“What the fluff, Sandwich?” I asked, craning my neck around his body as he stood in front of a barrier of tape.
His face was beet red despite the cooler temperatures, his jaw tight. “I’m a little busy here, Stevie.”
I looked to the acrobats piled together in a huddle of angry eyes and graceful limbs, my gaze pinpointing L, panic settling in my gut. “Why are they arresting her?”
She gave me a dull look, her wide eyes glassy from crying. “They’re arresting her for,” she stuttered on her words, gulping, and then she spit it out, “murder!”
Chapter 13
Neither of us spoke on the way to Petula’s cute shop in the center of town until we pulled up and parked by the curb.
“This is wrong. CC did not commit this murder, Stevie.”
“I know,” I said grimly. “But according to T, her boyfriend, the police claim to have some kind of evidence that points to her. When she refused to cooperate for questioning, they arrested her.”
“Then we need to pick up the pace a bit and solve this case.”
“You don’t think she’s strong enough to haul him up and hold him there long enough to strangle him, do you? She’s maybe all of ninety pounds. How could she keep a guy as big as Bart up in the air for that long?”
Win’s sigh was deep. “Did you not see her in that champagne glass the night of the party? It takes enormous effort to get one’s body in and out of the glass, let alone sit on that small rim. They’re quite strong. I realize their sizes are deceiving, but in order to pull off the acrobatic stunts they do for their shows, they train hard, Stevie. And they aren’t weak. Yet, still, I’m certain it wasn’t her.”
“So am I. So what piece of evidence do the police have that points to her? I mean, she was hardly wearing anything but a skimpy bikini that night and she was in water during the better part of the party. DNA? Fingernail clippings? Hair? What?”
“We won’t know any of that until the coroner rules. But certainly there are plenty of other things to leave behind as evidence. No crime is without.”
My stomach roared again, its unsettled bottom rising and falling. I hated this, but I could hardly go to the police and tell them my gut said CC didn’t do it. I needed proof. Hardcore proof.
Wiping my palms on the legs of my jeans, I grabbed my purse. “Okay, so let’s go in and talk to Petula and see if she’ll give us a list of people who worked the party. It’s all we have for now. Unless I call up the prison and see if I can get on their guest list.”
“Stevie, I’ll remind you. I was right the last time you did something I warned could be dangerous. Remember Jacob the fish man?”
I thought of my poor aching butt after that encounter and my sprained coccyx. “Distinctly.”
“Do you remember how long it took for your backside to heal? Then remember this—I’ll be right again if you pull a stunt like that. Do you want to end up in jail, too?”
“Don’t be silly. They can’t put me in jail for pretending I want to visit a prisoner. Maybe I really do want to visit a prisoner. How do they know what I’m feeling?”
“Then I hope you like creamed corn.”
Win knew how much I hated creamed corn. “Oh, stop. You threatened me with that the last time you thought I’d end up in prison. It’s lost its impact. What harm can it do to ask this guy Aiden, or whatever his real name is—”
“I believe we discovered it was Ralph Peterson.”
I slapped my hand against the dashboard. “Okay, Ralph. What harm can it do if I ask him about Bart and their scams? He can’t beat me up while a bunch of prison guards are standing around.”
“Go ask your questions of Petula and I’ll send Bel a list of things we can purchase at the prison commissary to tide you over until you’re paroled.”
I laughed, feeling a little lighter already as I climbed out of the car and stepped onto the curb, determined to find Bart’s killer and keep CC from eating creamed corn for life.
Knocking on the glass door of Petula’s shop, I admired her front window with the tiered cakes, and beautiful pink and silver tulle strung from corner to corner. Lights twinkled and there was even a rotating bouquet of flowers on a small table.
Her smiling face came into view as she unlocked the glass door with a big set of dangling keys. She looked winded and her cheeks were red. She wore her trusty white apron, spattered in whatever she was making. Not only did Petula plan a party, but upon special request, she also sometimes cooked for one.
