Great googly-moogly. I had to act fast. “Mom?” I held out my hand to her and smiled. “Come with me and I’ll get you some of that tea you like so much.”
Detective Montgomery patted her hand and gave her his card when she shot him a questioning glance. “It’s fine, Miss Cartwright. I’ve got all I need for now. We’ll be in touch.”
My mother rose, fragile as a wilting flower, took two steps and collapsed against me, letting me help her inside. Forrest came up from the rear and flanked her from the other side, taking most of the weight off me as we led her to the kitchen, which had now begun to clear out.
I sat her down on one of the chairs by the enormous windows overlooking the Puget and set off to make her some tea, but I didn’t have to bother. Carmella, my contractor Enzo’s wife, was already on it.
She held up the cup, her normally messy bun atop her head looking quite sleek tonight. She wore the pretty gold and blue sparkly caftan I’d given her for her birthday just last week. “I got this, kiddo.”
“How did you know what she liked?”
“Oh, your mother and I had a nice chat earlier. I learned plenty,” she said on a wink. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to warn me she knew what a diva my mother could be, or if mom just dominated their conversation with all things Dita enough that Carmella now knew her bra size.
Taking the steaming cup from her, I smiled warmly and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Have I told you you’re the best lately and that I positively adore you?”
She tweaked my cheeks with chubby fingers and grinned. “Just the other day when I brought you some stuffed manicotti, I think. You were talking all sorts of gobbledygook. Lifelong commitments, moving in together. Now go be with your mother. I’ll make sure everything else is handled with Petula and crew, capisce?” she asked in her New York accent.
I blew out a breath in relief. “Marry me, Carmella. Leave Enzo and let’s just do it,” I teased.
Her chuckle, warm and hearty, rang in my ears as she made her way out of the kitchen.
“You look beautiful tonight, Carmella! Tell Enzo I said so!” I yelled after her, smiling as I brought the tea to my mother.
Forrest looked to me, his eyes full of genuine concern, because that’s just who Forrest was. A good guy. “Should I leave?”
My mother’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist. “No man as handsome as you should ever ask that question.” Then she chuckled, tinkling and airy as she smoothed her hand over her hair and batted her eyelashes.
Uh-huh. I give you the real Dita.
I grabbed Forrest’s hand, too, and motioned him to sit next to me. “It’s fine. Stay, please.” I could use the support.
Then I looked into my mother’s eyes—eyes so like mine. “So what happened, Mom? Was Bart in a bad space?”
She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her eyes, letting tears fill them. “He was fine, Stevie. Everything was fine. I don’t understand…”
“Understand what? Do you think he would harm himself? Do you think he’d…” I couldn’t say it out loud.
My mother shook her head. “I don’t know. As far as I knew, he was very happy.”
That statement worried me. As far as she knew? The trouble was, she never looked deeply enough or past her own needs and emotions to know if anyone else was suffering, ever.
So I patted her hand and encouraged her to drink her tea by pushing it toward her. “Have some tea, Mom. It’ll warm you.”
But my mother flapped a hand and wrinkled her pert nose. “Forget the tea. I just told that woman I liked it because don’t all mothers my age drink tea? The best way to make friends is to be just like them. Find me some whiskey, Stephania, honey. That’ll warm me up just fine while I hunt for Bart’s insurance policy.”
Yep.
Heeere’s Dita.
Chapter 5
As the last staff member cleared the kitchen, I let Forrest take my hand and lead me to the front door and back out onto the porch.
The lights still glowed everywhere, leaving a dreamy ambiance that, had a death not occurred here tonight, would leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.
Bart’s body had been removed and taken to the morgue while my mother sobbed, something I wasn’t sure was real or for show. All the guests in their fancy clothes had gone, too. The questioning was over for the time being. There was nothing left to do but be alone with my mother. And I hated that I dreaded it.
“You gonna be okay?” Forrest asked, pulling me close.
