Risky witchness, p.10
Risky Witchness, page 10
“Then don’t ask me to steal them for you.” I flipped back and forth, confirming dozens of transactions that didn’t match. Someone named Katherine was getting independent contractor pay in one book but not the other. One ledger showed a large severance payout to Barney, yet the other didn’t. Our conversation left me pretty sure he’d never gotten the money. A bunch of smaller transactions didn’t match up. With each new discrepancy, my heart sank further.
My initial instinct upon finding this secret second set of books was correct: Darren had been embezzling from his company. If his partner found out, this information gave William an excellent motive for murder.
I snapped several pictures with my phone before putting everything back, in case I wanted to review them on my own when I had more time. Other suspects might be hidden in the ledgers. Who was Katherine?
When I finished, everything went back into the metal box. I slammed it shut and jammed the key into the lock.
“What are you doing?” Darren shouted. “Take the books!”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “These books are evidence. Let the police find them. As soon as we are far away, I’m making an anonymous tip.”
“Stop. You can’t do that. That’s not why we’re here.”
“We’re here to get an address, which we now have.”
“That’s why you’re here. I have my own agenda.”
“Oh, really? Enlighten me. Why are we here?” As soon as the words left my lips, I knew the answer. “You don’t want your wife to find these. Why? It’s too late for her to divorce you.”
His cheeks turned red, and he averted his gaze. “Would you want to endanger someone you loved? If Angie sees the books, she’ll want to know where the money went. She doesn’t know I set up offshore accounts.”
“You’re putting money aside for Eve.” I sighed heavily. “Is that what these payments to Katherine are? It looks like a lot of money.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. But I’m not helping you with this. Sing and shout in my ear all you want. I’m done. We’re going home.”
“Can we compromise? Put everything back. Toss the key in a dumpster outside so police can’t open the box.”
“Negative, Ghost Rider,” I said in my best Top Gun impression. “I’m not tampering with any more evidence.”
“Will you at least wait until tomorrow to call the cops?” he asked. “If they find this earlier, fine. If not, that gives us time to plan.”
“I have a plan,” I said. “Leave before we get caught. Tell the police about your cooked books. Inform them William killed you because you’re stealing from him, and that the jury probably won’t blame him. Watch you go into the light. I’m not going down as your co-conspirator.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Half an hour later, we finally turned into the mansion’s sweeping driveway. It felt like I’d been away a million years, rather than hours. As always, the gorgeous old Victorian brought a smile to my face. When I’d arrived, the place had been in a total shamble. Immediately, I’d rolled up my sleeves and dedicated myself to fixing everything up.
Now, the place was absolutely stunning, from the wraparound porch to the massive windows and the new roof. The complete overhaul only took time, TLC, and a bit of magic.
Er… dedicated contractors.
“This is where you live?” Darren asked when we parked near the front porch. “After seeing your car, I expected a tent in the woods somewhere.”
Without answering, I pushed the off button and exited the SUV. An off button! So cool. Darren slid through the passenger door and followed me toward the house.
When we passed my sign welcoming people to the bed-and-breakfast, he stopped, squinting and tilting his head. “Emma’s Home for Lost Souls. A bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?”
“I wanted people to feel safe here.”
“Then why don’t you call it Haven?”
My mouth opened and closed as I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. “I didn’t think of it. That’s perfect.”
“You’re welcome. If I were alive, that would cost you five hundred bucks.”
“If you were alive, I couldn’t do this in front of you.” With a touch to the sign, I transformed it. The letters rearranged to spell Emma’s Haven.
He let out a low whistle. “Not bad.”
“You don’t want to mention the ghosts?” The question came from my front porch where my black cat waited. His former owner had named him Pink.
After the performer, not the color. After growing up with a dog named Bowie, I didn’t judge, although I wished he would spell it with the exclamation point: P!nk.
