The Witch and the Dead

by Heather Blake

  Chapter Eleven

  Not ten minutes later, some of the worst made itself known as I headed toward Ve’s, taking advantage of a slight break in the rain. The downpour had subsided, and sprinkles fell gently from clouds that still hung low in the steely sky. I gripped my pottery candle tightly to keep it from sliding out of my slippery hands. I’d forgotten the spell book at Harper’s and made a mental note to call her about it later.

  My shoes were soaked through, and my poor wool coat smelled like Missy when she came in from the rain.

  It was unpleasant, to say the least.

  I’d just crossed the street onto the green, and I’d been thinking about Miles using a charmed amulet and about Harper—worrying, really—when I heard the click-clack of high heels striking cobblestone. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a woman power-walking in the same direction I was.

  Even though her face was hidden by a big umbrella, Dorothy Hansel Dewitt’s form was unmistakable. Her burnt orange A-line skirt swished left and right with each step she took, and her big bosom bounced in a tight scooped-neck black sweater, making her look a little like a risqué Halloween decoration.

  She hadn’t seen me.

  I debated whether to make a break for it or stay right where I was so I could ask her a few questions.

  It had been a long day.

  A really long day.

  My nerves were raw, and I didn’t know if I had the wherewithal to deal with Dorothy right now.

  Which was why I decided to run.

  My self-preservation instincts ran deep.

  No sooner had I made the decision than the umbrella came up. Dorothy’s eyes met mine, flared.

  I was a little relieved that she appeared to be as horrified to see me as I was to see her. Her gaze darted about as if she was planning her own escape.

  My escape plan had just been foiled. My chance to run had passed the moment she spotted me. With a weary sigh, I gave in and fully turned to face her. It was best to get this conversation over with.

  She must have come to the same conclusion, because her apple red lips curled into a sneer. Cocking a curvy hip, she closed the umbrella.

  We stood ten feet apart, and suddenly I felt like a gunslinger at the O.K. Corral as we stared each other down.

  “You,” she said, pointing the tip of the umbrella at me, “need to mind your own damned business.”

  At some point during the day, she’d been caught in the rain. Her normally voluminous white blond hair hung flat and limp against her head and shoulders. Black eyeliner and mascara had smeared, creating a raccoonish effect around her eyes, and her foundation had crackled.

  She obviously hadn’t passed a mirror lately, or she would have stuck her head beneath that umbrella and not popped it out again until her makeup had been fixed. Dorothy didn’t like to look anything but put together.

  Right now she appeared to be falling apart. It was a look I’d never witnessed before.

  Something had clearly rattled her as well.

  There was a lot of that going on in the village today.

  I took a step toward her. “I could say the same for you. Throwing a fit to get Nick pulled off this case. Why could that be?” I tapped my chin and looked upward as though in deep thought. “Hmm.”

  She took two steps toward me. Click-clack. Her pointy jaw lifted. Her voice was ice-cold. “What are you trying to say, Darcy?”

  I took another step. “I’m saying that maybe you have something to hide where Miles Babbage is concerned and don’t want Nick uncovering what it is. Like your affair with Miles? From what I heard, you neglected to mention that little piece of information to the police when you were trying to get Nick yanked off the case.”

  Raccoon eyes narrowed into thin slits. She took two more steps toward me, putting us nearly eye to eye, thanks to those four-inch heels she wore.

  Venom dripped in her voice as she said, “Nick shouldn’t be on the case. We all know he’ll give Ve a free pass. She shouldn’t be able to get away with murder just because of who he is sleeping with.”

  I clutched my candle more tightly. “You know Nick better than that, which only makes me more convinced you’re hiding something. And we both know Ve didn’t kill anyone.”

  She pressed a hand to her bosom and smiled, a thin, smug smile. “I don’t know anything of the sort, and you can’t possibly, either. Everyone has their secrets.”

