Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
There was no mistaking her face, even if I’d only met the woman twice. I recognized her doll-like features, the delicate upturned nose and perfectly arched eyebrows, even from my hiding place in the branches and mud.
She looked awfully different now, arguing with this man, than she had just one morning earlier with her eyes red and her skin blotchy from crying. The woman I was looking at had a fierce, angry focus, and any of the sensitive grief she’d been overtaken by earlier was gone.
“. . . think you can manipulate me,” the man was saying.
“. . . know exactly what . . .”
“. . . not interested in empty . . .”
Melody laughed at this, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in the sound. “. . . nothing empty about it,” she snarled.
I had no idea what these two were talking about, though the death they’d mentioned earlier had to be referring to Sebastian.
I didn’t dare make a move, no matter how much I wanted to try getting a better look at the man to see if he was anyone I recognized. Logic told me he must be, because who else would be here talking to Melody except one of the people she had come here with, or Deacon, who she also knew?
I’d listened in on Melody and Connor’s whispered discussion at the bookstore, and the man speaking didn’t sound anything like the young social media manager. Plus she’d referred to Connor by name, meaning it couldn’t be him.
Any of those people who were part of Sebastian’s entourage had the means to kill him; they were all staying at the same B and B. I knew Deacon had motive, but did Melody? Did the man she was talking to? I wanted to get a foot or two closer to better hear what they were saying or catch a glimpse of the man, but then I heard him say, “Just get me what I want, and this whole thing goes away.”
Melody snorted. “I’d like to know how you expect me to do that now.”
“I don’t care. Just get it done.”
Of course I’d be able to hear them with crystal clarity now , when it was obvious the conversation was over. The sound of gravel underfoot accompanied them away from the side of the river and back to a small parking lot near where the running path had started. I waited a minute or two until I knew they were gone, then scooted my way down to the riverbank.
I was covered in small scrapes, a few places on my legs were bloody from where I’d been cut up by the rocks during my fall, but all things considered I wasn’t in bad shape. It would hardly be the first time I’d hurt myself in some outdoor activity.
Following the river back to the parking lot, I jogged the rest of the way home at a slower pace. Walking would have been easier, but I wanted to get back to the comfort of my house and get myself cleaned up. There was someone I wanted to talk to about what I’d just overheard, and while I knew that person should be Detective Martin, it wasn’t.
Once I got home, I pulled out my phone, only to see there was a nice fresh crack all the way across the screen. Cursing the fact that my magic had been able to protect me but not my electronics, I was grateful to see that my phone was still functioning.
I sent a quick text to Rich saying I was going to stop by this morning before the store opened and I promised to ply him with coffee as penance for making him wake up early. By the time I was showered and had bandaged up my hands and shins, there was a reply waiting for me that said, There better be a breakfast pastry too. I don’t wake up for just anyone.
While this was technically a business call, or at least a professionally themed discussion, I couldn’t help but think of Rich’s dinner invitation and the actual date we had been putting off for months. I’d need to go to work after leaving his apartment, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t put in a tiny bit of extra effort to look nice.
I applied my usual minimal makeup but then added a smudge of brown eyeshadow, which made my blue eyes pop, and put on a little bit of a red lip stain called Melted Popsicle. I slipped into a pretty floral sundress I’d been looking for any excuse to wear; the bad weather lately had been killing the vibe.
I would bring a cardigan to wear in the store—otherwise the air conditioning would destroy me—but it felt nice to dress up. I hadn’t done anything to make an effort to impress a man since leaving Blaine, and Rich and I were taking things so slow it could be classified as glacial, so perhaps a strategic use of spaghetti straps would help pick up the pace.
Bob was waiting by the door, looking for his carrier backpack, which I normally left there. Since he hadn’t been to the shop in the past two days, I had tucked it away in a closet to avoid the tripping hazard.
He yowled at me, as if he knew I was considering leaving him home a third day in a row. The shop was going to be busy, and it wasn’t even a full day. It made sense to just leave him here.
He had other opinions.
“Okay, okay, fine, you win.” I pulled the carrier out of the closet, and he was instantly purring so loudly I could hear him down the hallway. When I got to him, he weaved between my ankles and batted at the straps over his head. The second I set the backpack down, he climbed inside and sat primly, as if to show me what a good boy he was going to be.
“You’re not fooling anyone, kid.” I planted a quick kiss on his furry head, then zipped him in.
