Some Like It Witchy (22 page)

N
ick and I were about to head out to find Scott when he found us first, knocking on the side door as I slipped on my flip-flops.

As I pulled open the door, Missy raced out, barking and dancing around his feet. “This is a surprise,” I said, wondering why he was here.

The strap of his messenger bag crisscrossed his body. “As I was checking out, Harmony let it slip that Nick had called. I figured I'd stop by before I headed out of town. Can I come in?”

I moved aside to let him pass. He shook hands with Nick, who said, “I don't think leaving town is a good idea.”

“Yeah, well, in my line of work you don't get much of a say when the boss calls. I've got to catch a flight, and I'm already running late.”

“What line of work is that?” I asked. “Because there's no Scott Abramson listed on the TV show's Web site.”

He smiled as he reached into his bag and pulled out what looked like a billfold. “You're good. How'd you find out my name?”

“Mrs. Pennywhistle is a good friend of mine,” I said, deliberately choosing my words to let him know that I knew
all
about him. “She helped me put the pieces together of what happened last night.”

Confusion swept over his features. “But she died last January . . .”

“Scott, you, of all people, should be aware that around here things are not always as they appear. She's now a mouse familiar living at Bewitching Boutique.”

Nodding, he glanced at Nick. “I didn't realize you were a Crafter.”

“Long story,” he said, “and right now I'm more curious about hearing yours, and I was serious about not leaving town.”

Scott's eyes suddenly hardened, and he didn't look like a happy-go-lucky mountain climber anymore. Not in the least.

Adrenaline surged as I wondered if I'd somehow misread him. Did he have motive for killing Raina? And, oh my God, I'd set him up with Evan! If Scott turned out to be a killer, I was never going to hear the end of it.

Nick, too, had noticed the change in Scott's demeanor. His hand inched closer to the gun at his waist.

“And I was serious about not being able to say no to the boss.” Scott flipped open the billfold, revealing a badge. “The FBI frowns upon insubordination from its agents.”

The FBI? Whoa. I didn't see that one coming.

“Look,” Scott said, “I know you have a ton of questions, but I really don't have time right now, so I have to keep this short.”

Nick was still staring at the badge.

“Jane Abramson was my mother. My grandparents
adopted me when I was a newborn to save her reputation,” he said, “but I've always known the truth. They never hid it from me. I was five when she vanished, and my family always suspected her disappearance was related to the heist, but there was no way to prove it. The local police were more interested in trying to find the diamonds than her.”

“Why did your family suspect the heist was involved?” Nick asked.

“Because,” Scott said, “she was the tipster who turned in Sebastian Woodshall.”

Holy plot twist! “What?!”

“My mom was a hairdresser who did makeup on the side. She was hired by one of her clients to do a full makeup job on him for a Halloween party, or so she was told.”

“Sebastian,” I speculated.

“Yes. She was paid a lot of money and actually had fun doing the job.” He glanced at his watch, frowned. “Then she saw the photos of the man who stole the diamonds and put two and two together. She couldn't in good conscious not report him. You know what happened next. But then she became fearful because she kept seeing Eleta around the village, watching her. Although the world did not know who the tipster was, Eleta sure did, because there were only four people who knew what Sebastian looked like that day. Him. My mom. Eleta. And Phillip, the accomplice. It was a female tipster. Eleta knew it wasn't her. . . . Then the night of the Harvest Festival, my mom disappeared.”

Poor Jane.

Scott said, “My family begged the police to search Eleta's house, but they had no good cause for a warrant. In their eyes, there was nothing that tied the cases together.”

“Were they told that your mom was the tipster?” I asked. That would certainly tie the cases together.

“No. My grandparents were too fearful of retribution. Against them. Against me. But I grew up knowing, and I knew
the Craft rules about spells and death. It was only a matter of time before I could get into that house. I joined the FBI, worked my way onto Boston's field office's Jewelry and Gemstone team and waited for a break in the case. Which came when Eleta Tavistock died. I convinced my director to let me set up an undercover investigation here. I concocted a story about a home show to avoid suspicion of why I was so interested in the Tavistock house, and came to the village to watch and wait and bide my time.”

“It was a good ruse,” I said. “I bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I thought it was pretty ingenious.”

