The Witch and the Dead

by Heather Blake

  I shot my arm out, made a circular motion with my hand. Three circles, counterclockwise. Just like Marcus and Andreus had done in Aunt Ve’s kitchen. Then I made a fist and shot my fingers straight out.

  A log lifted off the ground, tripping the man.

  He fell with a jarring grunt, followed by a long moan.

  I did the finger thing again, and a branch came down on his head for good measure.

  Nick’s eyes had gone wide. “Uh, Darcy?”

  I kept an eye on the fallen man. “Yeah?

  “How’d you do that?” he asked, doing his own version of the finger move.

  I kissed him quickly and stood up. “Old witches can learn new tricks. Andreus and Marcus taught me yesterday. Do you have your handcuffs on you?”

  Wordlessly he handed them over. I rushed over to the form writhing on the forest floor and quickly pulled the man’s hands behind his back and snapped the cuffs on him. I then tugged him into a sitting position.

  The towel had fallen from the man’s head, but I’d already known his identity.

  I’d known the moment he’d darted to his right, as I’d seen him do the same maneuver just yesterday, cutting me off in order to get to his car.

  Oliver Debrowski stared at me, his eyes filled with remorse beneath a cut over his left eyebrow. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  I sat on the log I’d used to trip him, trying to catch my breath. When I heard a noise behind me, I turned to find Nick hobbling this way, using a branch as a makeshift crutch.

  Quickly, he patted Oliver down, and when he got to his sock, he hesitated. A moment later, he pulled forth Miles’ amulet. With a heavy sigh, Nick handed it to me.

  I felt ashamed of Oliver and sorry for him at the same time.

  He knew of the amulet’s power because Penelope had told him during the ride home from Cape Cod, and he’d undoubtedly believed that for the past thirty years, that amulet was the only thing keeping his wife by his side.

  He’d been wrong. So wrong.

  “You tried to kill your own son?” Nick said, his disbelief loud and clear in his outraged tone. “Why would you do that?”

  “Marcus?” Oliver blustered. “What are you talking about? I’d never hurt a hair on his head!”

  “He was in the bunkhouse with us,” I said as calmly as I could. “He came to pick up Penelope’s paintings.”

  The color drained from Oliver’s face, and he swayed. For a moment there, I thought he was going to pass out, but he soon steadied.

  “Is he okay?” he whispered.

  “He’ll be fine,” I said. At least he would be physically. Mentally, I wasn’t so sure. Not after he found out what his father had done.

  “No thanks to you,” Nick snapped.

  Oliver hung his head. “I didn’t see him go in. I didn’t know he was in there,” he repeated.

  As though that excused the behavior.

  “It was you who strangled Miles, wasn’t it?” I asked, having put two and two together after seeing that amulet.

  His head snapped up. “How’d you . . .” He trailed off; then his eyes widened. “Does Penelope know Miles was strangled?”

  “You haven’t spoken to her since she paid us a visit this morning?” I asked.

  His face drained of all remaining color. “No, I only saw her speaking with you in front of your house. Then I followed you both here. She knows . . . the truth?”

  Nick said, “She thinks Steve killed Miles.”

  I had thought so, too. I sent silent apologies to him. “How’d you even come across Miles that night?”

  It had to have been that night, sometime between when Penelope fled the bunkhouse and when Steve went back to it. According to Steve’s account, the place had been spotless when he’d returned, no sign of any blood at all.

  “I followed Penelope there. I didn’t trust Miles and wanted to make sure she would be okay. I was watching and listening at the kitchen window and heard everything that happened inside. His denial of being engaged to her, her anger. Everything. After Penelope ran out, I went inside. . . . Miles was holding a washcloth to his head and cursing up a storm. He didn’t even question why I was there. He just kept cursing and telling me Penelope was crazy.”

  Miles had most likely known who Oliver was because of Penelope. The memory-cleanse wouldn’t have erased that knowledge. Not questioning why Oliver was there had been a mistake for which Miles had paid dearly.

  “The more Miles told me Penelope was crazy, the angrier I became.” Oliver’s head dropped as he added, “I was blinded by fury and lunged at him to get him to shut up. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until Miles was on the floor, not breathing.”

  He might not have intended to kill Miles, but getting rid of him had eliminated a lot of Oliver’s problems, especially where Penelope was concerned.

  “I panicked. I quickly wrapped him in a rug, used a little magic to clean up the mess, and carried him through the woods to my car.”

  My stomach rolled as I asked, “Why did you put Miles’ body in Ve’s garage? Is it because Penelope never liked Ve? Why not just bury Miles in the woods?”

  He shook his head. “How Penelope felt about Ve had nothing to do with it. It was simply because Ve was the most obvious person to use as a scapegoat, since she’d just married a man she barely knew. I never dreamed it would take this long to find the remains, but I knew eventually they’d be found.”

  “You wanted them to be found?” I asked.

  “As much as I hated Miles, I didn’t want a question mark to continually hang over the heads of the people who would wonder what happened to him or fear his return.”

  People like Ve or Dorothy. George. Steve. Maybe even Vince.