  “And what about you, Dorothy? Your secrets? Did you happen to see Miles the weekend he went missing?”

  A visible shudder went through her, and I wasn’t sure if it came from the cold, raw weather or the mention of Miles.

  I added, “Did you try to rekindle an old flame that fateful weekend and kill the man when he wasn’t interested? We all know how well you take rejection. I’m surprised the skeleton wasn’t charred.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. As usual. And you’re lucky you’re not charred,” she sniped.

  I sniped back. “It’s certainly not from your lack of trying, is it?”

  “Darcy,” she said smugly, “you and I both know that I hadn’t been truly trying. If I had been, you would not be standing here.”

  She made an excellent point.

  She said, “This matter is none of your business. None at all.”

  “You and I both know it is, don’t we? The Craft is involved in what happened to Miles; therefore, I am involved.”

  She knew I was a Craft investigator and that asking her these questions was my job.

  She must have suddenly realized that it was in her best interest to deal with me rather than the Elder, because she said, “Fine. Let’s get this over with, shall we? It is a matter of fact that I did not see Miles at all when he returned to the village, and I had no desire to do so. Never mind that my little dalliance with him was long over—which I had ended, by the way—I was terribly ill during my pregnancy and rarely left the house.”

  She was a seasoned liar, and I couldn’t tell if she was spouting the truth or lying through her teeth. From what I’d learned, Miles hadn’t been in the village long before he disappeared—only a few days—and it was entirely plausible that she hadn’t run into him.

  I wasn’t quite ready to rule her out, but I wanted more information. “What about Joel? Did he pay Miles a visit? Dish out a little retribution for Miles’ role in your affair?”

  Anger flared in her eyes. “If Joel had seen him, Miles would have been strung up right here on the village green, not tucked away all nice and tidy inside a garage for decades. It would have served Miles right, too. Joel had warned him not to return.”

  “Warned him? After the affair?”

  “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “And Miles promised to comply.”

  The warning was most likely the reason why Miles had stayed away so long. But no. That wasn’t quite right. The affair had ended more than a year and a half before he’d gone missing. He’d returned to the village at least once before his final visit—a year before he’d gone missing. . . . Then I recalled that Ve and Joel were out of the country during that time. Miles had probably figured it was safe to pop in while they were gone.

  And it had been. That time . . .

  I didn’t know if Dorothy was aware that Miles had been in the village while she was on her second honeymoon and figured it didn’t much matter. All that truly counted was the final time he’d returned. “But Miles did come back . . . and apparently died that very weekend.”

  “Fortunately for the sake of my husband’s freedom, he was out of the country at the time at a furniture exposition in Austria.”

  There had to be a way to verify that, but I’d leave it to Nick. If Joel had been out of the country, Miles had probably figured he was safe to return once again. But how had he known the man wouldn’t be here? “Was Joel’s trip well publicized?”

>   She frowned as though wondering why I was asking but said, “Yes. The Globe picked up an article the Toil and Trouble had done about him selling his woodcrafts to overseas markets. Why?”

  I shrugged.

  Her gaze narrowed. “You think Miles saw the article and that was why he returned? Because Joel wasn’t here?”

  Dorothy was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them.

  “It’s possible.”

  Angrily, she said, “No, not possible. Probable. Damn him.”

  It was then that I realized she hated Miles Babbage. Truly loathed the man. It was evident in the derision of her tone, her fiery gaze, the set of her jaw.

  She shifted her weight, cocking the other hip. “Miles got what was coming to him, nonetheless, thanks to Ve. We should throw her a party before she goes to prison.”

  “Ve didn’t kill him,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Why? Because she said she didn’t? She can’t remember that weekend at all, so how does she know she didn’t kill the man? Did you consider that in your investigations?”

  I felt a pinprick of fear pierce my heart. I hadn’t considered it, but given the circumstances, it was entirely possible. . . . Ve hadn’t liked Miles. And he’d tricked her by using an amulet. Maybe she’d found out? It could have been self-defense. . . .