“Noelle's going to be devastated that there's no actual home show,” I said.

Scott hitched the strap of his bag. “Dorothy will be worse.”

True.

I said, “I don't suppose you were watching the Tavistock house the day Raina was killed.”

“No. I've been paying close attention to the investigation, and instincts tell me the diamonds are involved in her death. Someone looking for them, most likely. Caught in the act.”

“Yeah, but who?” Nick asked.

“I don't know,” Scott said. “But it has to be someone close to Andreus.”

I shifted foot to foot. “Why?”

“Because of the charm,” Scott said.

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

Glinda's words haunted me.

Someone close to Andreus's family in some way, shape, or form was connected to this crime. Someone who hated Andreus enough to frame him. But who? The only person unaccounted for at this point was the accomplice to the heist. “Scott, do you know who Sebastian's accomplice was?”

“I only know what you do. A man named Phillip. My
mother overheard Sebastian having a phone conversation with him, talking about where to park because a street had been closed due to a water main break. At the time, she thought nothing of it. It wasn't until later that she realized the water main break was near the museum.”

Phillip.
Who in the world was he? If I could find him, then it might crack the case wide open. But how?

Then I thought of the funeral photo from the
Toil
. A close associate of Sebastian's would have been there. If I could get Ve, Cherise, Godfrey, Mrs. P, and Pepe together to identify everyone in the shot, then something—no, someone—might jump out.

“I knew your family were Wishcrafters, Darcy, and used you when I wished for the cookies,” Scott was saying. “I wanted to know for certain that you could grant wishes. And I used you again when I wished where my mother was.”

Despite him saying he'd used me, his wishes had to have gone through the Elder's filtering system—because though we were all clueless about his identity, she would have known he was a Vaporcrafter. Since she approved the wishes immediately, his wishes had to have been pure of heart.

“I'm sorry,” he continued. “But I couldn't just go in the Tavistock house and start sawing walls and tearing up floors. I needed to know where she was exactly. Get in, get out, find closure so my mother could finally rest in peace. I was sloppy last night, not noticing you come up behind me. But once I started tearing into that wall, I was a man on a mission. A tank could have rolled through that house and I wouldn't have noticed.”

“Does the FBI know about your magic?” Nick asked.

They couldn't possibly. Not with the Craft rules about that kind of thing.

“No,” Scott confirmed. “They just think I'm extremely good at getting out of bad situations. I've got to go.” He pushed a business card toward me. “In case you need to get in touch in the next day or so.”

“You're coming back?” I asked.

“I'm still technically on the case, Darcy. The FBI is very interested in where those diamonds are.”

“But . . . Circe,” I said. Those diamonds were safer hidden.

“I'll cross that bridge if I get to it. I'll also need to make arrangements for my mother to be buried alongside my grandparents once her body is positively identified. And”—he rolled his eyes—“I have a date. I keep my promises.” As he headed for the door, he bent and rubbed Missy's head. “Be a good girl while I'm gone.”

She barked.

When the door closed behind him, I looked at Nick and said, “What now?”

Nick dragged a hand down his face. “The hell if I know.”

A
n hour later, Nick was off to reinterview Noelle Quinlan now that he knew of her romantic connection to Kent, and I was with Cherise on our way to the house on Maypole Lane. We were discussing the mysterious Phillip, and she was shaking her head.

“There's just no one around with that name. I'd know. I know everything.”

She did, which was why I worried about locating the mystery man. But then I wondered if she knew about Ve and Mr. Creepy. I didn't want to ask.

I just hoped that if word did get out that it wouldn't hurt Ve's election chances. I wasn't sure how the affair would sit with voters but fortunately Ve still had the Craft on her side. Stopping that development would outweigh the impact of a somewhat-scandalous romantic entanglement.

Ve still hadn't come back to the house by the time I had left with Cherise, and I wondered where she'd gone off to and felt slightly guilty thinking that she may have accompanied Andreus to the hospital to have his nose tended to. It had been instinct, pure and simple, to hit him, but still.

I looked across the green toward the Upala tent. It was being manned by Lazarus, Andreus's son. There was no sign of Mr. Creepy at all.

My guilt-o-meter jumped up a notch.

Suddenly, above the chatter from the rock and mineral show, I heard my named being shouted. “Darcy!”

