She nodded toward the back room where the librarian had disappeared. "What're you getting?"

The librarian had been gone so long I wondered if she'd decided to take her lunch break. Or a vacation day. Or a trip to South America. "A headache."

As I walked back to the counter, I heard Glinda grumble under her breath, and I was pretty sure I was glad I couldn't hear what she said.

Five minutes later, the librarian came back, carrying two boxes. "Here you are. Do you need anything else?"

"Not right now. Thanks."

"If you need me, I'll be in the computer area."

I thanked her again and sat down next to Glinda. I quickly loaded my film and my nerves danced as the newspaper came to life on the screen.

Glinda said, "Have you learned anything about the heist's tipster or the accomplice?"

I stared at her. "Why are you asking?"

"Curiosity."

I continued to stare.

Finally, she said, "Fine, if you must know, Andreus hired me to investigate Raina's death."

Blinking owlishly, I had so many questions about that statement that I couldn't decide where to start.

One thing I knew for certain, however. She wouldn't have told me if she didn't want me to know. A gauntlet had just been thrown. "What do you mean, investigate?"

"I got my PI license." She smiled. "Isn't that great? Oh, and I got mine the real way, not the way you did."

I frowned. Okay, so once upon a time I'd made an agreement with Marcus Debrowski, Harper's then-admirer, that resulted in me getting a PI license. There had been magic involved. Lots of it. But I'd promised Marcus I wouldn't use it until I undertook some of the mortal requirements for the license . . . which I'd yet to do. Fortunately, the Elder hadn't cared about mortal restrictions when hiring me as Craft snoop.

"Isn't that special?" I pushed the button on the machine and newspaper articles flashed by.

"I think so. I was happy to take on Andreus's case, considering he's being railroaded by the police."

She meant Nick. I didn't argue-it's what she wanted.

Squinting at the screen, I tried to ignore her.

"The case is certainly a difficult one. So many suspects. I mean, was the murder personal? Or was Raina in the wrong place at the wrong time? So many questions. But I do know one thing for certain."

I sang Christmas carols in my head.

Loud ones.

"I know that whoever killed Raina holds a grudge against Andreus. Why else frame him? It's that simple. And it's that complicated."

It was an angle of the case that Nick and I had touched on, but hadn't revisited. Why frame Andreus? "It seems to me that Andreus was an easy target. If someone knows about the diamonds, then they know Andreus's father stole them."

"I think it's deeper than that," Glinda said. From the corner of my eye, I saw her shrug as she said, "I think someone has a personal score to settle against him."

I bit my tongue so I wouldn't ask why.

Focusing on the screen, I skimmed articles. If only these files had been digitized. It would have been so easy to type in my mom's name and wait for the computer to do the work for me.

"And it has to be someone who knows Andreus's mother."

Don't look, don't look, don't look. I turned my head.

Don't say anything, don't say anything. Deck the halls with boughs of- "Why?"

"Just a hunch," she said, turning her full attention to the screen.

It served me right. I shouldn't have nipped at her bait.

"Personal scores can entail many things, however. A business deal gone wrong. A spurned lover, of which he's had many . . ."

"Ew."

"I try not to think about it too hard," she said. "But the angle with his mother is an interesting one. It's the key to this case, I believe."

"Well, good luck with that." I continued to skim, ready to give up simply because I couldn't stand listening to Glinda any longer.

LOCAL WOMAN DIES IN OHIO CRASH.

My heart slammed into my throat, lodged there, making it hard to breathe.

The short article was dated a week after the accident and told only the bare basics. Former proprietress of popular village business As You Wish, Deryn Octavia Merriweather (nee Devany), thirty-seven years old, had died after a single car accident on a Cincinnati roadway. Survived by husband, Patrick, daughters, Darcy and Harper, and sister, Velma Devany. There was an Ohio address listed to send flowers.

I couldn't stop staring at the word proprietress.

As You Wish had once been my mother's company?

"Darcy? Are you okay?"

"I-" Nope. My throat was too thick to get a word out.

Had my mom turned it over to Ve when she left for Ohio? Or had Aunt Ve inherited the business?

