A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery (11 page)

Her brown eyes widened with excitement as she not-so-patiently pressed for details. “Any idea who was in the woods?”

“No.”

“Is it true the person had a knife, that he was carving something?”

“Probably.”

A little of the excitement left her eyes, and a thread of fear wove into them. “Carving
what
?”

“Wood.”

“Oh, thank God. I was worried it was a small animal or something.”

My stomach rolled at the thought. “Way to make me feel better,” I said, erasing any guilt I’d been feeling.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, not really sorry at all. Her face pinched. “Why wood?” Her brows were drawn in concentration as she tried to wrap her brain around the situation. She liked to have all the answers—even when there were none to be had. “And what kind of wood?”

Was she serious? “I have no idea. Brown wood.”

“You need a crash course in forensics, Darcy.”

I disagreed. I’d leave the forensics stuff to her.

She shook a doggy biscuit out of a box she kept under the counter and gave it to Missy. “Do you think it was a message of some sort?”

I wasn’t sure what kind of message wood shavings sent. “Again, I have no idea, Harper.”

“Don’t get cranky with me. Someone has to figure out what’s going on.”

Missy crunched away. I kind of wished I had a cookie, too. A big one. “The police are looking into it.”

“Be that as it may, I’m going to do a search on woodcarving serial killers. See if there’s a chance of any being in the area. Wood carving. So strange.”

I held in a smile at her renewed enthusiasm. “You do that.”

“You’re mocking, but you never know what might turn up.”

“The person in the woods could have been someone who likes to randomly sit in the woods at night and whittle. For fun.”

She rolled her eyes.

I didn’t blame her. No one just sat in the woods and whittled in the dark. I had been only trying to make myself feel better. “Or it could have been the Peeper Creeper, who is simply creepy and not dangerous.”

“True. Whittling is kind of creepy.”

I laughed.

“What?”

“Whittling isn’t creepy. It’s an art form.”

“Well, it’s creepy when the whittler is watching you.”

She had a point.

“It would be nice if we could figure out who the Peeper was and rule him out as the person who was in your backyard,” she said.

“Actually…”

“You have an idea? Who? Who?” She bounced up and down like a giddy schoolgirl.

“Are you up for a little investigating?” It was an unnecessary question. Harper was always up for a little investigating.

“Am I breathing? Who are we investigating?”

“Vincent Paxton.”

She drew in a breath. “You think…”

“I
suspect
. I don’t know anything for sure. That’s why we need to investigate.”

Nodding, she said, “I’m in.”

We made plans to snoop later, and I clipped on Missy’s leash and headed for the door. “Don’t forget our fitting this afternoon.”

“How could I?” She bent down to give Missy love and affection.

Harper wasn’t exactly a fancy dress kind of a girl, and it was only her love for Ve that was getting her into one of Pepe’s chiffon confections for the wedding.

As she pulled open the door to see us out, she stuck out her thumb. “Number five. You have Missy. I miss her.”

It had been hard for Harper to leave Missy behind when she moved out, but we all thought it best that Missy stayed with me and Ve since we worked out of the house and had more time for her.

I tipped my head. “Are you doing okay on your own? You know, you can always move back to Ve’s and lease your apartment upstairs.”

Harper waved away the suggestion. “I’m fine. Just a little lonely sometimes without Missy to play with.”

Missy turned in circles, yapping, her tail wagging.

Harper had said nothing about missing her big sister, but I could read between her lines quite well. I made a mental note to spend as much time with her as I could. But when? Then I had a thought. One that would help me on two fronts.

“How do you feel about cooking?” I asked.

“If you mean microwaving, I’m a pro.”

That, I knew. “The Sorcerer’s Stove is giving cooking classes. The first one starts tonight. I’ll be there. You should sign up.”

Missy barked as if in agreement.

“I don’t think so,” Harper said. “Kitchens and I don’t get along. Remember the time I tried to make you a birthday cake and nearly burnt the house down?”

“You were six.”

“My culinary skills haven’t changed much.”

She was so stubborn. I was going to have to play dirty. I wanted her to be there, not only to get her out of her apartment, but because Marcus would be there as well. I had a date to finagle. Getting them in the same place at the same time was half the battle.

