Chapter 23
Arthur had never seen the woods so populated.
Of course, he made a point to rarely see the woods at all, so his sample size of experiences wasn’t exactly expansive.
Shortly after the timely arrival of McMartin and Other Arthur Miller, a gaggle of deputies came huffing and puffing up to the overlook, looking all too regretful about the polyester nature of their uniforms.
Three of them stood guard around the witches, but now that the height of their confrontation was over, Arthur didn’t find it particularly comforting.
Yes, Ambrosia and Chet were perhaps less likely to risk spellwork in front of such a large audience, but at what cost?
He knew firsthand how cops could twist evidence to point wherever they liked.
Would McMartin’s disdain for paranormals work in their favor this time?
Or would the sheriff simply decide Arthur and Sal were in on it, too?
One of the deputies broke from the pack to check on Brody and Arthur’s breath caught.
There was an unconscious teenager in their midst. Rumble—Wilhelmina—was still fussing over him, licking the hair away from his forehead.
The deputy checked Brody’s pulse, then called to another that his heartbeat was strong, and he appeared to be asleep. Arthur sagged in relief.
Drifting closer, still hovering, Sal wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.
“A satisfying end to things. Though I suppose I’ll have to return all those cat costumes.
I doubt Rumble will want to keep living with us after this.
Should we give Brody all our cat litter and cat food?
And she’ll need the tower, of course, and the—”
“I suspect Wilhelmina will return to her human form. Now that we know she was bewitched, I’m sure someone, perhaps Hailey, will help her change back.” Arthur leaned his head to rest it against Sal’s.
“Our little daughter, about to grow up.” Sal wiped a tear from his eye. “Happens so fast.”
“Sal, she’s a fully grown adult woman.”
“Family is forever. I’d know, being a vampire and all.” Sal patted Arthur’s arm. “You’ll understand once you’ve got a few centuries under your belt.”
Arthur wondered if that was true. Would being alive for that long cause his personality to drift into the maudlin and absurd? He doubted it. Salvatore Conte had almost certainly been born as he was now—delightfully unserious. Time had merely given him more inspiration for his dramatic flair.
Other Arthur Miller cleared his throat. Arthur started. He hadn’t realized the PI was so close.
“Can we help you?” Arthur asked him.
“I’d like to thank you for your assistance with my case.”
“What? Did we do something to help?” Sal asked, bewildered. Then he seemed to think better of the admission. “Never mind! You can show your appreciation with glowing five-star reviews on all the sites.”
Arthur was as confused as Sal. “We were investigating Ambrosia for murder, not fraud. I don’t see how that overlapped.”
Other Arthur shrugged. “After that night in her tent—”
“Yurt,” Sal corrected, though everyone ignored him.
“—I figured she was guilty of both. When I couldn’t track her down this morning, I knew I could follow you two and you’d lead me right to her.
I overheard you in the library, and outside it.
Would’ve gotten here sooner if Sheriff McMartin hadn’t taken so much convincing.
” Other Arthur Miller shot a scathing look the sheriff’s way, though he was busy showboating for his deputies by reenacting his arrival here.
Arthur managed a small smile. At least they had an ally in Other Arthur if the sheriff turned on them. “He can be stubborn,” Arthur said, uttering perhaps the biggest understatement of all time.
Other Arthur nodded in agreement. “Had to tell him he’d look like a joke if two vampires scooped a big arrest out from under him.”
“Yes, that does sound like our sheriff,” Arthur said. “He’s been…difficult to work with in the past.” He held out his hand to Other Arthur. “I believe we owe you thanks as well, for the rescue.”
“Anytime. Well, we’re unlikely to cross paths on a case again, but you know what I mean.” Other Arthur’s grip was firm, his handshake as stiff as the rest of his manner. “You’ve got good instincts, though you should learn how to spot a tail. Keep it up.”
With that, Other Arthur Miller left the clearing, heading back down the trail.
“Do you suppose we’ll ever see him again?” Sal mused wistfully, watching with the air of a parent on campus move-in day.
“Yes, at checkout tomorrow.” Arthur shut his eyes. They had a lot of chores to do around the Dead & Breakfast, and groceries to pick up. Missing cat posters to take down, too. It would be a busy night.
A commotion rose on the other side of the clearing, where Brody lay. Arthur’s heart jumped into his throat (metaphorically speaking). He and Sal rushed over, but the chatter around the boy was of a happy note.
Brody sat up slowly, holding his head. “Where am I? What’s going on?”
“You’re at Trident Falls.” Arthur knelt a few feet from him.
“Yeah, I live there.” Brody rubbed his eyes.
