A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery (21 page)

She lifted one of her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “You warned me about the journal.”

I had, but now wasn’t the right time to say “I told you so.” Sometimes the hardest lessons were the ones you had to learn yourself. We started walking again. “No, I’m not mad.”
Concerned
was more like it. “I don’t think he saw much, if anything at all.”

He couldn’t have in the few seconds he’d flipped through the diary. But still. If he had seen
any
information about the Craft, it was too much. Mimi didn’t need to hear that right now, though.

Missy trotted along between us. It had turned dark, but the night was clear and the stars were sparkling. Harper and Mrs. P had taken on the challenge of watching Vince. Mrs. P had been more than enthusiastic about the stakeout, even going to the extreme of running (well, speed-walking) to the Pixie Cottage, where
she lived, to change from her pink tracksuit to a black one.

She and Harper were two peas in a pod.

“But now,” I warned Mimi, “more than ever, you need to keep special track of that diary. Find somewhere to hide it.”

“But what if the Peeper breaks in and finds it?”

She had me with that one. If Vince was the Creeper and he’d just peeped at that diary, he wasn’t going to back down until he got his hands on it again. “We need to make sure we find a very good hiding place.”

“But where?” she asked.

I pushed open the back gate and saw that Archie wasn’t in his cage. I glanced at Terry’s house and noticed a curtain shifting. Someone—Terry?—was watching. “Let’s sleep on it tonight, and make a decision tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Missy and Higgins bounded into the house, and I heard a squawk from the family room. “Oh, the indignity! Get him off me. Get. Him. Off. Me!”

Mimi’s curls bounced as she chased after Higgins. I rushed into the fray. In the family room, I found
Survivor
on the TV, Tilda atop a bookshelf, Ve giggling, Mimi tugging Higgins’s collar, Missy doing circles, and red feathers sticking out from beneath Higgins’s fur.

“Tell me that’s not drool!” Archie squawked in a high-pitched voice from beneath the dog.

I yanked Higgins backward, gave him a stern look and a “
pzzt
!” He abandoned his new feathered squeak toy and went over to Ve. He climbed up on the couch next to her and plopped his head in her lap.

Maybe Harper was onto something with the
pzzt
-ing stuff.

Ve was simultaneously wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

“This is not amusing, Velma,” Archie chastised.

“From my vantage point it is,” she countered, sounding completely congested. Her nose, the area around her eyes, and her cheeks were various shades of red. All of which contrasted badly with her coppery hair.

Despite her obvious good humor, she looked, as Harper would say, “unfortunate.” Not at all her normal pulled-together self. I wished I could make her better—I hated seeing her suffer like this.

If only I could grant my own wishes. Or if only I’d found that Anicula…

Archie looked up at me dolefully as he lay on his back, his wings spread out, his little feet up in the air. “Tell me,” he said dramatically.

“It’s drool,” I said, watching it ooze off his feathers and onto the floor.

He whimpered. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Mimi,” I said, “grab me some paper towels from the kitchen, please.”

“Just let me die,” Archie said. “I feel so violated.”

Mimi was back in a flash. I used the paper towels to wipe down Archie’s feathers.

He chuckled. “Not there; it tickles.”

I rolled my eyes. “All done.”

Very ungracefully, he picked himself off the floor and surveyed the damage to his plumage. “I must bathe. Immediately. I am going home.” He stooped into a bow. “Farewell, ladies.” He flew to the mudroom, perched on a coat hook, and waited for me to catch up.

I made sure to keep the back door closed so that if anyone was lurking outside they couldn’t see us talking. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Ve.”

“I should get hazard pay,” he declared. “Drool. I’ll never recover.”

I leaned against the wall and said, “Name your price.” His currency was usually easily affordable.

“There is no price to cover the cost of my wounded pride.”

“A James Bond marathon?” I tempted.

He twitched. “How cheap do you think I am?”

“Plus Broadway show tune karaoke. That’s my final offer.”

He contemplated for a moment, then said, “It’s a deal. Just so you know, I would have settled for the James Bond marathon. That Sean Connery shivers me timbers.” He fluffed his wings.

