“Was he doing anything suspicious? Anything unusual?”
“Nope. Nothing unusual at all other than the fact that he looked like he was in agony. It sure appeared as though he was trying not to make a scene, but it was very clear he was pretty torn up. I mean, I’m shattered about the loss of Tito’s tacos. His sons don’t make them quite the way he did. But am I so shattered I’m in a puddle of misery?”
I almost plucked the picture out of the cheese but Win, as though reading my mind, scolded me.
“Hands off, Sticky Fingers Louise. No touching evidence. You do remember how that went down the last time, don’t you? Think Montblanc pen and accusing someone unjustly.”
I rolled my eyes at the reminder of how I’d waved what I thought was evidence under the wrong person’s nose.
“It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. There’s someone else in the picture, Win. I can’t just leave without finding out who it is. I just want to see,” I complained, angling my head while balancing in the entry to the truck so I wouldn’t touch the frame of the door and leave my fingerprints. But no such luck. The glob of cheese covered the identity of the other person. “So why do you suppose this kid was so upset?”
“Quite possibly, he’s just as broken up as you over the loss of the Taco King. It is you who always said no one makes Mexican the way Tito does. In fact, as I recall, just the other day as you gorged on the Bangin’ Burrito—item number six on Tito’s four-star menu, was it?—you said if you died right then, your life would be complete as you sighed like a schoolgirl dining with her crush. Maybe this young chap feels the same way you do, and it brought him to tears.”
“Maybe,” I sighed, planting my hands on my hips, giving the inside of the truck a last critical once-over, only to find more of absolutely nothing. “I think we’re making mountains out of molehills because we love a good whodunit. But we can’t turn this into something it’s more than likely not. I don’t know what the picture is from, but it likely has a really good explanation. Tito probably had a heart attack or fell or something that has nothing to do with murder. Let’s forget this. We need to get back to Edward anyway.”
“Edward has left us, but Kitty’s back,” he purred in the whiskey tone reserved for his ghostly dabbling.
“Win, I’m warning you. Knock it off. You leave Kitty Talucci alone. She is not up for afterlife grabs.”
“Well, if it isn’t Stevie Cartwright.”
I fought the impulse to jump out of my skin at the sound of Officer Nelson’s voice—or Officer Rigid, as I secretly called him after our last tango over Madam Zoltar. Wherein he did everything by the book and made me feel guilty with his hawkish, intense gaze and perfectly starched uniform without a speck of lint on it. All without even trying.
I turned to face him, the sun blocked by his tall frame, and watched him scan my face with his dark eyes that would be quite attractive if they weren’t always looking at me like I was Ebenezer Falls’ resident unprosecuted serial killer.
“Hola, Officer Nelson. I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing back here.” I might as well just be open. It’s not like Mr. Scary Face wasn’t going to make me feel like I’d done something wrong anyway.
“I was absolutely wondering, Miss Cartwright. Or should I call you Madam Zoltar 2.0?”
Naturally, someone like Mr. Law Enforcement wouldn’t believe in ghosts. I heard it in his scathing tone. But I was determined to make him like me. Don’t ask why, I don’t understand it either. I just know his disapproval unsettles me. He’d be a great ally to have, being a police officer, if he’d just give in and let me weave my Stevie Cartwright web.
I smiled up at him, trying to keep my turban from slipping off my head as I craned my neck. “How about just Stevie? Seeing as I’m not a suspect in any more murders, we can do a first-name basis, can’t we? Skip the formalities? What’s your first name?”
“Bet it’s something solid and stalwart like John-Boy,” Win commented dryly.
He stared down at me for a long moment from beneath the brim of his hat, his deep eyes swirling in thought, and then he said, “It’s Officer Nelson, Miss Cartwright. And as I said, I was wondering what you were doing back here. This is a crime scene until otherwise notified. Which means, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
My mouth fell open. I knew it did, but I couldn’t stop it from unhinging. “A crime scene? So it was murder?” I breathed the word out, fighting the hitch in my throat.
His head swiveled from left to right. “I said no such thing. All deaths with unusual circumstances like Mr. Bustamante’s are considered crime scenes until the coroner says otherwise. Now, if you’d please exit the area.” He held out his arm and motioned for me to beat feet, his mouth in a thin line of still more disapproval.
Mr. Bustamante? I’d had no idea that was Tito’s last name. He was just my Taco Man. My beloved purveyor of spicy, meaty goodness.
I batted my eyes at him. Unsuccessfully, because my eyelashes stuck together, but whatever. “But in your esteemed, highly respected opinion, would you consider this a crime scene?” I asked as I pried my right eye apart.
“Bloody hell, Stevie. We’re going to have to work on your brown-nosing flirt. It’s ghastly and lacks so many subtleties,” Win crooned.
Now Officer Nelson buttoned up tighter than a drum, standing erect, his casual stance gone. “I have no comment. Again, I’ll ask you to please exit the area, Miss Cartwright so that we can continue to do our jobs.”