“Good point.” Another wave of my hand, and the sign flipped to reveal Haunted Haven. Then I said, “This one’s just for the magical folk. Did Walter come back without me?”
“Excuse me?” Darren said loudly. “Are you ignoring me to talk to a cat?”
Pink drew himself upright. “I am not just a cat, sir. Emma, yes, he’s in his old room.”
“It’s true,” I said. “He’s about a hundred years old, and he’s magic. He’s also much more snuggly than you.”
Not waiting for a reply, I headed up the steps. Darren could follow or stay outside, whatever made him happy. Behind me, I heard a snort that could have been him or Pink.
In the kitchen, Josie was dribbling tiny bits of batter onto the sizzling griddle. No one else was around. She smiled warmly when she spotted me. “My favorite guinea pig. Is everything okay?”
“No, things aren’t okay!” Darren shouted. “I’m dead!”
For the moment, I ignored her question. “I need to find Walter. I took off my necklace at the spa without thinking and—poof!”
“Yeah, Pink spent about an hour in his old bedroom comforting him.”
“You mean your room?”
“Why, yes. It is my room now. Funny you should mention that. Being able to hear only the meowed half of a conversation is rough. I’ve been here for hours, testing out new recipes. Which brings me to pancake buttons.”
“Pancake buttons?” It felt like we were speaking different languages. Even Darren looked confused.
“Yeah. You know when you pour batter on the grill, there are always these tiny drips and drabs that cook instantly?”
“The last time I tried to make pancakes, the fire department showed up. Then three people accused me of poisoning my ex.” That story was for another day.
“I knew it!” Darren shouted. “You killed me. All this ‘investigating’ was to throw me off your scent.”
“Why would I do that? It’s easier not to help,” I said.
Josie nodded toward the air behind me. “Hi, Walter.”
“Unfortunately, this isn’t him. I picked up another ghost at the spa. Darren isn’t tied to me the same way, but I need to ask Pink about this.”
“You say that like I want to be here,” Darren grumbled. “It’s not my fault no one else can hear me.”
Quickly, I explained to Josie what happened and my attempts to gather information on who killed Darren.
“Emma.” Josie’s voice held a touch of reproach. “Do you remember what happened last time you got involved in a murder investigation?”
I shuddered as a chill went down my spine. “Vividly. Unfortunately, I’m not sure I have a choice. Darren is here, and he’s not going anywhere until I give him answers. Also, while Tim—Detective Pratt, I mean—seems to believe in my innocence, the fact remains that the masseuse found me standing next to Darren’s body, searching his pockets. Officer Peterson considers me the prime suspect.”
“It’s Tim now, huh?” I shifted my gaze from her face to the pancakes, so Josie continued, “We’ll come back to that one. Why were you searching a dead man’s pockets?”
“I needed his phone to call the police. Dumb, I know. Next time I’ll walk away.”
“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”
“You’re not done with this time!” Darren reminded me, as if I could forget.
Whether or not I liked it, I was a part of this. After talking to his former employee and accidentally erasing his wife’s memory, I couldn’t walk away.
“No argument there,” I said to Josie. My stomach growled, reminding me that the spa’s promised lunch got canceled. I’d been driving around for hours with nothing to eat other than the cheese and crackers offered at Barney’s car dealership.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
“Can I make you something? Pancake buttons?”
Make… hold on. Josie had cooking magic. My head shot up.
“How is your potion-making? Do you know how to create a truth serum?” If I could slip Eve a potion, she would tell me what happened. At a minimum, I’d be able to figure out how involved she was. Whether she was working with someone else, killed Darren herself, or the killer poisoned Darren earlier.
Josie shook her head. “Serums are difficult to get right. Then the subject has to ingest it. Would you drink something prepared by a person being investigated for murder?”
“I’m not really being investigated,” I grumbled. “But I see your point. By now, everyone knows who I am. Maybe you could take her a potion?”
“Me?”
