“I noticed.” Cosmo shook himself, and now the dust motes tickled my nostrils. “I told you how charming it is to see you so content. You’ve put that pesky ex of yours in his place, made peace with his new female, stood your ground with Linda and her rich husband, investing money all over the place …” He stopped and licked his toe pads.
A little bell in my head went off. I smiled at my clever familiar. “You’re right, I should always listen to whatever you have to say to me.”
“Apology accepted.”
I dropped a kiss on his head and rushed to set a plan in motion that Cosmo had planted in my mind. It seemed my cat had been one step ahead of me today.
Chapter 29
“I’m nervous.” To prove her statement, Harper lifted her hand. It trembled.
“There’s no need,” I assured my normally unflappable friend who stood rooted to the spot in her lounge. “All you have to do is pose as a possible investor and ask a few smart questions.”
Reina hugged her wife. “Simply think of it as an appointment with our banker. It’s basically the same.”
“Then why can’t you do it?” Harper grumbled.
“Because it’s common knowledge in Willowmere that Reina is the artist and you’re the businesswoman,” I told her, not for the first time.
“You can’t give me a pep talk in form of a spell?” She took a couple of deep, grounding breaths. Her hand stopped trembling. She admired it. “How did you do that?”
“That was all down to you. You don’t need my help.”
Harper muttered, “Famous last words,” and picked up the prospectus. She fanned herself with it.
Reina gave her a little nudge. “It’s showtime, my love.”
It had been mind-blowingly easy to lure Charles Martin Pratt to theBlue Inn. Harper had only had to mention that another of his investors had recommended putting her money into the development, and he’d promised to jump into his Mercedes at her earliest convenience. Which was now.
Downstairs, I joined Ange and her husband at their table. She hadn’t clued in Nick yet, but he was smart enough to know that something was up. He’d been married to my friend long enough to read her mood, which tonight, was a mix of mischievous and buoyant.
I gave Louisa and the detective, who sat two tables away from us, a brief wave and returned my attention to my own company. Or I tried to.
Champ wasn’t here. What if he’d sensed a trap?
Icy fingers crawled over my spine. I’d have preferred a witchfire wave, no matter if it was as hot as Hades. I couldn’t use magic to force the man to confess. If that option existed, surely every single good witch would see to it that no perp ever walked free.
I dug my fingernails into my palm when finally, Charles Martin Pratt strode in, with an expensive leather briefcase in his hand.
Harper went up to him, shook his hand, and invited him to the table between ours and Trey Stone’s. The prospectus, a notepad, a silver pen, and a tablet served as props.
Reina briefly introduced herself. “Can I bring you a drink before I leave you and my wife to conduct your business?”
Champ’s gaze flickered over the bar, with its multitude of bottles and draft beers. “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of white wine.”
“Chardonnay, Riesling, or Sauvignon Blanc? They’re all from vineyards in Oregon.”
“Chardonnay for me.” He flashed his teeth first at her and then at Harper. “I have brought our investor’s pack for you to look at.” He snapped open his briefcase and took out a thick folder.
Harper started asking questions about buy-in, short and long term projections and return on investment, when Reina brought the wine and two glasses. She poured them each a drink and left without a fuss.
Champ took his glass and swilled the wine in his mouth. “Dry, with a fruity, acidic undertone.” He peered at the label. “I’ve got to make a note of this vineyard.”
“Speaking of which.” Harper pushed the notepad and the silver pen closer to her guest. “Would you be so kind to write down the numbers you mentioned? My brain works better with handwritten notes than with all the electronic stuff. My wife says I’m a throwback to the analogue age.”
“Not at all.” He picked up the pen.
Loud enough to be heard by Trey Stone I blurted out. “I’ve seen you go through the same motion before. You stole a silver letter opener at the antiques’ fair in Cannon Hill.”