“Please exit the area, Miss Cartwright,” I muttered under my breath in a saucy mimic of his words, but I sauntered out of there just as I was told anyway so I wouldn’t land in the klink.
The parking lot had emptied out and it appeared all the trucks had closed up shop. Their awnings were rolled up and their serving windows closed.
My heart clenched as I made my way across the street, the joy of the warm day gone for me now that Tito had left the building.
Entering the store, I noted Win was right. Edward was gone, and without any client appointments until early tonight, I decided going home to check on Enzo, our contractor, was a good idea. He’d made enormous progress in just under a month of renovations, but we were a long way from done.
“Bel? You awake?” I asked, making my way to the back room where I’d left him napping.
I heard him chirp a yawn. “Yep. Wide awake.”
“So you haven’t heard?” I peeked under the broad leaf of the banana plant and stroked his wing, his soft white body twitching as he shook off sleep.
“Not a peep. Did you find out where that hottie Kitty keeps her will so we can save Snape from the evil ex-husband?”
“Tito’s dead.” I cringed as I said it out loud.
Belfry gasped. “No. No way. What happened?”
I scooped him up and tucked him into my purse, where I’d nested a small washcloth for him when we traveled back and forth to the store. “C’mon. I’ll tell you on the way home.”
When we got back to the house, despite my sadness over Tito as I told Belfry about his cheesy death (pardon the pun), I almost yelped in joy at the sight of the subcontractor who was due to pave the driveway, standing in the mud with Enzo, whose arms were flapping up and down.
“Look, Win, the cement guy’s here! Dance with me!” I cheered, twerking without an ounce of rhythm.
“Beyoncé salutes you,” he said dryly.
“We’re going to have a real live driveway, Spy Guy! Whatever will I do with all the extra time I’ll have on my hands when I don’t have to rappel down the stairs to get to the road to reach my car every morning?”
Win barked a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic. When you rappel down the side of Mt. Olympus, then we’ll discuss treacherous conditions.”
I stopped short on my way up those very stairs I mentioned. “Stop. You did not rappel down Mt. Olympus.”
“How would you know?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? I still don’t even know how you died. In fact, I have no confirmation you were ever a spy at all.” I was still a little bitter about that. Win held the circumstances of his life and death close to his ghostly chest and I was just supposed to take him at his word.
Which I had.
I reasoned his being a spy was probably part of his motivation not to share, but the other half of me, the half that wanted to use my Google Fu on him and dig into his life, thought it was terribly convenient to claim he was a spy with no recorded history. Yet. I continued to respect his wishes.
“Don’t be bitter, Stevie. I told you, all in good time.”
“When is a good time, Win? Define ‘good’ in Win’s world.”
“Say again, Miss Cartwright?” Enzo said from behind me before he plowed up our crumbling steps to stand in front of me, a pink piece of paper dangling from his thick, calloused fingers.
I pressed my hand to my totally fake Bluetooth, the one I used as my beard when someone caught me talking to Win, and shook my head. It was an ingenious idea and kept people from asking too many questions or thinking I was bananapants for talking to myself. And yes, it had been Win’s idea. Score another one for the spy.
Smiling, I said, “I was just on the phone. So how’s everything going? Is the driveway going in? Please say yes. I don’t even care how much it costs. I don’t. I’d pay double just to avoid dragging my sorry butt up these stairs in the pouring rain every day.”
Enzo grunted the grunt that meant more money was required. “Glad you said that, because it’s gonna cost ya,” he offered in his bold New York accent.
I stopped to look at him just before reaching the wide porch, now newly planked with a gorgeous, darkly stained cedar. “You say that like it’s a million dollars. How bad can it be?”
His moon-shaped face wrinkled as he fussed with his signature Yankees ball cap, rearranging it on his head. “Close enough.” He held up the estimate from the driveway guy and stuck it in my face.
“Oh, bloody bollocks!” Win barked in my ear. “The devil I’ll pay that kind of money for a blessed driveway! Besides, the exercise is good for you, Stevie. You said as much yourself just the other day when you were admiring your thighs and how toned they’d become.”
Fighting a blush, because I hadn’t realized Win had actually paid attention to my comment or my thighs, I smiled at Enzo. “I told you, I don’t care how much it costs. Tell him we’re in.”
Enzo’s moon face scrunched up in distaste. “But he’s way the heck over budget, Miss Cartwright! He could cut some corners on a job this big and still come out smellin’ like a rose in Brooklyn.”
“What the wise contractor said, Stevie,” Win agreed.
But I shook my head, pulling my turban off and stuffing it under my arm. “I don’t want to haggle with him because I want it done ASAP. I know you want to get the best deal for me, Enzo, and I appreciate it, but this isn’t up for negotiation. I need to be able to get to the front door of my house without feeling like I’d just climbed Everest in some sandals.”
