I glanced at Nick, and his gaze met mine. We knew that Miles had died from strangulation, but did Penelope?
She glanced upward at the clear sky, then back down. “I didn’t think so, not for many years. Not until I learned his skeleton had been found in Ve’s garage. Until then, I simply believed that he had left town like he always did. That maybe he felt some remorse for what he did to me and had decided never to come back to the village ever again. Looking back, I believed it because I wanted to believe it. It was easier than believing he’d used me.”
“But now?” I asked. “What do you think happened?”
She started wringing her hands, and then stopped and clasped them tightly. “I can only surmise that he’d bled to death the night I attacked him.”
This still wasn’t making sense to me. “But you never saw him again after you ran out of the bunkhouse, right?”
She nodded. “That’s correct.”
Nick said, “That doesn’t explain how Miles ended up in Ve’s garage.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “No, it doesn’t.”
I fought the urge to put my arm around her. “How do you think Miles ended up in Ve’s garage?”
She swiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “Steve.”
“How so?” I asked.
“He was so worried that night when he saw the blood on my hands, and he pretended to believe what I told him about cutting myself.”
“You knew he was pretending?” I asked.
“Oh, Darcy. It was so obvious I was lying. I took full advantage of how he felt for me.” Her lower lip trembled until she pressed her lips firmly together. “He had to have gone back to the bunkhouse that night to clean up the mess . . . and”—she blinked away tears—“took care of Miles’ body.”
“You think Steve found Miles dead in the bunkhouse?” Nick asked. “And hid the body to cover for you?”
“I do,” she said. “It’s the only explanation I could come up with over the past couple of days that makes sense. Steve knew my dislike for Ve, and that’s probably why he put the . . . body . . . where he did.” She looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t me to whom she owed the apology, but Ve. And I suddenly wondered at Penelope’s motives for coming here this morning. Was she here only to drag Steve down with her, since he’d ratted her out? Would she be here at all if he’d kept the secret about her bloodstained hands?
I doubted it.
Birds chirped as I asked, “Did you ever love him? Steve?”
“It’s not as easy a question as you think. I hate that I hurt him. I hate it more than I can ever say. He’s a good guy. We had fun. At one point I thought we could end up together.”
“But?” I asked, hearing in her voice that there was one.
“But with Steve, it never felt quite right. I always felt as though he loved only the artsy side of me. And though I couldn’t Lawcraft very well, it was still inside of me. I liked reading court cases. He didn’t understand that. Then Miles happened. He turned my world upside down and inside out. I would have done anything for him. Left my family, walked away from this village.”
Roots, Steve had said.
“How did you end up with Oliver?” I asked.
Torment filled her eyes. “I was so lost after what happened with Miles. Sick. Ashamed. Brokenhearted. I didn’t want to live without him. The next day, I took a bunch of pills. Oliver was the one who found me, got me medical help. When I was better, I told him what happened and that I didn’t know if I could go on. He visited me every day. And each day, I looked forward to his visits more and more. Oliver was the only one I could talk to, who knew everything. I realized that anytime I ever needed something, I went to Oliver. If I was sick, it was Oliver bringing me soup. If I had a fight with my parents, he was the one who brokered peace.” She looked at me. “He knew I didn’t love him when he asked me to marry him, but he thought it was best to get me out from under my parents’ thumbs. I agreed. I felt like I owed it to him, after all he’d done for me.”
As much as I couldn’t imagine marrying someone under those circumstances, I could see why she had agreed to it.
There was still moisture in her eyes when she glanced at me. “About six months after we married, a funny thing happened. I looked at Oliver one day. I mean, truly looked at him, and it hit me like a ton of bricks that he loved me. Truly loved me. Both sides of me. He’d seen it all. I fell hard after that.”
I believed it. I’d seen the way they looked at each other.
“I wish . . . ,” she began.
My nerves danced as I readied to cast a spell.
Then she shook her head. “If only Miles had never come into my life . . .”
A warm breeze blew, loosening more leaves from their branches. They floated peacefully to the ground, and I wondered what would have happened if she’d actually made that wish. How so many lives would have been different.
“I’m sorry to do this, Penelope,” Nick said, “but I just have a couple more questions about what happened with Miles.”
A shudder went through her. “Go ahead.”
“If I have this right, you said you slashed Miles, he fell and hit his head, and that you ran out.”
Her chin lifted. “That’s right.”
He nodded. “What did you do with the sculpting knife?”
“I left it on the table with all the other sculpting tools.”
“You used no other weapons?” he asked, fishing. “Another ceramics tool? Your hands, even?”
“No. Just the knife. And those wounds were only superficial. It had to be the fall that killed him.” She winced. “He probably cracked his skull. The blood . . .”
My stomach ached. Head wounds were notorious for bleeding copiously.
“What about the amulet?” he asked.
“The amulet?” she repeated. “What about it?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Was Miles wearing it?”
“He was always wearing it. Why?”
