Spellbinding Starters

by Annabel Chase

  “To the next place,” I replied. “Heaven, the underworld. Whatever that is for you. I don’t know.”

  His expression became pained. “I don’t know that I want to leave this town. It’s been home for my entire life.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that you’ll get to stay. It’s likely the unfinished business that’s keeping you here.”

  The chief floated in a circle, wringing his hands. “Do you have any pull? Can you keep me here?”

  “Chief, you’re dead,” I said softly. “Whatever’s waiting for you is going to be preferable to haunting Chipping Cheddar.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said.

  I paused, thinking. “Tell you what. Let’s solve the murder first, to put residents at ease.”

  “Yes, that’s important.”

  “Right. I thought you’d feel that way, having been the chief of police and all. And then we’ll figure out what’s next for you. Sound good?”

  The chief nodded. “How about I go with you? I might remember something if I’m back at the scene of the crime.”

  I started. “You want to go to the marina?”

  “Sure. I’m dead now. What harm can it do to be near the water?”

  He had a point. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.” I had no idea how ghosts traveled, but I assumed he wouldn’t be buckling in to my passenger seat.

  I knew Chief Fox would be annoyed if he found out I questioned a suspect on my own, but he had no way of knowing about Wade Cantrell and I had no way of explaining to him how I identified him as a suspect. ‘I spoke to the victim’s ghost’ didn’t seem like the ideal answer.

  I left the kitchen and returned to my car. I’d never met Wade Cantrell and didn’t know what to expect, but it didn’t bode well that Chief O’Neill disliked him. He liked everyone he met. He could’ve been the mayor if he hadn’t been the chief of police.

  I headed to the marina to find Wade, ready to judge for myself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Like his yacht, Wade Cantrell was hard to miss. He wore Gucci sunglasses and slides with his coral, knee-length shorts and a white polo shirt. His brown hair was perfectly coiffed and his tan likely never faded. He would have looked more at home in Palm Beach than Chipping Cheddar.

  “Excuse me. Are you Mr. Cantrell?”

  He flipped up his shades for a better view of me. “For you? Definitely.”

  Oh boy. I fixed him with a bright smile. “Great. My name is Eden Fury and I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me.”

  “Would love to. Care to ask them on my yacht over a few drinks?” He lifted a suggestive eyebrow.

  Why not? It might loosen his lips and I could take care of myself. “On a hot day like today? That sounds delightful.”

  He beckoned me forward and I dutifully followed. I had no doubt this guy took bubble baths with his sunglasses on. Probably took selfies of it, too.

  I had to admit—the yacht was impressive. “This is amazing,” I cooed. “I can’t imagine owning something as spectacular as this. You are one lucky guy.”

  His lips melted into a seductive smile. “I could be luckier.”

  Creep.

  “Allow me to get you a drink.” He went below deck and returned a minute later with two flutes.

  “Prosecco?” I asked, accepting the glass.

  He gave me a tart look. “Champagne.”

  I sniffed it to see if I could identify any drugs he may have slipped in. He struck me as the type. His defense would undoubtedly be that he was so wealthy and fabulous that he didn’t need to resort to drugs to get a girl in bed. As though that was the issue. Thankfully, the champagne looked and smelled clean.

  I took a sip. “Mmm. Bubbles are the best. I like everything fizzy.”

  “You seem plenty bubbly yourself,” he said. “I like a woman with energy.”

  I moved to the edge of the deck, partially for a view of the water and also to be seen by passersby in case Wade decided to push me overboard or worse.

  “This is a wonderful view,” I said.

  “It certainly is.” He joined me, downing his drink in one gulp.

  I didn’t sense anything supernatural about him. If he was responsible for the chief’s death, then he was sneaky about getting him in the water.

  “So what questions do you have for me?” Wade asked. “Are you a journalist? I’ve been featured in Yachters Monthly.”

  “Have you?” I tried to sound impressed.

  His smug expression told me I was successful. “It takes real balls to sail around the world.”

  I never understood that expression—the use of balls to denote toughness or resilience. Balls didn’t push out babies the size of a watermelon. Balls didn’t feed hungry infants in the middle of the night. I figured Wade wouldn’t appreciate my diatribe on balls, so I simply said—

  “Wow.” I sipped again.

  “I know, right? You haven’t seen a sunset until you’ve seen it from the other hemisphere.”

  I was pretty sure it looked the same, but he seemed relaxed enough to get started, so I did. “I understand that you had a heated debate with Chief O’Neill last week.”

  He clenched the stem of his flute. “How did you hear about that?”

  “Oh, you know how the rumor mill is in this town. Always working overtime.”

  “I don’t actually,” he said. “I tend to spend most of my time here on the yacht.”

  “Then why be here at all?” I asked.

  “It’s a picturesque place from this vantage point.” He swept his arm toward the shoreline. “Not as pretty as Monaco or Capri, but it has its charms.”

  “So what was the argument about?” I pressed.

  “He tried to issue me a ticket for reckless driving,” Wade complained. “I don’t need that on my record.”

  “Were you?” I asked. “Driving recklessly?”

  “I might go a little faster than the speed limit, but how is that any different from driving in a car?”

