We’d parked a few streets over to avoid being seen, and taken the back alleys to their store so no one would spot us. Not that anyone was out on a night like tonight due to the poor weather, but there were cameras in various spots along the street front. We couldn’t afford to be caught on one of them, sneaking around like a passel of bumbling criminals.
As I thought about cameras, I tugged on Coop’s arm. She was easily four or five inches taller than me, making it hard for me to look up at her with the wind blowing snow in my face.
I cupped my eyes and asked something I’d thought about on the way over. “Hey, do you guys have security cameras in the storage room at the store? Or anywhere at the store, for that matter? Maybe we could easily solve this murder business by watching the footage to see who killed Hank.”
I’d been so immersed in figuring out Coop and Trixie, I’d hardly paid any attention to Hank’s murder. I still needed to ask her who she thought might have tattled on her and told the police she’d argued with Hank.
For that, I should be tarred and feathered. Coop would go to prison if we didn’t find out who did this and I’d wasted an entire evening playing a game of “My story is nuttier than an episode of Supernatural,” rather than blowing up the pictures I’d taken and finding an answer to this mess by brainstorming with my spies.
Trixie’s shoulders sagged in defeat at my question. “I wish. We only just got our inventory in yesterday. There was some kind of delay in shipping because of the weather in the northeast, and we’ve been so busy unpacking, I forgot about looking into them, to be honest. It’s just another thing I’m going to have to do once we handle this thing with Coop.”
A camera would have been way too easy anyway. Why would any of this be easy? I nodded, pulling my knit hat tighter around my ears. “Also, mind telling me about the argument with Hank over the spike in rent? I’m sure you remember Detective Moore telling you an anonymous tip came in about you threatening to kill Hank, Coop.”
Coop instantly nodded her head, seemingly not at all affected by the cold. “I did have an argument with Hank. Because he was lying. I told you that.”
Shivering, my teeth chattering, I nodded. “Yeah. I get that, Coop. What I want to know is, why you threatened to kill him. Did you hear this argument, Trixie?”
Her teeth chattered, too, but her glance at me was full of remorse. “I didn’t. I was out at the time, but he did get into a small confrontation with Coop. She told me about it.”
“Where?” I asked. “Where did this happen, and did you really threaten to kill him?”
Now Coop looked remorseful. “Right outside the store after he’d already let himself in with his key, but I didn’t threaten to kill him, Stevie Cartwright. I said when people lie, where I come from, you could get killed for something like that.”
Oh, dear. So she had used the word kill, which I’m sure the police would extort to its fullest advantage.
“Did you hit him or touch him in an aggressive manner, Coop?” I asked on a wince, afraid to hear the answer.
“I didn’t touch him. I swear.” She held up her lean-fingered hand to emphasize as such.
“But you did get intimidating, Coop. You told me you backed him up against the wall of the building,” Trixie said. “That’s why we’ve talked about how to handle confrontations. Did you tell the police that?”
Man, this didn’t look good. Though, I believed her when she said she didn’t touch him.
But Coop stood firm. “They didn’t ask me that. They just asked if I threatened to kill him and I said no. They didn’t ask me exactly what I said.”
If Coop didn’t end up in prison, she had the makings of a pretty decent lawyer. “Do you remember if anyone saw this confrontation, Coop?”
“A lady with a black hairnet. I saw her from the corner of my eye. But I didn’t see her face very well.”
Well, that could be half our senior Eb Falls population. Though, a hairnet was pretty specific. “Okay, let’s table this for now. My toes are going to break off from the cold. We need to get inside and get your owl. We’ll talk more about this when we get back to the house.”
Looking upward, I noted the vent to the store’s heating system, which I prayed was constructed in the same fashion as ours. A quick peek around the front of the store from Win told us the police had reset the alarm, which meant we were going to have to use Bel to disarm it.
Pulling Bel from my purse, I tucked the tiny scarf I’d found on an old doll during a vintage-shopping spree around his neck. Bel’s incredibly adept with his tiny feet. I didn’t doubt if he could dial a phone, he could manage to find the key Trixie had left behind and get it into the lock. But it didn’t make me any less worried about him.
“You ready, buddy?”
