Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) Page 6

  Hearing Winnie’s name made me smile. I missed Winnie and her daughter Lola.

  Okay, so he could talk to some of the people I’ve helped. That proved nothing. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Tell Digby to stop waffling and make a decision. He passed well over eight months ago. It’s time to choose a path to the light, or accept the afterlife plane he’s on as his eternity.”

  “He stuck his tongue out at you.”

  I chuckled. That definitely sounded like Digby. Yet, it still didn’t change much. “So you can talk to people on the other side. I didn’t doubt you were on the other side. That still doesn’t prove you were who you say you were.”

  “But it does prove I know some of the ghosts you were in contact with. You came so highly recommended. I thought you’d be thrilled to your knickers to help me.”

  “Ghosts are a chatty lot. If you’re on the plane where people who are undecided land, they love to gab in order to put off making a choice. You might be a spy, but I know ghosts. And my knickers have skeptical written all over them. How do I know you’re not setting me up?”

  “We’re getting nowhere fast.”

  “Whose fault is that, Spy Guy?”

  “Forget my prior profession, Stevie, and focus on having somewhere to rest your lovely head—rent free,” he reminded, his voice tinged with impatience.

  I crossed my arms over my chest again with a cluck of my tongue. “All right, let’s forget your profession for the time being. Explain this to me. Wouldn’t something like this house—a large, probably valuable piece of property—go into probate as a part of your estate? Or to a family member when they read your will? How can you just let me move into something that technically isn’t even yours anymore? Or is that a super secret, too?”

  I wasn’t entirely dumb to human legal practices, if that’s what Win was hoping. Possessions such as a house went into probate until your will was read and an inheritor named.

  “I’ve got that all covered,” was all he said.

  I ran a hand over my damp, frizzing hair in aggravation. “Is an explanation out of the question? Because as an FYI, it’s not you they’ll be hauling out of here for squatting. It’s me, and I’m no good in jail. I can’t seem to make soap on a rope work for me.”

  “I doctored my will.”

  Suspicion instantly reared its ugly head. I lifted one eyebrow to convey as much. “How can you doctor something without a physical form here on this plane?”

  “I bribed Madam Zoltar, the medium. She doctored. I instructed her on the doctoring.”

  “Medium?” I barked out loud and dismissed him with a wave of my hand. I hadn’t said a word before, but now I couldn’t contain myself. “You do know almost every human who claims to be a real medium is eyeball-deep in baloney, don’t you? They steal your money and the only spirit they have contact with is the spiriting away of said money from your bank account.”

  “Have you gone mad? Are you telling me Madame Zoltar isn’t a real medium? That she bamboozled me? The horror!” Win squealed.

  I fought the impulse to grin. “Even as well-loved as she seems to be by the community, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. You’ve been had.”

  Now his grating sigh whispered across the room. “Of course I knew she was a fake. I was a spy, for Pete’s sake, Stevie.”

  “Right. An international man of intrigue.”

  His silence made me decide to play out this game with him. I didn’t know where it was leading, but he seemed like the kind of voice who liked a good cat and mouse. What spy didn’t like a good cat and mouse?

  “Okay, first, why did you choose Madam Zoltar to communicate with?”

  “You’ll find this odd, but it was her staunch belief in the afterlife. Even though she couldn’t really communicate with the dead, she wanted to with everything in her. She still believed it was possible, whether she had or not. That touched me.”

  Fair enough. He’d clearly known what he was getting into with Madam Zoltar.

  “So how did you get Madam Zoltar to doctor your will?”

  “I made promises, Stevie. Dirty, dirty promises. Some of which left me feeling cheap and used.”

  “I can’t believe I’m even asking, but I’m just going to cannonball into the deep end. What did you promise her? Spill.” I tapped my toe and waited.

