I turned to look. “Nonna!” She appeared in full color and looked like my memory of her when she’d been alive. Her long auburn hair was streaked with bright white, and her green eyes gleamed with affection. Her laugh lines deepened as she smiled at us.

  She wasn’t alone, either.

  “Welcome back, Katie,” she said. “And you must be Connell.”

  “Indeed I am! Charmed ter know ya!”

  I smiled. How could I have forgotten that Connell shouted more than he spoke, and every word was laced with his heavy brogue?

  He waggled his considerable eyebrows at Nonna, and she laughed.

  “Stop flirting,” I told him as I turned my attention to the woman beside her. Spirit. Whatever. I recognized her as Leigh Markes—which made sense, really, because she was sticking with Teddy, and Teddy was here. There. Wherever.

  Leigh looked more relieved than pleased that I’d made it back.

  “Please don’t worry,” I said. “I’m working to find your killer.”

  She reached out a pale hand toward me in apparent supplication. It held the dragonfly scarf, and even though I didn’t technically have a body on this side of the veil, I shivered.

  “Can’t you simply tell me who it is?” I begged.

  I mean, it was the logical question. I’d tried to get a spirit to tell me who had killed him before, and it hadn’t worked. That had been the séance that brought Connell out of the woodwork. But now I had the actual ghost of a murder victim right in front of me, as it were.

  She shifted and wavered, and I suddenly just knew, out of nowhere, that she couldn’t tell me. Maybe couldn’t remember. That was why she needed me.

  “Why can’t she talk to me like you can?” I asked Nonna.

  “You and I have a magical hereditary connection, Katie. She’s new and was never trained. Most spirits aren’t like me.”

  No doubt.

  “Goodbye, my darling,” she said. “Know that I’m always around when you need me.”

  “Wait, Nonna! Can’t you—”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s time. The others are frantic with worry. They almost lost you, you know.” She and Leigh both stepped back, and the veil took them. The last thing I saw was the end of the blue and green dragonfly scarf.

  Connell squeezed my shoulder, and we started moving toward where the tether led. Moments later, I saw the backyard and the sacred circle with the spellbook club members still standing in a ring around the fire, though now they were talking back and forth and did, indeed, sound frantic. Next to Declan, Mungo was whining. Teddy sat on the ground, hunched over me. Suddenly, she looked up, and I could tell she saw me.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she said.

  Mungo fell silent. He was looking at me, too.

  Pop!

  The ground felt cold against my back, and the night air had grown quite chilly. Shivering, I struggled to sit up. Teddy called to the others, and they rushed over to help me. Declan was standing next to the chair, looking worried. Mungo bounded to the outside of the circle.

  Yip!

  “Oh, Katie.” Lucy’s voice trembled as she bent over me.

  I patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m okay. Connell?” I called. “Connell, are you here?”

  “Quickly, girls,” Mimsey said. “We must open the circle.”

  She trotted to the eastern candles and blew them out, muttering thanks to Raphael and air, then widdershins around the circle to the north, the west, the south, and back to east, blowing out candles and giving thanks as she went.

  Bianca and Jaida helped me up, and I ran out to where Declan was standing, Mungo on my heels.

  My handsome husband held out his arms to me. I fell into his embrace, soaking up its comfort for a long moment, then stood back and searched his face. His throat was working, and his eyes were wet.

  Stunned, I put my hand on his cheek. I’d been so sure it had worked. “Oh, Declan,” I stammered. “I thought . . . I thought . . . He was right here with me.”

  Something shifted in his gaze, in the planes of his face, in the way he held his body. I recognized the shift, and joy pierced through me.

  “Ah, things are not always as they seem, lass!”

  Oh, that brogue.

  Connell/Declan laughed and gave me a huge hug that lifted me off my feet. “Thanks ter ya, lass! So happy ter be back here, where ah belong, with yer man!” He let me go and turned to Teddy.

  She was staring at him with a combination of wonder and dismay on her face. When he ran over and swooped her off her feet, she gave a little cry of surprise.

  “Also, my gratitude ter this one!” Connell shouted. “Fer holdin’ on ter tha red cord for our Katie here!”

  “Connell,” I admonished him, “you’re scaring her.”

  “Hey!” a voice came drifting from the house on the other side of Margie’s. “Be quiet, or I’ll call the police. It’s the middle of the night!”

  And like that, Connell was gone and my own sweet Declan was looking out from behind those beautiful blue eyes. He was grinning like a fool as he stepped back from Teddy.

  “Er, sorry. That wasn’t really like me.”

  Lucy put her hand over her mouth, but her eyes were dancing. She snorted out a giggle, then another one. Cookie was next, then me, until we were all laughing hysterically, releasing the tension still riding the air, relief passing through the group like a virus.

  “Shh,” I finally managed. “I don’t know how we could explain this if that guy actually calls the police.”

  When we’d managed to get ourselves under control, Teddy said to Declan, “No, it wasn’t like you. It wasn’t you.” She took a deep breath. “That’s amazing.”

  He nodded happily. “It really is.”