He flapped his web-like wings, gearing up for flight. “As I’ll ever be.”
“So here’s the plan, pal, you’re going to have to wiggle your way into the heating vent and down into the duct leading to the store’s ceiling. But be very careful. Please. There are fans that’ll cut you to ribbons if you get caught up in them, understand? I don’t want you to end up chop suey. If it looks like you can’t make it, come right back. Don’t even try it. Arkady will go with you and relay to me what you see. Got it?” I gave him a kiss on the nose and rubbed his head.
“Got it.”
“All I want you to do is locate Livingston, turn the alarm off with the code the girls gave you, and unlock the door with the key Trixie left on the counter. Leave the rest to me. Please.”
Thankfully, the back door to Inkerbelle’s was nothing more than a pop-lock. One, according to Trixie, she’d planned to replace but hadn’t had time. It should be easy enough for Bel to open.
“Okey-doke, Boss. Here goes nuthin’,” he chirped before taking flight, turning into a tiny white dot that blended in with the falling snow.
As he soared up to the roof, I almost lost sight of him in the frosty white of the snow, but Arkady was with him. That much made me feel better.
Pressing myself against the brick façade of the store, my eyes stinging from the cold, I asked, “Arkady? Is he there?”
“Dah. Fluffybutt is looking into vent now.”
I held my breath. I think we all did—even Win, until Arkady said, “Belfry, nyet! It looks too narrow even for you, tiny ball of fur. You must listen to my lemon drop. She said don’t take any—”
I heard a high-pitched squeak and Bel yell, “Bonsaaaai!” before there was nothing.
My heart began to throb in my chest. “Arkady! What happened? Oh, gravy, is he okay?”
“I cannot see him, malutka!” Arkady whisper-yelled, and I heard the tremor in his voice. It made my stomach plummet to my toes.
“Bel, good man! Answer us!” Win yelped.
And then, just as I was considering finding a ladder and climbing up the store’s side myself, we heard the doorknob jiggle. I leaned against the maroon-painted door and whispered, “Bel, is that you?”
“Yeah, Boss. Just gimme a sec and you’ll be in like Flynn.”
“Crickety wickets, mate! You frightened me,” Win declared seconds before the rusty back door jiggled and I threw it open.
Coop set me aside as though I were nothing more than a feather, then pushed her way past me to get inside.
Trixie was right behind her, making apologies over her shoulder the entire way. “I’m sorry, Stevie. Sometimes Coop doesn’t always think before she acts. But I promise you her intentions are good. She loves Livingston like family. They’ve been together for centuries.”
Centuries? “But didn’t she say she was thirty-two?”
“That’s what I taught her to say because people will surely freak out if she tells them she’s been alive for centuries.”
That was fair…
I held up both my gloved hands and poo-pooed her, trailing behind. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. And as to Livingston, I feel the same way about Bel. I’d plow down the devil himself to get to Bel. So let�
��s go find your owl.”
Coop stormed toward the front of the store, her booted feet heavy as she called out, “Livingston! We’re here!”
“Haaalp!” Bel screamed, his tiny voice filled with panic. “Get off me, you pterodactyl! I’m not the enemy!”
“Belfry!” I yelped, running toward the sound of his voice, my spinny head pounding and my heart thrashing against my ribs.
“Livingston, nooooooooo!” Coop yelled from another room I hadn’t seen upon my first visit, located right behind the cashier’s counter at the front of the store. A light flipped on, slightly illuminating the dark store.
Now I was pushing Trixie out of my way and skidding behind the counter to plow through the door—to find Bel hanging precariously by one foot from the beak of a much bigger foe.
He sat upon the back of an old recliner, a red vinyl one with a torn seat and some stuffing seeping from the right arm. He flapped his gray-speckled wings, spreading them out, the span, in all their magnificent glory, easily three feet.
Coop moved so fast, she was almost a blur as she swiped at Bel, catching him in one hand and tapping Livingston on the head with a gentle but admonishing finger. “Livingston! What did Trixie tell us?”
