Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3)

by Dakota Cassidy

  She waved a dismissive hand at me, but her eyes flashed something new—something I’d never seen from Dita—or maybe I’d just never looked for it.

  Sorrow.

  It was there and it was real, but it only lasted for a mere second before she put her vapid coat back on. “Fine. I can’t sit and listen to this nonsense anymore because I have a mani/pedi scheduled at three. Now, if you’re done badgering me with your speeches of empowerment, may I go?”

  “No!” we all bellowed, including Wom, and Com.

  “Mother, this isn’t a party! There’s a murder investigation going on surrounding your husband. You’re not to be out sprucing up for your next coup! Now, from here on out, you stay put. You don’t go out. You don’t call the press. You don’t talk on the phone to anyone but me. You don’t talk. Period. If I have to say it again, I’ll wash my hands of the whole thing. Clear?”

  She pursed her lips as she looked at her current manicure. “Crystal, you tyrant. But if anyone comments on how poorly I look, I’m directing them to you.”

  “You do that. Now, has anyone aside from the press called you today? Have you heard anything from the police?”

  “How should I know? I haven’t checked my phone. I’m going upstairs to nap. You’ve exhausted me. My phone’s over there on the counter if you want to look at it and check.”

  With that, Dita made another dramatic exit, sweeping out of the room in a cloud of floral perfume and swishy, ultra-feminine clothing.

  Win yawned in my ear, his warm aura surrounding me.

  “Do you need a nap, too?” I asked as I crossed the kitchen to grab Mom’s phone.

  “Bloody hell, yes. She’s infuriating. How did you survive a childhood with her without losing your mind?”

  “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” I quipped, scrolling my mother’s phone. I held it up. “The police have only called ten times since this morning. Argh! This woman!”

  Mom Bat flew into the kitchen, her chubby body wobbling in the air before she landed on the counter in front of me. “Stevie, dear?”

  “Deloris,” I said on a warm smile, stroking her head. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so caught up in everything, I haven’t had the chance to say a proper hello to you, but I promise, we’ll sit and chew the fat after things quiet down a bit. Maybe tonight out on the porch? If it clears up, the stars out here are amazing.”

  She wiggled her stout body and rubbed her head against my hand. “That’s lovely, dear. We can do that later. Right now you have more pressing problems.”

  “You mean my mother? Hah! Tell me about it.”

  “No, dear. I mean your mother’s car.”

  I snorted. “You mean the Mercedes? She said Bart took that out of storage when they landed here in Seattle. But I’m pretty sure that’s not really hers-hers.” Nothing was really hers-hers. Everything had been bought with credit.

  Deloris looked up at me with her big brown eyes filled with concern. “The repo man seems to think so, too, dear. They’re hauling it away as we speak.”

  I dropped Mom’s phone and ran to the door, cracking it open with Whiskey hot on my heels. Sure enough, two big, burly men were putting a boot on her swanky powder-blue Mercedes.

  But I laughed. Probably for the first time today. I couldn’t help the relief I felt.

  One less thing to worry about Dita getting into more trouble with?

  Check!

  Chapter 10

  “Random question?”

  “Hit me.”

  “Why doesn’t the lovely Dita have a familiar like you?”

  I snorted at Win. “Because if you were Dita, would you want a guide to steer you away from all the bad things you do? Like marrying men for their nonexistent money?”

  Win’s hearty laugh rang in my ear. “Point for you. So you don’t have to have familiars? It’s not mandatory?”

  “Nah. It’s highly recommended, but not a requirement. Unless you screw up. Then you have no choice. You end up assigned to one. Familiars are only guides to our consciences. But Mom’s never been able to keep one around for very long, either. They all end up running and screaming like they’re on fire after just a week with her. So there’s that.”

  “See my shock and surprise,” Win said dryly.

  I laughed as I put off the inevitable. Then I sobered and fessed up. “I don’t know if I can do this, Win.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Stevie. I reminded you of that before we got in the car. It’s not your job to find out who killed Bart.”