I let my cheek rest on his chest and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
He pressed his chin to the top of my head. “Good to know. So lunch this week if you can break away? Bring your mother if you’d like.”
“You don’t really want me to do that, but you’re a standup guy for asking anyway.”
His deep chuckle rumbled in my ears. “She’s quite a card, your mother.”
“Um, yeah. She something all right.” Leaning back in his arms, I smiled up at him, his warm eyes comforting me. “Thanks for sticking around during this mess.”
“I wouldn’t have missed tonight for the world. I’m sorry it ended so badly.”
“Me too. So lunch later this week it is. I’d better get back inside before my mother breaks the Internet trying to figure out Bart’s passwords.”
“I was a little surprised she was already thinking ahead. Very levelheaded of her.”
It took everything I had not to snort out loud. “Someday, I’ll tell you all about my mother and her level head.”
“I can’t wait,” he teased, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “Night, Stevie.”
“Night, Forrest,” I murmured back, wiggling my fingers as he let go of me before disappearing down the steps and across the lawn.
Kicking off my shoes, I stooped to pick them up and decided to wait just another moment to go back inside and help my mother.
“Stevie? I have intel,” Win said, his tone ominous.
I sighed as I looked up at the stars. “Intel?”
“A spirit here—no face, just a voice—says not to believe everything you see.”
My head hung between my shoulders as a sardonic laugh spewed from my lips. “Oh, that’s hugely helpful. Bet it has to do with my mother. I think Dita just proved what she shows the world isn’t real. If that spirit’s contacting you because of her, it should be telling that to all the people she encountered tonight, including Carmella, who bought her Mary Poppins routine lock, stock and tea.”
“Hold on—more coming…”
Did I want to know what was coming? Would it be something horrible about my mother? Some piece of information I was better off not knowing?
“The spirit says—a male spirit, in case you wondered—your mother isn’t what she seems… How curious, don’t you think?”
Rolling my eyes, I headed back inside. “Tell your spirit he’s like twenty years too late. I’ve always known she gives good face. She’s only been my mother for almost thirty-three years. If he really wants to help, tell him to find Bart. Some answers would be nice.”
“I’ve been waiting here on Plane Limbo since you found him, but no sign yet. Either he immediately crossed or he’s drifting.”
“Well, if you see High Planes Drifter, tell him we have some questions, would you?”
“I am nothing if not your minion, Dove,” Win joked.
“Did you ever find Hugh?”
How could a man claim to be my father then take off without another word? I wanted to talk to my mother about it, but it was a pretty precarious time to bring up something she never wanted to talk about to begin with.
“I haven’t seen him since his confession. I looked everywhere, too. I’d like to chalk this up to someone attempting a scam with you, but my gut says something else.”
“Perfect. Then I’ll have to ask my mother about him. Not looking forward to that conversation.”
“But you must protect yourself, Stevie, and your mother.”
“Stephania? Who are you talk
ing to? I thought everyone had gone home?” my mother called from the kitchen.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s a relief to finally tell another living soul I have a ghost. “It’s my ghost, Mom. His name is Win. Or Crispin Alistair Winterbottom, if you’re into long names that sound like they belong to a British butler.”
“Oh, Stephania, will you never learn?” Win asked on a chuckle.
She cocked her head, looking up from the laptop as I took the seat across the table. “Your ghost? I thought you could no longer hear the dead? You said you lost your powers, during our last phone call.”
“I did. And we didn’t have a phone call, Mom. I left you a message and you sent me a text back saying Bart said you shouldn’t get involved because of council reprisal.”
“Must you make mountains out of molehills, Stevie?”
No. I mustn’t. This wasn’t healthy. No rehashing, especially now that her husband was dead. We had more important things to discuss—like anything that would be helpful in finding Bart’s killer.
Dropping my shoes in the corner by the mudroom just off the kitchen, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know how I can hear Win. I just can. He showed up one day, and we’ve been together ever since.”