“Yeah! You’re local. You know everyone. Maybe bake something into a condolence cake.”
“I’m sorry, no. I can’t take part in another murder investigation. Not after the last one. I’m here to live a quiet life.”
Immediately, I felt terrible. The poor woman had gotten arrested the last time I played investigator. “Sorry, Josie. Absolutely, don’t do that. I’ll find another way. Maybe I can convince Darren’s widow to trust me.”
“Why don’t you ask her husband? See what she’s interested in and use that to start a conversation.”
“She enjoys staying thin and being rich,” Darren said behind me. “Also sitting on the board of various charities and throwing massive fundraisers where all the attention is on her.”
I repeated it for Josie’s benefit, then asked him, “Any events coming up?”
“There was one this morning. She’s been talking about it for weeks.”
This morning? I never got a chance to ask Angie where she was during the murder.
“What time?”
“I don’t remember. I didn’t go. But usually she went to the venue early. Talked about it throughout breakfast.”
“If Angie was at a public fundraiser all morning, she couldn’t have killed her husband,” I said. “That should be easy enough to confirm, but I just lost my second-best suspect.”
“Sorry, Emma.” Josie turned back to the griddle and scooped a bunch of teeny pancake fragments up with a spatula before transferring them to a plate.
I’d never heard of this, but they looked delicious. Crisp, light, and most importantly, buttery.
Taking a handful of the buttons cooling on the plate, I popped them in my mouth. I’d been partially right. The bites were crunchy and light. They tasted like butter—and fear. Josie put her feelings into her food, but that wasn’t always a blessing. She was still working on control.
With effort, I swallowed. “Pancake buttons, you say? Or panic buttons?”
“I was thinking about calling them ‘little drops of happiness,’” Josie said. “Your expression does not support that.”
“You should probably try again when you’re in a better mood. The recipe is great, but the anxiety is not.”
“Sorry. I was worried about you. Is everything okay?”
“Have you seen Toby this morning?” I asked.
While my next-door neighbor and I had our differences—he used to hate me—he was alone over there. Josie would make extra of whatever she was cooking for supper, or I would show up and tidy a bit. Sometimes one of us would stay and chat, share the local news. Little things to help. I felt obligated to check in on him when I could. Toby and Walter used to be good friends, and part of me felt like I owed it to my grandfather to take care of him. As Walter loved to point out, I never once visited while he was alive.
Toby acted like he didn’t appreciate our efforts, but he’d be sad if Josie and I stopped coming over. We were growing on him.
Josie grinned at my question. “Interestingly, no. I didn’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
“T is over there. Toby used to be quite the gardener, you know. Gave it up a few years ago when he started to get arthritis.”
“Yeah?”
“T is so excited about helping him out, he actually smiled.”
“Wow.”
T didn’t talk about his personal life much, but he’d spent most of his senior year of high school couch-surfing with friends. The mansion was the first stable home he had known in a long time. He refused to talk about his parents and rarely answered personal questions. We didn’t push—after all, Josie had her own secrets (not to mention my witchyness, ghost, and talking cat). He’d open up when he was ready.
I wasn’t remotely motherly, so if T found a parental figure in my neighbor, I supported that one hundred percent. They might be good for each other.
Speaking of parental figures, it bothered me that Walter hadn’t appeared since I returned from the spa. He must be pretty upset about what happened, and I didn’t blame him. Even though it was an accident, I felt terrible for sending him back here. Time to apologize.
Chapter
Fifteen
Since Josie said Pink was comforting Walter in her bedroom, I asked if she minded me going in without her.
“Do you know how confused I’d be if I went along? Listening to a three-way conversation with one human, a cat, and someone I can’t hear? No, thanks. Just thinking about it is making my head spin.” She made a shooing gesture. “See if you can cheer him up before my bedtime. I prefer to sleep alone.”
Halfway across the lobby, I realized Darren had trailed along behind me. I hesitated. “This is a family matter. It might be better if you waited.”