I opened the back door. “You’re a strange bird.”

“Darcy darling, you have no idea. Velma, tell me if that hoodlum finds the immunity idol!” he called out.

“I will,” she shouted back, sounding raspy.

“Have the two of you been watching
Survivor
all day?”

“No,” he said. “For a while we watched a
Real Housewives of New York City
marathon. Those women are a hoot. Oh!”

“Yeah?”

“Ve had a visitor.”

“She did? Who?”

“Sylar came by.” Archie leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Between us, she didn’t look too happy about what he was telling her.”

“Did you hear what they were talking about?”

“Are you accusing me of eavesdropping? I’m offended!”

“Archie.”

“Something about Dorothy Hansel.” He blinked. “Now, there’s a piece of work.”

Tell me about it.

“I didn’t hear the whole of the conversation, however, as I was hiding under the sofa.”

It would have been hard for Ve to explain to Sylar, a
mortal, why her neighbor’s macaw was watching a
Survivor
marathon with her. “Understandable.”

“You may want to ask her about it.” He bowed again and said, “Call me if you need anything.”

With that, he flew out the door. I closed and locked it behind him.

When I went back into the family room, the TV was muted and Mimi was in full explanation about what had happened with the diary.

I sat on the love seat and yawned. It had been a long day. One that wasn’t over yet—we still had to cast the protection spell at midnight. The agate sphere sat on the coffee table, and seeing it reminded me of Andreus Woodshall and what he’d said about Elodie.

I didn’t know who to trust.

For some reason, my instincts told me to believe what he said. But if I did, that meant Elodie was lying to me. And if she was lying to me, did that mean she knew more about her mother’s murder than she let on? I didn’t like thinking about that, but couldn’t help my thoughts from wandering to the falling out she’d had with her mother not long before she died.

But…but if Elodie had something to do with Patrice’s murder, why would she hire me to look into what happened to her mother?

That part made no sense unless she was innocent.

Or was using me.

I didn’t like thinking about that, either.

Ve was saying, “It sounds as though a trip to see the Elder is in order. She will know how to deal with the likes of Vincent Paxton.”

Tilda hopped down from the corner bookshelf and onto the back of the couch. She eyed Higgins as if contemplating how to displace him from her usual spot next to Ve.

Good luck to her. Higgins was snoring.

Mimi sat clutching her mother’s diary. “What’s the Elder like?”

“She’s very nice,” Ve said at the same time I said, “She’s scary.”

Mimi’s dark eyes widened, and Ve gave me a withering look.

“What?” I said. “She is. In a benevolent way, of course. She’s kind and wise and…scares the bejeebers out of me.”

“What does she look like?” Mimi yawned so widely her small hand couldn’t cover it. I wondered when her normal bedtime was. It was only nine o’clock now.

“Actually, I’ve never
seen
her. I’ve only
heard
her. She hides in a tree.” I explained my trips to see the Elder. “Have you seen her?” I asked Ve.

“Of course.” She yawned and petted Higgins’s head.

Mimi and I stared at her, silently begging for more information.

Ve smiled. “She’s beautiful.”

This told me nothing. Ve thought every woman was beautiful.

“You’re not going to tell us anything about her, are you?” I asked.

“Not a thing. It’s not for me to tell. You both will learn when the time is right.”

“Aw,” Mimi whined.

“Aw,” I echoed.

Ve tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Tilda walked along the edge of the couch, her ears back as she stared at the mammoth dog on
her
couch. I had a feeling her claws were soon to make an appearance.

When Mimi yawned again, I said, “We should get you settled in upstairs.”

After that, I would ask Ve about Sylar’s visit—and what he had said about Dorothy.

When I stood, I picked up a strange scent. Sniffing, I said, “Do you smell that?”

Ve smiled weakly. “I can’t smell anything.”

Missy had stirred from her spot on the love seat. Her fur rose and she growled low in her throat.

“What is it?” Mimi asked, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

I rushed into the kitchen. The scent was stronger in here—and much more identifiable.

Smoke.

I went to the kitchen sink, raised the window shade, and peeked out. “Fire!” I yelled, panic rising.

