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

than her twenty-four years.
    “Just found out about it today.”
    She scratched under Tilda’s ears, and I could hear purring.“People are bound to talk about it since Mom’s been found. You should have heard all the gossip when she went missing. The rumors.” She sipped from her mug, dunked her bag, added more sugar, and sipped some more.
    “About?” I asked, being blatantly nosy.
    “About how my mother had brought on whatever happened to her. That she misused the Anicula. That she was cursed.”
    “Any truth to that?”
    Her eyebrows snapped downward. “Not possible. My mother respected the Anicula too much. It’s very powerful. Life-changing,” she whispered. Her gaze flicked to me. “I think whoever killed my mother wanted the Anicula.”
    “Who knew about it?” I asked.
    “Just about every Crafter who knows my family. Some mortals, not a lot.”
    “Mortals know about the Anicula? It’s not limited to the Craft?”
    She shook her head. “The powers given to charms, talismans, and amulets are created for everyone, mortals and Crafters alike, to use. However, Crafters usually keep the really special charms to themselves.”
    “I had no idea,” I said.
    “But here’s the real kicker. My mother didn’t even have the Anicula when she disappeared. Someone had stolen it six months before.”
    Yvonne’s theory that Patrice had made up that story ran through my head. “Are you sure it was really stolen?”
    Elodie sighed. “You’ve been talking to Yvonne.”
    Guilty, I nodded.
    “There are a lot of people who thought my mother was lying about the Anicula being stolen, but she wasn’t. Someone broke in and stole it. Took it right off her neck when she was sleeping.”
    It didn’t sound likely—who slept that deeply? But then I thought about Ve upstairs and the Mack truck and realized it was entirely possible.
    Elodie gripped her mug. “Darcy, I want to hire you, through As You Wish, to find my mother’s killer.”
    I could feel my mouth drop open. “I, ah—” Our motto of no job too big or too small might just prove impossible after all. “We’re not private investigators, Elodie. I would need a license for that.”
    She stood up, still holding Tilda. “It doesn’t have to be a formal investigation. I just want you to ask a few questions. Snoop around. Everyone in the village knows you played a big role in finding Alexandra Shively’s murderer a couple of months ago. I just want you to do the same for my mom.” Setting Tilda on the floor, Elodie stretched and headed for the door.
    I wanted to ask her about the fight she’d had with her mother, but before I could, she said, “You’ll start as soon as possible?”
    What could I do but accept? I nodded.
    “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m counting on you, Darcy, to help me find out what happened to my mom.” After a brief second, she said, “She would have liked you.”
    I couldn’t believe what I’d gotten myself into. I followed her into the mudroom, where she pulled open the door, stepped out, then abruptly turned around.
    “Oh, and, Darcy? If you’re really all that concerned about having proper licensing to snoop around, you might want to see Marcus Debrowski. He can probably help you out.”
    Help me…
magically
. It was something to think about.

Chapter Eight
    I barely slept at all and woke up early the next morning with a lot on my mind. Dawn was slipping under my window shade, and now that it was light out and I felt relatively safe from any big bad wolves lurking out there, I unlocked the window and lifted the sash a few inches.
    I slipped on my glasses and glanced out over the village green, blinking when I saw a man standing under the birch tree across the street, near Mrs. Pennywhistle’s bench (her favorite sunning spot). His silhouette was in shadow, but he was tall with dark hair. From this distance—I squinted—he looked a little bit like Vincent Paxton, former murder suspect, owner of Lotions and