“Wonder Wings,” I muttered. “Sounds like she sells maxi pads.”

  I pushed open the door and blinked rapidly to adjust to the light. The whole room seemed to sparkle with tiny gemstones and glitter. It seemed more like a fairy enclave than the workspace of a witch.

  If you’re right, then these are the most exciting sanitary products on the market, Raoul said.

  A petite blonde emerged from a side door and smiled when she spotted us. She was dressed in a black jumpsuit that appeared to be entirely of beads.

  “Hi, I didn’t realize I had visitors,” she said.

  “We’re looking for Laurel Honeywell,” I said.

  “That’s me. Are you here with my dry cleaning? The owner said I’d have it by ten and it’s half past.” She wagged a finger at me like I was a naughty puppy. “I’m not fond of broken promises.”

  “I don’t work for a dry cleaner,” I said. “My name is Ember Rose and I’ve been hired by your potential familiar to see whether you’d be a good match for each other.”

  Laurel’s smile widened. “What a terrific idea. I thought that was the whole point of the service, though.”

  “My client is in search of a lifelong commitment and wants to be certain the choice is right for both parties.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” Laurel said. “I like this potential match already.”

  “What is it that you do?” I asked.

  “I design embellishments for fairy and pixie wings,” she said. “I started my company two years ago and it took off.” She reached into a box and pulled out a single white wing lined with red gemstones.

  “Wow, that’s impressive. You should talk to Bentley Smith about writing an article about you for Vox Populi. They’re always on the hunt for special interest pieces and I happen to know the editor has a soft spot for entrepreneurial women.”

  “I would love the chance to share my story. I want all the little witches in Starry Hollow to know they can be whatever they want to be. Follow their dreams.”

  Raoul rolled his dark eyes. Yes, because little witches are regular readers of the weekly newspaper.

  “So you started Wonder Wings from the ground up, I guess,” I said.

  “Oh, yes.” Her eyes grew round and solemn. “I only had a fifty-thousand-coin loan from my dad to get started. I had to forgo sushi and caviar for weeks to stretch the budget.”

  I nearly choked on my own saliva. “Yes, I can imagine.”

  You’re one to talk, Miss Rose, Raoul said.

  Laurel craned her neck to look past me. “Where is my match? You did say it’s a he, yes?” She flipped her blond hair off her shoulder. “I find females try to compete with me, so I’m much better suited to having a male as a familiar. That way there’s no jealousy.”

  I exchanged looks with Raoul. “You’re worried about your familiar competing with you?”

  For what? Cans of tuna?

  Laurel walked over to her desk and sat. “You wouldn’t understand. When you’re this attractive, everyone feels the need to compete with you. It’s subconscious. I don’t blame them, really, but I would prefer a familiar that knows his place and I think that works best with a male to fawn over me.”

  “What happened to your original familiar?”

  “I never had one,” Laurel said. “My parents tried to match me when I was younger, but they never found one up to snuff. I let it go for years, but I’ve seen so many other witches out and about with theirs.” She turned one of her diamond earrings in a nervous gesture. “FOMO got the better of me, I suppose, and I finally submitted an application with the agency.”

  “Arnold Palmer would be a fantastic familiar for any witch,” I said. “He’s thoughtful, compassionate…”

  “How are his paws?” she interrupted.

  “His paws?” I echoed.

  “I know he doesn’t have opposable thumbs, but can he manipulate objects? I’d love someone who can hold my mirror in a pinch.” She started ticking off ideas on her fingers. “Help me apply makeup. Hold my wand.” She snapped her fingers. “And if he can wield a knife, even better. I like my onions finely chopped and I’d love to pass that task to my familiar.”

  I was beginning to get a bad feeling about Laurel Honeywell.

  “Well, he doesn’t have paws.”

  Her brow lifted. “Oh, dear. He’s disabled?”