  But no.

  No!

  I wouldn’t let Dorothy do this to me.

  She was simply deflecting, trying to redirect my investigations away from her. . . .

  “You’re trying too hard,” I said to her as the sprinkles turned into a steady rain once again. “First with Nick, now with Ve. And it makes me wonder why. What are you hiding, Dorothy?”

  “I’m not hiding a thing. My life is an open book, as you’re well aware since you already knew about the affair. . . . Let me ask you this. Have you uncovered that Penelope Debrowski had a torrid relationship with Miles?”

  I was glad Marcus hadn’t heard the word “torrid” used in tandem with his mother’s name. He might have needed a memory cleanse.

  “Yes, which I’m sure you already know, as you instructed Sylar to mention it to me.”

  She smiled. “You’re a smart cookie, Darcy. Too smart not to see what’s in front of your own eyes.”

  “You, as a killer? Oh, I see that fairly easily.”

  “No, though you’re pressing your luck on that front.” She cast a glance at the bookshop. “Sometimes the most visible things are the most hidden.” Her voice rose, turning sickly sweet. “Like, oh, the shape of Marcus’ eyes. His height, his thin stature . . . They remind me of another man. A man who isn’t Oliver. You should be investigating that. Not me.”

  I suddenly did some mental math, and unless Penelope had had the longest pregnancy in history, the dates didn’t add up. “Good try, Dorothy. Marcus turned twenty-nine at the end of August.”

  She raised a dubious eyebrow. “Are you certain about that?”

  Her needling tone suggested that I was wrong and she was giving me the chance to correct myself. “What’s that mean? Of course I am.”

  “If you can’t see the ease with which a Lawcrafter could alter a birth certificate, that’s your problem, not mine.” She snorted derisively, then muttered under her breath, “Some investigator you are.”

  Now that she had planted the seed, I recalculated my mental math. If Marcus had been conceived the same week Miles had disappeared, then a normal pregnancy would place his due date at the end of June or the beginning of July. Definitely not August. However, Dorothy was right about Lawcrafters. It would be extremely easy for them to doctor a legal document.

  Had Penelope and/or Oliver changed Marcus’ birth certificate to make it appear as though he’d been conceived after Penelope married Oliver?

  I couldn’t rule it out; that was for sure.

  Oh boy.

  Then I glanced at Dorothy. She was smiling like she’d just given me the biggest scoop since Watergate. But the smile didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. No, there was no joy in her gaze at all. Instead, I saw another emotion altogether.

  Whether it was true or not, the Marcus tip had been another deflection. I would have to look into it further; however, the tip itself changed nothing about my interest in Dorothy.

  She talked a pretty game. A pretty game that I suspected hid ugly truths. I pushed wet hair off my face and said, “Be that as it may, you’re still not telling me everything.”

  “As I said, my life is an open book. You’re wasting your time with me. I didn’t kill Miles.”

  I took a step closer to her. “You can tell me you’re not hiding anything until you’re blue in the face. You can run away from me when you see me coming, and you can maybe even get Nick to stop investigating. But I’m not going to stop until I figure out the whole truth of what happened to Miles that weekend. And my instincts tell me it involves you somehow.”

  Rain dripped down her face as it hardened with hatred. “Listen to me, Darcy Merriweather. You might think you have some power in this village, thanks to mommy dearest, but you don’t. You hear me? You need to stay out of matters that don’t concern you. I told you I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t. That’s that.”

  Mommy dearest. It was clear she knew who the Elder was. . . .

  But if she’d meant to bring up my mother as some sort of veiled threat, then her plan had backfired. The mention of my mother had only served to bolster my courage.

  “Not quite,” I said. “You’ll have to forgive me for not taking your word for anything.”

  Sharply, she said, “You need to keep in mind that witches who play with fire get burned.”

