Wicked Ways: Death at the DuMond (A Cozy Witch Mystery Book 1)

by Ava Collins

  “What are you doing in here?” Gibbs asked.

  “Investigating,” I said, rubbing the bump on my head.

  “Breaking and entering.” Gibbs holstered his weapon.

  “There was no breaking involved.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “I have my ways,” I said.

  Gibbs eyed me suspiciously. “Hand them over.”

  “What?”

  “The keys.”

  I shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I don’t have any keys.”

  “You’re a bad liar. Hand them over.”

  I dug into my pocket and handed Gibbs the set of master keys.

  “Who’d you get these from?”

  I shrugged again.

  “Never mind,” Gibbs sighed. “You can’t do illegal stuff when you’re trying to solve crimes.”

  “But you’re in here rummaging around?”

  “I’m a cop. You’re not. Now, get out of here.”

  I reluctantly started for the door.

  “You know, I ran a background check on you,” Gibbs said. He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at me.

  “And what did you find?”

  “Nothing,” he confessed. “Try to make sure it stays that way.”

  I nodded. “Oh, I think you should look into Otto.” I told Detective Gibbs about my suspicions. He rolled his eyes and thought the whole theory to be a little far-fetched.

  “You want me to get a search warrant and look for a stolen painting?” Gibbs asked, mocking me. “All because someone, who’s name you won’t reveal, said they saw a Picasso in Otto’s apartment?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m going to need more to go on than that.”

  I frowned. “What were you looking for here?”

  “Just a routine check,” Gibbs said. “Charlotte reported some items stolen from her car. I thought I’d look over Mrs. DuMond's apartment again while I was here.”

  “What was stolen?”

  Gibbs pulled out his tiny notepad from his coat pocket. He flipped through the pages, then read from a list. “One ladies gold Rolex watch. One diamond engagement ring. $50 in cash. One smart phone.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Sometime between the night of the murder and now,” Gibbs said. “With all the excitement, she didn’t notice the items were missing until now.”

  I thought about this a moment. I distinctly remember feeling like I wasn’t alone in the parking garage when I discovered the body. My instincts are usually never wrong.

  “Do you think the thief could have witnessed the murder?” I asked.

  Gibbs shrugged. “It’s unlikely. We’re talking a large window of time when those items could have been stolen. The odds that some snatch-and-grab artist happened to be in the parking garage at the same time of the murder is slim.”

  “But possible.”

  Gibbs nodded in reluctant agreement.

  “So are you looking around at the local pawn shops to see if the stolen goods have turned up?”

  Gibbs’s face tightened. He was getting a little irritated with me. “Yes, I’ve got an officer calling around.”

  “You’re not so sure Jake did it anymore, are you?”

  Gibbs sighed. He muttered, “If you can bring me something concrete, I’ll entertain the notion that Jake might, and I say might, be innocent. Now get out of here.”

  I nodded and left the apartment. Bancroft was waiting for me in the hallway.

  “I can’t believe you just left me in there,” I said.

  “I didn’t leave you. I was trying to possess the spider so it wouldn’t bite you,” Bancroft said. “And if you think spiders are creepy on the outside, try being on the inside.” He shivered as he said the words.

  “You can possess spiders?”

  “Small lifeforms. Spiders, cockroaches, mice. I’m working my way up. One day I might be able to possess a cat.” Bancroft was hopeful.

  “What about people?”

  “That’s a whole different ballgame. It takes a lot of spiritual energy. Or magic. Usually, the person has to be open to it.”

  “What about demonic possession?” I asked.

  Bancroft chuckled. “In 107 years, I’ve never seen a demon. I think those people are faking it.” He sighed. “But then again, in 107 years, I’ve never seen another ghost.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better. In 19 years, you’re the only ghost I’ve seen.” I smiled at him.

  “You know I would never let anything bad happen to you,” Banksy said.

  My heart melted just a little bit. “I know.” I smiled and wanted to hug him, but I couldn’t.

