The Goodbye Witch

by Heather Blake

  She said nothing for a long time, then whispered, “I don’t know how to feel right now, with him gone. . . . On one hand, I’m relieved because I’d been so scared of him. On the other, I’m really sad. How twisted is that? To be sad?”

  “I don’t think it’s twisted at all. At one point, you loved him very much.”

  “Maybe I still do. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to fully commit to Vince, holding myself back a little. Maybe that’s why I feel this crushing weight on my chest.”

  Maybe that was why she couldn’t forgive herself for staying in a destructive marriage for so long. I hoped one day she would forgive herself. One day soon. I squeezed her hand tighter.

  “Why did it have to be this way? Why?”

  Tears leaked from my eyes just from the sheer agony I heard straining her voice. There was nothing I could say to that. No amount of soothing that could console her at this point. Maybe ever.

  Missy clambered into Starla’s lap and gave her chin a lick. With watery eyes, Starla said to the dog, “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

  If only that were true.

  If only.

  * * *

  Even though I was sleep deprived, I took an hour the next morning to go for my morning jog. I needed the time to clear my mind. So much had happened over the past two days that I could barely keep it straight.

  Early on a Sunday morning was probably the quietest time in the village. I spotted only a few hearty souls out walking their dogs as I jogged along. Even though another snowstorm was supposed to hit later on today, right now temperatures hovered above freezing. Everything was perfectly still, peaceful. And for a change lately, I didn’t hear the cooing of the mourning dove.

  I kept running, unzipping my thermal jacket as I warmed from exertion. The cold air I breathed in felt both soothing and painful—a strange combination to be sure—but one I’d become accustomed to during my winter runs.

  As I Looped around the square, the scent of vanilla filled the air—Evan putting the day’s cakes in the ovens at the Gingerbread Shack. I hoped baking would calm him a little bit—he’d been up early today and hadn’t been able to sit still. Like me, he was full of nervous energy. Wondering what would happen with this case. With Starla.

  There was a light on in Harper’s apartment above the bookshop, and I noticed Pie sitting on one of the windowsills, watching birds fly about. I glanced down the street, at the center of town, then back over my shoulder, toward a trailhead that led into the Enchanted Forest. In a snap, I made a decision and headed for the woods.

  I couldn’t deny the sudden urge to take another look at Kyle’s tree house.

  Despite the snow it didn’t take long to reach the path that led there. The snow had been trampled down, undoubtedly by investigators, and was dirty and slushy. Sunbeams poked through the canopy, spotlighting the overgrown path.

  All around me was still and silent as I slowed to a walk, the only noise coming from my breathing and the crunch of my sneakers on the snow. There was no birdsong, no village noise. It was eerie but oddly peaceful. The trail abruptly ended, and I stepped into the glen.

  Light spilled into the open clearing, highlighting frosted shrubs and making tree branches sparkle. It was a tranquil place, and if I were a Realtor pitching hideouts to fugitives, this place would be at the top of my list.

  My gaze shifted to the tree house. I fully expected to see police tape and warning signs not to trespass. What I hadn’t expected to see was Liam Chadwick sitting in the tree’s doorway.

  He held up a beer bottle to me in greeting. “Seems I’m not the only curiosity seeker around here.”

  I walked over to him. His dark hair had been left loose instead of being slicked back and his glasses only seemed to highlight the dark circles discoloring the skin beneath his grief-stricken eyes. He wore the same coat as when he’d stopped by As You Wish with Will, and had on a black sweater, worn jeans, and a weathered pair of zippered leather ankle boots.

  I said, “Seems to me I’m the only curiosity seeker here.” My guess was he had known of this place for a long, long while.

  “Touché,” he said, reaching behind him for another bottle of beer. He offered it to me.

  “Thanks, but it’s a little early for me.”

  He shrugged and scooted over, creating a seat next to him on the threshold. “If we’re being completely truthful, neither of us are curiosity seekers, are we?” He blinked those impossibly blue eyes. “I heard a rumor that you’re snooping around on behalf of the Elder.”

  News sure traveled fast in this village. I sat. “Are we being completely truthful?”

  Thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “What is the truth, really? Everyone’s perceptions of it are different. And don’t you know the saying about the truth hurting?”

  “And lies don’t?”

  He drained his beer, then reached for another. “Sometimes it’s better not to know the whole truth.”

  I had the feeling he was trying to warn me, but I couldn’t fathom why. “Not when Starla’s freedom is at stake.”

  He lips curved wryly. “Right. The truth shall set her free.”

  “You’re mocking.”

  “Darcy, the truth won’t set her free. Like I said, truth hurts.”

  Biting my lip, I wondered at what he wasn’t saying. Because even if he wasn’t saying why the truth would hurt, I fully believed him that it did. “I’m confident she’ll be cleared,” I said, trying to wrap my head around his riddles. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Will she be cleared?” he asked, his eyes challenging me from behind his glasses. “She certainly had motive. And a whole roomful of people heard her threaten to kill him.”

  My temper rose. “Starla wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’s not that kind of person, as you should know.”

  “Kyle wasn’t that kind of person, either.”

