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Wynona double checked the address she had entered in her phone. “This is it,” she muttered to herself. Climbing off her scooter, she pushed down the kickstand and walked to the front door.
The house was quite grand, even for someone who grew up in Hex Haven’s biggest castle. Wynona’s eyes drifted up, up, up... She counted four stories in the mansion. Tall, with spires on the corners as if it wanted to channel a slightly Gothic vibe, but wasn’t fully ready to commit, the house was certainly a show stopper.
The size and architectural style were not what drew the eye, however. It was the fact that the mansion was bright pink with yellow and blue shutters. From a distance, it reminded Wynona of a cupcake. “He probably did that on purpose,” she whispered to no one in particular.
Shaking her head, Wynona forced herself to look away and continue to the door. The stairs felt endless with her heart beating harder against her chest with every single step. Wynona had never done something like this before, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. She only knew she couldn’t sit around on her hands all day.
Two more appointments had been cancelled since yesterday. She couldn’t allow this to go on any longer. If the police weren’t going to set the record straight, then Wynona would do it herself.
She had no idea why Chief Ligurio was so set on her being the killer, but Wynona knew the truth. “The truth shall set you free.” Her hand shook as she knocked on the ten-foot door, but the sound was still strong and it gave Wynona’s confidence a boost.
She threw back her shoulders and put her chin in the air. She could do this.
“May I help you?”
Or not.
“Uh...” Wynona blinked rapidly and cleared her throat as the giant of a butler glared down at her from the top of the doorway. Apparently, it was functional as well as decorative. “I would like to speak to Mrs. Droxon, please.”
The giant’s yellow eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “Do you have an appointment?”
Wynona shook her head. “No.” Clasping her hands in front of her and appearing contrite, she lowered her chin a little. “My name is Wynona Le Doux. I know I should have called ahead, but there wasn’t really time. I need to ask her a few questions about her husband.”
If possible, the butler’s eyes had gotten even smaller at the mention of her name. Wynona couldn’t yet tell if that was a good sign or a bad one.
“One moment, please,” the creature intoned.
As soon as the door closed, Wynona deflated. This was going to be harder than she’d expected, and she hadn’t exactly thought it would be a walk in the park. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. She’d worn it down today because it looked more formal, but the breeze was just enough to make it dance and mess up her look.
“You may come in.”
The deep, gravelly tone made Wynona jump and she immediately felt a flush creep up her neck. “Thank you,” she said with a polite smile before stepping out of the sun.
“This way.”
She did her best to walk quickly in her heels, but the butler’s long legs made it difficult to keep up.
“Mrs. Droxon is in the red room.” The butler pushed open a door and waved an arm inside.
Again, Wynona gave her thanks, then walked past him. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust. If she thought the outside of the house was impressive, it had nothing on the red room.
Bright red, the shade of Christmas berries, dominated the space. The walls, the furniture and even Mrs. Droxon’s dress as she lay on a fainting couch. The couch was the one black piece of furniture in the room and was the perfect foil to her Victorian style dress.
The wide skirt was spread across the black velvet, while Mrs. Droxon leaned precariously to the side. Wynona had to admit that the woman knew how to pay attention to detail. Every piece of the dress looked authentic, right down to how well Mrs. Droxon filled out the corset. Her sharp ears were the only thing that stood out in the picture as different and gave Wynona just a little bit of background. Mrs. Droxon was an elf.
“You’re Ms. Le Doux?” she asked in a low, breathy tone.
Wynona figured the tone was because the woman could barely breathe, though maybe it was all part of the persona. “I am.”
“And you have questions for me?”
Wynona did her best to smile. “I do.”
Mrs. Droxon raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Have a seat, please.” She waved an elegantly pale hand toward a chair and Wynona took her weight off her heels.
“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment,” she started, hoping to ingratiate herself a bit. If Mrs. Droxon was anything like her husband, she would wish to be pandered to.
Mrs. Droxon nodded regally, though her eyes seemed unfocused, as if she were a million miles away. “Gerall said you wished to ask about my husband.”
Wynona nodded. “Yes. You see, someone wearing his clothes was murdered at my tea shop the other night.” Wynona scooted forward slightly, leaning forward in her eagerness. “I was hoping to ask if you knew of anyone who would wish to kill Chef Droxon.”