  “Come on, Banksy. We’ve got work to do.”

  I called a every pawn shop in the city to see if the stolen items had turned up. But it was a dead end. The thief had to be fencing the stolen goods somehow. But I wasn’t exactly tied into the criminal underground. So, I had no idea where else to look.

  Ironically, if Otto was dealing in stolen art, he probably knew others who were dealing in stolen merchandise as well. But it wasn’t like I could go and ask him directly without raising suspicion. It’s not like he would admit to it, or tell me anyway.

  This was going to call for a bit of magic. I was going to need to do a location spell. I shuddered at the thought. I had promised Mom that I wouldn’t do any heavy magic. Especially after what happened in high school. My stomach fluttered with nerves.

  The last time I had done any real magic, that outcome was horrible. It was a stupid thing to do, in retrospect. But I was madly, desperately in love with my, then, boyfriend—in that dreamy, fluffy kind of way. The kind of way that makes the rational part of your brain stop functioning. Even if I hadn’t done something stupid, I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked out with Dylan anyway. Not past high school, at least.

  I got jealous. And I’m not really the jealous type. But I saw him out on a date with my best friend. I reacted in a less than ideal way. Okay, so I freaked out. Instead of just handling the situation calmly, I took drastic measures. Measures that seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.

  My heart was broken, and my stomach felt like a hollow pit. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I was frenzied at the thought of losing Dylan. So, against my better judgment, I conjured up a love potion. Something I had never done before. Something that I wasn’t very good at.

  To this day, I’m not exactly sure what went wrong. But it didn’t make him love me more. It transformed him into a hideous troll. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have given him the potion in the cafeteria during lunch. Chaos ensued. I think I put in too much eye of newt.

  The transformation only lasted a few hours. Mom was furious. Grandma thought the potion was probably just bringing out his true personality. Who knows, maybe the potion worked just like it was supposed to. Perhaps every wrong choice gets you closer to the right one.

  Needless to say, Dylan wasn’t too happy with me after that. Especially given the fact that he says he was only out with my best friend in order to talk about me. He says he was afraid he was losing me and wanted the inside scoop from her about how to keep me.

  Ugh. Boys.

  After that incident, I have been a little gun shy. I didn’t really want to do a location spell, but I had no choice. I would need something of Charlotte’s. But it’s not like I could tell Charlotte that I needed one of her possessions to perform a spell. She would think me crazy. And as a general rule, witches are supposed to keep their craft to themselves.

  I wracked my brain thinking about how I could acquire one of her possessions. Short of breaking into her apartment, I was at a loss. I had done enough snooping around already. Besides, I’m not very good at location spells. And stealing items to perform a spell is bad mojo. I needed to acquire the item legitimately.

  “Why don’t you just ask her to borrow a dress?” Bancroft said. “You both are about the same size.”

  “Banksy, you are brilliant.”

&
nbsp; I scurried to Elliott’s apartment and knocked on the door. Charlotte answered and looked a little perplexed. I don’t blame her, I didn’t ever really speak to her outside of social gatherings. I’m sure she was shocked to see me.

  “Hi, Charlotte. How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she stammered.

  “I have a huge favor to ask.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t loan you any money.” She started to close the door.

  “No, I’m not asking for money,” I blurted out.

  Charlotte paused. “Then, what do you want?”

  “I have an event. And I have nothing to wear. I thought that since you are always so impeccably dressed, that you might be able to help me.”

  Her eyes surveyed me, wondering what I was up to.

  “We are relatively the same size. I was wondering if it would be too much to ask if I could borrow a dress?”

  She looked me up and down. “We’re not at all the same size. I’m much smaller than you are.”

  I tried to hold my disdain back. But I couldn’t. Charlotte and I are obviously the same size. I might even be a little smaller. I felt my face grow red, and I’m sure my eyes blazed into her. My first thought was to cast a spell that would make her crave chocolate. But I refrained.