  “Yeah, but if I don’t, my mom can’t leave town.”

  I heard Win’s teeth chatter. “Did you hear that? That was my full body shudder. She’s more than a handful, and I’m sorry I ever doubted your reasons for avoiding her. Forgive me, Dove.”

  I looked out my windshield at the quaint Sunshine Inn with its rows of English countryside flowerbeds in purple and pink. The cottage feel to the whole place, made warm and cozy by the owner, Coraline, was perfect. I loved her gardens. I loved that she served tea with blueberry scones and clotted cream to her customers. I loved everything about the atmosphere she’d created.

  Yet, inside was a man I feared might have something to do with Bart’s death. I don’t know why or even how that might be possible, but I couldn’t tick Hugh off the list after that spirit all but pointed her southern finger at him.

  “But that means I have to go inside the Sunshine and risk the chance I’ll run into my father.”

  “You don’t really believe Hugh had anything to do with this, do you? Where’s that tingle you’re always talking about—that gut instinct of a sleuth?”

  “Then what did the spirit mean, Win? Have you been able to find out?”

  “Sadly, I haven’t, Dove. You know how this rolls. They’re all quite scatterbrained. I’ve yet to meet a spirit who has a message to send who isn’t. Aside from me, that is.”

  I tilted my head in thought. “Yeah. Why is that? Why are you so clear-headed?”

  What Win said was quite true. The spirits often were very scattered. Not always, but a great deal of the time. Which is why, when they attempt to get a message to the other side, it’s almost always choppy and fragmented.

  I don’t know if some things get lost in translation through the veil, but mostly it never translates in a conversational manner the way it does with Win. We talk all the time as though he’s in the room with me. Only, he isn’t.

  “Because I’m me and I have a good handle on where I am. I hear through the Plane Limbo grapevine that if you’re unsure about whether to cross, or your death was particularly tragic, everything you do comes across as confused. I’m not at all confused, Dove. I know where I want to be and how I want to get there.”

  I nodded. This subject, the one where Win claimed he was going to get back to the earthly plane by some miracle, was a sore one. For me, that is. I was almost certain there was no way back. In all my years as a witch, I’d never heard of a way back. But to poke a hole in Win’s bubble just wasn’t in me—or wouldn’t be in me until it absolutely had to be. When he needed a good dose of reality.

  Win cleared his throat. Probably because he took my silence on the subject to mean I wouldn’t engage. “Now, back to your father. Are you sure you want to keep him on the suspect list?”

  “Loosely, at least. Again I say, what did that spirit mean? Who else could be the infamous ‘him’?”

  “Fair enough. I’ll heed your hesitation. Now, what did the police say when you called to tell them you thought there might be more evidence?”

  Leaning my head on the door, I looked up at the sky, which had begun to clear. “I told them I thought I saw something under the chest of drawers they might have missed when I was looking for Whiskey’s ball. A small fib, in the scheme of things, I guess. Sandwich said to stay out of the parlor and wait for someone from forensics to clear the room because if we disobey—and I think what he meant was, if I disobey his order—we’ll have to move out and stay in a ho
tel. I just got settled at our house. I don’t want to haul everyone out of there.”

  Win clucked his tongue. “Bart’s money clip led nowhere anyway, and certainly no one at Washington State Penitentiary is going to answer questions from you, a mere civilian. It’s better off in the police’s hands. So we leave it alone until we ask your mother what Bart would be doing with such a thing. Not that I expect she’ll have an answer. It seems she was quite happy to let him roam freely, accosting women and running up credit card debt. Now, next task. Have they ruled Bart’s death a homicide yet?”

  I shook my head. “Sandwich said as soon as he knew, I’d know, because we’re next of kin—sort of. I don’t see how it can be anything else but homicide, but I guess there are plenty of causes of death we know nothing about that could be responsible for the poor man left dead in the middle of our parlor.”

  “And finally, have you looked your father up online yet?”

