A Little Bit Witchy (A Riddler's Edge Cozy Mystery #1)

by A. A. Albright

  I wrinkled my nose, sipping the last of my chai tea. ‘Mr who now?’

  ‘Jared. You let a guy fawn all over you when you don’t even know his name?’

  Okay, I was no longer feeling jokey. I resisted the urge to slam my cup on my desk – or better yet, throw its contents at him. Why was this man so ridiculously rude all the time? ‘Come on.’ I stood up, smoothing down my jeans (no, they did not need to be smoothed down, but if my hands were doing that, then they weren’t throwing things). ‘Greg’s in his office. What do you want him for?’

  Detective Quinn sighed. ‘Miriam’s admitted to all of the murders except Bathsheba’s. She says she liked Bathsheba too much to kill her, and she insists that it must have been Gunnar. I’ve heard about Greg’s new aura-matching program. Maybe it can tell me if Miriam is telling the truth.’

  ≈

  I stood behind the two men while they stared at Greg’s computer screen. Sure, the detective threw me a look now and then that told me he’d rather I went elsewhere. But if he wanted me out, he’d have to ask. I was having far too much fun watching him fail to grasp the obvious.

  ‘It can’t be right, though,’ he said to Greg for the tenth time.

  ‘It is right,’ Greg insisted. ‘I took a photo of Miriam last night. Her aura is nowhere in all of the telekinetic energy that occurred during Bathsheba’s murder. If I were a betting man, I’d put every penny I had on Miriam being innocent. Of Bathsheba’s murder, at least. My program says she did murder the other three dayturners on the train.’

  The detective kicked the leg of the desk. ‘So she’s telling the truth? Okay, well then it has to be Gunnar. He has to have been the one who murdered Bathsheba.’

  Greg shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I ran his aura against Bathsheba’s murder scene and got a zero percent match.’

  ‘Well, run it again.’

  Greg pulled a packet of crisps from his pocket, opened it, and began to crunch loudly. ‘I ran it three times,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘I’m not going to get a different result running it a fourth. Look, I know you want to hang something on Gunnar, and I can’t blame you. The kid is scum. But you might have to accept that all you’re going to be able to do him for is being a member of a hate group.’

  ‘How much time in Witchfield will that get him?’ I asked.

  The detective began to grind his teeth. ‘Not enough. Dayturners were only granted equal rights a few weeks ago. And so far, Judge Redvein has been way too lenient when it comes to handing down hate crime sentences. She seems to think things will take a while to settle, and that we should all just be patient. She’ll give him two years for being a member of Vlad’s Boys, and he’ll probably get out after one.’ He leant down over Greg. ‘Have you run everyone else’s aura photo against Bathsheba’s murder scene? All the passengers? All the staff?’

  Greg scraped the last crisps out of his bag, chewed them slowly, and licked the crumbs from his hands. ‘Every single one,’ he confirmed. ‘I’m telling you – no one on that train murdered Bathsheba.’

  22. The Things We Do For Love

  I hovered at the edge of the dining room. Nollaig was playing cards with Grace and a rather dashing looking werewolf. Pru was telling fortunes at a table by the window. Malachy was dishing out amazing food, and Greg was playing barman to at least two dozen guests. This was it, the party that they swore was not my goodbye party.

  When Greg insisted on walking me straight home after work, I should have known that something was going on. And I definitely should have known when all the lights in the Vander Inn were turned off. But I’m ashamed to say that it was only when everyone leapt up and shouted, ‘Surprise!’ that I cottoned on to the reality of the situation. I know what you’re thinking – I’m the perfect person to call when you need a crime solved.

  The party had been Jared’s idea. He wanted me to meet as many local supernaturals as possible. He seemed to think that, the more people who spoke up for me, the less likely Arnold was to try and send me back to the Daily Dubliner. For a couple of hours he did the rounds, telling everyone how I’d tracked down Miriam all by myself.

  ‘Ash almost lost her life in the pursuit of justice,’ I heard him say to a middle-aged wizard at one stage. ‘Just think what a boon someone like her would be to our town.’