Some of her confections were the most popular in all of Washington State.
“Stevie!” she greeted me with a hug. “Thanks for meeting me here. I have a party to cater tomorrow for Mayor Jenkins and it’s been nonstop trouble from the word go.”
I stepped into her store, surrounded by the beautiful things she provided for parties, and smiled. “First, despite the death of my stepfather, I want to thank you. The party was amazing. It was everything I could have ever hoped for and more.”
Her round face went sad when she grabbed my hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. How’s your mother?”
Oh, she’s dandy. Off on a hot date with her next husband. “She’s doing better than expected,” was all I managed.
Petula patted my hand with a vague smile. “Good, good. Listen, I only have a couple of minutes before my mini-quiches are toast. I hate to rush you, but could we make this quick?”
“Of course. I know you were crazy-busy that night, but did you see anything? Anyone? I mean, anything at all unusual?”
Petula rolled her eyes and slapped her hands against the white apron she wore. “If you only knew how tame your party was compared to some. I’ve seen it all. You know, once, I catered a,” she cupped her hand over her mouth and leaned into my ear, “BDS something-or-other party. Land alive, never seen so much leather in my whole life!” Then she chuckled, her face going redder, if that was at all possible.
“So nothing out of the ordinary at all?”
“You know I’m a behind-the-scenes gal, so I don’t get to mingle much with the guests. I did hear there was a bit of an argument between your stepfather and Hardy, though. But mostly, it ran like clockwork.” Then she frowned, the lines on her forehead deepening. “Except, there was one thing…”
I leaned in closer, my gaze intent. “Except?”
“Well, I do remember your stepfather talking to someone shortly before your mother came outside and…well, you know. Gosh, that just came to me now! They were under a tree and I think they were yelling at each other. The reason it struck me was because there were hands flapping and necks rolling, lots of posturing, but I couldn’t hear anything because the music was so loud. It was almost like a silent movie. I’d better tell the police that.”
My spine tingled again. I was getting closer, I knew I was. “That might be a good idea. One of the acrobats told me the same thing, and if you back up her story, she might not spend a long time in jail.”
Petula gasped, her hand going to her throat. “Jail? She was arrested?”
“Yep. I saw them take her away on the way over. But she said the same thing you did. That Bart was talking to some man in the shadows.”
Her eyes were full of concern now. “Then I’ll call up that stick-in-the-mud Officer Nelson right away. Oh, the poor thing! You don’t think she killed him, do you? Are they calling it murder yet?”
“They’re still waiting on the coroner’s reports. Anyway, did you know the other person Bart was arguing with? See the other person? Can you tell me what he looked like?”
But Petula shook her head, her shoulders sagging. “No, Sugar. I’m sorry. He was short, and I’m pretty sure it was a fella. But that Bart, he’s so big, he overshadowed him. Though he was really pale, as I recall. I only caught a quick flash of him before I had other things to attend.”
“Any reason why someone would have your business card with Bart’s name written on the back?”
Now Petula blanched, her face flustered. “I don’t know…I mean, I
hand out my business cards to anyone who can close their fingers around them. I hope you don’t think I…”
“No. Of course I don’t think that.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said on an expelled breath. “I wish I could be of more help, Stevie. I’m sorry.”
Reaching out, I squeezed Petula’s hand. “I totally understand. Do you have the list of employees who worked the party?”
She held up a finger. “Yes! It’s right there on the counter. Take it with you if you want. I promise to call Officer Nelson to back up that poor kid’s story. And now,” she thumbed over her shoulder to her shiny steel kitchen, “I gotta run. Good seeing you!”
I smiled and nodded, grabbing the list and heading for the door. “Thanks again, Petula! Don’t forget to lock up!”
I opened the door and scooted out, disappointed I had no more information now than when I’d gone in.
“Don’t be discouraged, Dove.”
Unlocking the car, I climbed back in and slumped in the seat. What else was left but discouragement? “She didn’t really tell us anything we didn’t already know. Some mysterious guy was arguing with Bart. That’s two people with that story. We need to find out who that guy was.”
