It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (31 page)

I didn’t think it was that funny.

I remembered the pain in Gayle’s voice when she spoke about him. She was still grieving. Then I thought about Isaiah Clemson. How he’d reacted after leaving Mrs. P. He’d banished the Craft from his life—­and their daughter’s. “Is Gayle very religious?”

Harper shrugged. “Not to speak of. We don’t talk about religion much, or the Craft, and I don’t dare bring it up. I like my job. But Gayle’s probably why Vince hadn’t owned up to having a relationship with Alex. I don’t think she would have stood for it.”

It didn’t matter now that he’d been fired. And was under suspicion for Alex’s murder.

“I’m going to do a little reading and then go to bed,” she said, bidding us good night.

She probably wasn’t reading her forensics manual,
not tonight. Instead she’d turn to
Jane Eyre
, the classic that always provided her comfort when she needed it. And tonight, she needed it. This mess with Vince had hit her hard.

A few minutes after she left, Ve said, “I feel for Mrs. P, but Alexandra Shively brought nothing to this village but discontent.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

She looked sharply at me. “You disagree?”

I smiled at her tone. “I do. She was a good friend to Evan, and Mimi Sawyer really cared for her. There was some good there. I think, as you said last week, she was complex. Part of that may have stemmed from the fact that she knew she was a Crafter, but had no proof and didn’t know which kind. Think of how that made her feel. She was an outcast in the only place she truly belonged.”

Ve frowned. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“She also brought something else to the village,” I said, watching as the meteorologist pointed to a large green mass off to the west. Rain would be here for the weekend. “And I didn’t realize it until I spoke with Ramona.”

“What’s that?” Ve asked.

“Hope.”

Missy lifted her head, looked around, and set it back down. I scratched her ears.

“How do you mean?” Ve asked.

“Look at the people who sought her help. They all wanted, needed, something from her. They needed hope that their lives would become fuller, richer, better. Hope that they’d find the one they loved, that they’d get rich, that they’d be happy. That they’d lose weight, get healthy, have great skin. Little hopes, big hopes. She fed those hopes, and even though sometimes she went about it the wrong way”—­I thought about Evan’s face—­“or made grievous errors, she was trying to make people’s lives better.”

“Complex,” Ve said again, swinging her locket. “But I still didn’t like her.”

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with her being Sylar’s ex, would it?” Ve had confirmed with Sylar that he’d been the one to uncover Mrs. P’s marriage license. To some, it might not seem a fair trade. A fifty-­thousand-­dollar watch for a piece of paper, but to Alex that paper—­and the knowledge that came with it—­was priceless.

“Maybe,” she said coyly.

I glanced at the screen. “Oh, brother.”

“In related news,” the anchor said, “local businessman Griffin Huntley is now claiming Alexandra Shively, the victim in a local murder case, poisoned him.”

“Just look at me,” he said on-­screen. “I’ll be scarred for life.”

The camera zoomed in on his face, which was covered with a now-­familiar rash. The picture flashed to the news desk, where the normally staid anchor recoiled in horror.

The reporter went on to explain again how Griffin had been arrested for disturbing the peace after he’d been found pounding on the door of the victim’s place of business the morning after she was found murdered. “Investigators have confirmed Mr. Huntley’s alibi and never considered him a person of interest.”

“Well,” I said, “he may have been faking the baldness for fifteen minutes of fame, but that rash is very real.”

“How do you suppose he got it?”

I had a good idea of how and knew whom to ask—­someone who seemed to know just a little too much about Griffin Huntley’s life. I just had to confirm it.

“Oh, look!” She pointed at the TV screen.

I sat up. A reporter was standing in front of Jake Carey’s house. “A happy ending for this Melrose family. The Franklin Park Zoo has accepted the mysterious wombat with open arms, and has provided seven-­year-­old Jake
with a lifetime membership, allowing him to visit the wombat, now named Ozzie, whenever he wants. As a reminder to our viewers, please check local codes before buying exotic pets. Most are endangered and illegal to own.” The camera panned to Jake playing with the wombat in a secure area of the zoo. It then cut to footage of the wombat in a pen as it played with other wombats as Jake looked on. “Including wombats.”

