Witch on Ice

by Cat Larson

  “I meant the carvings.”

  Of course, he was talking about the decorative carvings. What else would he have been referring to—our first kiss inside that room? Luckily for him, my sister hadn’t found out or else he might’ve been speaking to me through a duck bill instead of lips.

  We squeezed in single file until we were inside the area that had always reminded me of a prehistoric cave, complete with ancient symbols etched into the walls. It was the small details like this that made the exhibit so remarkable. Even looking at them now, I still couldn’t decipher what they meant. When we were really young, we’d sometimes pretend to be archeologists on a mission to solve the mystery.

  I heard the mumbling of people who’d just entered. “We’d better keep moving,” I said. I’d already decided to make this the last stop of the night. I had to get back and rest up for the early morning. If all worked according to plan, there was even a chance I could return to the festival the following day holding Fernando’s hand instead of his entire body.

  We had to lower our heads to get out of the room and keep lowering them until we were crouched down. It’d only be a matter of time before we’d be crawling on all fours. The tunnels were wide enough to fit two adults side by side but stunted enough to warrant the huge warning sign that was posted by the entrance. Needless to say, it was not a feat for the claustrophobic.

  “Is it just me or was this more fun when we were kids?”

  We dropped to our knees—oof!—and shuffled along on the cold, hard ground. “Not just you,” I said. Fortunately, the lights remained on throughout the entire thing so we weren’t having to touch our way while plunged into darkness. “But definitely worth it.” Toward the end, you passed through a section that made you feel like you were exploring the bottom of the lake. There was even a sea monster you had to climb over to get out.

  “Definitely,” he agreed. A flash of harsh orange light temporarily blinded us and we dropped our heads. “So, what’d you grow up to become—an archeologist or a marine biologist?”

  “Neither. And I still haven’t found out if you’re making a fabulous living off your magic tricks.”

  “Sadly, no. I’ve barely done any magic in years. I kinda lost interest when my assistant left.” He spoke it lightheartedly, but I still remained focused on the ground, even though the lights were no longer piercing my eyeballs. “I’m sorry, Samm. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I wasn’t dredging up the past.”

  “I know. It’s okay. What is it you do then?”

  “I’m a writer.”

  Whoa. That got my attention. I lifted my head and faced him. “A writer? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He grinned. “Nope.”

  “The guy who barely passed English is now a writer?”

  “Yep. Real books and everything.”

  Wow. “Books, huh? I don’t recall seeing your name out there. What do you write?”

  We rounded a corner as I waited for his answer. I could not wait to look him up. His books were going straight to the top of my to-be-read pile.

  “Thrillers mostly. You haven’t seen my name because I use a pen. I prefer to keep my anonymity, especially around here.”

  “I get that.” Yeah, I could fully understand his need for privacy, but by the same token, I fought the urge to invade it. I was dying to ask him what that pen name was. “I sure like me a good thriller every now and then. They’re great when I need to stay up all night.” Hint, hint.

  We took a sharp turn, colliding shoulders. “Hmm. If I weren’t mistaken, I’d say you were asking me to reveal my secret—”

  My scream drowned out the rest of his words, or maybe it was the heavy clunking sound my head made when it whacked against the low ceiling as I sprung up. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. Why should such trivial details matter when my childhood nemesis, Misty Evans, was right before me.

  Frozen solid inside the tunnel wall.

  Chapter Seven

  “Tell me again what happened but slower this time.” He dragged his hands down his face. “Much slower.”

  “Come on, man. Can’t you see how shaken up she is? Give her a break. She’s been through enough already.”

  I stared down at the steaming cup of coffee in my hand. I had to force myself to take a sip. It was extra dark and rich, the kind that makes your chest feel like a carpet. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve loved it. But now? Nope. This was about as far from normal as you could get, and ten gallons of joe wouldn’t have been enough to drown out the ghastly image in my mind.

