by Jane Hinchey
"Henry," she said, then straightened and peered at me over the fridge door. "Or is it, Adam? Damn, memory isn't what it used to be." She disappeared back into the fridge, then held out her arm, a can of whipped cream clutched in her hand. "Found it!"
Oh God, the visual was alarming. I did not want to think about what Gran intended to do with a can of whipped cream and the man she had upstairs. She sashayed out of the kitchen, humming to herself and I rested my head on the table. My hangover gnawed at my insides, making my stomach churn. Last night had been a lot of fun. Gran, as it turned out, was a very talented quiz master, but I'd never been more grateful when our team didn't win. A lap dance from my own grandmother was not what I’d consider a prize.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. Jenna. "Hey," I picked up the call.
She laughed. "You don't sound so hot."
"How are you not hung over?" I demanded.
"Stronger constitution and you're out of practice," she told me. "This might make you feel better. I've got a lead. On the number plate."
She was right. I immediately forgot my hangover. "You do? What?"
"My informant tells me that there's a car that matches that description out at the fox's compound." The fox's compound was basically a commune type setup where fox shifters lived about ten miles out of town.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I said, draining my coffee.
"That we hit the compound tonight?" she suggested.
"Exactly! We'll take a look under the cover of darkness, see what we can find." And maybe, just maybe, seeing the car might jog something in my memory, something I may not have realized that I'd seen. Like the driver.
It was not only dark but also bitterly cold. Jenna picked me up and we'd headed out to the fox's compound, and I rubbed my hands together and held them to the vent in her car. "So, this compound," I began, "is it really a compound? With barbed wire and locked gates?"
She shook her head. "I've only been out here once before to cover a story, but no. It's a bunch of cabins and caravans scattered around a field in no particular order. I'm not sure if fox shifters are packrats in general, but this pack is—are they even called a pack? Anyway, they've got junk everywhere. Old car bodies, engines, that type of thing. They seem mechanically minded."
"They're not a pack. The most common term is skulk," I told her. I'd researched them in the bookstore that afternoon.
"Thank you, encyclopedia Harper." Jenna grinned. "It's just up here." She pointed through the windscreen.
"Turn out your lights"—I pointed—"and pull in here. We'll have to walk in. I don't want them to know we're here."
"Are you forgetting they're foxes? They'll most likely pick up our scent as soon as we set foot on their property." Pulling over to the side of the road, Jenna turned off the engine and killed the lights.
"Gran gave me these." Digging in the pocket of my parka, I pulled out two small bags wrapped in twine.
"Charms?"
I nodded. "Charms. They won't render us invisible or anything cool, but they will block our scent. Place it against your skin." I handed her one, took my own, and tucked it inside my bra. Flinging open the door, I climbed out. I'd dressed appropriately: black parka, black jeans, black gum boots—it had rained, and I knew it would be muddy out here—and a black beanie pulled down over my ears.
"I feel we need black face paint," Jenna whispered, coming around to my side of the car, dressed identically.
"You think?" I looked at her glowing white face in the moonlight.
"No, I was joking!"
"Oh. Right." I pulled on my gloves, reached back into the car and grabbed a flashlight.
"Be careful where you're pointing that thing," she warned. "Remember we don't want them to know that we're here. Keep it pointed at the ground and put your hand over it if you see someone coming."
"You've done this before," I commented, impressed.
"I'm an investigative reporter," she muttered, leading the way. "Of course I've done this before. Let's go."
It was easy going until we turned down their driveway, and I use that term loosely. The driveway was a muddy track that tried to suck my gumboots off my feet.
"We're leaving footprints," Jenna grumbled, grabbing my arm and pulling me off the track. "We'll be less obvious if we go around the long way."
"How long is the long way?" I asked, already breathless. At least the exercise had warmed me up. I was no longer freezing, despite my breath puffing out in white clouds and my face being numb.
"Just a few feet this way. We'll run parallel to their makeshift road. This way it's easier to hide if a car comes."
