Some Like It Witchy - Some Like It Witchy Part 7
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Some Like It Witchy Part 7

"Kent's coming in later with his lawyer, and I'll get more answers."

"Did he have an alibi?"

"Claimed he was with clients during the time frame Raina was murdered. I still need to verify it, however."

"What was the time frame?" I asked.

"The ME on the scene placed it between nine thirty and ten."

I hated thinking that it was possible Raina was being killed while Cherise and I were sitting outside waiting for her. "One thing . . . Raina was notoriously early for appointments. Anyone who knew her well would know that."

"Like Kent?" he asked.

"You might want to talk to Noelle Quinlan as well."

His eyebrows shot up in question.

"As Raina's biggest rival, she has a lot to gain from Raina's death." I shrugged. "And as a colleague, she'd know Raina's habit of arriving early, too. I'm sure she's scheduled many appointments with her."

"But would either of them know about the diamonds to use a burglary as a cover-up?" he asked.

"Apparently, most of the village knows about the diamonds. As real estate agents, they have to know the history of the house."

I glanced at my watch.

"Where are you off to?" he asked.

"I need to pry information from Evan about Raina. Then I have to stop by Calliope's to return some of her things. And I need to find out more about the Circe Heist. Ve and Cherise were fairly tight-lipped."

He smiled, knowing what I had planned. "Pepe?"

"And Mrs. P. If they don't know anything, then no one knows anything."

"I'd like to know more about this amulet, too," he said, holding it up. "What was it for? Why did Raina have it?"

"It doesn't seem as though Andreus is going to answer that question," I said. He didn't seem to want to answer anything. Even though I hated asking for help, I might have to ask the Elder to speak with him. She and I were on good terms these days. Peaceful. Harmonious. As long as I did exactly what she said, we got along swimmingly. It had been months since I'd been to talk to her.

I kind of missed her. Not that I'd say so.

"And why was it in Raina's hand?" I asked, thinking out loud. "Was it placed in her hand by the killer to throw us off track and put our attention on Andreus?"

"You think someone's framing him?" Nick asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But doesn't it just seem a little too cut-and-dried for Raina to have Andreus's amulet in her hand and his initial on the wall?"

"Sometimes cases are cut-and-dried, Darcy."

"Around here?"

"I see what you mean. But if the killer chose him specifically to frame, why? Because of the link to the diamonds?"

"Undoubtedly. And we can't rule out that he planted the amulet himself to throw off suspicion. Make it appear that he's being framed."

Nick nodded. "I can see him doing that."

Me, too. Easily. I nodded toward the baggie in his hand. "Can you send me a photo of the amulet before you put it in the evidence locker? Andreus isn't the only one in this village who's a Charmcrafter. I might be able to get answers from someone else."

"Good idea." He glanced toward the Tavistock house. "I need to get back. I'd like to get the crime scene cleared before school lets out. You know how Mimi gets. She'll be hanging on the fence if I'm still in there."

"She'll still be hanging on the fence whether you're there or not."

He laughed. "You're probably right. She'll be as immersed in this case as we are by supper time."

"That long?" I teased. Once Mimi caught wind of what happened, she was going to ask every question that came to mind. She was a mini-Harper that way. Nick had long since given up on trying to quell her interest in police work. And having just turned thirteen, she was old enough to know what was going on-with some of the gorier details left out.

"I'll ask Harper to keep her busy this afternoon," I said. "That should help a bit."

Relief flashed in his eyes. "Thanks."

"Before you go . . ." His mention of hanging on the fence reminded me of Cherise, and how she'd latched onto that finial that morning. "Will the investigation stall the sale of the home?"

He said, "Not necessarily. As long as we're still allowed access inside if need be. I'll see you later?"

I nodded.

He gave me a quick kiss before weaving into the crowd.

I took a long look at the Tavistock house and felt that familiar pull toward it, as though it was supposed to be mine. I wished it were.

Just like I wished it could reveal the secrets it held.

Chapter Six.

Walking into the Gingerbread Shack was a pleasant assault on my senses. At first it was the happy sound of the jingle bells greeting me at the door. Then a heady mix of spices and vanilla and chocolate enveloped me, and I greedily breathed it in like an asthmatic would a life-saving inhaler. Letting the scentsational magic of this shop seep into my very being.

"I'll be right out," Evan called from the kitchen.

"Take your time," I said. "It's only me."

After the death last year of one of his employees, Michael Healy, Evan had been hesitant to hire on more help, but he desperately needed it. More often than not, the front counter was left unmanned while Evan worked in the kitchen.

Which was clearly not an issue right now, as the shop was empty. Most everyone in the village was still across the green, their nosiness parked at the curb in front of the Tavistock house. However, there were many days a line formed out the Gingerbread Shack's door, and those were the times he had trouble keeping up.

Although he was half Wishcrafter, Evan's predominate Craft was Bakecrafting. Confections created with ordinary ingredients were made extraordinary by Evan's heritage. The treats he made were nothing short of heavenly, but it was his secret ingredient that kept his customers coming back.

Magic.