I turned and found Starla jogging toward me, a manila folder in her hand. “The
Toil
pictures. Don't lose them. Don't bend them. Don't spill anything on them. I had to sign my soul away to take them from the archives.”

“Can I draw little mustaches on the faces?” I teased.

“That's not even funny,” she said, then cracked a smile. “Okay, a little funny. But promise me you'll return them the way you got them.”

“Promise.” I crossed my heart, then opened the folder and gasped. “They're in color!”

“Originals always are.”

“Thank you.” I longed to go through each and every one right here and now, but it would have to wait a bit.

“You're welcome,” she said. “You know I'd put my soul on the line for you any day.”

I did know, and it gave me warm fuzzies.

Cherise said, “Why so dolled up, Starla?”

She did look nice in a pretty maxi dress and short-sleeved cardigan. Sunbeams provided a spotlight on her hair, making it glow like she had a halo. It was entirely appropriate, considering her angelic looks.

“A late lunch date with Vince,” she said, her blue eyes brightening. “We're going to ride the swan boats and have a picnic at the Public Garden.”

“What a lovely idea,” Cherise said. “A beautiful day for it.”

It was. The clouds had moved out, leaving behind a clear blue sky. A soft breeze was blowing but it wasn't enough to ruin a picnic. There was only one thing I had concerns about: Boston's pedestrians. “Who's driving?”

Pushing out her bottom lip, she said, “He is, so you don't have to worry. Geez.”

I couldn't help but laugh. “Have fun.”

“I will. I've got to get back to work so I don't feel guilty
about taking the afternoon off.” She pointed at me. “Remember what I said about those pictures.”

“I'll guard them with my life.”

Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I'll hold you to that, Darcy Merriweather.”

She would too. I had no doubt.

As I turned back around to Cherise, I caught sight of Glinda sitting on a bench across the street, a book in hand.

It looked natural, except for one thing.

The book was upside down.

I'd halfheartedly accused her of following me this morning, but now I was starting to wonder if it was true.

Cherise and I crossed the street and headed for the westerly neighborhoods. After we'd walked for a while, I glanced behind me.

Glinda was a short distance back, and when she saw me, she suddenly stopped to fuss with her shoe.

Ridiculous.

Cherise was a fast walker, and at the rate we were going we would arrive at the appointment a good fifteen minutes early, especially taking side-street shortcuts. Trees shaded the sidewalk, yards sparkled with color from flowers opening up to the sun.

We'd just turned onto Augury Circle when Cherise said, “Well, isn't that interesting?”

“What?” I asked, squinting.

Then I saw what she was looking at, and I gasped.

Andreus (wearing a nose splint—oh, the guilt), had tenderly kissed Calliope's cheek and was now giving her a bear hug. Finn stood right next to them, so it obviously wasn't a romantic interest Andreus had taken in her. But it was certainly more than professional.

My mind spun as I grabbed Cherise's arm. “Come on.”

“I knew I should have worn my leather jumpsuit today,” she said as she fast-walked next to me.

By the time we reached the driveway, Andreus was still hugging Calliope.

I marched up the walkway.

Finn was the first to see me, and his eyes widened. He nudged Calliope.

“Ahem!”
I said.

Calliope jumped back from Andreus and a guilty flush climbed her throat.

Andreus's mouth dropped open for the briefest of moments before he snapped it closed again. He straightened his tie. “Ms. Merriweather.”

“What is this?” I asked, pointing between the two of them. “What's going on?”

Calliope told me she barely knew him, but that had obviously been a lie.

Neither said a word. I looked past them. “Finn?”

He pressed his lips together and vehemently shook his head.

Oh,
now
he decided to clam up.

Andreus came down the step. “I do believe our business is none of your concern.”

Cherise leaned in and whispered, “Do you want me to hit him? Give him a black eye to go with the nose you broke?”

Calliope charged down the steps, eyes flashing. “
You
did that?”

“Callie,” Andreus said, “let it be.”

Callie?

“Let it be?” Calliope said, outrage tingeing her words. “You just spent the last three hours at the hospital because of her. How can I let that be?”

“Because I said so,” he said with a stubborn tilt to his head

Suddenly, their arguing reminded me very much of Godfrey and Pepe.

