Although the twins used to live together, when they opted to sell their brownstone, they decided it was finally time to get places of their own. Starla had bought a cottage, and Evan moved into the recently vacated apartment he owned above his bakery. To say that Starla had thrown herself into home decorating wholeheartedly was a vast understatement. And Evan was right-the wallpaper choice hadn't been what I would have picked, but Starla liked it and that was all that mattered.

"And how you haven't said a word about her bad driving. That's impressive. Surely you could do a better job teaching her than Vince."

He was wrong there-that was a job I definitely did not want to tackle. I'd taught Harper how to drive. It had been experience enough to last me a lifetime. But if Evan wanted to think I was backing off on purpose, I'd let him.

Because, okay, it was true that I had a bit of a fix-it complex. A deep-seated need to help others, even when they hadn't asked for it. It started at seven years old when my mother died, and I'd been determined that Harper, a newborn, wouldn't feel as though she was lacking any motherly love.

I'd been working on helping only when asked, but when it came to Evan-or anyone I loved-I knew I couldn't help stepping in on matters that were truly important. "Oh, I don't mind a little regression."

Wiping his hands on his apron, he said, "I'm fine."

"Mmm-hmm."

"I don't need help."

Darn redheaded stubbornness. "Right. When was the last time you went out to dinner? Went shopping? Went out on a date?"

"I do those things."

"When?"

"All the time."

"When?" I pressed.

"I'm fine," he repeated instead of answering.

"If by fine you mean slowly killing yourself, then, yeah, you're dandy."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Darcy."

If there was a quicker way to ignite a woman's temper than telling her she was dramatic, I'd like to know it.

As heat shot into my cheeks, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and steeled myself for a fight. I was about to let him have it-because someone clearly needed to-when the bell on the door jangled, and a family of four came in. Twin toddler girls raced to the bakery case, pressing their plump faces to the glass. They bounced in anticipation, squealing at the delights before them.

Putting my anger on hold, I sat at a bistro table and watched as a harried Evan pasted a smile on his face while the family ordered. Midway through, a timer went off in the kitchen and he had to excuse himself to take care of it.

When he didn't return quickly, one of the toddlers began to fuss, her voice ratcheting up into a sharp whine.

I stuck a whole mini cupcake into my mouth and chewed slowly, letting the treat soothe my nerves. My anger slowly melted away with the chocolate.

The whine turned into a cry.

A friend would have gotten up from her cushy stool and helped Evan out. Finish taking the order or assisted in the kitchen.

But I was a best friend.

And, in my oh so humble opinion, he needed to learn a lesson.

As I waited for him to return, I glanced out the window and stiffened when I saw Vincent's car turn the corner, jump the curb, and straighten out again. Starla had her hands at ten and two and was leaning forward, her chin nearly atop the steering wheel. Vince had his hands glued to the dashboard and a look of pure terror on his face.

Good God. I shook my head at the sight and fervently sent up thanks that she hadn't asked me to teach her to drive. I wouldn't have been able to say no.

It was another issue I was working on.

Evan finally returned, finished the order, and waved as the family walked out the door. As soon as they were out of eyeshot, he grabbed a spray bottle of sanitizer and quickly cleaned the glass on the bakery case, erasing tiny finger and nose prints. He rubbed so hard I suspected he was also trying to erase some bad memories as well. Unfortunately, those weren't so easy to get rid of.

When he finished, he wiped his hands and sat on the stool next to me, letting out a deep breath. Finally, he looked up at me.

I smiled broadly and batted my eyelashes.

"All right. Fine," he said in a rush as he waved his white towel in the air. "I surrender. Before you launch into a full-blown Operation Fix Evan, you can set up some interviews."

It was his way of apologizing. Which I accepted immediately by saying, "Operation Fix Evan does have a nice ring to it. Now, about your love life . . ."

Thunking his head on the tabletop, he said, "Give you an inch. . . ."

"All right, fine. I'll leave that part to you."

"Thank you."

"For now."

He shook his head. "Enough about me. Tell me about this morning. I can't believe Raina's dead. She was so . . . alive. Has Nick learned anything yet?"

"It was surreal," I said, filling him in about finding Raina and all I knew up to this point. "Did you know about the village's connection to the diamond heist?"

"I've heard rumors, but I didn't know there was a Craft connection."

It didn't surprise me. He and Starla hadn't grown up here. Their parents divorced early on, and their mother had moved them out of the village. It wasn't until their grandfather bequeathed them the bakery almost five years ago that they returned.

I dropped my voice. "Seems Crafters don't like to talk about it because of the link to Circe."

"Ve said the diamonds give people unlimited power? What does that mean exactly?"

"I don't know," I said. "She said it's similar to the Elder's powers."

At the mention of the Elder, Andreus's earlier words surfaced in my head, haunting me.

"Most of us in the village know who she is. Except you don't know, do you? Poor thing. Left in the dark. One has to wonder why."

I rubbed an imaginary spot on the table. "Do you know who she is? Her identity?"

"Who? The Elder?"

I nodded. I couldn't believe I'd even asked. That I allowed Andreus's taunts to fester inside my head.

"No, do you?" Eagerly, he leaned in. "Did you find out who it was? Is it Cherise?"

"No, I don't know." Then I added, "Cherise? What makes you think it's her?"

He shrugged. "I don't know exactly. She just seems the Elder type. Wise but bossy."

Cherise. Hmm. Was it possible? Was that why the Elder's voice always sounded oddly familiar?

"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?

Chapter Seven.