  Misty inside the ice. Frozen. Her mouth wide open as if she’d been cut off mid-scream. Her hands pressed against the wall, fingers spread, giving the impression that she’d tried to claw her way out. Flippin’ frozen stiff like some slab of beef in the butcher shop freezer. Ugh. Not a pretty sight by any means. I couldn’t stand the woman, but even I wouldn’t have wished her a fate like that.

  I sighed, dropping my head. Griffin was right by my side trying to comfort me. Trying to protect me from his older brother, a guy I’d known almost as long as Griff.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” I told Damon. “I don’t think I’ve said that yet, have I?”

  “See?” Griffin smacked his brother on the arm. “Now, she’s delirious.”

  I waved it off. “No, I’m fine. Really.” Well, as fine as I could be. “But seriously, your father must be so proud.” I’d meant it sincerely in my brain, but when it had left my mouth, it’d come out sarcastically.

  Damon humphed, and I wanted to assure him I was genuine. Since Griffin hadn’t taken after his father in the law field like he’d hoped, at least one son had. Before long, Damon would be Chief of Police. If he could stay awake long enough.

  “Are you happy?” I asked. “I mean, with the boredom? Being a cop in this town must be a snoozefest.” I chuckled, the sound coming out garbled. “Of course, that doesn’t apply tonight, right? But if you wanted more excitement, I’m sure you wouldn’t have chosen something so gruesome…”

  Great. Nothing was coming out as intended. I was babbling like a halfwit and probably hurting the situation more than helping.

  I took another swallow of my coffee in order to shut my mouth up. Blech. It was cooling down too quickly. If there was anything worse than lukewarm coffee, it was tea, and since that was all Violet’s shop contained, I’d have to suck it up and drink. Then again, what if all the caffeine caused me to stay up all night? I didn’t want to just lie and stare at the ceiling, reliving the ice festival gone wrong. But if I did sleep, I’d likely have nightmares. I had to pick a lesser of two evils and stick with it.

  “Can we please get back to the matter at hand?” Damon looked less than pleased; I was probably keeping him up way past his bedtime. I couldn’t imagine there were many late nights spent crime-fighting in Bigfoot Bay.

  “Sorry,” I said, instructing my mouth to behave, “but there’s not much more to say. Griffin and I went to the ice exhibit and were the first ones in the tunnel. We crawled through, turned a corner, and saw a Misty popsicle. That’s it. I swear.”

  I drew out my words so slowly even a non-native English speaker could’ve understood them. I think that just annoyed him further. Dang it, I couldn’t catch a break here. “Did I happen to mention how buff you look? You must’ve been hitting the gym pretty hard. Way to go.” I initiated a fist bump but he didn’t bite.

  “What?”

  I made a muscle. “You’ve bulked up. When you were a kid, you could’ve disappeared standing behind Sage.” Seriously. Thirteen years earlier, I could’ve used him to knit a sweater.

  “Do you think this is a joke, Samm?”

  “What? Of course not. It’s a compliment. And for the record, I go by Eve now.” He’d probably need that information for his official report.

  “I’m not talking about my physical appearance. I’m talking about your cavalier attitude toward finding the victim.”

  Maybe I was being too flippant, but I didn�
��t know what else Damon wanted me to tell him. Cop or not, he was kinda being a jerk here. I knew he had a job to do, but after the rotten twenty-four hours I’d had, I didn’t need anything else added to my garbage pile.

  “You know, strike that last comment. I don’t want to go on the record at all. I just want to go back to Chicago and…” Holy crud. Fernando.

  “And what?”

  I stole a glance at the closed bedroom door. Fortunately, Officer Beat a Dead Horse hadn’t caught me looking. In all the craziness, I hadn’t been able to check on Fernando yet. My head wilted. It was official. Worst. Fiancée. Ever.

  “Are we done here?” Griffin paced the room, probably mistaking my head drop for a sign of exhaustion. “We did everything right. I called you the instant we found Misty, and we waited for you to arrive and investigate, even though it’s brutal out there and poor Sammi couldn’t stop shivering.”

  “I was well aware of her discomfort, Griffin. Why do you think I gave her a ride back to the shop before I’d finished speaking with her?”

