The Goodbye Witch

by Heather Blake

  Mrs. P tapped the mascara tube on the back of her hand as she nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

  “The thing of it all is that I probably would do the same thing as they did. So I can’t really blame them for harboring Kyle, but I just want . . . justice for Starla.” I sighed.

  She smiled, the bright red of her lipstick a sharp contrast to her teeth. “Lately I’ve come to look upon situations through a very different set of eyes. Understanding versus vengeance. Rebuilding rather than destruction. Sometimes there is an interesting shade of gray between black and white. Life’s short, doll. Don’t dwell on the past.”

  The black-and-white comment hit me hard, considering I’d just recently said something similar to Nick.

  “Just something to think about,” Mrs. P said, turning back to the mirror.

  “You’re telling me to let it go. To forgive and forget.”

  “I think the most important things to consider here, doll face, are that Kyle is gone and Starla is safe. Let the past remain there.”

  She was right. I knew it, but it was hard to let go.

  We chatted for a while before she started yawning, looking in need of a long nap. It was my cue to go. I stood up and kissed her cheek. “I should get going, but I’ve brought you pastries from Evan, and Pepe said he’d be over later.”

  “That little mouse bluffed me out of all my Peanut M&M’s last night during a round of poker.” A guilty flush crept up her neck.

  Seeing it, I said, “Are you sure you didn’t let him win?”

  “Maybe once,” she admitted, “but then my competitive side kicked in. He swindled me but good.”

  I laughed.

  “Tonight we’ll stick to checkers or perhaps a nice thousand-piece puzzle. That way I won’t be tempted to wring his little rodent neck by losing my midnight snack.” She walked me to the door, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at how slowly she was moving.

  I faced her. “Forgive and forget?”

  “That’s right.” She patted my cheek.

  “I’ll try.”

  She smiled. “You can do it.”

  I nodded, but as I walked away I couldn’t help but think it was easier said than done.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  As soon as I left Mrs. P, I headed out to find Liam Chadwick.

  It was proving a futile task.

  Wickedly Creative was closed up tight, and there wasn’t even a car to be seen in the driveway of the main house. The studio would probably remain closed for a while as the family prepared to bury their loved one. I tried knocking on Liam’s apartment door, but he didn’t answer.

  I checked around town with no luck before finally heading to the one place I’d found him before.

  The tree house.

  Snow was piled high on the path, but the blue blazes on the tree kept me on the right track. Wind whipped through the woods, giving me a case of the heebie-jeebies and making me wish I hadn’t come alone.

  Almost as soon as I had the thought, I heard the coo of the mourning dove somewhere nearby. It soothed my rising anxiety, but I quickened my pace, finally reaching the tree house a few minutes later.

  Much to my dismay, Liam was not sitting on the threshold with a beer in hand. The crime scene tape had come loose and flapped in the wind, making eerie noises as it whipped about. The door to the tree house was open, and I could see that snow had blown inside.

  I marched over, planning only to pull the door closed, but I couldn’t help but take one last peek inside.

  It looked much like it had the other morning when Harper and I were here, but the disarray was even more pronounced—the police had been thorough in searching the place. All the drawings of Starla had been taken away, and I wondered where they went. To an evidence locker or to Kyle’s family?

  The lemon scent had faded, and another smell dominated. I sniffed, trying to place it, and realized with a start that it reminded me of a hospital.

  Body weak, spirit fly,

  With death near,

  Hold no fear,

  Fly, fly to say good-bye.

  Was this tree house more a hospice than an actual home? Biting my cheek, I wondered how long the full autopsy report would take.

  And what it would show.

  I let out a small cry when my cell phone buzzed, startling me. I laughed at myself as I fumbled to answer.

  “Where have you been?” Harper asked in a frantic tone.

  “Long story,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Marcus is in quite the tizzy after Nick called a few minutes ago.”

  Uh-oh.

