A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery (17 page)

But that made no sense. “Why so many when he knows what he’s looking for?”

Elodie stretched her legs. “But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what the Anicula looks like.”

Well, there blew my plans to ask him about its appearance.

“How is that possible?” I asked. “Didn’t his family create it?”

“Long before he was born. Generations,” Elodie said. “He knows the Anicula is a black opal. He knew my mother owned it. When he learned it was stolen, he slowly began acquiring as many black opals as he could, hoping that eventually he’d stumble across the right one.”

“Then why break in here?” Mrs. P asked. “Why take the opals that were on the grass?”

Elodie sighed. “Because a part of him doesn’t believe it was stolen. He thinks my mother has it hidden inside the house.”

Nick said, “The Anicula was stolen? When?”

“Six months before my mother died,” Elodie said.

“So,” he said, “as of right now, no one knows where the Anicula is?”

We all nodded.

He shook his head in disbelief. “But it is an opal?”

“It is,” Elodie affirmed. “Did you know that Upala means opal in”—she glanced at Yvonne—“Greek?”

“Latin,” she said.

“What
does
the Anicula opal look like?” Yvonne asked. “Is it big? Little?”

I eyed her. She was definitely fishing for information. Was she after the Anicula for herself?

Elodie’s eyes took on a distant look, as if she were remembering something specific from her past. “The last time I saw it, I was little, maybe four or five. But I’ll never forget that day, holding that stone in my hand.” Her voice grew strong. “Feeling the power, even though the opal wasn’t very big.” Her tone shifted, and now it was filled with sorrow. “The Anicula is shaped like a small teardrop. Because, my father said, it brought so much pain to those who abused it.”

She hadn’t seen the Anicula in twenty years? That didn’t make sense. “I thought your mom wore the Anicula every day,” I said.

“She did,” Elodie answered. “Tucked inside a velvet pouch.”

Ah, that made more sense.

I bit my lip. Most people would think that endless wishes would be a good thing, a great thing. But with that power came responsibility. And that responsibility could turn into something depressive—or egomaniacal.

I, for one, was very glad my powers were limited.

“Is it possible the Anicula stone was in with the opals that were stolen?” I asked.

Mrs. P said, “There weren’t any tear-shaped stones that I saw—most of them were round—so I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t there.”

Thank goodness.

“You’ll go talk to Andreus?” Yvonne asked Nick.

“Yes, I’ll question him. But without an eyewitness or his confession, it doesn’t look good for getting those stones back.”

Elodie said, “I don’t care about the stones. Or the Anicula. I hate that stone. If he finds it, he can keep it. I never want to see it again.”

T
he mess Elodie had made outside was nothing in comparison to what I discovered inside the house. I hadn’t thought it could be much worse than it had been the day before, but Nick and his team had gone through every box—and left the contents to fall where they may.

Nick’s team had confiscated the suitcase that Patrice had been found in, but given the time that had elapsed between Patrice disappearing and finding her body—there was little hope that any evidence remained.

Mrs. P said, “Ve seemed to be feeling a bit better by the time I left her earlier. Could be my presence cheered her right up.”

“Or you scared the virus right out of her,” Evan joked.

He had come over to help clean. Unlike Harper and Starla, he had employees to cover the shop when he wasn’t there.

Mrs. P cackled and gave him a hearty shove. “Oh, you. It was probably the soup. It has healing powers.”

“Really?” I hoped I didn’t sound naive. It was hard to know what was magical in this village and what wasn’t.

She winked. “Or it could be the bottle of vodka I brought along.”

I pushed a box aside to make room for another. Shocked, I said, “You got Ve drunk?”

“Just a little tipsy.” She sorted through a pile of clothes. “Just enough for her to forget how sick she was feeling.”

“Until tomorrow when the hangover hits.” Evan would be mortified to know he had a fine sheen of dust covering his reddish blond ’do.

I was going to have to ply Ve with as much ibuprofen as she could take.

“Until then,” Mrs. P said, “there’s today. By the time I left, Ve was looking like her old self.”

“Fit as a fiddle?” I asked, thinking of Sylar and Dorothy in their steamy embrace.

Mrs. P snapped her fingers. “Exactly.”

