Since locating Fisk had already been on my mind, I left Trista with a promise to do my best to find him. I couldn’t help but feel he held the key to solving this whole case.
I’d also spent my last few minutes silently wishing that Trista would just wish to know where he was. It would have made my job so much easier.
But as it was against Wishcraft Laws to solicit wishes, I couldn’t say so aloud. Unfortunately, because Trista hadn’t picked up on my silent pleading, I was going to have to find Fisk the hard way.
My first inclination was to ask Amy if she had any thoughts about where he might be hiding out. It was, in fact, my only inclination, so I hoped she had some suggestions for me.
Even though I’d recently acquired a PI license, I had come about it in a magical way, and hadn’t (yet) put in the necessary requirements.
Which boiled down to the fact that I had no idea what I was doing.
On the front porch of Something Wicked, I buttoned my coat and tucked my hands in my pockets. I glanced at the sky. Dark clouds had moved in, and I could smell rain in the air.
I smiled. I loved rain.
But if the temperature dropped any more, the rain would surely turn to snow. Beautiful, yes, but not good for the festival.
As I headed down the sidewalk, I listened to the wind whistling down the street and suddenly realized how quiet it was.
Deathly quiet.
I kicked up my pace and headed for the village green. As I neared, I could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, a crowd, and Evan standing in front of the Gingerbread Shack, taking it all in.
Jogging over to him, I said, “What’s happened now? Not another murder?”
I didn’t see the medical examiner’s van, but it might not have arrived yet.
Evan said, “Someone didn’t like the judgment of the pie contest.”
The pie contest? The one the Wickeds were judging? “What happened?”
“Imogene Millikan became horribly ill shortly after awarding the winner of the pie.” He rolled his eyes. “A plain old apple pie.” Tsking, he added, “How boring. I would have made chocolate raspberry mousse pie, but alas, professional bakers are disqualified. Apple. So boring.”
I hated that my stomach rumbled at a time like this. “Not all of us are as refined as you are.”
His blue eyes gleamed. “More’s the pity.”
“Imogene,” I said, trying to refocus his attention. “What happened to her?”
“No one’s sure. Starla keeps running back and forth to give me updates. The latest rumor is that someone poisoned a pumpkin smoothie Imogene drank after the contest as retaliation for not winning.”
“Seems a little severe.”
“Oh, Darcy. No one is more cutthroat than bakers.”
I wasn’t so sure. Because I wasn’t thinking a frustrated (psychotic) baker had anything to do with Imogene’s being poisoned.
More likely, it was someone who had something to do with what happened to Michael. Which reinforced my growing suspicion that the Wickeds knew more than they were letting on about Michael’s death.
Four murder methods. Four Wickeds.
But now someone had poisoned Imogene. . . . I didn’t know how that factored into everything going on, and not knowing scared me. I hoped Nick had made some headway in the case.
Evan put an arm around me and pulled me close. He kissed my temple.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“You looked like you needed it.”
I smiled at him and gave his cheek a quick peck. “I did. It’s been a long, crazy day.”
“This business with Michael?” he asked.
A glimpse of red in the sky caught my eye as Archie flew toward the village green. He’d been a busy bird today.
“Trista Harkette just hired me to find Fisk.”
“Really?”
“She thinks he might be in danger. That whoever killed Michael might come after Fisk, too.”
Evan motioned me into the bakery. Slipping behind the glass display case, he took out a cake pop and handed it to me. “Has she been sampling magic mushrooms?”
“You don’t think he’s in danger?”
He filled a mug with coffee and sat with me at a table. We had a good view of the excitement outside, including the ambulance that was pulling away from the festival.
“I think he is the danger,” Evan said.
The cake pop had chocolate coating that glistened under the lights. I took a bite. Moist vanilla-bean cake melted in my mouth. It was nice to have friends who owned bakeries. “Why do you think so? Just because of the way he looks?”
Tipping his head side to side as if thinking about it, he said, “Maybe.”
I nudged his arm. “Evan Sullivan, a fashion snob. I’m shocked. Just shocked.”
“Don’t make me take your cake pop away, Darcy Merriweather. Have you seen the way he dresses? A crime in itself.”
He had a point. But still. “Trista seems nice enough. Dash is a great guy. I can’t imagine their offspring would be anything other than a good kid, even if it’s disguised under doom and gloom attire.”
Evan picked a piece of lint off his sweater. “The jury’s out.”
I had a feeling it would stay out until Fisk underwent a fashion intervention.
“I don’t suppose you know where Fisk hangs out. Or with whom?” Maybe a friend would know where he was.
Speaking of friends, Michael still hadn’t returned. I didn’t feel his pulsing energy in the shop. He had been gone for a while now, and I was starting to worry.
Then I checked myself. What could possibly happen to him? He was already dead. This took my mother-hen worrying to a whole new level.
Evan ran his finger along the edge of the table. “I only know of Michael and Amy. . . . Did you hear that she’s now missing, too? Probably ran off with that delinquent.”
Large photos Starla had taken decorated the walls. Beautiful close-ups of all kinds of treats. My favorite was the shot of the double chocolate mocha cake. It made me crave it every time I saw that picture. “Actually, she didn’t.”
Eagerly, he leaned in. “You know where she is?”
I winced. “At Ve’s.”
His blue eyes grew wide. “Do the police know? Of course they don’t know,” he said, “or else Glinda wouldn’t have stopped by here three times today already, asking if I’d seen or heard Amy come home.”
That’s right. She lived upstairs. “Maybe Glinda just likes your cake pops.”
“That is possible,” he acceded. “Now tell me everything. Why is Amy at Ve’s?”
