Which made me cock my head in confusion.
Which is what I’m guessing was the inspiration for Win to bellow, “Intel alert!”
But wait. Then I heard something, too.
“Don’t believe a word he says, y’all! He’s the one! He’s the one!” yelped a disembodied female voice, dripping with Southern charm.
Chapter 8
My eyes flew open wide in shock. “Was that… Did I…?”
“You heard her?” Win blustered, his shock just as clear as mine.
“Who are you?” Hugh demanded, his normally smiling face going hard.
“He ain’t who he says he is, bless his wee heart. Not who he says he is. Not who he says he is! Not who he says he is!” the voice repeated, picking up steam in an almost eerie echo-like taunt.
“Who isn’t who he says he is?” Win demanded, his shout abrasive to my eardrums.
“Yeah?” I asked into the room, my eyes flying to Hugh. “Who are you talking about?”
“He did it! He did it! Y’all are gonna find—” And then the voice cut out completely on me. But obviously not for Win and Hugh.
“Identify yourself!” Win demanded in an almost simultaneous request with Hugh, whose face was getting harder by the second.
“Whoever you are, we need to know who you’re talking about,” Hugh said from stiff lips, his words curt.
And then she was back, but only momentarily. “Hiiim!” she screamed so loud, another one of my patched-together snow globes shattered and crashed to the ground. Gosh dang it. What was it about my snow globes being used as a point of reference for attack?
Whiskey began to bark wildly, running toward the shelf housing my globes as Belfry flew up in the air, landing on my shoulder to burrow into my hair with a shiver. “What’s the deal, Boss? Who’s at it now?”
I grabbed Whiskey to soothe him, stroking his big head as Win said again, “You’re not making any sense!”
Hugh held up one of his perfectly manicured hands and narrowed his eyes. “Identify yourself or I’ll end this conversation right now! I can’t help if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about!”
And then there was silence and the remains of my snow globe in pieces on the floor in a small puddle of water.
I broke the quiet when I asked, “Did anyone recognize the voice?”
“No. Never heard it before, Dove.”
The storm clouds on Hugh’s face suddenly parted and his warm charm returned in their place. “Neither have I.”
And then the spirit’s words sank in. Not the fact that I’d actually heard them, that crazy could be addressed later. No. It was the words themselves. The spirit said “he” wasn’t who he said he was.
Hadn’t we gotten the same message just last night from who we assumed was Masters about my mother?
And what other “him” was in the room aside from Hugh?
My eyes went to his face, now sunny and cheerful. “When pressed to identify who she meant, the spirit said ‘him.’ There’s only one him in the room,” I murmured, my legs wobbly.
But Hugh looked astonished, his eyes going wide. “Daughter, surely you don’t think she meant me?”
I backed away a little, grabbing the broom in the corner. I hated that I did, but I didn’t really know Hugh. I’d been so exhausted last night, I hadn’t had time to look him up on the web. That chore was on my list of things to do later this afternoon.
But just because he had a website didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of murder.
“Stevie!” he yelled, his voice harsh and rife with disappointment. “I would never say I was something I’m not. I am The Hugh Granite!”
“But are you two Hugh Granites? Movie stars kill people, too…”
He reached for my hands, his eyes imploring me, but I was afraid now, so I took another step back, putting the broom between us.
“The spirit said nothing about killing anyone, Stephania! And spirits often become confused.”
Oh, you bet I knew that. I could spend all day telling you stories about the confusion spirits can experience, or even create because sometimes they’re not in their right minds. They’re as confused as those they’re trying to contact. But this had been very specific.
I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat, licking my dry lips as Win spoke in my ear. “He’s correct, Dove. She said nothing about murder. Let’s think this through. Remember how we talked about controlling our impulses, Stevie.”
Was I hearing Mr. Ultra-Cautious right? Think it through? We knew nada about Hugh, except what he’d told us. Were we just going to take him at his word because he was my father? Maybe we’d discounted his involvement in Bart’s death too soon?
