Free It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery by Heather Blake

fuzzy, but he had been the last one to have possession of Ve’s scarf, and Evan Sullivan had told the police about Alexandra’s plans to talk to Sylar afterthe meeting—not to mention that he was found hovering over the body. It was enough for the overeager prosecutor to take immediate action. Ve was most incensed with the village’s police chief, Martin Leighton, who’d pretty much turned the case over to the state police so he could get back to his golf game. I had a feeling that once this case was all said and done, Ve would find a way to get Chief Leighton to retire.
    I drummed my fingers on my laptop. Should I do another round of online searches for wombat piñatas? I’d already spent close to three hours searching with no luck whatsoever. The closest I could find was a piglet piñata that I might be able to doctor a bit, but that idea fell through when I called the store and found out the piñata wasn’t in stock and would take three weeks to arrive.
    That wouldn’t work so well for a birthday party late tomorrow afternoon.
    Which meant I had only one option, since Mrs. Carey hadn’t implicitly wished for a wombat piñata. I was going to have to dig deep into memories of art class papier-mâché and make one myself. Time was of the essence—I had lots of shopping to get done. I made sure the front door was locked, and the BE RIGHT BACK sign was in place on the door. We didn’t get many walk-in clients, but occasionally people happened inside just to see what the business was about.
    I glanced around. Everything was neat and in its place. The spacious front room, the main meeting space for As You Wish, held a sofa, several chairs, and a small conference table. An area rug covered dark floors, and warm blues and greens made the large parlor feel a lot smaller and cozier. Fresh-cut hydrangeas floated in a bowl on the coffee table, and antique glass vases decorated the mantel. Silvery blue wallpaper with a playful faded curlicue design covered the walls, and sunlight slipped in through the gauzy curtain panels. The roomwas light and airy and welcoming. And yet, the room also brought out another feeling. A notion that there was something more going on in here. Something unseen. Something magical.
    Which, of course, there was.
    And then there was my favorite thing about the whole house. Above the mantel hung a large rectangular watercolor of a magic wand. The golden colors ebbed and flowed, swirled and twirled. It was perfect.
    In the mudroom off the kitchen, I tugged on my sneakers, noticing that the tread was worn. If I was going to start jogging, I’d need a new pair. More shopping.
    Missy bounded over, jumping and prancing.
    Take her? Leave her? “You may have to wait outside some of the shops.” Most of the village shops allowed dogs inside, but some held fast to the rule that pets remained out of doors.
    She turned in a circle, her tail wagging.
    I reached for her leash and snapped it on. Grabbing my wallet from my purse, I headed out the door.
    Apparently there had been no need to worry about tourism. The square was packed. Alexandra’s murder had people flocking to the village. I spotted Starla with her camera. One source of her income was taking random pictures of the tourists, and then selling them the prints.
    I headed her way, Missy bouncing along next to me. Starla was just handing a couple a claim ticket when she saw me.
    “Want a picture done?” she asked, steadying her lens.
    “No, no!”
    “Don’t tell me you’re camera shy?”
    “Isn’t everyone?”
    “No, thank goodness, or I’d be out of business.” She slipped a pad of claim tickets into one of the many pockets of a lime green work apron (the kind a construction worker might use for nails and screwdrivers) embroideredwith “Hocus-Pocus Photography.” “I hate to say it, but murder is good for business. The village is hopping.”
    We both turned toward Lotions and Potions. It was deserted. There wasn’t even any crime-scene