The Witch's Blood: (A Cozy Witch Mystery) (One Part Witch Book 7) Page 9

  One person that Zoey had not been expecting to see was Lloyd Bacon. But there he was, being greeted warmly by Arthur Frost, who had once been his employee when he owned the hotel. Now, the two seemed to appreciate one another for their common devotion to The Grand. Lloyd seemed much more upbeat than when she had last seen him. He eyed the surroundings and jotted down some notes in a pad, as if he were making plans for the next renovation.

  Even more surprising was the presence of Caitlin Murdoch, who had clearly shed her housekeeper duties for the evening and was there as a guest. Her pregnancy was becoming undeniable, but she had managed to find a festive evening dress all the same. Zoey couldn’t help herself. She had to have a word with her.

  “Ms. Murdoch. How nice to see you attending the party.”

  “Well, this is an important event for the hotel, and I really felt as if I ought to be here. After all, this is all going to be mine,” she said, giddy at the thought of it. “Until my child can take over, of course, but that won’t be for twenty years.”

  She was in remarkably high spirits for a woman whose lover had just died. Been murdered, actually. If anyone was going to benefit from Franklin Churchill’s death, it was this woman, a housekeeper who had all the access in the world to ammonia and bleach. But that was just circumstantial evidence, Zoey tried to remind herself. They were interrupted by one of the caterers offering Caitlin a wide variety of colorful drinks.

  “All non-alcoholic,” the caterer said.

  Zoey and Caitlin looked across the room, where Arthur Frost gave them a slight, hospitable nod.

  Caitlin picked one of the peach-flavored drinks. “No alcohol because of the baby. Mr. Frost has actually been quite thoughtful and accommodating. Maybe because he knows I’m going to be his boss soon.”

  “Yes. Or maybe he’s just a decent man,” Zoey said.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’ll go and let him know I appreciate his concern.”

  After Caitlin moved on, Zoey looked around and spotted several of Susan’s fans shyly trailing her, hoping for a chance encounter. Sherman from Nevada was among them. He was gazing at Susan so adoringly that he barely noticed Zoey stopping beside him.

  “Have you had a chance to talk to her tonight?” he asked excitedly.

  “Not tonight, but recently. She is pretty special,” Zoey acknowledged. “Very easy to talk to, very thoughtful, and surprisingly self-aware.” And a bit of a matchmaker, she thought to herself.

  “Are you a big, big fan?” Sherman asked.

  “Not as much as you,” Zoey confessed. “I mean, I’ve seen a lot of movies but . . . not the past several years. I just kind of stopped going to the movies. All movies. So I haven’t seen her recent stuff.”

  Sherman looked horrified.

  “Why? Tell me which of her movies are your favorites so I know which ones to check out next,” Zoey said.

  “Favorites? That’s . . . that’s like choosing a favorite child, isn’t it? Every one of them is so special to me. Every one of them is a work of art. It would be like choosing between this da Vinci or that da Vinci. You know?”

  “I’m sure that she’d love to hear that everything she’s been in during the past eight years has been a Mona Lisa. But I’m also sure that she would say it wasn’t true. Her very last film—what did you think of it?”

  “It . . . had me in tears. It was moving. It was exquisitely written. It was dramatic acting at its finest. Oh, you absolutely must see it. Then you may find that you fall in love with her work as much as I have. Oh, I think she’s free. Excuse me.”

  Sherman got in a few minutes with Susan, which seemed to send him over the moon. Hopefully, Zoey would be able to squeeze in a few minutes with Susan herself later. In the meantime, she would just do a little people watching. Unfortunately, one of the people turned out to be Dalton.

  What on earth was he doing there? Obviously, another party crasher. He was dressed very casually. He had probably just wandered down from his room. But why was he talking to Cory Wyatt, the paparazzi? And why was he pointing in Zoey’s direction? She didn’t want anyone at this party to know that she had ever had anything to do with him. And she certainly didn’t need him ruining her evening. Fortunately, a distraction came soon in the form of Susan Sidwell, who pulled her onto a nearby sofa for a quick tête-à-tête.