I couldn’t see the flames—only their orange glow. It flickered around the house’s foundation. I ran back into the living room to find that Ve was up and holding an unusually calm Tilda. Mimi had Higgins and Missy leashed.

“Go out the front door and call 911,” I said. “I’m going to grab the extinguisher and see if I can stop the fire from spreading.”

Neither argued with me. As they hurried past, I spotted Melina Sawyer’s diary sitting on the coffee table. Shaking my head, I quickly picked it up and tucked it into my waistband. There was no way I was leaving it unattended.

In the kitchen pantry, I grabbed the fire extinguisher we kept in case of emergency and rushed out the back door.

The air was acrid and smoky, and I coughed as I rounded the corner, ready to do battle with the flames—and bumped into someone who was already extinguishing the fire.

Sirens began to wail in the distance as the tall man turned and waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air.

I blinked in surprise, sure I was seeing things.

When I rubbed my eyes, the apparition didn’t disappear.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Darcy,” he said in an accent I couldn’t quite place. “Though”—he smiled—“the circumstances could have been better. I rushed over as soon as I saw the flames.”

Maybe I’d inhaled too much smoke. I stepped backward, took a deep breath, and rubbed my eyes again.

The image didn’t change.

Elvis was in my backyard, wearing a fancy dinner jacket complete with a pocket square, tight satin pants, and slippers, and he was holding a fire extinguisher.

I
n light of the fire, we packed up all necessary items (Ve’s lipstick, the dog and cat food, my stash of peppermint patties) and moved out.

I would have told Harper we were coming, but she wasn’t answering her cell phone. She was probably still on her Vince stakeout, which must have taken her out of the village, because between the police force and the fire department arriving on our doorstep, there was no missing that Something Big had happened at As You Wish. It seemed like every villager had taken up residence on the sidewalk in front of the house.

Now, an hour after the fire was out, everyone had dispersed except for Nick and the fire chief. Ve, Mimi, Higgins, Missy, and Tilda and I were trekking across the village green toward Spellbound Books with two rolling suitcases dragging behind our sorry group.

Nick, poor Nick, had said he’d stop by when he was done with his preliminary investigation but agreed that it was best we didn’t sleep at home tonight.

“You could have warned me,” I said to Ve.

“How exactly?” She dabbed her nose with a white handkerchief. “It’s not exactly something that can be forewarned. You must experience it firsthand.”

“A simple, ‘Terry Goodwin is the spitting image of Elvis’ would have sufficed.”

And damn if he wasn’t. Okay, yes, a gracefully aged Elvis (not the chubby seventies version), but Elvis nonetheless, right down to the lip curl.

Now I understood why he was such a recluse. Looking like he did, he’d be mobbed with curiosity-seekers wherever he went.

Mimi said, “Who’s Elvis?”

We both stopped and stared at her. “You’re not serious,” I said.

Her eyes were wide and blank.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Ve said. “I feel old. Ancient. Is there moss growing on me?”

The Roving Stones tent flaps were making strange noises again. It gave me the heebie-jeebies. “No, and keep those old bones moving.” The sooner we were settled in Harper’s apartment above the bookshop, the better I would feel. As soon as we started our little caravan moving again, I said, “We’re going to have to indoctrinate Mimi into the Elvis fan club, that’s all.” Never heard of Elvis…It was un-American, even for a twelve-year-old. “Should we start with the movies or the music?”

Ve smiled and said, “I could go for a little
Blue Hawaii
right now.”

It was the perfect distraction from the fact that someone tried to burn our house down.

With us inside it.

No, not someone.

Dorothy.

It had to have been her. After all, she had a history of being a firebug. Godfrey could attest to that. Plus, she was seriously ticked off at me. This little fire was probably another warning to me, especially since the fire chief
said it had been started in such a way as to remain in the garden and not spread to the house.

Inwardly, I seethed. The chief’s news didn’t make me feel any better. Mimi had been inside the house. If the wind had shifted or a spark jumped…Anything could have happened.

The mama bear in me wanted to shake Dorothy until her teeth popped out.

My jaw ached from clenching, and I forced myself to release it as we crossed the street and trekked down the alley behind the shops.