Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) (13 page)

I leaned down and dropped a kiss on his rosy cheek, letting him give me a good hard squeeze, inhaling the comforting scent of his Old Spice cologne before I dropped into a wrought iron chair next to him.

He was like a lighthouse beacon on a dark and stormy night. I still wasn’t ready to tell him or Forrest about my father’s sudden appearance, but Chester knew of Dita’s shenanigans. Even if he didn’t say it out loud, I knew he sympathized.

Chester chucked me under the chin. “You okay, Kitten?”

“Well, I’ve been back in Ebenezer Falls for what, three months, and everywhere I go, someone ends up dead. Ya think it’s me?”

He chuckled, putting his hand on his round belly. “I think it’s coincidence, kiddo, and a whole lotta crappy luck. But it ain’t you. You’re too pretty to always be on death’s stoop.”

Forrest, tall and handsome in his white apron with the logo of the coffee shop on it, made his way to where we sat, a cup of coffee and an egg salad sandwich on wheat toast on a plate. “I figured you might need lunch and caffeine.” Then he rooted around in his apron pocket and pulled out a foil bag of blueberry Pop-Tarts, handing them to me with flourish. “To drown your sorrows in after your sandwich,” he teased, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re the best.”

Forrest nodded and grinned. “Yep. I kinda am.”

I patted his hand as I dug into my sandwich, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t be awkward. They both knew my mother from my younger days. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find they considered her a suspect and they were just too embarrassed to tell me.

“So any news?” Chester asked over his round glasses. “Any word on what they’re calling this latest round with the Grim Reaper?”

“You mean have they labeled it murder yet? Not that I’m aware of.”

My mom had been blowing my phone up all day, but it isn’t about anything to do with the police or the investigation. It was about how the Bat twins, Com and Wom, were too noisy and she couldn’t nap. Or how I’d failed to provide her with Perrier, or a mountain of other complaints I mostly ignored.

I set my sandwich down, my appetite almost nonexistent, and tried to gather my thoughts as I looked around the room. That’s when I saw Hardy Clemmons over in the opposite corner of the shop by the counter, sipping a coffee and eating a Danish.

Hardy was our mailman and newish to town. At least, he was newer to me. He’d been kind enough to make the treacherous climb to our mailbox before we’d had the driveway installed, precariously perched at the end of our lawn just before a steep drop off the cliff. Hardy was in his late fifties, nice enough looking, with a full head of hair and a ruddy outdoors appeal.

Rumor had it he was once involved with the richest woman in Washington, but she broke his heart when she cheated on him and left him for someone else.

Now was as good a time as any to ask him what had happened last night at the party. I was up and out of my chair and crossing the shop’s floor to Hardy’s table before Forrest could remind me I hadn’t finished my sandwich.

“Hi, Hardy. How are you?”

He paused in taking a bite from his Danish and eyed me over the top of the thick white icing. “I’m okay, but what about you? Crazy night last night, huh?”

I nodded, my expression grim. “May I sit?” I motioned to the chair across from him and he nodded his consent.

I dropped down into the chair, tucking my purse against my chest. “Can I ask you a couple of questions, Hardy?”

His bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose. “Is it about the package left on your front lawn? I don’t know how many bloomin’ times I have to tell that moron I have for a fill-in he’s supposed to ring the doorbell and leave it in a covered area, for Pete’s sake. It’s not a darn newspaper. I’m sorry that happened, but it’ll never happen again. Promise ya that.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. The package was fine, Hardy. Simple mistake is all. I wanted to ask you about last night at the party.” I fought a wince, hoping whatever had happened wasn’t too serious.

He set his Danish on the plate and sat back in his chair, his eyes growing suspicious as he wiped his fingers on the napkin and tucked his hands under his armpits. “If it’s about that argument, the police already asked me plenty, thank you very much. Those of us they didn’t get to last night had to go down to the station for questioning. They lined us up like a herd of cattle and took statements from all of us. I already explained.”

An argument? That must have been the commotion Win mentioned. “I’m sorry there was trouble, Hardy, and I don’t want to bring up bad feelings, but what was the argument about? I hope it wasn’t over the shrimp wraps. They were pretty popular,” I teased, flashing him a warm smile of sympathy.