  Oh yeah. Maybe I’d been too hasty with my jerk assessment. Damon hadn’t kept me blue-lipped longer than necessary; he hadn’t even hauled me down to the station. He allowed me to come back to familiar territory so I could dethaw with a hot beverage. Who knew the neighborhood gas station made such a decent brew? I filed that tidbit away for the next time I needed a fix at this hour. Wait, what was I talking about? I’d better not be around here long enough for a next time.

  “You never did tell me what you’re doing back in town.”

  “I came to visit my sister. I’m sure you saw the news in the local gazette.”

  “After all this time, what made you decide to come back right now?” I shrugged. “What’s it been, about thirteen-fourteen years?”

  “Thirteen. But who’s counting.”

  “And where is your sister? I’d like to speak to her too.”

  “Good question.”

  Damon sat on the couch beside me, steepling his fingers. “You’re saying you don’t know?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ve been looking for her since I came into town, so if you see her, could you let me know, please?”

  He stroked his stubbled jaw. “Interesting.”

  “Not to me. Look, I just want to see Violet then forget all this. My reunion home hasn’t exactly been a celebration.”

  “Do you want to know what else I find interesting? You coming into the station last night during a blizzard and asking Officer Hansen to trace your fiancé’s car. Care to tell me what that was all about?”

  Griffin stopped pacing. “Fiancé?” I nodded. “Huh. I guess you were right about it being serious.”

  “Told you.”

  “Samm,” Damon said, “why would your fiancé’s car be in Bigfoot Bay?”

  “I wasn’t saying that it was. I only wondered if he could find it. As I’m sure Mike told you, he suggested a PI instead.”

  “Because you suspect he’s cheating on you. You wanted to know if his car is parked in another woman’s driveway.” Officer Einstein thought he had it all figured out, did he? Ha. He was in for a surprise.

  “And this is the man you’re going to marry?” Griffin threw up his hands. “I knew he wasn’t good enough for you.”

  I opened my mouth to correct him, but since Damon was listening in, what were my other options? I could say it wasn’t a relationship concern, but then I’d have to come up with another reason why I was searching for his car. The situation was already messy enough. I sure hoped Fernando wasn’t listening through the door.

  “Cool your jets, Griffin. That’s not the issue here.”

  Cool your jets? Was I talking to Damon or his father?

  Griffin clenched his fists, and I took the opposite approach, melting into the couch and faking a yawn. “Can we be done now? I’m really tired.” I rubbed my eyes for good measure.

  “Not quite.” Griffin threw up his hands again, and I appreciated his annoyance on my behalf. “Tell me about your fight with the victim that occurred earlier this morning.”

  My lids popped up. “My fight?”

  “What the heck, Damon? She’s not a suspect.”

  “This is the second time you called Misty a victim,” I said. “Are you implying this was a murder?”

  “I’m not implying anything. Victim is also the term I’d use for an accidental death.” Damon’s eyes never wavered from mine. “I answered your question, now answer mine. The fight?”

  “Um, I wouldn’t exactly call it a fight. More like a case of a demonic snake trying to eat my—”

  I cut myself off with a gulp of nasty warm coffee, taking one for the team. I shuddered.

  He tilted his head. “Trying to eat your what?”

  I cradled the paper cup in my hands like it was a mug of the finest expresso. “Would you like me to run out and pick you up another one?” Griffin asked. “I can’t imagine that’s too hot anymore.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but no. I’m fine. I’m hoping to be asleep soon anyway.”

  Damon didn’t take the hint. “Trying to eat your what?” he repeated.

  I frowned. “Trying to eat whatever was in my purse. That menace she carries around—sorry, carried around—should be illegal. Ask Mrs. Swanson at Murphy’s Pet Store. She’ll tell you the same thing.”

  “And that’s what you were fighting about? Her snake?”

  “We weren’t ‘fighting.’” I emphasized the point with air quotes, almost dumping the rest of the coffee on me. “I told you that already. She just got in my face in true Misty-fashion. I guess she wasn’t pleased to see me again. It’s no secret we’ve never been the best of friends.”