I put on my best innocent face and set the bait. “That’s a shame, especially since Jonathan Wilkens will probably be there. Maybe he’ll say something about dating Patrice Keaton. Or reveal why Roger Merrick blames him for Patrice’s death. I guess I’ll just have to give you all the details tomorrow. If I remember them. Unless, that is, you change your mind about those classes…”

Harper narrowed her eyes. “You know me too well.”

“So?”

She smiled. “I’m in.”

O
n my way home, I stopped at Mrs. P’s empty bench. I sat and pulled my cell phone out of the tiny pocket in my jogging shorts. I didn’t usually run with my phone, but I had a call to make. One that had to be out of Ve’s earshot.

Missy sat at my feet, enraptured with the Roving Stones vendors moving about their tents and setting out their wares. As I found the number I was looking for on my contact list, I glanced around, hoping to see Starla and her mysterious date. Unfortunately, they were nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t wait to get the scoop from her later.

I dialed Cherise Goodwin’s number, all the while hoping the Curecrafter would have an explanation as to why Aunt Ve still wasn’t feeling better. I’d once been “cured” by Dennis Goodwin, Cherise’s son, and I could attest firsthand to how miraculous their powers were. What was going on with Ve didn’t make sense.

Cherise answered on the first ring.

Birds chirped happily overhead as I said, “Hi, Cherise. It’s Darcy Merriweather.”

“Darcy! I was just getting ready to call you. Is Ve any better this morning? I spoke to her last night, and she still seemed unwell.”

My stomach was suddenly in knots. “Not at all. In fact, she seems to be getting worse. What’s going on?”

There was a long pause before Cherise said, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

In the subsequent silence, I thought about what I knew of Cherise. Once upon a time, Cherise and Aunt Ve had been married to my next door neighbor Terry Goodwin (not at the same time, thank goodness). Ve first, then Cherise. Both had divorced the man, which left me wondering why. My gaze slipped to his house. I hadn’t met Terry, a Numbercrafter, yet, though I had been told—many times—that he was an “interesting” man. I had no idea what that meant.

Cherise sighed. “I cast a spell, Darcy. That it didn’t work is perplexing.”

“Shouldn’t all your spells work?”

“Of course, Curecrafters cannot cast spells that do harm, but there are other reasons why my spell might have failed.”

Her voice held a note of alarm that had panic threading through me. I was almost afraid to ask, “Like what?”

Missy suddenly growled low in her throat, snapping my attention away from my growing dread. She was staring across the green at all the tents, but her focus seemed to be on one spot in particular. I, however, couldn’t pinpoint what. Her ears flattened and she bared her teeth.

Suddenly, goose bumps rose along my arms. I felt eyes on me. Staring. Assessing.

I could barely focus on Cherise as she said, “Well, there could be another Crafter at work.”

I scooped up Missy and set her on my lap. Whatever had caused her distress had passed. She flopped down onto my legs and set her head on her paws. Still on alert, I rubbed my hand over her head, her ears. My gaze swept
the green, searching for anything out of place. I found nothing. “How so?”

“If someone didn’t want Ve to get well and cast her own spell, a recantation spell.”

“A recantation spell? What’s that?”

“It’s basically a spell that nullifies my spell.”

I was shocked. “And anyone can cast it?”

“As with all spells, anyone who knows it can cast it.”

“And who knows it?”

“Just about everyone. It’s a common spell.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “But what about ‘do no harm’? How could a spell that makes Ve remain ill be cast? Doesn’t that go against everything Crafters stand for?”

Missy lifted her head, yawned, and put it back down. I was still on edge. I could hear the brittleness in my own voice.

“You need to look at the shades of gray, Darcy,” Cherise said. “Imagine this scenario. Someone out there, a Crafter obviously, believes Ve is better off being ill.”

I couldn’t hold in a disbelieving laugh. “Who on earth would want that?”

Her tone was serious as she said, “I can think of only one reason.”

“Which is?” I really wanted to know, because I couldn’t think of one. Ve was clearly suffering.

“If Ve remains under the weather, there will be no choice but to postpone her wedding. My guess is that someone doesn’t want Ve to get married. Someone who truly believes her spell is keeping Ve from making a big mistake. In that person’s eyes, there is no harm being done. And obviously, if the spell worked, then there really is no harm being done.”

