The side alley was narrow and fenced at either end. A small dumpster and recycling bin sat at the far end where I’d seen the person in the red wig.
Of course, no one was in the alley by the time we made it back out, and it wasn’t nearly so frightening with a group of three.
The search lasted less than a minute.
“I found your wig,” Mary said, using two gloved fingers to pull it from the spilled trash next to the metal can, thenkeeping it at arm’s length from her body. “Do you have a plastic bag? I don’t want to get it on my clothes.”
“Yes. I do,” Wickham said, quickly opening the gallon-sized zipper bag we’d brought from the kitchen for her to drop the thing into. He zipped it shut as soon as the wig was contained.
Mary removed her plastic gloves and threw them in the trash. “Shouldn’t we give that to the police?”
“I suppose.” I inspected it through the clear plastic as Wickham held it up for us to see.
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s a cheap stage wig. There might be forensic evidence on it, maybe some hair? But we still don't have any actual proof linking the wig to the killer."
“Well, whoever did this was at the bakery, and they turned off the power, so they certainly appear guilty. There has to be some kind of spell to see whose energy is left on it. I’m feeling stuck.” I huffed, wanting to be done worrying about all of this and focus on my relationship with Wickham.
“Does that kind of spell exist?” Wickham gazedbetween me and Mary.
“Probably, but I have no idea how to do it.” I rolled my eyes—not at him, but at the situation. My head ached from thinking about how much effort it would take to figure everything out. “I want to go on a loudspeaker and say, ‘Will the owner of a cheap red wig found near the dumpster please come claim their property.’”
Wickham smirked, but Mary furrowed her brow. “Lydia, you know that would be a bad idea.”
“Or would it?” I asked. “Why not carry this thing in there and walk around with it in the bag like this? Watch what kind of reaction we get from everyone. There are cameras in the main dining area. We can check out the footage later to see if we missed anything. Too bad we don’t have them at every entrance.”
“It might put us all in the line of fire, but I doubt the killer would try anything in a crowded building. They obviously tried to disguise themselves outside, so they want to remain hidden.” Wickham rubbed his chin. “I’ll carry it around. I don’t want to put you or your family in danger.”
It didn’t really matterwhocarried around the clear bag containing the wig. It would probably set the killer off. Whoever ditched the wig wasn’t the brightest criminal,considering how easy it was to find. “Sure, if that’s okay. And I’ll ask my sisters if they know of any spells or potions that can show us who has had contact with the wig.”
A tiny zip of hopeful energy spread through me. If this worked, we might find out who the killer was, and then it would just be me and Wickham.
The three of us headed back to the bakery, entering through the kitchen in the back. As I swung the door open, a scrap of paper fell to the ground. Apparently, we weren’t going to walk around with the bag on display. We had bigger problems.
A simple note read:Playing with fire will get you burned. Stay out of this,or watch those you love suffer.
Chapter 6
Standinginthebackentrance to the kitchen’s doorframe, I stared at the note and read it aloud again, “Playing with fire will get you burned... Oh, great.”
After glancing up and down the alleyway, I stepped back inside and closed the glass-paneled door.
“Well, that’s also evidence.” Mary read over my shoulder, and the energy in the room suddenly became chaotic.
“Not just evidence. It’s a threat.” I shuddered. The smell of smoke raised my defenses, and a deadly chill hit my spine. “We don’t have the fireplace going upstairs today, do we?”
Smoke wasn’t unusual in the bakery, but this smelled nothing like burned food.
“No.” Mary’s eyes widened as the odor increased. “Something’s burning.”
“It’s a fire. We need to get everyone out of here!” I looked to Wickham, who nodded and ran toward thebakery’s storefront. When I opened the door, plumes of smoke spilledintothe kitchen, making us cough, so I slammed it shut.
“Call the fire department,” someone shouted.
“Mary, call for help and make sure Mom and Dad are okay. I’m not sure if the fire is inside the house or in the alley.” I grabbed the industrial-sized fire extinguisher the building code required us to have and searched for the source of the smoke. Wickham used the storefront entrance to help clear people from the building and away from the alley. As they poured out of the restaurant side of the bakery, the smoke alarms finally sounded.
I probably shouldn’t have sent Mary off alone, but I still didn’t see an actual fire, and someone had to help our parents. Once more, I opened the kitchen door to the alley. The smoke thickened, making my eyes water, so I slammed the door shut to protect the house from smoke. Outside, flames had licked the brick wall, but how?The basement.
I dashed across the kitchen toward the basement, which we’d outfitted for brewing potions and really good ginger ale. A heavy stream of smoke poured out when I opened the door. Going down might’ve beenstupid... but with the fire extinguisher in hand, I may have a chance to save the building. I’d taken two cautious steps into the basement when a hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.
