Chapter Eighteen
The croquet court was easy enough to find. Apparently, there was only one official one in town and it was perched on a cliff overlooking Starlight Cove.
I spotted a solitary figure in a seersucker suit—this one in a pale apricot color. His hat was askew and he seemed intent on lining up the mallet in his hands. I landed my broomstick and sauntered over to greet him.
“Quincy Brickstone?”
He straightened, noticing me for the first time. He wore thick-rimmed black glasses and his shirt was partially unbuttoned at the top, as though croquet were somehow a strenuous game.
“Do I know you? You look familiar?” A sly grin spread across his face and he leaned on the mallet as though it were a cane. “You’re the mosquito witch from Meadow’s wedding. Fabulous performance. Five stars.”
I curtsied. “That’s me.”
“Am I part of your apology tour?” he asked. “Poor Meadow was aghast, not that I blame her.”
“Unfortunately, I’m here to talk to you about a more important matter. Shayna Masters.”
His grin dissolved. “What about her?”
“You were at the wedding,” I said. “You know what happened.”
“I know she died,” he said. “I heard she was drunk and choked on her own vomit.” He shook his head. “Dreadful way to go.”
“She didn’t choke on vomit,” I said. “She choked on a brooch. A pretty pin in a flower design. Sound familiar?”
The muscle in his cheek pulsed. “How should I know?”
“Because this one belonged to your mother.”
His whole body tensed. “The brooch was…recovered?”
“From her throat, yes.”
“I guess that’s a silver lining in the entire bleak affair. Is there a form I need to complete to request its return?”
My mouth dropped open. His callous reaction was…telling. “The brooch doesn’t belong to you, Mr. Brickstone. It belongs to Shayna Master’s estate, or Sonja Brickstone, should she choose to reclaim it.”
Quincy scowled at the mention of his ex-wife. “She has no right to that brooch. She should have returned it to me as part of the divorce settlement.”
“You’ll have to take that up with a lawyer,” I said.
His brow furrowed. “So why are you here?”
I cast a glance over my shoulder, wondering where Deputy Bolan was. I hadn’t received a reply to my last text, but there was no reason to assume he hadn’t received it.
“Let me see if I can piece together what happened,” I said, stalling for time. “You saw Shayna wearing the brooch at the wedding and it peeved you.”
“That’s an understatement. That brooch belonged to my mother, the legendary Patricia Brickstone.” He paused dramatically, waiting for me to acknowledge the importance of that statement.
“Yes, I know. I already said that.”
His face turned crimson. “That brooch is rightfully mine.”
“And you decided to take it back by whatever means necessary. I get it. Misdirected anger toward your ex-wife over the divorce. Nothing new there.”
“I rarely give that Amazon a second thought,” he scoffed.
“So this was about money?” I asked.
Quincy leaned his hip against the handle of the mallet and removed his thick-rimmed glasses. He wiped the lenses with a crisp handkerchief. “Certainly not, how uncouth. Brickstones aren’t concerned with money. That’s so bourgeois.”
“Then what was the issue?” I pressed.
“I don’t think you’re hearing me,” Quincy ground out. “That brooch belonged to my mother. It has sentimental value. I adored her. I still remember when she got that brooch. We were in France on a culinary trip, just the two of us.”
Now I understood. Quincy Brickstone was the ultimate mama’s boy. “I understand that it has sentimental value, Quincy, but it’s still just an object. You don’t murder someone over it.”
“I didn’t murder anyone.”
“Oh? Then what happened?”
Hatred twisted his otherwise benign features. “I spotted that brooch across the beach. That’s how well I know it. I followed Shayna to the stalls so that we could have a civilized conversation. I assumed that once I explained the situation, she would simply acquiesce. What kind of cold-hearted monster wouldn’t?”
“It’s really Sonja you should be angry with,” I said. “She kept the brooch and then, instead of returning it to you when she didn’t want it anymore, she gave it to Shayna to sell. Why murder Shayna over it? She was an innocent third party.”
Quincy put on his glasses. “I told you I didn’t kill her.”
“I beg to differ. You shoved that brooch down her throat and then strangled her until she choked on it.”
He shook his head. “Why would I do that? I wanted that brooch back. I wasn’t about to watch it disappear down that troll’s gullet.” He cringed. “Mother would be mortified if she knew what had become of it. Patricia Brickstone had more class and style in her pinky finger than that troll had in her entire enormous body.”
“If you didn’t kill her, then what happened?”
“That vicious woman,” he said, his anger rising again. “She laughed when I told her how special that brooch was to me and that it was rightfully mine. She said that Sonja had told her I had an unhealthy obsession with my mother and that I would flip my lid if I knew she planned to sell it.”
“And what did you do in response?” Because it seemed to me that Sonja was right.
“I offered to buy it, to name her price. I would have paid ten times its value. She knew I could afford it, too.”
Oh no. Shayna, you didn’t. “She refused?”
“She said she’d sell it to anyone except me, that I’d been horrible to Sonja during the divorce and I didn’t deserve any cherished memories.”