Folding her arms across her chest, she faced him head-on. “You're not the boss of me. If I want to stick up for you, I will.”

“I—” I was trying to get in that he'd been in a dark hallway and that I was completely justified in hitting him, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise.

“Do not be dramatic,” he said.

“Uh-oh,” I whispered.

Cherise gasped.

Calliope shoved him.

Stumbling, Andreus reached out for balance, grabbing my arm. The folder with the photos went flying, raining them across the yard.

I sucked in a breath. Starla was going to kill me if anything happened to those pictures. “Quick! Before they're ruined by the wet grass!”

There must have been something in my tone, because they all jumped into action, even Andreus. But as soon as he picked up the first picture, he froze in place.

It was the funeral shot. I wanted to snatch it from his hand, but the look on his face stopped me cold. It was a lot like the look of his thirteen-year-old self in the photo.

“What are these?” Calliope asked as she stooped and grabbed another photo. “Oh my God, is this Sebastian?” Her head came up, her eyes narrowing on me. “Why do you have a picture of Sebastian?”

“How do
you
know Sebastian?” Cherise countered.

Yeah! Cherise was proving to be a valuable sidekick.

Calliope didn't answer and Andreus still stared at the
funeral shot. I finally did take it away from him, angry for putting myself in this position of having to explain why I had the picture to begin with.

This never would have happened if they hadn't been squabbling like sib—

My head snapped up and I looked between the two of them. The answer had been right in front of me all along. In the slightly downturned shape of their eyes. “No. No, no, no.”

“What?” Cherise asked.

“They're brother and sister,” I said, my heart pounding.

Cherise's eyes flew open. “Siblings?!”

Finn looked deeply disturbed as he handed a stack of pictures back to me. He went immediately to Calliope's side, putting his arm around her. “Half siblings. Same mom.”

They both shot him a look.

They even had the same look of disdain. Why hadn't I seen it before now?

Finn pressed his lips together again.

My brain whirled with pieces of information I'd collected over the past few days, and one thing now made perfect sense. I said to Calliope, “
You
gave Raina the Myrian charm, didn't you?”

I'd noticed in the photo on her mantel that her mother must have had her late in life. No doubt, Calliope had been conceived via the magic in that charm as well. But why hadn't Zara's death certificate listed a husband or daughter?

Unless someone purposely left it blank. Not wanting the link. But why the secrecy? The village would have embraced Calliope as one of their own.

“Perhaps we should take this indoors?” Andreus suggested.

Uh-uh. No way. Out here in the sunshine was perfectly fine. “No, thanks.”

He sighed heavily.

The truth smacked me upside the head. Calliope was a
Crafter. A Charmcrafter, just like her mother, Zara. Raina had to have known that Calliope was a witch—it was the only explanation as to why she would believe the charm would work.

I wanted to ask Calliope point-blank, but I still didn't know about Finn. He was staring at his feet and rocking on his heels. Was he a mortal? Or a Crafter? Without knowing for certain, I couldn't talk openly about the Craft.

Calliope drew in a deep breath. “Well, I'm done here,” she said, spinning on her heel. She marched up the steps and slammed the door behind her.

Cherise looked at me. “I guess that means we're not going to look at the Maypole house after all.”

Finn raced after his fiancée. “Wait up, Calliope!”

I glanced around to see if Glinda was watching all this, but if she was, she was well-hidden.

Andreus shook his head. “She considered Raina a friend, and is grieving her loss.”

Hmm. She hadn't seemed that upset this morning when she slapped that
SOLD
sign up at the Tavistock house . . . but then I recalled the bags under her eyes. Perhaps she was just good at hiding her feelings.

Pretending.

That was obviously true if she'd been hiding her Craft from the village for close to two years. “Walk with me, Ms. Merriweather?” Andreus suggested. He glanced at Cherise. “Alone?”

I looked between the two of them.

“Go, go,” Cherise said, taking the file of pictures out of my hand. “I'll just sit here on the steps and make faces at Glinda. She's hiding behind a bush across the street.”

Andreus and I turned at the same time. Sure enough, Glinda was there, ducking as we pivoted.

Andreus shook his head and murmured something under his breath I couldn't quite hear.

“A quick walk,” I said to him. “And we stay in the sun.”