  That plan, however, had backfired.

  Tears built in his eyes. “Penelope came to me this morning and told me that she was going to turn herself in for her perceived role in Miles’ death. I thought I’d talked her out of it, so I panicked when I saw her speaking to both of you earlier, when I was on my way to the Witch’s Brew. All I could think was if I could silence the two of you, then get Penelope out of town . . . I followed you here and when I saw you go into the bunkhouse, I saw my chance. I broke in to the empty bunkhouse next door and grabbed supplies. . . .”

  Silence.

  He meant murder.

  I shivered.

  Voices rose from behind us. “Darcy!” George Chadwick called out. “Nick!”

  “Over here!” Nick yelled back.

  “She’s going to hate me now,” Oliver said quietly.

  “Doubtful. Penelope loves you,” I said unable to hide the revulsion I suddenly felt for him. “That’s not going to change.”

  Oliver’s voice rose in despair. He motioned to the amulet in my hand. “She only loves me because of that.”

  I shook my head. “The charm on this amulet died with Miles, Oliver. Penelope was with you because she wanted to be with you.”

  He studied my face, looking for the truth. He must have found it, because he suddenly dropped his chin to his chest and started sobbing.

  George and Marcus thundered through the dense brush. Several police officers jogged behind. Nick stood and hopped over to talk with them.

  “Dad!” Marcus yelled when he spotted his father. His gaze shot to me. “Why is he handcuffed?”

  I held up the amulet by way of explanation. He was smart; he’d know what it represented.

  His eyes flared with anguish; then he sank to his knees in front of his father. “Don’t say anything else, okay, Dad?” His voice broke. “Nothing else, do you hear me?”

  I couldn’t help but think of Harper and how this was going to affect her and her relationship with Marcus. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach hurt.

  George put his arm around me. “Co
me on, Darcy; let’s get you back to the studio.”

  Nick joined us. We left Marcus and Oliver in the care of the police officers. It was a quiet walk back, George helping Nick navigate the woods and me lost in my thoughts.

  When we emerged from the woods, Wickedly Creative was swarming with emergency personnel, including firefighters, who were still working to put out the flames on the bunkhouse. All that remained at this point was its slate shell.

  In the distance, I spotted Steve Winstead, covered in dark gray soot. He was carrying a charred painting into the art studio. I realized it was Penelope’s nude. He glanced back and saw me watching him. He gave me a nod, then turned and went inside. I didn’t try to stop him.

  Nick waved off treatment from the paramedics and put his arm around me. “If we hurry, we might be able to make it home and clean ourselves up before Mimi wakes up and hears what’s happened from someone else.”

  There was that word again. Home.

  I gave him a hug, so grateful to be able to wrap my arms around him. So grateful for the man that he was, full of love and honor and integrity. I glanced at his swollen foot, then whispered in his ear. “I’ll race ya.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The housewarming was in full swing Saturday afternoon when I sat next to Starla in the courtyard. Flames crackled in the stone fire pit, and she held a twig with an impaled marshmallow over the heat.

  I loved seeing all my friends here, celebrating what this house meant to me, Nick, and Mimi.

  The living room and kitchen were full of people I’d come to know and love, including Cherise, Colleen and Angela Curtis, Godfrey, and Ve, and even Andreus. Like pros, Pepe and Mrs. P were dodging the mortals, who didn’t even bat an eyelash that Archie was singing karaoke along with Mimi, Hank, Terry, and Evan on the other side of the patio. And be still my heart, those Elvis look-alikes could even sing like the King of Rock and Roll.

  “They’re impressive,” I said, motioning toward them as I rammed a marshmallow onto a stick.

  “Seriously. They could go on the road. I’d buy tickets.”

  “Me, too.”

  Starla pulled off her marshmallow and stuck it in her mouth while looking over my shoulder, into the house.

  “He’s not here yet,” I said, knowing she was looking for Vince.

  Her gaze met mine. “Did he say for sure he’s coming?”

  “When I ran into him at the Witch’s Brew yesterday, he told me he would be here.”

  It had been an awkward meeting, but I was determined to still be a friend to him. Maybe more now that I knew he was Dorothy’s son. He was going to need all the friends he could get.

  “I hope he does. I want us to be friends,” she said, as though reading my mind.

  “Just friends?” I asked, turning my stick just so. “Even now that you don’t have to keep any secrets?”

  The last I heard she was still thinking about her relationship with him. Wondering if she could, somehow, make it work.

  She bit her lip. “Maybe even more now. When I found out, I was shocked of course . . . but it made me finally realize I’d been making excuses.”

  “How so?”

  “For the past few months I’ve blamed my lack of romantic feelings for him on keeping this big secret from him. Because it’s hard to get close to someone when you’re keeping a secret that big, you know?”

  I nodded and turned my marshmallow.

  “But now that he’s . . . and I don’t have to keep the secret . . . the feelings still aren’t there. They’re just not there. I probably stayed too long in the relationship because of the secret, telling myself it was the only reason the relationship wasn’t working. I should have gotten out sooner, but I don’t like hurting anyone.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I hurt him.”

