Fey: A Doyle Witch Cozy Mystery (The Witches of Doyle Book 5)

by Kirsten Weiss

  I turned, bracing my hands against the cool, blue-black counter. “Yeah, I wondered about that too. But he couldn't seem to get out. Did something fall in front of the door? I heard crashing.”

  “I guess he got confused in the dark. The light was off inside.”

  “Oh. Right.” I frowned. “That makes sense.” Except it didn’t.

  She just gave me a look. “Well, you won't have to worry about him anymore.”

  “I heard you say you were arresting him?”

  “For the murders of Mathilda and Lydia Sinclair.”

  “But I saw him outside Antoine's that night Lydia died, right before I started my walk. I don't see how he could have killed Lydia.”

  “You don't see? Are you an investigator now?”

  “No, but—”

  “Paul Neumark was stalking Mathilda. We have a complaint from Lydia as well, and he attacked you. You did say he attacked you, didn't you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So, he has a history of violence.”

  “But the timeline—”

  “I'll worry about the timeline, thank you very much.”

  I sagged against the granite counter. “He really seemed to think I'd killed Mathilda.” And if he believed that… But he was crazy. It didn’t matter what he believed. Did it?

  “Did you kill your employee?”

  “No!”

  “Exactly. This is how nutjobs like Neumark think. Nothing's ever their fault. The world's out to get them, so they can't be blamed for their actions. In their minds, at least.”

  I sighed. “Right.”

  “Did he say anything else to you?” she asked.

  “No. Well, yes. He said Lydia and I were in on it together, that I was spying on Mathilda on Lydia's behalf.”

  She grunted. “So, he blamed Lydia for Mathilda's death as well.”

  “Well, I guess so.” I blew out my cheeks, my stomach fluttering. This just didn’t seem right.

  “All right, thank you, Ms. Bonheim.” She clicked a button on the recording device and pushed away from the table. “Our victim's advocate will be in touch.”

  “Victim's advocate?”

  Her smile was wintery. “It's a new thing. Should Paul Neumark make bail, which I find unlikely, they'll let you know.”

  The deputies didn't leave right away. Downstairs, they took photos of Ground’s kitchen. Of the detritus from the side table scattered across the linoleum. Of the closet with its tumbled shelves. Of me in my torn vest.

  And then they took my vest and gave me a receipt.

  I really liked that silver vest. But I guessed I wasn't getting it back before the end of winter.

  I watched them drive off.

  Picatrix trotted down the stairs from my apartment.

  “Oh, you're back now, are you?”

  She mewed.

  I rubbed the cat’s silky fur. “So, Picatrix, to recap, I almost flew, I used magic I've never used before, and I have no idea how I did any of it. And the sheriff's convinced Paul's the killer.”

  I chewed my bottom lip.

  But I wasn't convinced. Not by a long shot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I sprawled on my unmade bed and stared at the skylight. Gray light drifted through the glass and bathed my bedroom in a mercury glow. Raising my right hand, fingers outstretched, I aimed at a watercolor – a forest scene – and willed it to shift sideways.

  It didn't move.

  I pointed at a hanging fern, where I'd buried a lovely pink quartz in its soil. Maybe that would respond more easily. I forced my will through my palm, toward the fern.

  Not a single sway.

  I collapsed back on the bed. “Well, that's not helpful.” Absently, I rubbed my hands. How the hell had I thrown Paul into the closet and locked him inside?

  Footsteps pounded up the exterior stairs. I sat up and swung my legs out of bed.

  A key rattled in the lock.

  Brayden.

  Barefoot, I walked from the room.

  He met me in front of the alcove, with its couch and vines crawling up the white-painted brick. “Jayce.” Still in his EMT uniform, he pulled me into a rough embrace. “I’m glad you called.”

  Glad I didn’t keep something else from him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I'm fine,” I mumbled against his chest.

  He stepped away, his hands bracing my shoulders. “You sure?” Brayden looked deep into my eyes – not a sexy gaze, an EMT assessing a possible concussion victim.

