It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (27 page)

I’d already taken Missy for two walks, during one of which I’d practically had to drag her, as she would rather have stayed in her doggy bed, snoozing.

Harper was at work at the bookshop, and Aunt Ve was running errands before she headed to see Sylar.

I’d opted out of a morning jog with Starla because I was pretty sure my muscles wouldn’t be able to move faster than a slow crawl today, and by ten o’ clock I’d done two loads of laundry, washed the dishes, and made an appointment with Ramona at the Magic Wand Salon for five. I was going to have my bangs evened out, and more important, I’d have the chance to find out why Ramona and Alex had been fighting.

As soon as the clock flashed to ten thirty, I headed straight for All That Glitters, since I’d completely forgotten to pick up Ve’s locket yesterday, after telling her right before Archie’s initial visit that I would.

It was a picturesque June afternoon, and the village was bustling. The tourist count was up, and the green was hopping, being prepped for Saturday’s dance. A pair of large banners, one on each side of the square, stretched from one side of the street to the other, fluttering in the soft sea breeze. Fancily printed on them was the Midsummer Dance information, how to attain tickets, and a Web site address for more details.

I was so busy watching the workers that I didn’t notice Mimi and Nick until I’d practically bumped into them. They were standing in front of the pet store the Furry Toadstool, watching the puppies play in the window.

“They’re so cute,” Mimi said to me, her eyes filled with puppy love.

Inside the shop, a litter of pugs romped and played. My heart melted. Until I glanced at Nick. There was a hardness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, and suddenly I was very worried about what he’d wanted to talk to me about—­he’d never had the chance to tell me yesterday after Alex’s visitation.

I tried to ignore the rising dread I felt and looked away. Starla was on the green, snapping pictures of a
pair of toddlers. She had Twink with her and the children were laughing and playing with the tiny dog. She spotted me and waved. I waved back and turned my attention to Mimi and the puppies. It was easy to ignore Nick’s glare when looking at adorable little faces.

A couple strolled up next to us, to window-­shop at All That Glitters.

“Have you decided against a shelter dog?” I asked Nick.

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” he said. “Mimi falls in love with every dog she sees.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes.

My gaze shifted to the window-­shopping couple as they ooohed and aaahed over a ring on display. It was easy to eavesdrop, as they stood only about two feet away.

The woman said, “I just have to have it. Please, honey?”

The man said, “But, pooh, I just don’t have the money.”

I couldn’t help but wince at the endearments. Stealing a glance at Nick, I saw he was trying to hold back a smile. Mimi was openly grinning.

“But, honey bear,” the woman said, “I really, really want it.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “But, pooh, sweetheart, I don’t have the money for it.”

Her lower lip jutted. “I wish you had the money, honey puddin’ pie.” She blinked at him.

I’d gone still, the word “wish” ringing in my thoughts. I mouthed the words to the spell. It wasn’t until I blinked twice to cast it that I realized I didn’t have any powers; they’d been revoked for the day.

“Be that as it may, my cuddly wuddly pooh, I don’t.” He pulled out his pockets to prove his point.

I was fighting a wave of queasiness—­the couple was
gag-­worthy—­when she squealed and gave him a playful shove. “Oh! How you love to tease me!” She scooped up the wad of bills that had fallen from his pocket and quickly pulled him toward the door to the shop.

“But that’s not mine.” Clearly confused, he dug in his heels and stared at the ground.

“Nonsense, honey, it just fell from your pocket.” She counted off the bills. “And it’s just enough for that ring.”

The man looked at us. “Did any of you lose some money?”

We shook our heads.

“Strange,” he said, allowing himself to be pulled into the shop.

Had the Elder changed her mind and allowed me to keep my powers after all?

Nick said, “I wish I could find a wad of money like that.”

I did the spell thing and cast it. Nothing happened. Not so much as a sticky penny appeared on the sidewalk.

“Maybe you need to pull out your pockets like he did,” I said.

“Yeah, Dad,” Mimi echoed.

He gave me a look that clearly said, “Why do you keep asking me to check my pockets?” But he did it. They were empty. “Things like that just don’t happen to guys like me.”