  “How soon can you get home?” Harper asked.

  “Ten minutes.” If I jogged . . .

  “Good. We’ll meet you there.”

  “What’s this about?” I asked, fearing the answer.

  “There’s some sort of new development, and by the way Marcus is acting, my guess is that it’s bad news for Starla. Very bad news.”

  With my stomach in knots, I said, “I’ll be right there.” I hung up.

  Wind ruffled my hair as I took another look around the tree house, feeling a mix of sadness, anger, and heartfelt wishes that things had been different for Starla and Kyle.

  “Forgive and forget,” I murmured.

  With a heavy sigh, I closed the door behind me. And on the past.

  As I jogged away, the mourning dove cooed.

  * * *

  It felt as though there was an electrical buzz in the air as I rushed through the back door of As You Wish and found Marcus, Harper, and Nick waiting in the kitchen. To my surprise, Vince was there, too.

  “Where’s Starla?” I asked.

  Marcus said, “We’re waiting for her to return from walking the dogs.”

  I slipped out of my coat and turned to Nick. “What’s going on? Did the autopsy report come in?”

  Before he could answer, the back door opened and the dogs raced in, covered in snow, and Starla took one look at us and immediately froze.

  Missy and Twink shook their fur as Starla calmly removed her coat and hung it on the pegs near the back door and walked into the kitchen. She looked at each of us. “Just spit it out. Don’t beat around the bush. I’ve had a long week and am not in the mood for sugarcoating.”

  Marcus pulled out a stool next to Vince and motioned her to sit. She did.

  By the way they were all acting, I decided I ought to sit down, too. I opted for the third to last step on the staircase. Tilda came down from her usual spot on the landing and sat next to me, which clued me in that I’d better brace myself for whatever Nick was about to say.

  “Tell me,” Starla said, a bit of fire in her voice.

  “Nick wants you and Vince to turn yourselves in,” Marcus said abruptly.

  Starla reeled back as though the words had slapped her in the face.

  Nick flashed me a quick look before taking a deep breath. “The prosecutor thinks there’s enough circumstantial evidence to file charges.” He explained about the threat to Kyle’s life, the failed lie detector tests, the duct tape, and finally the syringe that was found.

  “Were the prints on the syringe identified?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I doubt an ID would change his mind at this point. I did my best to try and stall, but he’s not biting. I’m sorry.”

  It felt as though his words echoed off the cabinets, the counters. Nobody spoke. It seemed like no one dared breathe as what he said sank in.

  There was a tightness around Nick’s mouth that hinted at his internal conflict. He was trying his best to hold it together while delivering this news. I wanted nothing more than to go to him, offer comfort, but I needed to let him do his job.

  “You can’t,” Starla said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I happen to agree,” Nick said, “but my hands are tied.”

  “Untie them,” Harper said fiercely.

  Nick held his ground. “I’m sorry. Starla, Vince, you’re going to have
to come with me.”

  Vince jumped up. “You can’t arrest her. She’s innocent.”

  “I’m sorry, Vince. I have to,” Nick said.

  “No,” Vince interrupted, his voice shaky, “you don’t understand. She’s innocent. I can prove it.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “I’m confused,” Starla said, her gaze searching Vince’s face. “How can you prove it?”

  “You didn’t do it yourself, did you?” Harper asked.

  His gaze whipped to her. “What? No! Of course not.”

  “Don’t give me that look,” she snapped. “You can’t blame me for thinking that way.”

  I didn’t blame her—it was a reasonable leap to make.

  Wryly, he frowned at her.

  She shrugged but didn’t apologize.

  He was so ashen, I was afraid he was going to pass out as he turned his attention back to Starla and said, “I’m so sorry, Starla. So sorry. I was only trying to protect you, to watch over you. That’s all. I swear. Please believe me.”

  “I’m still confused,” she said. “And now you’re scaring me.”

  “Maybe you should explain, Vince?” Nick suggested.