  Instead, I forced a smile. “Yes, of course. You’re teeny tiny. I just thought that perhaps, with your fashion expertise, you might be able to offer some advice. Maybe you have an old dress that is too large? One that you bought by mistake, of course?”

  “All of my dresses are tailored to fit. And very expensive.”

  Her snide remark grated on my nerves. Still, I maintained a pleasant demeanor. “Well, you have excellent taste.”

  I smiled, thanked her for her time, and left. I was going to have to get one of her belongings another way.

  CHAPTER 12

  TRASH PICKUP IS in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Most of the residents just leave their rubbish in plastic bags in the hallway the night before. I wasn’t keen on digging through Charlotte’s garbage. But I figured I had a good shot at coming across something she discarded.

  Technically, if she discarded a belonging, it wouldn’t really be hers anymore. I wondered if the location spell would still work. Still, it was worth a shot. Though, I have never been very good at location spells.

  I waited until the evening for Charlotte to set out her trash. Once the coast was clear, I snatched a couple of bags and met Banksy in the model apartment.

  It was absolutely disgusting. Sometime, in the last few days, Charlotte and Elliott had eaten grilled salmon. Now it was rotting in the trash. The smell was overwhelming when I opened the bag. I thought I was going to hurl. My stomach rumbled, and I felt the sour taste of acid tickle the back of my throat. I pulled my shirt collar up over my nose as I dug through the slimy filth.

  Banksy was laughing at me.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “I can’t smell a thing.” He smiled.

  I glared at him. “I hate you.”

  “Yes, but remember, I can’t smell roses, or perfume, or any other delightful aroma.” He sighed.

  As a ghost, Bancroft couldn’t touch, taste, or feel anything. As much as I was nauseated by the smell of the garbage, I felt sorry for Banksy. Half of his senses were gone. For over a hundred years, he hadn’t eaten a pizza, or tasted cake, or smelled bacon in the morning. That sounded kind of miserable to me. Bacon is my guilty pleasure.

  Bancroft says that sometimes he can sort of feel things. In the same way that he can knock a picture from the wall, or push open a door. He says it’s like an echo of a feeling. A sensation that is very faint. But he says it takes a lot of concentration.

  I dug through the first bag and couldn’t find anything of use. The second bag smelled even worse. Rotten eggs and days old chicken. The bag was full of papers, milk cartons, plastic water bottles, used coffee grounds, soda cans. There were bank statements and credit card receipts. I was a little shocked they didn’t bother to shred those. It is amazing what you can learn about people from the trash.

  The second bag was a bust. I still hadn’t found anything of Charlotte’s I could use to anchor the spell. I was going to be really upset if I had to suffer through the stench for nothing.

  Alas, the third bag was more of the same. Warm, stale garbage. I was devastated. I tied the bags up and threw them out in the hallway. Then I scrubbed my hands in the bathroom for what seemed like half an hour. One’s hands can never be too clean.

  I sulked back into the living room. “Bancroft, what am I going to do?”

  “Why don’t you just tell her you’re a witch and you need something of hers to cast a spell to find her Rolex?” He sat back in the chair. “With as money hungry as she is, I’d think she’d want that Rolex back as quickly as possible.”

  “I should just tell her I see ghosts while I’m at it,” I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m sure all of that would go over very well.”

  “I’ve always found it best to appeal to one’s vanity when asking for favors,” Bancroft said.

  I thought about this for a moment, then lit up with excitement. Bancroft’s words sparked an idea. “Banksy, you’re a genius,” I said.

  I dashed back to Charlotte’s apartment and knocked on the door. After a few moments she pulled the door open. Her eyes filled with annoyance when she saw me again.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “And I’m almost a little bit embarrassed to admit this. But I’m kind of a fan.”

  Her judgmental eyes brightened. “Oh, really?”

  I doted on her and acted shy. “They’re replaying one of your old matches on the sports history channel.”