Okay, maybe I didn’t have my powers back after all.

“Do you have a second?” he asked me, the hard look back in his eyes.

I glanced toward All That Glitters. It wasn’t going anywhere. I still had an hour before I was to meet Mrs. P at Alex’s apartment. “Yes.”

“Mimi, we’ll be right back,” Nick said.

I’m not sure she heard him, so enamored was she with the puppies. We walked out of earshot and stood under a large tree, its outstretched branches offering
shade against the bright sun. I leaned against its trunk. “What’s wrong?”

Something was. I could tell by the look in his eye.

He was all business as he said, “Why didn’t you tell me Harper has a record?”

A record. A criminal record. My heart pounded. He’d found out. Of course he’d found out. It was his job to be thorough.

I shrugged. “I didn’t think it was that important.”

“Not important? She has a history of stealing—­”

Narrowing my eyes, I said, “Stop. That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. Because of the way you’re acting like she’s now your prime suspect in the pickpocket case. There is no ‘history’ of anything. She made a mistake and already paid the price.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If she stole once, then, yes, she becomes a suspect.”

“That’s ridiculous.” It really wasn’t, but I felt the need to defend her. “Besides, the thefts started the week before we moved here. Didn’t you think of that?” I said, glaring. “Did you even check to see what she stole? Read about the case at all? Or did you jump to conclusions because you’re desperate to solve a case?”

When he didn’t say anything, I knew he hadn’t fully checked her background, and had simply chosen to ignore the timeline.

“Harper is not your thief. The sooner you figure that out, the faster you’ll catch the real criminal.” I drew in a deep breath, wondered what I’d ever seen in him, and left him standing there. I said a quick good-­bye to Mimi and hurried into All That Glitters to pick up Aunt Ve’s locket. I was anxious to find Harper.

I had to warn her.

T
en minutes later, I’d hotfooted it over to Spellbound Books. Harper looked up from drawing on a poster board when I rushed in. The customers in the shop all turned and looked at me. I smiled wanly and tried to pretend that I wasn’t in a tizzy.

“What’s wrong?” Harper asked as I rushed up to the desk.

She’d been working on a book club poster—­this one for a tween reading group. I dropped my voice and said, “Nick knows about”—­I coughed—­“what happened in Ohio. With Missy. You know.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I’m sure he’s going to come in and interrogate you.”

She didn’t look the least bit worried. “He already did.”

I gaped. “When?”

“Earlier.” She shrugged. “No big deal. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d rather people just know. It’s a lot of pressure keeping it secret. Besides, it’s not like I did anything wrong.”

I gaped some more.

“Well,” she amended, “maybe a little wrong. But in the end it was mostly right.” She took her poster to the front of the store and slid it into a freestanding display. It fit perfectly—­and looked great. The fonts were perfect
to catch the eyes of tweens, and the book Harper had chosen to start the club was a popular one about a magician’s guild.

I trailed after her. “But he thinks you’re the local pickpocket.”

As she gazed up at me, she looked much wiser than I’d ever given her credit for. “You and I both know I’m not. He’ll come around. It’s his job to investigate these things.” She took a step back from the poster and eyed it critically. “Do you think anyone will join?”

How could she be so calm? While I had visions of Nick throwing Harper in jail, she was worried about getting a group of tweens together to read a book. “You’re not worried?”

“About the book club?” she asked. “Of course I am. It’s kind of my pet project and I want to see it succeed. I really want to show Gayle that I’m serious about working here. Maybe she’ll bump me up to full-­time.”

I was losing patience. Through clenched teeth, I said, “About Nick.”

“Oh.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Not at all. Why? Are you?”

Was she just now picking up on that?

She must have finally noticed my panic, because she said, “Why?”

“Because. I don’t want…” I trailed off. I didn’t want Nick to hurt her in any way—­not her reputation, not her chance at being part of this community.

And I realized I didn’t want Nick to think badly of her. Because if he did…he might think badly of me.

My anxiety fizzled, replaced now with a touch of embarrassment. Whereas I thought I was being mother-­bear protective over Harper, maybe my outrage over Nick investigating her had been about…me?