Ve and Sylar’s wedding was Sunday afternoon. The ceremony was to take place on the village green (the Roving Stones would be gone by then), in front of all Ve and Sylar’s friends and family.

My stomach hurt thinking about it. Was Ve saying “I do” a big mistake?

True enough, I wasn’t that fond of Sylar. He was a nice man, but I wasn’t sure he was right for Ve. From what I’d seen over the last couple of months, she put more into the relationship than he did. Lots of take and no give on his part.

I’d been in a similar relationship and it hadn’t turned out well.

But I had to keep my feelings to myself. Ve was happy and that was all that mattered.

She was happy, wasn’t she?

As I made another trip outside to gather an armload of clutter, I thought about what Cherise had said yesterday. Was Ve’s illness a psychological manifestation of her misgivings about marrying Sylar? If vodka could cure her ailments, even temporarily, it would seem likely.

At this point, I wanted to believe it.

The other choices weren’t so great.

Either another Crafter’s recantation spell was counteracting Cherise’s curing spell, or something evil was at work.

Mental problems had never looked so good.

No matter what, I was glad Ve was feeling a little better. She was going to need her strength when she found out about Dorothy.

And I had to tell her. Didn’t I?

I was debating that when I caught a flash of orange in the bushes. Bending down, I made kissy noises to the tabby and duck-walked closer. The cat’s golden eyes watched me warily. It wore no collar and gave me a hard stare. Suddenly, it bolted and disappeared around the back of the house. If it was a stray, it obviously lived around here somewhere. And if it was a familiar, it wanted to be left alone.

As I carried another box inside, I was still thinking about Ve and decided to get a little advice from my friends. “Hypothetically, if you two knew a secret that might hurt someone but felt that person should know what’s going on around her, would you tell?”

“Yes,” Evan said.

“No.” Mrs. P’s crazy hair didn’t budge as she shook her head.

I looked between them.

“What kind of secret?” Evan asked, his eyebrows waggling. “What do you know about whom? Share!”

“Hypothetically,” I said.

“Yeah, right.” He tossed a bunch of old newspaper into a black trash bag.

“I say stay out of it,” Mrs. P said. “The odds of you being caught in the crossfire are too great. Let the people involved work it out themselves.”

I bit my lip. “What if I said I saw a certain optician’s assistant kiss a certain optician behind his shop just days before he was due to be married?”

“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. P cried. “You have to tell Ve!”

“Wait, wait.” Evan held up his hands. “Are we still being hypothetical?”

I threw him a withering glance.

He grinned, delighted with this bit of gossip. “Are you saying Dorothy Hansel planted a big one on Sylar?”

I nodded, wishing I could banish the image from my mind.

“Did Sylar initiate it?” Evan asked.

“Not really. But he didn’t exactly push her away.”

Mrs. P cackled. She had a spot of bright red lipstick on her tooth. “Oh, honey, he’s a man, after all.”

Evan frowned. “I don’t think you should tell Ve, then. Not yet, at least. Sounds to me like Dorothy is just stirring up trouble. She’s had a thing for Sylar for years. She’s probably desperate to stop the wedding.”

“Do you think Sylar has a thing for her?” I asked, picking a dust bunny off Evan’s shoulder.

Both shook their heads.

“If he did,” Mrs. P said, “he’s had plenty of time to act on it before now. I believe he thinks of her as just a good friend.”

“So don’t tell Ve?” I asked.

“Wait a day or two,” Mrs. P advised. “You might be surprised that the situation works itself out. Ve and Sylar will be married on Sunday, as planned.”

Evan squinted at me. “You don’t look happy about that.”

“It’s just—” I hefted the box to place it atop a growing pile. My cell phone rang, cutting me off. It was Ve, speak of the devil.

“Darling girl,” she said. “Sylar just called. He found a bag with an agate ball behind his shop and thinks it might belong to you. I think he might be right.”

I winced. I must have accidentally left my Upala bag
behind the trash cans. Had Sylar figured out I’d been spying? “I hadn’t even realized I left it behind. I’m almost done here at Patrice’s for today. I’ll pack up and head over to pick it up and will be home soon.”

“I’ll be here,” Ve said loftily as if she hadn’t a care in the world. How much vodka had she drunk?

