Good Witch Hunting

by Dakota Cassidy

  But Forrest had been distant for a few months or so after our breakup, and I respected that by keeping my distance from his coffee shop—even if I missed the coffee and cupcakes. So I was thrilled to see him so happy with his new ladylove. They made a lovely couple and I wished him well.

  Rocking back on my heels, I said, “Nope. He’s moved on, and so have I. So cupcakes and coffee tonight?” I admit, I was very curious to know what he wanted to talk about, but I didn’t dare delve into that now.

  “Deal.” Then his face went all police-officer-ish severe and hard, the way it does when things are about to get serious. “And now, I have to do my job. Which means you have to answer some questions.”

  As though the gods of detecting heard Officer Nelson, in strolled Detective Sean Moore, a.k.a. Starsky (the one I mentioned had lost his Hutch to prison essentially because of me), and Melba Kaepernick, Officer Nelson’s squeeze.

  I mean, I think she’s his main squeeze. He’ll never confirm or deny, but I can tell you this, they sure looked cozy in my living room when Dana babysat little Sebastian for me over the summer.

  I loved Melba. She was irreverent and funny and just the breath of fresh air I needed in an earthbound friend. We’d spent some time together these last months, having dinner here and there when her crazy schedule allowed, and occasionally vintage thrift shopping, and while she was closed-mouthed about Dana, her cheeks always turned red if I mentioned him in passing.

  Melba waved to me, pushing her way past the onlookers and coming to stand beside Detective Moore. She no longer dressed like she was headed to the club. She’d gone all professional and serious since she’d joined Eb Falls PD, in her dark slacks, black fitted shirt and black blazer. Her piercings in her eyebrows and lower lip were gone, too, and her braids, while still in cornrows on her head, were now smoothed back into a neat bun at the back of her head.

  “Heyyy, Stevie-B!” she chirped, her infectious grin infiltrating the serious atmosphere. “I hear you have trouble. Yep. That’s what I heard.” Then she looked to Dana, her pretty eyes revealing nothing about their relationship when he cocked his head in inquiry. “I got it from here, Officer Nelson.”

  He nodded his head with a curt bounce and said, “I’m sure you do.”

  I smiled because they were cute—so cute. No one would ever know they were involved if they didn’t know them unprofessionally, they were nothing if not decorous around their fellow officers. But I knew, and I couldn’t help but be secretly pleased because I love love.

  When Dana took his leave, Melba turned to me, her eyes searching mine. “So, trouble, yeah?”

  I nodded, noting through the big picture window, some shop owners had also begun to gather outside and mingle in the crowd of Eb Fallers who’d been willing to risk the snow and come into town—Forrest among them.

  Meeting her eyes, I agreed then looked away and hitched my jaw in Coop’s general direction as she talked to Detective Moore to our left. “Yes. Definitely trouble.”

  Melba latched onto my arm and whispered, “Who’s the supermodel? Does she own the place?”

  Good question. Who was the stunning Coop? I just shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I came in to welcome them and then whammo. Dead guy.”

  “Who’s the dead guy?” Melba asked as she pulled out her pad and began to write.

  I gulped. I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies since moving to Eb Falls, but it’s something I’m never going to get used to. “Hank Morrison.”

  “Egads. Poor guy. Didn’t his stepfather just die?”

  Eb Falls was a small town—everyone knew everyone, and if Melba knew of Hank, she also knew he was rather surly. I hope that was taken into account. “Yes. Abe died a few months ago and left him all of his real estate holdings, apparently.”

  Melba circled her now-ringless index finger around the room. “Did he own this place, too?”

  I winced. It wasn’t like I could hide the facts, but I knew I was helping dig graves here. The police would get wind of that bit of info Trixie had revealed about the lease agreement. I didn’t doubt it for a second. But they weren’t going to get it from me.

  So I nodded again, tucking my hair behind my ear. “He sure did.”

  “Ahhh,” she muttered, scribbling on her pad. She didn’t need me to tell her anything else. “Any clue how or what happened?”

  “Nope.”

  Melba ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, her eyes skeptical. “What’s with the one-word answers? You always have a theory, Stevie. What’s your theory?”