“What did you do?” I asked quietly.
“I reached for the brooch to take it from her, but she was too quick. She got to it first and popped it into her mouth.”
Wow, Shayna had some spiteful bones in her body. “You’re telling me that Shayna killed herself accidentally?”
“In a nutshell.” He brought the mallet to rest on his shoulder.
“That doesn’t explain the strangulation marks on her neck, Mr. Brickstone.”
“Because I tried to get her to spit it out. I grabbed her by the neck and tried to force her mouth open. At some point during the altercation, she actually swallowed the brooch and began to choke.”
“And you didn’t call for help? You left her there to die?”
“I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I had no intention of killing her, no matter how monstrous she was. I only wanted the brooch back.” His voice trembled. “Mother bought me my first pinstripe suit when she was wearing that brooch.”
Something still didn’t add up. “Quincy, when I found Shayna, she was in a portable toilet with the door closed, yet you say your altercation took place outside the stalls.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I left. Maybe she went in there to throw up when she was choking.”
My stomach churned. “No, Quincy. You didn’t. You waited.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You waited to make sure she actually died, didn’t you?” Somehow that seemed even worse than a crime of passion. Standing there dispassionately while the life drained out of her. “Quincy, you may not have been the one to choke the life out of her, but you are far from innocent.”
He lowered the mallet and gripped the handle with both hands. “You can’t prove that,” he said. “Besides, who are they going to believe? The son of Patricia Brickstone or some half-baked witch with roots in desperate need of a touchup?”
“You’re not the only one with connections to a famous family,” I said. “I’m the niece of Hyacinth Rose-Muldoon. I’m a descendent of the One True Witch. Who do you think they’re going to believe? The son of a socialite or the descendent of the most fa
mous witch in history?”
“My word versus a dead witch?” he said, causing a chill to travel down my spine. “That one’s easy.”
He swung the mallet at my head and I ducked. My gardening skills were crap, but my reflexes were enviable. As my fingers curled around my wand, he attacked again and knocked it out of my hand. It bounced across the ground and landed next to a wicket.
Before I could reach for it, he tossed the mallet aside and lunged. His hands grasped my neck and I was surprised how strong he was for his size. I twisted and tried to reach for my wand, but his grip was too tight. I could hardly breathe, let alone move or think. I felt myself starting to lose consciousness and I knew I couldn’t let that happen. If I couldn’t fight back, I was as good as dead. With his fingers pressed against my windpipe, there was no chance of an incantation or even a scream. Where in the hell was Deputy Bolan? I told him croquet. How hard could it be?
You had one job, leprechaun, I thought bitterly. The croquet court. And now I’m going to die at the hands of a man who dresses like Orville Redenbacher.
“I’m going to get that brooch back if it’s the last thing I do,” he said, spitting as he spoke. He reminded me of rabid animal. Crap on a cracker, Quincy was certifiable. Killing me wouldn’t get his brooch back, but logic had clearly scattered in the breeze.
I managed to raise an arm high enough to stick my thumb in his eye. I pressed as hard as I could and heard him grunt in response. He began to throttle me and I knew I didn’t have much time. Anger pulsed through my body. Why did this chucklehead think his love for his mother should trump Marley’s love for me? If he killed me, Marley would have no one. She’d already lost so much in her short life. I couldn’t let her suffer because I wasn’t strong enough to defend myself. What was the point of all this practice, of learning all this magic, when I couldn’t use it to my advantage when it really mattered? I thought of Ivy and her power. Here was a witch so strong that she struck fear into the hearts of the coven. That they stripped her of it. Her blood now coursed through my veins. I was capable of much more than what I could demonstrate in a classroom. I’d never been a model student like Marley, but that didn’t mean I lacked the ability. The whole reason I was in Starry Hollow now was because I was able to use magic without any training. Everyone knew I had raw, untapped power. It had certainly been discussed often enough. When I managed to escape from Jimmy the Lighter in that New Jersey driveway, I’d triggered a storm—
That was it.
I reached into my very depths and called to the energy inside me, demanded its presence. Magic stirred and I felt the power rise to greet me.
“Why won’t you die?” he muttered. He was actually frustrated that he couldn’t kill me as quickly as he wanted. This guy reached a whole new level of entitlement.
Thunder clapped overhead and sheets of rain came pouring down. His grip loosened thanks to the water droplets and I was able to pull away. I rushed toward the wand, but he kicked it aside so that it balanced dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. If I ran to it, I had no doubt he’d try to push me over.
Instead, we went for the mallet at the same time. He got there a split second before I did, so I rolled to the side before he could whack me with it.
“Give up, Quincy,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You can’t win.”
He laughed. “Of course I can. I have a mallet and you’re nothing without your wand.” He glanced toward the cliff. “And I don’t think you have the guts to get it.”
She’s more than just a wand, Orville Reden-whatever, a voice said.
My familiar scrambled into the clearing and launched himself at Quincy’s chest. The mallet flew to the ground and I ran to recover my wand before it plunged into the water below.