He sighed, expelling a long breath. “What didn’t she tell us, lass?” he replied, his words dripping sarcasm with a delightful but light Irish accent. “She’s always tellin’ us sometin’. Livingston, don’t do this,” he crooned in a pretty darn good imitation of Trixie. “Livingston, don’t touch that. Livingston, it’s not nice to lick all the icin’ off the cupcakes. Livingston, Livingston, Livingston, Li-ving-ston!”
Trixie was right behind me, skirting my side to confront Livingston in all his owlish splendor. Gosh, he sure was pretty with his wide, unblinking brown and yellow orbs for eyes, and his mottled gray feathers. Pretty and cranky.
Hah—I knew someone just like him. Hashtag BelfrycoughBelfry.
Trixie clucked her tongue after chucking him under the chin with a smirk on her face. “Well, it isn’t nice to lick all the icing off the cupcakes when they’re not for you, Livingston. It’s also not nice to eat our new friend’s familiar. Please don’t do it again.”
“Wow, Red.” Bel flapped out his wings with a ripple, shaking off Livingston’s assault. “Nice catch!”
She held him up with two fingers before dropping him on my shoulder. “Thank you, Belfry. I’m sorry Livingston tried to eat you. It won’t happen again, will it, Livingston?”
“Roight,” the bird agreed.
“Say it,” Coop demanded, running a loving hand over the owl’s big head and scratching between his fanciful tufted ears. “Use the words.”
“Sure, sure, sure. It will not happen again, my beautiful Coopie,” he crooned, low and deep, leaning into Coop to accept her affectionate strokes. “Instead, I shall just starve to death the next time ya two crazier-than-the-bedbugs-on-a-Hilton-Hotel-mattress leave me for twelve solid hours without so much as a cricket. Far be it from me to lick the icin’ off a cupcake when it might be the only ting standin’ between me and death’s door.”
Trixie patted her arm and offered it to Livingston, who leapt from the back of the old, worn recliner he was sitting on to the safety of his friend. She rubbed the top of his head and cooed, “That was very dramatic. But truly, I’m so sorry, buddy. If you only knew the day we’ve had. We didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long, time just got away from us.”
He rubbed his round head against her cheek, despite his next harsh words, “Meanin’ ya forgot me, again. How could ya forget ya have an owl? It is not like I blend into the walls, for Mona Lisa’s sake. I am an owl, ladies. Fierce and feathered!”
Coop ran her cheek over the top of Livingston’s head before she said sternly, “You are not fierce, Quigley Livingston. You’re a fraidy-cat. It’s not nice to lie, and you know it. Trixie sai—”
“Said so,” he quipped. “Yes, yes. So what’s goin’ on? I’ve been asleep all day in me jail cell—I mean, gilded cage. And who is this delectable lady?”
“Speaking of cages, how did you get out of yours, Livingston?” Trixie asked, pointing to the large black steel cage on the floor by their bunk beds.
The owl swiveled his head. “Ya forgot the padlock, Dame Gothel. ’Tis easy to get out of there, even without opposable thumbs.
Trixie smiled warmly at him, her eyes lighting up with obvious affection. “It’s a subconscious block. I hate locking you up in there, but it’s the only way to take you from place to place without someone getting bitten.” She glanced at me and explained, “People sometimes get overly zealous with Livingston, and one time a teenager—who didn’t really mean any harm—latched onto him a little too tight. Needless to say, there was a ruckus.”
“A Rapunzel reference and a ruckus all in one conversation,” I teased, amazed Livingston knew Rapunzel’s jailor.
“Now, now. I did not bite him hard, Trixie. I merely nipped. He had me by the feathers, what else was I supposed to do, let him pluck me bald, for pity’s sake?”
“I can’t believe the police didn’t find you in your cage. I also can’t believe you didn’t wake up while they searched the place—they made a mess out there, pal.” Trixie turned to me and held up the bird. “Livingston sleeps all day sometimes,” she explained. “He’s mostly nocturnal. Or as nocturnal as a demon in an owl’s body can be.”
I remembered a story Dana’d once told me about an incident with a python they’d found after a drug bust, and how they’d called Horace (who almost singlehandedly ran Eb Falls animal control) to assist, only to find he’d been napping out by the old mill in his animal control van.
