Strange Brew

by N C Patterson

  “In any case, you never answered my question. What can you tell me about this whole thing?”

  “I can’t say much.”

  “You don’t have to give away any evidence or anything. I just want to know what happened to Nate and to me.”

  “Well, when I found you, you were unconscious on the floor next to the body. He was bleeding from the head.”

  “Nathaniel?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was the comic there?”

  “Comic?” she questioned.

  “Yeah. Nate was there to pick up a comic book he’d won from the drawing.”

  “I can’t say one way or the other, but I don’t remember seeing it.”

  This didn’t bode well for Ryan. I’d already implicated him in the crime as a potential suspect. However, he wasn’t the only one who had a motive.

  “Keep in mind I was a little preoccupied seeing if you were okay and calling the police.”

  “That makes sense,” I agreed.

  Just then, her phone began to ring. “It’s the office.” Hitting the green button, she held the phone to her ear. “Officer Baker speaking.”

  “Where the devil are you?” I could hear the detective over the line.

  “My apologies, sir,” she began.

  “I need you here at your desk. I have multiple background checks I need you to run on a couple of leads in this case, but when I go looking for you, you’re completely missing.”

  “Again, my apologies, Detective. I stopped by at Adrian’s to see how he was doing.

  “You’re at Adrian Eliphas’ home?”

  “That’s correct, sir, but don’t worry. I’m walking out the door right now.” She headed back into the living room and laid the blanket on the couch. I followed, intending to walk her to her car.

  “No, no, hold on. You stay there.”

  “Sir?”

  “If he is at home and cognitive, I have more questions to ask based on new information. I’ll be there in five.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The call ended, and she hung up. “Looks like Detective Miner is coming here.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll just brew a second batch of coffee to be ready for when he arrives.” And maybe with a little magic, I thought, I could get him to open up a little bit more about all that was going on--or at the very least, be less gruff.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Heavens, that’s the best cup of joe I’ve ever had,” the Detective said after taking a long sip of coffee. His furrowed expression vanished, and a tiny smile graced his lips at the taste. Not only was coffee a good ice breaker on its own, but with a dash of enchanted cinnamon along the top the person was granted clarity of mind and spirit. “Significantly better than that sludge we drink at the office.”

  “I’m glad you approve, Detective,” I said with a slight bow. I sat down in the slipper chair.

  Tamsin was nowhere to be found, but I could only guess he was hiding somewhere nearby, eavesdropping on the current conversation. No doubt he’d give me his two cents worth about this whole fiasco once we were alone.

  “Officer Baker, maybe I should put you on coffee duty from now on. If you’ve picked up even half of your boyfriend’s skill, we would all be better for it.”

  Becca returned this comment with a pained smile. “No offense, sir, but I transferred to the homicide division to help do my part in these murder cases, not to brew coffee.”

  “Who said you couldn’t do both?” he questioned.

  “Besides, I’m nowhere near the connoisseur of coffee that Adrian is.”

  “Well, in that case, my boy, I’ll have to grab a cup from your little cafe once in a while,” he said, sipping some more of the black gold from his mug while eyeing me.

  The cinnamon was already working. The detective was acting genial. However, potions could only do so much to influence someone’s personality.

  Not to mention some of his more extensive commentaries didn’t seem to be pleasing Becca. The idea that she would be on coffee duty wasn’t a happy one for a woman like her. She worked her hardest to beat out the boys and come out at the top of her class in the police academy. Not to mention the efforts she’d put in to get the chance at a permanent slot with homicide.

  “All right. To the point,” Detective Miner said, his rough rational expression returning as he set the mug down on the coffee table without a coaster.

  I was on edge at the sight of it there on the unprotected table, but I said nothing.

  “First things first, Mr. Eliphas.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out that same notepad he’d used the previous evening at the hospital. “What was your relationship with Nathaniel Brown?”

  I folded my hands in front of me. “Nathaniel? At most, he was a regular customer.”

  “Were you on friendly terms?”

  “If you mean, were we friends, no. We were not friends. At best, we were acquaintances.”

  “And how often did he come into your establishment.”

  I thought quietly for a second. “Likely, I’d say, two times a week on average.”

  “Did he ever come with other people? Friends? Girlfriends?”

  “He always came in with a good friend of his, Ryan Progan.”

  Only nodding from the detective.

  “And most weekends he brought in a new different girl with him.”

  “Was he dating around?”

  “I assume so. I don’t know much about his personal life besides the fact that he played in chess tournaments.”

  Detective Miner paused, looking up from his notepad at me. “Chess tournaments?”

  “Yes, that’s something I only just learned yesterday, in fact. I knew he enjoyed playing chess when he came into the cafe.”

  “Is that a normal activity?”

  “We have books and a few simple games for guests to enjoy while they drink their coffee and have a pastry. Chess, backgammon, mahjong, dominoes, and a few more popular ones from recent years. You get the picture.”

