During lunch I figured out what I needed to do.
I had to talk to the Elder.
If I was going to determine who killed Michael, then I needed to have all the information I could. I just hoped she’d give it to me.
I let Ve know I was going to fish some belongings out of the garage, and I left Missy cuddling with Amy. Michael, too, had stayed inside.
I was happy to see that Archie wasn’t entertaining a group of tourists. One of his bright tail feathers had floated to the ground. I picked it up and twirled it as I moseyed over to his cage. “‘This feather may seem worthless. But it carries with it all my good intentions.’”
He crossed his wings over his chest, tapped his head, then his chin. “You’ve stumped me. I’ve been defeated. I shall never work in this business again.”
“The Joy Luck Club,” I said, enjoying the way he carried on.
He grabbed his heart and fell backward onto the floor of his cage as if mortally wounded. Closing his eyes, he coughed and sputtered a few times. “I shall never recover.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because I need to send a message to the Elder. I suppose I can have Pepe do it. . . .”
He leapt up and brushed himself off. “Don’t you dare!” He hopped closer to me. “Why do you want to see the Elder?”
“I have some questions for her about Michael Healey’s death, and I think she has some answers I need.”
He nodded. “I shall go at once.”
“Whoa, hold on there, my little feathered friend. There’s something I want to ask you.”
His beady black eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“Like, do you know who Starla’s secret admirer is?”
“Of course!” He primped and preened.
I leaned in. “Who is it?”
“I cannot say.”
Groaning, I said, “Why?”
“It ruins the joy of the surprise, no?”
“But what about the Beast part of his latest clue? Is he a beast? What’s wrong with him? Is he destined to break her heart?”
“‘Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.’”
“That doesn’t help me.” I leaned on the fence. “The Wizard of Oz, by the way.”
“Curse you!” he cried. “I’m going to see the Elder now. My shame and I.” He nudged open his cage door and flew out.
“Tell her I said hi!”
He made a sound like a big wet raspberry and flew out of sight.
I watched him head off over the woods behind the house.
Thinking about Michael and Amy made my stomach hurt as I struggled to put the pieces together. For a change, I couldn’t wait to speak to the Elder.
Shivering, I turned my sights to the garage and my quest to find a winter coat. I went in the side door and was glad to see that the organization I’d done over the summer still remained. Ve hadn’t had a chance to blow through and mess everything up again—yet.
The stuff I’d brought with me from Ohio was stacked neatly on one side of the spacious garage. There were dozens of boxes containing everything from clothes to Troy’s favorite Little League uniform shirt (that I’d denied I had). Pots, pans. Books and knickknacks.
I went immediately to the container I’d labeled WINTER OUTERWEAR, opened it, and pulled out my favorite dark red wool coat. It would need to be dry-cleaned, so I made a mental note to drop it off Monday morning.
I was about to head back into the house when I spotted a plastic tub labeled PERSONAL.
I debated opening it. Most often trips down my memory lane were draining, and I was already feeling emotionally raw, but I couldn’t resist the allure of that box—the allure of peeking at my past. It was a nice diversion from all that was going on around me.
I dragged the box out of its corner and dusted the top. Across the garage, I found a folding chair, cleaned off the seat, and sat down. I opened the tub’s lid and just sat and stared at the contents for a good long minute. My heartbeat had kicked up a notch, and I had to wipe my hands on my pants to rid my palms of moisture.
It was amazing that this one box held so many of my little treasures. My first spelling bee ribbon, a lock of my baby hair. My baby book that only had entries till I was seven, because my father hadn’t thought to keep it up after my mother died. My first fake driver’s license, needed because the state of Ohio refused to give me one because my picture never turned out. Ah, if only I’d known then the reason behind why. Most people had fake licenses with other people’s information on it. Mine had all the proper information, but someone else’s picture. She could be a doppelganger she looked so much like me. Enough to fool anyone at first glance, anyway. I moved aside some of my treasured childhood books, digging past worn copies of Watership Down and Little Women.
I kept digging. There was one thing in particular I was looking for. The one thing that could always comfort me, no matter my emotional state. And right now, I needed a little comforting. I shifted papers and set aside trinkets. Finally, at the bottom of the box was the treasure I sought.
A sketch pad. I lifted the cover and inhaled softly at the images on the paper. I bit the inside of my cheek as I flipped through pages, holding in tears as I looked at the images on the page.
Images of my mother.
I ran my finger along the colored pencil drawings as if I could actually touch my mother’s soft skin.
It was her death that had prompted me to learn how to draw. We’d had no pictures of her in the house at all (of course). My pictures had been pretty terrible when I was only seven. But as I got older, my hand became steadier, and my talent became a way to keep my mother alive.
By the end of high school, I’d filled this sketchbook with images of her. A tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away.
I heard a creak and looked up to find Mimi poking her head in the door. “Aunt Ve said to let you know that my dad is on his way over. What’re you doing? Are you crying? Why’re you crying?”
I smiled. Mimi reminded me a lot of Harper.
