"For the head examination or the injuries?" I asked, barely managing to keep a straight face.

"Darcy! This isn't funny." Starla huffed in annoyance. "We called Cherise's office, but it went to voice mail. Do you have her private cell number? I have it at home but not with me, which is why I motioned you in here in the first place." She eyed me. "Which I'm now having second thoughts about."

"You know I'm just teasing you," I said, pulling out my cell phone to search my contacts. I held the phone out to her. "Here."

Without a word, she handed the ice pack to me, took the phone, and strode to the cash register station to find a pad of paper. Twink bounced along behind her.

I set the ice on Vince's forehead and patted his shoulder.

He glanced up at me, his big brown eyes wide and full of apprehension. Whispering, he said, "I didn't see a single squirrel."

Squishing my lips together, I tried to hold in my laughter, but it bubbled inside me, shaking my chest until it burst out.

Vince started laughing, too, and we both had tears in our eyes when Starla stomped back over to us.

She thrust my phone at me, crossed her arms, and shook her head at us. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I said, gasping for breath.

"For crying out loud!" she said, spinning me around to face the door. Marching me in that direction, she added, "You're not making this better. Out, out you go. I'll see you later. And when you tell me the details of your traumatic day, I promise not to laugh at you."

"Oh, I don't know," I said, wiping my eyes. "There were some amusing parts. Like Sy's our guy! And moush. And horse faces."

"You've lost your mind," she said, a smile finally cracking her stern expression. "Too many dead bodies. Maybe you should see Cherise about a head examination, Darcy Merriweather."

Which only made me laugh harder.

Opening the door, Starla fairly shoved me through the opening. She looked left and right down the street. "Be careful of squirrels," she said, then slammed the door closed behind me.

My lingering humor evaporated the moment I walked through the door of the Black Thorn.

Lydia Harkette Wentworth, a Floracrafter, glanced up from writing down Kent Gallagher's order and smiled when she saw me. "Darcy, good to see you! I'll be with you in a moment."

The shop was filled with the heady scent of blooms in every color-including black roses that were magically cultivated nearby. I walked over to a display of them and ran a finger along a dark petal. The Witching Hour roses. Unfortunately, the beautiful flowers brought with them sad memories after they played a role in the murder of Michael Healy last year, and the attempted murder of . . . me.

I tried not to think too hard about the day I'd almost died right here in this very shop and tried to focus on the good that had come out of that case. A mended family. Lydia had never looked happier.

"No problem. I don't mind waiting," I said, sidling up to the counter and looking at Kent. "My condolences on Raina's passing."

"Um, thanks," he murmured. He took off his green tweed cap and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose I should offer you my sympathies as well. Calliope, ah, told me you were there when Raina was found."

"Yes, I was," I said softly, studying him. He looked like your everyday average businessman. Nice slacks, button-down shirt, impeccable haircut. Shiny shoes, classy watch. He didn't look like someone you'd see on a WANTED poster, but I'd learned over the course of a year that murderers rarely looked anything other than normal. And it was hard to argue that Kent had motive. Lots of it.

Lydia tsked. "So tragic."

Kent nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket to check messages.

"Have you had a chance to plan services?" I asked. If he was here ordering funeral sprays, then he had to have a date in mind.

"Calliope is handling it for me," he said. "I'll know more tomorrow."

I set my jaw. He couldn't even be bothered to plan his wife's funeral?

Lydia tapped an order pad with the tip of a pencil. "Five Augury Circle. Correct?"

"That's right," he said.

She smiled. "We'll have the bouquet delivered tonight."

"Augury Circle?" I repeated. It was Calliope and Finn's address.

"Just, um, sending a little pick-me-up to Calliope." He put his phone away and looked at me. "She's had a difficult day."

"I know," I said, unable to keep judgment out of my voice. It was looking more and more like he was having an affair with her. Harper was not going to let me live this down.

He pulled out his wallet and handed a credit card over to Lydia. Leaning in, he looked between us and said, "Truthfully, I'm hoping the flowers will help convince her to stop job hunting and stay on with me. She's a great employee, and excellent saleswoman. I've got big plans in the works, and I need her." He blinked imploringly at Lydia. "Work is all I have left to keep me sane."

I wanted to gag at the line he was feeding us, but was intrigued by these big plans he was speaking of.

Lydia tsked sympathetically. "Perhaps now is not the best time to be thinking of work. Allow yourself to grieve a little."

Nodding thoughtfully, he said, "It's best I keep busy so I don't have time to think about . . . it."

It. Raina's death. I grit my teeth.

Since he was so willing to talk about work, I pried a little. "Sometimes it's good to be busy," I said, not believing this was one of those times. "I heard Magickal Realty is vying for the contract for the new development."

His eyes lit. Bingo.

"I'm very interested," he said. "And I already have a marketing plan in place."

Interesting, seeing as how Raina had vetoed the plan. He'd definitely gone behind her back.

"All I need," he said, flashing a smile, "is the village council to, ah, approve the neighborhood."

"Don't hold your breath," Lydia said. "A lot of the town is opposed."

"We'll see." He glanced at his watch. "I, uh, have a showing soon. A beautiful beach house. Four bedrooms, two baths, fully updated. Gorgeous."

Dorothy's earlier words about Kent floated back to me. He can't string a pair of words together without adding an um or uh betwixt the two.

She'd been right. I hated that.

