"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.

She pasted on a fake smile. "The best."

"But until then, I'm looking for anything," he went on. "Do you know of any openings?"

I leaned forward. "How are you with, say, cake?"

His brows dropped. "I like it? Why?"

"While you're looking for something more permanent, the Gingerbread Shack is hiring part-time." I felt a twinge of guilt using him this way, but tried to tell myself it was for the greater good and not solely self-serving. This was a perfect plan. Finn could work there until he scored a full-time job. It would get him out of Calliope's hair. And it would help transition Evan into hiring someone full-time. It would also give me time to quiz Finn without Calliope around. Win-win-win. "I know it's not your ideal job, not even close, but it's something to do. And Evan pays well. Plus . . . cake."

Her "headache" forgotten, Calliope perked up. "Really?"

Finn threw her a questioning glance.

I said, "The job is yours . . . if you're interested? You could start tomorrow morning. Nine a.m.?"

He glanced at Calliope, then at me. "Okay. Sounds good. Thanks."

I stood up to go and suddenly thought of one more thing I wanted to ask Calliope. "The necklace that was in Raina's hand this morning . . . do you know where it came from? It's so unusual." I wanted her to confirm Raina had gotten the charm from Andreus.

"No," she said quickly, standing as well. Then added, "She started wearing it about a month ago."

I bit my lip. "To me, it looks like one of Andreus Woodshall's pieces. Do you know him?"

"Only through Magickal Realty," she said. "And of course, I've seen his booth at the Roving Stones events."

"Is he one of the bidders on the Tavistock house?" I asked. "One of the treasure hunters? After all, if his father was the one who stole the diamonds, maybe he told Andreus where they were hiding?"

Calliope took a sip of coffee, eyeing me over the rim of the mug. "You know I can't tell you anything about the bidders. However, I'm sure if Andreus knew where the diamonds were that he would have recovered them long before now."

Not if they'd been hidden with a magic spell.

"You can't verify if he's a bidder? Not even now? With everything that's happened?" I pressed.

"The house is still for sale, Darcy. The deadline for offers is tonight."

Finn shuddered at the word deadline.

Which made me shudder, too.

"It hasn't been postponed?" I asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Calliope said. "Kent wants the Tavistock house out of his life. The sooner the better." She wrung her hands. "He, ah, actually turned the sale over to me."

"He did?" I asked. "When?"

"Yeah, when?" Finn asked, standing, too.

Calliope looked between us. "He stopped by a little while ago to check on me. You," she said to Finn, "were out picking up soup."

Finn said quietly, "You should have told me. That's good news for you. Your first potential sale."

"It's hard to celebrate," she said, frowning. "Considering the circumstances."

"I'm confused." I tipped my head. "Are you licensed to sell real estate? I thought you were sending out resumes to museums." She'd told Cherise and me all about wanting to become an archivist. Had she given up on her dream job?

"Of course that's my first love and I would jump at an opportunity if one came along," she explained, "but several months ago when Kent suggested I take the license exam I decided it was a good idea, given the current job market. A bird in hand . . ." She smiled wanly at Finn.

Ouch. Her passive-aggressive jab at him made me uncomfortable-but fortunately he didn't seem to even notice it.

I wanted to ask Calliope about the possibility that Raina was pregnant, but before I could figure out how to word such an obvious invasion of privacy, Calliope's phone buzzed from the ottoman. I glanced down and saw Kent's name appear on the screen. Bending, she pushed the screen to decline the call.

Facing me, she offered a weak smile. "Thanks again for coming by." She reached out an arm to guide me to the door.

Our conversation was obviously over.

Finn remained behind, staring at the phone, his brows drawn downward in disgust as color drained from his face.

Seemed Finn didn't like Kent much.

As I headed outside, I couldn't help think about Harper's earlier suspicions about Calliope.

And how Finn said Kent was seeing another woman, and then how he had reacted to seeing Kent's name on his fiancee's phone.

Maybe Calliope wasn't annoyed with Finn because he was smothering.

Maybe it was because she was having an affair with her boss. . . .

Chapter Eight.

As I walked back toward the village green, I tried to mentally encapsulate everything I'd learned about this case to keep things straight in my mind.

Kent. With a divorce imminent, maybe he'd taken the easy way out and simply killed his wife. Or, perhaps he wanted her out of the way because she turned down lucrative business opportunities. His alibi was still a question mark. Was the rumor of him cheating true? If so, with whom? (Calliope?) Because that person would become a suspect as well.

Calliope. If she was having an affair with Kent, it could be motive for murder. But she knew he was filing for divorce. Why not simply wait it out? But what if her motive came in the form of wanting Raina's job? Now that I knew Calliope had a real estate license, it was clear that Raina's death had created a financial opportunity for Calliope. It was an angle to explore, because money was a big motivator.

Noelle Quinlan. She had much the same motives as Kent. With Raina out of the way, Noelle's company, Oracle Realty, could thrive. And perhaps Noelle would score the TV job, too.

Andreus. Had he been searching the house when Raina came in early and found him? Was it possible the amulet in her hand and the letter A on the wall was her way of identifying her killer? Could it be that cut-and-dried, as Nick had implied?

Quickly, I scooted around a pair of hand-holding tourists and glanced across the green toward the Tavistock house, hoping to see if Nick was still around. I wanted to let him know about Kent having a possible mistress.

