“They let you go?” Declan asked, rushing to his grandfather and dragging him to a chair so he could sit.
“Of course they did, boy. Grady knew I didn’t kill anyone. He was simply following protocol. I told you it would be okay.” He looked at me. “Didn’t you tell him it would be alright?”
“I did, but he’s your grandson. He was worried about you.”
Elwood nodded, then looked at everyone sitting around the table. “What’s everyone doing here?”
“We’re having our meeting so we can figure out who killed my Winston,” Tulip said.
“And we’re having cake,” Sandy added. “Magic cake. It’s amazing.”
“Magic cake?” Elwood looked at Declan.
“They seem to think so.” Declan shrugged.
“You’re using magic? Have you done that before?”
“Maybe? I don’t really know, I guess.” Declan rubbed his forehead. “Maybe I just didn’t know that’s what I was doing. Maybe I should have. People always said my hot chocolate was the most soothing drink ever, and when my friends were upset, they’d practically beg for it. Could that be why?”
Elwood looked giddy. “Definitely.”
Tulip let out an exaggerated sigh. “Can we get back to why we’re here? Someone killed Winston, and I want to know who it was so I know who I need to drown in my pond.”
“We’ll talk more about this later, Declan,” Elwood said, then he reached over and patted Tulip’s webbed hand. “And no drowning people, dear.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “No, not even if they killed Winston.”
She huffed out a breath and slumped back in her chair, but with my superior hearing, I heard her mumble, “We’ll see.”
“Tulip’s right, though.” I looked around at our ragtag group of misfits. “We do need to figure out who did this. We can’t have a murderer running around loose in Ravenstone. So what do we know?”
“I think Leon is shifty,” Declan said. “He was really quick to point the finger at Elwood.”
Hazel looked up from her legs, where she’d been weaving a sweater out of her silk webbing. “He’s a nasty little man, but I don’t think he’s a murderer.”
“How can you tell?” Tulip asked. “I mean, what does a murderer even look like? And he’s like a vulture, preying on the dead.”
“He what?” Declan asked, looking horrified.
I shot Tulip an exasperated look and turned back to Declan. “He’s an antique dealer. He shops at estate sales and often buysmerchandise from people after their loved ones have passed. He isn’t a vulture.”
She rolled her eyes. “Tomato, toomatoe.”
“We’ll leave him on the list,” Declan insisted. “I don’t like him.”
Sandy looked up from what had to be his third piece of cake. “We have a list?”
“We do,” Declan replied. “I started it earlier.”
“Okay, well, add Jim,” Az said. “I like the guy fine. He did some work on my shop for me—built me some quality bookshelves—but we all heard how angry he was with Winston last night.”
“We did.” I nodded. “And Alvin did say that Jim hadn’t been able to pay his workers because Winston hadn’t paid him yet.”
“But is that reason enough to kill someone?” Elwood asked.
“Maybe not, but he was mad. He goes on the list.” Declan scribbled on the paper in front of him. “Who else?”
“Winston was quite the philanderer.” Hazel looked back up from her weaving at Tulip. “Sorry, dear, but it’s true. So that should also be considered.”
Tulip’s eyes watered, and she drew in a breath. “He was, but I loved him anyway.”