The newscast cut to a commercial.

Ve smiled at me.

“You’d think there’d be a Wishcraft Law about granting wishes for illegal pets.”

She laughed. “It will probably be amended in.”

I stood and stretched, ready for bed. “Just as long as I don’t earn another trip to see the Elder.”

“Try your best to stay on her good side.”

I laughed. That was easier said than done.

A few days later, I was up early, ready to run with Starla. Mist was clinging stubbornly to the morning, and there was a hint of a chill in the air.

The green had almost been completely transformed for Saturday night’s dance. Tents had been erected, a dance floor laid, and dozens of service trucks were arriving to complete last-­minute tasks.

The week had passed in a blur. As You Wish had been busy, I’d finished helping Mrs. P pack up Alex’s shop, and I’d been helping Starla prep for the dance. Gayle Chastain had offered Harper the managerial job at Spellbound Books—­and she had eagerly accepted. Sylar had been released from jail on bail, and Ramona, though a suspect, had collected her reward from Ve. Which was gladly paid out, as Sylar was currently free because the watch had been found.

Alex’s case was still open, and the state police presence in the village, including undercover officers, had increased now that they were undertaking a proper investigation.
Village officers had been scarce, including the police chief. Their absence was quite obvious to the villagers, who were taking note and making plans for a complete overhaul of the police force.

The presence of the state police may have deterred the pickpocket, as there hadn’t been reports of any thefts since Monday, when two hundred dollars had gone missing from a tourist the morning I picked up Ve’s locket from All That Glitters.

Neither Vince nor Ramona had been arrested, though the police had named both as persons of interest. Neither had been seen much in the village since the outburst in the bookshop. There seemed to be a profound lack of evidence to arrest either of them, and it looked like Sylar would be off the hook as well.

Which all left a big pit in my stomach. I wanted justice for Alex. It didn’t seem right that someone was going to get off scot-­free. There had to be more evidence…somewhere. Someone had to know something more.

At the sound of running footsteps, I looked up and was surprised to see Evan headed my way. Usually he was in the bakery by this time every morning, and I knew for a fact that he didn’t like to sweat.

He slowed to a stop at the bench and gave me a big smile. I hadn’t seen him much in the past few days, except in passing. He’d been busy getting caught up at the bakery.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” I joked. “Evan Sullivan jogging?”

“I lost a bet with Starla.”

I laughed. “What kind of bet?”

“I bet she couldn’t convince you to cover for her today, and she bet that I couldn’t keep up with the two of you this morning. This is essentially all your fault.” He smiled. “Thanks a lot.”

Starla actually hadn’t convinced me of anything—­she’d hired me through As You Wish. From noon to four
today I’d be roaming around the green, snapping pictures of tourists. She’d given me a crash course in digital photography yesterday, and I hoped I would remember the basics, including Starla’s dire warning to never use the phrase “Say cheese,” simply because it drove her crazy.

I kept the whole hiring thing mum, though, because I had a feeling Evan would use it against her. And frankly, he could use a little exercise.

“Is she not coming this morning?” I asked.

“She’s on her way. She didn’t expect that I’d run faster than her.” I wondered how long that would last. With newbie runners, the tortoise usually beat the hare in the long run.

“Nice shoes,” he said, bending down to admire my sneakers. “What brand are they?”

They were blue, high-­tech, and decorated with tiny rhinestones. “Custom-­made,” I said.

“Ooh la la!”

“And a gift.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “From a boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend do you know would give running shoes as a gift?”

“I had one once.…No wonder he’s an ex.”

I laughed. “They were a gift from Pepe.”

His eyes lit. “He’s sweet on you. That’s so cute.”

“Nothing cute about it. The sneakers were a thank-­you gift because I talked Godfrey out of getting a cat. Again.”

“I’m surprised those two haven’t killed each other yet.”

“Give it time,” I joked. “Speaking of boyfriends…anyone new in your life?”

“Oh no. I’m not currently on the market. My last date was enough to swear me off dating for a year.”

“Your date with Griffin Huntley?”