  “No, he’s perfectly able. He’s a pink fairy armadillo and I think you’ll find…”

  She silenced me with a look. “I’m sorry. He’s a what?”

  “A pink fairy armadillo. A little on the pudgy side so he has trouble with lift-off, but I’m sure with diet and exercise, he’ll be fully airborne again in no time.”

  Laurel stared at me. “Do I look like the sort of witch who would have a pudgy armadillo as her familiar?”

  “I don’t know. Is there a particular paranormal best suited to an armadillo?”

  She jerked up her chin in a haughty manner. “I am a witch, Miss Rose. Only a cat will do.”

  “And I suppose you like your cats the way you like your coffee.”

  She frowned. “I like to give them cream?”

  I bit back a smile. “Black, Laurel. You prefer a black cat as your familiar.”

  “Quite right. No self-respecting witch would be caught dead with anything else.”

  I folded my arms. “Is that so?”

  Raoul tugged on my elbow. Come on. We don’t need to prove anything to her.

  I shook off his paw. “What makes you think there’s only one appropriate kind of familiar for a witch? Did you learn that at the Snobby Witch Academy?”

  Laurel sniffed. “I can understand why your aunt disowned you.” She gave me a haughty look. “Yes, that’s right. I know who you are now. And a raccoon? I mean, seriously. What ever happened to standards?”

  I was so glad we’d come to vet Laurel before Arnold Palmer met her. It would’ve been a humiliating meeting for the poor little guy. I couldn’t believe the agency had selected Laurel as an option. Her attitude toward other species was frightful.

  “Let’s go, Raoul. I think we’ve heard enough from Miss Honeywell.”

  Hineysmell more like, Raoul grumbled.

  “I’ll find my own familiar, thank you very much. One worthy of me and I can assure you it won’t be a pink fairy armadillo too overweight to get off the ground.”

  Raoul turned back toward the witch and began foaming at the mouth and growling.

  Laurel shrieked. “He’s rabid. I knew it!” She glowered at me. “No wonder your aunt doesn’t want a relationship with you. You’re absolute trash.”

  Finally, a compliment, Raoul said.

  Laurel took out a wand as though she intended to cast a spell on the raccoon. Raoul lunged at her, prompting her to spin on her heel and run. He waited until she’d locked herself in the side room before collapsing on the ground in a fit of laughter.

  “I’m not even going to reprimand you for that. She deserved it.”

  This is exactly why Arnold hired you, Raoul said. To protect him from this kind of response.

  “I worry about the familiar she ends up with. It won’t be easy for them.”

  Ha! No worries there. She’ll never end up with a familiar for the same reason she’ll never have a serious relationship. She thinks too highly of herself.

  He made a good point. Laurel was destined to spend the rest of her life alone with that attitude. Like Alec, she’d built a wall around herself, only her wall was built by insecurity disguised as ego. I wanted to feel sorry for her, but I didn’t. She’d either evolve and open herself up to new possibilities or she wouldn’t. The choice was hers.

  What now? Raoul asked, as we left Wonder Wings.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the door. “Well, I think we should rule out Laurel as a candidate.”

  Thank you, Captain Obvious.

  “And I think we should talk to the third candidate.”

  Now?

  “I can’t now. I’m going to see Betty Hickok before it gets too late.” But the sooner we could find a match for Arnold Palmer, the happier I’d be.

  What if Lavender doesn’t check out either? Then we’re back to square one.

  “Not necessarily.”

  You can’t still be considering Violet.

  “Why not?”

  Because she looked like she was preparing for her villain origin story.

  I cast him a sidelong glance. “We’re going to have to limit your access to superhero movies.”

  Only if you agree to limit your access to depressing music.

  I exhaled. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Betty Hickok’s condo building was located downtown, not far from the colorful row of houses known as the Painted Pixies. There was a large lobby with two elevator banks and I was surprised by the lack of security in a building of this size. I waltzed straight in and rode the elevator to the seventh floor. The door to Betty’s condo was wide open and all I could see were cardboard boxes.

