“You can’t be serious, Sandwich. I don’t know anything, and whatever the Bustamantes told me in that reading is confidential. Period. I won’t answer any questions about it unless you’re going to get a warrant—or whatever it is you do when you want to squeeze a perp for info.”
“We don’t squeeze perps. That’s only on TV.”
“You do, too. You’re very squeez-y. Just ask Sipowicz and Simone. Believe me, they know how to squeeze.”
“Are they the same as Starsky and Hutch?” he asked, referring to my comment yesterday about those two overeager detectives who’d grilled me to within an inch of my life back when I was accused of murdering MZ.
“One in the same.”
“So you’re refusing to tell me what happened in the reading?”
“You bet your bippy I am. A reading is confidential to the client and me, and I’m not giving anything up. I don’t know if that’s legal or not, but it’s just the way I roll. So now what? Do I once again offer you my wrists for some cellblock jewelry? Because we’ve done this before. Just say the word and I’ll go willingly and wait for my attorney to arrive so he can poke holes in your stupid arrest.”
“I’ve listened to enough of this nonsense, Stevie!” Win protested. “He’s simply pushing you around because he can use his badge to do so. I mostly like Sardine, but the way he’s going about asserting himself these days is ludicrous. He can’t arrest you for something that isn’t recognized legally. Legally, psychics, mediums…magicians, for that matter, aren’t considered reliable sources. Say as much before I set his pants on fire.”
“You can set fires?” I blurted before I realized I had.
“Set fires? Me?” Sandwich asked, his brow furrowing in a frown as the sun beat down on his red face.
Win’s sigh grated. “No. I don’t think so. But I’m going to give it the old college try if he doesn’t leave you alone. This is harassment.”
I pressed my hand to my ear where my Bluetooth was and pointed to it when I looked at Sandwich. “Sorry. Got a call from the contractor. It was a bad connection. So, where are we at? Am I going to the klink again or not? I seem to be everyone’s go-to for murder these days.”
His lips did that clamping-into-a-thin-line thing again, a sure sign of his disapproval. “No one said anything about murder, Stevie. You know the papers always sensationalize.”
“That’s what everyone said the last time they tore my house up and it wasn’t murder. So, if we have nothing else to discuss, if you can’t force me to tell you any more than I already have, I’m going to go get a hot dog for lunch. Are we done?”
Jamming his pad back into the pocket of his shirt, he sighed. “We’re done.”
Clenching my jaw, I looked up at him one last time. “Always good seeing you, Sandwich. Can’t wait ’til the next non-murder to chat again.”
Then I stomped off, my appetite gone. Crossing the street toward Forrest’s coffee shop, I pressed my finger to my Bluetooth. “So obviously, it’s officially murder.”
“The gut never lies, Stevie.”
“Winterbutt’s right,” Bel chirped from my purse. “I figured murder, too.”
“So now what? Do we press the Bustamantes? Maggie’s in such an awful place and Bianca’s just awful. Maybe we talk to the boys?”
“I say we dig around and see if we can find something on this Jacob. Can’t say I’ve ever seen him, but he surely fits the bill where sketchy’s concerned, wouldn’t you agree?” Win asked.
I nodded, stopping before entering the coffee shop. “So, beef with Tito—who had some? Gimme the rundown please, Bel.”
“We’ve got Jacob the fishmonger. Maybe the kid you saw yesterday, and that’s mostly it. Though, you might wanna check and see if anyone else was bent outta shape because Tito got the spot on that show. Also, couldn’t hurt to talk to Tito’s old boss. Maybe he knows somethin’ about Tito’s extracurriculars. I’m kinda with you on the Bustamantes, though. I don’t think any of them had anything to do with it.”
“You know what I want to know? Who told Maggie about this son of Tito’s? How did she find out to begin with? When did she find out? I hate to say it, but visiting Maggie might be a priority. The only thing I do know is we can’t let them take the Bustamante boys’ livelihood away, Win. They work hard. And Tito worked hard to get that truck and make it a success. Even just a couple of days could really trash everything they’ve accomplished.”
“Then I suggest we find this Jacob and begin there. But I warn you, Stevie, you must be careful. He sounds quite violent.”
“Any more violent than the last guy who held me at gunpoint? Don’t worry. I can take him. All that spy training will be put to good use if he comes for me.”
“All that spy training, my dove? Ten sit-ups does not a spy make.”