  Nearby, a squirrel scampered from branch to branch. “So I’ve heard. Foul is fair.” When he didn’t react to my barb, I added, “But it doesn’t change the fact that he tried to kill her.”

  “Or change that Starla threatened to kill him,” he countered.

  We could go round and round on this and never agree.

  “Starla has been under some stress lately,” he hypothesized. “Extenuating circumstances can make someone snap.”

  Was he serious? “Extenuating, like your brother stalking her?”

  He gripped his beer bottle tightly—I wasn’t the only one trying to keep a temper in check. “If she’s guilty,” he said, “she’ll go to jail. It’s as simple as that.”

  He was trying to get a rise out of me, and it was working. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I said, “She was at my house the whole night.”

  “Allegedly.”

  “You know differently?” I asked tightly.

  “Just speculating,” he said with a fake smile.

  “Well, I speculate that if she does get arrested, she should consider breaking out of jail and being kept hidden by her family.”

  A flicker of real amusement flashed across his face. “I’m not sure what you’re inferring.”

  “Everyone knows your family hid Kyle. Built him this tree house, too, I bet.”

  Trying to look innocent, he blinked. “Did we?”

  Frustrated, I said, “Do you deny your family has known where Kyle has been this whole time?”

  He full-out grinned. “Completely.”

  Shaking my head, I fought the urge to slap the smile from his face. “Does anyone in your family take responsibility for wrongdoing?”

  “Who’s to say what’s wrong?”

  “The law?”

  He shrugged. “Who’s to say laws are always right?”

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from acting on my urge to hit him. “You’re just full of double-talk, aren’t you?”

  Stretching his legs, he said, “Perhaps, but I’m not wrong.”

  Once upon a time I would have argued that point, but these days
I didn’t necessarily disagree with his statement. Some laws were meant to be broken. But not in this case. Kyle should have been in jail.

  When I said nothing, he looked at me, and my anger instantly dissipated at the sadness I saw in his eyes. I’d almost forgotten in the midst of all this that his twin brother had died. No matter what I thought of Kyle, I couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a sibling. Just the thought of something happening to Harper made my chest hurt.

  “You’re a good friend to Starla,” he finally said, “and that’s admirable, but you don’t understand the situation.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  He took another swallow of his beer and said nothing.

  Cold air stung my nose as I took in a deep breath. “Starla said Kyle’s personality began changing a few months into their marriage. Did you notice that, too?”

  “No.” He looked off in the distance. “If only I had . . .”

  His voice rang with echoes of regret. I studied him. “And if you had?”

  Long lashes brushed his glasses as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, light shimmered off the moisture. “Maybe everything would have been different.”

  I recalled Starla’s regrets at not telling anyone of her troubles. Hindsight was excruciating.

  He finished his beer and dropped the empty bottle back in its cardboard container. Giving me a withering glance, he said, “I think it’s time for you to go.”

  It was clear I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. “Fine, I’m going.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  I stood, took a few steps, then turned around to tell him off. But when he looked at me, all I could see was his grief shimmering in his eyes. I bit back my angry tirade and said, “I’m really sorry you lost your brother.”

  His anguished gaze searched my face. “Go away, Darcy, and save your pity for someone who wants it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  With Liam’s rebuke still ringing in my ears, I headed for the Witch’s Brew, in need of strong coffee and something sweet.

  Pulling open the door made a bell jangle as I breathed in all delicious scents. Coffee and cinnamon and chocolate and vanilla and something citrusy, maybe orange or lemon. It took some of the edge off my bad mood.

  The cashier behind the counter greeted me by name and we chitchatted while I picked out baked goods to take home for breakfast and to take to Mrs. P and also to Nick and Mimi later on. It would be nice to spend part of the day with them. Right now, with my temper still flaring, I needed a big dose of normal.

  “Great minds,” a voice said from behind me.

  I turned and found Vince with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his damp hair curling about his forehead, and his brown puppy dog eyes watching me carefully behind his glasses.

  “I was just going to take some pastries and coffee over to your house,” he said. In a rush he added, “Starla said it was okay if I stop by.”

  I recalled what Starla had said last night, wondering if she was holding back from Vince because she still loved Kyle. . . . That could be true, but, I’d seen how happy she was with Vince. And I saw how he looked at her when he thought no one was watching. Maybe it was time I let my guard down around him. Because I had the feeling he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  “Well, I’m not going to object to more pastries,” I said.

  He smiled that lopsided boyish grin of his and nodded. “The doughnuts here are great.”

  “My favorites are the lemon tarts.”

  “Too sour,” he said, making a face.

  “Your palate is clearly lacking.” I forced myself to joke with him. It was more difficult to befriend him than I’d imagined.

  He smiled as I passed the cashier my credit card and my customer reward card (buy eight cups of coffee and get one free!). As she handed my bag to me, she wished me a happy early birthday.

  Confused, I tipped my head. “How’d you know my birthday was coming up?”

  Her eyes grew wide and in my peripheral vision, I could see Vince making some sort of movement, but when I looked back at him, he just shrugged.