He only half-smiled before his weathered face went sour. “No. Though they
were
darn good. The argument was with your mother’s husband—the philanderer! He had the nerve, after all this time, to stroll up to me like he never cheated with my girl back in the day!”

Oh, Bart. You were a dirty, dirty boy. “I know it’s a sensitive subject, but could you maybe just tell me a little about what happened? If you’re not comfortable then by all means, tell me to beat feet. I can take a hint.”

Hardy popped his lips and gazed at me. “Oh, I’ll tell ya all right. That man jumped into bed with my fiancée, Clara Rawlings, just three days before we were going to get married. That’s what he did. Then he has the nerve to offer his hand and smile that stupid smile of his like he didn’t ruin my life—in front of everyone at the party? No, sir. Not on my watch,” he scoffed, throwing his napkin on the table in disgust.

“Clara Rawlings? Isn’t she Lou Rawlings’s daughter?” I asked in disbelief. The Rawlingses were some of the richest people in the state of Washington. They were always in the news for some charity or another.

And then it hit me.

Once a grafter, always a grifter. Bart had likely played Clara the same way he had my mother.

Hardy bobbed his head, reaching for his mailbag. “That’s the one. Used her all up then dumped her. She eventually came back to me, tail between her legs, cryin’ and carryin’ on about how he’d only wanted her for her money. But no way was I takin’ her back after that. Once a cheat, always a cheat. Serves ’em both right.”

“So Bart once lived here in Ebenezer Falls?” How could that be? From the chatter at the party, no one appeared to recognize Bart.

But Hardy shook his head, preparing to rise. “Nope. He met her at some yacht club party in Seattle I couldn’t go to because I was out earnin’ an honest living on my mail route. I lived in Seattle before I moved here a few years back. I know it was almost twenty years ago, but danged if it didn’t sting, him wantin’ to make amends, all smiles and fancy suits.”

Talk about a coincidence. The world grew smaller still.

I gave him another smile in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Hardy. If I’d known…”

He patted my shoulder. “How could you have known? It isn’t your fault, Stevie. I was just as surprised as he was. I guess he thought he’d slather on some of that charm he’s so famous for, and all would be forgiven. I told him if he didn’t get the heck outta my sight, I’d tell your mother what a cad he was. I didn’t like him, but I sure didn’t kill him, and I got an alibi that says so.”

I rose then and squeezed his hand. He was such a nice man. “I know this will sound strange, but I think my mother was duped by Bart, too, and I’d like to investigate. Do you remember the name of the yacht club, Hardy? I’m sorry if that brings up painful memories. If it’s too much, I’ll back off.”

“Can’t ever forget it. Sure wish I could. The Anchor Yacht Club. That’s the name. It was the annual party they had every year. Clara begged me to go. Sure wish I’d taken off work now, but I was determined to prove to her father I could take care of her without his money.”

I saw it written all over his face, the pain he’d suffered at the hands of betrayal, and my impulse was to hug him. Instead I smiled and thanked him. “Appreciate it, Hardy.”

He winked then; obviously all was forgiven. “You tell your mom I hope she feels better, and just between you and me, she’s better off he’s dead.”

He gave my shoulder one last pat and headed out the door.

“A viable suspect no doubt,” Win uttered. “He had an ax to grind.”

Closing my eyes, I pressed my fingers to my Bluetooth. “But he claims to have an alibi.”

“How do we know that alibi panned out? We don’t. Which means we’ll have to find out.”

Nodding, I rolled my head on my neck and prepared to head over to the inn to find this CC before I considered rattling Officer Nelson’s cage. I don’t know that I was up to playing cat and mouse with him right now.

Not after the incident with my father.

“Stevie?” Forrest called from the other end of the now-empty shop.

My head swung in his direction as he pointed to the TV mounted just behind me in the corner.

And what to my wandering eyes did appear?

My mother on the boob tube in her tiny rain gear.

S
o forget every single word I said about accepting my mother for who she is, loving her without reservation; I was no longer immortal, and that meant I didn’t have a lifetime of anger to waste, blah, blah bah.

Psychobabble be darned. It was officially
on
.

Because I was going to open up the biggest can of whoop you-know-what I could find the minute I got my hands on her.