I told him all I knew, and as I finished the tale, I stared in wonder at a spot on the wooden floor. One of the slats was moving, an eensy bit at a time, sliding to reveal a dark cavity.
“Uh, Evan?” I said, motioning.
He looked down. “It’s all clear, Pepe,” he yelled.
Pepe, his little mouse whiskers twitching, pulled himself up and out of the hole. He dusted himself off, adjusted his vest, and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “It took you long enough.”
“I didn’t hear you knocking,” Evan said, bending over and placing his cupped hands on the ground. Pepe climbed into them, and Evan lifted him onto the table.
It seemed to be a familiar routine to them.
With a smile, Evan added, “Darcy was yammering on and on.”
“Hey!” I said. “I do not yammer.”
Pepe bowed. “Ma chère, how is the glowing one?”
“Still glowing. And resting,” I said. “Missy’s keeping her company. Do you come here often?”
His tail swished. “Oui. I cannot keep away from the chocolate cheesecake. It is a weakness.” He rubbed his belly and looked longingly at Evan.
“Subtle.” Evan stood and cut off a nibble of cheesecake. He placed it on a teacup saucer and brought it back to the table.
“Non. Effective,” Pepe said with a toothy grin as he picked up his treat.
Out the front window, I saw the crowd slowly start to dissipate. I was curious to know what exactly had happened to Imogene. I spotted Nick walking along with Glinda at his elbow, and I ignored a sharp stab of jealousy. On the bright side, she looked exhausted. Yes, still gorgeous, but droopy. That cheered me up a little.
Behind them, I was a little surprised to see solemn-faced Lydia and Willard Wentworth standing off to the side watching what was going on. I presumed that Willard had called her when he saw the hubbub at the festival because I had thought Lydia said she’d be working in her greenhouse all day. Willard wore a BLACK THORN apron, as if he’d left his shop in a hurry.
Starla was bustling around snapping pictures of anything and everything. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she still had an air of happiness about her.
“What do you two think of Starla’s secret admirer?” I assumed Pepe knew about the jack-o’-lanterns. In a village this small, word tended to get around.
Evan blew out a breath. “She’s over the moon. I just don’t want her to get hurt. Do you have any idea who it is?”
“Not a clue,” I said. “Did you hear about his latest note? ‘Beautiful are you; Beast am I’? What kind of man goes into a potential relationship comparing himself to a beast? It’s as if he’s warning her off before he even meets her.”
Evan tapped his chin. “Who’s the furriest in the village?”
“Hands down, Roger Merrick.” He was a local Geocrafter, and I was pretty sure he had hair coming out of every pore on his body.
Evan scrunched his nose. “He’s happily married, plus he’s old enough to be her father. Gross.”
“You asked,” I said.
Pepe coughed. “Perhaps the Beast reference was not literal.”
“What do you mean?” Evan asked.
“Perhaps,” Pepe said, dusting his paws free of cheesecake crumbs, “Starla’s admirer is concerned that there’s an element to his being that she will not find attractive.”
“But not literal,” I said, musing. “More like a personality trait.”
“Oui.”
I leaned down and looked him in the eye. “You know something, don’t you?”
A bead of sweat popped out on his forehead. He glanced down, pulled a tiny pocket watch from his vest pocket, and made a show of looking at it. “Look at the time! I must be going.”
He darted for the edge of the table. Evan grabbed Pepe’s tail, stopping his progress.
“Unhand me!” Pepe demanded.
“You know who it is, don’t you?” Evan prodded.
Pepe looked nervously at me. “I may have seen a man dropping a pumpkin off at Hocus-Pocus this morning. . . .”
“Who?” I asked. “Who is he?”
“Non! I cannot say! Now let me go.”
“Not until you give up the information,” Evan said.
“Ruffian!” Pepe said, gnashing his teeth.
I had the feeling he was about to take a bite out of Evan’s hand, and I was about to warn him when Evan suddenly let go.
In a flash, Pepe leapt off the table, scurried to the hole in the floor, and dove in headfirst, leaving Evan and me staring after him in wonder.
“For such a chubby familiar, he sure is fast,” Evan remarked with wonder in his voice.
I stood up. “I won’t tell him you called him chubby. His teeth are really sharp.”
Evan smirked. “Thanks. Where are you off to?”
Truth was, I wasn’t sure. “I have to uncover whether the elusive Louis is real or make-believe, find Fisk, look for Tilda, see what I can find out about Imogene’s poisoning, check on Amy, ask Marcus Debrowski about wills, and figure out why Fisk and Michael were fighting over the moon. So . . . a nap sounds good.”
Evan’s laughter rang in my ears as I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, thanked him for the cake pop, and left the shop. As I stepped outside, the chilly wind felt like it was boring into my soul. It was time to dig out my winter coat from Aunt Ve’s garage. Another thing to add to my to-do list. I glanced up at the bakery building, taking note of the windows on the second floor. As I watched, I could have sworn that a curtain shifted.
I turned around and went back inside the bakery.
Evan gave me a puzzled look. “All right,” he joked. “You can have another cake pop.”
I smiled. “Actually, I was wondering . . .”
“What’s that look in your eye?”
“As landlord, you have keys to Michael and Amy’s upstairs apartment, right?”
“Yes . . .”
I batted my eyelashes. “Can we take a quick look?” I wanted to make sure no one was up there, snooping around. If I had any measure of luck, I’d find Fisk hiding out.
“You know,” Evan said as he rummaged around drawers, “there are rules that protect tenants’ privacy.”
“Your point?”
“Aha!” He pulled out a key ring and jangled the keys hanging from it. “No point at all. Let’s go.”