He’s trying to shift, Raoul warned. The raccoon was wrapped around Quincy’s chest, clawing at his eyes.
I aimed my wand at Quincy and said, “Congelo!”
He stood perfectly still and Raoul slid down, making sure to rip the fabric of his expensive suit on his way to the ground. The rain stopped and the clouds cleared as though nothing had happened.
Wonder twin powers, activate! Raoul said, coming over to fist bump me.
We are not twins, wondrous or otherwise.
Now is probably not the best time to take issue with my catchphrase.
“Since when is that your catchphrase?”
Quincy was frozen, his eyes stuck on me and staring as though I had two heads—which I kind of did, only one was super hairy and wearing a bandit mask.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
I was coming back through the woods after a trip to the dump, he said. I wanted to source a matching piece for the scratching post.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Please don’t.”
Anyway, I felt this sense of panic and then I heard your scary voice in my head. The one you use when you’re pumped full of anxiety.
The sound of a car alerted us to Deputy Bolan’s arrival. The leprechaun’s little legs swished back and forth as he hurried to the scene.
“What took you so long?” I demanded. “Were you deliberately waiting for him to kill me so you could arrest him after?”
Deputy Bolan shot me an aggrieved look. “Your text said crochet, Rose. I was running all over town trying to find a place where paranormals meet to crochet.”
“Stupid autocorrect,” I mumbled.
“I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”
“Kind of busy not being murdered,” I said, inclining my head toward a frozen Quincy. “Someone had a severe case of grabby hands.” I rubbed Raoul’s head. “And someone else is getting a large pizza tonight, all to himself.”
Raoul tapped his paws together. Have I mentioned we make a great team?
Deputy Bolan walked past us to arrest Quincy. “This part’s easy when they can’t move. Thanks, Rose. I appreciate your help with this.”
“It was the least I could do.”
The leprechaun met my gaze. “That’s not true and you know it. You don’t owe him anything. I know I give you a hard time, but…” He trailed off. “The truth is you’re not that bad.”
“Ooh, high praise,” I said. “Stop now, Deputy, or you might embarrass me.”
Deputy Bolan tried to lead Quincy to the car, but the killer was still frozen to the ground. “Uh, a little help?”
Can I carry him? Raoul asked. I promise to only drop him two or three times on the way.
I used my wand to release Quincy from the spell. The moment he could move, he began to shout obscenities at me.
“Can you maybe do the spell again, but only on his mouth?” Deputy Bolan asked.
“He does have the right to remain silent.” I took aim and said, “Conquiesco.”
Quincy’s body slumped to the ground.
“Oops,” I said. “Well, at least he’ll be quiet.”
I helped the deputy drag the limp body into the back of the police car.
“Can I give you a lift back?” the leprechaun offered.
“No, thanks. I’ve got my broomstick.” I looked at Raoul. “How about it, trash panda? Want a ride to the cottage?”
His dark eyes blinked in disbelief. Really? You said if I touched your broomstick again that you’d fly me over the ocean and dump my body for the sharks.
“That was said in the heat of the moment,” I said. “I promise I won’t use you as shark bait.”
My day is suddenly looking up. He ran to the broomstick on all fours.
I watched with satisfaction as the deputy drove away with an unconscious Quincy Brickstone. “Same, Wonder Twin. Same.”
Chapter Nineteen
PP3 barked and ran to the door.
“What now? You were just outside half an hour ago.” If he was going to start having incontinence issues, I was getting him doggie diapers.
The terrier sniffed a folded note on the floor. I picked it up and opened it, immediately recognizing the handwriting.
Dear Ms. Rose,
Anonymously yours,
Arthur Rutledge
P.S. - You didn’t receive this from me.
P.P.S. - This note will self-destruct in one minute. Oliver helped me with the destruction spell this time, but please don’t mention his name either.
The note dissolved just as I finished reading the last word. “Cut that one a bit close, Oliver,” I said.
I returned to the sofa where I had been reviewing some of the chapters I’d found on Ivy in library books from Delphine.
Marley bounced into the room and plopped beside me. “Find anything helpful yet?” She seemed to ask me that every five minutes.
“Everything is so vague,” I said. “No one comes right out and says what happened.” If there was a passive aggressive style of writing, this was it.
“Have you found anything about her excessive force?” Marley asked.
“No specifics. Only that it was the charge against her.”
“What about her personal life? Did she have a family? What was her relationship like with her parents?”
I laughed. “Slow down there, Mistress of Inquisitions. There’s been no mention of anyone special.”
“That’s surprising,” Marley said.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Is it? Why do you think so?”
“You’ve seen her portrait,” Marley said. “She’s so pretty and powerful and from a prominent family. If she wasn’t involved with anyone, there had to be a reason.”
She had a point. Women like Ivy Rose never lacked for suitors. So far the only insight these books provided was how advanced her magic was. She really seemed to operate at an advanced level, at least from my limited perspective.
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