  I peered at him. “People driving in a car get tickets, too.”

  “Only if they get caught.”

  “Um, you got caught.”

  Wade looked at me askance. “Whose side are you on?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that without getting booted off the yacht, and I wasn’t finished asking my questions. “Did you end up getting the ticket? I bet you didn’t.” I nudged his arm playfully.

  “I did, as a matter of fact, and I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “How unhappy were you?”

  He frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Unhappy enough to toss him overboard?”

  “It was a citation, not a prison sentence.”

  “Okay, so maybe it was an accident that you tried to cover up,” I said. “It’s understandable. He’s the chief of police and he’s drowning. You’re afraid if you try to save him, you’ll drown too. People panic in that situation. It’s a normal reaction.”

  “I did not panic,” he griped.

  “Oh, so you’re saying you remained calm while the chief fought for his life in the water?”

  “That is not at all what I’m saying,” Wade said. His face was pink with pretentious rage.

  “What happened after he issued the citation?” I asked.

  “I yelled. He stayed annoyingly calm. He left the yacht. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t leave the yacht to follow him?”

  “No, I went downstairs to rejoin my special guest.”

  Ugh. “Who was your companion?”

  He looked blank for a moment. “Lila. No, Leila. It was Leila.”

  Poor Leila. “Is she local?”

  “Yes, I met her on the promenade the evening before. She’d been jogging and twisted her ankle.”

  “And you nursed her back to health with a few glasses of champagne and a good night’s sleep?”

  He smirked. “It was a good night. Can’t comm
ent on the sleep.”

  I heaved a weary sigh. “Any idea where I can find her? Maybe a last name?”

  “No idea about her last name. She said she works at the diner. Gouda Nuff.”

  In that case, Leila would be easy enough to track down. “And what did you do after she left?”

  “I showered and then I called my mother to complain about the citation.”

  “You called your mom? What are you, five?”

  Wade sulked. “She was appropriately outraged.”

  And I’m sure she shoved a few grand into his trust fund to ease his pain. “What time did you speak to her?”

  He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “It was early. I know that much. She chastised me for interfering with her beauty sleep. Mother doesn’t function without her full eight hours.”

  He turned the phone toward me so that I could see the time stamp.

  “And what did you do after you cried to mommy about receiving that well-deserved citation?”

  He snatched the flute from my hand, clearly irritated that he’d wasted his good champagne on me. “I went to breakfast at The Daily Grind. They serve the only drinkable coffee in this town.”

  Well, we agreed on that score.

  “Who waited on you?”

  “Caitlin.”

  I started, not expecting he’d know the answer. “You actually take time to learn their names?”

  “Only the pretty ones,” he admitted.

  Jerk. Part of me was tempted to sprout my wings and frighten him overboard.

  “I’m going to check out your alibi. Assuming it matches your story, you might want to think about relocating this yacht somewhere else,” I said.

  His gaze swept across the deck. “Why would I do that?”

  I patted his cheek. “Because Wade, my love, there’s a new chief in town.”

  Clara sat across from me in the Gouda Nuff diner. Every sip she took of her chocolate milkshake made my stomach sick with envy. It didn’t help that she had a plate heaped with bacon and a stack of silver dollar pancakes. That’s the beauty of diners—you can eat whatever you want whenever you want.

  She smiled. “Eden, if you’re hungry, order something.”

  “I already ate,” I said. “I’m just here to check out Wade’s alibi.” I’d told Clara about speaking with the chief’s ghost and my conversation with Wade Cantrell.

  “But the way you’re staring at my food…It’s like your mother in front of a cosmetics counter.”

  I snorted. “What can I say? The woman loves her makeup.”

  “Who cares if you already ate?” Clara slurped the thick ice cream through her straw. “It’s not like you’re on a diet.”

  “And I’d like to keep it that way,” I said. “If I keep eating the way I do, there will come a day when I start gaining weight.” And I’d be terrible at trying to lose it. I had discipline, but not when it came to good food.

  Clara speared a piece of bacon with her fork. “Eden, is anyone in your family overweight?”

  “No,” I said slowly.

  “Do you live a sedentary lifestyle?”

  “No.”

  “Then what makes you think you’re going to be overweight?”

  “I don’t want to buy new pants.” Ever. I also had no idea whether my family members used magic to stay slender. They’d never admit it if they did, which meant my real genetic disposition was a mystery.

  Clara waved to the waitress. “Leila, can we please get another chocolate shake?”

  Leila snapped her gum. “Sure thing. Anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” I said. I lowered my voice so as not to be overheard by the people in the booth behind us. “Do you know Wade Cantrell?”

  “Sure. We’ve met,” she said, smiling.

  “Is it true that you spent the night on his yacht recently?”

  Leila glared at me. “Are you trying to slut shame me or something? Because we’re both single adults…”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Not at all. Were you on the yacht when Chief O’Neill issued Wade a citation?”

  “I was below deck, but I heard their conversation. Wade got a little loud at one point, but he cooled.” She ran her tongue across her upper lip. “Then we he came back down to me, he got hot and bothered all over again.”

  “On second thought, I don’t think I need that milkshake.”