“They probably did find him,” I commented, eyeing these new surroundings, roughed up by police intrusion. “I’ll bet they called animal control and old Horace was too busy napping to come collect Livingston. So they left him here until they can make arrangements to have someone come get him. Let’s be grateful for small favors. Had I known he was here, I would have insisted we get him immediately.”
“Well, well. A responsible pet owner. Maybe you can teach the women in my life a ting or two about abandonment and starvation.”
Coop made a face at him. “Stop telling fibs, Livingston. You know that’s not true. We feed you all the time, and you know what happens to people who tell tales.”
Livingston hooted his discontent, making me chuckle as I looked around the sage-green room. It had bunk beds with matching patchwork quilts the police had mussed during their search; a small, sparkling white-tiled bathroom with a shower and sink; the tiniest stove known to man and an even tinier refrigerator.
I didn’t realize how tiny their room would be. Somehow, I’d imagined it much bigger, like the extra room we have at Madam Zoltar’s. You could fit almost an entire apartment’s worth of furniture in ours. Starting a business was rough these days, compounded by the idea they were living in the store in such a small space—with an owl, no less. I had to give them credit.
“I’m Stevie Cartwright, Livingston.” I held out my hand with a smile, then remembered that was a stupid gesture on my part because, duh, owls have no hands, and stuffed it into the coat of my pocket. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Uh, loves of my life…me darlin’s?” Livingston said, his feathers rippling as he shook them out. “I thought I was supposed to be a big secret. Why are we talkin’ to the sexy lady? Isn’t that one of the two thousand and two rules that’re—as ya say—a no-no? We are not supposed to tell anyone I can talk, remember?”
Trixie gasped, narrowing her eyes at the bird. “Livingston! Manners, please! That is not the way we speak to women. No objectifying. Now, be polite, and most especially, be kind. Stevie’s been incredibly good to us and you almost ate her familiar.”
He swiveled his round head and blinked his eyes the size of saucers at me. “Okay, okay. ’Tis nice to meet ya, too, Stevie. I deeply regret almost eating yer flyin’ rat.”
“Heeey, now! You watch who you’re call
ing a flying rat, you stuffing-for-pillows lug!” Belfry squeaked a protest. “If you try that one more time, I’m gonna—”
“Bel! Play nice,” I chastised, fighting a smile. “It was a simple misunderstanding. You’d have done the same if you thought someone was encroaching on your territory, and you know it. Now, introduce yourself and be polite about it, please.”
As Bel buzzed around Livingston’s head, chattering incessantly, I decided it was time to take a peek at that darn crime scene. “Ladies, why don’t you grab some clothes and pack a bag to bring back to the house? I have plenty of room as you’ve already seen, and you can’t stay here for obvious reasons. Now before you protest, I’m not taking no for an answer. That’s off the table. But I’m begging you, please hurry up. We need to get the heck out of here before we’re caught red-handed.”
That set them in motion, leaving me a way to escape and head toward the storage room.
“Stephania, you know this isn’t a good idea, do you not?”
“Of course I know it’s not a good idea. However, we need to help poor Coop. She might survive prison, but I don’t think Hannah the Hammer and her posse will survive her. I won’t have the death of a perfectly good inmate on my hands. Plus, I really kinda like her, Win. She’s a bit in your face, but then I find that refreshing. She holds nothing back. I mean, she wanted to knock Starsky out for being so pushy, so she did. I’ve wanted to knock Starsky out more times than I care to admit, and I haven’t. Props to her is all I’m saying.”
Both Win and Arkady laughed. “She can be quite volatile,” Win agreed. “But at the risk of being a nag, I suggest you rely on the pictures you took rather than tussle with the actual crime scene, Dove. You can’t afford to have anything disturbed.”
“I’m not going to disturb it, I’m just going to peek inside. I took those pictures in a hurry. Maybe I missed something crucial,” I said as I made my way through the dark store to the storage room, squinting to see where I was going and almost tripping over a random box.
I dug my phone out of my purse and clicked on the flashlight app. As I reached for the storeroom’s door, I thought I heard a sound, like the shift of cardboard against the floor. But then I wondered if it wasn’t one of the girls moving their clothes around in their tiny room.
Good Witch Hunting Page 10