Some Like It Witchy (7 page)

“Does Nick have a prime suspect?” Evan asked, turning the conversation back to Raina's murder.

I shook my head and said, “It's too soon. Of course, Andreus and Kent are on the list and now Noelle Quinlan. Harper thinks Calliope should be a suspect, too.”

“Why Calliope?”

“Harper says Calliope overreacted when Raina was found. Rushing off like that, tossing her cookies.”

“I probably would have done the same,” he said, making a squeamish face—cheeks sucked in, lips pushed out. “Weak stomach.”

Not everyone was cut out to find dead bodies. No, that was seemingly
my
specialty. Still, Harper had planted the seed about Calliope, and I could feel it sprouting. Harper had excellent instincts. I made circles on the table with my coffee cup. Tipping my head, I added, “Do you know much about her? Calliope? Is she a Crafter? Has she always lived in the village?”

Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms across his chest. “I'm not sure. I've always felt like she was a Crafter,
but I don't know for sure. I'm not even certain why I got that impression, and I don't know how long she's lived in the village either. What would be her motive for killing Raina?”

I told him Harper's list of reasons. “I've got to dig a little.”

“Well,” he said. “If anyone can uproot buried secrets, it's you, Grim Reaper.”

“Ha. Ha,” I said tonelessly.

“My money's on Kent. I never did like him.”

“Why?”

“Can't put my finger on it. A gut feeling.”

It was enough for me. “When you were house-hunting with Starla, did you pick up any clues from Raina that her marriage was in trouble? Any hint Kent was thinking of divorcing her?”

“She seemed happy. She was excited at the possibility of being on a TV show.” He snapped his fingers and his head jerked up as though he'd just remembered something. “She was trying to talk the producer into making Kent a cohost and was a little anxious about it. Apparently the producer wasn't that into the idea of cohosts. Just another thing that points to Kent. Maybe he wanted that job so much he got rid of his competition.”

It was interesting Raina had been trying to bring Kent on board for the TV show. Had he put that pressure on her, or had she burdened herself with it in an attempt to save her marriage? “Do you know how that turned out? If Kent was being considered as a candidate?”

“Nope. Starla found a house and that was that. I only saw Raina sporadically after Starla signed papers, mostly when Raina dropped in here. You know how it goes. Simple chitchat while I fill the order.”

I needed to track down producer Scott Whiting. Maybe he could shed a little light on the whole TV host gig. Plus, Calliope mentioned Raina had a meeting with him this morning.
It was plausible that—except for the killer—he was the last to speak to Raina before she died.

I took another sip of coffee. “I wonder where Kent was this morning. If he has an alibi.”

“I saw him earlier walking by with Sylar Dewitt.”

Sylar, who was gung ho for the new housing development. Sylar, who was partners in crime with the developer of that proposed neighborhood. Had Kent been trying to get another chance for Magickal Realty to be the exclusive agency? “What time was that?” I asked.

“About nine or so,” he said.

Plenty of time for him to go to the Tavistock house to wait for Raina to show up . . .

We chatted a few minutes more before I finished off my coffee and stood up. I said, “I should get going. More snooping to do.” I tossed the coffee cup in the trash.

Evan's gaze followed its arc and he said, “There is something . . .”

“About?” I asked, curious about his tone.

“Raina. And coffee.” His gaze met mine and for the first time in a long while, his eyes flashed with excitement. “About a month ago, she suddenly switched to decaf.”

“And?” I asked. I could tell there was more.

“I've never known her to turn down a cocktail. Have you?”

“No,” I said. I hadn't. But she was never one to overindulge, either. “Why?” I was curious about where he was going with this conversation.

“After Starla signed on the house, the three of us went out to dinner to celebrate. Raina had club soda.”

Decaf. Club soda. The pieces slid together. My jaw dropped. “You don't think . . .”

“I don't know,” Evan said. “But the only other times I've seen women suddenly change their drinking habits is when . . .”

“They're pregnant,” I answered.

He nodded.

That would be quite a twist in this case. I suddenly, fervently, hoped it wasn't true. It was bad enough Raina was dead, never mind an innocent baby.

