It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery

by Heather Blake

“Suuure,” Starla said, drawing the word out.

  I could tell she had a brother—I’d have a hard time joking with Nick like that without sounding like I was flirting outrageously. Somehow, Starla pulled it off.

  Nick was probably right, though, about the quote being Shakespeare. Sounded like something he’d write.

  Standing, Nick left Missy and Twink staring up adoringly at him. “Pickpocketing to murder is a big leap.”

  “It makes more sense than Sylar Dewitt killing her. He couldn’t hurt a flea.”

  “Sometimes people are very good at hiding who they truly are.” Nick reached out a hand, and I nearly jumped clear out of my flaccid skin when he brushed my cheek with his finger. At the tip, something sparkled. “Glitter,” he said with a faint smile. “I need to get home. Good day, ladies.” He bent and patted the dogs’ heads before he broke into a sprint.

  Starla stared at me.

  “What?”

  She laughed. “Oh, Darcy, you’re going to be the envy of this village.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nick Sawyer is the village’s most eligible bachelor. And it looks like he has his sights set on you.”

  I adjusted my glasses. “Have I told you that you’re crazy?”

  “Only once so far today.”

  “Is that watch really worth fifty thousand?”

  Starla accepted the change of subject. “Yes, but what’s got my curiosity up is who gave it to her in the first place. No one in the village knows of Alex having any kind of boyfriend.”

  It made me wonder what other secrets Alexandra Shively was keeping.

  And if those secrets were why she was killed.

  Chapter Six

  As You Wish’s phone was ringing when I pushed open the kitchen door. I dropped Missy’s leash and made a run for the handset in our private office off the first-floor hallway. The room was tight with two desks, overflowing bookshelves, filing cabinets, and enough clutter to make me feel claustrophobic. I had yet to convince Ve to let me tidy the place and create some form of order. Thank goodness the clients never saw this space, or they might question our organizational skills.

  Sunlight splashed off pretty light green walls as I grabbed the phone. “As You Wish, this is Darcy. What is the wish you wish today?”

  There was no chance of any wish being spoken over the phone being granted. Another of the Wishcraft Laws was that the wisher had to be present for the wish to be fulfilled.

  “Darcy, I’m so glad you’re there. This is Cherise Goodwin, and I need your help.”

  I sank into the upholstered desk chair and looked around for a pad of paper. A pile of invoices toppled before I finally found some sticky notes. “What can I do for you? Laurel Grace didn’t have nightmares about sparkly pink strangers, did she?” My glasses slid down my nose as I searched for a pen. I finally found one under Ve’s day planner.

  Missy had followed me in, and I unhooked her leash and rubbed under her chin. She trotted out of the room, probably on a Tilda hunt.

  Cherise laughed, then cleared her throat. “No, no, nothing like that. Apparently you made quite an impression on Laurel Grace after she had time to think about it—a good impression. So much so that suddenly she’s lost another tooth this morning. One that was wiggly but probably not quite ready to come out.”

  I winced.

  “She wants to see you again. Tonight. Please tell me it’s possible. Whatever the cost, I will cover it.”

  I heard Missy let out two excited barks, but then she quieted right down. I thought she’d probably found Tilda, until I heard footsteps. I craned my head to see who it was—had Harper come back?—and, off-balance, nearly fell off the chair. “Are you sure?” I said absently to Cherise.

  I jumped when a head poked into the office. Ve looked drawn and tired, but I was glad to see her. I covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “Are you okay?”

  Ve nodded. “You finish up—I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  I tuned back in to what Cherise was saying, all the while worrying about Ve. I had a feeling things were going to get much worse for her before they got better.

  “Trust me.” Cherise sounded worn down. “It will be worth it if Laurel Grace gets what she wants. Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it. And I mean never.”

  I tapped the end of the pencil on the sticky notes, leaving a pattern of polka dots. “Does she have any other loose teeth?”

  “Dear Lord, I hadn’t thought of that. This can go on and on until all her permanent teeth come in.”