Good point. We walked for another five minutes before Jenna grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a tree. I covered the flashlight with my hand.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"There." She pointed and I peered around the tree where I could just make out a single light bulb burning over the door of a caravan. I peered closer.
"Is that?" I wondered out loud.
"On bricks?" she supplied. "Yeah." Jenna was right. The fox's compound resembled a junkyard. Everything I'd expect to find in a house I saw dumped and abandoned here. Old TVs, washing machines, fridges. Not to mention car bodies, even a boat. All rusting with weeds growing inside some of them.
"So, what, they just dump what they don't want literally outside their doorstep?" I whispered as we inched closer.
"Looks like," she whispered back.
"What a shame." I crouched, eyeballing a sedan parked next to another van. "This place could be really neat if they didn't fill it full of their rubbish."
The door to the caravan opened and I held my breath. Christ, had they heard me? I watched as a man stepped down, looked around, crossed to the car and got something from the glove box before going back inside. The light from the van briefly illuminated the car and I squinted at the license plate. Not the car we were looking for.
"Look." Jenna tugged my arm and I looked to where she was pointing. Across the field was a bonfire with several people gathered around it.
"Is that Lexi?" I couldn't be sure from this distance.
"Could be." We watched for a few minutes before continuing on. As the minutes ticked past, we found ourselves closer and closer to the bonfire. Music drifted to us on the night breeze and I could see now that they were dancing.
"It is Lexi," Jenna confirmed and I stopped to watch for a minute. She looked different outside of the chambray shirt uniform she wore at Bean Me Up. Tonight, she had on a chunky knit sweater in red and the color was very flattering on her. Her hair was down, brushing her shoulders and fanning out behind her as she twirled and swayed to the music. In her hand, a bottle of something—whiskey? Scotch maybe. Some sort of spirit was my guess and she was swigging it straight out of the bottle.
We skirted around the bonfire, weaved in and around the hodgepodge of vans, cabins, even a tent. I was ready to admit defeat when we saw it. A car, a sedan, parked behind a group of trees away from all the caravans.
"I think this could be it," Jenna whispered, picking up the pace. I tried to keep up, but lost my boot in the mud and face-planted with a whoosh. The flashlight flew out of my hand, arcing through the air before landing with a plop a few feet away.
"Shit!" Scrambling to my knees, I retrieved my boot and shoved my foot in it. "Did they see?"
Jenna snatched up the flashlight and turned it off, then stood frozen, watching the horizon. Eventually, she shook her head. "I don't think so."
"Thank god." I struggled to my feet and tried to scrape the mud off my front. What a mess.
"Come on." Grabbing my hand, she led the way to the car hidden in the trees. Flicking on the flashlight she illuminated the license plate. "It's a match." We crept closer, cupped our hands and pressed our faces to the windows to look inside. Nothing. It was empty. Not even a chocolate wrapper on the floor. I was about to try the door when Jenna stopped me. "No! The interior light could come on."
; "Damn it." I cursed. "You're right. Okay, well, let's take some photos and report this to the police. Jackson can get a search warrant or whatever it is they need."
We both snapped a few photos with our phones, then began the long track back toward the main gate. We drew even with the bonfire, this time on the opposite side. The music still played, but the dancers were gone. I shivered. It was spookier than Halloween out here.
"I've got a real uneasy feeling," I whispered to Jenna.
She clutched my hand in hers. "Me too," she whispered back. "I think they're on to us."
"Do we run?"
"No. Because then they'd know that we know. Just keep walking. But keep your eyes peeled."
I turned my gaze forward and that's when I saw them. Glowing eyes in the woods. I blinked, and they were gone. I blinked again, and another set joined the first.
"They've shifted," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I know. Keep going."