“Okay, sure,” he said. “How are you going to stop me from following you?”
“Why do you want to come?”
“I don’t have anything else to do.” He grinned, a chilling smile. “Except practice my singing.”
Ugh. I couldn’t wait until this ghost moved on. At least he wasn’t trying to force me to create ad campaigns anymore.
Josie’s suite contained a bedroom, a sitting room, and a private bath. I found Walter sitting on the couch in her sitting area. Someone had turned on her TV, and he gazed blankly at it. Pink sat curled up beside him.
“Walter! I am so sorry about sending you back. I didn’t know—”
Darren moved between us and looked back and forth. “Hold on. You never said you knew other ghosts.”
“You didn’t ask,” I retorted. “And actually, yes, I did. Back at the spa, I told you we already have a ghost at the mansion. You weren’t listening.”
Walter stood. “And who is this? Did you send me away so you could canoodle with another spirit?”
I went to my grandfather, wishing for the hundredth time that hugging a ghost was possible. “No, of course not! I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about the necklace. When you warned me, I didn’t register what you were saying until it was too late. But look! I’m wearing the locket now. We can go anywhere you like.”
“And by anywhere, you mean, to solve my murder?” Darren interrupted. “Do I have to wait in line behind Grandpa?”
“What are you doing here? Emma, you can’t bring home any dead guy you meet on the street. It’s my house, Sonny, so if I tell you to wait in line—”
“Stop!” My yell made both of them flinch. “Everyone, let’s take a step back. Walter, you may remember Darren from the Relaxation Room. After you left the spa, he was murdered.”
“Was that because he sat on someone else?” Walter muttered. “Yeah, I recognize him now. Jerk.”
“We don’t know why,” I said as patiently as I could. “That’s why he’s here. We’re working on it. Darren, this is my grandfather, Walter Sparrow. He lives in the mansion with me.”
“You let ghosts stay here?”
“He’s family.”
Both of them started talking at once, speaking so fast I could barely follow. Pink sat on the couch, avidly moving his head from one to the other. A dull throbbing started behind my temples.
“Can you watch them?” I asked my cat. “It’s been a long day, and I need a ghost break.”
“They’ll be fine,” Pink said, jumping off the couch. “Did you bring me any treats?”
A chuckle escaped me. Naturally, that was his first concern. “T’s been growing catnip in the garden. Go see how it’s going.”
After Pink trotted toward the kitchen, I backed out of the room, leaving the ghosts at each other’s throats. They couldn’t hurt each other, and I wasn’t up for mediating. Too many other things were bothering me, like Officer Peterson accusing me of murder. If they found poison in Darren’s teacup, she’d be happy to slap the cuffs on me. I couldn’t deny touching it, and Walter couldn’t testify as to my innocence.
Upstairs, I went to the antique wooden trunk at the foot of my king-sized bed. This piece belonged to my grandfather, and it had been warded so only his heir could open it. The entire third-floor suite was layered with similar protections. No one should climb the stairs to my rooms, and if they did, the doorway made people forget their destination when they passed through, unless I was with them. Any trespassers should immediately get a compelling urge to look for me downstairs. This house was a haven, and my rooms provided a personal sanctuary.
In case someone got past those protections, I’d added a layer of my own to the trunk. We didn’t know how long Walter’s spells would last after his death.
Opening the trunk, I pulled out my grandfather’s heavy old spell book. Only magic preserved the crumbling paper. A lot of power lay in these pages, waiting for me to unlock it.
In contrast, I’d put my new spells in a Lisa Frank notebook. When I found the bright pattern at a local superstore, I’d been ecstatic to revisit my childhood. Pink said he needed sunglasses to look at it, but I loved the vibrant colors. Ninety percent of the pages were blank, but Dottie would fill up as I learned and grew more confident. At the moment, my book didn’t carry one tenth of the power of Walter’s.