The light was beginning to fade, the sun setting in all its perfect gold and buttery yellow, so it was too hard to read the list. “Let’s go home and go over this list while I wait for my mother to get back from her date.”
“Bet she misses curfew,” Win said on a snort.
“Bet I tie her to a chair until Bart’s murder is solved.”
“Murder is wrong, Stevie Cartwright.”
“So is dating a man one day after your husband is murdered at your daughter’s housewarming party.”
“She has chutzpah, I’ll say that.”
Pulling out of the parking space, I went around the circle in the center of the connecting streets, still enthralled by my little town, with all its colorful shops and quirky signs. I loved Ebenezer Falls almost more than I’d loved Paris, I think.
Don’t get me wrong, I really miss my friends and my magic, but there was something about the safety of being somewhere you knew every nook and cranny that you couldn’t beat.
And this new life I was carving out was pretty great. I had so many things to be thankful for.
I waved to Forrest as I drove by; he was closing up Strange Brew for the night with Chester right behind him. Seeing him with his grandfather always made me smile. The bond he and Chester shared sometimes made me long for something similar in my life.
That thought reminded me of my mother as I drove out of town and toward the house.
“You’re quiet, Dove. Penny for them?”
As the sun set and our house came into view, the lawn aglow with the Malibu lights and the windows beaconing rays of welcome, I said, “I was just thinking about how grateful I am to have everything we have. The house, Bel, Whiskey, the shop, you. It’s good. Really good, don’t you think?”
Win’s aura circled me, sending gentle vibrations of light and warmth. “I think. We’re very fortunate—all of us.”
If I could reach out and hold his hand right now, I would. Just so he’d know how much he meant to us, how he’d saved Bel and me. So he’d feel the gratitude I felt in something other than the words I spoke. I’d like to think we’d laugh, maybe take a walk, were he here beside me instead of just in my ear.
I pulled into the driveway, still in my small cocoon of happiness—and that was when it happened. Just as I reached for my purse.
At first I thought it was merely a trick of the setting sun, its eggplant and deep-blue haze casting shadows over the passenger seat, until I looked closer.
I almost wasn’t able to say anything because I think I stopped breathing.
Blinking, I forced myself to focus, gripping the steering wheel and turning to look again. “Win? Oh, my goddess, Win?”
He turned to me, his hard body twisting with the movement, dressed in an immaculate suit of shimmery black, his dark hair falling rakishly in waves over his forehead, the ends down to just the top of his collar.
And he smiled then, smiled wide, complete with deep grooves on either side of his mouth. A smile full of white, perfect teeth, a smile warm and inviting.
He lifted a hand with long fingers and saluted me before reaching to cup my cheek. “Hello, Dove,” he said, thick and husky, silky and seductive, just like he had in my ear for three months now. Yet, I felt his hand. I felt an ever-so-light bit of pressure, the warm curve of it against my skin, the length of his fingers as they left my cheek and wrapped under my chin.
And at that moment I knew. I knew he was everything.
My heart throbbed so hard, I didn’t know what to say, what to think. Elation coursed through my veins. He’d done it. Somehow, he’d made his image appear. Was that me regaining some more of my power or Win gaining some of his own?
“Win? Is that you? Oh my God—Win!” I reached out to press my hand to his, but it fell right through the thin film of his body.
So I put my hands to my cheeks, tears burning at the corners of my eyes, smiling through my tears. “It’s you! How?”
But then he began to fade, his image shimmering, distorting, his voice becoming muffled and faraway, the words he spoke making no sense.
“Wait! What’s happening? Where are you going? No, Win! Don’t go. Come back!”
As sure as his image began to fade, I also felt his aura slipping away, like water down a drain. “Nooo!” I screamed into the car. “Come back!”
But he was gone. Just like that. And in his place there was a cold talon, slithering along my spine, an empty hole of nothingness. Desperation and despair clawed at my gut.