I hung up and said, “I think we should wrap up for the day.” The mess on the lawn had been cleared, transferred now inside the house, where it blended in with the rest of the clutter. Elodie had given me free rein to come and go as I pleased. Even after all that had happened, she still wanted the house cleared out as soon as possible. I shoved some boxes aside. “I have to go pick up my agate sphere I accidentally left behind Sylar’s shop. Apparently, he found it.”

“You’re going back there?” Evan asked.

“I have to. I need the sphere for Ve’s protection spell.”

“From the Peeper Creeper?” Mrs. P asked.

I had told them what happened this morning.

“Well,” Evan said with a smile. “You might want to let Dorothy borrow that agate.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because,” he said, raising an amused eyebrow, “when Ve finds out what Dorothy has done, she’s going to need all the protection she can get.”

I
wasn’t looking forward to seeing Sylar.

Especially if he suspected that I’d seen what had happened between him and Dorothy behind his shop earlier.

As I hurried along the Enchanted Trail toward the Third Eye Optometry Office, I tried to process all I’d learned in the last two days, starting with finding Patrice’s body and ending with Roger attacking Jonathan Wilkens.

Really, what it all boiled down to was that I was no closer to figuring out who had killed Patrice. Or why.

As I turned onto the wooded path leading to the back door of Third Eye, I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to look back at the trail, but I couldn’t see anyone coming in either direction.

Paranoid.

Intuition?

I glanced back again, but there was still no sign of anyone.

Strange.

At least the footsteps hadn’t come with that heebie-jeebie feeling I’d been experiencing lately.

I circled around to the front of Sylar’s shop and was surprised when I saw the
CLOSED
sign on the front door.
I shaded my eyes against the glass, but even though there was a faint light coming from the rear of the store, I didn’t see anyone inside. I rapped on the glass and waited, but no one answered.

I backtracked to the rear door, in case Sylar was in the back storeroom and couldn’t hear my knocking out front. As I neared the door, I heard a scurrying behind me and whipped around. “Who’s there?”

No one answered.

Of course not. That would be too easy. “Vince?” I called out. For some reason, I had the feeling he was following me around. I just didn’t know why.

There was no reply. No Vince. No bogeymen. No big bad wolves.

I was really beginning to question my sanity as I knocked on Sylar’s back door.

A second later, the door swung open and Dorothy peered out. “Who’re you?” she asked with a tone of voice that clearly conveyed a high level of crankiness.

I wasn’t exactly comfortable talking to her. “I’m Darcy Merriweather. I think Sylar is expecting me? I left—”

“Oh.
You’re
Darcy.”

I didn’t care for the dulcet tone of her voice. It was way too sweet to be sincere.

She leaned against the doorframe, a hip cocked, her arms folded across her ample chest. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Um, thank you. Is Sylar here?”

“No.”

Uncomfortable, I shifted. I wished I’d thought to ask Mrs. P to tag along.

Pointedly, she asked, “Is it true you’re dating Nick Sawyer?”

Again, I heard a rustle behind me. I tossed a look over my shoulder. Not only to see if anyone was there (there
wasn’t), but to see if I could spot any hidden cameras. Surely, someone was playing a joke on me. Dorothy wasn’t really quizzing me on my love life, was she?

“I left a bag here earlier…,” I said, trying to distract her from whatever mission she was on.

“He’s a handsome man, that Nick.” She examined one of her long, painted nails. “Marriage material.”

“It’s a brown bag.” I held my hands apart a foot. “About this big?”

One of her eyebrows rose as she studied me closely. Then she abruptly turned around and picked up the Upala bag. She dangled it in front of me. “This bag?”

Relief flowed. “Yes.” I reached for it and she yanked it back.

I’d never been in a catfight in my whole life, but I was seriously considering it at this point. I was pretty sure I could take her. After all, I was a good twenty years younger, but she had a meanness in her eyes that I couldn’t discount. She would fight dirty—I was sure of it.

“I really should be going. Very busy,” I said, trying to hold my temper in check.

“So I’ve heard. Busy, busy, busy,” she sang.

She actually had a nice voice. I kind of hated that about her, since I couldn’t sing my way out of a paper bag. Speaking of which, she had stepped closer to me, invading my personal space. Which I tolerated only because now she was near enough for me to snatch the Upala bag. I grabbed it out of her hands and clutched it to my chest.