Allowing him to make the perfect bite, which filled its eater with a sense of contentment.

It was no wonder his shop was one of the most successful in the village.

"I was hoping you'd come by," Evan said, still in the kitchen. "I'm dying of curiosity about what happened this morning."

Dying.

I shuddered at his word choice.

I tried to play it off. "Oh, you know. All in a day's work."

Finding dead bodies was becoming commonplace.

And the fact that that notion didn't disturb me as much as it once would have was slightly disturbing.

Baking pans clanged. "You're going to get a reputation, Darcy Merriweather." His voice held a hint of humor.

"Archie's already called me the Grim Reaper this morning. It's bound to spread."

He laughed. "He'll commission T-shirts soon, the crazy old bird."

Archie and Evan had a bit of a love-hate relationship. They loved to hate each other.

"If he does," I said, "I'll make sure he saves one for you."

"A size medium. I've been working out."

He wasn't fooling me. He hadn't been working out. He'd been working. Long days. Long nights. And losing weight because of it, despite being surrounded by treats all the time.

My gaze zipped to the bakery case, and I headed for it as though a moth drawn to a flame. Who could blame me? The Gingerbread Shack was a novelty bakery specializing in delectable mini desserts. Cake bites were Evan's biggest claim to fame, and they sat in perfect rows inside the case, each seemingly saying "Pick me!" Devil's food bites, cheesecake, vanilla, pina colada, brownie, German chocolate . . . Each coated in flavorful icings and dipped in varying chocolates that were then fancily decorated. Some with piped swirls or chopped nuts or toasted coconut or a dusting of cinnamon or crushed candies. There was no limit to the combinations because there was no limit to Evan's imagination.

Sharing the case with the cake bites were the petit fours, triple chocolate mini mousse cakes, mini cupcakes, macaroons, and tiny tarts and cheesecakes. My mouth began to water.

Evan zipped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on an apron hanging low on his slim hips. His jeans sagged a bit, another reminder he'd lost weight recently-and he hadn't really had much to spare in the first place. Once, he was a naturally slim man who'd carried a bit of a paunch, a hazard of his job.

That paunch was now gone.

Flour dusted his fair cheeks and his ginger-blond hair. Blue eyes flared wide with frenetic energy as he bustled behind the counter, grabbing a cardboard coffee cup. He handed it to me and set out a plate. Reaching into the bakery case, he pulled out two mini devil's food cupcakes. My favorite. "Spill. Tell me everything about the morning."

I studied him carefully. "How much coffee have you had today?"

"Not enough. Despite this lull, it's been crazy around here." He slid the plate over to me.

"I'll need a dozen mixed cake bites to go, too."

"Sure thing." He quickly boxed the order.

I planned to give the treats to Calliope, hoping they'd loosen her tongue about the goings-on in Raina's life. A little enticement never hurt anyone.

Evan slid the box across the counter, and I pulled out my wallet.

"Darcy."

"Evan," I returned with a smile, mimicking his exasperated tone.

He never wanted to charge me, and I always insisted on paying. We'd been doing this same song and dance for nearly a year. I slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. He had a living to make, and because I was here so often, my orders would quickly go from friendly freebies to mooching.

"You should hire some more help," I said for what was probably the hundredth time.

"Soon," he said, jabbing cash register keys.

We'd been doing this song and dance since last Halloween, when a murderer had, in one moment of pure evil, taken the life of a young man. In that act, however, the killer had given something to Evan.

Fear.

Even though he never said so, Evan had been more traumatized by Michael's murder than he let on. Mostly because the young man hadn't only been an employee but also a friend.

In the months since the murder, it had become clear Evan was afraid to grow close to anyone else.

He closed ranks around his nearest and dearest, not letting anyone else in and edging others out. Throwing himself into his job, he'd become even more of a workaholic. Once sociable, he was now a homebody. Early to bed, early to rise.

Rinse. Repeat.

The stress of it all showed on his face, in the purplish coloring beneath his cobalt blue eyes that now had fine lines stretching from their outer corners. In the hollowness of once round cheeks. In the smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

He handed my change to me, and I dropped some of it in the tip jar.

"How soon will you hire someone?" I pressed, heading for the coffee carafes.

With rushed yet fluid motions, he quickly wiped down the countertops with a dishcloth. "I'm not sure. I don't really have the time right now. Summer's always busy with the increase in tourism and weddings and parties. . . ."

I filled my cup, set the lid, and turned to him. I arched an eyebrow. "Seems to me it would be less busy for you if you hired some more help in addition to your two current part-timers."

He stopped wiping. "You're not going to let this go, are you, Darcy?"

"You need help. And I want to help by finding you help."

"That's a lot of help." A smile stretched across his face.

I gave him a wry grin. "It's what I do."

"I thought you were cutting back on the help thing." He pressed his hands to his chest. "I wouldn't want to be the cause of your regression. You've been making some real progress. Like when you didn't butt in when Starla was flipping out over wallpaper choices. You stepped back and let her choose on her own. It was the wrong choice," he said, shaking his head. "But that wasn't your fault."