Free A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery by Heather Blake

the crook of Ve’s leg.
    As Ve snored lightly, I dodged the tissues that littered the floor and made my way over to the bed. I replaced Ve’s tea mug with a glass of water and took a second to feel her forehead. It was still hot.
    Whatever illness she had, she had it bad.
    I tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar so Tilda could get out if she had to.
    The back stairs creaked as I headed for the kitchen. Missy was zonked out in her doggy bed by the mudroom door. She didn’t even flinch as I passed by to put the mug in the sink. I did some dishes, wiped the counters, and was contemplating a bag of popcorn and a late movie when I heard a light tapping at the mudroom door.
    Missy’s head shot up, and she growled low in her throat.
    “Shh,” I said, wondering who on earth it could be. “You’ll wake up Ve.”
    Actually, I was pretty sure a Mack truck crashing through the front door wouldn’t wake Ve, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
    I looked at Missy. “Who do you think it is?”
    Surely the Peeper Creeper wouldn’t knock.
    Missy stumbled out of bed, wobbled in her sleepiness, and rushed to the door. Her tail wagged, and I took that as a good sign that whoever was on the other side meant me no harm.
    Another knock sounded, this one a little louder. The porch light was on, and when I moved the curtain to peek out, I was more than a little surprised by who was standing there.
    “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Elodie asked as I opened the door. “I saw the light on….”
    “Not at all,” I reassured her. “Come in. Come in. Are you okay?”
    Mentally, I shook my head. Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. Her mother was dead. Murdered.
    She smiled wanly. “I’m doing all right.”
    I motioned for her to have a seat at the counter. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Are you hungry?”
    “Tea would be nice. I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
    I completely understood. After my mom died, I probably didn’t eat a full meal for months.
    As I put the kettle on, I stole a glance at her while she played with Tilda, who’d come downstairs.
    Elodie’s blue eyes had lost some luster, her blond curls were a tangled mess, and she looked tired. So tired. Why, I wondered, was she here? At midnight? I didn’tfeel like I could come out and ask straight off. She’d get there in her own time.
    “I think,” she said, stroking Tilda, “that I expected this would be the outcome. I kind of knew all along that she wasn’t…” She shook her head. “That she wasn’t here anymore. I felt it. Does that make sense?”
    I nodded as I set out two mugs, two tea bags, a sugar spoon, and the creamer. “I’ve heard of that kind of thing before.”
    She looked relieved that I didn’t think she was crazy.
    “So, I’m probably better off than most would be in this situation,” she said. “I already went through my grieving period when she first went missing. But finding her like that…it’s a bit of a shock.”
    A bit
—an understatement.
    “To know that she’d probably been there all along is just eating at me.” Her gaze flicked up to me. “The police think the broken air-conditioning is why she”—she gulped—“mummified. It was the perfect temperature, plus being under all that stuff…That’s why we never smelled anything.”
    I couldn’t believe she could talk about this so openly.
    Tilda nudged Elodie’s chin with the top of her head. I’d never seen the cat so cuddly. Could she possibly sense Elodie’s inner turmoil and be trying to console her?
    I eyed her. I had my doubts. Tilda was all about Tilda.
    The kettle began to hiss and whistle low. I pulled it off the heat before it became too loud and poured hot water into the mugs. I dunked the tea bags and pushed a mug her way.
Why is she here?
    Drawing in a deep breath, she inhaled the steam from her mug and said, “Do you know about the Anicula?” She held my gaze. Suddenly, she looked older