by Jane Hinchey
“Thanks, Harper. I’ll be here.”
He opened the door and I called after him, “You’ll need to bring your own copy of the book.”
“Will do.” And then he was gone.
Wendy fanned herself dramatically. “Phew wee, that boy is hawt.”
“That’s your hormones talking,” I chided, crossing to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup.
“Yeah well, I’m dead. Pretty sure I don’t have hormones, and I agree, he’s as hot as a summer day,” Whitney said, just before she vaporized into thin air.
Cradling the cup in my hands and inhaling the intoxicating aroma, I closed my eyes in bliss, soaking in a brief moment of silence before my eyes popped open and I pinned Wendy with my gaze. “Have you two talked yet?” I asked.
“Not really.” A blush crept up her neck and she wrung her hands together. “But she doesn’t seem angry at me and, you know, apparently, she says she knew about me and Bruce, and was planning on leaving him anyway, so...”
“Maybe you’ll get the chance for a quiet word at the book club, if you’re coming?” I prompted.
“Well Bruce and I were both intending to come, but now I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, if Jackson is coming. Because then Whitney will definitely be there, and she hasn’t seen Bruce since…you know.”
“She died.” I nodded. It was a strange love triangle, but if ghost Whitney was okay with it, who was I to question it. Wendy pushed herself to her feet and crossed the floor to tape a piece of paper to the front window.
“You going?” she asked, nodding at the poster she’d just put up, advertising the annual Whitefall Cove fundraiser ball.
“Sure am. I wouldn’t miss it.” Heaven help us all. I hadn’t intended to go, hadn’t wanted to go, but once more I’d underestimated small-town politics and sense of community—it seemed the whole town was attending and Gran wouldn’t forgive me if I bailed.
“You don’t look very happy about it.” Wendy pointed out. She wasn’t wrong.
“You know the story,” I grumbled. “The last ball I went to was the one where I caught Simon cheating. That was two months ago. I’m really not in the mood for another.”
Ever the optimist, Wendy beamed at me. “It will be different this time, you'll see. No stuffy professors or librarians—no offense—and everyone here knows you, loves you. It’ll be great.”
“This Decadent Desserts competition is new.” I changed the topic.
“Oh yes, they brought that in, oh, about three years ago, I think.”
“And I hear Bonnie Emerson has won all three years.” Now it was my turn to grin, for I’d been listening to Gran rant about knocking Bonnie off her perch this year and taking over the coveted position of first place with her chocolate crepe cake.
Wendy rubbed her belly in appreciation. “Mmm, Bonnie’s angel food cake is divine, that’s for sure.”
“Well, brace yourself. Gran is determined to topple her rival with her chocolate crepe cake. But keep that under your hat, I think it’s a secret,” I quickly added, belatedly remembering Gran had sworn me to secrecy as she practiced in the kitchen. She’d gone through several dessert recipes before deciding the chocolate crepe cake was going to be the one that wins this year.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
Turning from the mirror, I smoothed my hands down over my hips and eyed one of my best friends, Monica. “Why? What's wrong with it?”
She peered at me with her exotic blue eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she reclined on my bed. I hadn’t seen much of Monica since my return to Whitefall Cove, our schedules out of sync since she’s a vampire and I’m a witch. Not that our species are enemies or anything, just that she’s a night owl, sleeping during the day, and I keep more traditional hours.
Archie, my cat—and familiar—jumped up onto the bed and headbutted Monica for attention. Absently, she ran her hand over his orange fur, eliciting a loud purr of appreciation.
“You need”—she paused, pursing her lips—“to be showing more skin.”
“You’ve been hanging out with Gran too much,” I muttered. Gran was into exposing quite a lot of flesh. Her fashion sense was enough to make your eyes bleed, but Gran was, well, she was Gran. Unique. And I loved her to pieces, but I’d seen way too much of her eighty-year-old body than any granddaughter should have to endure. Which was also why I was moving out. The old lighthouse caretaker’s cottage had become available to rent and I signed the lease last week.