The bell jingled again, and a young woman came in, gave us a smile, and headed for the bakery case.

“I'll see you later, Darcy,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.

I picked up my box of treats, hitched my tote over my shoulder, and headed outside.

Pregnant.

If true, it was shocking.

And also a complication Kent probably wasn't anticipating when planning a divorce . . .

Would it have been a happy surprise? Or just another motive to kill his wife?

C
alliope Harcourt and Finn Reardon lived in a picture-perfect cottage not far from the center of town. As I crossed the wooden porch, I was reminded of Goldilocks. This place was
just right
. Not too big, not too small. Perfect for a young couple starting out.

Pink petunias and ivy spilled from a long flower box mounted beneath a wide picture window, and wind chimes played a melodious song. I rang the bell and waited, tapping my foot.

The door swung open, and Finn said, “Hey, Darcy. Thanks for stopping by.”

Where Calliope was prim and proper, Finn appeared devil-may-care and easygoing. He wore a pair of wrinkled shorts and a Dr. Who T-shirt. His red hair was short and spiky, and day-old scruff covered his cheeks and chin. With his blue eyes and hooked nose, he looked like a cross between Prince Harry and Owen Wilson.

As he motioned for me to come inside and sit down, he said, “Quite a day, eh? Calliope finally stopped shaking about an hour ago.”

The living room was done up in bright colors. The walls were painted a turquoise blue, and accented with white, orange, yellow, and red fabrics. A ceiling fan stirred the air, and the breeze fluttered white curtain sheers imprinted with a floral design. It was a happy space. Peaceful. I liked it.

I sat in a striped armchair. “How's she doing?”

“I'm perfectly fine,” she said, coming out from the kitchen carrying a wooden tray with a coffeepot and mugs. She set it on a large tufted ottoman. “A little embarrassed, to tell the truth. I'm not usually such a drama queen. Seeing Raina was such a . . . shock. And this one,” she said, jerking a thumb toward Finn, “won't stop fretting over me.”

That last part hadn't been said with adoration. More like annoyance.

Finn rolled his eyes, but his gaze followed her every move. He didn't relax until she sat on the deep sofa, drawing her legs up beneath her. His watchfulness reminded me of something Nick would do. Being protective. Guarding. Whereas I found the trait endearing, it clearly grated on Calliope's nerves.

“I brought these,” I said, handing the treat box to Finn. “A little something from the Gingerbread Shack. Cake bites.” Also known as cake bait. Sweets to sweeten her up. Get her talking.

“My favorite,” Calliope said, her blue eyes brightening a bit behind her glasses. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'll put them on a plate,” Finn said, heading for the kitchen.

Calliope had changed out of her work clothes and into yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her hair had been let loose, curling around her shoulders, and all makeup had been washed off her face. She looked fifteen.

I reached into my bag and pulled out her phone and binder. “Here are these.” I handed them across to her.

“Thanks,” she said, and she must have been raised with impeccable manners, because she didn't immediately check her phone for messages.

I was a little disappointed by that. It would have been a great lead-in to asking some questions. I was in a bit of a quandary. I didn't know if Calliope or Finn were Crafters, so
I couldn't speak openly about my job to investigate Raina's death. I was going to have to circle around the issue.

A plate clanged in the kitchen as I looked around, searching for any clue she was a witch. If she was, she wasn't a Wishcrafter, as there were photos of her and Finn on the fireplace mantel along with other family pictures. I stood up to look at them. I wanted to see if I recognized anyone from the group shots. Crafters, in particular.

There was one shot of Calliope and Finn dressed head to toe in Boston College colors—maroon and gold—screaming their faces off at a football game. “Did you and Finn meet in grad school?”

Tenderness filled her eyes. “Technically, I was in grad school but he was finishing his undergrad. That picture is actually from the day we met. He had the seat next to mine . . . We've been together ever since. Going on a year now. A whirlwind relationship.”

