A Witch Before Dying: A Wishcraft Mystery by Blake Heather

Author:Blake, Heather [Blake, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101591550
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2012-08-06T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Sylar.

Especially if he suspected that I’d seen what had happened between him and Dorothy behind his shop earlier.

As I hurried along the Enchanted Trail toward the Third Eye Optometry Office, I tried to process all I’d learned in the last two days, starting with finding Patrice’s body and ending with Roger attacking Jonathan Wilkens.

Really, what it all boiled down to was that I was no closer to figuring out who had killed Patrice. Or why.

As I turned onto the wooded path leading to the back door of Third Eye, I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to look back at the trail, but I couldn’t see anyone coming in either direction.

Paranoid.

Intuition?

I glanced back again, but there was still no sign of anyone.

Strange.

At least the footsteps hadn’t come with that heebie-jeebie feeling I’d been experiencing lately.

I circled around to the front of Sylar’s shop and was surprised when I saw the CLOSED sign on the front door. I shaded my eyes against the glass, but even though there was a faint light coming from the rear of the store, I didn’t see anyone inside. I rapped on the glass and waited, but no one answered.

I backtracked to the rear door, in case Sylar was in the back storeroom and couldn’t hear my knocking out front. As I neared the door, I heard a scurrying behind me and whipped around. “Who’s there?”

No one answered.

Of course not. That would be too easy. “Vince?” I called out. For some reason, I had the feeling he was following me around. I just didn’t know why.

There was no reply. No Vince. No bogeymen. No big bad wolves.

I was really beginning to question my sanity as I knocked on Sylar’s back door.

A second later, the door swung open and Dorothy peered out. “Who’re you?” she asked with a tone of voice that clearly conveyed a high level of crankiness.

I wasn’t exactly comfortable talking to her. “I’m Darcy Merriweather. I think Sylar is expecting me? I left—”

“Oh. You’re Darcy.”

I didn’t care for the dulcet tone of her voice. It was way too sweet to be sincere.

She leaned against the doorframe, a hip cocked, her arms folded across her ample chest. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Um, thank you. Is Sylar here?”

“No.”

Uncomfortable, I shifted. I wished I’d thought to ask Mrs. P to tag along.

Pointedly, she asked, “Is it true you’re dating Nick Sawyer?”

Again, I heard a rustle behind me. I tossed a look over my shoulder. Not only to see if anyone was there (there wasn’t), but to see if I could spot any hidden cameras. Surely, someone was playing a joke on me. Dorothy wasn’t really quizzing me on my love life, was she?

“I left a bag here earlier…,” I said, trying to distract her from whatever mission she was on.

“He’s a handsome man, that Nick.” She examined one of her long, painted nails. “Marriage material.”

“It’s a brown bag.” I held my hands apart a foot. “About this big?”

One of her eyebrows rose as she studied me closely.

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