  He grunted his understanding, reaching toward the plate of day-old donuts I’d set out and grabbing one. He bit into it, leaving flecks of pink strawberry frosting in his mustache.

  If I was actually good at baking, I might have tried to add a little magic to the pastry as well--but I wasn’t. That was why I outsourced to the many talented bakers in downtown Witchwater.

  “And it’s normal for guests to borrow and play these?” he asked

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And how did you find out about these chess tournaments?”

  I leaned back in the chair. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “You mean you had more information you remembered?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  He took another bite of donut. “Go on.”

  “Well, another young man by the name of Jacob Bigsby came into the store yesterday.”

  He scribbled the name down. “Is he another one of your regulars?”

  “That’s right, or at least he used to be.”

  “Until?”

  I took in a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh. “I banned Jacob from the store.”

  “Banned him?”

  “He also came in and played chess on occasion. This last month, he came in and challenged a teenage boy to a game. When the boy beat him, Jacob threw my table.”

  Detective Miner’s eyes widened, clearly appalled. “He threw a table over losing a game?”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t tolerate that kind of behavior in my store, so he got banned.”

  “I see.”

  “I might also add something,” Becca chimed in, sipping from her coffee.

  “Yes, Officer Baker?”

  “This Jacob Bigsby? The incident at Adrian’s shop isn’t the only one. He was brought in on charges of assault when he punched someone over a game.”

  I could sense the detective was growing more and more interested by the second in Jacob. If there wa
s a significant enough tie and motivation, someone with that kind of history of angry outbursts just might become a top priority in the case.

  A sick feeling weighed on my stomach, however. The very thought of turning the finger on someone made me queasy. I’d felt terrible about pointing the finger at Ryan the night before and now at Jacob this morning.

  Unfortunately, the truth of the matter was, if either one of them was responsible, they needed to be brought to justice.

  I just hoped they didn’t pin it on the wrong guy . . . Or me, for that matter.

  “Anyway, he came in yesterday, despite being banned.”

  “Did he say why?”

  I took a deep breath before answering. “Jacob accused Nathaniel of cheating at a chess tournament. When I asked him to leave, or I’d call the police, he threatened both myself and Nathaniel.”

  The detective’s eyebrows shot way up at this news. “And you have witnesses to this event?”

  I folded my arms. “Yes, an entire room full of customers as well as a couple of my employees.”

  “I’m going to need contact information for those employees who were on the scene.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Becca?” he said, turning to my girlfriend. “I want a full background check and report on Jacob Bigsby on my desk before lunch.”

  “I’m on it,” she said, standing up and heading for the door. She didn’t even kiss me this time, probably trying to keep up as professional an attitude as possible now that she was being included on the case--even if it was in just a small way.

  The Detective stood up as well. “You can call Becca with that contact info.”

  “I will.”

  “And keep yourself available. I’m sure I’ll have more to discuss with you once this all comes down the pike.”

  “Understood,” I agreed, being as genial as possible. I only figured if I fully cooperated and was easy to work with that, it might give Becca a chance at a full-time position with homicide.

  Detective Miner picked up his mug and gulped down the rest of his coffee. Finishing it, he smacked his lips. “Great coffee. Fantastic.”

  I smirked. “Would you like another in a to-go cup? I have some in the pantry from the coffee shop.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, his eyes actually twinkled with excitement. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re not going to leave this thing up to a mortal, are you?”

  Turning around from the sink where I was washing up the mugs we’d used, I found Tamsin sitting on the tile floor of the kitchen. “What are you talking about?” I asked, going back to my chore of loading the cups into my miniature single rack dishwasher. Living completely alone, except for a cat, I rarely had more dishes than could fit in it. That was why I’d opted for the smaller sized one.

  “This murder investigation. You’re still a suspect. Probably the main suspect.”

  “No, I’d bet Jacob is the main suspect just based on the detective’s interest in him.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but you were the one found at the scene of the crime.”

  “I was attacked, too, remember?” I told him, closing up the dishwasher and drying my hands on the towel hanging from the fridge door. Like the dishwasher, it was a smaller model--skinny and just the right size for me.

  I ate out so often, I didn’t end up using it much to store anything but leftovers.

  The cat shook his head, trotting into the room and hopping up onto the small breakfast table in the window nook where I usually had my morning coffee and bagel before going to work. “Still, something doesn’t feel right to me. What if he does charge you with murder? What then?”

  I walked over to the table and sat down. “What possible motive could I have?”

  “I don’t know. These mortal cop types have a habit of trying to pin it on the easiest person. They make stuff up to get you involved.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know, for an ancient spirit who is supposed to be all knowing and ever-changing, you sure seem to be influenced by TV.”

  “TV?” he protested, his yellow eyes bulging.

  “That’s right. TV. I know you sit around watching shows all day long online. I’ve seen your streaming history.”

  He wrinkled his little pink nose. I knew he was irritated, but it looked so cute I just wanted to grab him and pet him. I restrained myself, thankfully.