We trudged onward, the foxes keeping pace with us in the heavy woods to our right. I was comforted by Gran's charm and knowing they couldn't track us through our scent, but how good was their eyesight? Did they recognize us? Although our thick padded parkas effectively hid our body shapes, our height alone probably screamed the fact that we were female.
"You have Jackson on speed dial, right?" Jenna asked, and I nodded. If they attacked, would I have time to call? It's not as if I could hold out a hand and say excuse me, do you mind not ripping me to shreds just for a moment while I call for help?
"Do not panic." Jenna squeezed my hand and I shot her a look.
"I'm not panicking!" I said. I was totally panicking. I was about to run screaming toward our car. Or more precisely, where I thought our car was because I couldn't see too well in the dark, and since Jenna had confiscated the flashlight, I had to rely on her to lead the way. City life had made me soft. And knowing a pack—correction—a skulk of foxes was skulking after us was freaking me out big time. I was not the brave witch I wished to be.
"Look." Jenna's calm voice penetrated the haze of terror that was building, and I forced myself to focus on her words. "There's the gate. We get through there and we're off their territory. They'll back down."
"You sure about that?" I asked through clenched teeth, picking up the pace now that I could make out the shadowy silhouette of what I would loosely call a gate. They obviously served no purpose as a gate, mere wooden slats that had once born a resemblance to one.
"I'm hopeful." By the time we cleared the gates we were power walking and by the time we reached the car I was at a full-out sprint.
"Get in, get in!" I cried, wrenching open the passenger door and flinging myself inside. Jenna calmly slid behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and executed a perfect U-turn. She waited until we were out of sight of the fox's compound before flicking on the lights.
I flopped back against the seat, dragging the beanie off my head and clutching it in my hands. "Oh my God. I don't mind admitting that scared the ever-living daylights out of me."
"It did get a little intense, didn't it?" Jenna grinned, and I couldn't help but snort out a laugh.
"They were stalking us! Did you see?"
She nodded. "I did. But they didn't hurt us, nor confront us. I think we're okay."
"Next time I have a brilliant idea to go snooping around a fox's compound at night, remind me of this, will you? How absolutely intimidating and scary those little foxes can be."
She laughed. "I'll try, but we both know once you've got an idea in your head, there's no stopping you." She had a point. I pulled out my phone and began typing.
"Whatcha doing?" she asked, glancing my way before returning her attention to the road.
"Texting a photo of the car—complete with number plate—to Jackson and telling him where it is."
"Will he get mad we went out there?"
"Probably."
Jenna had just dropped me home and I was letting myself inside when my phone rang. Unknown number. Rather than answer, I turned my phone off and trudged upstairs. I was cold, tired, and filthy and all I wanted was a nice soak in a hot bath. Archie trotted up the stairs behind me and I told him the whole story while I relaxed with bubbles up to my neck and he sat on the vanity and listened.
Chapter Fifteen
Shattered glass was strewn everywhere.
"Who did you piss off?" Gran asked, standing next to me as we took in the damage to The Dusty Attic.
"Apparently someone." Sucking in a deep breath, I held it for a few seconds, then blew it out slowly, emptying my lungs. I pulled out my phone and dialed Jackson.
"Oh, you're finally ready to talk to me?" he answered. He'd left me a couple of messages last night, which I'd ignored because I'd turned my phone off and didn't get them until this morning.
"Yeah, yeah." I brushed him off. "Someone has thrown a brick through the window of The Dusty Attic. I know it's not a police emergency or anything. I'm just letting you know."
"Don't touch anything!" he demanded.
"I haven't. I'm outside with Gran."
"How do you know it's a brick then?"
"Because I can see it through the gaping hole in my storefront." He didn't reply, just a click and then I was listening to the dial tone.
"I can clean this up and fix the window," Gran offered but I stopped her.
"Let Jackson see it first. I want it reported. Then you can fix it." I gave her a hug. "Thank you for everything you do for me. I've been so lost without my magic."
She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. Tight. "You've had a bad run is all. It'll all work out, you'll see."
