“Just look at me,” he said on-screen. “I’ll be scarred for life.”
The camera zoomed in on his face, which was covered with a now-familiar rash. The picture flashed to the news desk, where the normally staid anchor recoiled in horror.
The reporter went on to explain again how Griffin had been arrested for disturbing the peace after he’d been found pounding on the door of the victim’s place of business the morning after she was found murdered. “Investigators have confirmed Mr. Huntley’s alibi and never considered him a person of interest.”
“Well,” I said, “he may have been faking the baldness for fifteen minutes of fame, but that rash is very real.”
“How do you suppose he got it?”
I had a good idea of how and knew whom to ask—someone who seemed to know just a little too much about Griffin Huntley’s life. I just had to confirm it.
“Oh, look!” She pointed at the TV screen.
I sat up. A reporter was standing in front of Jake Carey’s house. “A happy ending for this Melrose family. The Franklin Park Zoo has accepted the mysterious wombat with open arms, and has provided seven-year-old Jake with a lifetime membership, allowing him to visit the wombat, now named Ozzie, whenever he wants. As a reminder to our viewers, please check local codes before buying exotic pets. Most are endangered and illegal to own.” The camera panned to Jake playing with the wombat in a secure area of the zoo. It then cut to footage of the wombat in a pen as it played with other wombats as Jake looked on. “Including wombats.”
The newscast cut to a commercial.
Ve smiled at me.
“You’d think there’d be a Wishcraft Law about granting wishes for illegal pets.”
She laughed. “It will probably be amended in.”
I stood and stretched, ready for bed. “Just as long as I don’t earn another trip to see the Elder.”
“Try your best to stay on her good side.”
I laughed. That was easier said than done.
A few days later, I was up early, ready to run with Starla. Mist was clinging stubbornly to the morning, and there was a hint of a chill in the air.
The green had almost been completely transformed for Saturday night’s dance. Tents had been erected, a dance floor laid, and dozens of service trucks were arriving to complete last-minute tasks.
The week had passed in a blur. As You Wish had been busy, I’d finished helping Mrs. P pack up Alex’s shop, and I’d been helping Starla prep for the dance. Gayle Chastain had offered Harper the managerial job at Spellbound Books—and she had eagerly accepted. Sylar had been released from jail on bail, and Ramona, though a suspect, had collected her reward from Ve. Which was gladly paid out, as Sylar was currently free because the watch had been found.
Alex’s case was still open, and the state police presence in the village, including undercover officers, had increased now that they were undertaking a proper investigation. Village officers had been scarce, including the police chief. Their absence was quite obvious to the villagers, who were taking note and making plans for a complete overhaul of the police force.
The presence of the state police may have deterred the pickpocket, as there hadn’t been reports of any thefts since Monday, when two hundred dollars had gone missing from a tourist the morning I picked up Ve’s locket from All That Glitters.
Neither Vince nor Ramona had been arrested, though the police had named both as persons of interest. Neither had been seen much in the village since the outburst in the bookshop. There seemed to be a profound lack of evidence to arrest either of them, and it looked like Sylar would be off the hook as well.
Which all left a big pit in my stomach. I wanted justice for Alex. It didn’t seem right that someone was going to get off scot-free. There had to be more evidence…somewhere. Someone had to know something more.
At the sound of running footsteps, I looked up and was surprised to see Evan headed my way. Usually he was in the bakery by this time every morning, and I knew for a fact that he didn’t like to sweat.
He slowed to a stop at the bench and gave me a big smile. I hadn’t seen him much in the past few days, except in passing. He’d been busy getting caught up at the bakery.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” I joked. “Evan Sullivan jogging?”
“I lost a bet with Starla.”
I laughed. “What kind of bet?”
“I bet she couldn’t convince you to cover for her today, and she bet that I couldn’t keep up with the two of you this morning. This is essentially all your fault.” He smiled. “Thanks a lot.”