  My theory was shut my yap before I dug a deeper hole for Coop and Trixie. Call it intuition, but I believed Trixie believed Coop was innocent. Whether she was or not—and I didn’t want to be the one to sway Melba in one direction or the other, because I needed solid facts before I tarred and feathered Coop—was still unclear for me.

  I didn’t have any facts, and I think we all know how bad it can look if the facts are misinterpreted. After the mess with Madam Zoltar, I’m the perfect example of an alleged suspect who’d have never made it out of that interrogation room alive if not for Win’s lawyer.

  So I kept my face passive and my spine relaxed, toying with the strap on my purse. “A theory? I don’t have one.”

  Melba nudged me in the ribs, the sound of her crisp suit jacket rustling in the store’s hushed vibe. “Do too. You have a theory about who keeps mixing the oranges with the lemons at the grocery store, so I know you have one about this. You were right here, Stevie.”

  I flapped a hand at her, but I didn’t look her in the eye. “I do not have a theory about the lemons and the oranges. I do not.”

  That wasn’t necessarily true. I did have a theory. Mr. Gorman thought the lemons and the oranges should be side by side for ease of shopping. Plus, they were both citruses and right next to the grapefruits—all citruses, yes? Mr. Gorman made a good point.

  Yet, Ansel Feldman, our senior citizen green grocer, disagreed, and refused to move the lemons. But who else was that invested in the lemons? I sure didn’t care where they were.

  It had to be Mr. Gorman. And I’d shared that theory with Melba in my desperation to create a mystery needing solving. I’d even asked her to inquire about the store’s security cameras and whether she could look at them in an official capacity.

  Of course, she’d refused to entertain me and abuse her power as a detective, and she’s right not to give in to me. But again, in retrospect, I guess I’m hungrier for something other than mooning over Win than I thought.

  Melba made a face at me, her brow furrowing. “You do so, and I’m not going to go into it now, but you were pretty close to tipping right over the edge when I told you I wouldn’t ask to see security-camera footage. And don’t deny it, because you sure were. Yep-yep, you were. So what do you know, Stevie? Don’t hold back anything and forget we’re friends for the moment.” She leaned into me. “Also, be grateful Starsky’s questioning the supermodel and not you.”

  My disdain for Starsky…er, Detective Moore, was known far and wide. “Small favors and all,” I muttered to her. “Well, what do you want to know?”

  Winking, she pointed to the chair I’d sat in earlier while Trixie made me coffee. “Good Stevie,” she teased. “Play nice with the detective. Have a seat, and let’s get down to the biz.”

  An hour later, my one-word answers and vague relaying of finding Hank’s body were pushing all of Melba’s buttons. In other words, she was going to kill me once she was off duty and could get her hands around my throat, if the two bright crimson spots on her cheeks were any indication.

  Rubbing her temples wearily, Melba’s usually unruffled feathers were officially ruffled. “Are you sure that’s all you know, Stevie? This isn’t like you. You know every detail about everything you lay eyes on. I’m not buying this song and dance you’re giving me.” She tapped the near-empty pad with her pen.

  Leaning back in the chair, I yawned, hoping Melba wouldn’t hate me for my evasiveness. I just could
n’t feed Coop to the wolves with Trixie so upset. Not yet. Something held me back—that something was probably Win’s doubt, but whatever.

  Besides, I’d truly told her everything I saw. I just left out the panic in Trixie’s voice and her warning to Coop to keep quiet.

  As a diversion tactic, I looked toward the bunch of police officers milling about with yellow tape and caught a glimpse of more snow falling outside.

  Melba tapped an unpolished nail on the table’s surface. “Stevie? Talk to me. Tell me what you saw.”

  “That’s it. I told you everything. I think I was distracted by the pastries and coffee. You know how much I love the bakery’s éclairs, and I was especially looking forward to the yummy, chocolatey goodness on such a cold and blustery day…”

  Pushing back the chair until the legs scraped on the wood floor, Melba rose, her eyes narrowed in suspicion in my direction. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Stevie, but—”

  “I already told you, Hank was a bad, bad man!” Coop yelled from the far corner of the room just opposite where I sat with Melba. Her slender but strong form was pressed up against the orange wall near the big picture window, the wall where all the celebrity tattoo posters hung. Starsky was being Starsky by breathing down her neck, his face a blotchy red, his stance antagonistic.

