Some Like It Witchy (10 page)

“Ever?” I asked. I knew she hadn't emerged in the year I'd been here, but for
thirty-five
years?

“Ever,” Mrs. P said. “She hired out yard work, had groceries delivered, Cherise made house calls. . . .”

“Was Eleta in on the heist?” I asked.

“Indubitably,” Pepe said. “However, it was never proven—as much as the police tried.” He leaned forward. “Eleta cast the spell to hide the diamonds not to save herself from prosecution, but to prevent anyone else from experiencing the heartache she was feeling. In her eyes, those diamonds killed the man she loved.”

I didn't ask how Pepe knew—he was never wrong when it came to the history of this village.

Laughing, Mrs. P rolled her eyes. “I think she cast the spell because she didn't want to go to jail.”

“Perhaps,” Pepe said with a nod toward his beloved, “it was a little of both.”

Ah, compromise.

They'd successfully steered me away from the topic of the Elder, and I suspected it wasn't by chance. I let it go. For now. “Do you think Zara Woodshall could be the anonymous tipster who turned Sebastian in?”

It seemed to me she might have held a grudge against the man. And perhaps she believed Andreus would come live with her if his father was in prison.

“I do not know,” Pepe said. “It wouldn't surprise me if it was so. A woman scorned is quite a dangerous creature.”

“Do you know if she's still alive?” I asked. Maybe she'd be willing to answer a couple of questions.

“I do not know that, either,” Pepe said.

Mrs. P shook her head. “You could ask Andreus.”

I could.

But I didn't really want to. He gave me the willies.

“How about Calliope Harcourt?” I asked. “Do you know if she's a Crafter?”

Both shook their heads.

“Finn?”

Again, they shook their heads.

This was going nowhere fast.

“How about the link between Andreus and Glinda Hansel? How are they connected? They looked mighty friendly this morning on the village green.”

Mrs. P smiled. “That I can answer, doll. Remember that family who took Andreus in as a teenager?”

I groaned. “Please don't tell me it was Dorothy's family . . .”

“Indeed it was,” Pepe said. “Andreus and Dorothy grew up as pseudo-siblings. I believe he is also a godfather to Glinda.”

I was starting to get the uneasy feeling that keeping Glinda out of this case was going to be impossible.

Glancing at my watch, I stood up. “All right, well, thanks for the information.”

Pepe grabbed Mrs. P's hand and hopped off the table. Both landed gracefully near my feet.

“Anytime,
ma chère
. Now if you'll excuse us . . .” He tugged Mrs. P's hand.

While they were usually eager to help with my investigations, both seemed a bit reserved with this case, and I suspected it had to do with my questions about the Elder.

As much as they might love me, their first loyalty was to her.

If I were in their shoes, I might run off, too. I could be tenacious when looking for answers, and they probably didn't want to slip up and reveal something they shouldn't. I imagined they wouldn't like becoming frogs.

“You'll see yourself out?” Pepe asked.

“Yes, you two go on in. I wouldn't want to moush your tails when I leave.”

Mrs. P laughed and said, “Aha! I told you it was a word.”

Pepe shook his fist at me.
“La traîtresse!”

Traitor.

I blew him a kiss as I turned to go, a smile on my face despite the fact that I was no closer to piecing together this case than when I came in.

“W
hy do we call him Mr. Macabre? Maaaahcaaaahhbrrrrraaaahhh,” Mimi said, exaggerating the pronunciation and sounding like a true Bostonian while doing so. “It's so theatrical.”

“Maaaahcaaaahhbrrrrraaaahhh!” Harper sang, garnering looks from several customers in the bookshop. She gave them a wan smile.

She and Mimi stood side by side at the counter as they unloaded books from a newly arrived delivery. Now that Mimi was thirteen, she could legally work for Harper a couple of days a week, and Harper had been more than happy to call her in today as a favor to me. Keep her from camping out at the Tavistock house and asking a thousand questions of the techs still on the scene.

Mimi towered over a petite five-foot-nothing Harper, and was growing into quite a beauty with her dark curly hair, luminous brown eyes, and fair skin. Harper was already a beauty with her elfishly big brown eyes, pixie haircut, high cheekbones, sleek jawline, and Kewpie lips.

Despite the height difference, they looked more like sisters than Harper and I did, and personality-wise, they were two peas in a pod. Outspoken, a little outrageous, and deeply loyal.

I said, “I'm not sure. He was nicknamed that long before we moved to the village. But it fits.” Oh, how it fit.

“Why not just call it like it is?” Mimi asked. “He's creepy. He should be called Mr. Creepy.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Harper said, tipping her head in acknowledgment.

Mr. Creepy fit, too.

Harper said, “I still can't believe Andreus is Glinda's godfather. I mean, I can. Because, hello, they're a lot alike, being evil and all, but . . .” She suddenly looked at Mimi, who'd noticeably stiffened, and said, “I'm so sorry.”

Another thing they had in common. They often spoke without thinking.

