Хармони Харт - Basic Witch

Destiny nudged me and pointed at the tellers. “You’ll make the shop deposit there,” she said. “Once you’re finished, meet me at the base of the stairs. I’ll go find Patrick.”

“Thanks,” I said. I crossed the room, my footsteps echoing through the massive lobby as I approached the desk. No one else was in line, so I chose the closest teller—a gangly older man with round wire-rimmed glasses and a cartoonish manner. “Hi, there,” I said. “I need to make a deposit into the business account for Montcrief’s Magic Shop.”

“Place your deposit on the scale,” he said, motioning to a huge gold plate in front of him. I heaved the lockbox out of my tote and emptied the contents onto the scale, then tucked the now-hollow box back into the bag.

As I did so, a magnificent rainbow appeared from overhead, beaming straight through the skylight onto the scale. The gold coins began to sparkle, turning translucent, then shimmering into nothingness as the rainbow vanished.

“Um…” I cast a questioning look at the old man. “Where did that money just go?”

“To Mortimer’s pot, of course.”

“Pot? As in an actual pot of gold?”

“Where else would it go?”

“You keep the bank deposits in literal pots of gold,” I repeated.

“Yes, at the end of the rainbow.” He pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose, peering at me with concern. “Is this your first time in a bank, Miss?”

“Sorry. I’m new here.” “Ah, the new witch! That makes sense, then. All of our funds are stored in high-quality pots cast from the finest dwarf iron and guarded, collectively, at the end of the rainbow in the Fear Gorta Fields.” He motioned to the skylight above us.

“And the Fear Gorta Fields are...?”

“Special place, it is. Acres and acres of soft jade grass, that, when stepped on, make a person unnaturally hungry. So hungry, in fact, that anyone who tries to cross the fields without prior permission becomes ravenous. Most end up turning back in search of snacks,” he said. “But those unfortunate few who have attempted to brave the distance always end up dying of starvation before they reach the gold.” He passed me a receipt showing the amount of my deposit.

“That’s… horrifying,” I said.

Foolproof security, it is.” He beamed at me, clearly proud of the bank’s deadly foil to would-be robbers. If nothing else, I guess I could rest easy knowing the money kept here was safe.

“Thanks, um…” I looked for a nametag.

“Darby,” he answered. “Darby O’Dowd. Assistant bank manager.” He leaned forward to whisper. “Really, I do all the managerial duties and oversee all deposits. The majority of the work here falls on employees. The Taoiseach is a mere figurehead. Even if he does get all the credit.”

“Sounds like most jobs I’ve had back in the human realm. And it’s very nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Gemma Bradbury. I’ll be taking over Morty’s shop, so I may have a few questions during the transition.”

“Of course! Anything I can do to help,” he offered. “Morty was a dear friend. He’ll be sorely missed.”

“That reminds me,” I began. “Did you happen to see Mason Montcrief in here yesterday evening, sometime before closing?”

“Indeed, I did,” he said. “Mason was here for a few hours, in fact. He was looking into cosigning a small business loan for a friend.”

“That’s nice of him.” “That’s our Mason! Always putting others first.” Darby pulled out a large gold notebook. “Ah, yes. Mason arrived at 1:18 pm, and was here until we closed at 7:00 pm.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate your help, Darby.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Bradbury. I do hope to see you again soon!” He grinned, giving a little wave.

I smiled back at him and crossed back toward the lobby entrance, where Destiny was waiting by the stairs.

“Any luck?” She asked.

“Darby confirmed Mason’s alibi,” I said. “Either everyone is right about Mason being the world’s nicest guy, or he’s the world’s most convincing sociopath. Either way, there’s no way he could have gotten to the shop, killed Morty, and left without anyone seeing him before I stumbled over the body.”

“I’m glad you were able to get confirmation, at least. I’m still waiting on Patrick. He’s dealing with a situation.” She inclined her head toward an office on the other side of the staircase, where Patrick stood, stone-faced, as a near-hysterical Clara Cook ranted and raved. I couldn’t hear what she was saying through the glass windows, but it was obvious she was upset.

“What’s going on there?” I asked.

“Who knows? Probably overextended on her credit again,” Destiny said. “That’s an every month thing. Makes sense, considering what Malachi said about her frivolous spending habits. I’m surprised she’s able to keep her business going at all.”

“Destiny? What was Morty like as a landlord?”

“Strict, but fair. Lenient to a point. If you had a bad month or two, he’d usually find a way to make it work. In all my time in Salem, he never made a tenant leave. He had a soft spot for the old retailers like Wendell’s and Cook’s Books but was also open to new blood like me and David coming in to shake things up. Why do you ask?”

I relayed my confusion over the mysterious ledger. “If Clara was overextended at the bank, it’s possible she wasn’t paying her bookstore rent, either.”

“You know, I did hear whisperings from Patrick that Morty had asked Bennett about Salem’s eviction laws.”

“So that could be a motive,” I said. We watched Clara screaming through the glass window, both cringing as she stabbed a pointed finger into Patrick’s chest. “I can’t believe Patrick is letting her behave that way.” When he didn’t react, she threw her hands up in the air, shouting as she paced around him in circles.

“He finds it amusing,” she said. “The calmer he is, the more she rages. A bit of drama to break up an otherwise humdrum day. He’ll put a stop to it once he’s grown tired of her lunacy.”

“But still no murder weapon, and that doesn’t explain how she would get into the shop. I can’t just go accusing her without proof.

“She certainly seems to have a killer temper,” Destiny mused.

If I could just get into her Cook’s Books without her knowing...”

“I have an idea,” she whispered. “But we’re going to need Beau’s help.”

13

Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Beau asked. He frowned at me as I adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit lapel. It had taken me two days, and one successful immobilization spell, to convince him to ask her out on a date.

“Because Clara Cook is obsessed with you, and you’re the only one I can trust to keep her away long enough for me to snoop around her place,” I said.

“I don’t love the idea of you breaking and entering,” he pointed out.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key,” I said.

“What happens if you get caught?”

“I have a very plausible neighbor-and-landlord-appropriate story. I’ll just say I thought I heard a noise and went to check on Clara. When she didn’t answer the door—because she’s out on a date with you—I got worried and let myself in. It’s not too much of a stretch. And besides, if there’s any chance that Clara killed Morty, I’m willing to risk a few hours of questioning over a minor violation of her tenants’ rights.”

“Send for me if you need help.”

“Will do. The cats have promised to stand guard. Smallish will hang out near the end of the street, and call out to Titus if anyone approaches. Titus will be posted up at the front door, close enough to relay any messages of danger. Besides, I have my wand!” I held up the plain wood dowel and wiggled my eyebrows.