  “I was thinking more about how far Laurel Grace would go to forcefully remove her teeth just to get a tooth fairy visit.”

  There was silence on the line for a second while Cherise contemplated what I’d said and its ramifications. Cherise was a Curecrafter, but I didn’t know if that covered dental work.

  Finally, she said, “We have to come up with something to tell her, Darcy. She can’t keep yanking out teeth just to see you. Can you think of anything?”

  I had a few ideas. “I’ll take care of it. What time would you like me to be there?” I was already dreading putting on the tulle again. This time, however, I’d go easy on the glitter.

  “Same time as last night?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up and put a call in to Laurissa Hale at the Spinning Wheel and left a message on her machine (the shop didn’t open till nine) that I needed another embroidered tooth fairy pillow for Laurel Grace, to be picked up this afternoon.

  As I jotted the appointment into Ve’s day planner, I noticed a notation for this afternoon. **Find wombat.**

  Why would someone want a wombat? A wombat of all things. I racked my brain trying to come up with any wombat facts I had stashed in the cobwebby corners. Australia popped right up along with a fuzzy image of an oversized groundhog-type critter. I could only imagine how Ve had planned to find one. I took the day planner with me into the kitchen. It was empty.

  I heard hushed voices coming from upstairs. I stood at the bottom of the back staircase and listened. Sure enough, Ve was in the midst of a heated conversation with another woman whose voice I didn’t recognize. I noted that Ve’s cell phone was on the counter next to her purse and keys. The house phone didn’t have a speakerphone option. Had she brought someone home with her?

  I could hear only bits of the conversation. Something about someone being naive, and something about it being dangerous, foolish, and familiar. I had no idea what “it” was. When I heard the unknown woman tell Ve she was making a “foolhardy decision,” I debated whether to check on Ve and finally decided to give her some privacy. I looked in Tilda’s food bowls (the food hadn’t been touched) and filled Missy’s bowl. I washed my hands and finally—finally!—poured a cup of coffee.

  I’d just added creamer when Ve came down the stairs with Missy following behind her.

  “Please pour me some also. I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get.” Color was high in her cheeks as she pulled herself up onto a counter stool and whisked imaginary crumbs from the quartz countertop. “Who was on the phone, dear? A client?”

  Missy made a beeline for her food dish, and I watched the stairs as I poured coffee, but saw only Tilda staring down at us from the top step, her tail curled around her body.

  Sliding a mug in front of Ve, I said, “Cherise Goodwin,” and explained the situation.

  Ve took a sip of her coffee and frowned. Abruptly, she stood up, went into the butler’s pantry, and rooted around. She came out with a bottle of Grand Marnier and poured a generous amount into her coffee. She sipped, smiled, and said, “That’s better.”

  She left the bottle on the counter, one hand resting on it as if she’d rather be drinking straight from its glass neck.

  “Long night?” I asked with a smile.

  She grinned. “How’d you guess?”

  I didn’t want to push for details on Sylar right off the bat. A little bit of decompression time was probably needed after what she’d bee
n through.

  I listened for footsteps upstairs, but heard nothing. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me. “Aunt Ve?”

  Gripping her mug like a lifeline, she said, “Yes, dear?”

  “Who were you speaking with upstairs just a few minutes ago?”

  “Speaking with? Why, no one. No one else is here.” She drained her mug and motioned for a refill.

  I brought the coffeepot over. “I definitely heard voices.”

  “I must have been talking to myself. I do that often—I should have warned you.”

  “But—”

  “You’re sure you can handle running As You Wish on your own today?” Ve smiled tightly as she added a healthy amount of liquor to her mug.

  Her swift change of subject didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m sure.”

  “You need to use extra caution. You’re still new to your powers. You have no idea of what you’re capable.”

  “If I have any questions, I can call you.”

  Ve worried her lip. “You can also contact—” With a shake of her head, she cut herself off. “Never mind. Call me.”

  “Who else is there?”