  “So what if I like TV?”

  “You’re always watching those crime investigation shows.”

  “Wrong,” he argued, closing his eyes and turning his head away. “I watch paranormal investigation shows.”

  “That’s not much better. The cops in those are always killing people without ever getting investigated themselves over it.”

  “Hey, if they’re evil supernatural creatures, wouldn’t you kill them?”

  I leaned forward and stroked his head. “I’m trying to tell you that this is real life. There are real laws and procedures in place that I’m sure a seasoned detective like Miner follows to a T. If he wasn’t good at his job, would he still be there?”

  “Don’t bet on it,” he whispered.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “I just don’t want to see my master getting sent to mortal prison over a technicality. As much as I try to be modern and forward thinking, for my sake as much as for yours, mortals inherently don’t trust witches.”

  “What?” I responded flatly, unamused.

  “That’s the truth. Mortals are always suspicious of us. They can sense the magic.”

  “No, they can’t.”

  “Tell that to the witches caught up in any of the trials throughout history.”

  “That isn’t the same thing.”

  “I know what I’m talking about,” he pleaded, placing a paw on my hand. “I’m worried he is going to turn his gaze on you and, without thinking twice, try and pin this murder on you.”

  Seeing his eyes narrowed at me that way, my heart suddenly started to beat faster. “You really think that would happen?”

  “I’m an age-old spirit, aren’t I? I may not remember my past lives as other witches’ and warlocks’ familiars, but I can tell you when I have a gut feeling about something. I’m uneasy about this. The detective is being much too easy going and pleasant about this whole process.”

  “Well, I did give him some magic cinnamon in his coffee.”

  “Still. I’m concerned he is playing the good cop role before turning around and hitting you with the bad cop routine.”

  I swallowed hard at the thought of it. Bowing my head, I let out a long, agitated sigh. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Simple. Just look into things yourself.”

  “Myself? That could make things look more suspicious if I’m poking around this case trying to dig up clues of my own.” I shook my head. “No. That’s out of the question.”

  “Okay, it’s your funeral.” He hopped down from the table. “It isn’t the first time a witch will get accused of a crime for no good reason other than fear and speculation. Just ask Theo.”

  I stood up, putting my hands on my hips. “Aunt Theo doesn’t get a say in this. She isn’t here.”

  At this comment, Tamsin just stared up at me with his unblinking yellow eyes.

  My stomach felt like it dropped off a skyscraper. “Oh, no. You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t call Aunt Theo.”

  The creak on the stairs was my answer to that question.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hello, Daaa’ling,” the oh so familiar mid-Atlantic accent lilted as my Aunt Theo entered the living room, holding out her arms in welcome. In her usual fashion, she wore a sweeping brightly colored shawl with sparkly tassels over a pair of bell-bottom jeans she kept in tip-top magical shape ever since the sixties. Her wild red hair was every which way with the wind atop her head, but somehow managed to look beautiful and elegant all at once.

  “Aunt Theo. Hi
. What are you doing here?” I said, smiling as I stepped forward and embraced her in a hug. Her familiar scent of incense and fine wine came through on her clothing.

  “Can’t I stop by to see my favorite nephew?” she said, her eyes darting to Tamsin, indicating some corroboration between them. (I didn’t bother mentioning how I was her only nephew.)

  “You can, but it’s just such a big surprise,” I told her.

  “A good surprise I’m sure.”

  Entirely overwhelmed by her presence, I plopped down on the couch. “I mean, it’s been almost three years, hasn’t it?”

  “And you haven’t called on the crystal ball nearly enough,” she scolded me, shaking a long finger with a shiny red nail on the end.

  I gave a half smile. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been crazy busy.” I neglected to mention the main reason I’d stopped contacting home as much--I was dating a mortal. The horror of horrors, in my aunt’s mind.

  I was praying to the magic realm that Tamsin hadn’t blabbed that piece of information to her.

  “So I heard, but too busy to call the woman who raised you?” she questioned, beginning her circular walk around the outer perimeter of my living room. It was her usual inspection of my living space. She strongly believed in creating, “potent magical energy all around you.”

  “Again, I’m sorry. You’re here now, aren’t you?” I noted.

  She paused, stopping her inspection to clasp her hands and turn to me. “I hope you don’t mind; I popped in so unexpectedly, dear.”

  “I don’t. Not at all,” I lied. “I just wish you would have told me, so I had time to properly prepare. I don’t have anywhere for you to sleep. The guest bedroom is now a game room.”

  Her nose twitched at the mention of a game room. She called games, “a mortal trifle.” However, that didn’t stop me from putting a pool table upstairs. I loved pool, maybe even more than other games. Of course, I had a shelf with all the classics on it as well. Getting together with a group of friends, having some beers and snacks, and playing a mindless game was what I considered a great Friday night--at least before I started getting serious with Becca. I still had my Friday nights with my friends, sometimes with Becca there, but often it was just the two of us.