I wasn’t terribly interested in telling my mother everything that had gone down in the past couple of months since I’d lost my powers. She never really listened anyway unless it had to do with her. If I kept that in mind, if I could just accept her as is, this visit could turn out okay.
She stopped pecking at the laptop and gazed at me. “I was relieved when you said you’d lost the ability to talk to spirits. I never liked you talking to the dead.”
“I distinctly remember you telling me it was creepy.” Yes, that’s right, folks, my own mother, a witch herself, thought I was creepy because I had the ability to speak to the afterlife.
She took a delicate sip of her whiskey, her pinky finger extended. “It was, and still is.”
Gritting my teeth, I nodded. “You’re probably right, but Win’s the reason I have all this.”
“Do tell her it’s a pleasure to meet her and give her my condolences, would you, Dove?” Win requested.
“Win says he’s pleased to meet you and he’s sorry about Bart.”
Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrow rose. “Are you talking to him right now?”
Tracing the pattern of the wood tabletop with my finger, I nodded. “I am. It’s why I have the Bluetooth. So everyone won’t think I’m talking to myself.”
“Well, tell him to go away!” she snapped. “We have personal business to discuss!”
“Mom? Did you just hear what I said?”
“Yes, dear. You said you have a ghost.”
“A ghost who gave me all this! The house, more money than I know what to do with in two lifetimes, a stress-free financial future, a car, his friendship, Mom. I’m not booting my ghost out because you think he’s creepy. Win knows everything there is to know about me. We have no secrets.” Well, not on my part, anyway.
“See Stephania stand up for her creepy ghost. I’m all aglow here on Plane Limbo,” Win teased.
And then everything I’d just said obviously sank into Dita’s brain. She stirred in her chair. “Wait, are you telling me that this ghost gave this house to you?”
Ah. Now I had Dita’s attention. Not that it should matter. In a couple of days, she was going to be rich, if what she said about Bart and his life insurance policy held true. Not to mention, he had a villa in Greece. People who had villas in Greece had many bank accounts, and probably lots of olives in those bank accounts.
I smiled, leaning my head on my hand. “He did. It didn’t always look like this. That’s why we had a housewarming party. But if not for him, Bel and I would be out on the street. I had nothing when I was booted out of Paris by Baba Yaga—”
“You have money?” she asked, now sitting up straight, effectively cutting off all talk of me and my tale of woe.
“I do. Plenty of it.”
“Why would a ghost leave you his money? Was he once a lover?”
I think my cheeks turned twelve shades of crimson as I looked at my mother. “No, Mom. It’s a long story, but it has to do with a murder and a woman named—”
“Well, how much money?” Mom closed the laptop, her interest clearly piqued.
Whoa, slow the roll now. Why did she care? I could see if she was between marriages, but she surely had boatloads of cash. “Why does it matter?”
“Because I might be in a—”
“Dita?” a voice full of wonder said from behind us.
“Make room for daddy,” Win muttered.
* * * *
“Hugh?” my mother whispered, her lower lip trembling, a perfection of lip gloss and fragile glass. “Is that you?”
So he really was Hugh Granite? My jaw unhinged.
Hugh smiled that perfect smile and strolled toward her, his hands outstretched in a welcoming gesture. “You’re as beautiful as always, Flower.”
And he called her Flower.
“Is that really you?” Dita asked in her own tone of wonder, taking his hands and letting him pull her to her feet.
If this were a movie, things would be all slow motion and heart-tugging music would be playing right now and I’d be dripping the salt of my tears on my popcorn. I actually had to blink to believe I was really seeing this reunion.
Wowwowwow, were they perfect together, too. More perfect than even Mom and Bart. They were all things beautiful and lean, graceful and supple.
I rose from my seat because I was drawn to their magnetic pull, their combined charisma that heady, but I tripped on the leg of the chair and stumbled, falling into them instead.
As I crashed into Hugh, his strong arm went around my waist. “Are you okay?”
