Free The Witch and the Dead by Heather Blake

the like.” He jabbed the air like an out-of-shape boxer. “He and Miles were going at it something terrible. The police were called.”
    â€œDo you know what they were fighting about?”
    â€œIt wasn’t a
what
, Darcy. It was a
who
. They were fighting over Penelope.”
    â€œDebrowski?” I asked, shocked by the idea that Marcus’ mother had been involved with any of this.
    â€œShe wasn’t married to Oliver at that point, but yes.
That
Penelope.”
    â€œWhy were they fighting over her? Anything specific?”
    He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve no idea . . . but I can imagine.”
    My mind was spinning. What in the world had Miles been up to? And how did Steve . . . and Penelope . . . and Ve factor into it?
    I had a lot of work to do. “Thanks, Sylar.”
    He tipped his head in acknowledgment and went back to his computer work. As I headed for the door, I tossed him one last look.
    Sylar had spun me a nice, tidy story and had given me more leads to follow . . . but I wasn’t ready to discount Dorothy’s involvement with that skeleton just yet.
    Not after the way she’d booked it out of here.
    But now I wondered if she was truly running away from me . . . or from her past.

Chapter Seven
    R aindrops sprinkled the village as I dashed across the green, debating how in the world to tell Marcus his mother was possibly involved in a murder case.
    I wasn’t sure, but I knew one thing for certain. That kind of conversation required chocolate. Mini devil’s food cupcakes to be exact, and there was no one who made them better than Evan Sullivan. The magic he added to the batter was the secret ingredient that allowed all his treats to deliver an aftertaste of pure contentment.
    Contentment sounded really nice right about now.
    A cool breeze chased after me as I hurried inside the Gingerbread Shack. I tugged the heavy glass door closed behind me instead of letting it shut on its own. Outside, the low clouds had darkened ominously, and a sudden sense of apprehension sent a shiver throughme, leaving me unsettled. As Harper would say, there was bad juju in the air.
    Being inside the bakery alleviated that feeling somewhat. How could it not, with its soothing scents of vanilla and chocolate and a hint of hazelnut? I also caught a whiff of nutmeg and apples, most likely from Evan’s seasonal apple pies.
    The shop was relatively quiet, with only a few tables full of guests. Large framed close-up photos of cake slices hung on the walls, and white beadboard trim lent a homey feel to the space.
    Smiling at the young woman behind the counter, I headed straight for the big glass display case at the rear of the shop. She was another new hire. It was just one more sign that after the tragic death of a former employee, Evan was finally starting to live life again instead of letting life live him. He was still dating FBI agent Scott Abramson and had started taking more time off to enjoy other pastimes.
    Like directing a play.
    He was an accomplished stage manager, but taking on a bigger role at the playhouse meant relinquishing even more control here at the shop. Which he had done, and it was a joy to see.
    My gaze skipped over the rows and rows of tiny confections. The bakery specialized in miniature delights, and Evan’s creations never ceased to amaze me. Beyond being delicious, they were beautiful.
    Cupcakes took up much of the case. Toffee crunch, triple chocolate chunk, mint swirl, white chocolate espresso, to name a few. Each had a thick swirl of frosting, and some had additional toppings such as shaved chocolate, toasted coconut, and jimmies. There were bite-sized cheesecakes, delicate squares of tiramisu nestled in foil liners, brownies, cookies, and tiny pies.
    The choices were endless, but when I was stressed-out, I always picked the same thing.
    As I ordered a dozen mini devil’s food cupcakes