  She sighed, drank, and said, “The Elder, but let’s not bother her today.”

  “The Elder is a she?”

  Smiling, Velma said, “Always. Crafters are matriarchal.”

  I leaned down on my elbows. “Is it someone I’ve met?”

  She wagged a finger. “The identity of the Elder is held in the highest of confidence. Her powers are great, Darcy. Very few know her identity as a matter of her protection, and we’re all bound to silence on the matter. You’ll find out in due time. Have patience, child.”

  “How does a Crafter make contact with the Elder?”

  “It’s a conversation for another day, Darcy.”

  Hearing the weariness in her tone, I decided not to push the matter. “I did have one question.” I slid the day planner toward her. “Why do we need to find a wombat?” I left off the “how.” I figured she had a plan.

  She groaned. “I completely forgot, and the party is tomorrow.”

  “What party?”

  “Jake Carey’s seventh birthday. He’s crazy for wombats and is having a marsupial-themed birthday party. His mother hired As You Wish to find a wombat piñata. So far, I’ve had no luck, but where there’s a will, there’s a way. Unfortunately for you, it has to be your will and your way. I need to leave soon. Sylar is due in court in two hours. I need to bring him a suit.”

  “Court? Why?”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “He’s been arrested and will be arraigned for Alexandra’s murder later today.”

  By noon, anxiety was building, slow and steady. I could feel it pulsing in my hands, throbbing in my neck. I took a few deep breaths, and shut down my laptop before I had a full-blown panic attack.

  I wasn’t one to have so many things out of my control at once.

  Missy lifted her head as I backed away from the desk, stretching sore neck muscles. I couldn’t help but notice that Starla was right—my upper arms did jiggle. I frowned at them and wished for toned muscle.

  I wasn’t the least bit surprised when nothing happened.

  Didn’t matter. I could fix a jiggly muscle. It might take some time, but it could be done. I was going to take Starla up on her offer to go jogging and get in shape. What were a few more changes after the upheaval of moving here?

  Glancing at the phone, I hoped it would ring. Ve said she’d call as soon as she had word about Sylar. The police were convinced he had killed Alexandra. Motive was still a little fuzzy, but he had been the last one to have possession of Ve’s scarf, and Evan Sullivan had told the police about Alexandra’s plans to talk to Sylar after the meeting—not to mention that he was found hovering over the body. It was enough for the overeager prosecutor to take immediate action. Ve was most incensed with the village’s police chief, Martin Leighton, who’d pretty much turned the case over to the state police so he could get back to his golf game. I had a feeling that once this case was all said and done, Ve would find a way to get Chief Leighton to retire.

  I drummed my fingers on my laptop. Should I do another round of online searches for wombat piñatas? I’d already spent close to three hours searching with no luck whatsoever. The closest I could find was a piglet piñata that I might be able to doctor a bit, but that idea fell through when I called the store and found out the piñata wasn’t in stock and would take three weeks to arrive.

  That wouldn’t work so well for a birthday party late tomorrow afternoon.

  Which meant I had only one option, since Mrs. Carey hadn’t implicitly wished for a wombat piñata. I was going to have to dig deep into memories of art class papier-mâché and make one myself. Time was of the essence—I had lots of shopping to get done. I made sure the front door was locked, and the BE RIGHT BACK sign was in place on the door. We didn’t get many walk-in clients, but occasionally people happened inside just to see what the business was about.

  I glanced around. Everything was neat and in its place. The spacious front room, the main meeting space for As You Wish, held a sofa, several chairs, and a small conference table. An area rug covered dark floors, and warm blues and greens made the large parlor feel a lot smaller and cozier. Fresh-cut hydrangeas floated in a bowl on the coffee table, and antique glass vases decorated the mantel. Silvery blue wallpaper with a playful faded curlicue design covered the walls, and sunlight slipped in through the gauzy curtain panels. The room was light and airy and welcoming. And yet, the room also brought out another feeling. A notion that there was something more going on in here. Something unseen. Something magical.