  Then he came over to me, and took me in his arms, and I felt his love and gratitude filling my heart.

  “You can feel that he’s there?” I asked.

  Declan nodded. “He’s back.”

  Chapter 22

  In books and movies, there is always a price to pay for magic. At the least, it’s supposed to enervate the practitioner. But once I began spell casting, I discovered it energized me. However, I hadn’t actually practiced any magic during the spell to find Connell, and it seemed that astral travel could take the wind out of this witch’s sails. I slept for a solid seven hours, and only woke when Mungo yipped me awake, impatient for his morning visit to the yard.

  Lucy had insisted I take the day off from work, so I let my familiar out to the backyard, then crawled back into bed. Snuggled up next to Declan, I basked in his warmth beneath the covers, content and happy.

  For a while at least.

  Finally, I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling. No way was I going back to sleep. Leigh’s spirit had still been following Teddy the night before. That meant there was still a murderer to be brought to justice.

  Maybe that was just a matter of time, though. Quinn had seemed so sure that Walker Stokes had killed his ex-wife out of greed. It made sense. Building a murder case to take to the district attorney wasn’t a fast process, at least I assumed. Perhaps I simply needed to be patient.

  And yet . . .

  Ah, things are not always as they seem, lass!

  I realized that Connell’s words, spoken in Declan’s voice, had haunted my dreams and half dreams all night. Even awake, I couldn’t get them out of my mind.

  What isn’t as it seems?

  The time of death hadn’t been as it seemed at first. What else, though? The murder method seemed pretty sure. Strangulation with a silk dragonfly scarf.

  Wait.

  Quinn said that strangling someone takes strength. That was probably another reason he thought Walker had done it. As a man, he would have been able to overpower Leigh. However, did he? Aldo was also strong enough—physically, at least. I didn’t know if he had the mental fortitude for such a thing.

  Who else?

  The image of Jo Sterling came to mind. Tall, muscular, a former professional athlete who no doubt kept in shape at her own gym.

  She could have done it. The thing is, she seemed like the only one besides Zoe who was really sorry Leigh was dead.

  And what about Calista? She could be stronger than she looked. She wasn’t much bigger than her sister, but adrenaline and rage were known to provide extra strength. Still, unless she was mentally unstable to a spectacular degree, she was a long shot. She loved her shower caps, but Quinn was probably right. It wasn’t a good enough motive.

  Then there was the affair Leigh had supposedly been having. Who had it been with? Did Aldo really know? Could he have made such a thing up? No, that didn’t make sense. He couldn’t blackmail a gallery owner with fictional dirt. Plus, her daughter had also been under the same impression.

  Something was not as it seemed. That was for sure.

  My stomach growled. Loudly.

  I got up and padded out to the kitchen. It felt strange to be home on a weekday morning, and I should have reveled in not having to be in the kitchen at o’dark thirty. Instead, I brought Mungo back in from the yard, and he watched from a kitchen chair as I started breakfast.

  By the time Declan came wandering in, his hair a disheveled mess, T-shirt awry, chin rough and scruffy—gorgeous, in my opinion—the counters were laden with French toast made with heavy cream and Grand Marnier, a small pitcher of warm maple syrup, a platter groaning under crispy slabs of thick, applewood-smoked bacon, and freshly squeezed grapefruit juice.

  “Hungry?” I asked with a grin.

  “I am now.” He looked at the spread. “And you obviously are.”

  “Famished, as a matter of fact. Let’s eat out back.”

  We carried our plates, piled high, out to the table on the patio. Mungo got one bite of bacon, which he did not think was nearly enough, and a scrambled egg. He wolfed it down in ten seconds and sat back next to his placemat, looking up at me as if trying to convince me that I hadn’t fed him at all.

  “Nice try,” I said around a mouthful of French toast. “You’re this far from going on a diet, sir.”

  Yip!

  He turned and ran away to the far side of the yard.

  I finished breakfast and sat back in my chair. “Oof. That was good.”

  “If you do say so yourself,” Declan said. “I agree, though. Fed and rested. Can’t ask for more than that.”

  “It’s a start.” I looked at my watch. It was certainly late enough to call Quinn.

  After carrying our plates into the kitchen, I brought my phone back out to the patio. The detective answered on the second ring.

  I got right to the point. “How’s that case against Walker Stokes going?”

  He sighed. “Katie . . .”

  “What? You asked me to leave it up to you, and I’m curious about how that’s going.”

  Silence fell on the line for several seconds, and then he said, “There’s a fly in the ointment.”

  I sat up straighter.

  “His neighbor confirmed his alibi.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I still think the guy did it,” he almost growled. “Maybe he hired someone. We’re looking into his financials to see if they support that theory.”

  “I don’t like the guy,” I said. “Not one little bit, but I don’t think he did it. I don’t think he’s got enough money to take a contract out on his ex-wife, either.”

  “You have a better suspect?”

  My mind returned to my thoughts earlier that morning. “Maybe. Let me check on a couple of things, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Katie, don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call you when I know something. I’ve been in enough dicey situations to know I don’t want to be in any more.”