  I gripped my phone with the sparkly pink cover. I’d started to and then I’d erased the search before I pressed enter. “No. Not yet. I guess I just don’t want to…”

  “Get more deeply involved in his life if he’s the one who killed Bart,” Win finished for me.

  My stomach lurched. “Yeah. That. I’m still a little raw, I guess.”

  “Then let’s go home, Stevie. Take a load off for today. Hole up in the Batcave and rest. You deserve that after this chaos.”

  But I squared my shoulders and turned my car off. “I can’t. It’s not in me to just give up.”

  “It’s not giving up to take a break,” Win chided.

  “Do killers take breaks? No. They kill more people. Maybe he’s just waiting for his next victim and if we don’t stop him, he’ll kill again. Do spies give up? Did you ever give up?”

  “Well, I will admit, there was this one time in Bulgaria. We’d been on this mission, trying to locate a nuclear weapon being sold to some pack of despicable arms dealers. I’d been in deep for over four months when the sale was finally about to take place. Just as we were finalizing details for the trade-off, a mole, still unidentified, gave me up. Which naturally scared off the buyers. Just made it out of there by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. If giving up were ever to happen, that would have been the day I decided to do so.”

  “But the question is, did you give up and let the pack of scoundrels have the nuclear bomb, thus obliterating the entire world?” I asked, digging in my purse for my sunglasses.

  “The world wasn’t their goal, m’love. Chicago was. Nonetheless, no. I didn’t give up. I went back in undercover in disguise and managed to catch the buyers.”

  I could sit and listen to Win’s spy stories all day. They were fascinating. “Exactly my point, Spy Guy.”

  “You’re not dealing with arms dealers, Stevie. The world really isn’t going to blow up if you take just one day off.”

  “You said it wasn’t the world. It was Chicago.”

  “Don’t mince words. The point is, nothing is blowing up today.”

  “Says you. Like my mother doesn’t even resemble a nuclear bomb just a little?”

  Win’s response was to chuckle. “Point for my spy-in-training.”

  “I’m going in. Stay on standby.”

  “Copy that. Good luck on your mission, Mini-Spy.”

  I giggled as I got out of the car, grateful I’d changed into some jeans and a light sweater with an accompanying shrug. The rain might be breaking, but the air was becoming chilly.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to go far to locate the acrobats and there was no sign of Hugh. They were all out back on the terrace of the inn and its beautiful surroundings, lifting each other high, twirling with ribbons, bottles of water everywhere. I spotted the one who’d mentioned her friend’s run-in with Bart immediately.

  She was the tiniest woman of the bunch, her hair smoothed back tight from her face in an immoveable bun, her leotard in black, her legs strong as she bounced on a small trampoline.

  My head bobbed with her up-and-down motion, fascinated by the ease with which she flipped and tumbled on such a tiny surface without worrying she’d fall on the brick terrace and crack her tiny skull open.

  I tucked my purse under my arm and shielded my eyes from the sun that had finally burst through the clouds, calling up to her. “Hello there! Do you remember me? I had the party the other night.”

  Instantly, she slowed her bounce until she came to a complete stop, and looked down at me. “I remember,” she said, her tone dry.

  “May I speak with you?”

  “About?” she asked with clear hesitance. She was touchy. I understood that better than anyone. I bet Simone and Sipowicz had grilled her. You didn’t want to talk to anyone after an event like that.

  “About the other night at my party and your friend CC.”

  The acrobat scanned the crowd before she hopped off the trampoline and came to stand in front of me. I felt like Gigantor compared to her as she gave me a wary glance. “What about her?”

  I stuck my big man-hand out to her Tinkerbell-sized one and said, “I’m Stevie Cartwright. You are?”

  She took it, but it was like she was putting her Jessica Lange fingers in my King Kong paw. “L.”

  “As in one letter L? Or E-L-L-E?”

  Her big blue eyes assessed me before she responded, “Just the letter L.”

  “No comments from the peanut gallery,” Win warned.

