go flying off to meddle in this blasted heat. It’s enough to fry ya up right there on the dangblammit sidewalk.”

  I leaned in and pecked him with a laugh. “Who says I’m meddling?”

  “I says. I know that look in your eye by now, young lady. After yesterday, I’d expect you’d be waist deep in Sophia’s murder. Dang shame, ain’t it? Nicest kid on the block besides you. Sorry you got caught up in it.”

  “It really sucks rocks, Chester.” Seeing Chester reminded me; he’d spent a lot of time at Senior Book Club, maybe he’d overheard a conversation or seen something that could help me piece together who might want to kill her. “Listen, any chance you heard anything about Sophia during your visits to the library? Like maybe where she comes from? Why she moved here to Eb Falls?”

  I felt like I was running into a brick wall every time I asked that question. How could someone so public, so friendly and open, never have discussed anything about her past other than she’d been in the foster care system?

  “Nope,” Chester said, shaking his balding head of white. Then he paused and pursed his lips. “Wait. You know, once I saw her on one of the computers at the library. Was on my way back from the can. Prostrate and all, ya know. She was lookin’ at somethin’ about Chicago. I remember seein’ her tear up. Asked if everything was okay, and she shooed me off back to book club, said she was just a sentimental ninny.”

  My ears perked. “How long ago was that, Chester?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe a couple’a weeks ago. We were readin’ that stupid How To Age Gracefully For Dummies. Still haven’t digested that tomfoolery. Who the heck wants to make a salad out of dust and quinoa and have weekly enema parties to clean your pipes? Not this guy, I’ll tell ya. Not even The Notebook could help me wash that gaggle o’ crap down.”

  I giggled, but my spine tingled. This meant something. Though what, I couldn’t say. I needed to find that computer and look up its cache. There were only three in the entire library. It shouldn’t be too hard.

  Leaning down, I planted another kiss on Chester’s round cheek. “You’re a peach among men, buddy. Thank you.”

  “Oh, skedaddle, you. I got a crossword waitin’ on me,” he said, the tip of his nose and his cheeks turning red.

  “I have to run anyway. Will I see you tonight at the candlelight memorial for Sophia?”

  He clucked his tongue. “Wouldn’t miss it. Sad times, Kitten. Sad times.”

  Sad times indeed. I waved over my shoulder and headed for the counter, where Forrest already had my salted caramel frap waiting for me. I half-
smiled at him when he turned around, and saluted him with my coffee. “You’re a prince among men, Forrest. Just like your grandfather.”

  His handsome face went from welcoming to worried in seconds. Pushing his way out from behind the counter, he looked down at me, his finger tentatively reaching up to touch my cheek. “Stevie! What happened?”

  “Just a small accident. I’m fine. This coffee makes me better. Thanks.”

  “Another run-in with a killer?” he asked, his eyes concerned, but it wasn’t a funny, ha-ha “did you tangle with a killer again, Stevie Cartwright?” kind of question. His tone was serious, and it made my antenna fly upward and stand at attention.

  I sipped my coffee through the straw, wincing when I realized my nose was also connected to my tongue by some roundabout way. Dang that hurt. “Don’t be silly. I haven’t found the killer yet. It was just an accident, Forrest. No big deal.”

  “So you’re actively looking for the person who killed Sophia?” he asked, his eyes going wide with disbelief.

  I paused, scanning his handsome face, all the nice lines and contours. “Of course I am. You know me, Forrest. It’s my thing. It’s what I do. Especially because it involves Officer Nelson. He’s a good guy.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Forrest gazed down at me. “You don’t know that, Stevie. You don’t know Dana very well, and most of your newly minted relationship has been combative, to say the least. You’re going to end up killed yourself. You almost have a time or two.”

  My hand flapped upward. “Are you saying you think he might have killed Sophia?” I was astonished.

  Forrest avoided my eyes. Looked right past my shoulder and over toward one of the modern art paintings on the wall just behind me. “I’m not saying anything. I’m saying you’re going to get yourself killed with all your snooping.”

  I was beginning to feel a bit like I was ten and Forrest was my school principal. “But the point is, I haven’t. I’m fine.”

  Putting a hand over my cup, he kept me from taking another sip. “The point is, you could end up dead with the kind of risks you take. That worries me, Stevie. You’ve been in several pretty scary situations. The last time you almost drowned.”

  Forrest was referring to the last maniac I’d tangled with. The man who’d killed my stepfather and turned out to be Bart’s biological son, all in one crazy package.

  I yanked my cup back and glared up at him. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Forrest. He came looking for me.”

  “Because you stuck your nose into something you probably shouldn’t have and he found out.”

  I didn’t like the proprietary nature this conversation was taking. I was my own woman. I made my own choices. If I wanted to climb trees in the pouring rain, swing from the scaffolding in my house, or end up dunked in the Puget because I was chasing down a killer, that was my prerogative.

  I took an extra-long swig of my frap, making that slurping noise my mother always told me was rude, before I set the unfinished coffee on the counter. “I have to go now before I punch you square in the nose. Then we’ll be twinsies, and we can’t have your pretty face messed up by a girl. I’ll see you tonight at Sophia’s memorial, Forrest.”

  With that, I turned on my heel and headed straight for the door, lifting the edges of my flowing caftan so I wouldn’t trip, and to ensure my exit was full of all sorts of righteous indignation.

  Hitting the door with the heel of my hand, I whisked back out into the oppressive heat and stalked toward my store, where my car was parked out front.

  The nerve of that man. It was one thing to worry for my safety, totally another to basically tell me to stop doing what I loved to do.