“Please think this through,” Hugh echoed, his eyes filled with hurt.
So I held up my hand, letting the broom handle rest in the other. “I’ll do that. But I’d like to do it alone, if you don’t mind,” I said from stiff lips.
“I guess our lunch is off then?”
Gosh. Even as I added him to my list of murder suspects, he was still adorable. I hated seeing the hurt on his face, the way his wide shoulders slumped in defeat.
Lifting my chin even as my legs trembled, I nodded. “For the time being. I’d like you to go now, please.”
Now he lifted his jaw, square and defiant. “I shall, but this isn’t over. I won’t give up on us, Daughter. You’ll see you were wrong and I’ll wait until you do.” He all but clicked his heels and pivoted, heading toward the door where, just before he opened it, he squared his shoulders and smoothed back his hair.
And then he was gone, with just the chimes to announce his departure.
I finally let out a heavy breath, my fear dissipating, leaving me sad.
“How are you, Dove?” Win finally asked.
“Horrified. Mortified. Disgusted for even suggesting such a thing.”
“But better horrified than dead, m’love. You must take precautions on the off chance your instincts, and mine as well, are wrong.”
“It can’t be him, Win.” Please don’t let it be him. “But who else could the spirit have meant?”
“She was quite evasive. I don’t know what it is about the spirits, but ’twould seem many get stuck on repeat. We can’t take everything they say as reliable.”
I nodded sadly, my heart heavy. “Did she say anything else?”
“Nothing either Hugh or I could understand, certainly.”
“Okay then. For now, Hugh stays on the list,” I offered with more resolve than I had. “What else could she have meant? He was the only him here.”
“It could mean many things, Dove. Let’s let that go for a moment and focus on something absolutely amazing. You heard the spirit as clearly as both Hugh and I! Surely that’s cause for a twerk?”
A small rush of excitement skipped through my veins before it fizzled. “I don’t have a twerk in me right now. I mean, this has happened before, right? A brief glimpse into my old life then nothing for weeks and weeks.”
I was referring to the last major bind I’d been in when another madman was chasing me down and I’d shot sparks from my fingers, just like I’d once did when I was a witch, casting spells. But I’d quickly fizzled, and then nothing until today.
“That’s true, but that’s not to say you won’t experience this at more frequent intervals now. Never give up, Dove,” he soothed, his warm aura surrounding me as though he were using his arms to envelope me in a hug.
“Yeah,” Bel agreed, tugging my hair as he nuzzled my cheek. “Don’t give up, Boss. This might only be the beginning of you getting your powers back.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I didn’t say anything more. I was too torn up about Hugh. Grabbing my turban, I put on my Madam Zoltar garb just as the chimes rang on the door, signaling my next client’s arrival.
Setting aside my anguish, and the image of my father so hurt, flashing through my mind’s eye, I set about doing what I was here to do.
I put a warm smile on my fac
e, held my hand out and welcomed him, and made him comfortable.
But my heart was damn heavy while I did so.
* * * *
After I called Sandwich to let him know about what I’d seen under the chest of drawers in the parlor—keeping the information very vague, of course—I decided, before I headed to the inn to question some of the Cirque acrobats, I’d stop in and see Chester and Forrest for a cup of coffee and an egg salad sandwich. I needed some comfort food to ease the ache in my chest.
I tied Whiskey’s leash to the post under the awning Forrest had put up for customers with pets and kissed his muzzle. “I’ll be right back. Promise to bring you a treat.”
As I entered, Chester grinned at me from his favorite ice-cream-colored table and waved me over. “There she is. Come give ol’ Chester a hug. One’s in order after last night, Sunshine.”
I leaned down and dropped a kiss on his rosy cheek, letting him give me a good hard squeeze, inhaling the comforting scent of his Old Spice cologne before I dropped into a wrought iron chair next to him.
He was like a lighthouse beacon on a dark and stormy night. I still wasn’t ready to tell him or Forrest about my father’s sudden appearance, but Chester knew of Dita’s shenanigans. Even if he didn’t say it out loud, I knew he sympathized.
