5 Beewitched (28 page)

“The community is behind Al,” I told him with a bunch of confidence I didn’t feel. After Lori’s gang had gone out to the farm, and I’d overhead them casting blame all over the place, who knew what my customers would come up with in the end. “And tourists from Milwaukee and Waukesha will continue to visit just like always. How is Joan taking all this?”

“She’s upset and doesn’t know what to think.”

“Is she standing by your dad?”

“I guess. She’s still going to help with the business.”

That was a good thing. Al didn’t need his girlfriend bailing on him at a time like this. His arrest had really affected Joan. The poor woman; first, a widow, then involved with a man accused of murder. Hopefully, Al would be a free man very soon.

With that, I moved on to the business at hand. “Did you pick up your aunt’s things?”

“Yes. I have Aunt Claudene’s cell phone.” Greg dug it out of a pocket and placed it on the table under his palm.

“Let me see it,” I said, trying to play it cool, but hearing the excitement in my voice.

“Why?”

I glanced over at Ben, who had his head down between his paws, but his eyes were alert.

What should I tell Greg? Why not start with the truth and see where it leads?

No way was I starting at the very beginning of this tale and relating every single tiny detail, though. It would take all night, and I didn’t have all night. So I kept on topic. Just the store part when I’d first met them.

“It’s probably nothing,” I added. “But I’d really like to trace that call your aunt made at the store.”

“It
is
a loose end,” Greg agreed. “But didn’t the cops already think of pursuing the origin of that call?”

“I’m not sure they thought anything of it,” I said, sure that the police would have looked at her phone calls at some point. “I didn’t consider it myself until today, and totally forgot to mention it to anybody before now. And the police were more concerned with the witches who were present, not the one who was a no-show.”

Why would they? The women out at the farm had supplied the whole town with plenty of suspicious characters to focus on.

Greg picked up the phone and powered it up. I had to scoot my chair around to his side to get a view, and that was only a limited one. Guys! Always have to be in control of every little thing. Sure he was the surviving nephew, but yours truly was the investigator.

Part of me wanted to grab the thing right out of his hands. The other part of me practiced patience.
Ooohhhmmmm.
After all, this was a suspect sitting at my kitchen table, for a meeting that wouldn’t have taken place if not for the protective presence of Ben.

Then while I was mentally reciting my mantra, Greg’s expression changed. He frowned in puzzlement. “That’s odd,” he said.

“What? What? Let me see.” I reached out my grabby little fingers. Ben sat up, his ears erect, paying attention to every move we made.

Surprisingly Greg handed the phone over. Then he waited for my reaction.

Which didn’t take too long.

Because right away I could see that all the data on the phone had been erased.

Wiped clean.

Gone for good.

“Who would do that?” he said, more to himself than to me. Next he looked me right in the eye. I looked right back.

That was a good question. Who
would
do that?

“There would still be phone records,” I suggested.

“Which neither of us can access.”

“True.” Hunter could check into it for me, but he’d want a full story before deciding whether to help or not, and just because he had the power to invade people’s privacy didn’t mean he abused it. Plus, anytime he wielded that power, he had to file a report with his supervisor, who was a certified battle-ax.

“So it’s a dead end,” Greg said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “It is.”

And with that I walked him to the door and bid him good night.

And really hoped that Greg Mason hadn’t been the one who’d deleted all the history from that phone. But who else had the opportunity?

A private eye can’t let every little setback bring her down. We still had the victim’s computer to explore. If Rosina had been in contact through social media or e-mail, we’d follow the clues and crack that nut. Or rather Patti would. She was a techno whiz.

She had better come through.

Thirty-two

Hunter called about an hour later. He was
not
a
happy camper.

“We have Patti Dwyre in custody,” he told me in a ticked-off voice. “And you’ll never guess whose name keeps spilling from her lips? I’ll give you a clue. It’s not the name of her attorney.”

“What happened?” I asked, fully aware by Hunter’s transparent guessing game that my partner had thrown me under the bus. It wouldn’t be the first time. And now that we were once again in cahoots, it probably wouldn’t be the last time, either. How had this happened?

“Milwaukee issued an APB for her car about an hour ago,” he said. “One of our officers on patrol spotted the vehicle heading west in Waukesha County about four miles from Moraine, and he busted her. He actually had to run her off the road into a culvert to get her to stop.”

I gave myself an internal high five for not being in her passenger seat. “So what did she do this time?”

“Broke into an apartment, but you already know that, don’t you? The downstairs neighbor called nine-one-one while Patti was inside, then attempted to chase her down the street on foot when she took off before a squad could respond. The neighbor isn’t much of a runner. Patti got away, but not before the neighbor took down her license plate number.”

“I can’t believe that woman,” I said, sounding incredulous as I should.

“Quite a coincidence that this neighbor turns out to be Lucinda Lighthouse. Anything familiar about that name? Oh, and the apartment in question was recently occupied by our murder victim.”

“Uh, yes, that
is
strange.”

Hunter actually snorted as though he didn’t believe a word. Go figure. “Patti’s calling out your name.”

“She didn’t admit to the charges, did she?” Confessing to a crime wasn’t P. P. Patti’s style, but I was buying time, racking my brain for a way out. Any little wormhole would do.