  I was pretty sure I felt his eyes roll back in his head in aggravation before he said, “Oh, okay. I said I’d attend two séances and some medium convention called The Crystal Ball Is Your Oyster Con. Not a big deal in the scheme of things. And all I had to do was show up and do spooky stuff, like make the table levitate, maybe flicker the lights on and off. You know; typical séance fare.”

  “And in return she did what to your will?”

  “Changed the name of the sole beneficiary of my worldly possessions at my lawyer’s office from my greedy cousin Sal to someone else…”

  “Wouldn’t your lawyer know who the original beneficiary really was?”

  “I’m counting on the fact that he comes from the Mesozoic era and is incredibly forgetful. It was frightfully easy. Madam Zoltar printed up a new, fake document under my instruction, and voila. Instant revision.”

  “So you had her break the law for you. A nice little old lady like that?”

  “I would never have allowed her to be caught, and I broke the law to save this side of the pond from Cousin Sal. You’ll thank me, should you ever meet.”

  It was my turn to sigh, tiring rapidly of the spy game. I plunked down on the bottom step of the huge staircase, mindless of the debris. “So you had her change it to who? What does that mean?”

  “It means I left my house and all my worldly possessions to you.”

  Chapter 6

  All the blood drained from my face. My mouth opened, but it didn’t want to cooperate with words. Not even smallish ones. It just hung there, all unhinged.

  “I can see by your jaw scraping the floor I’ve surprised you.”

  “Only confetti and a clown car would match my level of surprise.”

  Had he been kidding when he’d said he’d left the house to me? I looked out the big bay window in the parlor overlooking the Sound at the choppy gray waters and blinked.

  “And I guess you want to know why I’d leave my most treasured possession to you, and not a family member—or the DIY Channel.”

  “I can’t make a decision. I mean, there are a whole list of pros and cons I need to make before I decide if I want to know why.”

  “I left it to you because you need this house, and it needs you. And the afterlife says you need help, and, above all, you can be trusted.”

  I scratched my head. “Is this your big afterlife pay-it-forward? Am I the charity case of the millennium to make up for all the charity cases you ignored in your former life? What are they feeding you in the afterlife to make such a big decision?”

  Win scoffed at me. “I’m insulted you think I ignored charity while I was here on Earth. That cuts deep.”

  “Do spies donate to charity?”

  “You’d be surprised what we spies do for a good cause. Haven’t you ever heard of Spies For Tots? Never mind. Scratch that. No one’s supposed to know we exist.”

  I fought a chuckle. “So why would you leave all this to me? You don’t even know me.”

  “Honesty?”

  “Should there ever be anything else between an ex-witch and the specter who’s attached himself to her like a boil on her butt?”

  “The truth is, I can’t stand Sal. He’s a bag of utter dicks. He’ll turn this place into some ugly eyesore full of sterile chrome, white walls, and high-tech gadgets. Also, he’s awful. The kind of awful that kicks puppies and pulls walkers right out from under the elderly. A place like this needs attention to detail, Stevie; it needs to be filled with things from days gone by. It needs love. I didn’t have time to change my will before my untimely demise, but when I found this place just before I died, I’d alread
y decided to do just that. I just ran out of time. But that’s all handled now.”

  “It needs a whole lot more than love. It needs a backhoe.”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  I let my arms rest on my knees and looked at the sprawling home, most of which I hadn’t even seen yet. It could really be something, given serious attention. It could be a dream come true. My mind raced with the possibilities, the potential, but my life was a wreck. I didn’t have time to babysit contractors and subcontractors. I needed to find a job and some self-worth.

  “Listen, it was really weird…nice, but weird of you to leave me your dilapidated fixer-upper, but in the interest of giving this house some love, love costs money. In this case, it’s going to cost a lot of money. I don’t have enough money for my lunch. I certainly don’t have enough to not only get a place like this up and running, but keep it running. So thanks, but you’d better start making dirty-dirty promises to another psychic to fix your will again. Oh, and while you’re hanging around the afterlife, please tell them thank you for the sterling references.”