I biked to the store, wanting to enjoy the nice weather. All the rain had forced me to drive more than I would like, and it was nice to feel the breeze on my shoulders.
I felt rejuvenated when I arrived at the shop. Sugarplum Fairy was already open, and I waved to Amy through the window as I locked the bike up to a rack out front. I had learned an enchantment that warded off thieves, but frankly I wasn’t really trusting my magic at the moment and thought it better not to tempt fate.
I quickly moved through my morning errands, dropping Bob inside the store and getting my order from Amy. Since her shop was open, she was bustling with customers who wanted a tasty treat to start their day. I didn’t have time to chat with her, only to order two lattes—one with extra espresso—and two of her hand pies. Today’s specials were goat cheese, chive, and fig and a truly delicious-sounding sausage, cheddar, and banana pepper.
I also collected my usual order of pastries, so by the time I got out the front door, I was balancing two big to-go cups and three boxes of various treats for both me and the store.
Thank goodness there was a very handsome man standing outside the Earl’s Study waiting for me.
“Hey, you,” Rich said, taking the tray of coffees in one hand and balancing the boxes easily in the other, freeing up both my hands so I could unlock the door. “When I said you should bring me a treat, I didn’t think you’d go this overboard.” His honey-brown eyes twinkled, laughing at his own joke.
I held the door open for him, pointing him in the direction of the tea counter. “As much as I like you, you’re going to have to share those with paying customers.”
“I mean, I pay rent to live over the shop; doesn’t that count?”
I snorted. “Nice try.”
While I emptied the pastry boxes onto the clean trays waiting in the display cooler, I gave Rich a quick once-over. Was it just my imagination, or had he put a little effort into looking nice too? Rich usually looked nice; it was a by-product of being very, very handsome. But today he was wearing a nice pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt, and that T-shirt fit him so well it appeared to have been made for him.
How was it legal for someone to look that good in a plain T-shirt?
Once the cabinet was full and I knew Bob was settled in his favorite chair, already snoozing, I handed Rich the smaller box of hand pies. “Let’s go have a chat about murder, shall we?”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Ms. Winchester.”
I had two hours before the store opened, so I wasn’t worried about being behind on the baking, but I really wanted a sounding board to discuss what I’d overheard by the river this morning.
We headed upstairs to Rich’s apartment—yet another piece of Main Street real estate that I owned—and he made a beeline for the kitchen, so I followed behind and perched myself on one of his barstools.
It had been months since I’d been to Rich’s apartment, and in that time it had stopped being such a spartan bachelor pad. He’d hung some gauzy curtains that gave him extra privacy but still let the morning light filter in. On the walls were an assortment of framed photos, including one of him in his old police uniform, shaking hands with an important-looking man in a suit while receiving some kind of medal.
Rich didn’t talk about his past a lot, neither his failed marriage nor his time as a police officer, and I didn’t want to pry into things that might be painful to discuss. My wandering gaze caught another framed photo, this one in aged color, but I immediately recognized it.
It had been taken on the front porch of Lane End House over twenty years earlier, and showed me, Rich—or Ricky, as I’d called him then—and Leo. We were probably about twelve years old in the photo, one of our last summers together. I was sitting on the porch step, my knees battered and bruised much like they were today, a missing tooth in my big smile and dirt smeared across my forehead and cheeks. Leo stood behind me, leaning against one of the pillars. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he couldn’t quite look directly at the camera, but there was a hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth. Rich looked disheveled, his dark hair messy and grass stains and dirt covering almost every inch of him. His expression was borderline dour, but that same twinkle in his eyes I’d seen earlier this morning was also in the photo. His arms were draped over the porch railing, and there were three fishing poles leaned up next to him.
The memory of my childhood with those two was laced with bittersweet regret. We had been thick as thieves when we were younger, but with hormones and the pressures of being cool—not to mention the rough home life that Rich had been trying to avoid—we drifted apart, the way childhood friends often do. Soon I thought I was too cool to spend summers in a small town with my aunt when there was so much to do with my friends in Chicago. I regretted that too, even though my summers had been fun. Now that Eudora was gone, I wished I had spent more time learning from her.
I wished I’d known then I was a witch and spent all those summer absorbing her knowledge instead of having to do it all as an adult now.
Rich leaned over the kitchen counter, following my gaze. “What a bunch of goobers.”
“Some of them still are.” I turned and looked at him. “Where on earth did you find that?”