  “What do you think?”

  He scooped me up and set us both on the couch, drawing me half atop him. I inhaled his clean scent, my heart pounding in my ears. Why was it so easy to want him so badly?

  “I'm fixing that downstairs door,” he said, “so it closes more easily and locks automatically.”

  What were the odds I wouldn't lock myself out? “There's nothing wrong with the door, and Paul's been arrested. I’m fine.”

  “There’s nothing fine about this situation.” His tanned brow crinkled. “Did you fill up your gas tank?”

  I burst into laughter. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “What if you have to make a quick getaway, and there's no gas?”

  “That seems unlikely.” I shifted my weight against the hard planes of his body.

  “As unlikely as a crazed murderer breaking into Ground? Or attack gnomes?” he asked. “Why did Paul Neumark think you were involved in Mathilda's death?”

  “I don't know. Maybe because we worked together.”

  “Or because you've been dipping your toes into police business.”

  “Mathilda worked for me.”

  “That doesn't qualify you as a detective.” Lightly, he traced the edges of the bruise on my forehead. “Paul must have been the one who broke in the other night and did this. At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about.”

  Guilt twisted my insides. I'd been selfish. Brayden was trying to get back to normal, and I was poking a murder beehive.

  I couldn't do this to him, not anymore. Karin wasn't fragile or crazy — if she wanted to take the investigation forward, she could.

  And as to the virikas… if my sisters needed me to help get rid of them, I would. But otherwise, they hadn't been causing any harm. I didn't need to take the lead on sending them home.

  “You don't have to worry about anything,” I said. “I'm turning everything I've learned over to the sheriff tomorrow. You're right. I shouldn't be playing Nancy Drew. I'm done.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I'm done. You matter more to me than what goes on in this town. I want to focus on us.”

  Picatrix hopped onto the back of the alcove’s couch and stuck her nose into an ivy plant.

  “And the gnomes?” he asked.

  I swallowed. I would set aside the magic too, and this time, for real. “I haven't seen them lately.”

  “But will you?”

  My jaw set. “I won't go looking. But if my sisters need help getting rid of them, I can't let them do it on their own. It wouldn't be right.”

  He stilled, nodded. “That's fair. But if you do need to help your sisters, I want to be there, just in case.”

  “Deal.” I slid closer and rested my head on his muscular chest.

  But no more trying to make objects move on their own. The crystals would stay in their flower pots and the tarot decks hidden in my sock drawer. Magic had hurt Brayden too deeply. I wouldn't be a part of that pain.

  My palm tingled. There was a shattering sound, and Picatrix yowled.

  We jerked apart, and the cat streaked past. The ivy plant lay on the couch by my feet. Soil and pottery shards were scattered across the cushions.

  Brayden shook his head. “That cat. Don’t move. You’re barefoot. I'll get a dustpan.” He walked to the open kitchen.

  Hurriedly, I pulled the crystal from the ivy's
roots and stuffed it into the front pocket of my jeans.

  The cat peered around the corner. Its emerald eyes glowed with irritation.

  I slipped my hand into my pocket, and the crystal heated.

  *****

  I awoke to the sounds of clattering pans, the scent of bacon. “Mm.” I stretched beneath the bamboo sheets. The silky fabric glided across my limbs.

  Picatrix hopped onto my chest and stared down.

  “What's up?” I pointed to the open door. “The food's thataway.”

  She sneezed on me.

  “Gross! Cat snot.” I shoved Picatrix off and rolled out of bed.

  I washed up, shrugged into a silky robe, and ambled into the kitchen. Brayden stood at my glittering, black quartz counter and chopped green onions. His shadow shimmered on the green subway tile backsplash.

  “Good morning.” I slid my hands around his waist and leaned against him. He was in his EMT uniform, and I was a sucker for a man in uniform.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Setting down the knife, he turned and kissed me.

  “Why are you in uniform on Sunday? It's our day off.”