“But seriously…” Turning back to the mirror, I twisted my hair and held it on top of my head with one hand, moving this way and that to capture every angle of my reflection in the strapless ruby red evening gown I’d squeezed myself into. “This is okay, right? It’s been a long time since I’ve attended the Whitefall Cove Annual Fundraiser Ball.” I ignored Monica's previous comment of showing more flesh—my arms and shoulders were bare, that was more than enough.
“It'll do, I suppose.” She yawned before moving Archie from her lap and standing. “I'm getting hungry. Best I go before I get too distracted by that throat of yours.”
She was gone before I could respond. As it was, my hand fluttered at my throat—I never knew how to respond to Monica's jokes about drinking blood. Would she really take a bite out of me if she let herself get too hungry? We'd grown up together, she was a born vampire, and never in all that time had I seen her succumb to bloodlust. I knew she'd adopted a purely synthetic diet, and that appeared to keep her fully functioning as a vampire, but was it enough?
After one last critical look, I released my hair and unzipped the dress. It immediately fell in a puddle at my feet and I stepped out of it, picking up the crimson fabric and securing it back on its hanger. The ball was this weekend and the only formal dress I had was back in East Dondure—and I had zero intentions of contacting my ex-fiancé, Simon, and asking him to ship it to me.
That's if he even still had it. I'd left it in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor when I fled, just before Christmas. And here we were, days away from Valentine's Day, and I still hadn't heard a peep from him – aside from the boxes of belongings that had suddenly turned up, no note, no nothing, and the handwriting on the labels hadn’t been Simon’s. Maybe his girlfriend had got sick of my stuff and sent everything on. Everything except for the ballgown that is. Not that I wanted to hear from Simon. Oh no, I wanted nothing from that cheating piece of trash, but still, the lack of communication did sting, just a little. So, this dress would have to do. As it was, I'd spent a small fortune on it at The Twinkle Star Boutique.
The front door slammed and simultaneously Gran shouted up the stairs, “You home, Harper?”
“Coming!” Pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, I hurried downstairs to see Gran trying to lead a cow through the front door. “What on earth is that?”
Gran paused from pulling on the rope around the cow's neck to look at me. “I would have thought it's perfectly obvious what it is. It's a cow, Harper.”
“I know it's a cow.” I rolled my eyes. “But what is it doing here? And for god's sake, don't bring it into the house!”
“I have to.” She continued to pull on the rope, but the cow mooed and held firm. Tilting my head, I considered the door’s width and the cow’s girth and figured the cow was right—it wasn’t going to fit, no matter how much Gran tugged on the rope.
“Gran,” I warned, and she had the good grace to look sheepish. As sheepish as you could in purple leggings, yellow Ugg boots, and a black-and-red plaid shirt with a white fluffy vest over the top. She stopped tugging and threw her hands up in the air in apparent defeat. “Okay, look. This here cow”—she pointed at the black-and-white bovine—“is Annie’s Dalmatian, Rupert.”
Clapping a hand over my mouth, I tried not to laugh. “What did you do?” I choked out.
“I need fresh milk for my recipe!” Gran exclaimed, hands waving madly, “Can't get any fresher than straight from a cow.”
“But, Gran, he's not really a cow. He
's a dog,” I pointed out.
“Yes, well, he's temporarily a cow. I just need to milk him.”
“Uh-uh, absolutely not.” I wagged a finger at her. “Annie will go mental if she discovers you turned her dog into a cow!” I shook my head at her. “I'm sure milk from a carton will do just fine.”
Annie Robins was the head witch of the Sisters of the Sacred Flame coven, of which Gran—and me, by default—was a member. And I very much doubted that Annie knew Gran had absconded with her pet.
“You spoil all my fun.” Gran pouted, chin almost resting on her chest. I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Sorry, but you know I'm on probation with Drixworths. We've got to keep our magic squeaky clean.”
“I'm so glad you've got your magic back.” Gran perked up immediately, “And without needing a wand to boot. Goes to show what a powerful witch you are!”