  “Where’s–where’s . . . where’s all your friends?” Zoey wondered.

  “He’s upstairs with food poisoning.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. Is there anything we can bring him? Anything we can do to help?”

  Susan laughed. “Just kidding. He’s fine. I wanted to see how disappointed you got. He’s actually on a phone meeting with LA—three hours’ time difference. He’ll be down soon.”

  “You’re terrible. Everyone is talking about how wonderful you are, but now I know better.”

  Susan grabbed Zoey by the hands. “I love Ajax like a brother, and the one great guilt of my life is that he doesn’t get to have that whole big love/romance/soulmate thing because he’s been hustling so long and so hard for me, so that I can play roles on-screen were I get to act out the whole love/romance/soulmate thing. But it’s about time for real life to take the spotlight, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, shoot. You are kind of wonderful.”

  Click! Cory Wyatt, the paparazzi, got a shot of the two women in a heartfelt, connected moment.

  “What a pest you are, Cory,” Susan said good-naturedly. “Make sure you get pictures of Gabriel and Gabrielle.”

  Cory disappeared, presumably to do Susan’s bidding.

  “Did you tell the party organizers to let him in?”

  “Of course. His pictures are good and cheaper than hiring our own photographer.”

  “You should go and meet people,” Zoey said. “For a lot of them, this will be their only chance to meet you. I’m glad you got to talk to Sherman. He can die a happy man now.”

  Susan left to tend to her fan base, and Zoey returned to perusing the crowd. But what she saw next brought a sick feeling to the pit of her stomach. It was Dalton headed straight for her.

  “Look at you. You really have come up in the world. Schmoozing with Susan Sidwell. You have to introduce me to her before she and her group leave. Man! Look at you. All gussied up. But you don’t seem to have a date. At least I don’t see anyone hanging around you.

  “Good. I got a call from Camille. You certainly are the charmer. She wants us to all live together. Be one big, happy family. And she tells me that you have a house. You know what? We can make this work out. I’m game if you are. What do you say? Are you willing to make peace for Camille’s sake?”

  What Zoey wanted to say was filled with the tough-girl, obscenity-laced communications that she had learned in prison. She was thinking that she would like such terrible things to happen to Dalton . . . No, no. She couldn’t let her mind go there. She might make the bad things happen. There were too many knives on the serving tables. Relax. Relax. Mangoes. Mangoes.

  Happily, Mr. Frost came to her rescue, and while he spoke in quiet undertones, she had never seen him so angry.

  “Mr. Spitz. As you have already been informed, your shameful manipulation of Mr. Churchill has come to its natural conclusion. Ms. Murdoch will announce her condition presently and will make it known that Mr. Churchill was the child’s father in order to take control of the estate and the hotel. So, you no longer have a secret to hold over anyone. And you will not be allowed to stay here.”

  “You know I can’t go anywhere. I’m under house arrest,” Dalton taunted.

  “You will confine yourself to your room for the present. As soon as the authorities give permission, you will be evicted.”

  “Fine by me. I know a sweet house I can move into,” he said, giving Zoey a sly wink and sauntering away.

  “Are you quite all right?” Frost asked Zoey.

  Zoey tried to shake off the dark cloud Dalton had left behind. “What is Lloyd Bacon doing here? Does he have some kind of plans fo
r The Grand?” Zoey asked.

  Frost looked very uncomfortable. “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to say. The most important qualities of a good concierge are discretion and maintaining a code of honor. Please excuse me.”

  Hmm. Honor was all well and good, but Frost was going to make a lousy informant.

  “Hey, how’s it going?”

  Zoey was relieved to be joined by Wanda Macomber, Mayor of Oyster Cove and fellow witch.

  “That guy you were talking to . . . was that your ex?”

  “That was him.”

  “I’m so sorry. I hate to have this party ruined for you.”

  “It’s been a weird party, that’s for sure.” She filled Wanda in on everything she had witnessed that night and everyone possibly connected to the murder.