“I’m just looking at my mom.” I sniffled. “I miss her.”
She left the door open as she came inside. “Your mom? How?”
I held up the sketch pad.
Mimi came running over. “Can I see?” she asked, scooting close to me.
I handed her the book and watched as she flipped pages. Her eyes grew bigger and bigger with each image. She glanced up at me, confusion etched on her face.
“Why is her face different in every picture? In some of these she has your eyes and Harper’s smile. But in others she has Harper’s eyes and your smile.”
I blinked away tears, and my heart ached at the sad truth of the matter. “I couldn’t quite remember her face. It was fuzzy, going in and out of focus, so I drew different versions of her. And even though none of them is an exact replica, they’re close enough that looking at them brings me peace.”
Mimi’s brown eyes immediately filled with tears. “You drew these? Wow,” she breathed, making me feel as if I were Monet. “I wish I could draw.”
She continued to flip through the pages, and as she did so, her bottom lip started to tremble.
I put my arm around her. “Mimi, what’s wrong?”
A tear spilled from her eye and snaked down to her chin. “Am I going to forget what my mom looked like, too? I know my heart will never forget her, but . . .”
“You were older than I was when my mom died. Your memories are stronger.”
She sniffled and nodded, but I could tell she was still worried.
Melina Sawyer had died two years ago, and as a Wishcrafter she couldn’t be photographed, either. Though she had renounced her Craft to marry a mortal, she had still retained all the Wishcraft quirks. Such as no pictures.
On a whim, I said, “Grab a chair.” Rummaging around in my bin, I came out with an additional sketchbook that still had some blank pages and a pack of charcoal pencils.
Mimi set her chair next to mine, so close our knees touched. Her eyes were bright with tears. “How can you draw her when you never met her?”
Dust mites floated on the weak light coming through the window. “I don’t need to meet her. I’ve met you. You’re all I need.”
“Really?”
“It may take some trial and error, but I’m willing to put the effort in if you’re willing.”
“I’m willing!”
“Okay, close your eyes. Picture your mom. A happy memory. Maybe one where she’s laughing.”
Mimi’s chin quivered and it was all I could do not to put my arms around her and hold her tight. I knew what she was experiencing.
“Do you see her?” I asked.
Mimi nodded.
“What shape face does she have? Is it the same as yours? Or more like mine? Or Harper’s?”
“Mine,” she said, “but her chin is a little bit bigger.”
I sketched an oval face with a generous chin. “Her eyes? Like yours?”
“The same shape but hers were smaller. Closer together.”
“Light or dark eyes?”
“Dark,” Mimi said. “Like mine and Dad’s.”
I shaded in irises and asked, “Her nose?”
“Like mine. Long and straight, though hers fit her face and mine’s too big.”
“It is not too big,” I said, nudging her with my elbow. “It’s perfect.”
Time was lost as we sat together, piecing together an image of a woman I would never know, but to whom I’d always feel grateful. If not for her, her life, her Craft, Nick and Mimi would not be in my life.
We’d covered just about everything but her hair, and already the image on the paper before me revealed a beautiful woman. “Was your mom’s hair curly like yours? Or straight like mine?”
“It was like yours,” Mimi said. “But shorter. Just below her shoulders. I get my curls from my dad’s side of the family.”
I smiled as I drew in hair. “Did she part her hair in the middle? On the side? Did she have bangs?” I realized as I asked that Melina had probably been bald when she died. She had passed so quickly that I doubted her hair had time to regrow after the failed chemotherapy treatments. But as Mimi didn’t mention anything about baldness or a head scarf, I had a feeling the image of her mother she had conjured had come before Melina’s diagnosis.
“On the side, the left side,” Mimi said.
I held the sketch pad at arm’s length. “I think it’s ready. You can open your eyes.”
Mimi’s eyelashes fluttered, and she blinked to focus on the pad. Her chin quivered again, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Her eyelashes were a little longer,” she said thickly.
I sketched in longer lashes.
“And her lips . . . They curved more at the ends, like she was always smiling. And she had a dimple. I forgot her dimple.”
“Which side?” I asked.
“Right,” Mimi said, pointing to her own cheek.
“Here?” I asked, poising the pencil.
“A little lower. There! There!”
I sketched in a dimple, gave it some shading. The tears in Mimi’s eyes spilled over, and she suddenly bounded out of her chair and threw her arms around me. I set the pad down, settled her on my lap, and held her close.
“Thank you,” she said into my ear.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered.
“You . . . gave me back my mom.”
I could feel her tears seeping into the back of my shirt.
“No,” I said, rubbing her back. “I didn’t. Your mom’s always been with you, Mimi. You just shared her with me, that’s all.”
I heard a sound and looked up to find Nick standing in the doorway and Missy sitting at his feet. I hadn’t heard them come in and wondered how long they’d been standing there.
Nick’s gaze met mine, and he held it for a long, long time.
Finally, I said, “We have company, Mimi.”