  He was laying it on thick, that was for sure. And I really was grateful for the efforts he was making. But the thing was, I was feeling a little on the antsy side. Whoever had murdered Bathsheba was still out there, and I’d probably never get a chance to write the real story. What I’d printed out before I left the office that evening felt so unfinished.

  No one else seemed to feel that way, though – or if they did, they were hiding it well. The party was getting more raucous by the minute. Drinks were flowing, and someone had brought a karaoke machine. Roarke turned out to be just as talented a singer as he was a puzzle-writer, and he began to belt out rock tunes at the top of his lungs.

  Jared moved on from the wizard, and began to schmooze an attractive young witch. Sure I could hear him mention my name while they talked, but I could also see the way his eyes strayed to her cleavage. Not that she seemed to mind. She was doing that whole arm-touching and hair-tossing thing. The sort of thing you read about in articles on how to flirt. Obviously I have never tried to put such advice into action.

  Either Detective Quinn wasn’t invited, or he had declined to come. I hoped I’d see him at least once more before tomorrow evening. Sure, he was a grumpy sod, but he was also the only one who told me the truth. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be seriously questioning my sanity by now.

  As the night wore on, my edginess only grew. Jared finally stopped chatting up women and joined me on the staircase, where I was hanging out with Fuzz.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t had much of a chance to chat with you. I’ve been trying to make your case to the movers and shakers. And I might have been trying to make you jealous by flirting with the last three of those movers and shakers.’ He shoulder-bumped me. ‘Did it work?’

  ‘You’re full of it,’ I replied with a wry grin.

  ‘Ah, but full of what? Awesomeness? Heroism? Sexiness? I’m not just doing this for you, you know. I’m doing it for Greg and Pru, too. They like you a lot. And Grace has been writing every single article for the paper all by herself for the last thirty years. She could probably do with some help.’

  Fuzz let out a loud meow, as though he were agreeing.

  ‘I don’t quite get what it is you think you’re doing, though. I’ve already told you guys my opinion on all of this. Arnold doesn’t want to hire a reporter. He wants to find his granddaughter. You might be able to force him not to wipe my memory, but if I don’t pass this final test tomorrow, then he’s not going to keep me on – no matter what anyone says to him.’

  Jared grabbed my hand, and I flinched. His palm felt cool, but that was probably down to the whole undead thing he had going on. ‘Sorry,’ he said, dropping my hand. ‘But I just … I’ve been thinking this through a lot. When I saw you and Miriam last night, it was like a kick to the gut. I might not know you very long, but I know I want to know you better. So I was thinking – even if you don’t stay on at the paper, that doesn’t mean you can’t still stay here, does it? At this stage, Arnold’s not going to get away with wiping your memory. So you could just … stay. And if you did, then we could go out, get to know each other.’

  I twirled a strand of my hair and eyed him, wondering just how serious he was. I’d seen him in action at this very party, and I was old enough to know that I didn’t want a drama-filled relationship. ‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘If I’m still here this time next week, I’ll go out with you. One date.’

  He grabbed my hand again. ‘Well now you’ve given me even more incentive to make sure you stay. Come on. Do the rounds with me. Show every supernatural in Riddler’s Edge just how fabulous you are.’

  I stood up, gently pulling my hand from his and gathering Fuzz into my arms. ‘M
aybe in a while. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I’m going to head upstairs for a few minutes.’

  ‘But you’ll be back?’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll be back.’

  ≈

  I opened up my one suitcase, and neatly packed all of my clothes. I kept one outfit out for tomorrow. My final day, probably. Because no matter what Jared said, I knew there was nothing any of them could do to change Arnold’s mind.

  Abby Albright, the woman who most likely was not my mother, had left the magical world for a reason. She knew what sort of man her father was, and she also knew better than to try to change him. I wouldn’t put it past the old guy to go ahead and wipe my memory, and then wipe a little bit of everyone else’s memory so that they’d forget I’d ever been here.