He shrugged his pudgy shoulders and jammed his thumbs under his overalls. “All right, but I’m tellin’ ya, he’s takin’ ya for a sweet ride.”
“Then consider me his willing passenger,” I said on a chuckle as I reached for the beautiful antique doorknob I’d driven all the way to Portland for because Win absolutely had to have it.
“Oh! Almost forgot. There’s a lady in there waitin’ for ya. Dresses like she’s on her way to a Duran Duran concert. Popped up outta nowhere, too. Went to use the facilities, coulda sworn I locked the front door and bam, there she was. Nice enough, though, and darn sharp to look at. Seemed pretty harmless and said she wasn’t budgin’ an inch ’til she saw your pretty face. You want I should go in with ya?”
My stomach somersaulted in a nervous lurch. I only needed to hear the Duran Duran part of Enzo’s explanation to know who waited for me inside, and she was anything but harmless.
Baba Yaga was here.
Yay.
Baba had a penchant for anything from the ’80s, her all-time favorite era, according to her. Leg warmers, dog-ear teased hair on either side of her head, Aqua Net, leopard leggings, ripped sweatshirts and row after row of bangle bracelets were her jam.
Patting Enzo on the shoulder, I shook my head. “No. You go give two thumbs up to Driveway Guy so he can get started right away and I’ll handle my guest. Thanks for watching out for me, though.”
“Made ya a pot of coffee. Got a new brew the other day. Heavy on the hazelnut with just a hint of dark-chocolate roast.”
Pinching his cheek, I smiled at him. “You are my dream man, Enzo. Will you marry me?”
He grinned, wide and facetious. “Ya think the missus’ll mind a sister-wife?”
I giggled in response, pushing open the heavy door. As I stepped into the entryway, now light and airy with new walls painted in a pale lemon and reclaimed dark wood flooring, complemented by white crown molding, I inhaled. Setting my purse down on the small table next to the stairs, I let the beauty of my surroundings soothe me.
I loved the bright, cheerful entry with its multicolored stained-glass window above the hulking door Enzo had taken such pains to restore, the winding staircase leading to my future dream bedroom, the light infusing every corner of the space.
“Am I hearin’ right? Is the old bat here? Like here-here, in Ebenezer Falls?” Belfry asked.
I scooped him out and nodded, tucking him onto my shoulder. “She is. She probably wants to see you, buddy. You know how much she likes to check up on her subjects and be treated like one of the people.”
Belfry bristled, the hair on his tiny body standing on end. “Why would she wanna see me?”
“Because you still serve her, Bel, and she’s always been hands-on, and you went through a trauma just the way I did. I have no affiliation to her anymore. Which means she has no power over my mortal butt. So what could she want to see me about? Has to be you she’s checking on.”
“I take it this is the fearless leader you spoke of who shunned you?” Win asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Ex-fearless leader, and you take it right.”
“Shall I make myself scarce? Do you wish to speak privately? Or do you want me to pull the old ghost routine? Shake the table? Flicker the lights? Hold that thought. I know. Why don’t I open and shut the fridge door? I’m getting quite proficient at it. Just ask Bel.”
“The truth, Boss! Winterbutt totally held the door open long enough for me to see the moldy sliced ham you bought a hundred years ago for sandwiches you never ate in favor of chocolate Pop-Tarts.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I shook my head. “Nope. There’s nothing I haven’t told you at this point and nothing I want to hide.”
“Poke, poke, poke,” he teased.
Feeling prickly, I got saucy. “Well, it’s true. You know almost everything there is to know about me.”
“All right then, I’ll come with. I’ll be with you the whole way. If you need my assistance, simply say the word.”
I’d never tell him, but I took comfort in knowing Win had my back. That he’d be right in my ear if I needed him.
How did you make chit-chat with the woman who’d once been your esteemed ruler after she’d blatantly sided with an angry, spiteful, deader-than-a-doornail, no-good warlock and his fellow council members?
Not only sided with them, but didn’t say word one in my defense when said no-good, wife-abusing warlock literally slapped the witch right out of me in a fit of rage after I’d dared intervene in his private family matter. And all this after he’d nearly killed his wife and son while I tried to stop him.
That was exactly how I’d ended up back in my old hometown of Ebenezer Falls. Not just because I had nowhere else to go. But because I’d tried to help an abusive, power-tripping warlock’s son in the most frightening moment of his young life and in return, I no longer had my powers, my friends, or my life.
My old life. My new one was shaping up quite nicely, thank you, and if Baba was here to check on the debris she’d left in her wake, I’d tell her so. I was never a very outspoken witch. I played by the rules. I was loyal to the coven even when I thought something wasn’t totally fair.
But no more.
Squaring my shoulders, I took my time getting to the kitchen, parsing my angry thoughts, trying to form them into cohesive sentences.
But I just couldn’t. Now that the eleventh hour was here, and I was about to face the person who’d technically agreed I deserved to have my powers taken from me, I found I had only ugly things to say.
Which meant I’d better say nothing at all.