Mrs. Droxon blinked a couple of times, her face perfectly blank. Then with the flash of one second to the next, the breathless, simpleminded woman disappeared and a shrewd elf took her place. Rising from the couch in a truly amazing show of elegance, Mrs. Droxon walked across the room to a buffet filled with liquor bottles. She pulled the stopper off a crystal decanter and turned to Wynona, asking a silent question.
Wynona shook her head. She wasn’t a fan of alcohol. It changed people and muddled her mind. She’d stick with her tea, thank you very much.
“You know...” Mrs. Droxon sipped her glass. “For a moment there, I thought you were simply another one of his fans coming to figure out if I would stand in your way.”
Wynona jerked back. “Excuse me?”
Mrs. Droxon waved a hand in the air. “Don’t misunderstand me.” She looked Wynona over from head to toe. “You’re not his usual type, but your looks can’t be disputed.”
Wynona folded her arms over her chest. “Thank you? I think.”
Mrs. Droxon snorted. It was the first normal sound to come from the elf. “Atherton prefers his women a bit more...decorated.” With a toss of her head, the glass was emptied and Mrs. Droxon was working her way around the room. “So you want to know if he had any enemies?”
“I do.” Wynona rose to her feet. She didn’t like feeling like the smallest person in the room, which she technically was, but she could pretend otherwise.
Mrs. Droxon stopped at a vase of flowers, fingering the petals. They were just as red as the rest of the room and Wynona recognized them as a mix of chrysanthemums and cockscomb. Both held their color well, but considering it was mid-spring, both flowers were out of season. They must have been spelled to bloom this early.
“I think the better question is, who wasn’t his enemy?”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate. “He didn’t have any friends at all?”
Mrs. Droxon grinned, but the look was malicious, not kind. “Not unless you count the endless string of mistresses.” Her look shifted to one of nonchalance and she shrugged. “But considering how fast he goes through those, I doubt they’d claim that title either.”
“I suppose being the best baker in Hex Haven means stepping on a few toes along the way,” Wynona said carefully. Her eyes were caught on a shadow just beneath Mrs. Droxon’s left eye. When Wynona had first arrived, she hadn’t noticed anything odd, thanks to a superb makeup job, but now, at the angle she stood, she began questioning what she was really seeing.
“I suppose,” Mrs. Droxon said dryly. She left the flowers behind and paced the large room.
“Do you think any of his...paramours would have wanted him dead?” The more Wynona watched, the more she felt bad for the woman. Mrs. Droxon put on an excellent facade. The breathless beauty was probably the face she presented to the world, a way of hiding what really went on in her home. And now with Wynona, Mrs. Droxon had gone with haughty. It was a protective effort.
Yet, Wynona felt sure that inside, the woman was crying. Lonely, hurt and obviously bitter, her name, unfortunately, went immediately to Wynona’s mental suspect list. Who better than a jilted wife would wish to kill a husband?
A few odd questions remained though. If Mrs. Droxon did indeed try to kill her husband, why do it in Wynona’s shop? And why couldn’t she tell that the man she killed wasn’t her husband? Surely Mrs. Droxon knew her husband’s silhouette, even if they’d been in the dark.
“I’m sure many of them did,” Mrs. Droxon continued.
Wynona pinched her lips. “Did you?”
The elf stopped, her eyes wide as she turned to face Wynona. “You’re very direct.”
Wynona clasped her hands. “I believe it’s the best way to get a direct answer.”
A slow smile crept across the elf’s face. “You may call me Maeve.”
Somehow it felt as if Wynona had just been handed a gift, although she wasn’t exactly sure why. “Alright...Maeve. Were you mad enough to kill your husband?”
She grinned. “My husband isn’t dead.”
“No...” Wynona tilted her head. “But the man who was killed was wearing your husband’s clothes. I believe the killer thought they were killing Chef Droxon.”
Maeve nodded and sighed. “You’re probably right.” She walked back across the room and sat on the fainting couch with an audible plop, her skirts poofing before settling around her feet. “And while I admit I wish I had the courage to kill him, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Wynona took two steps to the right, putting her in just the right position to see the spot under Maeve’s eye. It was exactly what Wynona feared. “There’s places that can help women like you.”