  And even though I was falling in love with Riddler’s Edge, I wasn’t so sure that losing my memory of it would be all that bad an outcome. Because if I was going to have to go back to Dublin without finding out who murdered Bathsheba, then I’d rather not have it eating away at me forever.

  I soon packed everything that could be packed, but I still wasn’t in the mood to go back downstairs. Fuzz jumped up onto my lap, head-bumping my belly in the cutest way.

  ‘Whatever happens, Fuzz, promise me that you won’t let me forget you. Sneak onto the train. Sneak into my bag. Do all the sneaky things you’ve got to do, but just … stay with me.’

  As I spoke, I realised just how deeply I meant every word. I loved this cat even more than I loved Riddler’s Edge. In a few short days he’d managed to make himself a permanent – and necessary – feature in my life. If I had to leave him behind, I thought my heart might just well break.

  ‘I know you’ll find a way,’ I said, snuggling closer to him. ‘Because you know by now that I’m kind of in love with you. And I dunno about you, Fuzz, but I would do anything for love.’

  The cat purred and head-bumped me again.

  ‘That’s all Arnold was doing, I guess,’ I rambled on. ‘He was doing it for love. He loved his daughter so much – too much – that he wanted to protect her from the world. He …’ I abruptly stopped talking, as a thought entered my mind.

  I stood up, placing the cat on the bed. ‘Sorry, Fuzz,’ I said. ‘But I’ve just had a thought and … well … I’ve got to go and annoy Detective Grumpy Pants about it. I’ll leave the door open so you can get out, okay? Not that you actually need it to be left open, my crafty little cat.’

  Fuzz began to lick his paws – a sure sign that he was quite all right on his own – so I ran from the room, sped down the stairs and searched for Greg.

  ≈

  ‘I know you’re home,’ I said, banging on the door of the lighthouse and talking through the letterbox. ‘It’s night time, and your car is here. I seriously doubt you’d go out without your car at night if you could help it.’

  The door was jerked open, and Detective Quinn stood in front of me, wearing nothing but a towel. ‘I wasn’t ignoring you, you nutjob!’ he barked. ‘I was in the bloody shower.’

  ‘Oh.’ I did my best not to let my eyes linger on his upper body. Yeah, it was a little on the pale side, but it was ripped. Seriously ripped. ‘Well, what do you expect me to think? I assumed you were being just as rude as you usually are. Are you em … are you alone?’

  His hands shielded his eyes, and he stepped back into the hallway. ‘Of course I’m alone. Come in, you idiot. Before I get a rash.’

  I stepped inside. ‘You mean a rash because of the darkness, right? Not a rash because I’m irritating?’

  ‘I’m thinking both are equally possible,’ he drawled. ‘So why are you banging on my door in the middle of the night? Shouldn’t you be off enjoying the party that lover boy is throwing for you?’

  He reached a hand up to towel his hair, and my eyes followed the motion. A little hungrily, I guess, because he suddenly said, ‘You know what – hold off on whatever you’re about to tell me until I get dressed.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said with a gulp as he walked towards the stairs. ‘I’ll put some coffee on.’

  ≈

  Five minutes later, I was still pawing confusedly at his coffee machine. I had pressed the button that I figured I ought to press, and fiddled about with some levers that looked like they needed fiddling with, but nothing seemed to be happening.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He appeared behind me, fully clothed, shaking his head and pressing a button that I’d already pressed. ‘You need to switch it on, genius.’

  ‘I already pressed that button, though,’ I said, then trailed off as the machine went into action. ‘Or maybe I just pressed one that looked like it. I mean, it’s great to have a coffee-maker that looks all sleek and shiny and everything, but a label here or there wouldn’t go amiss.’

  He sighed. ‘I’ll get onto the manufacturer. Why are you here, anyway?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. That. I was just wondering … did you do anything to discount Donald from your suspect list?’

  His eyes bulged. ‘Donald? Listen, I know there are some detectives who think it’s always the spouse. But trust me, this time it’s definitely not the spouse.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, did you even go down that avenue?’