  “He’s only looking out for your best interests, Pet. Don’t be angry,” Win cooed in my ears. “Besides, he’s absolutely spot on.”

  I pressed my fingers to my Bluetooth and narrowed my eyes (which, surprise, also hurt my nose). “Not you, too, Win! You’re always game for a good mystery. How can you say that?”

  I felt betrayed, flimflammed. This was my Spy Guy, the man who’d been with me on every chase since the beginning. The man who’d virtually taught me all sorts of forms of torture and escape, who’d talked me through every dangerous liaison I’d been in with a killer. The man who’d come to me and asked me for help to begin with was turning on me.

  “I’ve said that from the beginning, Dove. And while, yes, I’m game for a good mystery, I’m not game for you hurting yourself in the pursuit of said mystery. I have not an iota of trouble putting clues together with you in the kitchen, but facing a real killer is a different tale altogether. I’ve always worried for your safety. More, I’ve always hesitated when you’ve taken it upon yourself to dig where you shouldn’t. Lest ye forget about Jacob the fish man, who almost broke your backside.”

  Oh, I remembered Jacob the jerk, of Deep Sea Diver food truck fame. Yes, he almost broke my rear end. I still felt a pang on particularly damp days from the injury, but I’d survived, and I’d learned, and I used what I’d learned to my advantage. I was getting better all the time.

  So, I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. I was, as Win says, utterly gobsmacked and annoyed. And hot. God, it was so bloody hot!

  “I bet you never said that to Miranda!” I croaked.

  There was a silence, a you’ve-gone-too-far silence, before Win said, “Cheap shot, Mini-Spy. She was trained to deal with ruthless killers, Stephania. You, decidedly, are not!”

  I really lost my temper then. It doesn’t rear its ugly head often, but when it does, the words that end up coming out are usually ones I regret.

  Hauling my purse over my shoulder, I squinted against the sun. “You know what, Winterbottom? I’ve had enough of you bunch of sac scratchers for today, thank you very much. I can take care of myself!” I shouted, forgetting about the ruse of my Bluetooth altogether.

  “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?”

  Okay, the heat was getting to me, because it didn’t sound like Win was in my ear anymore, it sounded like he was directly behind me.

  I whipped around so fast, I almost lost my footing. And then my eyes narrowed.

  Speaking of sac scratchers, I strolled up to my favorite one of all with a stilted, wilted swagger. “Well, well. If it isn’t Fauxbottom. What, pray tell, could I possibly have to say to you?”

  Fake Spy Guy lifted his chiseled chin with the dimple in it and tugged the ends of his fancy suit jacket (more Armani, if you must know) to straighten the length. He looked completely unruffled by this unmitigated heat, and that made me want to stomp on one of his shiny black leather shoes (also Armani).

  He smiled at me, all charmy-charms and courteous posturing. As the sun beat down on his head, he answered in his oh so British way, “I heard you call my name. It’s impolite to ignore a lady.”

  My nose was one heck of a mess right now and it was throbbing like it had a life of its own. Not to mention, I was outside in my sticky Madam Z caftan in the blazing-hot sun while sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades and left my poofy turban wilted. I was, essentially, in no mood.

  “You heard wrong. Today is not the day, and I am absolutely not the one, Imposter. Now go away, you scam artist. My lawyer and I will see you next week, and not a moment sooner!”

  So, hah! I’d really told him.

  But Fakebottom simply smiled brighter, if that were at all possible, right there in the midday sun, out in public where all the Eb Fall-ers milled about. “Indeed. I shall see you very soon, shan’t I?”

  “Shan’t I?” I mimicked like all good six-year-olds would—complete with a simultaneous neck and eye roll. “You know, pal, who do you think you are? Never mind, I know who you think you are. The question is, why are you still here in Ebenezer Falls? Shouldn’t you be off sipping Earl Gray with your pinky sticking out while you watch the telly?”

  Fakebottom rocked back on his heels. “Ah, don’t tempt me, Miss Cartwright. I miss my motherland. For now, I shall have to suffer you Americans an
d your…pop, is it? Pinky finger out, of course. I decided I should learn to enjoy the ways of this town, get acquainted and such. I will be moving into my house soon, after, all, and I want to make a good first impression with my neighbors.”

  All right. That was just about enough. If he wanted a fight, he was going to get one, and it was going to hurt. These people all staring at me as though I’d finally cracked were my neighbors. By goddess. Mine. And he couldn’t have them.

  I cornered him up against the pharmacy’s picture window, ignoring the fact that he was at least six inches taller than me, and growled up at his coolly serene face. “You listen to me, whoever you are. It’ll be an ice storm in Arizona in July before you steal my house from me, and I don’t care what kind of proof you claim to have. You’ll carry my stiff, cold, lifeless body out of there before you get your pasty-white hands on my house! That house is mine. That money is mine. These people here in town are mine, and if you think you can take them away from me, you’d better roll up your fancy Armani sleeves and pack a lunch!”

  I hadn’t noticed before, but the street had grown quite silent. No background noises to speak of, no murmurs from the crowds lined up at the food trucks.

  Fakebottom said nothing, but his eyes roved the landscape above my head with a smirk on his face.

  “They’re all looking at me, aren’t they?”

  He nodded, smile back in its properly gloating place. “I’m afraid so, Miss Cartwright.”

  “Good then, I have witnesses. As for now, I bid you and your hoity-toity upper-crust accent good day!” I shouted up at him and all his classic good looks and non-perspiring façade, before I stomped the rest of the way back up the sidewalk to grab Whiskey from the store and take him home before I snuck into Sophia’s apartment.

  That was when I heard the clapping.