  “Don’t lift two at once,” a throaty voice said. She sounded like Lauren Bacall after one too many cigarettes. “That one has my thimble collection.”

  I poked my head through the doorway. “Hello?”

  A slender woman emerged from behind a tower of boxes. She wore a Starry Hollow T-shirt with sweatpants and a green bandana over her head. Strawberry blond curls peeked out from behind the fabric.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Betty Hickok.”

  “Are you from the moving company? No one is supposed to be here for an inventory check until tomorrow.”

  “I’m not from the moving company. My name is Ember Rose. May I come in?”

  “Rose?” she repeated. “As in Rose-Muldoon?”

  “Just Rose,” I said.

  “Can I ask what this is about?” She seemed more distracted than unfriendly.

  “It’ll take more than a minute, I’m afraid,” I said. “I’m sorry to barge in. There was no security downstairs so I came right up.”

  “No worries. The landlord warded the whole complex to prevent any supernatural shenanigans and seems to think that takes care of security.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Shenanigans?” I queried.

  “Magic is prohibited inside the building. I can’t even shift in my own living room. It won’t work. I have to wait until I’m outside.”

  “Who is it, Mom?” A muscular man appeared, holding two large boxes. He was well over six feet tall with brown eyes and a mess of sandy-colored hair. He grinned when he saw me. “Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

  His mother swatted his arm. “Mind yourself. She’s a Rose,” Betty whispered. “This is my younger son, Beau.”

  Beau set down the boxes next to the others and shook my hand.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt. I can come back if you’re too busy to talk,” I said.

  Betty regarded the boxes with a tired expression. “It’s time for a break anyway. Come in. I’ll pour us a glass of lime fizz.”

  “Where are you moving to?” I asked, crossing the threshold.

  “Arizona,” Betty said. “My sister lives out there and we’ve decided to buy a house together. We’re both getting older and think it will be nice to keep each other company now that our husbands have passed.”

  “She’s leaving her boys behind,” Beau said.

  Betty reached up to ruffle his hair. “You’re grown men. You don’t need your mother anymore.”

  “Don’t tell me that,” I said. “I want to believe my daughter will always need me.”

  Betty seemed to soften toward me at the mention of a daughter. “Oh, how lucky. I wanted girls. Seems the universe had other plans.”

  Beau grimaced. “Here we go.”

  Betty opened the fridge and retrieved a glass pitcher. “I had pink clothes picked out when I had Jayce. That’s my older son.” She smiled at Beau. “Even kept them for this one, living in hope.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Beau said. “Again.”

  Betty poured three glasses of lime fizz and distributed them. “How old is your daughter?” she asked.

  “The age where she’s too young to drive but too old to think I know best,” I said.

  Betty smiled as she brought the glass to her mouth for a generous sip. “Ah, yes. I remember it well.”

  “What do you mean?” Beau asked good-naturedly. “We were perfect angels.”

  “More like perfect devils,” Betty said. “Between you and your brother and the Nash boys, there was never a dull moment.”

  At the mention of the Nash boys, I seized my opening. “I understand you were close with the Nash family.”

  “Once upon a time,” Betty said. Her smile turned sad. “Before Roy died.”

  “As it happens, that’s the reason I’m here,” I said. I gauged her face for a reaction.

  “To talk about Roy Nash?” Betty asked. Slowly, she lowered her glass. “I knew your name sounded familiar. You write for the newspaper.”

  I didn’t bother to correct her. “A colleague of mine cracked open a few cold case files and Roy’s happened to be the one on top.”

  “I guess that doesn’t surprise me, with Granger being sheriff,” Betty said. “He’s always wanted his daddy’s murder solved.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Beau said.

  “I would think you’d want that, too, being close to the family and all,” I said.

  Betty flinched. “Of course we do. His death was a real tragedy. Our family hit a terrible rough patch after he died.”