  ‘No. Why would I? Vlad’s Boys were behind the rest of the murders, and they were behind this one, too. I just have to find the proof.’ He sat into a stool at the kitchen counter. ‘You never saw Donald and Bathsheba together. I did. They were the real thing, Miss Smith. True love. I already told you how they only turned into vampires because they couldn’t bear to be without each other. He could no sooner kill his wife than he could himself.’

  I sat down next to him. ‘Detective … I can see the twelve zillion photos of you and the beauty queen all over this lighthouse, so I know you know what love is. And love like that – big love – that’s exactly why I think it was Donald. Bathsheba couldn’t bear being a dayturner. She told me as much on the train. She said she hated her condition. And she told me that her husband made her the coffee in her vacuum flask. Did you even test that flask?’

  He shot me the sort of look that seemed to say: I didn’t think I could find you more irritating than I already do, but it turns out I was wrong.

  ‘Miss Smith, why in the world didn’t you mention this flask before?’

  My mouth hung open and I shook my head. ‘I did!’ I spat. ‘I mentioned it just before you had Gretel shoo me out of the dining car. I assumed that even though you hated me on sight, you would have at least followed a viable lead.’

  He stood up and gripped the countertop, his skin turning even paler than usual. Well, now I had no idea what he was thinking, but seeing as he was probably thinking it about me, then I doubted it was pleasant.

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘I thought I explained already. I was keeping my distance because I was annoyed about what Arnold was doing.’

  I gritted my teeth. He wasn’t that annoyed. If he was, he would have been at the party tonight, doing what Jared and the others were doing – trying to find a way that I could stay. ‘Whatever. Look, why are we arguing about this?’ I said, brushing my irritation aside. ‘Did you test the flask or not?’

  He swallowed. ‘I … I don’t even remember seeing a vacuum flask. I mean, I vaguely remember you babbling about something when I was telling Gretel to get you out of the dining car but … no. We didn’t take a flask into evidence. Are you sure you saw one? I mean, we went over the place with a magical tooth comb. Maybe you imagined it.’

  ‘Oh, you did not just say that.’ I stood up and glared at him. ‘I’ve been accused of imagining things all my life, Detective Quinn. Those people were wrong to accuse me, and you’re wrong now. There was a flask. And if you’re struggling to think of where it could have gone, then I suggest you go into a different line of work. I’ve only known about this world for a few days, and even I know how quickly vampires can move, how they can vaporize themselves, get in and out of anywhere without being seen. Jus
t remind me again? What manner of supernatural is Donald?’

  He clenched his jaw. ‘It wasn’t Donald. I’m sorry, but it just wasn’t.’

  I opened up my bag, my hands shaking with anger. ‘Greg let me borrow his laptop,’ I said, trying to keep my voice calm while I pulled the computer from my bag and switched it on. It booted up quickly, and I found Greg’s photo folder, then opened up a picture of Donald and copied it into the aura-matching program. ‘Greg used one of his aura filters when he took Donald’s photo,’ I explained. ‘He had no intention of testing Donald against the murder scene. He wanted to see if grief had an effect on a person’s aura.’

  I glanced at Detective Quinn while I worked. His jaw was still clenched, and I could tell that he wanted me to be wrong more than anything. Had I really believed this conversation would go differently? I knew he hated Vlad’s Boys, and I couldn’t say I blamed him, but I had hoped that he would at least take me seriously.

  I had defended him to Arnold. To Jared, too. And right now I had no idea why. Maybe he was inept. Maybe he couldn’t see far enough past his hatred of Vlad’s Boys to be able to do his job. I quickly finished typing in the commands Greg had written down for me, and looked up at the detective as the aura-matching program began to run. ‘We’ll soon know whether I’m imagining things or not. Won’t we?’

  As I spoke, his face was growing paler than ever. I looked back at the screen, and I could see why. It read: One hundred percent match.

  He swallowed, took a set of keys from a bowl on the counter and tossed them my way. ‘I’m going to go grab my night gear. Start the car.’

  ≈

  ‘Explain to me again why I’m driving?’ I asked as I sped erratically along the forest road. It was ages since I’d driven, but I doubted regular practice would improve my skills behind the wheel.