  “You need to tell Finn Cochran about all this. Everything. And you need to trust him. He really is one of the good guys. The two of you will be able to figure things out. And then when things are calmer, you and I have a lot of talking to do. And when you’re ready, I’d love to meet Camille.”

  “I’d love that too.”

  With a little squeeze on Zoey’s arm, Wanda left for her mayoral obligations. But Zoey was not alone for long, as Ajax fortuitously made his entrance. He was a sight for sore eyes, dashing in a classic tux, and he took in the sight of Zoey’s evening dress with unabashed approval.

  “Have you had your fill of appreciating Susan Sidwell?”

  “What a thing to say.”

  “I get to appreciate her twenty-four seven, 398 days a year.”

  They both laughed.

  “That’s a really long year.”

  “And that is a really lovely dress. Shall we see what it looks like by moonlight?”

  As soon as they slipped out the front entrance, Ajax reached for Zoey’s hand, and she was hoping it would be a long while before he let go of it. It was. They went all the way to the pier, drawing glances of surprise and pleasure from most passersby who may have thought they looked like a fairytale sight in their glam attire.

  The lamppost lights and the moon sparkled on the waves. Talk about a classic moment for romance.

  “Now, to return to a compelling topic. How long has it been since your last kiss?” Ajax asked matter-of-factly.

  “You know it’s been eight years.”

  “Kiss-wise, I didn’t know, but I could’ve guessed.”

  He pulled Zoey close for a very soft, very warm, very welcome kiss.

  “Now, the answer to that question is closer to eight seconds,” he said for an accurate update.

  They returned to the party for the dessert portion of the evening. Zoey urged Ajax to go and fulfill his mingling duties, fully aware that she had only to say the word and he would happily end her other eight-year drought.

  But that moment couldn’t happen quite yet. Now with so many secrets hanging in the air between them. And the thought of revealing them made her a little queasy. It had been a very full evening, but now it was time to sneak out in a quiet exit.

  Outside, she walked around the corner of the hotel, then stopped in her tracks and drew back quickly. Arthur Frost was talking to Whitney and Autumn Blair, and it sounded as if their discussion was becoming rather heated. What on earth could this be about? There was no way to get close enough to hear without being seen. Arthur Frost was beginning to play a pivotal role in every possible lead.

  First, he had known about the pregnancy. He had known that Dalton was threatening Churchill with exposure about the affair with one of his employees and the baby in order to stay at the hotel. Frost also knew about whatever Whitney and Autumn Blair were up to. And if Lloyd Bacon had anything planned, no doubt, Frost was privy to that as well. All roads seemed to lead to Arthur Frost.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next few days, Zoey was basking in a growing optimism that she hadn’t experienced in a decade. Officer Cochran finally knew that she was innocent. Camille knew that she was innocent. There was reason to hope that she might win custody of her daughter one day. The world was full of wonderful people like Wanda and Susan and Ajax Rafferty. Not to mention Justine and Rocky, who were helping her to understand what a real home felt like again.

  She was also preoccupied with studying magic tricks. It really was going to be imperative that the show she put together had some resemblance to conventional magic acts. Things that people would be expecting—like a rabbit coming out of a hat. Although in her case, it was going to be a scruffy gray cat coming out of a hat. Rocky was becoming increasingly blasé about being levitated off the floor. He would be an ideal addition to her act.

  Today, Zoey needed to run some errands at the hardware store and drugstore to pick up a few odds and ends to help with her show. But she immediately became aware of a very strange attitude in the air. People were looking at her. Pointing at her. Frowning at her. On the sidewalk. In every store aisle.

  It was pretty bizarre. Was something wrong with the way she looked? Was there toilet paper trailing under her shoe? Spinach in her teeth—although no one was close enough to see it? Had that witch blood turned her skin green? What was up with all the stares and pointing?

  Inside the drugstore, the cashier gave a startled look of recognition. “Aren’t you . . . ” He pointed to a wall of tabloid papers. The one featured most prominently had a photograph in the center of Zoey and Susan Sidwell with the oversized headline screaming, “Susan Sidwell Hobnobs with Drug Dealing Ex-Con!!!