“She did thirteen, Winterbutt,” Belfry twittered in my defense. “Lay off her. Who are you? Jillian Michaels?”
“That’s true. I did do thirteen.” Thirteen of the ugliest moments of my life, but I’d done them.
“You did maybe five genuine sit-ups. The remaining eight hardly count. You can’t use the leg of a chair to pull yourself up, Stevie. It’s cheating.”
“Picky-picky, Spy Dude. Five is a good darn start.” Even if those five had taken every last breath I had right out of me.
“But not a good enough start if Jacob is a volatile man. Men like that use their fists to talk.”
“Then I’ll make sure I have the leg of a chair nearby to help me in case of emergency.”
“This is not a joke, Stevie. I do not approve of you speaking to Jacob alone. I said I’d look out for you, and I intend to do just that.”
He’d said that to Baba Yaga…
Everything came to a screeching halt for me in that second in time as I began to put something together that, in my stupidly trusting nature, had never occurred to me before. I had to ask and get it off my chest or it would drive me crazy.
“You know, here’s a question for you, Neanderthal Man, and I only ask because it begs asking. So don’t get snippy.”
“How did I quite suddenly become a knuckle-dragger? Moments ago I was upright. I resent the implication and I’ll thank you kindly to keep such harsh assessments of my spine to yourself.”
Uh-oh. Win was offended. Not what I’d meant to happen. But did that stop me from being an insensitive cur? No. Not one iota. Sometimes I get carried away and forget to preface my questions with gentler explanations and the reasons why I’m asking them.
This was one of those sometimes.
“Did you really just meet Baba Yaga for the first time yesterday? Or did she send you here to check up on me?”
Win gasped in outrage. I could always tell when he was outraged because he had that tiny wheeze to his intake of air. “I beg your pardon?”
Okay, he was going to get snippy. “I was just thinking—”
“A sure sign I’m in for a hilarious take on your rather vivid imagination.”
I pressed my finger to the Bluetooth harder as a couple walked arm in arm down the sidewalk. “Don’t you be all aghast at me, Spy. Don’t you dare. I’m only asking a question that makes sense, and it just seems awfully suspicious to me that Baba can hear you—”
“I thought she was the all-knowing, all-seeing, magical-of-magical witches? Of course she can hear me, Stevie. She can hear all of us in the afterlife, can’t she?”
“And how did she know your name? Your full name, Crispin Alistair Winterbottom?”
“Again, I refer to all-knowing, all-seeing,” Win retorted. “Maybe she takes attendance.”
Okay, point. But for her to show up now? A couple of months after the fact? After she’d thrown me out of my home and excommunicated me? After we’d left things on bad terms? How did I know she hadn’t been communicating with Win all along? Coinky-dink? I wasn’t so sure, so I decided asking was better than speculating in my head, which could only lead to resentment and suppressed anger.
“But here’s the thing—I was free-fallin’ for a month and not a single word from her. Then you came along, Win. Maybe she didn’t want it to look suspicious, and she waited to pop in. So maybe she asked you to keep an eye on me. I’m not sure why she’d do that, but the timing is pretty suspect. Why should BY care if I’m looked after? I’m not a witch anymore. I’m not sheltered under her big old wing of protection, so there’s no need to do anything with me. But I am an ex-witch with some really sensitive information about a very important dead council member.”
“Maybe she dropped in on her crusty broom because she’s nosy,” Bel offered. “C’mon, Mom and Dad. Don’t fight. I hate it when you fight.”
I shook my head. I really felt like I was on to something and I just wanted to get it out in the open. “No, Bel, that’s not it. I think Win showed up because BY asked him to. I think she sent you here to do exactly what you claim you are. Spy.”
Win’s sigh of impatience resonated in my ear. “And that makes any sense how, Stevie? Use your logic, please. You’re right. Why would she send me to look after you if she’s no longer responsible for you? For that matter, why would she ask me to look out for you if she’s as callous as you claim?”
“To keep an eye on me. To keep my mouth shut, maybe? Who better than an insider to spy on me to see if I was digging around where I shouldn’t be digging? Maybe she popped in yesterday to be sure you’d shown up for your duties.”
“So you’re proposing I’ve inserted myself into your life because Baba Yaga asked me to? Did I also see to it Madam Zoltar was murdered in order to gain entry to your illustrious world?”