“No, the Trident Falls—in the woods.”
Brody looked around, taking in the majestic falls behind them. Then his gaze fell on Rumble, who was making biscuits on his lap. “This cat…she was at the hospital, too. Rumble, right?”
“She’s…” Arthur hesitated, unsure how to explain things in a manner that would make sense to someone who’d been drugged for an entire day.
“Rumble is your mother,” Sal said brightly. “She got turned into a cute little kitty by Chet Oakley, who was meant to kill her on Ambrosia’s orders, only Ambrosia was a little too vague, and Rumble traveled all this way from New Mexico as a cat to see you again.”
Brody blinked slowly. “What?” He turned to Arthur, perhaps hoping the more reasonable of the two would elucidate the situation.
Unfortunately, Sal had it pretty much correct. For once, his husband’s outlandish tale was completely true. “That’s right,” Arthur said. “Wilhelmina discovered Ambrosia was stealing magic from other witches. To silence her, Chet turned her into a cat.”
With a tentative hand, Brody reached out to pet Rumble. She purred uproariously, true to her name.
“Is it really you, Mom?” he asked, voice cracking.
Brody slightly withdrew his hand, and Rumble placed her paw atop it.
It wasn’t exactly an answer, but then again, Rumble was still a cat.
“I guess I can forgive you for ghosting me. Hard to write a letter without thumbs. This is so weird. My mom is a cat. Does that make me like one of those anime catboys?”
“I don’t think so, but we’ll check,” Sal said.
Check? Arthur mouthed, unsure how someone could possibly verify that.
Sal just winked, as if that cleared things up.
“I don’t know how we’re going to get home,” Brody said. “Or where home is.”
“Never fear,” Sal said, grabbing a passing deputy and speaking to her in a dramatic voice. “Be a dear and radio or whatever it is you uniformed people do and ask Theodore Park to join us.”
“Why Ted?” Arthur asked peevishly.
“He’ll know all about what to do with a person who’s turned into an animal,” Sal replied.
“I’m not sure the werewolf curse is at all similar to a witch spell,” Arthur said with a glance at Brody and Rumble. Neither of them were paying attention to their conversation.
Arthur beckoned to Sal, wanting to give mother and son a moment to catch up in private. Brody seemed to have shaken whatever magic Ambrosia used to subdue him, and he grew more animated by the moment. Though not, fortunately, in an anime catboy manner.
McMartin’s voice rose over the falls, drawing Arthur’s attention.
“Aha!” McMartin shouted. “The murder weapon. Caught you red-handed. Dead to rights.” He lifted a hand and made a motion as if to whip sunglasses off his face, but he wasn’t wearing any, since it was dark out.
Curious, Arthur inched closer. McMartin held a potion bottle.
By the glow of the deputies’ flashlights, Arthur could tell there was something off about the color.
He’d tested so many potions with Lore, their usual hue was seared into his mind.
But this potion had a strangely opalescent cast, and was a few shades too bright. The added oleander, no doubt.
Ambrosia stared at the potion, her hands cuffed behind her back and two deputies flanking her. “I’ve never seen that before! I didn’t pack any potions.”
Another deputy was searching her large bag. There were a few water bottles, which Chet had probably held up for her to sip between sections of the spell, and some empty drinkable applesauce packs of the kind normally given to young children so they couldn’t fling it everywhere.
“Yeah, yeah, tell it to your lawyer.” McMartin dropped the potion into a bag and sealed it.
“Every piece of evidence points directly to you, Ambrosia Celestine. You’re under arrest for the murder of Lola Lataurelle, for using illegal magic on Wilhelmina Young, and for, like, a ton of fraud.
I don’t know all the charges yet, but it’ll be a lot. ”
“We didn’t kill Lola!” Ambrosia shrieked. “I keep telling you people. Sure, I told Chet to handle Wil and he turned her into a cat, but that wasn’t my fault.”
“Wow, thanks for that,” Chet said sarcastically.
“And the fraud?” McMartin asked, clearly amused that Ambrosia was admitting to all this. Arthur almost reminded her about her right to remain silent, but he wasn’t feeling very charitable at the moment. She’d threatened to kill him and Sal, too.
“Is it fraud to tell a few fibs about your potions? I give people what they want: something to aspire to. It’s not my fault if they believe anyone can be a super-hot, super-wealthy witch. It’s not a crime to inspire.”
“It’s a crime to falsely represent mundane liquids as magical potions.” McMartin rolled his eyes. “A felony, in fact. And it’s also a felony to steal all the money from your corporation and send it to offshore bank accounts so you can make a run for it.”