The Goodbye Witch Read online

  PRAISE FOR HEATHER BLAKE’S

  WISHCRAFT MYSTERY SERIES

  The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy

  “This extremely charming mystery has, in its third installment, created a world of magic with a complex, but very coherent mythology. . . . This series is full of charm, magic, and delightfully humorous and entertaining characters.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “In a world of culinary cozies, bookshop cozies, and cozies about every topic imaginable, the Wishcraft Mysteries stand out on their own as being wonderfully unique and full of mystique and magic.”

  —Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “Completely magical . . . stuffed with all the mystery you could imagine. . . . If you enjoy the world of witches and magic, you will love the way it comes complete with mystery and suspense.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “An exciting entry in a great series.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  A Witch Before Dying

  “A Witch Before Dying by Heather Blake is quite simply a fantastic read from cover to cover. It’s a magical tale, but it’s also a very human one, and it’s a perfect companion for the lazy, magical, seemingly endless day of summer.”

  —The Season for Romance (top pick)

  “A fun twist on typical witchy mysteries . . . with a delightful cast of characters.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “Four magic wands for A Witch Before Dying—get your copy today!”

  —MyShelf.com

  It Takes a Witch

  “Blending magic, romance, and mystery, this is a charming story.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Denise Swanson

  “Magic and murder . . . what could be better? It’s exactly the book you’ve been wishing for!”

  —Casey Daniels, author of Supernatural Born Killers

  “Blake successfully blends crime, magic, romance, and self-discovery in her lively debut. . . . Fans of paranormal cozies will look forward to the sequel.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fantastic.”

  —Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “Wow! Ms. Blake has taken the paranormal mystery to a whole new fun yet intriguing level. . . . This story is . . . mysterious, whimsical, [and] delightful. . . . Heather Blake makes it work!”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  “Heather Blake has created a wonderful new spin on witches in Salem that is both lighthearted and serious. An all-around wonderful read.”

  —The Hive

  “A good quick, breezy read.”

  —Pagan Newswire Collective

  “This stellar standout series debut has set the bar. High. Extremely high! . . . Wickedly delicious.”

  —Blogcritics

  OTHER MYSTERIES BY HEATHER BLAKE

  The Wishcraft Series

  It Takes a Witch

  A Witch Before Dying

  The Good, the Bad, and the Witchy

  The Magic Potion Series

  A Potion to Die For

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Copyright © Heather Webber, 2014

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  ISBN 978-1101-63600-8

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Praise

  Other mysteries by HEATHER BLAKE

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Excerpt from One Potion in the Grave

  Chapter One

  “Do you think I can get away with murder?”

  The back door slammed, punctuating the startling question as Starla Sullivan rushed into the kitchen of As You Wish, my aunt Ve’s personal concierge business that doubled as our home. Or, more appropriately, the old Victorian housed a business.

  Sudsy bubbles slid down my fingers as I set down the pot I’d been washing. Early-afternoon light streamed through the window over the sink as I dried my hands with a dish towel, turned off my iPod (silencing Eliza Doolittle singing about all kinds of loverly things), and studied Starla more carefully. Normally I’d laugh off such a question. Murder? Impossible. She was the most even-keeled, joy-filled witch I knew. But panic clouded her usually sparkling blue eyes, and a touch of fear slid down my spine.

  “Maybe,” I said honestly. Since moving to the Enchanted Village last June, I’d learned a thing or two about homicides as I’d helped solve several local cases. There were ways to get away with murder if you planned carefully enough. I’d picked up a few tips and tricks to evade the police—but couldn’t imagine ever implementing the knowledge. I wasn’t usually the murderous type, either, unless my family and friends were threatened. Then, look out. The mama bear in me wouldn’t back down.

  As I watched Starla pace nervously, I had the uneasy feeling this was one of those times. “Why? Who do we need to kill?”

  Holding on to a thread of hope that she was simply venting and hadn’t really turned homicidal, I’d purposefully kept my voice unnaturally light. My dog, Missy, formally known as Miss Demeanor, looked up from her bed near the mudroom door, and cocked her head as though understanding the seriousness of this conversation.

  “We, Darcy?” Tears brimmed on the corners of Starla’s light lashes.

  “Obviously I’m not letting you do it alone. If you deem that someone needs to go, then I trust your instincts. Patooey. I spit on that person, and that’s saying something, because you know I hate spitting.”