“Oh, your aunt gave them to me and Leo a few years ago. Thought we might like to have them. Mine was tucked in a book for a while; I found it while I was cleaning some stuff up and figured it deserved to be hung up.”
“It’s great.”
“Yeah, well, you’re great.” And while he might have meant the collective you of both me and Leo, I somehow suspected his compliment was much more direct. I blushed.
Suddenly feeling more scrutiny than I’d expected, I returned to my stool at the counter and opened the box of hand pies. Rich grabbed us two plates, and we split the pies in half so we each got to try the different flavors. The scents of crumbly sausage and tart goat cheese wafted into the air. Amy’s pastry was flaky and buttery, everything you could want in a perfect breakfast delight. She swore to me these were easy to make, but I still felt intimidated by the process. Why learn when you can just buy them from an expert?
For a few minutes Rich and I sat in a companionable silence, something I liked that we were able to do. No one felt the awkward need to say anything just for the sake of avoiding too much quiet. As he bit into the goat cheese hand pie, he let out a noise of obvious delight, and I smiled to myself for a job well done in making our breakfast choices.
Once we had finished eating, Rich put the plates in his dishwasher and grabbed one of the extra stools so he could sit across from me.
“So, let me guess, you’ve been meddling around in an investigation that has nothing to do with you again? Are you a suspect?” He propped his chin on his folded hands and grinned at me.
“One, rude. Two, how dare you? And three, what do you take me for?”
“So that’s a yes, then.”
“In fairness, I am not a suspect, and I was asked to help.”
He gave me a dubious look that said volumes. “Sure.”
“I was . Detective Martin asked if I could keep an ear open and share anything that might be useful.”
“And so you decided to come share your useful information with me and not the person who asked you for it?”
“I’m never bringing you pastry again.”
“We both know that’s not true. I’ve ensnared you with my devilish charms; you’ll never be free of me now. But seriously, you must have had a reason for wanting to tell me this first and not Patsy. I know she can be intimidating, but that’s definitely not what it is.” Rich’s teasing tone had become a bit more serious and he raised an eyebrow at me, as if challenging me to be honest with him.
“Since you asked, I think my reasoning is that I’ve been under police scrutiny for a crime before, and I don’t want to start throwing people under the bus for something if they’re already processing through their grief, you know? If Melody isn’t up to something nefarious, then I don’t think it’s fair of me to tell the detectives she is.”
“I have no idea who Melody is, so why don’t you walk me through this from the start so I have all the information I need, and then I will tell you what I think.”
I explained the book signing and all my interactions with Sebastian’s team. I walked through everything I’d seen at the B and B and my unexpected visit from Deacon, and I ended with a play-by-play of the argument I’d heard by the river only a couple hours earlier.
When I was done, Rich sat quietly for a minute. He took a long sip from his coffee while he processed everything.
“That is a lot to consider,” he declared finally.
“It’s a bit weird, right?” I had left out the weirdest part of all, which had been Honey reading the runes and telling me that Sebastian wasn’t the right victim. Rich might know I was a witch, but adding elements of the mystical to a murder investigation felt like a bit too much to load onto him.
I hadn’t forgotten, though, and I was going to have to circle back with Honey soon to see if I could find more explanation. My little magical snafu with the candles had derailed any other kind of conversation yesterday.
“If I’m thinking like a cop,” Rich said, “then Deacon is still the most obvious suspect. Everything you told me points to him being the logical one. Troubled breakup or unrequited love, a loss of his longtime job—that’s enough to set anyone off to act foolishly. He was here, you said he talked to the victim the night of the murder. If there’s sand and there’s salt water, you’ve probably got yourself a beach.”
“But then where does the whole thing with Melody fit in? We can’t overlook that. I got the vibe from Deacon that his guilt might have just been because he wasn’t able to protect Sebastian, not because he killed him. Now maybe I’m reading something into it that wasn’t there, but I also don’t want to jump to conclusions.” I shrugged helplessly, then picked up a nearby napkin, wringing it in my fingers just to give my hands something to do.
“You didn’t overhear enough of that conversation to make it sound like a confession. I agree it’s certainly weird and very suspect, but if you brought that to a DA, they’d laugh you out of their office before prosecuting.”
“That’s you looking at it like a cop. What about a PI?”
Rich grinned at me. “If you want me to look at it like a PI, you and I are going to need to go on a field trip.”