  “You have a pet?”

  “Nope, no pets.”

  “Then why were you in a pet store?”

  “Mrs. Swanson owns the place now, and she’s always been my favorite teacher.”

  “If I recall—” All three of us directed our attention toward my dead ringing cell phone. “You gonna answer that?”

  “Nope.”

  Damon stared it down like it contained all the evidence needed to crack the case wide open. Then he stared at me like I was hiding something. Whatever.

  “What if it’s Violet?”

  “It’s not.”

  The ringing stopped, just to start right back up again. “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Be my guest.” Damon picked it up and peered at the screen. “Let me guess. Unknown caller?”

  Ignoring me, he hit Accept. “Hello.” He pulled the phone away, scrunching up his face. Bringing it back, he said, “No, thank you. Yes, I’m sure. I said—” The voice echoing out the other end was high-pitched, but I couldn’t make out the words. “Do I sound like someone who wants a subscription to Pink Poodles Weekly?”

  He tossed the cell aside, and I chuckled. A haunted phone was amusing when it wasn’t me on the receiving end.

  “As I was saying,” Damon continued, “Misty didn’t get along too well with your sister either. In fact, there’ve been many public disagreements between them over the years.”

  “That I can’t confirm or deny, seeing as I haven’t been around.”

  “But you two must keep in contact with each other. Phone, email…” He glanced around. “Handwritten letters.”

  “My sister and I weren’t pen pals. And she never kept me up to date on any so-called public disagreements with the… deceased.”

  “Hmm.” He continued to scope out the place as if expecting a lead to jump out from behind the soap bars. I understood him wanting answers, but he wasn’t going to find them here. “I’d sure like to speak to your sister.”

  “That makes two of us—wait, are you implying she’s a suspect?”

  “Damon,” Griffin warned but was met with a raised hand.

  “Again, not implying anything. All I said was that I’d like to talk to her. I need to cover all my bases. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t speak with all the victim’
s enemies.”

  “Then you’re going to be quite busy, chief-to-be, since you’ll be needing to speak with the entire town.”

  He ran a palm over his face. “Mind if I check around a bit before I leave?”

  “Don’t you need a warrant for that?”

  “Samm, I’m doing this for your protection. Considering the circumstances, I’d like to make sure everything’s secure before I leave you alone.”

  My protection? I watched him poke around the shop as my mind raced after him. I still hadn’t processed it all. He’d basically admitted that Misty’s death was a murder without saying the words. Was it? Yes, she’d frozen in the ice, but how in the heck had she gotten inside it to begin with? Those sculptures weren’t just made in the morning, and I’d seen her hours before. It was almost… supernatural.

  Holy crud.

  Could Violet have had a hand in this? She’d already proved she could do something despicable by turning Fernando soft and squishy, simply because she hated human males and didn’t want one in the family. What was she capable of when it came to a fiendish girl she’d loathed all her life? Did my sister turn Misty into a freezy pop?

  “Um, but weren’t you the one who said it could be accidental? So, why do I need protection?” Damon peeked inside the storage closet. “It’s not like someone could’ve easily stuffed her into a block of ice.”

  At least not by normal means.

  He headed toward the bedroom and my anxiety levels spiked. “At this point, I can’t rule anything out.”

  “Well, did you speak with whoever owns the exhibit? It was their sculpture. And the attendant did say the tunnel took longer to get ready. Maybe there was a break in the wall and Misty fell in, and then…” And then what? That made as much sense as celebrating the Fourth of July in December.

  “We’re doing our job. Don’t you worry about that.” Damon stepped inside Violet’s room. “I thought you said you don’t have a pet,” he called out.

  “I don’t.”

  “Does Violet?”

  “Why do you ask?” I wondered if Fernando was hopping around, almost laughing at the thought of what his human form would do to Damon for calling him a pet. Griffin’s brother may no longer have the physique of a string bean, but he still wouldn’t stand a chance in that showdown.