  A mourning dove cooed from the
windowsill as sunbeams fell across Starla’s face, making her look more angelic than usual, despite her sudden affinity for murder. A quivering smile spread across her face and lit her from the inside out. Then a passing cloud blocked the sun, her smile faltered, the tears fell, and she suddenly threw herself into my arms and started sobbing.

  A lump lodged squarely in my throat as I held her tightly like I used to do with my younger sister Harper. Because I was the only mother figure she had ever known—our mom died the day she was born—Harper had always turned to me for affection. But at twenty-three and fiercely independent, she rarely needed my soothing anymore.

  I held on to Starla tightly. As I consoled, I noticed her skin felt chilled, probably a result of the icy air outside. January in the Enchanted Village, a themed neighborhood of Salem, Massachusetts, was about as cold as I’d ever experienced. The village had already received more than a foot of snow this month alone, and it was only two weeks into the New Year.

  “Oh Starla, what’s wrong?” I whispered, rubbing her back as she trembled beneath my hand. “Did Vince do something?”

  Vincent Paxton was Starla’s boyfriend, and someone I didn’t quite trust. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He was a Seeker, a mortal who longed to become a Crafter, like Starla and me. I was a Wishcrafter, a witch who could grant wishes, and she was a Cross-Crafter, a hybrid witch. She was part Wishcrafter (her predominate Craft) and part Bakecrafter (she had zero skills in the kitchen), the opposite of her twin brother, Evan, who owned the only bakery in the village.

  There were many things I didn’t like about Vince, including his past history as a murder suspect with questionable morals, and only a few things I did. One was how much he obviously cared about Starla. But if he’d hurt her . . .

  “It’s not Vince.” Sniffling, she backed away from me. As fast as she could wipe them away, more tears filled her blue eyes.

  “Then what?” I asked, an ache growing in my stomach.

  Right now I wished with all my heart that I could take away the obvious pain she was in. But one of the frustrating rules of being a Wishcrafter was that I couldn’t grant my own wishes.

  Her voice cracked as she said, “He’s back.”

  “Who’s back?” I suddenly wished my aunt Ve was around in case Starla needed additional moral support. Plus, I had no doubt she’d help us hide a body if need be. But she was out of town for the day on an As You Wish assignment.

  Starla began pacing again, her boots hitting the wood floor with the force of her anxiety. With each pivot, her blond ponytail swung out behind her, slashing the air. “Kyle. Kyle’s back.”

  I knew of only one Kyle in her life, and simply hearing the name come from her lips was enough to make my blood run cold. “Your ex-husband Kyle?” I said in a hushed breath. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fairly sure. I was wrapping up my afternoon rounds on the village green when I saw him near the ice skating oval. One minute I’m snapping shots of a toddler wobbling on the ice, and the next my cozy happy world fell apart.”

  In addition to being a part-time photographer for the town newspaper, Toil and Trouble, Starla owned Hocus-Pocus Photography and was often out and about in the square, snapping pictures of tourists—mementos the visitors could purchase on their way out of the village.

  “Could it have been someone who looks like him?” I speculated. “Maybe his twin brother?”

  Kyle and Liam Chadwick were fraternal twins, but looked very similar. Kyle’s whole family (his mom, his dad, and his two brothers) still lived in the village—they owned Wickedly Creative, an art studio just beyond the square. It was excruciatingly awkward when Starla bumped into one of them.

  “No, it wasn’t Liam. It was Kyle. I’d know him anywhere. Fortunately, I had the sense to take pictures of him just to be sure—and to show the police. He’s back.”

  “Let me see the pictures.” I’d seen Kyle Chadwick’s face often enough on the wanted poster in the village police station to know what he looked like.

  Her hand fluttered to her chest, where her camera usually hung. But it wasn’t there.

  “My camera!” she cried. “I was so freaked out at seeing him that my legs went weak. I had to sit down for a second, and I must have left it on a bench near the skating rink. I have to go back and get it.”

  “Let me call Harper. She can get there faster than you.” That, and I was starting to realize I needed reinforcements. If it was Kyle she had seen . . . this was big news. Big dangerous news. “Hold on a sec.”

  Tears spilled down Starla’s face as she nodded. I quickly ducked into the As You Wish office, closed the door a bit, and dialed my sister at her bookshop, which was just across the street from the ice rink.

  “Spellbound, this is Harper.”

  “It’s me,” I whispered into the phone.

  “What’s wrong, Darcy?”

  She knew me too well, picking up on my anxiety from only two little words. “It’s Starla. She left her camera on a bench near the ice skating rink. Can you go get it?”

  “Why’d she leave it? What’s going on?”

