“Oh, all right. Is his girlfriend here?” I asked, getting to the person I was more interested in seeing anyway. Not only was this part of my own personal investigation into this case, but it was also just plain curiosity about this girl Ryan was dating.
“Paulie?” she yelled again.
I heard the chef sigh before appearing in the window again. “What is it this time?”
“Is Samantha here?”
A girl appeared on the staircase behind the hostess podium. “I’m right here. What’s up?”
I glance up the stairs at the girl standing there. I instantly recognized her as a waitress we’d had a couple of times, if not more. She was short with brown hair, freckles, a round face, and cute square glasses. She wasn’t a supermodel by any means, but she had a real natural beauty about her.
If I hadn’t known it before, I knew it now. This was the perfect type of girl for Ryan. In an instant, you could tell she was sweet, like him, and cared more about people than just good looks.
“This dude wants to see you,” the hostess groaned, jabbing a thumb my way.
Samantha trotted down the steps. “Yes?”
“Do you have a moment?”
“Paulie,” she called.
“What is it?” he groaned.
“Can I go on break?”
“Sure, sure, whatever. Just you girls stop calling me. If you need to talk, come back here.”
“Got it,” she responded.
We took a seat at a table. Before I could start in, a waiter came over and placed a basket of breadsticks in front of us. “Oh, we’re not eating,” I said.
“If you’re sitting at the table, I bring breadsticks, bub,” the tall waiter (who looked more like a bodyguard) said before walking off.
Samantha chuckled. “Sal likes things to go just so. If you don’t order a meal, you might be in trouble.”
“I guess so,” I agreed.
“So, do we know each other?” she finally asked, leaning in on the table.
“No, no we don’t. Not officially. I mean, you’ve waited on my girlfriend and me.”
“She’s blond right? A cop?”
I blinked my surprise, leaning back in my chair. “Wow. That’s impressive.”
“I have a good eye for faces,” she admitted.
“I bet that helps out a lot in the job here.”
“It does,” she agreed, nodding as she took a breadstick from the basket and breaking it in half. Steam came up from the little air pockets inside. “So, is this about the murder over at Coven Coffee?”
I licked my lips, surprised at how quick-witted this girl was. “It is.”
“I thought so. You’re a detective. It only makes sense with you dating a cop. You guys probably met on the force or something.”
I smiled. “No, I’m not a cop or detective. Just my girlfriend is.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a cop?”
“No, I’m just concerned, is all. You see, I’m Adrian, the owner of the coffee shop.” I bobbed my head in the direction of my shop a few blocks over. “Ryan is one of my regulars.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, so you were there when it happened?”
I reached for a breadstick. “Yes. I got hit over the head. Thankfully I didn’t get murdered, too.”
“You know, Ryan is really upset about this whole thing. Nathaniel was his best friend.”
“Did the three of you hang out pretty regularly?”
She took a bite of her breadstick and chewed it before answering. “No, I’ve never met him. Just heard good things from Ryan.”
“How long have you and Ryan been together?”
“Oh, only about three weeks. I’ve been trying to drop hints for him to ask me out for months, though.”
“I see. You like him?”
“Well, of course, I do. He’s sweet and caring. Nothing like most of the other guys I’ve dated.”
“You don’t think he could have killed his friend?”
Her jaw dropped wide open. “Of course, not. He adored Nathaniel. Ryan couldn’t hurt a fly without crying over it.”
“She is right. Ryan couldn’t hurt anyone,” the big waiter returned, having been eavesdropping.
“I completely agree with you both there.”
“Ryan was here with her that night,” the waiter pointed out. “Now, what do you want to eat?”
“Uhm, I’m still looking,” I said, patting the menu. I hadn’t even glanced at it.
“In fact, he’s just been a total mess since it happened. He says he had a fight with Nathaniel the last time he saw him. It’s just eating him up inside.”
“I was there,” I informed her.
“You think he did it?” she snapped, her eyes narrowing at me.
I put up a hand for her to slow down. “No, nothing quite like that. I’m actually worried the police think it's him. That’s why I’m asking some questions on my own--to help clear him of any suspicion.” It was sort of a lie. I was really trying to clear my own name, not Ryan’s. However, if I could help out a regular customer who was always friendly and tipped well, it wasn’t a bad addition.
“Oh,” she said, calming down. Her shoulders relaxed as she realized I wasn’t the enemy. “Well, it’s impossible that he committed that crime. He was here having dinner with me that night.”
“You guys had dinner together at the place you work?”
“We get a nice discount, so yeah. We eat here together pretty often. Also, the bathrooms are super clean,” she joked.
“Oh, really?” I laughed.
“Yep, we should know. We clean them.”
I decided to go back to the topic of the argument. “Do you know what he disagreed about with Nathaniel?”
“Sure, I do. Ryan is big into comics. He has a huge collection back at his apartment. In fact, he has walls of shelves dedicated to it.”
“I had assumed as much based on how excited he got about that prize we were giving away.”