  Vince pulled a disk from his coat pocket.

  Not this again.

  I wondered if Archie was nearby in case we needed more memory cleanse.

  “Can I use your DVD player?” he asked.

  “By all means,” I said.

  Thick tension filled the air as we trooped to the family room to watch the video. I glanced at Starla. She sat ramrod straight on the arm of the sofa, her gaze intent on the TV.

  Vince still looked ill as Nick picked up the remote and hit PLAY.

  My stomach knotted. A combination of anger and curiosity bubbled inside me as everyone focused on the TV.

  I heard Vince gulp as the screen suddenly came into focus. It looked like a home movie, in a bedroom.

  I gasped. It was footage taken upstairs, in the guest room.

  The fact that there was footage upstairs wasn’t the shocking part—it was the fact that Starla was visible. On film. Sleeping.

  I glanced at Harper and her eyes were as wide as mine. Starla slowly turned and looked at me. I shrugged. I had no idea how that was possible.

  Evan, on the floor, was a bright white blur.

  Starla gripped the edge of the couch as she watched the screen.

  Nick slid a questioning glance to me, and I could only shrug at him as well.

  “This was taken Friday night,” Vince said, his voice surprisingly strong. “You can see the date stamp just fine. If you watch all the footage, you’ll see that Starla didn’t leave. She was asleep the whole time. This footage is her alibi.”

  Harper was the first to say something. “You were spying on her?”

  “No,” Vince shook his head. “It’s not like that. I was just watching over her. Protecting her.”

  Starla kept staring, unblinking.

  I felt as though I might be sick.

  Marcus said, “How’d you get this footage?”

  “I’d like to know, too,” Nick added. “Are there cameras in the house?”

  Suddenly panicked at the thought, I glanced around.

  “No, there are no cameras.” Vince fidgeted. “I tapped into Starla’s laptop from my computer.”

  Tapped. He meant hacked.

  I’d heard about this before, on one of the morning news programs, warning people (mostly teens) to be careful leaving their laptops open because predators could watch you from afar.

  “If her laptop was open, I could watch her through the webcam lens,” Vince said. “It was my way of making sure she was okay.”

  “Your way is creepy,” Harper said, giving Vince the evil eye. “Way creepy.”

  “I know, but it was the only way I could make sure she was okay.” Vince pressed his lips together. Then, as though realizing there was nothing he could say to make this right, he said to Nick, “The disk is yours. If you need to check out my system to verify the times or whatever, just let me know. I’ll gladly turn it all over to you. Everything you asked for.”

  Everything. He must have footage of Starla’s house from Friday night as well. Have mercy, as Ve would say.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Nick said, “but I think it’s best if you go now.”

  By the look on Harper’s face, I thought that was a good idea. I could practically see the plan to flog Vince forming in her eyes.

  Vince gave a quick nod. “Starla, could I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”

  I noticed she was trembling as she watched the footage of her sleeping. Her chin lifted, and she turned her head to look him in the eye. “I think I’ve heard enough of what you have to say.”

  “I—” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.” Running for the door, he dashed out into the cold, leaving his coat hanging on the pegs near the door.

  We all stood in silence for a moment, watching the screen as the white blur on the floor continued to toss and turn. Thankfully, Evan didn’t need to prove his alibi or he’d be out of luck. At one point on the footage, Tilda came in, swatted Twink, and hopped onto the bed with Starla, snuggling in close.

  Harper grabbed the remote and paused the video. She gestured at the screen. “Wh— H—” she stammered. “I mean, what the hell is going on? Why can we see Starla?”

  I’d already grabbed my cell phone, dialing Cherise. There had to be a reason for this. The only thing different about that night was the sleeping spell.

  Cherise answered on the third ring and hmmmed for a good ten seconds before saying, “Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it makes sense, I suppose.”

  I had her on speakerphone. “How does it make sense?”