Starla actually hadn’t convinced me of anything—she’d hired me through As You Wish. From noon to four today I’d be roaming around the green, snapping pictures of tourists. She’d given me a crash course in digital photography yesterday, and I hoped I would remember the basics, including Starla’s dire warning to never use the phrase “Say cheese,” simply because it drove her crazy.
I kept the whole hiring thing mum, though, because I had a feeling Evan would use it against her. And frankly, he could use a little exercise.
“Is she not coming this morning?” I asked.
“She’s on her way. She didn’t expect that I’d run faster than her.” I wondered how long that would last. With newbie runners, the tortoise usually beat the hare in the long run.
“Nice shoes,” he said, bending down to admire my sneakers. “What brand are they?”
They were blue, high-tech, and decorated with tiny rhinestones. “Custom-made,” I said.
“Ooh la la!”
“And a gift.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “From a boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend do you know would give running shoes as a gift?”
“I had one once.…No wonder he’s an ex.”
I laughed. “They were a gift from Pepe.”
His eyes lit. “He’s sweet on you. That’s so cute.”
“Nothing cute about it. The sneakers were a thank-you gift because I talked Godfrey out of getting a cat. Again.”
“I’m surprised those two haven’t killed each other yet.”
“Give it time,” I joked. “Speaking of boyfriends…anyone new in your life?”
“Oh no. I’m not currently on the market. My last date was enough to swear me off dating for a year.”
“Your date with Griffin Huntley?”
His jaw dropped. “How’d you know?”
“I saw him on the news the other night with a rash on his face…and something Ramona said clicked. About how she thought if she used the love lotion on both she and Vince, it would work better. Your face, Griffin’s face. Your comment the other day that Alex wasn’t Griffin’s type…”
“I can’t believe I ever dated him.” He hung his head.
“He is cute, especially now that all that horrible hair is gone.”
He cracked a smile. “Alex introduced us. She knew I’d been looking for Mr. Right. A matchmaker she was not. I tried to salvage the date by pulling out the lotion. We both used it—to see if it would work. It didn’t. It really didn’t. I left the lotion at his place that night—that’s where I lost it.”
Ah, so he hadn’t been telling me everything.
“When I called to see if he’d had a reaction, he said no. I warned him not to use any more of it, though, and told him to throw it out. But I don’t think he did that at all.”
“No?”
“I think he’s been using gobs and gobs of it to get a reaction like mine. And therefore get more press.”
Mrs. P did say that the more exposure, the worse the reaction would be.
“He got his wish. The media has been clamoring for interviews with him.”
I stretched my calf muscle. “My guess is he’s finally stopped using it, because the last time I saw him on the news, his face looked much better. Maybe he’s learned his lesson?”
“I doubt it. He probably just ran out. It wasn’t a very big tube.” He sighed. “One of these days I’d like to kis
s a frog and get a prince instead of just a plain old toad.”
It sounded good to me, too. Which immediately had me thinking about Nick. I hadn’t seen much of him, either, these last few days—Mimi was at day camp and he was busy with the pickpocketing case and avoiding me.
At least it felt as though he was avoiding me.
Even Missy had stopped escaping so much to see him.
Friends, we had said. It was better that way. At least that was what I kept telling myself. “Did I tell you I got a postcard from the Goodwins a couple days ago?”
He shook his head. “When are they coming back?”
“They’ll be at the dance.”
“Will you be?” he asked.
I spotted Starla coming through the mist, her ponytail slashing the air, and smiled. “I think so.” Starla had kinda-sorta talked me into it. And I figured if I didn’t wear that dress Pepe had made for me, he might chomp my ankle.
“With a date?” he asked, his eyes wide and hopeful.
“Nope. You’re not the only one who has trouble with frogs.”
“Well,” he said, “as you recall, you promised me a dance.”
“As I recall, you promised to save me a dance.”