She bit into the other half of her breadstick, chewing as she thought. “That’s right. It’s the last issue in a collection he has. He was so thrilled when he heard it was one of the prizes.”
“So, it was a pretty big deal.”
“That would be an understatement. When his friend won and didn’t give it to him after he promised to, Ryan got pretty hurt.”
I didn’t bother mentioning how Nathaniel didn’t necessarily promise anything of the sort.
“Sam,” the chef called from the kitchen.
She looked over at him.
“Your ten is up. Could you take the trash out?”
“No prob,” she agreed, standing up. “Sorry to cut this short. I hope you can help Ryan clear his name.”
I watched as she walked over and took the bag of trash from the cook and headed down the hallway near the staircase to the bathrooms and back door.
Finishing eating my breadstick, I left a tip I hoped would cover the food.
Heading for the door, I nearly was run over by a man charging in.
“Woah,” I cried out. “Sorry about that.” I instantly froze when I saw the man’s face.
Much to my horror, it was Detective Miner--and he didn’t look too happy to see me.
Chapter Seventeen
“What are you doing here?” he practically growled, looking me up and down with his brow furrowed like a bulldog ready to strike.
I stood there like a doe in the headlights just waiting to get hit with that charging semi-truck. “Uh, I was going to meet Becca for lunch, but I think she forgot we had a date,” I finally managed to sputter out.
“A date huh?” he questioned, folding his arms and not looking convinced. “That’s strange because I literally just left Officer Baker back at the police station.” I knew how this must seem. One of his main suspects trying to weasel his way in with another suspect, or at least another suspect’s girlfriend? That could possibly be contrived as me trying to manipulate or plant false evidence in a witness's mind.
I gave a timid shrug. “Like I said. I think she forgot.”
“How convenient,” he said.
“That’s the way it is,” I said, attempting to push past him.
He shot out one arm like a piston in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. “She didn’t mention a date,” he said, eyeing me suspiciously.
I instantly realized my mistake. The detective might think Becca set up a date with me here at the restaurant with the ulterior motive of asking people a few questions against his wishes.
“I already said, she probably forgot,” I told him, my voice rising angrily. It was an unwise choice, I know, but I definitely didn’t like to be strong-armed.
Still, standing as close to him as I was, practically touching, I could feel the aura of suspicion coming off him like fire. I opened my mouth to say something more like, “excuse me,” but I didn’t get a chance before our standoff was interrupted.
“Oh, hey. Adrian. Here is my number if you need to call with any other questions,” Samantha noted, running up to me and pressing a piece of folded up paper in my hand.
I could feel my face growing hot, and I knew I was turning as red as a husband just caught cheating.
“Here for a date, was it? Fascinating, Mr. Eliphas.”
“Umm,” I stuttered, unable to get words out.
“Do you think your girlfriend, Becca, who also happens to be a coworker of mine, would be interested to know of your actions here today?”
“No, sir.”
“Or, perhaps, you’re sticking your nose into police business where it doesn’t belong--something I’d advise against since you’re already in choppy waters.”
I wrinkled my nose. “This isn’t what you think, Detective.”
“Isn’t it? Or are you trying to talk to my witness before me? If so, I might feel inclined to bring you in for some more questioning.”
“Detective--” I began.
“Look, I don’t know what’s totally going on here, but I don’t like it. However, if I find you snooping around my case, or doing anything else dishonorable, I’ll make you regret it. Trust me.” With that, he bumped past me into the restaurant.
Chapter Eighteen
“Ugh, I need an espresso,” I complained, walking past Aunt Theo toward my kitchen. I had just gotten home a few moments ago and had completely filled her in on everything that had happened--including my encounter with the detective.
Big mistake.
As I stepped into the kitchen, I wondered why I was even humoring her. At the request of my cat, she’d just popped in and completely commandeered my life. Part of the reason I’d left the witching community and started a very much mortal life of my own, with my coffee shop, was because I had grown tired of always being told what to do.
Having lived with my aunt for many years, I’d soon realized that by being so close to her all the time, I wasn’t giving myself the freedom to fly and make my own choices.
However, as soon as she’d come back into my life--and my home--she’d instantly started telling me what to do.
Worse yet, I’d just started going along with it.
Sighing, I opened the cabinet and pulled out the black and silver stove-top espresso pot I’d had imported directly from Italy.
“You should have cast a spell on him,” Theo insisted, walking into the kitchen behind me and not allowing me any sense of space. “Gave him a coughing fit. Or maybe hiccups for a week.” She chuckled at the thought.
“What would that do to help?” I questioned her. Unscrewing the bottom portion of the pot and filling it with water, I eyed my aunt knowingly.
“It would be satisfying, that’s what it would help.” She jabbed me with her finger.
“Ow.” I shifted away from her. How could she still act like I was some dumb young warlock who didn’t know anything? I loved my aunt but was already growing a bit tired of her presence in my home. “I thought we weren’t supposed to interfere with mortals using our magic.” I went over to my wall coffee dispenser. This time I poured out the Guatemalan beans. They were great for espresso thanks to their very dark and almost caramel-like flavor.