  “Not mine today. Sorry.” He grimaced. “I took so much time off last November…”

  Time off when he'd been trapped in that awful spell. So, guilt was the real reason he was taking so much overtime now. I wish he'd told me this sooner, but I understood why he hadn't.

  “I'll be back to take you to dinner,” he promised.

  “Oooh!” I pretended my own guilt away. “There's a new club in Sacramento I've been dying to check out.”

  He chuckled. “You're on.”

  We ate at my kitchen table, and reluctantly, I saw him out the door. I shut and locked it behind him.

  Picatrix mewed.

  “It's just you and me, babe.”

  She trotted past me and squirmed out the cat door.

  Thanks a lot. I dropped my arms to my sides. “Or, it's just me.”

  I dressed, slithering into jeans and an amethyst, cowl-neck sweater. Stomach full, I headed downstairs. Brayden had helped me clean up the mess in Ground’s kitchen last night, so everything was in order.

  I pushed aside the ikat curtains and walked into my coffeeshop. Coffee hand scrub lined the wooden shelves behind the counter. My hand scrub was perishable, so I made it in small batches, and I still had plenty. But what about adding cocoa powder to my recipe to create that romantic mocha hand scrub? Cocoa plus love magic…

  I winced. No magic. I'd promised myself.

  Someone banged on the front door, and I jumped.

  Renee peered through its red-paned window, her nostrils pinched. Her brown hair looked like it hadn't been brushed that morning.

  What now? It figured that as soon as I’d decided not to investigate, Mathilda's roommate would stop by. But it was no big thing. I wasn’t afraid of Renee, and I'd hand over whatever she told me to the sheriff.

  I unlocked the door. “Hi, Renee—”

  She shoved past me. “How could you!” One of the buttons on the blue cardigan beneath her parka was in the wrong hole.

  My stomach tightened. Or maybe I should be afraid. “How could I what?”

  “Paul didn't kill Mathilda! How could you get him arrested?”

  “I didn't get him arrested. He pushed his way into Ground…” Sort of like Renee just had. My insides twisted. “He attacked me.”

  “Liar!” She jabbed her finger in my face. “I know you're lying.”

  My palm tingled with electricity, and I rubbed it against my thigh. “Renee, let's sit down—”

  “No! I don't want to sit down. I want you to tell the sheriff the truth.”

  “I did. I told her everything I know.”

  Her hazel eyes flashed, her face contorting. She stepped closer.

  My palm flamed with heat.

  “Oh!” She gasped and staggered backward, banging into a wooden table. The chairs upside down on it rattled. One clattered to the floor.

  Renee rubbed her chest. “You hit me!”

  “I didn't. I didn't!” Dammit. Had I done it again? Clenching my fist, I stuck it behind my back, where it couldn't do any harm.

  “That's assault.”

  I was so sick of this! “You know what? Go ahead. Go tell the sheriff I shoved you after you forced your way in here and threatened me. Let's see what she has to say about it. Because I've spent plenty of time in the sheriff's station, and it doesn't seem to do me any harm.”

  Renee's eyes widened, her chest heaving. Her mouth opened and closed.

  Keeping an eye on her, I walked to the fallen chair and returned it to where it belonged on the table.

  “Paul attacked me,” I said in a low voice. “Mathilda probably had a good idea getting that restraining order.”

  “He didn't kill her,” she wailed. “He was with me the night she died.”

  Sure, he was. “Have you told that to the sheriff?”

  Her head bent, her shoulders caving inward. “I tried. She doesn't believe me.”

  Imagine that. I folded my arms. “Okay. Tell me about the evening you spent with Paul.”

  She looked up at me, and roses bloomed in the hollows of her cheeks. “He came over to the apartment to talk, you know?”

  I rested one hand on the leg of an upside-down chair. If she made any moves, I’d club her with it. “Was this before or after Mathilda left, after dinner?”

  “Right after. He missed her by minutes. I think he was watching the apartment, waiting for her to leave.”

  I shuddered. Creepy! No, this guy totally wasn't a stalker.