Maeve laughed harshly and put a thin fingertip to her eye. “Never trust makeup made by sprites.”
“Would you like me to help you call them?” Wynona ignored her change of topic.
“No.” The word was succinct but hoarse. “I’m afraid that isn’t a good idea.”
Wynona stepped closer. “Why not?”
“Because if I leave...” Her emerald green gaze met Wynona’s. “It won’t be my husband who dies next.”
Wynona’s next words faltered. “Surely we can get you protection—”
Maeve waved her off. “Don’t worry about me,” she said with a tight smile. “I made my bed long ago. Now, I have to lie in it.”
Wynona didn’t answer. She knew what it was like to feel as if you had no choices and could never break free. But because someone cared, she had, and now she was working to make a new life for herself. There was no reason Mrs. Droxon couldn’t do the same. But it would only work if the woman wanted it to.
“And just because I know you’re curious,” Maeve clasped her fingers in her lap. “On the night of the murder, I was here.” She nodded toward the door. “Gerall can vouch for my whereabouts.”
Wynona looked over her shoulder. She hadn’t been aware that the butler had followed her inside the room. From the way the man was watching Maeve, Wynona guessed the woman had at least a little more support than she had first supposed. Nodding, she turned back to Maeve. “Thank you for letting me intrude in your day.”
Maeve rose up and nodded regally. “Good luck to you in your search.” She arched an eyebrow. “My husband’s pastries might be well liked, but he isn’t. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”
After another round of thanks, Wynona headed outside to her Vespa. She rode down the road for a minute before pulling over and grabbing her phone from her pocket. She had missed three calls and fifteen texts.
“What in the world?” she muttered as listened to the messages.
“Nona?” Prim’s voice was squeaky on the tiny speaker. “You’ve got to call me back, pronto!”
Each message was another iteration of the first, except the panic in Prim’s tone grew exponentially by the end.
“NONA! Get your phone out of your pocket and call me! This is big, girlie! BIG!”
Wynona pulled the phone away from her ear and winced at the last shout. “Good grief,” she murmured as she dialed Prim back.
“NONA!”
Wynona rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s me. What in the world happened in the last hour that has you in such a tizzy?”
Prim was panting on the other line. “I’ve got a hot tip for you, and you need to follow it up now.”
“Why now?” Wynona pressed. “And who did you hear this tip from?”
“My sources aren’t important,” Prim said, brushing the question away. “But you have to go now because she’s going to get away if you don’t.”
“Can you please start from the beginning? I have no idea who she is.”
“Oh. Right.” Prim took a deep breath. “Word on the street is that Chef Droxon’s secretary nearly had a heart attack when word got out about the murder. She’s been with him for five years now, longer than any other secretary, and news of the murder has her turning tail and running.”
“Why would the death of a thief matter so much to her?” Wynona asked. “Did she know the man?”
“No idea,” Prim answered. “All I know is that she’s making a big fuss and there’s got to be a reason for it.”
Wynona pulled back her phone to glance at the time. “Do you know where she is now?”
“She should technically be at work,” Prim said. “But my source said they saw her last heading into Shade Banking and Loan.”
“Okay.” Wynona shifted on her scooter seat. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Oh, and her name is Delila Caseis. She’s a siren.”
Wynona paused. “Oh, great.”
“What?” Prim asked.
“Nothing,” Wynona said quickly. “Talk to you soon, bye!” She shut off the phone and stuffed it back in her pocket with a sigh. That was all she needed was to confront another woman in Chef Droxon’s life. From Mrs. Droxon’s description and the fact that the baker obviously went through secretaries like he went through sugar, Wynona could only guess what kind of a relationship they’d had.
“Why can’t people just be good and honest?” she grumbled while getting her Vespa going again. Her heels weren’t the easiest thing to ride in, but the look had been important and Wynona was grateful she’d chosen to dress up a little when confronting Mrs. Droxon.
Wynona could only imagine what the secretary was going to look like. But Prim was right. Running scared because someone else died was an odd reaction. Wynona tilted her face up, enjoying the warm sunshine as she rode into town. She would just have to see what was going on with the siren. And maybe add another possible suspect to her list.