  I would smile at the trust and friendships I’d built over the years with many a spirit, but the loss was still so fresh, it felt wrong to feel anything but sorrow because it was just a memory and no longer my reality.

  Still, Win wasn’t giving up. “I have money.”

  Grabbing my purse, I began to make my way toward the front door, fully intending to take myself back to the hotel and come up with a plan B. Because this was on par with ludicrous. Who signed over all their money and possessions on the word of dead people to someone they didn’t even know?

  “So you said. But I can’t access money from a man who essentially claims he doesn’t exist anywhere but in his head.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t exist. I said London would tell you they’d never heard of me. It doesn’t mean I can’t prove to you I have a bank account, Stevie, or that I didn’t see to it that all my money becomes yours.”

  I reached for the rusty doorknob, only to watch it turn and seize up. Ah. I knew this sort of ghost. The kind who liked to play rough and dazzle me with his otherworldly powers.

  I narrowed my eyes at the room. “You know, Winterbutt, under normal circumstances, I’d break out my wand and zap you right into plane eleven for even considering holding me hostage in this heap of a dump.”

  “Scary, Stevie. What’s plane eleven?”

  I smiled smugly. “The plane where anyone who’s willfully taken a life spends their eternity. Serial killers, mass murderers. You know; the typical types.”

  “Then it’s a good thing for me petulant ex-witch’s wand is out of service.”

  “I’m not petulant. I’m skeptical. I’ve only just met you and so far I’ve found a dead body, been questioned in a possible murder investigation, slandered at my favorite taco truck, told I’m going to inherit a house straight out of American Horror Story and a buttload of money, and now you’ve threatened me. Forgive my hesitance to jump into your pool with both feet.”

  “I did not threaten you. I was just trying to keep you from making an unwise decision and at the same time, flexing my newbie ghost muscles, if you will.”

  I let go of the doorknob. “An unwise decision?”

  “Stevie?”

  “Winterbutt?”

  “The time, please?”

  My sigh of impatience rang in the wide entryway as I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone without disturbing Belfry. “It’s five-fifteen. Do you have a hot afterlife date?”

  “Check your bank account, please. The one at Paris Spells Savings and Loan, and tell me the balance.”

  I flicked my finger over the app to access my pathetic savings account, preparing to see the last of my miniscule thousand dollars depleting rapidly. I fully intended to hold the phone up to his faceless voice and prove to him he was crazy as a bedbug.

  Oh. Hold that thought. How in the world…?

  I knew I was openly gaping, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Do tell, what does your bank balance say, Stevie?” Win asked, a playful hint to his tone.

  “Uh…a lot. It says…a lot of those lunches you mentioned,” I muttered, unable to believe my eyes. “How did you…?

  “I told you, Madam Zoltar and I had a deal of sorts. I talked to the dead for her; she helped me change my will.”

  But then a very nefarious thought hit me in the gut.

  My hand went directly to my hip in righteous indignation. “How do I know it’s not drug money, or laundered money, or just plain old dirty money?”

  “Because I have immaculate tax records that are a testament otherwise.”

  “How do I know they’re not forged or fakes? What if you made Madam Zoltar do something illegal and she didn’t think to question you because she was so blown away by finally contacting the dead and your spiffy British accent?”

  “Stevie…”

  I sucked in my cheeks. “Am I trying your patience?”

  “I didn’t think anyone could match my irritation after the last jewel thief I apprehended in Monte Carlo, but you’re this close.”

  “Ooo, did you have to crawl under deadly laser beams that could cut you in half if you moved a millimeter the wrong way to catch him?” I mocked.

  “Stevie!” His voice reverberated through the house, bouncing off the fifteen-foot ceilings.

  “Fine. Carry on.”

  “Please, if you’d indulge me, check your voice mail.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “I promise not to think less of you for behaving so cowardly. Please check.”

  I clicked the app for my voice mail, noted there was a message, and put it on speaker. There was a crackle on the line and then, “Miss Cartwright? This is Davis Monroe, Esquire. I’d been instructed to contact you upon the confirmation of the death of one Crispin Alistair Winterbottom. Please return my call promptly, as we need to discuss your inheritance.”