From my spot on the comfy couch in the center of the shop, I watched as Mimi scanned a book into the computer system. Glinda had taken Mimi under her wing last fall, and the pair had formed an unlikely friendship. They shared an interest in the arts and Mimi had learned a lot about her mom's growing-up years, as Glinda and Melina Sawyer had been best friends as teenagers. But after Glinda had shown her true colors in January, Nick had forbidden Mimi to spend time with her. Mimi knew what had happened, but it was becoming clear that she was conflicted about her feelings for her former friend. She'd never been on the receiving end of Glinda's misdeeds and couldn't quite wrap her head around what had happened. She wanted to believe the best about her. Her loyalty ran deep.

I admired that she thought there was any good in Glinda.

But I was very glad the Broomcrafter was out of her life. She'd been using Mimi to get to Nick and me. That was something Mimi still didn't understand—and probably wouldn't for years to come.

“No big deal,” Mimi said, keeping her gaze averted as she picked up another book. Harper threw me a help-me look, and I sympathetically shrugged my shoulders.

Harper said, “Well, ah . . .”

My sister was rarely at a loss for words. It spoke volumes about how much she cared for Mimi.

Taking pity on Harper, I said, “Have you heard from Marcus? When's he due back?”

Relief filled her eyes. “Sunday.”

“I bet he wishes he were here,” Mimi said. “All these people needing lawyers lately.”

“More likely,” I said, “that they wish he was here. He is the best attorney in the village.”

Mimi slid a stack of books to her right to make room for more. “That's true. I'd want him representing me if I killed someone.”

Harper and I stared at her.

She laughed, an effervescent sound that fairly bubbled out of her. “Not that I'm planning to!”

And just like that the tension that had been hanging in the air dissipated, fizzling into a distant memory.

I glanced around, looking for Missy. She had wandered off, searching for Harper's orange tabby, Pie. I found them both near the children's reading area. Pie sat high atop the partition sectioning off the space from the rest of the shop, seemingly taunting Missy, who stared longingly up at her. Pie had apparently been taking taunting lessons from the prissy Tilda.

This bookshop was another of my favorite places in the village. Harper had redecorated after buying the place, and it was now done up in a
Starry Night
theme. Bold yellows and blues. Stars. Bookshelves carved to look like trees stretching into the sky. Despite Harper's reluctance to embrace her heritage, this shop was nothing short of magical.

I dropped my voice to keep from being overheard by the customers. “We're not sure Andreus killed anyone.”

“I don't know,” Harper said. “Seems he had the biggest motive with the”—she dropped
her
voice to a faint whisper—“diamonds.”

Mimi said, “I need to read more about”—she dropped
her
voice to a whisper—“Circe.” Then in a normal tone, she added, “What kind of mythology books do we carry here?”

“A decent selection,” Harper said, “but the library's your best option. Colleen can probably help you find something.”

We'd met Colleen Curtis and her mother, Angela, at an ill-fated cooking class last year. Angela was one of Harper's part-time employees, and Colleen seemed to have endless energy as she balanced college classes and working a few part-time jobs. She helped Vincent Paxton at Lotions and Potions, shelved books at the library, and also babysat for Mimi from time to time.

“Has Colleen ever mentioned if the library's microfilms are digitized?” I asked.

Harper snorted. “Oh sure. Comes up in conversation all the time.”

I threw her a wry look. “A simple no would have sufficed.”

“Are you looking to read old articles about the heist?” Mimi asked.

Nodding, I said, “Plus, I want to see if I can find any info on Andreus's mother. What might have happened to her or where she may have gone. An obituary, for example, might list other family members I can talk to.” If she had been the tipster, maybe she knew the full identity of the accomplice. Because I couldn't help but wonder if that accomplice had finally come back for the diamonds now that the Tavistock house wasn't under a spell.

“Why not search online databases?” Harper asked.

“That's Plan B.” Those databases weren't cheap, and I wasn't sure if Zara had changed her name after the divorce, assuming her maiden name again or if she'd remarried. “I'm really curious about the details of the heist. The
Toil and Trouble
's files are bound to have more details than what I've found online already. And it seems no one around here is willing to say anything more than it's best forgotten.”

Harper said, “Maybe it is.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, “but a woman is dead, and we need to find out why.”

“I think Kent did it,” Mimi said softly. “I never did like him much.”

It was the second time I'd heard that. “How do you even know him?”

“When Dad and I moved here, he was the one who showed us around at first.”

“What didn't you like about him?” Harper asked. “He wasn't creepy with you or anything, was he?”

Vigilante Harper was getting ready to take him down. I'd gladly help her if it came to that. The thought of anyone hurting Mimi made my blood boil.

Mimi wrinkled her nose. “No, no. I'm not sure how to explain it. Okay, so there's this girl at school who bounces from friend to friend, always trying to be the funniest, the most popular. She laughs too hard at people's jokes, and changes her mind to agree with the opinion of the person she's with. Always saying what she thinks people want to hear instead of what
she
really thinks.” Mimi let out an exasperated sigh. “It's so annoying. Kent's just like her.”

“Fake?” Harper supplied.

Mimi smiled. “That's it. He was fake. A big pretender.”