“Don’t want what?” she asked, a faint smile on her face, as though she had already come to the conclusion I’d just reached.

She’d always been the smart one in the family.

“You like him, don’t you? Really like him.” Her eyes were aglow.

“I don’t know.”

“Darcy’s got a cr-­ush,” she sang.

I gave her a little shove. “Stop that.”

She bumped me with her hip. “I’m glad.”

“I’m not.”

“Why not? He’s cute in an old-­guy kind of way.”

“He’s not old! Only thirty-­five.”

“You
reallllly
like him.”

I frowned at her. “More than I like you right now. Which isn’t saying much.”

She laughed, and I realized how happy she was. Here. In the village. In this bookshop. With her life. So happy, she was willing to let everyone know her past—­and either side with her or judge her. Or even both.

Moving here had been a good thing. A great thing.

“Try not to worry so much, Darcy. Everything will work out.”

I truly wanted to believe her.

“There is just so much stuff,” Mrs. P said.

I’d come prepared with boxes, packing tape, and industrial-­strength garbage bags. I had gloves (the irony wasn’t lost on me) and bins to organize what little Alex had left behind.

“Where do we even start?” she asked.

This was why she hired me. To take charge. To take the emotional element out of cleaning the place. “We’ll start with the books.”

This morning Marcus had filed, on Mrs. P’s behalf, a claim with the probate court. He also let us know that everything we packed today had to be inventoried before being stored.

“You’ll need to decide if the object is something you
want to keep, whether it’s trash, or if it’s something you want to donate to charity. We’ll separate it all when we store it, so when you get the go-­ahead from the court, it will be easy to sort.”

In my opinion there wasn’t much here worthy of keeping. Which was just as well. Mrs. P’s tiny room at the Pixie Cottage couldn’t hold much clutter.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m ready.”

I rolled up my sleeves and started with the books on the top shelves. Most were reference books on how to make lotions, oils, scrubs, and masks. There were also books on making soaps, shower gels, and shampoos. And even more on holistic health and healing and making herbal remedies. “These might be good to donate to the local library.”

“Good idea. These, too,” she said, pointing to four full shelves of witchcraft-­themed books. It was as if Alex were a one-­woman bookstore.

We worked quietly and quickly, packing small boxes with books. Big boxes would have made the task go faster, but the boxes would have been impossible for us to lift and carry to my car.

Two hours later, we’d made progress. The bookshelves were empty, and Alex’s bedroom had been cleared of everything personal, including clothes that were going to be donated to a local women’s shelter.

Mrs. P went about cleaning up the mess the intruder had left behind, sweeping up shards of vases and soil from overturned potted plants.

I tackled the desk, trying to sort everyday riffraff from the important stuff. Alex didn’t seem to have any sort of filing system—­everything from pens and pencils, mail, and magazines was shoved in the desk’s drawers and cubbies. I’d brought along a file box with hanging folders, and with each piece of mail I came across, I either shredded it or put it in a proper file for Mrs. P to go
through later. She’d have to make some calls soon and cancel things like Alex’s credit cards, Netflix account, and magazine subscriptions.

An hour into the task, Mrs. P said, “You didn’t happen to find that birth certificate, did you? Not that I care, you know, but…it would be nice to have.” She’d moved on to emptying the kitchen cabinets and was looking at me with hopeful eyes as she wrapped glasses in news­paper.

“Not yet.” Truth be told, I’d been hoping to find the birth certificate as well. “Just lots of legal notices, bills, and copies of invoices for things she’d ordered for the shop.”

I wondered if some of these vendors would take returns. Alex’s apartment was fairly easy to pack up, but her shop was going to take days. I tucked a few of the notices aside to call later.

“Will those lawsuits still be binding?”

“I’m not sure. Her estate might still be held liable. You’ll need to check with Marcus.”

She nodded and went back to packing.

From what I could tell, there wouldn’t be much of an estate. Alex’s personal checkbook showed a balance of just over two thousand dollars, and her shop’s account was barely in the black. It appeared she made just enough to get by every month.