There was a photo that looked like it was taken at a family reunion. I scanned faces. A lot of long hooked noses and red hair. I smiled. Definitely Finn's relatives. There was one of Calliope dressed in cap and gown with her arm thrown around an older woman. Her mom, I assumed. I placed her in her late sixties, with bottle blond hair and dark eyes that slanted slightly at their corners. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place a connection. I glanced at a few more pictures for any more familiar faces, but none stood out. “Did you grow up here in the village?”

“No, I've only been here since starting grad school,” she said. “But my mother was born and raised here.”

I filed away the tidbit about her mom to look into later. I'd found most people who'd been born here were, in fact, Crafters. But if Calliope was one, why didn't she say so? Crafters in the village definitely knew I was a witch, which meant we could speak openly about it. A cabinet door slammed. Unless . . . Finn was a mortal who wasn't aware of the Craft. That would certainly zip a witch's lips.

“Is this your mom?” I asked, tapping the photo.

“Yes, at my college graduation.”

She'd obviously had Calliope later in life. “She looks familiar, but I don't think I've met her. Maybe I've seen her with you at some point. . . .”

“I don't think so,” she said, shaking her head. “She passed away two years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I said, sitting again.

“Thank you. It's been hard. My mom always spoke so fondly of this village that after she died, I decided to move here and go to grad school nearby.” With a smile, she added, “I underestimated how hard it would be on my own . . . and how much I'd miss her.”

I knew those feelings well.

“Finn came into my life at just the right time, helping me through the worst of it, but today kind of brought back all those feelings of grief.”

“That's understandable,” I said.

“I still can't believe Raina's gone.” She'd paled. It was clear she was still shaken about Raina, despite her protests otherwise.

Finn came back, carrying a purple plate laden with cake bites. He held it out to me, but I politely declined. “Do you know if Raina had any enemies?”

Calliope and Finn shared a long glance as he sat next to her. “Well,” Finn began.

She elbowed him and whispered, “We shouldn't talk about it.”

I leaned forward, hoping I didn't look too eager. “About what?”

Finn said, “Calliope's super loyal, but if he hurt Raina . . .”

“He?” I pressed. “Kent?”

Calliope said, “Finn,” in a low warning tone. She wanted him to zip it.

I added fuel to Finn's fire. “I heard Kent had recently filed for divorce.”

“See?” Finn said to her, shrugging. “It's already out.”

Calliope's gaze narrowed on me. “How do you know that? Raina didn't even know.”

I eyed Calliope—how had
she
known?

As though reading my thoughts, she added, “I only found out because a fax came into the office from Kent's lawyer last week. Kent begged me to keep quiet about it.” She lifted a questioning eyebrow at me.

I didn't want to tell on Nick, so I said, “Gossip is spreading like wildfire around the village about it.”

“I hate gossip,” she said, reaching for a cake bite.

With that depressing revelation, I focused on the loose-lipped Finn. “Do you know what prompted the divorce?”

“Another woman,” Finn said, pouring coffee into a mug.

Calliope shot him a withering look.

He ignored it and handed the mug to me. “Who?” I asked. “And for how long?”

“We don't know who, but Calliope's heard him on the phone with her,” Finn said, pouring coffee into another mug that he handed to Calliope. “And we don't know how long it's been going on, but Kent and Raina hadn't been getting along for months now. It's made working in the office with them hard on Calliope.”

If looks could kill, Finn would be splayed on the floor.
Calliope looked fit to burst at the way he was speaking so openly.

Well, Calliope might have wanted to tape his mouth shut, but I wanted to kiss him. He was a snoop's dream come true.

“Did Raina know about the other woman?” I asked.

Finn looked to Calliope. She reluctantly said, “No. She was clueless about it.”

Interesting. I wondered who the woman was—because she'd just been added to my suspect list.

Finn snapped his fingers. “And we can't rule out the mayor guy. She got in an argument with him yesterday. He's always struck me as kind of shady.”

Mayor guy? Did he mean the village council chairman? “Sylar Dewitt?”

“Yeah. That's him,” Finn said.

Calliope's jaw set and she closed her eyes. I imagined her counting to ten in her head. Maybe twenty.

“What kind of argument?” I asked.

Finn said, “She'd found out recently that Kent had been meeting with him behind her back about representing the new neighborhood, even though she'd already told the guy no. She wasn't happy.”