Chester chucked me under the chin. “You okay, Kitten?”
“Well, I’ve been back in Ebenezer Falls for what, three months, and everywhere I go, someone ends up dead. Ya think it’s me?”
He chuckled, putting his hand on his round belly. “I think it’s coincidence, kiddo, and a whole lotta crappy luck. But it ain’t you. You’re too pretty to always be on death’s stoop.”
Forrest, tall and handsome in his white apron with the logo of the coffee shop on it, made his way to where we sat, a cup of coffee and an egg salad sandwich on wheat toast on a plate. “I figured you might need lunch and caffeine.” Then he rooted around in his apron pocket and pulled out a foil bag of blueberry Pop-Tarts, handing them to me with flourish. “To drown your sorrows in after your sandwich,” he teased, his eyes sparkling.
“You’re the best.”
Forrest nodded and grinned. “Yep. I kinda am.”
I patted his hand as I dug into my sandwich, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t be awkward. They both knew my mother from my younger days. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find they considered her a suspect and they were just too embarrassed to tell me.
“So any news?” Chester asked over his round glasses. “Any word on what they’re calling this latest round with the Grim Reaper?”
“You mean have they labeled it murder yet? Not that I’m aware of.”
My mom had been blowing my phone up all day, but it isn’t about anything to do with the police or the investigation. It was about how the Bat twins, Com and Wom, were too noisy and she couldn’t nap. Or how I’d failed to provide her with Perrier, or a mountain of other complaints I mostly ignored.
I set my sandwich down, my appetite almost nonexistent, and tried to gather my thoughts as I looked around the room. That’s when I saw Hardy Clemmons over in the opposite corner of the shop by the counter, sipping a coffee and eating a Danish.
Hardy was our mailman and newish to town. At least, he was newer to me. He’d been kind enough to make the treacherous climb to our mailbox before we’d had the driveway installed, precariously perched at the end of our lawn just before a steep drop off the cliff. Hardy was in his late fifties, nice enough looking, with a full head of hair and a ruddy outdoors appeal.
Rumor had it he was once involved with the richest woman in Washington, but she broke his heart when she cheated on him and left him for someone else.
Now was as good a time as any to ask him what had happened last night at the party. I was up and out of my chair and crossing the shop’s floor to Hardy’s table before Forrest could remind me I hadn’t finished my sandwich.
“Hi, Hardy. How are you?”
He paused in taking a bite from his Danish and eyed me over the top of the thick white icing. “I’m okay, but what about you? Crazy night last night, huh?”
I nodded, my expression grim. “May I sit?” I motioned to the chair across from him and he nodded his consent.
I dropped down into the chair, tucking my purse against my chest. “Can I ask you a couple of questions, Hardy?”
His bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose. “Is it about the package left on your front lawn? I don’t know how many bloomin’ times I have to tell that moron I have for a fill-in he’s supposed to ring the doorbell and leave it in a covered area, for Pete’s sake. It’s not a darn newspaper. I’m sorry that happened, but it’ll never happen again. Promise ya that.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. The package was fine, Hardy. Simple mistake is all. I wanted to ask you about last night at the party.” I fought a wince, hoping whatever had happened wasn’t too serious.
He set his Danish on the plate and sat back in his chair, his eyes growing suspicious as he wiped his fingers on the napkin and tucked his hands under his armpits. “If it’s about that argument, the police already asked me plenty, thank you very much. Those of us they didn’t get to last night had to go down to the station for questioning. They lined us up like a herd of cattle and took statements from all of us. I already explained.”
An argument? That must have been the commotion Win mentioned. “I’m sorry there was trouble, Hardy, and I don’t want to bring up bad feelings, but what was the argument about? I hope it wasn’t over the shrimp wraps. They were pretty popular,” I teased, flashing him a warm smile of sympathy.
He only half-smiled before his weathered face went sour. “No. Though they were darn good. The argument was with your mother’s husband—the philanderer! He had the nerve, after all this time, to stroll up to me like he never cheated with my girl back in the day!”