  That had definitely been a threat, considering Dorothy’s firebug nature. I closed what little distance remained between us and said, “I told you, I’m not stopping. Because I see it in your eyes. I practically smell it coming off you in waves. Fear. Why, Dorothy? Why are you so scared?”

  She gave me a shove, and my arms flew out so I could keep my balance. The candle went flying and crashed on the cobblestone pathway, breaking into pieces. The tiny ceramic bird popped off and rolled away.

  “Darcy!” someone yelled.

  Dorothy and I both turned. It was Mimi, and she wasn’t alone. Andreus Woodshall stood next to her, holding an umbrella over her head as they rushed toward us.

  Dorothy turned back to me. “Stay out of my way, Darcy,” she said, moving past me. “And maybe I’ll stay out of yours.”

  Striding off, she took a moment to stomp the ceramic bird and then kept going, her click-clack, click-clack sounding like gunfire.

  A moment later, Mimi threw her arms around me and held on tight. “Are you okay?”

  Andreus lifted a dark eyebrow and humor laced his words as he said, “I see nothing much has changed since the last time I was in the village.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing out of school?” I asked Mimi as we crouched low, cleaning up the candle mess. Rain came down in sheets, and I was soaked to the bone, despite Andreus’ best attempts to keep both Mimi and me dry with his umbrella. By my calculations, Mimi had another hour or so left of classes.

  “I heard a rumor that something happened at Ve’s, so I, uh, left. . . .”

  Left? Skipped out was more accurate. “Mimi . . .”

  “Don’t ‘Mimi’ me,” she said, sounding a lot like Harper. “I couldn’t just stay there after hearing that.” She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  Discussing the big deal of it all could wait until later.

  “I came across her shortly after the little felon made her escape,” Andreus said, tossing a chunk of candle into a nearby trash bin.

  Mimi threw him an exasperated look, so funny that it made me smile. After what had happened with Dorothy, I was glad Mimi was here. Andreus, too, and that was saying something.

  However, I was
n’t entirely sure he would have been on my side if I’d gotten into a knock-down, drag-out fight with Dorothy. He was a family friend of Dorothy’s and he was Glinda’s godfather.

  As I’ve mentioned, he was a complicated man.

  “What?” Andreus said to her with a grin. “It’s true.”

  Despite the gloominess of the afternoon, there must have been enough ambient light to keep his dark, Dracula-ish countenance at bay. Sometimes when in shadows, his face morphed into something that could cause nightmares. It was an ability he knew he possessed, and he used it to his benefit when needed. His normal, everyday face was quite handsome. He was nearing fifty, his black hair had started to silver, and his dark eyes and swarthy skin tone had always reminded me of a silver-screen star from days of old. Aunt Ve had started dating him last spring. She didn’t mind a bit that she was more than a decade older than he was and welcomed any and all cougar references.

  I glanced at Mimi. “We would have come to get you if it was something serious. You know that, right?”

  “Don’t you think Aunt Ve murdering someone is serious?” she asked, her brown eyes wide with earnestness. Her dark curls had spiraled out of control with the moisture in the air. At thirteen her baby face was giving way to that of a young woman, slimming out and lengthening.

  I sighed. “She didn’t murder anyone.”

  “Yet,” Andreus added drolly.

  “Not helping.” I tossed the last of the candle into the trash.

  Andreus adjusted the umbrella as the wind shifted. “Dorothy should count herself lucky Ve didn’t witness what Mimi and I came upon, or I fear she’d have gone the way of the skeleton I’ve been hearing about so much. What sparked this particular altercation?”

  “Secrets,” I said, standing up. I gave them both a quick rundown of what had been happening as we headed off to Ve’s house. I didn’t mention Dorothy’s suggestion that Marcus might not be Oliver’s son. I wanted to look into that a bit further before I put that information out into the village.

  “Hey, look!” Mimi ducked out from under the umbrella. She stooped and picked up something from the grass.