“Are you certain he was wearing it that night?” he asked.
“Positive,” she said. “I remember asking him if Ve knew about it. Why does the amulet matter at all?”
I said, “The amulet is missing. It wasn’t found with Miles’ body.”
She didn’t move a muscle, but something shifted in her eyes, and I figured she believed Steve had taken the amulet.
Had he been lying to Glinda and me about not knowing of its existence?
If so, he was an excellent liar.
“I don’t know where it is,” she said, then glanced at her watch. “I should get going. I have a lot to do before this afternoon. Will you be at the police station?”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “But, Penelope, I’m not sure anything much will happen other than taking your statement.”
“Why?” she asked. “I need to take responsibility for what happened.”
“The thing is,” Nick said, “I don’t think you had anything to do with Miles’ death, not physically anyway.”
The breeze ruffled her bangs as her forehead furrowed. “I don’t understand. It’s my fault he fell and hit his head. . . .”
“That might be true, but his official cause of death is strangulation.” He explained the medical examiner’s findings and what it all meant.
“I don’t understand,” she finally said, shaking her head.
“You said he was alive when you left the bunkhouse . . . ,” Nick began.
“He was, but . . .” She stared at Nick for a long moment, then suddenly stood up. “I need to go.”
Although she didn’t run, she moved at a fast clip across the village green. We watched as she knocked on the door of the Trimmed Wick. The shop wasn’t due to open for another couple of hours, so it was no surprise no one answered the knock. After a moment, she tur
ned away and rushed off in the direction of her house.
I said, “She was looking for Steve, but he’s probably at Wickedly Creative. He teaches a morning class there on the weekends.”
Nick nodded. “I want to talk to him, too, and also check the bunkhouse for that knife. Do you want to come with me?”
I jumped up. “Did you even have to ask?”
He laughed. “Well, go get changed. If we hurry, we’ll be back before Mimi gets up.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Fifteen minutes later, we walked behind Wickedly Creative, traipsing through the grass on the way to the bunkhouse.
We’d had no luck tracking down Steve Winstead; George and Cora weren’t expecting him at the studio for another fifteen minutes. We decided to bide our time by looking at the bunkhouse.
Nick had changed into his uniform, but he wanted to question Steve informally before bringing him to the police station.
I kept thinking about that wish Penelope almost made about Miles never coming into her life.
If he hadn’t, there was a chance Steve would have had his happily ever after, after all.
And it was likely she wouldn’t have married Oliver. There would be no Marcus.
Destiny.
My mother had spoken of it, referring to Vince. But it was applicable here, too.
This had been Penelope’s journey, and altering it with a wish would have drastically changed the lives of so many.
Including Harper’s.
I shuddered at the thought of her not having Marcus in her life and wondered if the wish would have even been allowed by the Elder.
She said we weren’t to interfere with destiny. . . .
“You okay?” Nick asked, stopping to look at me.
“I’m all right.” I looked down. “This case is getting to me a little bit.”
“Me, too.”
We started walking again, and as we strode through a clump of clover, I stopped again. The clover . . .
“What is it?” Nick asked.
“I think I know how we can find that amulet.” I pointed downward.
“You want to look for a four-leaf clover?”
I laughed. “Not the clover specifically. Harper’s spell. It’s how she found our clover. She said it could be used to find lost objects, right? We use that spell, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo, we know who has the amulet.”
He said dryly, “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo?”
“Sorry. Cinderella’s been on my mind since Archie complained about cleaning up popcorn.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I want to know that story.”
“Oh, but it’s a good one. Lots of theatrics.”
Grinning, he said, “With Archie, I wouldn’t expect it any other way. You can tell me later. We’ll stop by Spellbound on the way home to see Harper about that spell.”
Home.
I liked the sound of that very much.
Nick took down the yellow police tape crisscrossing the door of the bunkhouse, handed me a pair of gloves, and pulled open the door.
The bunkhouse didn’t look all that different from the day before except it was a lot dustier. Fingerprint powder. I imagined after thirty years it had been quite the task to collect all of them.
Penelope’s paintings had been unwrapped once again, and I was grateful it was the bird painting facing out from the stack.
I poked around a bit but didn’t see anything I hadn’t yesterday. I watched Nick over his shoulder as he sorted through ceramics tools. He held up the only one that looked as though it could do damage to someone. It was spotless. If it ever had blood on it, it had been thoroughly cleaned.
I heard a soft tap at the front door and turned to see Marcus stick his head in the doorway.
“Marcus, hi,” I said, instantly worried about his pasty appearance. He didn’t look well at all.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said solemnly.
Nick leaned out of the bathroom. “Something wrong?”
Marcus’ voice sounded as though it was being dragged over hot coals. “I just left my mom at my office. She said she thought I’d be able to find you here since she told you about the knife she used . . . that night.”
Anguish shone in his eyes, and I knew that if Harper could see him right here, right now, she would have understood why he’d stayed the night with his parents.