  Zoey was able to fight back the nausea and humiliation just long enough to buy a copy of the paper and scurry home as quickly as possible. So, this is what her hopes for a new start had amounted to. Everyone in town would believe this headline. Ajax would believe it. Susan will believe it. Camille . . . ?

  With a burst of anger, she recalled Dalton talking to the paparazzi at the party and pointing in her direction. It wasn’t enough that he had ruined her life the first time around. He was making it his mission to destroy her again.

  She had already paid the price for something she didn’t do. Now, after so many promising things had happened, her future in this town was in jeopardy, and her relationship with her daughter was in jeopardy.

  A horrible, yowling scream coming from the direction of the backyard sent Zoey running outside. Rocky had squared off with another cat, a larger cat, and they were circling one another, getting ready to rumble. As the other cat lunged to make the first blow, Zoey swiftly and remotely lifted Rocky into the air, a good five feet, well out of reach of his opponent.

  The other cat was predictably confused, freaked out, angry, and still in a fighting mood. What surprised Zoey was Rocky’s response. Normally, he was more than happy to chill out, hanging in the air, and he actually seemed to appreciate getting a better view from a higher vantage point.

  But today, he was yowling up a storm, clawing the air and trying to get back to his adversary. Rocky did not want to be saved. He wanted to fight. He wanted to say, This is my house. This is my back yard. You’re the one who needs to leave. And if it takes a smackdown to get that into your thick head, then that’s what you’re gonna get. Rocky knew that he finally had a good thing, and he wasn’t about to let anyone or anything take it from him.

  Zoey had to hand it to him. In fact, she was starting to find his belligerence downright inspiring. Rocky wasn’t waiting to be lucky. Zoey was tired of feeling that her happiness was at the hands of fate. She deserved a good life, and Camille deserved a fearless mother who was willing to fight for her, using any and all means.

  And she wasn’t going to let Dalton ruin her life anymore. Hadn’t prison taught her something about dealing with bullies? Inflict so much pain that they don’t even dare thinking about a fight with you again. Zoey was no longer interested in joint custody. She intended to get sole custody. And she intended to see Dalton rot in jail.

  *****

  It seemed too much to hope for that Camille wouldn’t have seen the tabloid headline. Zoey needed to set her straigh
t as soon as possible. Her daughter was enrolled in a summer day camp, which from all appearances just looked like they kept in all the fun parts of school and left out the math.

  On this particular afternoon, Camille’s science class had gathered outside to test their little science experiments on big tarps, so as not to make a big mess on their classroom floor. They had created volcanoes, filled them up with the proper chemicals, and then run to a safe distance while the volcanoes erupted.

  Some of them worked better than others. Some came out in a trickle. Others came out in an impressive flood. Zoey watched from about fifty yards away, from the nearby lawn, with her fingers crossed. She wanted Camille’s volcano to be impressive.

  But it was straining, trickling out in anemic fashion. That was no good. Zoey wanted a seriously spectacular eruption. And wanting it meant that was exactly what was going to happen. Camille watched in amazement as her sickly eruption turned into Mount Saint Helens. The other kids were extremely impressed, as was the teacher.

  Camille couldn’t help but look around to see who else had witnessed her triumph. And that’s when she saw Zoey, leaning up against a tree, watching her intently. While the class moved on to the work of others, she quietly backed away and made her way over to the tree.

  “Oh, Camille. I’ve been wanting so badly to talk to you. I was sure that you must have seen that terrible story in the papers. They called me a drug dealer. It’s not true. Not a word of it.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  “You’re really good with science. You should build a lie detector. Then you’ll know.”

  That struck Camille as a really great idea. “Maybe I will. But you did go to prison. You told me that.”

  “Yes. I did. For a long, long time.”

  “What did you do in prison every day?”

  “Missed you, baby. Every day.”

  “What was it like there? Was it terrible?”

  “I had just found out I was going to have a baby right before I went to prison. That I was going to have you. So, that’s normally a very happy time for a mother. But I knew that as soon as you were born, you would be taken away and I wouldn’t be able to see you.