His jaw dropped. “How’d you know?”

“I saw him on the news the other night with a rash on his face…and something Ramona said clicked. About how she thought if she used the love lotion on both she
and
Vince, it would work better. Your face, Griffin’s face. Your comment the other day that Alex wasn’t Griffin’s type…”

“I can’t believe I ever dated him.” He hung his head.

“He is cute, especially now that all that horrible hair is gone.”

He cracked a smile. “Alex introduced us. She knew I’d been looking for Mr. Right. A matchmaker she was not. I tried to salvage the date by pulling out the lotion. We both used it—­to see if it would work. It didn’t. It
really
didn’t. I left the lotion at his place that night—­that’s where I lost it.”

Ah, so he hadn’t been telling me everything.

“When I called to see if he’d had a reaction, he said no. I warned him not to use any more of it, though, and told him to throw it out. But I don’t think he did that at all.”

“No?”

“I think he’s been using gobs and gobs of it to get a reaction like mine. And therefore get more press.”

Mrs. P did say that the more exposure, the worse the reaction would be.

“He got his wish. The media has been clamoring for interviews with him.”

I stretched my calf muscle. “My guess is he’s finally stopped using it, because the last time I saw him on the news, his face looked much better. Maybe he’s learned his lesson?”

“I doubt it. He probably just ran out. It wasn’t a very big tube.” He sighed. “One of these days I’d like to kiss a frog and get a prince instead of just a plain old toad.”

It sounded good to me, too. Which immediately had me thinking about Nick. I hadn’t seen much of him, either,
these last few days—­Mimi was at day camp and he was busy with the pickpocketing case and avoiding me.

At least it felt as though he was avoiding me.

Even Missy had stopped escaping so much to see him.

Friends, we had said. It was better that way. At least that was what I kept telling myself. “Did I tell you I got a postcard from the Goodwins a couple days ago?”

He shook his head. “When are they coming back?”

“They’ll be at the dance.”

“Will you be?” he asked.

I spotted Starla coming through the mist, her ponytail slashing the air, and smiled. “I think so.” Starla had kinda-­sorta talked me into it. And I figured if I didn’t wear that dress Pepe had made for me, he might chomp my ankle.

“With a date?” he asked, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Nope. You’re not the only one who has trouble with frogs.”

“Well,” he said, “as you recall, you promised me a dance.”

“As I recall, you promised to save
me
a dance.”

“Then it’s settled!” He poked me with his elbow. “And I promise not to
ribbit
. Not even once.”

“O
kay, say cheese,” I said, aiming the camera at a cute family crowded together. What Starla didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

They smiled, I clicked a picture, and I handed them a claim ticket. “You can purchase the photo at Hocus-­Pocus Photography in an hour.” I pointed toward the storefront next to the Gingerbread Shack. “Enjoy your visit to the village.”

It was just after two, and I’d already taken nearly fifty pictures. Tourists had come back in droves over the past two days. The media attention had drawn out the curiosity seekers—­who obviously had no worries about being pickpocketed.

Smiling, I clicked a few pictures of Higgins walking Gayle Chastain.

“Print me a copy!” she yelled as he dragged her down the block.

“Will do!” I called back, laughing as I checked the camera’s display. The dog was huge. I still wondered if he was a familiar…and realized the romantic in me wished it to be true. There was just something so sweet about Russ wanting to come back to be with his wife for a while longer. I could only imagine how hard it was for her to lose the love of her life.

Actually, I kind of knew. I’d seen my father go through
it. If my mother had been around, someway, somehow, maybe he’d have led a different life. A happier life.

Just as I was walking toward a young couple picnicking on the green, I caught a flash of bright pink. It was Mrs. P and she was with Marcus Debrowski—­she was speed-­walking and he was trying to keep up. They looked serious, but when Mrs. P spotted me, she beamed. She patted him on the back and turned in my direction.

I noticed Marcus took a second to catch his breath. He waved to me before heading off in the direction of his office.

I returned his wave and wondered if now that Vince was out of the picture, Harper would give the lawyer a chance. I’d just keep it to myself that I once considered him a murder suspect.