"You have a showing right now?" I asked. "Surely, your clients will understand if you postpone . . ."

"I was with them at the home this morning when the call came about Raina," he said. "I feel as though I owe them an explanation. And," he said with a hint of a smile, "they're ready to offer on the home. I can't let this opportunity slip by."

I forgot to ask Nick if Kent's alibi had been confirmed yet.

Compassion waned in Lydia's eyes. "Really, Kent. Take the time to grieve. People will understand if you do, but they won't understand if you don't. You don't want that kind of gossip if you want to save your reputation."

I wanted to give her a high five.

His anxious gaze flicked between us. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Grief will do that to you," Lydia said reassuringly, ready to give him a second chance.

He signed the receipt, tipped his cap to us, and said, "I'll see you ladies around."

I ended up ordering a bouquet of flowers for Ve to be delivered on Election Day, and was surprised to find Kent still outside the shop when I left. His back was to me as he leaned against a lamppost and spoke on the phone.

I thought he might actually be canceling his plans until I heard him say, "Great. I'll, um, bring the paperwork. Let's get this done tonight. See you in half an hour."

He hung up, turned, and saw me watching him.

Without a word, he zipped past me, and I remembered what Mimi had said earlier.

He was fake. A big pretender.

Definitely.

But it was looking more and more like he wasn't a killer.

Chapter Fourteen.

The Enchanted Village Public Library was just as charming as the rest of the area businesses. Tucked into a glen near the edge of the Enchanted Woods, it looked like a building from a Grimm fairy tale with its weathered shaker siding, stained glass, and gingerbread trim.

I sat at a microfilm machine, zipping through old papers at a record pace. The library closed in fifteen minutes.

Mimi sat at a table next to me poring over mythology books. "Can you imagine a magic wand that turned men you didn't like into animals?" she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Poof, you're a lion. Poof, you're a pig."

I smiled at her. "Imagine all Ve's exes."

She laughed. "Poor Godfrey. I wonder what an actual rat-toad looks like?" She suddenly sobered and lowered her voice even though we were the only ones in this section. "Do you think those men were the first familiars?"

It was a very good question. "It wouldn't surprise me," I said simply. And it wouldn't.

"Me neither. I'm going to see what other books I can find," she said and hurried off.

I was waiting for Colleen Curtis to bring me the film for the Toil and Trouble from October 1979, which she was having a little trouble finding. In the meantime, she had hooked me up with the Boston Globe.

I'd already uncovered one fact I hadn't known.

Sebastian Woodshall had been in disguise when he stole the Circe diamonds.

Not just the police uniform, but full makeup as well. I zoomed in the newspaper photo that the museum's security camera had captured, showing a close-up image of the man in the police uniform walking up to the guard. The picture had been blasted across the media in the hours following the heist. There probably hadn't been a person in all of New England who didn't know what the thief looked like.

Then I glanced at a headshot I'd printed of Sebastian Woodshall, which had been published after he was killed.

On the surface, the two men didn't appear to be the same person.

The police officer had a bulbous nose, chubby cheeks, wrinkled brow, and weak chin.

Sebastian had obviously passed his good looks on to Andreus. They looked almost identical, both movie-star handsome with high cheekbones, aristocratic nose, smooth brow, and square chin.

I looked between the two photos of Sebastian. The cop. The headshot.

No one, not ever, would link the two. The disguise had been that good.

Sebastian would have gotten away scot-free except for that tipster.

An hour after the media publicized the shot of the cop who'd stolen the diamonds, the FBI received an anonymous phone call. A female who named names and places.

The FBI closed in on the Tavistock house, and Sebastian had made a run for it. He'd been shot and killed while resisting arrest. The accounts of searches of the Tavistock house had been widely published. The accomplice, who newspaper sources claim had driven the getaway car, had never been identified. And the diamonds, of course, had never been found.

Eleta Tavistock had been put through the wringer but there was no evidence linking her to the planning of the crime. The Globe published a photo of her leaving the police station the day after Sebastian was killed, and it appeared as though grief had already taken its toll on her. Though she held her head high, her eyes looked puffy and haunted, her brows drawn low, the corners of her lips turned down. I printed that photo, too. As I looked at it, it was easy to reconcile why this woman had spent the rest of her life holed up in her house, mourning the man she was to marry. She looked . . . hollow. Broken.

Hearing footsteps I looked up to find Colleen headed my way. "Here's the one from the Toil and Trouble for that month," she said, setting a small box on the table. "Sorry it took so long-it was misfiled."

"No problem." I quickly swapped out the films and pushed the FORWARD button on the machine until it landed on the date I was looking for.

Colleen's strawberry blond hair was held back by a thick fabric headband. "The Toil and Trouble is the only paper that the library hasn't fully digitized yet-it's currently in the works."

"How long does that process take?" I asked.

"A couple of months. Sorry," she said again.

"It's okay. I like it here." Which was good because I was going to have to come back-I didn't have enough time to properly sort through the film.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Colleen asked.

"Just some history about the Tavistock house. You know, since Cherise is thinking of buying it. I heard some rumors . . ."

"The diamonds. Right."

I glanced at her as the film loaded. "You know about the diamonds, too?"

"Oh sure," she said, propping a hip on the table. "Every couple of months treasure hunters come through to look at the same microfilm you're viewing. They ask a ton of questions about the Tavistock house and leave, usually never to be seen again. It's really quite fascinating."