  The cashier said, “I—I . . .” She tapped the computer screen. “It’s right here in our system on your customer reward information. Don’t forget you get a free coffee on the big day.”

  “Ooh, free coffee,” I said. “I’ll be back, then.”

  I waited for Vince to order and started walking back to As You Wish with him.

  He said, “Has there been any news on the case yet?”

  “Not really.” I didn’t want to mention the possibility that Kyle had been poisoned. Not until we knew for sure. “Nick’s still waiting on the medical examiner.”

  Vince stopped walking, and when I turned to see why, his troubled gaze locked on mine. He said, “Is Starla okay? I mean really okay? She says she is, but I hear something in her voice. . . .”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and finally said, “I think she’ll be okay. In time. It’s been a rough two days.”

  “More like it’s been a rough couple of years.”

  “That’s true.” We started walking again, and just the sight of As You Wish cheered me up a bit with its purple paint and Victorian charm.

  “I went to school with the Chadwick twins, you know. The same graduating class.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “They were . . .” His brow furrowed.

  “What?”

  “What I wanted to be.”

  I thought about the handsome and popular Chadwick brothers and could imagine how shy Vince had been in high school, undoubtedly with his nose buried in a witchcraft book. “The grass isn’t always greener. And sometimes nice guys do get the girl in the end.”

  I spotted Archie watching us from inside his cage as Vince held open the back gate for me. “Thanks for saying that. And just . . . thanks.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Not hating my guts.”

  My stomach twisted. I didn’t hate him, that was true. But I didn’t exactly like him. Yet. I nodded. “Go on in. I’ve got a croissant here for Archie, and I know how you two get along.”

  “Crazy bird,” Vince mumbled as he headed for the back door.

  Archie let out a loud caw, then said, “‘I’m not crazy. I’m just colorful.’”

  Vince gave him a perplexed look as Archie repeated the phrase over and over in increasingly louder and more angry tones. Vince glanced at me. “What’s with him?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a quote from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. He must have heard it on TV or something.”

  “I’m not crazy!” Archie shouted, sounding absolutely off his rocker.

  Vince’s eyes widened and he scurried off into the house.

  I smiled as I approached his cage. “Subtle.”

  Agitated, Archie scooted side to side on his wooden perch. “Calling me crazy. At least I’m not a moron.”

  “Now, now. There’s a difference between intelligence and wisdom,” I said.

  Archie stilled and gave me a withering glance. “Then he’s not wise,” he said scathingly. “He is, in fact, a dunderhead.”

  It was a point that was hard to argue against. To distract him from his hissy fit, I singsonged, “I brought you a croissant.”

  Still miffed, he turned his back to me.

  “It’s warm from the oven.”

  He casually looked over his shoulder. “Leave the croissant and go. Crazy,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll give him crazy.”

  Smiling, I gingerly slipped the croissant into his food dish and noticed Lawcrafter Marcus Debrowski coming up the driveway. I met him at the gate.

  “What’s with Archie?” Marcus asked. “Why’s he talking to himself like that?”

  “He has a ‘crazy’ complex.” I gave Marcus a long once-over. “You’re out early.” It was only a little past nine. By the look on his face, this wasn’t a social visit.

  In his late twenties, dark-haired, green
-eyed Marcus Debrowski looked every bit a young professional with his spiffy wool peacoat, trendy trousers and shoes, and the dark-rimmed glasses that made him seem that much more intelligent.

  He and Harper had been dating for a while now, and she was completely smitten. The feeling was mutual—he adored her—and I really hoped the two of them worked out. Some couples just fit. They were one of them.

  “I need to pick up Starla,” Marcus said. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “I just got home. What happened?” Because it was obvious something had.

  “Glinda Hansel called an hour ago. Some new evidence was found, and the police want to question Starla again.”

  Glinda. I bet she loved making that phone call.

  We walked toward the back door. “What kind of evidence? Does it implicate Starla? Is that why they want to talk to her again?”

  Marcus shrugged and held the door open for me. “I don’t know yet.”

  I wanted to call Nick and find out, but if new evidence had been found, he would be too busy to answer. Which also meant that my afternoon of normal was out the window.

  The strong scent of coffee hung in the air as Marcus and I came into the kitchen. We were met by three grim faces. Ve’s, Starla’s and Vince’s. Vince sat next to Starla at the counter, and she gripped his hand.

  Twink and Missy shared the dog bed by the back door, and Tilda watched us from the top step of the back staircase.

  Ve gave Marcus a kiss on the cheek. “Coffee?”

  He shook his head. “If only I had time. We really should go, Starla. They’re waiting for us.”

  “Isn’t this harassment?” Vince asked. “She didn’t have anything to do with Kyle’s death.”

  Marcus said, “They’re investigating. Questions come up that need answers.”

  “It’s okay,” Starla said, patting Vince’s hand. “Maybe this will be the end of it.”

  “Well, I’m coming with you,” Vince declared. “Moral support.”

  Marcus said, “We could be there a while, and you won’t be allowed in the interview room.”

  “I don’t care about that.” He glanced at Starla and there was such tenderness in his eyes that I felt myself liking him just a little bit more. “I just want to be there if Starla needs me.”