“Then it’s settled!” He poked me with his elbow. “And I promise not to ribbit. Not even once.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Okay, say cheese,” I said, aiming the camera at a cute family crowded together. What Starla didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
They smiled, I clicked a picture, and I handed them a claim ticket. “You can purchase the photo at Hocus-Pocus Photography in an hour.” I pointed toward the storefront next to the Gingerbread Shack. “Enjoy your visit to the village.”
It was just after two, and I’d already taken nearly fifty pictures. Tourists had come back in droves over the past two days. The media attention had drawn out the curiosity seekers—who obviously had no worries about being pickpocketed.
Smiling, I clicked a few pictures of Higgins walking Gayle Chastain.
“Print me a copy!” she yelled as he dragged her down the block.
“Will do!” I called back, laughing as I checked the camera’s display. The dog was huge. I still wondered if he was a familiar…and realized the romantic in me wished it to be true. There was just something so sweet about Russ wanting to come back to be with his wife for a while longer. I could only imagine how hard it was for her to lose the love of her life.
Actually, I kind of knew. I’d seen my father go through it. If my mother had been around, someway, somehow, maybe he’d have led a different life. A happier life.
Just as I was walking toward a young couple picnicking on the green, I caught a flash of bright pink. It was Mrs. P and she was with Marcus Debrowski—she was speed-walking and he was trying to keep up. They looked serious, but when Mrs. P spotted me, she beamed. She patted him on the back and turned in my direction.
I noticed Marcus took a second to catch his breath. He waved to me before heading off in the direction of his office.
I returned his wave and wondered if now that Vince was out of the picture, Harper would give the lawyer a chance. I’d just keep it to myself that I once considered him a murder suspect.
“Darcy! Just the woman I wanted to see. I need your help.”
It was nice to see her bubbly again. Grief lingered in the dark circles under her eyes—she still wasn’t sleeping well—but she’d come a long way from the glazed-over look she’d been walking around with after Alex’s death. Grief affected people in such different ways. Mrs. P. had shut down, my father had stopped living life, Gayle had thrown herself into work, and Nick Sawyer had turned animosity into an ill-fated friendship.
“What kind of help?”
“Brute strength.”
“You may have picked the wrong girl.” I jiggled my flaccid arm. Less jiggly now than a week ago, but not nearly as toned as I’d hoped.
“Marcus just propositioned me.”
“Mrs. P,” I said in mock seriousness, “isn’t he a little young for you?”
She threw her head back and laughed—the Phyllis Diller cackle I loved so much.
She winked. “I think I might be too experienced for the likes of him. He needs someone a touch more…innocent.”
Suddenly I was wondering what kind of life she had led. She’d only been married twice for goodness’ sake.
“Someone,” she continued, “like you.”
I started coughing. She pounded on my back.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I squeaked.
“Just one little date.”
“Um…no.”
“Give it some thought.”
I pretended to think. “No.”
Arching an eyebrow, she studied me. “Ah, do you have your heart set on another? Someone in particular, who you’ve gotten to know well in the last week?”
“If you’re talking about Evan, I don’t think he’s interested.”
She laughed again, and tourists stopped, stared. Her laugh was that outrageous. “All right,” she said. “I’ll let it go. For now.”
“What was the proposition?” I asked.
She linked arms with me and we strolled along the path around the green. It was just about eighty degrees and sunny with a light breeze that kept it from getting too hot.
“He was approached by someone who wants to sublet Alex’s apartment.” Marcus had pulled some strings (and, I suspected, used some magic) to fast-track having Mrs. P named as the estate’s administrator.
“That’s great.”
“Yes, but more interesting is that this person also wants to buy Alex’s entire inventory, lock, stock, lotions, potions, and all. The buyer wants to keep the store open. Marcus says it’s not quite legal at this point, but as long as all parties involved agree, he can make it happen. So I said yes. The amount will allow me to settle Alex’s remaining lawsuits.”