  My gaze flicked to Beau, who wore the same sad expression as his mother.

  “I understand there were certain unfounded allegations made against you and your husband at the time,” I said, treading carefully. I wasn’t sure whether raising the subject in front of Beau was a good idea, but if Betty was in the process of moving, my opportunity for questions was limited.

  Betty pressed her lips together. “Like I said, it was a challenging time.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Marianne Nash never believed a word of it.”

  Betty’s sharp intake of breath was audible. “How is she? I haven’t spoken to her in such a long time.”

  “She’s doing well,” I said. “Settled.”

  “Good for her.” Betty gulped down the rest of her lime fizz. “I hope to get settled again, once I’m in Arizona. It’s been too hard staying here now that Barnaby’s gone. We’d built our lives here.”

  “If you don’t need me, I’m going to keep moving boxes,” Beau said.

  Betty smiled at her son. “I know why you’re in a hurry. You have that date tonight, don’t you?”

  “It’s nothing serious,” Beau said quickly.

  “No, it never is.” Betty shook her head. “Maybe if I had grandbabies to look after, I’d be more inclined to stay.”

  Beau groaned as he left the kitchen.

  “He and Jayce seem steadfast in their refusal to settle down,” Betty said. “I know Marianne has the same issue, although at least she has those two grandkids.” She gave me a curious look. “They must be relations of yours.”

  “Cousins,” I said.

  She leaned against the counter. “There was no affair, in case you were wondering. It was all a misunderstanding. Roy had bought a necklace for Marianne for their anniversary that year and Barnaby found it.” She sighed. “Foolish man thought it was a gift from Roy.”

  “And that’s how the rumor started?”

  Betty nodded. “But Barnaby didn’t kill Roy. Never even confronted him. It didn’t get that far. I was able to explain the situation before Barnaby did anything stupid.”

  “And he believed you?” I asked.

  “Of course. And Marianne got the necklace on her anniversary, as planned.” She frowned. “I’m not even sure she ever knew the specifics about the misunderstanding.”

  “And this happened not long before Roy’s murder?”

  “A few weeks before, I think. It was so long ago, it’s hard to remember exactly.” She stared ahead, unfocused. “Some memories I’ll be happy to leave behind.”

  “Do you have any theories as to what happened to Roy?” I asked.

  “Don’t I wish? I want more than anything to know the truth. To make the killer pay for what they did to Roy. He was such a good man.” She fished a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “At least he and Barnaby are together now. I hope they’re drinking beer and watching over us.”

  “That’s a lovely thought,” I said.

  “Maybe I’ll give Marianne a call before I go. It might be nice to see her one last time.”

  “I’m sure she would be happy to hear from you.”

  Betty nodded. “At the time it seemed like we only lost Roy, but the truth is we ended up losing the whole family.”

  My thoughts turned to Aunt Hyacinth and I wondered whether I’d have a similar experience. I hoped not. My cousins were an important part of my life. It would be tragic to lose them now that I’d found them.

  “Good luck, Ember. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  I shook her hand before I left. “Same to you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning quelled my fears when Linnea showed up on my doorstep. Unlike Simon, my cousin didn’t see the need to come in disguise. If her mother complained about her treachery, Linnea simply intended to ignore her.

  “What are you doing?” Linnea asked.

  I returned to the dining table where my laptop was open. “Researching a job. There’s an opening at the Pot of Gold for a manager and I have an interview in an hour.”

  Linnea scoffed. “You’re a Rose, Ember. You can’t work at a comedy club.”

  I smiled at her. “And you run an inn. I thought Roses didn’t do that, either.”

  Her expression softened. “Touché.”

  “The problem is I’m not qualified for anything. Your aunt got me the job at the paper.”

  She slid into the chair across from me. “And you’ve done well with that. Can’t you write for another paper?”

  “There are no other papers. It’s a dying business as it is.” As much as I enjoyed it, I didn’t see an option to continue working in the same capacity.

 

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