  “The only time Wishcrafters are visible on film is when they’re dead.”

  Nick’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Shut the front door,” Harper said.

  How did we not know this?

  Starla said, “So you’re saying I was dead?”

  “No, no,” Cherise said, chuckling. “But the sleeping spell, especially while in a deep sleep, slows regular breathing to an abnormally low level.”

  “Oh,” Starla said blithely, “so I was mostly dead.”

  “Exactly! The spell must have tricked your body.”

  “Thanks, Cherise,” I said. “We were freaking out.”

  “I’m still freaking out,” Harper said.

  “I can help you with that,” Cherise said. “A nice sleeping spell . . .”

  “No!” we all shouted.

  She laughed and hung up.

  Starla let out a sigh.

  Harper stepped in to give her a hug. “I suppose the silver lining of this is that your name has been cleared.”

  Starla glanced around at us. “Then why does it feel like I’ve just lost everything all over again?”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Nick and I sat in the family room, trying to make sense of this latest twist.

  Not long after Vince left, Starla said she wanted to be alone and excused herself to the guest room. Marcus and Harper had left, too, leaving just Nick, me, the dogs, and Tilda, who’d scurried off somewhere.

  “What now?” I dropped my head onto the back of the sofa and closed my eyes. If I was this exhausted, I couldn’t imagine what Starla was feeling. This week had been emotionally draining.

  What Vince had done was such a betrayal. Yet . . . he’d given Starla an alibi. It was hard to be mad at him because he’d saved her from being unjustly arrested. But I was truly disgusted with him and his behavior. I wasn’t sure I trusted what he’d said about spying on Starla only as his way of protecting her. Once a Seeker, always a Seeker.

  There was no need for a small-town bath and body shop owner to own such high-tech gadgets and surveillance equipment. I had no doubt all that fancy gear was being used solely to uncover magic within the village.

  So that left me with the question of whether he’d truly been spying on Starla
for her protection—or if it was because he suspected she was a witch.

  Which led me to question whether his feelings for her were real at all or if he was using her.

  I hated to think that he’d been using her, so I chose to believe, perhaps foolishly, that he had been looking out for her in his own misguided way.

  After all, he apparently loved Starla so much that he had been willing to lose her to save her from going to jail. . . . It was the ultimate act of love.

  “I’ll check out Vince’s surveillance equipment,” Nick said, “to verify the footage, and I’d really like to see what he recorded in front of Starla’s house on Friday night.” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “Where were you off to this afternoon?”

  “At the tree house, looking for Liam Chadwick.”

  “Find him?”

  “No. But I know he has some answers we’re looking for—it’s just a matter of getting him to tell them.” I explained about Pepe being mistaken about which brother he’d overheard. “Did you ever check to see who Liam texted Friday night while he was here? Maybe it’s this mystery woman, and we can quiz her.”

  “Dead end,” he said. “He dialed one of those pay-as-you-go cell phones. Untraceable.”

  “So, it was probably Kyle’s.”

  “Yes.”

  I rubbed Missy’s ears as she stretched out between Nick and me. “What if this wasn’t some sort of regular murder? If Kyle really was dying, what if it was a mercy killing?”

  Mercy killing, also known as euthanasia, made sense to me. It was logical that someone close to Kyle—very close—didn’t want to see him suffer any longer.

  “You think his family had something to do with it.”

  “Well, if Kyle used the Good-bye Spell, then he had to be terminally ill. . . . Mercy killing is considered homicide, right?”

  “In this state at least.”

  My mind was making leaps. “So let’s say one of the Chadwicks is guilty. They’d be charged with murder.”

  Dark eyes watched me carefully. “Yes.”

  “So it would behoove one of them to frame Starla for the crime, especially if they didn’t like Starla much. Two birds with one stone kind of thing.”

  “Behoove?”

  “Don’t distract me.”

  He chuckled. “It would, in fact, behoove one of them, yes. But which one?”