  There was no point in trying to be deceptive with Harper. She would get the information out of me eventually. “She accidentally left it there when she saw Kyle Chadwick.”

  There was a beat of silence before she said, “Kyle Chadwick, her lousy stinking rotten jerk face of an ex?”

  The description fit. “Yes. Well, she thinks it’s him.” I explained the situation.

  “For the love,” Harper muttered. “Did she call the police?”

  “I don’t know.” The office was its normal mess—a source of contention between Aunt Ve and me. Today the clutter only added to my stress level. I pulled my long ponytail forward over my shoulder and fussed with the dark strands of my hair.

  “If she hasn’t she should.”

  Harper was right. The sooner the police were involved with this, the better. “Can you get the camera? It’ll be nice to have confirmation that Kyle is in the village when the police get here.”

  “I’m on it.” She hung up.

  Setting the phone into its dock, I let out a long sigh. Chill bumps covered my skin, and my hands shook as I walked back into the kitchen.

  Starla had quit pacing and now sat on a kitchen stool with my aunt’s gray-and-white Himalayan, Tilda, curled in her lap. Tilda seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were upset. Despite her persnickety disposition, she almost always set aside her normal crankiness to offer comfort to people in need. This time was no different.

  I often wondered if Tilda was a familiar—a Crafter who took on the form of an animal after death—but if she were one she wasn’t letting on. Other familiars I knew, like my mouse friend, Pepe, and the scarlet macaw that lived next door, Archie, had no trouble speaking to me. If Tilda was a familiar, she was giving me the silent treatment.

  Pulling up the stool next to Starla, I said, “Did you call the police?”

  She buried her face in Tilda’s fur. “I didn’t. I snapped the pictures of him, and then kind of froze. I started shaking. I don’t remember much after that—only running here.” Tears swam in her eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe I’m making a fuss out of nothing. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. It is almost the anniversary of when he was arrested, and it’s been on my mind.”

  Maybe. But I’d like to be sure—for her sake.

  It didn’t escape my notice, either, that she referred to the upcoming anniversary as when he was arrested. But in a few days it will have been two years since Kyle Chadwick had attempted to strangle her.

  My hands curled into fists as I said, “We should call Nick.”

  Nick Sawyer wasn’t only the village’s police chief. He was also . . . mine. We’d been dating since summertime. We’d had our ups and downs, but right now we were in a good place.

  “Only Nick for now, okay?” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “I don’t want . . .”

  I reached out and held her hand. “What?”

 
; “It’s just that when Kyle was arrested . . . there was so much scrutiny.”

  “That makes sense. He was charged with a horrible crime.”

  “Not only scrutiny of him, Darcy. Of me. People didn’t want to believe what happened. . . . They accused me of lying. I don’t want to go through that again. At least not until I’m sure that the man at the rink was really him. The pictures will prove it.”

  “I’ll call Nick’s cell phone, not the police station,” I said, conceding to her wishes.

  “Okay.”

  I dialed, but Nick didn’t answer. I left a message for him to come over as soon as he could, that it was important.

  “I can’t stop shaking,” Starla said, absently watching her hand tremble.

  I couldn’t blame her. It had to have been such a shock to see her ex-husband. A man she once loved with all her heart.

  A man who’d tried to kill her.

  Tilda’s purrs filled the air as Starla asked, “Why would he come back?”

  “I don’t know.” According to Aunt Ve, one of the best gossipers in the whole village, Kyle had escaped jail and disappeared right after being charged with Starla’s attempted murder. No one had seen hide nor hair of him in two years. He was still a fugitive.

  I’d lived in the village for less than a year, so I had never met the man, but I hated him with every drop of blood in my body, as did everyone who loved Starla. Why would he risk surfacing in a place that knew him so well? It didn’t make sense. I hoped with all my heart that she’d been mistaken. That he wasn’t here in the village. But I doubted she would have had such a visceral reaction if she hadn’t been certain.

  The back door swung open, and Harper hurried inside, a fancy camera in hand and her cheeks bright red. Whether the color came from the freezing temperatures or from her agitation I wasn’t sure. She tugged a stocking cap off her head, leaving her pixie-cut light brown hair sticking up in static-filled tufts.

  Setting the camera on the counter, she went over and hugged Starla, who might be my best friend but had quickly become like family to all of us. She was practically another sister to Harper, another niece to Aunt Ve.

  Missy came off her bed and barked. She probably felt the tension in the air and didn’t like it much. I scooped her up and held her close. Her heart beat furiously against my hand.