I let the repercussions of that statement sink in. What I deduced from what she said stunned me. “Does that mean Ve
shouldn’t
be marrying Sylar? That it’s a mistake?”

“That’s the conclusion I came to.”

“Wow.”

“But…,” Cherise said.

I almost didn’t want to know what came after that “but.”

“As I explained to Ve last night when I called to check on her, there are two other reasons why the spell might not have worked.”

I pulled in a deep breath. “Go on.”

“One of my limitations is that I can only cure physical ailments, not mental issues.”

“Are you saying that Ve might be making herself sick? That it’s all in her head?”
Why
also went through my mind, but I wanted to hear Cherise’s explanation. “How did Ve feel about hearing that?”

Cherise laughed. “She mentioned how many people already thought she was a bit touched in the head.”

Ve’s eccentricities didn’t go unnoticed in this small village.

“The brain is a powerful organ. It is a theory that cannot be ruled out; however, I don’t believe that’s what we’re dealing with.”

I was beyond grateful that Curecrafters weren’t bound to the Hippocratic oath—or to any HIPAA laws. “So what do you think we’re dealing with?”

“Darcy, I think we need to be extra vigilant. If my instincts are correct, then there is a greater power than mine at work.”

“What kind of power?”

“An evil one. Ve could be in very real danger.”

With Cherise’s words ringing in my head, I headed home to As You Wish.

My thoughts were spinning. Was Cherise right? Was there evil at work? Or was it only a theory?

I couldn’t shake the word “evil” from my thoughts as I opened the back gate. No wonder Ve kept saying she was fine. She probably hadn’t wanted to worry me.

Too late.

Archie, safely ensconced inside his outdoor cage (which he could easily escape), let out a high-pitched trill.

I jumped and winced. Sarcastically, I said, “I don’t think that was loud enough.”

“Smarty pants,” he said. “I was just trying to get your attention. I thought you were going to stroll on by without a single glance my way, and that would not do for my ego. You look to be a woman on a mission.”

I let Missy off her leash and gave Archie the quick recap of what Cherise had said. “I just want to figure out what’s going on. I hate the thought that Ve might be in danger.” My mama-bear instincts had kicked into high gear.

He dropped his voice. “‘Finding out the truth is only half of it. It’s what you do with it that matters.’”

“
The Secret Life of Bees
,” I answered absently as I thought about the message behind the quote. I felt like he was telling me something I should pay attention to. I eyed him. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

He blinked innocently, his bright black eyes shining. “Not at all.”

Missy barked as if she didn’t believe him. I happened to agree with her. “Spill it, Archibald.”

“I’m offended,” he squawked. “My integrity is of the highest caliber. I pride myself on my—”

A twig snapped behind me. I spun around in time to catch someone hopping the back fence and running toward the Enchanted Trail. Someone who’d apparently been hiding in the backyard the whole time.

Acting out of pure instinct, I yelled, “Stop!”

The person—clearly a man—didn’t so much as break stride.

Before I could think twice about it, I took off after him.

Archie started mimicking a car alarm, then switched to a loud “
whoop
,
whoop
,
whoop
!”

I’d clearly lost my mind, giving chase. What was I going to do if I caught up to him? Bean him with my cell phone? I jumped the back fence and yelped at the way my ankle turned in upon my landing. My hurdling skills needed work.

For a second, I lost sight of the man as he darted into the woods. I broke out into a full-on sprint to try to catch up with him. As I ran, skipping over tree roots and dodging branches, I realized I didn’t necessarily want to
catch
him. I only wanted to see who he was. I wasn’t a confrontation kind of girl. But I could dial 911 like no one’s business.

In hindsight, maybe that’s what I should have done—before I lost my mind and gave chase. But now that I was running full tilt, I didn’t want to turn back. The man would be long gone before I could even dial. I had to see who it was….

From what I could tell, he was about six feet tall, dark-haired, and fair-skinned. He wore only a pair of short shorts (that looked a lot like boxers) and a T-shirt. Was he the Peeper Creeper? And if he was wearing only boxers and a T-shirt, was the Peeper Creeper not a Seeker like I’d suspected but some sort of pervert? I didn’t even want to think about that option—and why he had been in our backyard—as I powered on.