Her head came up, and she quickly wiped away her tears. “Dad! Look!” She grabbed the sketch pad and ran over to him.
As I stood up, I heard his sharp intake of breath.
“It’s Mom!” Mimi said.
“I can see that,” he said hoarsely. “Beautiful.”
Mimi nodded, and Missy pranced around their feet.
My heart squeezed—not in jealousy, but because it felt so full.
“Come on, Missy, let’s go show Aunt Ve!” Mimi ran out the door, then turned around and ran back inside, nearly knocking Nick over in the process. She once again threw her arms around me. I kissed the top of her head, and she let go and dashed back outside. I felt her love for me in the pounding of her heart against mine, in the way she held me tight, and the glow in her eyes.
And my heart felt just a little bit fuller. Any more and it might burst.
I folded the two chairs and put them aside.
Nick wandered over to me. There was moisture in his eyes. “You just gave her the best present of her life,” he said softly.
I shook my head. “You have that the wrong way round.”
Pulling me into his arms, he looked me in the eye.
Kaboom! The fullness was too much to bear, and the mush and gush and love spilled over, filling me with warmth from head to toe.
Nick lowered his head and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and settled in. Here, in his arms, felt like home. His kiss made my knees weak, my soul sigh. I didn’t want to let him go. Ever.
* * *
“Ever” came approximately ten seconds later when I heard Archie’s imitation rooster cry—his calling card announcing his arrival.
“That’s for me,” I said to Nick, dragging myself away from him.
“Lousy timing.”
“Agreed.”
I grabbed my winter coat and my sketch pads, and Nick carried my box of trinkets for me. Archie in all his brilliant glory sat on the back porch. He blinked slowly at us, then started singing “Love Is in the Air.”
I groaned. “You’ve been talking to Ve.”
He laughed, then turned serious as he bowed and said, “The Elder has agreed to your request. She will see you at seven thirty tonight. Go alone and do not be late.”
He flew off, continuing to sing as he settled into his cage. Tourists walking by stopped and stared at him. He was such a show-off.
“The Elder?” Nick asked as we walked into the mudroom.
“I think she may know something about Michael’s death.” I shared with him my recent conversations with Trista and Michael, and what I’d overheard upstairs.
With an angry set to his jaw, he said, “Let me know what the Elder says. We’re hitting nothing but dead ends.” He winced. “Bad choice of words.”
Ve was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of tea. Mimi sat at the counter, staring at the picture of her mother. Nick walked over and put his arm around her, and Ve gave me a loving smile.
“Did you talk to Harriette?” I asked him.
“Stonewalled,” he said. “She’s a tough cookie and lawyered up after the first couple of questions. If I want more answers from her, I’m going to have to arrest her.”
Ve gasped. “Surely she had nothing to do with Michael’s death. She’s eighty years old!”
Nick said, “At this point I’m not ruling anyone out. We did uncover that she’s been making large withdrawals every month for the last year. It’s unclear where the money was going.”
Were Lydia’s fears founded—about Harriette’s fiancé using her for money? Had she been doling cash out to him regularly? Or had the missing money been a payout for Michael’s spell? “Have you checked Michael’s bank accounts yet?”
“Still working on that,” he said. “Is Michael here? We can ask him.”
“Not right now. He disappears a lot. Did you search Harriette’s house?” I asked.
He nodded. “I found the dress she wore last night and sent the feathers to the lab, but the snips you saw missing from the greenhouse had been returned by the time we arrived.”
So either they hadn’t been the pair used to stab Michael, or someone had replaced the lost pair pretty damn quick.
“I need to talk to Amy,” Nick said, breaking the ensuing silence. “Is she still here?”
Ve sipped her tea. “Upstairs.”
Mimi’s head popped up. “Amy’s here?”
“Long story,” Ve said. “Long, long story.”
I rubbed Missy’s head and said, “I’ll get her.”
At the top of the steps, I poked my head into Ve’s room. Nothing was amiss, and no one was there. The mystery woman—the Elder—had moved along. Across the hall, I tapped twice on the guest room’s door before pushing it open. “Amy?”
Whump, whump. Michael was here—somewhere—but I didn’t see his sister. “Amy?” I repeated, walking over to the bed and giving it a pat down. There was no sign of Amy or the cloak.
I checked the bathroom, and all the other rooms on the second floor. Finally, I walked back into Amy’s room. I noticed her cell phone sitting by the bedside table. Without feeling a shred of guilt for violating her privacy, I flipped it open and scrolled through old messages. One had come in twenty minutes ago—just before five thirty.
It’s Fisk. Meet me at R’s.
“R? Who is R?” I said aloud.
Whump, whump.
“Do I know R?” I asked Michael.
Yes.
Well. That was interesting, because I couldn’t think of a single R related to this case.
“So, Amy’s definitely gone?” I asked.
He flickered once.
Yes.
I stared at the phone. The number Fisk used had come up unknown. Maybe tracing that number would lead to R. And Fisk. And now Amy. And maybe, I hoped, a killer.