We stood on the sidewalk arm in arm and waited for Jackson, who pulled up with a screech of tires moments later.
"I told you it wasn't an emergency," I told him.
"If you kept your nose out of ongoing investigations maybe this wouldn't have happened," he grumbled, crossing to the door and turning the knob. Of course, it didn't open since I hadn't unlocked it yet.
"It's your fault. You asked for my help. And now I have a taste for it. I want to get to the bottom of who killed Whitney. Do you think this is related?" I brushed past him and unlocked the door, broken glass crunching under my feet.
He didn't answer, just pulled on a glove and bent to examine the brick. It was red, the kind you'd find on any building site. Around it was an elastic band and tucked beneath that, a note. No accident then.
"What does it say?" I leaned over his shoulder to read it. The words that jumped out at me had my stomach fluttering. “You're next.”
"A threat. So, this wasn't random, wasn't kids being assholes." I was amazed my voice didn't shake.
"Nope." Shaking open a plastic bag, he placed the brick and note inside before sealing it up. "Evidence. Might be able to get prints off the paper."
"Can I restore order now, Detective?" Gran asked.
"Let me take some photos first." Pulling out his phone, he began clicking.
"Isn't that Officer Miles’s job?" I watched as he took shots from every angle imaginable, then the window frame, the broken glass.
"She's busy with something else."
I grasped his arm, forcing him to stop. "Oh, is it the car out at the fox's commune?"
"We'll talk about that later." His tone told me he wasn't happy. At all.
"So, do you know who the car is registered to?" I pressed. Hell, I'd already trespassed, had a brick thrown through my window and a note threatening my life, how bad could it get?
"It was stolen in Alabama several months ago." Then he zipped his lips, ignoring the million questions I threw at him until he suddenly grabbed both my shoulders and peered into my face. "Do I need to get your Gran to put a silencing spell on you? Just. Be. Quiet."
"You know about silencing spells?" I shot back, then bit my lip. He did look a bit annoyed. I figured I'd pushed him as far as I dared today. Miming zipping my lips I crossed to the coffee pot. "Coffee?" I asked, then slapped my hand over my
mouth. Oops. No speaking.
"Please." He nodded, then crooked his finger at Gran to follow him outside. Seconds later a wave of magic washed over the shop, the broken glass remolded itself back into a window. Everything was as it should be. Except I'd just received a death threat. And that got me thinking. What if the bullet that hit Bruce that night hadn't been meant for him at all? What if they were aiming for me all along and were a lousy shot? But why? Why would someone want me dead?
Gran and Jackson were talking out front and I pushed open the door to join them. Jackson was patting Gran's arm and I frowned. "What's going on?"
"Detective Ward,"—Gran used his title which told me she was pissed at him and Gran didn't often get pissed at people—"wants you to close your shop."
"What?" I shifted my attention to Jackson who was rubbing his hand around the back of his neck. I could see the concern on his face.
"Harper." He turned his attention to me. "Let's go across to Bean Me Up and talk about this. Mrs. Brewer, would it be a huge imposition if you looked after things here until Harper returns?"
I bit my lip to stifle the giggle that threatened to spill out. He was giving it back to Gran as good as he got. I wondered if he knew she hated being called Mrs. Brewer.
"Fine." She huffed, "I'll open up. You two kids talk. And for God's sake, call me Alice."
"Only if you call me Jackson." His grin was warm and endearing and a part of me melted inside. What are you doing, Harper Jones? He's taken! He may be six foot four feet of deliciousness with his dark hair and green eyes, but he is not yours to drool over.
"I'll bring you back a double shot macadamia almond milk latte," I promised, and her face brightened. Jackson guided me across the road with his hand on the small of my back and despite my better intentions, I enjoyed every second of it.
"Hot chocolate?" he asked after pulling out a chair and making sure I was seated comfortably. This time we weren't near the window but tucked far away from view.
I shook my head. "I think today calls for a cappuccino."