  “Which one?”

  My heart jumped into my throat. I was completely making it up. And I really hadn’t followed her career. “The match against Serena,” I stammered.

  Her body drooped, and sadness washed over her face. “If I wasn’t injured during that match, I think I could have pulled out a win.”

  “I think you are amazing. It was just a bad break,” I said. “Would it be too much to ask for an autograph?”

  Her face lit up for a moment. Then she tried to hide her excitement. “Well, I guess. I’d hate to disappoint a fan.” She paused and looked at me, concerned. “You’re not going to sell this on the Internet, are you?”

  “Oh, no. It’s something I’d cherish.” I almost gagged.

  “Do you have something for me to sign?”

  “How about a tennis ball?” I asked.

  “Hang on, I think I have one around here.” She disappeared into the apartment. Then came back a few moments later with a fuzzy yellow ball, signed in black sharpie.

  I took the ball from her and admired it with glee. The instant I touched it, I felt its energy. It was as though I was transported court side. I could hear the roar of the crowd. The ping of the ball, volleyed against the racquet. The sound of sneakers shuffling against the clay court. The ball was powerful. Almost magical.

  I thanked Charlotte profusely, then I met up with Bancroft. It was time to cast a spell.

  CHAPTER 13

  LOCATION SPELLS ARE tricky. At least, they always have been for me. Most witches use water as the conduit for the vision. I don’t like to use water. You try carrying a bowl of water around as you are looking for something. I prefer the use of a mirror. Though, it does take more energy to display a vision.

  I drew a triangle on the floor in chalk. Then I set a blue candle on each corner. It felt a little strange after not performing magic in so long. But it also felt good. Like I was getting back to my true calling.

  When it works, triangle magic is extremely powerful. It’s better suited toward offensive maneuvers. If you need protection, or need to contain something, by all means use a circle. The circle is a perfect form and virtually impenetrable. But triangles are great for focusing energy.

  I put the tennis ball in the center of the triangle, along with a h
and mirror and a gemstone. I sprinkled an herb about the triangle. I’m not going to say which herb, that’s my little secret. And I drizzled bits of the herb over each candle flame. It sizzled and cracked as it vaporized. Wafts of blue smoke rose into the air. The room filled with a spicy aroma.

  I wrote a spell on a piece of paper. The key to making a spell work is to clear your mind and focus your intention. Any stray thought in your mind could weaken the spell. Thinking about your to do list, homework, or bills that needed to be paid would definitely affect things negatively.

  Too much distraction and unfocused thought, and you might end up in a worse situation. You might find yourself with double the amount of homework tomorrow. Your to do list might grow. Someone might even feel obligated to raise your rent. You might turn someone into a troll.

  It’s a lot like mindful meditation. Once my head was clear, I made sure to only focus on the things that I wanted to find. Charlotte’s Rolex watch, and her engagement ring. I didn’t bother to focus on the $50 in cash that was supposedly stolen. That could send me off in all kinds of directions. The same for the cell phone. Too many of the same models floating around. Specificity is the key to any successful spell.

  I had a good mental picture of her Rolex, and her engagement ring. Charlotte was always more than happy to show off her jewelry. She had shown me both items on more than one occasion. Always sure to note how much each item cost. If I recall correctly, the value suspiciously increased each time she showed off her jewelry.

  I chanted the spell over and over again until the words became meaningless. A rhythmic cadence of sounds. I burned the slip of paper in one of the candles and dropped it into the triangle as it turned to ash.

  Bancroft watched me do all of this.

  Slowly, an image began to appear within the mirror. Very faint at first, then growing stronger until it became bright and vivid. Looking into the mirror was like looking at a three dimensional glimpse of a location.

  It was an old building somewhere downtown. I picked up the mirror, and as I a looked from different angles, I could see more of the street and surroundings. I didn’t recognize the building, but the architecture and the neighborhood looked vaguely familiar.