“She’s still planning on going to the police station this afternoon,” he told Nick. “She wants the truth out, no matter what that truth turns out to be. She said she owed that much to Vince, since it looks like Miles was his father. Do you think she’ll face any charges?”
Nick said, “I’m not sure. The case isn’t close to being closed yet.”
Marcus nodded. “I’ll be representing her, so I’ll be with her as well.”
Nick nodded, and I wondered if this meant Ve was off the hook altogether. I hoped so.
Marcus cleared his throat and looked around. “My mother wanted to see if I could take her paintings home . . . before they’re stowed away in an evidence locker.”
Nick looked like he was battling his inner policeman. Finally he said, “Go ahead. If I need them again, I know where to find them.”
“Thanks, Nick.”
As he crouched to gather them up, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the front door suddenly slammed closed.
Had the wind slammed it? I didn’t think so. There was no wind today.
That slamming was quickly followed by another sound, a loud clunking. Very unnatural clunking.
Marcus rushed to the door. Pushed. “It’s stuck.”
Nick gave it a shove as well, but it remained shut. He then ran at the door, kicked it. It didn’t budge.
“Maybe if we all try at once?” I said, trying not to panic because suddenly the bad juju in the air was suffocating.
I jumped again when something hurtled through the kitchen window. A rock. It was quickly followed by a bottle that smashed when it hit the closet door. The scent of paint thinner filled the air.
Another rocked hurtled through the window, this one wrapped in a cloth that was on fire.
The kitchen ignited instantly.
Now I panicked.
All three of us rammed the door. Using shoulders, kicking. Anything we could think of. It wouldn’t budge.
Smoke plumed, easily filling the small room.
The kitchen window was the only possible way out.
“Stay here and keep low,” Nick said, edging that way. “I’m going to jump out the window and get this door open.”
Coughing, I pulled him back. “No, don’t go.”
“Darcy, I have to.”
Tears gathered in my eyes. I knew it was the only way, but I didn’t want to let go of him. I tried not to think of Mimi. Or Harper. Or anyone. I finally nodded. “Be careful.”
“Wait, wait!” Marcus called.
“What is it?” Nick asked.
In the growing darkness, I saw Marcus flash a smile. “I wish we were outside.”
I could have kissed him then and there. “Wish I might, wish I may, grant this wish without delay.” I cast the spell by blinking twice, and suddenly we were outside, huddled together behind the bunkhouse.
“My mother’s paintings!” Marcus surged to his feet and ran for the front door.
Nick went after him. “Marcus! Stop!”
I followed them, wishing he’d just wished for the paintings. As I rounded the front of the bunkhouse, I noticed people had started running out of the studio, rushing toward the fire. George was leading the pack.
Neither Nick nor Marcus was at the front of the small cottage. The front door was open wide and a couple of thick branches were on the ground. I realized they’d been used to brace the door, locking us inside.
“Nick!” I ye
lled into the building.
A moment later, he stumbled out, half carrying Marcus. Marcus had a tight grip on the soot-covered paintings. Two of them, at least. The nude had been left behind.
Covered in soot himself, Nick pulled me into a hug. It was then, as I looked over his shoulder, that I saw a figure step out from behind a tree in the woods. A chill went down my spine.
Dressed all in black, the man had some sort of towel draped over his head like a monk’s hood. He knew immediately that he’d been spotted.
I grabbed Nick’s hand and pulled. “There’s someone in the woods.”
Nick squinted and then sprinted into action. I followed him. “Who was it?” Nick yelled over his shoulder. “Could you see?”
I hurdled a log. “No. Just that it was a man. He’s hiding his face with a towel.”
The man ran ahead of us, getting away even though it didn’t appear as though he was even moving that fast. I could hear the sound of water and realized we were near a creek. Swollen with rainwater, it appeared suddenly as we crested a hill. It had flooded the area, cutting off any effective means of escape.
The darkly dressed man doubled back, tried to forge deeper into the brush. He tripped and fell.
Nick surged after him. He, too, fell hard. He let out a gut-wrenching moan. I caught up to him and bent down. Breathing hard, I said, “Are you okay?”
Pain filled his eyes. “My ankle . . .”
I took a look at his left ankle and felt woozy. It had already ballooned, looking like he had a baseball under his skin. I tried to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing Cherise can’t fix.”
“I wish she was here.”
“Me, too,” I said. My gaze went to the man, who was not even ten feet away. It felt like a mile. The forest was thick with undergrowth. He stumbled again before gaining his feet. When he spotted a path not covered in water, he darted to the right. I stood up to go after him.
Nick tugged me back down. “Let him go.”
“I can’t. He tried to kill you in that fire.”
“He tried to kill you, too, and I’m not going to let him have a second chance to do it again.”
Anger built in me, that this person was going to get away with trying to kill us. My fury grew and grew until my skin practically sizzled with it. The man looked back as though wondering why he was no longer being followed, and I pounced on his hesitation.
The Witch and the Dead Page 23