  She smiled, her gaze going distant. “He wanted to talk to me alone.”

  “And what did you talk about?”

  “Mathilda, mostly.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, failed.

  “She was tough to live with, you know? She was just so… above everything. Doyle wasn't good enough for her. All she talked about was getting her money and getting back to San Francisco. That and her father. I mean, everyone knew Lydia killed him.”

  I raised a brow. Everyone knew? “If that was the case, who killed Lydia?”

  She took a step sideways. “Well, I don't know. But it wasn’t Paul!”

  “Because Paul was… with you?”

  “No,” she said, “not the night Lydia died. But don't you see? He had no reason to kill Lydia, because he couldn't have killed Mathilda.”

  I ran my hands through my hair. “Hm. Why do you think the sheriff doesn't believe your story?”

  “Because Paul's still in jail.”

  “No, I mean, what makes her suspect you're lying?”

  “I don't know.” She shrugged. “She needs to close the case, doesn't she? Paul makes a good whadayacallit? Fall guy?”

  What was wrong with this woman? Paul made a good fall guy because he was batshit crazy. “So, what do you want me to do? Paul was here. He attacked me.”

  “Can't you tell the sheriff you misunderstood? That he didn't really attack you?”

  “No.”

  “You're like everyone else!” She turned to go, stopped, turned back. Renee knocked a chair off a table and called me a name I won't repeat. Not that I’ve never said it myself, but I wanted to be better than her. At least for today.

  She stormed to the front door, slamming it behind her.

  The bell above its red panes jangled crazily.

  Swallowing, I locked the door. Okay. No more letting murder suspects in when Ground was closed.

  I angled my head.

  Murder suspects. I double checked the lock on Ground’s front door. Renee and Paul made a perfect couple — she was as bonkers as he was. Could she have killed Mathilda to get rid of her rival? Assuming she was lying and giving Paul an alibi he didn't deserve, she didn't have an alibi either. But why kill Lydia? Could Lydia have figured it out?

  I shook myself. No.

  No.

  I was not doing t
his. Brayden was right. I'd track down the sheriff and tell her everything I knew and suspected, and about Renee's visit. Then I was done.

  Seriously.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “I've missed Mike’s pizza.” Pulling back her auburn hair with one hand, Karin whipped open the box on my kitchen counter and inhaled. She wore a blue crewneck sweater and white slacks, and I smiled. For all her quirks, Karin really was true blue.

  “There's nothing stopping you from coming to Doyle more often.” Lenore opened the doors of my white-painted cabinet. She stretched for plates, her ivory sweater riding high over her matching leggings.

  I paused, wine glasses dangling between the fingers of one hand and a bottle of local cabernet in the other. It was time to tell them I was handing over the investigation. “Um. About that—”

  “It's not only the magic,” Karin said. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to just dash away when you've got a baby? They need twenty-four-seven attention. And Nick works so hard – I can't always leave Emmie with him. It isn't fair.”

  I propped the bottle and glasses on the kitchen table and rubbed my neck. “Guys—”

  “And how much writing have you gotten done lately?” Lenore put down the plates, and they clinked lightly on the black-quartz counter.

  “Not as much as I'd like,” Karin admitted. “But I'm not exactly writing now either. I'm here, with you two, eating pizza and talking murder and magic.” She snatched a slice of mushroom-pepperoni from the box and set it on a plate.

  I righted the glasses on the kitchen table and uncorked the black wine bottle. “I'm having some challenges too.” I glanced at the digital clock on the stove. Brayden was meeting me later at Antoine's, and I needed to speed this along.

  “Oh?” Plate in hand, Lenore wandered to the table, scraped back a wooden chair, and sat.

  “Brayden's— This hasn't been easy for Brayden.” I poured generous glasses.

  “No wine for me,” Karin said hastily. “I'm driving. And nursing.” She set down her plate, whisked an empty glass from the table, and filled it with water from the tap. “I can't imagine what Brayden’s been dealing with. How's he doing?”

  “He's not a big fan of magic,” I blurted.