Looking up at him, falling into his gorgeously concerned eyes, I now didn’t just stumble, I apparently stuttered, too. “I’m…yes…um…”
“Stevie? How could you be remiss in telling me Hugh was here?”
My mother’s question, her eyes wide with curiosity as she demanded an answer, angered me.
My jaw unhinged for the second time today. “Oh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe because you were here with your new husband? Or maybe the same way you didn’t tell me he was my father?”
“Bloody hell, Stevie. There are gentler ways. Have we still not perfected our subtleties? In order to garner the results you wish, you must read your antagonist, not rile her. Stand down, Dove.”
Dita gasped, gripping Hugh’s arms, but he took a step away, disentangling himself from her and putting an arm around my shoulder, his gaze locking with mine. “All these years, you didn’t know either?”
Was this really happening? Right here in my sparkly kitchen? Numbly, I shook my head. “I had no idea who you were—or that you didn’t know I existed.”
His eyes went from smiling to angry, narrowing in on my mother. “How could you deny my beautiful daughter knowing she had me for a father, Dita?”
Okay. That wasn’t exactly the noblest response a child hoped for, but it would suffice. Plus, my dad thought I was beautiful. That was kind of preen-worthy, coming from a movie star in Japan.
But now my mother narrowed her eyes, raising her hands in the air.
Oh, goddess. I knew what lifting her red-tipped nails meant. A spell was coming, and I had no defense against her magic. There was a sudden cool wind in the kitchen, swishing my mother’s hair around her face as her eyes went brilliantly hot.
Sweet Pete in a thong, bad spell alert!
So I jumped in front of Hugh and shook my finger at her in stern warning. “Mother! Don’t you dare use your magic!”
But she was seething, her eyes flashing dark, her signature wind whipping the takeout menus around on the fridge.
“I should turn you into a urinal!” she shouted at Hugh on a dramatic sob before sweeping past us and out of the room with a huff.
But my father just chuckled, his eyes
twinkling as he looked at his shortly clipped nails and buffed them on his suit coat. “Still the same old Dita, I see.”
Obviously he was accustomed to my mother’s melodrama, but he had some splainin’ to do. In that second, something dawned on me. Was Hugh paranormal?
“Where have you been all this time, Hugh?” Then I held up my hand. “I mean tonight. Not all my life. Let’s start there.”
He blinked as though I’d gone mad. “In the upstairs bathroom, running lines, of course.”
Was this all really happening? I worried my lower lip with my teeth. “Lines?”
“Certainly. You don’t get to be an international star if you don’t know your lines, Daughter.” Then he paused, dramatically, lifting his chin when he spotted his reflection in the windows before taking my hand. “You said we’d chat later. It was obvious you were very busy with your beautiful party, and being a star, I didn’t want to distract from your shining moment, as so often happens when I’m in a room. It’s only natural people recognize me from my many movies and appearances and create a fuss. So I took my leave and went upstairs to memorize my lines for my next movie and let you have your spotlight. I think you’ll find I can be very gracious, indeed.”
I’m pretty sure Hugh had no idea how incredibly arrogant he sounded. In fact, I know he didn’t, simply because he looked at me with such tenderness. He really believed he’d given me some rare gift and he didn’t think it was at all arrogant.
And who was I to tell him otherwise? Yet, it was the way he presented this gift that intrigued me and touched my heart. Without an ounce of reservation. He was what he was, and he didn’t hide it. Egotistical or not, I had to admire that.
So I patted him on the back and waved him to a chair. “You’re a real sport, Hugh. But do you have any idea what happened down here while you were holed up in the bathroom?”
“A party, of course. I was so engrossed in learning my lines and correcting some monumental error on the part of the writers, who have obviously made a mistake, casting me as anything other than a strapping man of wealth and great intelligence.”
“So you were in the bathroom for five hours? The party started at seven, came to a screeching, murderous halt at nine, and it’s almost twelve now. Didn’t you hear all the chaos?”
Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) Page 6