Hmm. I bet that was the meaning behind her decision-making comment during her and Kent's argument in front of Spellbound.

“Anyways, Kent claimed the mayor guy was the one seeking
him
out, so Raina finally confronted him about it yesterday.”

“And?” I asked.

“Turned out Kent lied,” Finn said. “He's the one who's been pestering the mayor guy.”

“What'd Kent say about that?” I asked.

Finn looked to Calliope.

She shrugged.

Darn her and her tight lips.

Calliope cocked her head. “I think I hear the mailman.
Can you go check?” she said sweetly to Finn. “I'm expecting a package.”

He nodded and jumped up, reminding me of a well-trained puppy.

As soon as he was out the door, she let out a breath. “He's driving me nuts. Don't get me wrong. He means well, but ever since he quit his job he's been so smothering. I love him to pieces but having him around all the time is crazy-making.”

So much for not liking to gossip. “He seems like a good guy,” I said.

“Oh, he is.” Her eyes softened. “He just needs a job. He's been sending out résumés, but no luck so far. He's worked every day since he was eleven and delivering newspapers.” She lowered her voice. “His family didn't have much money, so he always tried to pitch in financially. He had three jobs to help put himself through college. He's such a hard worker and isn't used to downtime. Now that he's out of a job for the first time ever? I think
I've
become his new job.”

Her exasperated dismay at that idea made me smile a bit. I could see how it would be overwhelming, but in a way, it was also kind of sweet.

Finn came back inside. “False alarm.”

“Thanks for checking,” she said.

He nodded. “More coffee, Darcy?”

Apparently it had escaped him that I hadn't even had a sip yet. “No, thanks. Do either of you know where Kent was this morning?”

Finn shook his head.

Calliope said, “He was with clients when Raina was . . .”

She didn't finish the sentence.

Finn took hold of her hand.

“Are you certain of that?” I asked.

Frowning, she shook her head. “No, but it should be easy for the police to confirm. Have you had a chance to talk to Nick? Does he have any other suspects?”

I debated how to answer. “No suspects yet. It looks like Raina might have interrupted a burglary. Wrong place, wrong time,” I said, leaving out the theories of someone perhaps lying in wait for her.

“The diamonds,” Calliope said with a sigh. “Raina was worried people would try to break in now that the house was empty and wanted to get an alarm system installed, but ultimately thought it was a waste of money because she didn't think an alarm would stop someone truly determined.”

I didn't point out that an alarm system might have saved her life in this case. Hindsight was evil.

“I can't believe anyone really thinks that there are diamonds in that house,” Finn said. “It was searched, what? A dozen times by trained professionals?”

It was true it had been searched by professionals. Thirty-five years ago. When the diamonds were hidden by a spell. Now, though? Fair game.

“More than that,” Calliope said, shaking her head. “People are crazy. Those diamonds could be anywhere. Some of the bidders on the house are treasure hunters just looking to tear it apart.”

“Like who?” I asked, hoping she'd name names.

Calliope winced. “You know, I'm getting a bit of a headache. I think maybe a nap will help.” She looked down the hallway toward the bedroom, hinting heavily that I should leave.

Shot down. I needed more time with Finn—without Calliope around. Suddenly, an idea popped into my thoughts, and it was such a brilliant plan I nearly clapped. “Finn, I hear you're looking for a job.”

Calliope threw me a worried glance.

“I heard someone talking about it at the Witch's Brew this morning,” I lied, keeping her confidence.

“Village gossip is fun until it's about yourself,” he said with a self-deprecating smirk as he shook his head. “But yes, I am.”

“What is it you do?” I asked.

“A little bit of everything. I was working for an insurance company but got a lead on a job with a surveying company and quit before everything was signed and sealed. Rookie mistake. The job fell through and I haven't been able to find anything else yet. I was thinking I'd finally look into law school like my family's been bugging me to, but now I'm thinking about taking some real estate classes. Maybe get a job with Calliope.” He nudged her. “Working together would be fun.”

I nearly laughed at the horrified expression on her face.