  I fought a grin and held up my hands. “I come in peace, swear it. My mother’s distraught over her husband’s death, as you can imagine. I heard you and one of the other acrobats talking about how Bart had—”

  “Behaved like a pig?”

  I smiled uneasily. “Yes, that. Surely you understand I want to protect my mother. I was hoping I could ask CC a couple of quick questions about what happened? Can you point her out for me?”

  “I can, but I’m warning you. She spent four hours at that police station today, being questioned by two men who are a total parody of television cops. She’s pretty battered. I’m not going to let you beat her up all over again to ask the same things they did.”

  I knew that feeling well. “I promise, no beatings. I’m just looking out for my mom. You can understand that, right?”

  L warmed only a little when she said, “She’s over by the rose garden. The little blonde with the green leg warmers.”

  I spotted her instantly amid the hundreds of pale pink and salmon blooms. “Thanks, er, L.”

  Pushing through the acrobats milling about, I approached CC with caution, but it was unnecessary. She popped up from her chair like her feet were spring-loaded and jumped right into my face.

  “If you are here to…” She looked to the man to her left, a thin but intensely muscled very young guy in a white pair of Capri sweats rolled at the knees, no shirt and a man bun. “What ees ze word I look for, T? Ze one wis ze aneemal?” she asked him.

  “Badger, mon cheri. You do not wish to be badgered.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me an “I dare you” look.

  “Oh, no,” I said on a nervous laugh. “I’m not here to badger you. I would never. I’m just here because of my mother. Listen, like I explained to H… I mean, L. I’m just looking out for my mom. You can imagine how distraught she is. Especially seeing as she had no idea Bart was so…so…” What’s the word I’m looking for, T?

  “Such an aneemal?” CC spat, her seductive almond-shaped eyes narrowing.

  “Okay, sure, that works. If we have to label, aneemal seems like it’s a good fit. What did Bart say to you, CC, that upset you so?”

  T must be her boyfriend, because he instantly stood beside her in protective mode, wrapping an arm around her waist. “He made ze rude remarks about her breasts! He ees despicable!”

  Yeah. It would seem so. But one person’s rude remarks were sometimes another person’s no big deal. So I wanted to clarify.

  “He called my breasts ze fried eggs!” CC shouted up at me. “He said he liked fried eggs!”

>   Ooo. Yeah. That was bad. What else could I do but apologize on Bart’s behalf? “I’m sorry, CC. So sorry that happened. It was rude and crass and had I known, I would have had him removed from the party.”

  “You deed not have to. He was removed by ze killer. And now that I do not have ze—ze—”

  “Alibi.” T filled in the blank for her, his gaunt face tight as he seethed the word at me, followed up by a dramatic stance.

  Her finger shot upward. “Yes! Ze alibi. Ze police call me ze suspect. But I deed not keel zis man! I would never!”

  “Well, I believe she deed not keel zis man. What about you, Mini-Spy?” Win said in my ear, his French accent near perfection.

  I was certainly leaning that way. “So the police consider you a suspect?”

  CC rubbed her arms, her eyes flashing dark. “Oui! Because I cannot account for my whereabouts. I was on a break and no one saw me for sirty minutes total. Ooo, I hate zis state! I want to go back where eet ees warm and no one accuses me of ze murder!”

  Another voice from a cluster of the acrobats chimed in. “We did zis for Win! Long live Win!”

  My ears perked up immediately, zeroing in on the person the feisty voice belonged to. Yet another gazelle-like woman, this one with fiery red hair and the longest legs possible on someone who wasn’t even five-one.

  So she didn’t know he was dead? Hmmm.

  “Stevie, take that Sherlock Holmes hat off right now.”

  Aw, heck no. This was a real live tiny person who knew Win. Not a chance, buddy.

  “You knew Win?” I asked, moving around T and CC to look down at the gorgeous creature.

  She lifted her chin and purred. “I deed. He was, how do you say, amazeballs.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That’s the adjective I use all the time to describe him,” I said with laughing sarcasm. “So he came to your shows in Vegas?”