Gone With the Witch by Heather Blake Page A

pardon,
mon amie
.”
    Mrs. P fluffed the spiky tuft of fur that stuck up between her big ears and smoothed her pink velour dress. “Don’t you mind us none, doll face. Are we there yet?”
    â€œAlmost,” I said. “Another half block.”
    â€œTake your time,” Pepe said, his throaty chuckle punctuating the sentence.
    Mrs. P fanned her face and pretended to swoon. He caught her in his arms and began to nuzzle.
    As much as they might want me to linger, I had to hurry. Mimi and Harper would be expecting me back soon.
    Half an hour ago, I had snuck out of the house under the pretense of heading to the Crone’s Cupboard to scrounge something up for supper, leaving Mimi and Harper to babysit the animals, asking them to especially keep a close eye on Titania while I was gone. She’d had a traumatic day.
    If I had told Mimi and Harper where I was really going, both would undoubtedly want to come with me, which was out of the question. Harper tended toward interrogation to source her information, while I was a bit more roundabout with my queries.
    And Mimi shouldn’t be anywhere near a potential murder suspect, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
    Instead of heading to the local grocer as I had told them I would, I stopped by the Bewitching Boutique, and now here I was, on my way to Chip’s.
    â€œAhem.” I coughed, interrupting them. “You’ll have to work quickly when we get there. We don’t have much time.”
    Mrs. P said, “We may be old, but we’re nothing if not quick, doll. In and out. Lickety-split.”
    â€œOld?” Pepe reiterated. “I think not. Age is but merely a state of mind.”
    â€œYes, yes,” she reassured him, patting his hand while rolling her eyes at me.
    Pepe didn’t like admitting how old he was.
    Across the street on the green, a beach ball bounced from one person to another, and dogs happily chased after it. Multiple grills had appeared along with several pop-up tents. Seemed to me that the crowd had grown, and I suspected that there were more than just Extravaganzers taking part in the fun.
    Chip Goldman lived on the third floor of a four-story brownstone apartment building not far from the playhouse.
Please be home,
I chanted silently as I pushed the button next to his name on the directory posted in the vestibule of the building.
    A voice crackled through the intercom. “Yeah?”
    â€œChip?” A video surveillance system mounted near the top of the door flashed my image back at me, and for a moment I was once again startled to see myself on the screen. What in the world was happening?
    â€œYeah?” he repeated.
    â€œThis is Darcy Merriweather. I came to talk to you about Titania. Uh, Natasha’s cat? Do you have a minute?”
    Silence.
    I wondered if he had dismissed me. “Chip?”
    There was a briefer stretch of silence before a buzzer sounded, and the entry door clicked unlocked.
    I took that as an invitation to go on up. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and went inside. The scent of sautéed garlic, onions, and peppers permeated the stairway, reminding me that I still needed to figure out what to make for dinner tonight. Mimi and Harper were expecting me to bring something home.
    I decided to worry about later and focused on what I was going to say to Chip.
    It was easy enough to find his apartment, as there was only one door on the third floor. A dirty mountain bike with no kickstand leaned against the banister on thelanding. No lock. Apparently, Chip Goldman was the trusting sort.
    I knocked on the door, and a second later he pulled it open, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and a deep frown.
    â€œJust out of the shower,” he said by way of explanation.
    As if I hadn’t been able to deduce that on my own, what with the towel and the damp hair. Evan would have been beside himself, as he had a crush on the man. “So I see.”
    Without the Egyptian