“No, no, no, that’s not it,” she argued.
I was busy grinding the beans down to a fine powder, the kind perfect for espresso. “Then what do you call it?”
“No, the Coven of Covens and the Reed both say we aren’t supposed to interfere in mortal affairs. That means no fixing business, political, or even large social matters with magic. It’s best to let them fight it out among themselves.”
I placed the grounds into the filter section of the pot, in between the water container on the bottom and the silver pot on top. Unlike in a professional espresso machine such as the one in my shop, this didn’t need to be tamped down into a fine pack. “Okay, so what do you call interfering in a police investigation?”
She folded her arms. “I call it protecting my family.” Her eyes were trained on me. “And you are currently my only family left--unless you are planning on meeting up with some nice witch and settling down to have a litter of cute little magic-users.”
“Not anytime soon,” I responded.
“Anyway, giving him a powerfully unseasonal cold wouldn’t hurt him. It would just teach him a little lesson. Not to mention, he needs to be put in his place because they’re trying to blame you.”
Setting the pot on the stove, I turned on medium heat. Facing my aunt, I folded my arms in a mirror of her own stance and leaned back against the counter. “I hate to say it, Auntie, but I think us interfering is just making things worse.”
Her jaw dropped wide open. “How is that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That the detective saw me at the shop, saw me talking to one of his witnesses, and now has even more reason to suspect me. If I’d simply spent the day here at home sipping coffee and reading a good book, they may not be thinking of me at all.”
Theo wrinkled up her nose. “No, we can’t simply be passive here. If some rascal of a killer decided to drag you into all of this, I intend to make sure they pay for what they’ve done.”
Sighing, I walked out of the kitchen and sat at the small four chair dining table I had. I was exhausted.
Theo followed me, sitting close and reaching out to clasp my hand in hers. “Look, daaa’ling. I know I can be pushy, I know I can be troublesome, but you’re the only family I have. I love you. I cherish you more than anything else in this world.” she gave me that familiar half-smirk, leaning in close. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
I let out a long breath of air, realizing how ungrateful I’d been. I squeezed her hand. “You’re right, Auntie. What would I do without you?”
“Yes, what have you been doing without me these past years?” she questioned.
I chuckled, leaning across the table and giving her a big bear hug. For having not spoken to her for all this time, I felt guilty, and like I’d been missing out on something special. I knew I could never leave my warlock heritage entirely behind.
“Now,” she said, pulling away from me. “Who is our next suspect to question?”
Chapter Nineteen
“I look terrible,” I’d told my aunt before leaving the house.
Now, sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, I glanced in the rearview mirror and cringed again. The bald head and bushy mustache were not becoming, but I certainly didn’t look like myself--which was the intended purpose.
Usually, a magical glamor was used to make oneself look nicer, more presentable, more handsome, more beautiful, whatever. I occasionally used them on days I couldn’t get my hair to cooperate or when I wanted a little bit more muscle definition.
Today, however, I’d gone a different route. I’d made myself look older and added a few less than flattering elements.
I felt it was necessary if we were going to continue investigating on our own. I didn’t want a repeat incident of the one at Antonio’s. If I ran into Detective Miner again, I wanted him to not to recognize me wh
atsoever.
Adding a couple of elements with a glamour was hopefully enough to keep his suspicions off me while I went and had a one-on-one chat with Jacob about the night of the murder. He was a bit of a loose cannon, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was truly capable of murder.
Not to mention, he’d also threatened me that day, so getting hit over the head and left behind to be implicated in a murder case could easily be his version of revenge.
It was all the more reason to not appear as myself when I showed up at his door.
One thing many newbie witches and warlocks don’t understand about glamours, is how complicated they are. Adding one or two small things, slightly adjusting your age, all of that was very doable.
However, trying to change your entire appearance was a difficult task. Not only did it take a lot of magic, it also had the potential for wearing off faster. It took a bit of concentration to keep things going. Someone might notice you don’t move or walk correctly for a specific stature.
More than that, trying to copy a specific person was next to impossible. I could imagine someone suggesting I just make myself look like Detective Miner before going to do the questioning--but no. Copying someone exactly just wasn’t something even worth trying. You had to keep an exact image of that person in your mind at all times. You needed a photograph of them when doing the spell. However, even with a picture, you were likely to get things wrong that would tip someone off who knew the person in real life.
All of those setbacks don’t even scratch the surface of the social issues it can cause. What if you don’t know enough about them to pull it off, to answer personal questions? Worse yet, what if you ran into the exact person you were impersonating?
No, it was just too risky. Not to mention, the Coven of Covens might find out and punish you for putting all of witch-kind at risk.
That was why I went with something simple. At a glance, most people wouldn’t be able to recognize me, and that’s what I was betting on.
It was about a twenty-minute drive across town from the old downtown and lakeside areas to the newer suburbs and neighborhoods where many tourists kept their summer homes. I took a lot of time weaving through forested areas that separated the sections of the city.
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