“I wouldn't say that,” I demurred, but Gran was right. I'd re-sat my witch's license exam and passed. However, my transgression in using magic to harm humans was a big one and Drixworths Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry were keeping a close eye on me, which was why I was on probation and had to meet with the headmistress of our local branch on a weekly basis. It was Izzy who'd informed me that I was, indeed, quite powerful, that I didn't need a wand to channel my magic. That was also why they'd assigned Archie to me, to keep a dampener on my power.
“Come on, Rupert, let's get you sorted out, hmm?” Moving Gran to one side, I nudged Rupert out of the doorway and back into the garden. Closing my eyes, I visualized turning him back into a dog, whispered the spell under my breath, and poof, it was done. Rupert barked and jumped up with his paws on my shoulders, licking my face.
“Okay, okay. Down, boy.” Grabbing his collar, I handed him to Gran. “Now take him back.”
Chapter Two
Gran returned from taking Rupert home, looking like she'd been dragged through a bramble bush backwards. Her hair stuck up on end and twigs and leaves were tangled amongst the strands, one sleeve was completely torn off her shirt, and her Uggs were scuffed and filthy.
“Now what's happened?” My concern overflowed as I raced toward her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to help her inside. “Did Rupert turn on you?”
“That mangy dog doesn't have it in him.” Gran puffed, but despite the bravado in her voice, I could see she was rattled.
“Come and sit down. I'll make you a cup of tea.”
She leaned against me the entire walk to the kitchen, something Gran never did. Whatever had happened was bad. Seating her at the table, I flicked my fingers at the kettle, setting it to boil, while a cup and saucer slowly spun through the air to settle gently on the countertop.
“Now, tell me exactly what happened.” I leaned back in my chair and waited.
“I took Rupert back, as instructed.” She snapped a sassy look at me before continuing, “All safe and sound, Annie didn't even miss him. Anyway, I took the long way home.”
“Gran!” I admonished. “We've talked about this! You need to stop harassing Bonnie.” I knew immediately what happened. Gran had deliberately taken the route past Bonnie Emerson's house. And judging by the state of her, I'd say Bonnie had been in her front garden when Gran went past.
“She started it!” Gran shook her fist. “Told me she looked forward to watching me lose the Decadent Desserts Competition. Said her angel food cake won every year and this year would be no exception.”
“You should have walked away.” I shook my head, rose to silence the screaming kettle, and poured Gran a cup of tea. I needed to keep my hands busy in case I gave in to the urge of throttling her.
“I started to. Then she squirted me with her garden hose!”
My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. “That wasn't very nice.” Placing the cup of tea in front of Gran, I resumed my seat. “Why would she hose you down, unprovoked?”
Gran stirred her tea, despite not taking sugar, and refused to look at me. “It was unprovoked, wasn't it, Gran?” I knew it wasn't. Gran had all the sass and swagger of a dozen witches. She never backed down from a fight and was never shy about speaking her mind.
“I may have said she was troll bait,” Gran muttered under her breath before taking a sip of tea. I bit back a smile. Gran called Bonnie troll bait, Bonnie squirted her with the hose, then—judging by Gran's appearance—a full-on brawl ensued.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, peering closely. Despite the dirt on her face and shrubbery in her hair, I couldn't see any obvious injuries.
“Just my pride.” She shrugged, unrepentant.
“Did you win?” I asked next.
Gran smiled. “Probably a draw. We both used the same spell at the same time, a wind storm, and both got tossed on our asses.”
Chuckling, I lay my hand over hers on the table top. “Seems the Crescent Coven and the Sisters of the Sacred Flame aren't that different after all.”
The two covens had been in competition with each other for as long as I could remember, and I think that's what bothered Gran the most. Not that it was Bonnie Emerson who was long-standing first prize holder in the Decadent Desserts Competition, but it was a member of the Crescent Coven holding that position.
“I've started a bath for you. Why don't you go on up and soak away the bruises.” Snapping my fingers, I made it happen, my lips curling. Now that I had my magic back, life was so much easier.
“I shouldn't let you get away with that crack about the covens,” she grumbled, pushing to her feet, “but a bath is a splendid idea, and I need to get ready for my date.”