I spotted Nick's police car, the Bumblebeemobile-a black-and-yellow MINI Cooper, parked at the end of the block. Good. He was still here.

Halfway across the green, I spotted a scene that stopped me dead in my tracks. A man and a woman in the midst of a heated conversation. She looked determined. He looked like he wanted to flee.

I didn't blame him a bit.

Sighing, I reluctantly altered my course toward them, holding in a groan as I approached.

I heard the man say, "But you have no real estate experience."

"I'm a fast learner," she cooed as she dug red-tipped nails into his arm, "and I'd look fabulous on TV."

Usually, I'd go out of my way to avoid Dorothy Hansel Dewitt but the man she was talking to held something in the crook of his arm that belonged to me.

"Hi," I said, stepping up to them with a bright fake smile.

Scott Whiting looked at me the same way a man adrift in the sea might eye a Coast Guard vessel.

Dorothy's gaze fell on me as well, and she looked at me the same way a woman adrift might eye an oil slick.

I ignored her and focused on Scott. Ruggedly handsome, he looked better suited to be a Scandinavian mountain climber. Medium height with longish dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Lean and muscled. Outdoorsy with his plaid shirt, jeans, and low-cut hiking boots. Late thirties. "She obviously likes you," I said to him.

I wasn't referring to Dorothy-though that appeared to be true as well.

Smiling, he handed Missy over to me. "Found her sitting beneath the window of my room at the Pixie Cottage."

Dorothy sniffed. "You should get better control over your dog, Darcy. You wouldn't want someone to call the dog warden, who might mistake her as a stray and euthanize her."

Missy growled a bit, and I rubbed her head. "By someone, you mean you?" I questioned Dorothy. Once upon a time, I would have let her comment go. I'd learned a lot about how to deal with the Hansel family from my time spent with Glinda. Calling them on their rudeness was the best offensive.

Finally letting go of Scott, Dorothy pushed a hand against her big bosom. A large button that said REELECT SYLAR and had a picture of a thumbs-up in the background was pinned to the strap of her dress. "I would never."

She'd do it in a heartbeat, and we both knew it. Glinda hadn't fallen far from her maternal tree.

When I first met Dorothy, I'd called her a baby-booming bimbo. After all, she'd been trying to steal Sylar away from my aunt Ve. Little did the pair of them realize that Ve had been more than willing to let him go.

In her fifties, Dorothy was a petite thing with generous curves. Wavy pale blond hair, big blue eyes. She wore a flirty midlength A-line sundress that accentuated her cleavage and narrow waist.

I bit my tongue to keep from mentioning the antics of Glinda's dog, Clarence. I wouldn't stoop to Dorothy's level but silently admitted sometimes taking the high road sucked.

"Thanks for catching her," I said to Scott. "Again. She is a bit of an escape artist."

Another understatement. I was racking them up today.

"It's not a problem." His gaze slid to Dorothy. "Her company is more enjoyable than most."

Though I barely knew him, I decided I liked this man.

If Dorothy noticed his dig, she didn't let on. She said, "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?" She glared at me before batting her eyelashes at Scott. "Please tell me you'll consider my proposal, Mr. Whiting?"

Adopting a firm tone, he said, "Mrs. Dewitt, as charming as you may be, I don't think it's plausible for you to take over as host for the home show. My audience would be confused. They would expect an experienced broker."

She waved a hand. "Nonsense. Don't underestimate what audiences will adjust to."

Truly amused, I glanced at Dorothy. "You want to host the TV show? You're an optician assistant."

Her shoulders drew back, and her eyes narrowed. Her forehead didn't wrinkle, however. Botox, I'd bet.

"Manager," she corrected snidely.

Ah, so she'd been promoted once she married Sylar. Nepotism at its best.

"And who knows this village better than I do?" she asked defensively. "I've lived here my whole life. And when the new development goes in, I'd be the perfect one to show it off."

My eyes widened. "You want the new neighborhood?"

Granted, Dorothy was married to Sylar, who had staked his whole reelection campaign on the development, but Dorothy was a Crafter. A Broomcrafter. I couldn't believe she'd openly support the new neighborhood.

The corner of her eye twitched as she said, "Of course. It's a wonderful opportunity for village growth."

"Said like one of Sylar's sound bites," I said, disgusted with her. Her heritage was at stake. The Elder's meadow.

She jabbed a finger my way. "Don't you judge me, Darcy Merriweather. I make my own choices. I'm not some little puppet being played a fool."

Missy lurched, snapping her teeth at Dorothy's finger. I pulled her back before she made contact. Whew. A close one. Because if Missy had broken skin, then I had no doubt Dorothy would have made a call to animal control.

I held Missy close to my chest and glared at Dorothy. "No," I said. "You're just a fool."

She had been clearly discussing this matter with Andreus. Both had used the term "puppet" in reference to my work for the Elder. Which made me wonder if Dorothy knew who the Elder was as well.

Then the most distressing thought crossed my mind. What if Dorothy was the Elder? My stomach roiled, and I kept telling myself it wasn't possible.

Even though it was entirely possible.

Denial at its best.

Menacingly, Dorothy stepped toward me.

I tipped my head in a bring-it-on kind of way. I'd clearly reached my breaking point for the day if I was willing to have a catfight with Dorothy in the middle of the village.

"Ladies," Scott said, stepping between us. "Perhaps this discussion between you should be revisited another time when cooler heads prevail."