As her beautiful face flashed on the TV, her big eyes watery and red-rimmed, and she carried on about finding Bart’s killer with a reward (a
reward
, folks!), it was all I could do not to hop in my car, race home and run her over.

“A reward? How does one cough up a reward when one is in, as you Americans say, the hole?”

I pressed my hand against the Bluetooth and clenched my teeth. “You try and swindle your daughter out of it, that’s how. Win, I swear, I’m going to—”

“Hold that thought, Dove. You’ve been accused of murder once. Lightning can strike twice. Do not say such words in a public place.”

I was enraged as I sucked in gulps of air and forced myself to say goodbye to Forrest and Chester. “As you two can see, I have some things to take care of, but thank you for lunch, Forrest.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a hug to Chester before I somehow managed to leave without throwing something.

I untied Whiskey’s leash with my shaking hands. Stomping along the sidewalk, I ignored the rain battering my face, thrusting the key fob at my car like I was preparing to joust with it. Sliding inside as my ever-faithful Whiskey jumped in beside me, I gripped the steering wheel and clenched my teeth even harder. Even my cute Fiat in red and white—the one thing I’d probably fight Win to my death over, should he ever threaten to take away everything he’d given me—didn’t bring me any peace.

Not today.

“I’m going to kill her, Win.
Kill her
. I’m going to grab her skinny bird arms and break them one at a time. Then I’m going to drag her by her lustrously shiny hair and wipe the floor with it!” I shouted, starting my car and pulling out to head home. The drive was a total blur of pine trees and the Sound.

“Dove, ‘kill’ is a strong word. How about just a good talking to?”

“Uh-huh,” Bel agreed. “Let’s just give her one of those come-to-goddess talks. Killing is so messy. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

But there was no stopping my tirade at this point. She’d been back here all of a day and everything was totally upside down.

“Didn’t I tell her to stay put in the house and keep her pretty lips shut? I think I did. But what does she do? She calls a press conference! All this does is draw attention to herself, which we don’t need. What’s next? Will she go on live TV and summon a spell? Use her magic wand? This is unacceptable! The rule of the coven is clear: if you want to commune with humans, lay low. This is hardly low, Win!” I said on a shout, hitting the heel of my hand against the stirring wheel.

“But Hugh doesn’t lay low. He’s an international movie star. I don’t get the rules of your people, Stevie,” Win said.

“But he’s not out on live TV talking about murder and he didn’t scam his husband! He’s not bringing the kind of attention my mother is. She needs as little focus on her as possible. What do you suppose the police will do with this scam she pulled on Bart? They’ll instantly suspect she killed him because he really didn’t have any money! Dita did this for a reason. To keep the focus on
her
and maybe to collect some sympathy cash in the process. I’m sure there’s more ulterior motivation, but that’s who Dita is, and for all the acceptance I’m supposed to be doling out, this is unforgivable.”

I screeched to a halt just I pulled up into the driveway I so adored, right next to the cute Mercedes convertible Mom probably didn’t even own, and popped open the door, racing up the steps and into the house—where mass chaos ensued.

“Dirty Deeds” by AC/DC played so loudly, the entire house shook.

Com and Uncle Ding were flying in circles around the chandelier in the entryway, tinkling the crystals with their tiny fluttering wings.

Wom was bathing in a tub of Cool Whip on the kitchen counter. Blops of the creamy confection were all over the floor and countertop, and even one of the curtains.

Vases were tipped over, drawers were open with kitchen towels, silverware, potholders all spilling out.

In the middle of all this, my mother was on a chair with a broom, screeching at them to stop, while Mom Bat snoozed in a corner under the leaf of one of the leftover arrangements from the party, completely unaware, with Bat Dad nowhere in sight.

“Stop this instant, you filthy animals!” my mom yelped, swishing the broom in the air with hapless swipes, her slender calves straining to keep from falling out of her deep-purple heels.

Whiskey rushed in, barking and pulling at my mother’s flowing skirt.

As I took in the scene, the utter madcappery seeping into my usually serene life, my eyes narrowed.

“All of you—knock it the heck off!” I bellowed above the music, the satisfying echo of my own voice reverberating in my ears.