  They’d separated Trixie and Coop, which was standard procedure, and that left Coop defenseless. Somehow, that bothered me.

  But why?

  She rose up on tippy toes to yell in Detective Moore’s face—still as beautiful as she’d been when she’d placidly refused to answer my questions. “He told lies! Sometimes when you tell lies, you end up punished. The wrath of Beelzebub is waiting for him in—”

  “Coop!” Now I was the one yelling her name. To my credit, I moved pretty quickly in my boots and winter gear, getting her attention before she said anything else.

  Detective Moore used slimy tactics to get the answers he wanted, and I wasn’t sure if Coop would react violently when what she really needed to do was keep her cool and her answers succinct.

  I managed to get to her and give Detective Moore a stern look. “She’s not answering any more of your questions until she has a lawyer present, Starsky. So lay off the interrogation tactics and back up, please.” Putting myself between him and Coop, I attempted to shoo him away.

  But he was having none of it. His nostrils flared and his chest pumped up and down under his dark blazer as he gave me a look of disdain. “You just can’t keep your nose out of things, can you, Miss Cartwright?”

  I smirked a smile and shook a finger up at him. “Aw, Detective Crabby Patty. C’mon. Don’t be like that. I’m not sticking my nose anywhere. I’m just keeping you on the straight and narrow. And you know as well as I do this lady can ask for a lawyer at any time and you have to let her have one. Don’t make me break out the Cops for Dummies book and show you where it says when a suspect is being questioned—and I think we both know by the way you’re grilling her like a piece of chicken, you think she’s a suspect—she can request a lawyer. Them’s the rules, Starsky. I didn’t make ’em, but they exist.”

  He seethed down at me. Yes, he sure did. Literally seethed. “She didn’t ask for one. You asked for one for her.”

  I turned my back to him with purpose and looked to Coop. “You want a lawyer, don’t you, Coop?” I prayed the signals I sent her with my eyes were easy to read and she’d pick up on them.

  But she looked down at me with such confused vulnerability, I actually wanted to hug her. Where that had come from, I don’t know, but she looked so lost, I immediately wanted to comfort her. “What is that, Stevie Cartwright?”

  Now I was confused. “What is what, Coop?”

  “A lawyer. What is a lawyer?”

  Oh, dear. What had I done?

  “Oh, that’s real cute, lady. Pretending you don’t know what a lawyer is,” Detective Moore sneered over my head right in Coop’s face. “Funny. Funny. Just like our Miss Cartwright with the wisecracks.”

  As he spoke, in his anger for me, he moved too close to my back for my comfort. I gritted my teeth, fighting for composure. “Please back up, Detective Moore.”

  “What Stevie Cartwright said. Please back up, Detective Moore,” Coop parroted my words.

  “I’ll do no such thing. Now, move along, Miss Cartwright, before I move you myself. You’re interfering with police business!” he grated out stubbornly, his breathing ragged.

  His hand grazed my shoulder, making me turn to bark at him, “I will not move out of the way, and if you don’t back off right now, Detective Moore, I’m going to—”

  I never finished my sentence. Coop finished my interaction with Detective Moore by virtually leaping past me, grabbing Starsky by the neck and hurling him across the room to the floor as though he were light as a feather—where she proceeded to raise her fist high in the air and aim right for his nose.

  “Cooooop, noooooo!” I bellowed, but I was too late. Man, she was quick, I realized as crimson blood gushed from Starsky’s nose where she’d popped him one but good.

  I’m pretty sure in the Cops for Dummies rulebook; you can get in big, big trouble for assaulting an officer of the law.

  Which meant, Coop was in big, big trouble.

  Oh, heavens. So big.

  Chapter 5

  As Detective Moore was being scooped off the floor and half-carried, half-walked out the door by Officer Nelson, who’d shoved a tissue in his hand to thwart his bloody nose, Trixie approached Coop with a calmness I don’t know I would have possessed, were I in her shoes.