I stopped in my tracks. “We’re going to have to move all the stuff back into the shop?” All the stuff we’d just moved out.
Nodding, she said, “Yes, but think of what great exercise it is.” She jiggled my arm. “And of course, I’ll fill out all the proper paperwork through As You Wish. The buyer wants to take possession at the end of next week. Are you available Monday?”
“I’ll check the schedule, but I’m fairly sure it’s open.”
“Good!” She clapped her hands. “I’m so glad that’s settled.” Quietly, she added, “And I’m relieved that a little bit of Alex will live on, through that store.”
I just hoped whoever was taking over was creating all new products. Or the newcomer risked more lawsuits. “Do you know who’s buying it?”
She gazed at me. “I didn’t think to ask. I don’t suppose it matters.”
I supposed not, but I still wanted to know.
“Mrs. P!” a voice shouted. “Mrs. P!”
We turned to find Mimi Sawyer running toward us, her pink witch hat in one hand, papers in the other. She was waving madly, a huge smile on her face.
Breathing hard, she caught up to us. She was so excited she was bouncing.
“What’s going on?” Mrs. P asked her. “I thought you had camp today, little one.”
“Half day.” She gasped for air. “Today. And tomorrow. Found. These.” She shoved the papers toward Mrs. P “In my hat.” Turning the hat upside down, she pointed to a seam that revealed a hidden pocket.
Mrs. P smoothed out the papers and held them at arm’s length so she could read them. “Can’t read a damned thing without my glasses.” She handed the papers to me.
“Oh!” My eyes filled with sudden tears, and I felt like such a sap.
“Tell me it’s not more lawsuits,” Mrs. P said.
Mimi bounced. “Tell her!”
“They’re two birth certificates. For Virginia and for Alexandra. And your marriage license to Mr. Pennywhistle.” The one that listed her former name as Eugenia Clemson. “Raised seals and everything. They’re official.”
<
br /> “Is your middle name really Bartholomew?” Mimi asked.
Mrs. P laughed. She had grabbed the papers back and was trying her best to read the print. Instead, she ran her fingers over the seals. “It really is. Just don’t let it get around, okay? Might ruin my reputation.” She fluffed her hair. Well, she tried to. It was already poufed to the max.
“Thank you, little one, for finding these. I didn’t think they were important, but now that I have them…” She held them to her chest and tears filled her eyes.
Mimi wrapped her arms around her.
“Snap a picture for me, will you, Darcy?” Mrs. P asked. “I want to remember this moment forever.”
“I never turn out good in pictures,” Mimi said, trying to wiggle away.
“Nonsense.” Mrs. P latched on to her. “You’re beautiful.”
I’d almost forgotten about the camera around my neck. I backed up from them a few paces, took a quick look around to make sure Starla wasn’t nearby, and said, “Say cheese.”
“Cheese!” they echoed.
I clicked the button and looked at the display.
My chest squeezed when I looked at the photo. My skin tingled.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. P asked.
“It didn’t come out,” I said softly.
“Told you,” Mimi said.
“Take another, then!” They posed.
I took another picture. And another. They always turned out the same.
Mrs. P’s happiness exuded on the screen. But Mimi…
Mimi wasn’t visible. Instead, there was a sunburst of bright white light in her place.
Which could mean only one thing.
Mimi was a Wishcrafter.
I quickly made up a lame excuse that I had to leave, and ran all the way home at a dead sprint.
“‘Run, Forrest, run!’” Archie squawked as I passed Mr. Goodwin’s house.
“Forrest Gump,” I yelled as I shoved open the gate and ran up the back steps.
“That was a gimme,” he called after me.
Inside, Missy barked. I quickly patted her head. I carefully set Starla’s camera on the counter. “Ve!” I shouted. “Aunt Ve!”
I ran up the back staircase two steps at a time. “Ve!”
It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery Page 25