Either way, I should have known.

Shouldn't I?

"Darcy? Seriously, you're starting to scare me."

"I-I'm fine." I was. Just a little shocked.

"Right," she said, standing up and disappearing.

Words swam in front of my eyes. Why hadn't I been told? It was easy enough to do so. Hey, Darcy, As You Wish started as your mom's company. How hard would that have been? Lots of people had to have known, too. Anyone who'd grown up here.

Then I thought about what Mrs. P told me yesterday, when she let it slip that there was a year's waiting period to learn about the Elder.

You didn't ask.

I didn't buy that excuse in this case. Which meant that for some reason, it was being kept from me. Why?

It's the nature of secrets, Ms. Merriweather. They're meant to be kept.

Andreus's words haunted me. This was why secrets were kept. Because uncovering them sometimes led to more questions.

And pain.

"Here," Glinda said, pushing a bottle of cold water into my hand. "Drink."

"You're not allowed drinks over here."

"For crying out loud, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Drink it."

I twisted off the cap and drank.

Glinda leaned over my shoulder, reading. Her voice was gentle when she said, "Your mom?"

If she made one crack, so help me, I'd lay her flat right here and now. "Yes."

"Pretty name. Unusual. Deryn. What's it mean?"

"I don't know." My dad had always called her Dee. Suddenly I wondered if that was only his pet nickname for her, or if others called her that as well. Another question to ask Ve.

"You okay?" Glinda asked.

I looked up at her and was a little surprised when I saw concern in her eyes. "I think I like it better when you're mean to me."

"Oh, me too. You think being nice to you is easy? Don't get used to it."

I smiled. "That's better."

She sat back down in her seat. "How old were you when she died?"

"Seven."

"That's rough. Though I have issues with my mother-Lord, how I have issues-I can't imagine not having her around. Truthfully, a little distance would be nice. I wouldn't mind if she moved, to, oh, Florida."

"Me neither. She's a piece of work." I didn't add that I hoped Glinda would go with her. It was the least I could do since she'd brought me water and all.

Looking haunted, she said, "Imagine growing up with that."

For the first time, I tried, but I couldn't quite because I didn't want to be scarred for life. Dorothy was as narcissistic as they came. No wonder Glinda was so screwed up.

I carefully took the microfilm out of the machine and put it back in its box. I stood up. "Thanks for the water."

"You're welcome."

As I started to walk away, Glinda called out to me.

I turned. "Yeah?"

She clenched her fist, released it, clenched it again. "Is Mimi okay?"

Slowly, I nodded.

"Good. That's good." She turned back to the screen.

Sighing, I dropped the film off at the reference desk and hurried out of the library before I did something stupid like invite her over for dinner tonight.

She was desperately in need of Operation Fix Glinda.

But I was not the witch to undertake such a dangerous mission.

Chapter Twenty.

A construction truck was parked in front of Oracle Realty as Cherise and I walked up. Happily, she hadn't opted to wear the leather jumpsuit.

A young reed-thin man in tight-fitting jeans and a backward baseball cap stood on the walkway and critically eyed the low-pitched roofline. He jotted a note on a clipboard, then went back to eyeing.

The agency was housed in a tiny bungalow not far from the library. Its adorable exterior bespoke of a simpler time when two bedrooms and one bath was plenty of room. Ferns hung from hooks attached to a long front porch, and a pair of rockers sat in front of a stacked-stone front facade. Nantucket blue clapboard sided the rest of the house.

Cherise and I stepped up next to him. "Hey, Hank," she said. "What're you looking at?"

I was beginning to believe that Cherise knew every single person in this village.

He pointed toward the house with the tip of his pencil. "Trying to decide whether it's best to bust up or bust out."

"Out," she said matter-of-factly, then added, "That's a big job."

"Yes, ma'am. Once I get a plan drawn up and permits acquired, it's full speed ahead. Should be done by Christmas." He smiled full-on, and I was taken aback at how much he looked like a young Elvis.

"It'll be beautiful," she said. "All your work is."

"You might be a bit biased, Aunt Cher."