And another fair point. “I’m just saying, it makes sense. Maybe not the murder, but BY asking you to spy on me is totally plausible. It could definitely benefit her, if she thought I was trying to figure out how to get my powers back. Maybe she doesn’t want me to have my powers back. I’m just asking you for some honesty, is all. I won’t hate you if you’re on BY’s payroll. Promise.”
“That’s utterly preposterous! Are you mental? I’m insulted, and on that very question of my integrity, I’m going off to the plane where people don’t make such hasty, unfounded accusations!”
My shoulders sagged. I’d hurt his feelings. Totally not my intent. “There is no such plane, Win.”
Silence. He’d gone off in a huff.
“You’ve done it now, Boss. You blew it.”
The rush of adrenaline I’d experienced moments ago, when I was one-hundred percent on my theory, evaporated. “How do you know I blew anything? I was just spouting a theory that makes total sense.”
“It does not, Stevie, and you know it. Baba doesn’t work that way. She’s a direct hit and always has been. So she knew his full name. Like that’s a shock? You don’t suppose she asked around the afterlife to see what you were up to? Who you were up to stuff with?”
“But my theory certainly makes sense,” I defended, though somewhat weakly.
“It doesn’t make sense because of Madam Zoltar. I mean, there’s coincidence and there’s coincidence. And why the fribbles would BY care what you told anyone about what happened to you, anyway? No one in the human world would believe you, and no one in the witch world will touch you with a ten-foot wand at this point. So now you and your impulsive theories have upset Winterbutt. Not nice, Stevie Cartwright. Also, by the way, I don’t like you right now.”
“I was making a valid point.” Which grew less valid as I absorbed what I’d said on impulse.
Maybe it was Win talking to me as though he had a right to tell me what I could and couldn’t do—or maybe I was still edgy about BY’s visit. She was a reminder of what I’d lost and it rubbed me the wrong way, and now I was taking it out on Win.
Either way, coffee at Strange Brew didn’t sound as good as it had just moments ago.
But Forrest waved to me from the window, motioning me to come in, his smile warm.
I liked Forrest. I liked him a lot. I also figured he’d probably know where a guy like Jacob spent his free time when he wasn’t running from the permit-department man.
“You owe Spy Guy an apology, Stevie,” Belfry reminded. “You accused him of something uncool. He’s our friend, and you don’t treat your friends like suspects. You’re getting just a little carried away these days, Boss.”
I pressed my finger to the Bluetooth and held the other up at Forrest, signaling him to give me a minute. “You’re absolutely right. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, Bel. I just wanted to ask him before it ate me up. I don’t want any more secrets in my life.”
“Well, good job, Jessica Fletcher. Sometimes you speak before you think. Now apologize.”
Bel was right about that, too. I got wrapped up and spoke before I really thought things through. Certainly not the first time I’d done that, probably not the last. Regret stirred in my chest, heavy and tight. “Win? You there?”
The warm breeze whistled down the sidewalk, the tulips and daffodils in pots lining the storefronts bending in cheerful colors, the echo of his silence profound.
My shoulders slumped in defeat. “Aw, c’mon, Win. I’m sorry. I really am. I should have prefaced the question by saying it doesn’t matter if BY sent you—”
“Ixnay on the BY-ay, Stevie. Gravy sakes, just apologize for saying something stupid, would you?”
I let my head hang as Win’s absence grew louder. “I’m sorry, Win. I didn’t mean to insult you. Please don’t be angry.”
“Better.” Belfry chirped his approval.
I cocked an ear, and still nothing but the faraway sounds of early afternoon in Ebenezer Falls greeted me. “He’s pretty mad.”
“I’m pretty sure he’ll get over it. At least I hope so. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s never gonna let you pick out the colors for the guest bath without his nose in the middle of it. So he’ll be back.”
I chuckled. That made me feel a little better. “Okay, so in the meantime, let’s keep my mind busy and my mouth out of trouble and go poke around and see what we can find out about Jacob and where he hangs out. We need to talk to him.”
I pushed my way into the coffee shop, smiling as Forrest held up a steaming mug of coffee in the enormously round ice-cream-colored cups that were the shop’s signature.
As I sat down at one of the wrought iron tables in a chair Forrest held for me, I saw a tow truck attaching a hitch to Tito’s truck and my heart sank.
I needed to find out whodunit and I needed to do it pronto.
And I needed Win to accept my apology.
Nothing felt right without Win in my ear.