  “What’s up?” Declan asked after I’d ended the call. “Did you have a eureka moment?”

  “Maybe,” I said slowly. “I just keep wondering about this affair everyone said Leigh was having, but no one knows who it was with. Or they’re not telling, at least.” I picked up my phone again. “One person claims to know.” I started to tap on the screen.

  “Who are you texting?”

  “Steve Dawes.”

  “Oh.”

  I glanced up at Declan from under my eyebrows. “I need a phone number. He’s a resource.”

  He shrugged.

  Do you have Aldo Bracket’s phone number?

  Steve responded in less than a minute.

  Nope. Why?

  Can you get it?

  Maybe. Why?

  “Of course, he’s being difficult.”

  Declan’s response was a noncommittal “Mm.”

  I considered what to say. Decided on:

  Because I want to ask him something about Leigh Markes. I need your help.

  That did the trick.

  I’ll hit you back.

  I put my phone away. Now I had some waiting to do.

  * * *

  * * *

  On a day we both had off, we should have done something fun—gone for a hike at Skidaway Island State Park, hung out at the beach on Tybee Island, at least had a picnic in Forsyth Park. But no. We cleaned the carriage house and worked in the yard.

  Mind you, we still thought of that as fun. We loved our little place, and we loved taking care of it, and we loved hanging out together. Declan mowed, and I weeded the garden beds. Inside, he vacuumed, and I polished.

  “You know, that rose on the side of the house has gotten too heavy for the trellis it’s on now,” he said. “That can be my next project in the woodshop.”

  “Sounds fancy.”

  “Not so much. But I’m still learning. You wait—I’ll be making you elaborate gewgaws in no time. For now, though, I’m going to go clean up the workshop.”

  I laughed and went to put the laundry in the dryer.

  It was afternoon, and Steve still hadn’t texted. The whole time we’d been spiffing things up around the homestead, I’d been pondering how to approach Aldo Bracket so he’d give me some answers. However, in the meantime, I could check in with Calista. After all, she had to have heard the rumor about Leigh’s affair from someone.

  How to get her number? I could text Iris, and Iris could text Zoe, who was sure to have her aunt’s number, or . . .

  . . . I could see if she was listed in the telephone book. We weren’t so old-school as to keep a printed copy around, but the white pages online would have Calista’s number if she had a landline.

  A few minutes on my laptop revealed that she did. I called her immediately.

  There was no answer.

  Of course there wasn’t. Grr.

  I texted Iris. After two minutes, she hadn’t texted back. She was at work, and often left her phone in the office. Most of the time I admired that, but not so much today. I picked up the phone to call the Honeybee landline, but on impulse tapped the number I’d just called.

  This time Calista answered.

  “Hi, it’s Katie Lightfoot.”

  “Hi, Katie! What’s up?”

  “I have kind of a weird question for you.”

  She laughed. “Okay.”

  “The other day, you mentioned your sister had been seeing someone.”

  Her response sounded reluctant. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything about that.”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t judge. You don’t know who it was?”

  “No . . .”

  “Was Leigh the one who told you about him?”

  Her laugh sounded harsh. “God, no. Leigh would never confide such a thing to me. She barely tolerated me.”

  Ignoring the reference to their dysfunctional relationship, I asked, “Who did tell you, then?”

  “Jo did. Leigh told her things like that. Jo was her best friend.”

  “Did she tell Jo who it was?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Jo knows how to keep things under her hat, if you know what I mean. But you know . . .” She trailed off.

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  “Jo might have been Leigh’s best friend, but she didn’t seem very happy about her new love interest. So maybe she did know who it was.”

  I went out and sat on the steps of the gazebo for a few minutes, staring into space. Zoe hadn’t seemed to know who her mom was seeing, either, had only heard her at the gallery having an intimate conversation with a man.

  Or thought she’d heard that.

  Things are not always as they seem.

  “Hey, neighbor!” Margie called over the fence.

  I got up and went over to chat. “How was your evening at Evelyn’s?”

  “Fun. The kids love it over there.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m sure it wasn’t as much fun as you guys had here. Why didn’t you tell me you were having an after-hours party?”

  “Oh, well, when I found out you weren’t going to be here—”

  “And I’m glad I wasn’t.” She grinned. “Sort of, at least. Mr. Vicks in the house on the other side of ours had a lot to say about it. Sounds like a pretty wild wingding.”

  I snorted and decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. “Hardly. Some of the ladies from book club came over with Aunt Lucy, and we sat around the fire. Not very wild at all. We weren’t even drinking alcohol.”

  Her head reared back. “What? That’s no way to party.”

  “Right? There was some loud laughter is all. It was late, and I guess we woke up Mr. Vicks. He wasn’t shy about giving us his opinion about it, though.”

  “He never is,” Margie said with a shake of her head.

  My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see Steve had texted a number. “Oops. I’ve got to go, Margie. We’ll have that glass of wine soon, okay?”

  Chapter 23

  I checked on Declan. He was happily puttering away in his workshop, organizing screws and nails by size in itty-bitty bins. I kissed his still-rough cheek and went back inside to call Aldo.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22