No wonder he was a good salesman.

“But what I remember most about him was that he got mad at Raina, because she was the one who found us the
house we bought.” Mimi scanned another book. “Dad and I overheard them arguing about it once when they didn't know we were around. I still don't know why he was so upset. It was his company, too.”

Mimi was very wise for her young age, but certain adult themes still escaped her. Like the fact that Kent had probably felt one-upped by his wife. No doubt it had hurt his ego.

“Kent is definitely a suspect,” I said, “but it looks like he has a solid alibi—he was apparently with clients when Raina was killed.”

“Was the house broken into?” Mimi asked. “I mean, how did the burglar get in?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. I made a mental note to ask Nick if there had been any signs of a break-in. I hadn't seen any, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. Otherwise, someone could have had the key to get inside—or the real estate code for the lockbox on the door.

“And why wait till now to break in?” Mimi asked.

“Eleta cast a spell on the house,” I explained. “It kept people out, even potential robbers. The spell was broken when she died.”

Mimi's eyes widened, and then she said, “This village is so cool.”

I agreed.

The front door opened and Noelle Quinlan came inside, smiling wide, and all I could think of was how much she did in fact resemble a horse.

Curse that Dorothy.

“Good afternoon, Harper!” she said cheerfully as she looked right past me and stepped up to the counter. There was a stack of small posters in her hands. “Hi, Mimi.”

“Hi, Noelle,” Mimi said, grabbing a pile of books to be shelved.

“You're in a good mood,” Harper said. “Did you hear anything about the TV job?”

“Not yet,” Noelle said.

In her early thirties, she looked younger because she didn't wear much makeup. In truth, she didn't need it. She had a fresh-faced innocence about her, and I had to admit she'd probably be a good host for the TV show.

“Scott said he won't make a decision until after the council vote next week,” Noelle added. “I'm on pins and needles, I tell you. Pins and needles.”

“And the development?” Harper pressed, openly being nosy. “Did you sign that contract?”

She beamed. “I'm working on it. Everything's coming together.”

I wondered if Kent's meeting with Sylar this morning put him in the running again. I didn't know how to find out. Sylar certainly wasn't going to speak to me, and I had no excuse to approach Kent in his time of supposed mourning.

“I just dropped in to see if you have that book I ordered?” Noelle asked. “It was supposed to be in today.”

“Just came in,” Harper said, grabbing a thick hardcover from beneath the counter.

“Great. Thanks.” She reached for her wallet, and one of the posters in her hands slipped out and slid across the floor.

I picked it up. On top of a red, white, and blue background, was printed
SY'S OUR GUY
.

Someone had updated his campaign slogan, and Dorothy had to have been the wordsmith behind the idea. She was the only one who called Sylar “Sy.”

I handed the poster back to Noelle.

“Oh, Darcy! I didn't see you there. Thank you.” She looked at the sign. “It's catchy, isn't it?”

“Oh yes,” I said. Ve was going to have a fit. It looked identical to hers except for the wording.

“Dorothy roped me into passing these out around the village.” Her long ponytail swung as Noelle cocked her head at Harper. “I don't suppose you'd hang one of these in your window? Bipartisanship and all?”

“No,” Harper said.

Noelle laughed. “I didn't think so. You do know that new development can only help business around here, right?”

“I don't need any help,” Harper said sharply. “And razing that land would be a travesty. An environmental blunder of epic proportions.”

Noelle's thick eyebrows rose at Harper's vehemence. “Yes, well, personally I think the pros outweigh the cons.”

My sister smiled sweetly. “That's because you're hoping to score a big payday. I'm not. I'd rather earn pennies than see all those trees cut down.”

I dropped my head in my hand at Harper's lack of tact.

Noelle didn't seem to mind, however. She took her book and receipt from the counter, tucking both into her enormous tote bag. Smiling brightly, her shiny white teeth were nearly blinding as she shrugged and said, “To each their own! It's what makes the world go round.”

Fortunately, she turned before she saw Harper rolling her eyes.

Noelle sat next to me on the couch. “Darcy, I'm glad I ran into you. I've been trying to reach Calliope but to no avail. Have you seen her since . . . well, you know?”

“As far as I know, she's at home.”

Noelle nodded, her forehead dipping into a V. “I'll have to pop over there since she's not answering my calls and her voice mail box is full.”

“She might be sleeping,” I said. “She had a traumatic morning.”

“Oh, I understand. But I was made aware that she has taken over the sale of the Tavistock house, and I have a bid to present from a new client. Time is ticking! Ticktock!”

Someone else in the running. Great.

“Personally,” she said, “I think the house on Maypole is a better option than the Tavistock place. That house is falling apart, but you just never know when a client will identify with a home so much that they're willing to spend a small fortune in cash to buy the place.”

A cash offer. Shoot. Sellers almost always accepted a cash offer over someone who needed financing. And wealthy as Cherise was, I didn't think she had that kind of cash available.

“Is it a treasure hunter?” I asked. A treasure hunter probably wouldn't mind spending a fortune for the opportunity to discover a bigger fortune. . . .