  Which, of course, there was.

  And then there was my favorite thing about the whole house. Above the mantel hung a large rectangular watercolor of a magic wand. The golden colors ebbed and flowed, swirled and twirled. It was perfect.

  In the mudroom off the kitchen, I tugged on my sneakers, noticing that the tread was worn. If I was going to start jogging, I’d need a new pair. More shopping.

  Missy bounded over, jumping and prancing.

  Take her? Leave her? “You may have to wait outside some of the shops.” Most of the village shops allowed dogs inside, but some held fast to the rule that pets remained out of doors.

  She turned in a circle, her tail wagging.

  I reached for her leash and snapped it on. Grabbing my wallet from my purse, I headed out the door.

  Apparently there had been no need to worry about tourism. The square was packed. Alexandra’s murder had people flocking to the village. I spotted Starla with her camera. One source of her income was taking random pictures of the tourists, and then selling them the prints.

  I headed her way, Missy bouncing along next to me. Starla was just handing a couple a claim ticket when she saw me.

  “Want a picture done?” she asked, steadying her lens.

  “No, no!”

  “Don’t tell me you’re camera shy?”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  “No, thank goodness, or I’d be out of business.” She slipped a pad of claim tickets into one of the many pockets of a lime green work apron (the kind a construction worker might use for nails and screwdrivers) embroidered with “Hocus-Pocus Photography.” “I hate to say it, but murder is good for business. The village is hopping.”

  We both turned toward Lotions and Potions. It was deserted. There wasn’t even any crime-scene tape to indicate something terrible had happened. Just a cardboard CLOSED sign taped to the door.

  “I heard Sylar was arrested,” she said. “I just can’t believe it.”

  Abruptly, Starla tipped her head, looking at something over my shoulder. She quickly switched lenses, adjusted her zoom, and took aim. I turned to see the object of her attention. Mrs. Pennywhistle sat on a hand-hewn log bench in front of a multitrunked birch tree, its branches heavy with new leaves.

  She looked in a daze, staring ahead at nothing in particular. If I wasn’t mistaken, she was
wearing the same pink tracksuit she’d worn the night before at the village meeting. Her hair was deflated, and her hands stayed in constant motion, twisting and turning over themselves. “She looks like something’s very wrong. Did she know Alexandra?”

  Starla lowered her camera. “Everyone here knows everyone. But if Mrs. P and Alex had a special friendship, I didn’t know of it.”

  “Did Alexandra have many friends?”

  Missy, who had been sweeping the area for any interesting smells, settled at my feet and seemed to be looking at Mrs. Pennywhistle, too.

  “A few. She and Evan were friends. They’d hang out and watch movies and hit the pub now and again.”

  Starla didn’t mention anything about Alex’s forays into Crafting, and I wasn’t going to bring it up.

  “She wasn’t the easiest to get along with. Very…intense. I sensed a loneliness in her. I thought it was because she never dated, but apparently she did. Secretly.”

  “Why would she keep it secret, do you think?”

  “Maybe her boyfriend was married?”

  If he was, and his wife found out about the affair, that would be good motive for murder. Maybe Harper and Ve were right. Maybe Sylar was innocent.…

  “I have to get these images back to the shop and get them uploaded. Are we on for running tomorrow morning?”

  I nodded. “You’ll be sure to bring the defibrillator paddles?”

  “Never leave home without them,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

  I looked down at Missy. “I hope she knows I wasn’t joking.”

  Missy thumped her tail.

  Inwardly, I debated whether to go over and see if Mrs. Pennywhistle was okay, but when I glanced her way, she had her head down as if she was praying. I decided to check back with her on my way home.

  Looking around the square, I wondered where I could pick up wombat supplies. First and foremost, I needed balloons. And newspapers—lots of them. And glue. I started for the village’s general store, the Crone’s Cupboard. When I passed the bookshop, I paused. Was Harper behaving herself? I peeked in the window and saw her shoulder to shoulder with Vince, arranging a display.