  Sandwich had arrived, and he was busy getting his cuffs out to secure Coop, who had to be pulled off Detective Moore by no less than three officers.

  She’d howled up a storm as they’d attempted to pull her from his face until Trixie ordered her to stop. Everything went silent with Coop from that moment on.

  “Coop? What the hay happened? Do you have any idea how bad this is?” Trixie asked on a ragged breath, her soft, comforting voice rising just a hair in her anguish.

  She looked harried, making my heart clench tighter. She’d pulled her knit cap off to reveal a streak of blue in her hair I hadn’t seen earlier, the shiny strands tousled from her running her fingers through them, and her eyes were positively haunted.

  Coop’s face crumpled, as if disappointing Trixie would bring about her very own emotional apocalypse. “He was going to hurt Stevie. I know it. I felt it. He was very, very angry with Stevie Cartwright. I like her. I couldn’t let him do that, Trixie! It’s not nice or polite at all. When a lady asks you to back up, you back up,” Coop vehemently insisted, her stance on how a man should treat a lady clear and firm. “You said so yourself. You must always treat everyone with respect.”

  Was Trixie Coop’s life coach? It appeared as though she was always coaching Coop on how to react to situations. I just wasn’t getting the connection between them—the thread that tethered them together. What had brought these two very different women together and made them open, of all things, a tattoo shop?

  And what did she mean by she felt Detective Moore was going to hurt me? The hackles on the back of my neck rose. Was she an intuit? Empath? I’d known a couple in my time.

  No. That was crazy. Wasn’t it? What were the chances someone with abilities like that would land in Eb Falls?

  Trixie was beside herself as Sandwich cuffed Coop and directed her to sit in the chair I’d just vacated. “I’m going to ask you nicely to sit and remain calm, Miss…?”

  “Coop. It’s just Coop,” Trixie provided as she put a protective hand on Coop’s shoulder.

  Sandwich nodded, his broad, normally cheerful face and typically happy demeanor suddenly quite serious. He looked down at Coop, who’d done as he’d asked. “Okay, Coop it is. Can I count on you to stay seated for me?”

  She nodded solemnly, but she didn’t speak, making my heart ache. Her confusion was killing me, mostly due to the fact that I didn’t understand it, but she’d at
tacked Detective Moore in my defense.

  In my book, that meant something, as misguided and strange as it appeared. She’d been looking out for me. I believed that much, even if I was still on the fence about whether she’d hurt Hank Morrison. Clearly, she was capable of serious bodily harm, and that didn’t work in her favor.

  “Will you come with me, Miss Lavender?” Sandwich asked, motioning she should head away from Coop.

  Trixie looked to me, her eyes filled with tangible fear, but I quickly reassured her. “You go with Sandwich. Um, I mean Officer Paddington. He’s a good guy. Swear it. I’ll look after Coop. Promise, she’s in good hands.” I gave her an encouraging smile, even though I was feeling anything but encouraging.

  But it was enough to set her into motion. Twisting her hands together, Trixie squared her shoulders and nodded. “Thanks, Stevie.”

  I knelt down in front of Coop, putting a hand on her knee and looking up into her ethereal face curtained by her glorious hair. “Coop, are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “Am I in trouble?” she asked, and the first hint she was afraid showed up in the way of her lower lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to make trouble, Stevie Cartwright. I’m supposed to lay low, but hitting the angry detective isn’t laying low, is it?”

  Oh, she was in so much trouble, and as I tried to understand her, and to understand how she’d managed to throw a grown man twice her size down on the ground as though he were a limp fish, I tempered my words.

  Squeezing her knee, I patted it and said, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Coop. But I can assure you, I’ll tell Detective Moore’s superiors he was becoming quite cross with us and using unnecessary force to get answers from you. But forget that for a second. Will you promise me something?”

  “I don’t know. Promises are tricky things,” she answered honestly, her green eyes unsure.

  This just kept getting odder by the minute, but I pushed forward anyway. “Well, this is an easy promise. Don’t say anything more to the police until we can get you someone to make sure your rights are protected, okay? That’s what a lawyer does. Promise me right now, Coop.”