Oh, Bart. You were a dirty, dirty boy. “I know it’s a sensitive subject, but could you maybe just tell me a little about what happened? If you’re not comfortable then by all means, tell me to beat feet. I can take a hint.”
Hardy popped his lips and gazed at me. “Oh, I’ll tell ya all right. That man jumped into bed with my fiancée, Clara Rawlings, just three days before we were going to get married. That’s what he did. Then he has the nerve to offer his hand and smile that stupid smile of his like he didn’t ruin my life—in front of everyone at the party? No, sir. Not on my watch,” he scoffed, throwing his napkin on the table in disgust.
“Clara Rawlings? Isn’t she Lou Rawlings’s daughter?” I asked in disbelief. The Rawlingses were some of the richest people in the state of Washington. They were always in the news for some charity or another.
And then it hit me.
Once a grafter, always a grifter. Bart had likely played Clara the same way he had my mother.
Hardy bobbed his head, reaching for his mailbag. “That’s the one. Used her all up then dumped her. She eventually came back to me, tail between her legs, cryin’ and carryin’ on about how he’d only wanted her for her money. But no way was I takin’ her back after that. Once a cheat, always a cheat. Serves ’em both right.”
“So Bart once lived here in Ebenezer Falls?” How could that be? From the chatter at the party, no one appeared to recognize Bart.
But Hardy shook his head, preparing to rise. “Nope. He met her at some yacht club party in Seattle I couldn’t go to because I was out earnin’ an honest living on my mail route. I lived in Seattle before I moved here a few years back. I know it was almost twenty years ago, but danged if it didn’t sting, him wantin’ to make amends, all smiles and fancy suits.”
Talk about a coincidence. The world grew smaller still.
I gave him another smile in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Hardy. If I’d known…”
He patted my shoulder. “How could you have known? It isn’t your fault, Stevie. I was just as surprised as he was. I guess he thought he’d slather on some of that charm he’s so famous for, and all wou
ld be forgiven. I told him if he didn’t get the heck outta my sight, I’d tell your mother what a cad he was. I didn’t like him, but I sure didn’t kill him, and I got an alibi that says so.”
I rose then and squeezed his hand. He was such a nice man. “I know this will sound strange, but I think my mother was duped by Bart, too, and I’d like to investigate. Do you remember the name of the yacht club, Hardy? I’m sorry if that brings up painful memories. If it’s too much, I’ll back off.”
“Can’t ever forget it. Sure wish I could. The Anchor Yacht Club. That’s the name. It was the annual party they had every year. Clara begged me to go. Sure wish I’d taken off work now, but I was determined to prove to her father I could take care of her without his money.”
I saw it written all over his face, the pain he’d suffered at the hands of betrayal, and my impulse was to hug him. Instead I smiled and thanked him. “Appreciate it, Hardy.”
He winked then; obviously all was forgiven. “You tell your mom I hope she feels better, and just between you and me, she’s better off he’s dead.”
He gave my shoulder one last pat and headed out the door.
“A viable suspect no doubt,” Win uttered. “He had an ax to grind.”
Closing my eyes, I pressed my fingers to my Bluetooth. “But he claims to have an alibi.”
“How do we know that alibi panned out? We don’t. Which means we’ll have to find out.”
Nodding, I rolled my head on my neck and prepared to head over to the inn to find this CC before I considered rattling Officer Nelson’s cage. I don’t know that I was up to playing cat and mouse with him right now.
Not after the incident with my father.
“Stevie?” Forrest called from the other end of the now-empty shop.
My head swung in his direction as he pointed to the TV mounted just behind me in the corner.
And what to my wandering eyes did appear?
My mother on the boob tube in her tiny rain gear.
Chapter 9
So forget every single word I said about accepting my mother for who she is, loving her without reservation; I was no longer immortal, and that meant I didn’t have a lifetime of anger to waste, blah, blah bah.
Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) Page 10