And then there was a voice. A very familiar voice. A voice I’ll never, not for whatever was left of my life, forget.
“Poor Stevie,” the disembodied voice rumbled, deep and antagonistic. “Did you lose your only friend?”
I wanted to cringe. To hide. To run for cover.
But then I thought of Win. He’d never run. He’d jam that gorgeous face of his right into his tormentor’s and dare him to do whatever it was he was going to do because no way would Win back down.
No. No, I would not shy away from this. I would not be someone’s hostage for the rest of my life—not after everything he’d already taken.
So I sat up straight. I lifted my chin. I puffed out my chest. I let my eyes go wide with the vengeance I’d shoved deep down inside and I asked, “What do you want from me?”
His laughter was repulsive, filled with his hatred for me. “I want you dead, Stevie Cartwright. I want you broken, battered, beaten, begging for mercy, and then I want you dead!”
Even though my pulse raced and my heart crashed so hard against my ribs I thought surely I was having a heart attack, I reared up in my seat as though keeping my head above his quicksand of evil. “Then bring it, Adam! I dare you to bring it, you sick bastard! Bring everything you have. Bring it allll!” I bellowed out, tears stinging my eyes, hot and salty as they ran down my cheeks and into my mouth. “But you leave Win alone! Do you hear me? Leave him alone. Take me, but leave him alone!”
Thunder cracked, so sharp, so piercing, it rocked the car, fracturing the passenger-side window. Lighting sizzled, spewing from the sky with a bolt of a flash.
“I’d be happy to!” he hollered gleefully.
I yanked at the car door, trying to escape, but the locks clamped down in place on each door with a harsh snap. Yet, in that moment, that moment filled with the scent of evil, the ozone redolent with the smell of hatred mingled with magic, I felt an odd sense of calm.
If something happened to me, I’d find Win. I’d find a way to find him.
But in the meantime, I realized, his words—the words he drilled into my head over and over, day after day—were still with me.
I flung the seat back using the lever, swiveling my body around and using my feet to kick at the window.
Rain began to slash the
car, hitting it in hard pelts. I kicked harder, until I heard that familiar crack Win said I’d hear just before it was about to break.
So I covered my face for the backlash, in case splinters rained down on me, and then I was sitting up again, clearing the shards from the window, jamming my legs into it, using my hands as leverage on the frame to pull myself up and slide out.
I ran away from the house, too afraid Adam would follow me inside and hurt the Bats or my mother. I ran across the lawn just past the gorgeous gardens as the rain pounded down on me and my work boots sank into the softened soil. The temperature dropped quickly, turning the rain to ice, its stinging daggers hitting my skin.
But then I realized there was nowhere to go. Where could I hide from someone who wanted me dead from the great beyond? So I turned into the ice and wind and screamed, “Take me, Adam! Come and get me! But you leave Win alone!”
“Stephania!”
I whipped around at the sound of my name being called.
“Stephania! Come to me now!” my mother yelled into the howl of the frigid wind from the center of the lawn. She held out her trembling hand as the lightning cracked again, a slim figure in a flash of light, offering aid. “Stephania! Come to me now!”
So I ran, grabbing on to Mom’s icy fingers and clinging to them.
Her eyes closed as her hair plastered to her head and she gripped my hand so tight, I had to take back what I’d said earlier about her skinny bird arms.
She let her neck arch back, her head resting on her shoulders. Leaning into the wind, Mom roared, “Evil be gone from this place! Evil no longer show your face!”
Everything stopped at once, the rain, the ice, the wind, leaving us both shivering and soaked.
My mother grabbed me, pulling me to her, bracketing my face with her hands. “Stephania, are you all right?” Her fingers roamed my cheeks, my hair. “Did he hurt you? Who was that?” she asked, her eyes frantically searching mine as rainwater dripped down her face.
I fought for breath, my full-body tremble in high gear. I shivered violently, shudders racking my arms and legs. “The warlock who stole my powers. Adam Westfield.”
Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) Page 15