“No,” he answered, “but she’s whining that you should come down and get her.”

Hang on, that was all he had? No big finger-pointing by Patti? Yes! “Um,” I said, thinking fast.

But my heart sank. The wiped-clean cell phone had been a bust, now this. Hunter must surely have confiscated the laptop. Our last hope, my final lead, flushed away down the proverbial drain.

Hunter went on. “We didn’t find anything that didn’t belong to her inside the vehicle when we stopped her, although Lucinda claims the deceased’s laptop was taken. Do I need to send a Milwaukee officer inside the flat to check?”

“Why are you asking me? What does Patti say about these charges?”

“Denies them, of course.”

“So it’s her word against Lucinda’s. What if Lucinda took it?”

“Lighthouse has her own believability issues. I ran a background check on her. The Wisconsin bar has had numerous complaints against her. Apparently integrity isn’t her strong suit.”

“Well, there you go. Case closed. One nut after another.” Whew, this was what Hunter in front of the bathroom mirror might call a close shave.

I was beginning to suspect that the cops had nada, and Hunter confirmed that by saying, “I’m going to have to let Dwyre loose on society, as much as that pains me. You wouldn’t believe what she’s wearing around her neck, either—a crucifix the size of her head. She says she’s been born again.”

I almost burst out laughing at the reminder of her latest fashion wear. I’d forgotten completely.

He went on, “And if you were involved in her recent shenanigans, you’re asking for trouble.”

“I found trouble the day I hooked up with you, Wallace.”

“Sass will get you in even deeper.”

“Let’s discuss this further.”

“First, I better go break the good news to Dwyre.”

“Please don’t say I have to come and get her? She has her own car. Besides,
we
”—I thought the plural “we” was a nice touch, implying he and I were on the same team against the crazy neighbor—“we can’t believe a thing that comes out of her mouth.” My big mouth just kept going on its own, so the next statement that it produced was involuntary. “Trust me,” I said. “I’m not involved.”

Now why had I gone and said that, when he hadn’t asked for any further explanation? Out of habit? Have I deceived him so many times that it’s now second nature? Would our relationship survive me? And worse, was I subconsciously sabotaging us in some kind of twisted way? Did I need a shrink?

I called Holly, who’s the next best thing.

“I’m sort of busy right now,” she interrupted my lament to say. “I’ll deal with your issues after the wedding.”

“Is that Story?” I heard Mom ask.

Then they had a conversation while I waited. “Yes, she wants relationship advice,” I heard my sister say.

Mom: “I can give her a piece of my mind.”

Holly: “Not necessary, Mom.”

Mom: “Didn’t I advise her against dating Hunter Wallace, let alone living with him?”

Holly: “You did, Mom. But he’s . . .”

Mom: “Don’t tell me how nice he is these days. Remember I had the misfortune of dealing with him as a teenager. A wolf in sheep’s clothing is nice, too, until he eats you.”

I decided to intercede with a few harsh words of my own. “I see Mom’s back to her old self,” I said to Holly.

“I heard that!” Mom shouted.

A belated thought occurred to me. “Holly, am I on speakerphone?”

“You sure are,” Mom answered for her.

Grams piped up, “Come over to the house, Story sweetie, and let’s take some pre-wedding photos for my album.”

No way was I walking into that lioness’s den.

“I’m too busy. Tell Mom to take a chill pill,” I offered. “By this time Tuesday she’ll be a married woman, if she doesn’t go over the edge and blow it.”

“I heard that.”

I hung up and thought about poor Tom and what he thought he was getting in my mother and what he might actually find himself stuck with instead.

Been there, done that when I married a two-timing jerk who happened to be a skilled actor.

And just because I’ve known Hunter since we were kids wasn’t enough of a reason to let my guard down. What you see isn’t always what you get. People put on their best faces at the beginning of a new relationship, and some of them can maintain that illusion for a long time. Sometimes you think you’re getting the real deal when all along you had a cheap copy.

Thirty-three

Patti’s fatigue jacket was streaked with dirt and grass
stains when I slipped into her car after she pulled up at the curb outside my house.

“Geez, what happened to you?” I asked.

“That witch chased me on foot. Lucky for me, she wasn’t very fast. She tried to cast a spell on me though, and might have killed me if I hadn’t been on my game and remembered my crucifix, which I made sure she got a good look at. And you didn’t think faith would work against evil. Now you’ll have to believe there’s a higher power.”

“I never said I didn’t believe.” I just didn’t believe in Patti, who as far as I knew had never invoked the name of any higher power until the witches arrived in Moraine. “Besides, what makes you think her hex didn’t work?” Patti turned on an overhead light and peered at herself in the rearview mirror before turning to me. “Do I look like I’m under one of her spells?”

“Did she say any abracadabra stuff out loud?”

“I was pretty busy defending myself with the cross and running at the same time with that other witch’s laptop.” Patti fingered the cross around her neck.

“Then how do you know she was casting a spell?”

“When I got in my car, she was standing behind me and she had her arm stuck out toward me and she was mumbling something.”

“Did you see a wand?”

Patti shook her head and said, “Well, did she zap me?”

I studied Patti’s beady little eyes, then shook my head. “No, you look the same crazy as usual.”