“Another one?” Gran dated...frequently. With much younger men. In fact, I think she is the town’s official cougar, and biggest flirt. “Who with this time?”
Her smile lit up her face. “You'll just have to wait and see. You'll be surprised!”
To say I was surprised was the understatement of the year. Possibly century. Upon opening the front door, my mouth hung open at the sight of Detective Jackson Ward standing on the front step.
“You?” I gasped, unable to comprehend that this man, that I secretly dreamed about, was taking my Gran out on a date!
“In the flesh.” He grinned, held his arms out to the side, then let them drop. “Actually, I'm here to see your Gran.” His smile disappeared and a solemn expression settled over his face.
“Oh, I know. She's spent the last two hours getting ready.” Standing back, I ushered him inside, my mind a whirl. Why was he dating my Gran? What happened to Liliana? And why was he dating my Gran?
“She told you?” He sounded surprised, brushing past me as he stepped inside and automatically turned into the sitting room. I followed.
“Why wouldn't she?” I asked.
“Because it would make you an accessory.” His frown pulled his brows together and I had the urge to smooth the lines away. Clenching my hands into fists, I resisted. He was dating my Gran. And that was, quite frankly, gross.
“An accessory to a date?” My confusion doubled.
“Wait.” With hands on hips, he stood before me, the T-shirt he wore beneath his suit jacket pulling taught across his chest. “What are we talking about here?”
“Your date? With my Gran?” I heard a trace of Gran's sarcasm in my tone and bit my tongue.
He snort-laughed. “Uh yeah, no.” Shaking his head, he slowly sobered. “I'm here on official police business, Harper.”
Dread filled me, freezing me to the spot. “What is it? What's happened?” Pictures flitted through my mind of Gran returning this afternoon, battered and bruised from her skirmish with Bonnie. Had there been more to it than Gran had told me? Was Bonnie hurt? Had she pressed charges?
“Bonnie Emerson was killed this afternoon,” he said solemnly, his green eyes full of sorrow and concern, “and I'm here to arrest Alice Brewer for her murder.”
“What?” Gran screeched from the doorway, startling us both. “I did no such thing!” She stomped forward, her sequin-covered halter top dazzling as the o
verhead lights caught and reflected every last sequin. On her bottom half, black leggings topped electric blue shorts. And of course, sequin-covered Uggs. She was a walking disco ball.
“Let's talk about this down at the station, Alice.” Jackson stepped toward her and I moved in front, blocking him. I couldn't let him arrest my Gran. The idea of her murdering Bonnie was preposterous. He sighed, shaking his head at me. “I have to do this, Harper. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay, lass.” Gran touched her hand to my back. “I’ll go. We'll sort this out and then Jackson can spend the next decade making it up to me. I've got several ideas already.”
“Gran, this is serious.” I turned my head, speaking to her over my shoulder, unwilling to move and let Jackson take her away. I knew what it was like to be a suspect in a murder, and I wasn't about to let my Gran go through that. But the worst part, the part that was niggling away and burrowing deep inside, was that Jackson said he was here to arrest her. Not question her. Not interview her. Arrest her. Which meant the police were pretty damned sure that my Gran, Alice Brewer, killed Bonnie Emerson.
Placing one of his big hands on my shoulder, Jackson stepped close, his scent filling my nose, the warmth of his hand seeping into me, calming, but wakening emotions better left alone. He lowered his head, his face level with mine, his green eyes blazing. “Trust me on this, Harper.”
I lost myself in the emerald pools of his eyes, drowning in their depths, and I vaguely wondered if he had any abilities other than being able to talk to the dead, because right now, I felt as if I were under a spell. A deep, dark, seductively delicious spell. We'd become friends, of sorts, over the last couple of months, and I told myself for the millionth time that was all it could ever be.
“You can't lock her up.” My voice was barely a whisper and I had to blink away the moisture rapidly building in my eyes. I couldn't bear for Gran to be in jail. It wasn't right. “Please don’t do this.”