  “Relationships that don’t work out always hurt. But if it’s not working, it’s not working. Staying would have hurt worse in the long run. For both of you.”

  She jabbed another marshmallow onto her twig. “I know you’re right. I just hope he’ll forgive me one day.”

  I pulled my marshmallow from the fire and waited for it to cool a bit before I popped it into my mouth. Gooeyness oozed onto my fingers. “I hope you’ll forgive yourself one day. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Tears brimmed on her lashes. “Thanks, Darcy.”

  “Anytime.”

  We listened to Mimi belt out Abba’s “Dancing Queen” and clapped as she finished the song with gusto.

  “By the way,” Starla said. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe I’m the reason Miles’ body was found.”

  I froze. “What? Why do you think that?”

  “As you know, it was Vince’s birthday last week, and he made a wish on his cake candles. When I asked him what he wished for, at first he wouldn’t say. Then he finally said he wished that he would finally learn the answers to some of the questions he’d been seeking. It was a vague wish, but he phrased it properly, so I cast the wish spell. I didn’t think much more about it until his background came to light. If one of those questions was where Miles Babbage was . . .”

  Then it made perfect sense that we had found Miles’ body when we did, and it explained the timing I’d been questioning.

  “I’m just sorry the wish brought with it such heartache for others, and that it almost got you killed.”

  “The wish didn’t do that. Oliver did that.”

  “But still,” she said softly.

  I said, “Remember what I said about forgiving yourself?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She smiled wanly.

  I held up my sticky fingers. “I need to grab a napkin. Do you need one?”

  She licked her fingers clean. “Nope.”

  I laughed and left her loading two marshmallows onto her stick. There was nothing like warm marshmallowy goodness to ease a troubled soul.

  The French doors were wide-open, letting the music float through the house. I smiled as I spotted the framed clover on the mantel next to the acorn and little white bird. I washed my hands and grabbed a napkin. Nick was listening to Godfrey and Ve tout the merits of roasting walnuts versus leaving them raw when baking.

  “Who knew?” Nick whispered to me. Cherise had fixed his ankle, as good as new. Sometimes it was wonderful to have magical friends.

  Most of the time, in fact.

  Smiling, I leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I hope you’re taking notes.”

  He pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Got some paper right here.”

  “No, really, what’s the paper—” I was cut off by the pealing doorbell. “I’ll get that.”

  “Good. I’ve got notes to take.”

  I smiled as I headed toward the front door. I happened to glance upward on my way, and through the spindles of the overlook, I barely made out Harper sitting all alone in the reading nook.

  My heart hurt for her.

  Marcus had moved back to his parents’ house to focus his attention solely on Oliver’s future trial. No charges had been filed against Penelope and wouldn’t be since the statute of limitations on Miles’ assault had long since expired, but Oliver was sitting in jail, his bail denied. They all had a long road ahead of them. One that Marcus apparently wanted to travel alone.

  He would return to Harper. I was sure of it. I just hoped for her sake it was sooner rather than later.

  As soon as I let in the new guests, I’d bring her a cupcake and sit with her awhile. See if she wanted to talk. And if not, I’d just hold her hand and trace hearts in her palm like I used to do when she was little.

  I peeked through the sidelight on the door and smiled when I saw who’d arrived. “It’s good to see you,” I said when I pulled open the door. “I wasn’t sure you’d come after . . . well, after everything that�
��s happened this week.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Glinda said. “Well, okay. We did think about skipping. But only for a minute. Life goes on. Might as well get all the questions over with, right?”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said again, meaning it. “Come on in.”

  Tall and dark haired, Liam held out a cake plate. Under a domed glass sat a mouthwatering-looking coconut cake. “I made it myself.”

  “Is it poisoned?”

  “Of course it is,” he said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. He headed off to the kitchen.

  Glinda lingered behind. I said, “He’s cute, he’s artsy, he bakes, and he clearly adores you. . . .”

  A blush reddened her cheeks. “He’s pretty amazing. I’m not sure I deserve him.”

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “I’m not the easiest to live with.”

  “I’m shocked! Shocked, I tell you.”

  She laughed. “I’m trying, though. That has to count for something.”

  “It counts for everything.”

  She held out a package carefully wrapped in muslin and tied with a twine bow. “For you. A housewarming gift.”

  “It’s not another dead plant, is it?” I joked. She’d given me one when I first bought the place.

  She cracked a smile. “Not this time.”

  I pulled the twine, and the muslin fell open, revealing a beautifully handmade besom, about three feet long. I gently touched the carved ash handle, the birch bristles. “You made this?”

  She nodded. “It’ll offer protection to keep evil from coming inside the house . . . and also it aids with fertility.”

  My eyebrows shot up at that last part.

  “Just in case . . . you know,” she stammered. “It’s tradition.”

  I laughed. “It’s gorgeous.” I walked over to the blank wall next to the door. I held it above the basket that held all my house blessings. “Should I hang it here?”

  “Perfect. Just make sure it’s upright. And, Darcy?”