  “Any more details you’d like to know?” Leila asked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

  “Do you remember whether Wade came straight down after the chief left?”

  She nodded. “Sure did. I heard him call the chief a name over his shoulder on the steps. He wanted to have the last word.”

  Naturally.

  “He told me the chief seemed to be afraid of the water,” Leila said. “He thought it was funny. I told him I didn’t find it funny at all because I have a real fear of butterflies. If someone stuck me in one of those butterfly gardens, I’d have a heart attack.”

  Ugh. Laughing at the chief’s deep-rooted fear of water? I really hoped Wade took his yacht and hightailed it back to whatever port he came from. “And you’re sure you didn’t hear a splash?”

  Leila narrowed her eyes. “Hang on. Are you asking me all these questions because you think Wade pushed the chief into the bay and drowned him?”

  “I’m simply following up on a lead,” I said.

  “Why? Are you the new chief? I thought the new chief was hot.”

  “She’s FBI,” Clara interjected.

  Leila’s eyes flickered with surprise. “I see.”

  I flashed my FBM badge, which I knew would appear as a normal FBI badge to her. “Agent Fury.”

  “Well, Agent Fury, I think you’re out of luck with Wade.”

  I thought so, too. “I appreciate your candor, Leila. If you think of anything, though, will you let me know?”

  “Sure will.” She snapped her gum again. “If you’re not going to order anything else, are you ready for the check?”

  Clara patted the table. “Leave it here, thanks.”

  Leila dropped the check and moved on to the booth behind us.

  “What are you thinking?” Clara asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have that look.” Clara tried to imitate my expression by scrunching her face. “It means your brain is hard at work.”

  I knew I had an expressive face, but I didn’t realize it was that transparent. “Well, a thought did occur to me. The thing Leila said about the butterflies.”

  “I know. I didn’t realize fear of butterflies was an actual thing.”

  “It is. Lepidopterophobia.”

  “So why is that relevant?”

  “Paul Pidcock died from his allergy to bee stings. If you know you have a severe allergy that can kill you, you’re probably afraid of bees, right?”

  “I know I would be.”

  “And Elliott Bradford had a fear of enclosed spaces. Avoided them at all costs, but for some reason, felt compelled to take the elevator and had a heart attack.”

  Clara’s brow creased. “You think they’re all related.”

  “I’m starting to think so. Chief O’Neill doesn’t remember anyone near him or pushing him, but he remembers feeling compelled to go to the water. What if Elliott felt that same compulsion to go into the elevator? And why Paul approached an active beehive?”

  Clara shivered. “You think a demon is responsible?”

  “I think it’s highly likely.” Many demons, like my father and brother, draw power from their victims. It was possible that whatever demon was on the loose in Chipping Cheddar was absorbing the fear of their victims. Fear is one of the strongest emotions and can create powerful energy.

  “Why haven’t you seen their ghosts?” Clara asked.

  “The other two victims?”

  “Yes. If Agent Pidcock was murdered by the same demon as Chief O’Neill, wouldn’t his ghost be haunting your office?”

  “Not necess
arily,” I said. “Paul was a wizard. He doesn’t necessarily stick around if things go south for his body.”

  “Can you summon his ghost?” Clara suggested. “He’d be more aware of an invisible demon hand than humans like Chief O’Neill or Elliott.”

  “Good point.” Although summoning someone like Paul meant I’d need to enlist the aid of my mother’s family. I didn’t have enough experience to do it on my own.

  Clara handed me a slice of bacon. “Fuel for thought.”

  “I love that you still eat bacon with a fork.”

  She chewed happily. “Old habits die hard.”

  Although it wasn’t the lead I expected to uncover when I went to see Wade Cantrell earlier, a supernatural killer made a lot of sense. Unfortunately, it also meant that my role in the investigation was about to get a little tricky with Chief Fox.

  Chapter Twelve

  My epiphany in the diner had me steeped in thought all the way home. I barely managed to get through the front door when Princess Buttercup accosted me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, patting her head. “I’ve been out all day, haven’t I?”

  The hellhound’s mournful expression told me that she was, indeed, feeling neglected.

  “How about a nice walk around the neighborhood?”

  Her tongue rolled out, sparks shooting along the way. One of the hazards of being a hound from the underworld.

  “Eden, is that you?” My mother’s voice rang out.

  “Perfect timing,” I whispered to Princess Buttercup. Loudly, I said, “I have to take the dog for a walk.” I didn’t manage to escape before she caught up with me.

  “About time,” she replied. “You can’t keep a hellhound that size cooped up in the house all day. She needs fresh air and exercise.”

  “There’s a house full of people here,” I said. “Anyone could have let her out in the backyard.”

  My mother harrumphed. “She’s your responsibility. Your niece’s snake and your grandmother’s cat are more than enough for the rest of us to take care of.”

  Wait, what? “What snake?”

  “Olivia’s snake. Charlemagne.”

  “How have I not seen this snake?” I asked. I wasn’t a huge fan of slithering critters.

  “What do you look so nervous about?” my mother asked. “Your ancestors’ hair was full of snakes. You’re lucky you didn’t inherit that trait.”