  Forget my alleged inheritance—Winterbottom’s first name was Crispin?

  I began to laugh, my head falling back on my shoulders while I tried to catch my breath. “Crispin Alistair?” I sputtered.

  Win cleared his throat. “Ahem. Pardon me, but it’s a prestigious birthright and well respected where I come from. Certainly nothing a heathen like you would understand.”

  I snorted again, but I also realized I now had a name. A full name to research. Google, be my guide.

  “Before you warm up your fingers to Google me, do note, you’ll find nothing about my profession as a spy online. Crispin Alistair Winterbottom was a mild-tempered grade-school teacher, at least according to Google.”

  “Riiight. Got it. When you look me up? Don’t believe LinkedIn and my former job as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. I’m really a prima ballerina with the Bolshoi Ballet.”

  “For your information, I wouldn’t believe that even if I saw you in a tutu and tights, not after your blatant Peggy Fleming in Madam Zoltar’s store.”

  “That’s because you’re a super spy with an antenna for lies, right?” Then I began to laugh again, bending forward at the waist to try to catch my breath.

  “Can we please set aside the fact that you’re calling me a liar and focus on the tasks at hand? I did just make you rich, did I not?”

  I clicked on the app again and typed in my password. Yep. The money was all still there. But it didn’t mean it was staying there or that it wasn’t dirty.

  “You did. You also gave me a house that’s about to fall down around my ears. You’re a total peach.”

  “This house can be restored to its former beauty and I know just the person. But we have other things to do right now. Right now, we have to help Madam Zoltar and find her killer.”

  My shoulders sagged as I hauled my purse to the crook of my arm. I was tired. It had been a long, grueling day. I wanted to go back to my cheap hotel room with the paper-thin blankets, take a shower and sleep for a year.

  “Can we do that tomorrow?”

  “And that
brings me to this…”

  “What’s ‘this’?”

  “The deal.”

  I nodded my head knowingly. “You mean the strings, right? Because no one gives someone a boatload of money and a house on the bluff, even if it’s falling to pieces, without strings. No one. What’s the deal?”

  “I propose this. You can have it all, all of it. My house, my money, my toothbrush, which is the only personal possession I own, aside from some very expensive suits, but only if you agree to work with me to help find who killed Madam Zoltar—”

  “But—”

  “I’m not done yet. You must also agree to renovate this house for me under my instruction, and you have to remain here until its completion.”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Is that all? So basically, give up my entire life to live in a drafty, dirty wreck and figure out who killed Madam Zoltar, all while everyone in town calls me a murderer?”

  “You have no life, Stevie.”

  “That’s mean.”

  “It’s true.”

  My finger shot up in the air. “First of all, we don’t even know she was killed. Maybe it was just a heart attack or a stroke or any number of things. Second, why the fudge don’t you just ask Madam Z what happened yourself? You are in the afterlife with her, aren’t you? She should have arrived by now. What kind of spy are you?”

  “Now, Stevie,” he said with that superior tone of his. “You know full well when a soul passes over after they’ve left your plane in a traumatic incident, they’re confused and disoriented. Madam Zoltar is a wreck of emotions. She’s gobsmacked, and no one can get through to her or understand all her rambling. She’s been drifting around from plane to plane since this afternoon. But because she’s so confused, that means only one thing. You know it and I know it. She was murdered.”

  “Why do you care so much about this woman, Win? What aren’t you telling me?”

  His reply was stiff and very British. “I’ve told you everything you need to know about my relationship with Madam Zoltar.”

  “So why does finding her murderer mean so much to you? You hardly knew her.”

  “Because justice should be served in healthy portions. And I liked her. I liked her a great deal. She reminded me of my grandmother. Not to mention, she helped keep this house and all my extraordinarily hard-earned money from my cousin Sal.”