Good Witch Hunting

by Dakota Cassidy

  Tilting my head, I gave him my best confused look. “I have no idea who you mean.”

  Now his eyes narrowed right at me, glinting under the kitchen lights in their fierceness. “Sure you do, Miss Cartwright. Remember the tattoo lady and her almost freakishly pretty friend? You know, the ladies you were with this morning when we found Hank Morrison murdered?”

  Scratching my head, I doubled down on my confused look, set on taking it to the next level. “Freakishly pretty friend? Hmmm. I think I’d remember a freakishly pretty friend. Now, if she were just plain-old pretty, that’d be a whole other story altogether. And did you say her name was Coop? Like Coop Deville? Coopster? Coop-Coop-Coop-ba-doop—”

  “Stevie!” he almost bellowed, his eyes flashing his anger.

  I gave him a blank look. “What? You don’t like Salt-N-Pepa? I should’ve known. You’re probably more—”

  “Cut it out!” he barked, then straightened his spine and took a breath. “Tell me where they are. Now. Please.”

  So I shrugged my shoulders, remaining unruffled by his abruptness. “I have no idea.” Less is more. Win always told me that, and I was going to utilize his advice.

  He sucked in his cheeks. “Really? Care to explain their car parked outside then?”

  I gasped with mock astonishment. “Their car is in my driveway? The nerve of some people, parking wherever they want like I’m running some kind of parking lot! It’s unseemly, Officer Stick Up His Butt! Give them a ticket this instant!”

  Dana’s face hardened and his jaw clenched, revealing that tic that always showed up to the party when he was becoming aggravated with my shenanigans. He looked over his shoulder at the table, still littered with pizza boxes and a stray Doritos bag.

  “Are you really telling me they’re not here, Miss Cartwright?”

  I gave him a coy smile, twisting a strand of my hair around my finger. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “So you, little ol’ you, ate all that food? Two pizzas and a bag of Doritos?”

  “Are you calling me fat?”

  His glittering hazel eyes narrowed again. “I’m doing no such thing.”

  “Do you have any idea the kind of appetite one can work up when they’re pretending to be the Karate Kid? All that downward-facing dog really gets the endorphins flowing.”

  “Downward-facing dog is yoga and has nothing to do with the Karate Kid,” he said, straight-faced, looking as though he were ready to explode, like when a lit match and an oil tanker collide.

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “Picky-picky. Does it really matter how I worked up my appetite? Isn’t it sad enough that I stuffed all those meaningless calories into my face while my dog and my turkey looked on in pity? You have to pile on by body-shaming me, too? That’s so cruel, Dana Nelson. I can’t even believe you’re capable of such a thing.”

  But he ignored me and refused to be knocked off the track of his line of questioning. “And the sword?”

  Oh. That. I fought a wince and curtsied. “Sometimes I like to add some spice to my Karate Kid portrayals and I pretend I’m the Karate Kid—Ninja Warrior edition.”

  “Stevie?” he said, cool as a cucumber.

  “Oh, now I’m Stevie, but a second ago I was Miss Cartwright? Pick a lane, Officer Nelson.”

  He drummed his fingers on the counter, clearly trying to keep his patience with me. We rode the line of police officer versus civilian and friends often. “Where are Miss Lavender and Coop?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know, anyway? What difference does it make where they are as long as they don’t leave town?”

  He slipped off the stool and approached me, his eyes pinning mine. “Okay, here’s the score. I’m here on official police business, Stevie. Let’s quit playing around, please.”

  My heart began to race. This wasn’t good news. Not good at all. “State your case, please.”

  He ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek, his eyes growing more intense by the second. “I’m here to bring Coop in as a person of interest in the murder of Hank Morrison. The detectives have more questions for her. Now where are they? Or do you want to go to be hauled in for questioning, too?”

  Chapter 11

  “Stephania, don’t do something emotionally driven,” Win reminded in my ear.

  But here’s the thing. Sure, Coop might survive jail, because it’s evident she could fight her way out of a cage match without so much as a broken fingernail.

  But would she survive emotionally? Trixie navigated more than most of her social interactions. I couldn’t imagine her in jail—even for a night—picking her way through the network of scum who end up there. She was too honest, too vulnerable in her effort not to lie and be a good person, and I suspected it was all due to her time in Hell. Likely, she’d done bad things to survive because hello, Hell.

  I couldn’t bear the idea she’d be taken advantage of, or tricked into doing something she would end up finding out was the wrong thing to do, and it would be to her detriment. I wouldn’t allow that.

  So I had two choices. Give her up, or keep right on lying to protect her from a far worse fate. If Dana took her in and she said one wrong thing without Luis with her, she wouldn’t be just a “person of interest” for long. I knew he knew I was messing with him, but I didn’t care.

  Now, my eyes narrowed, but I kept my cool. “Are you here to arrest her?”

  “I’m here to bring her in because I’m the only one the precinct could spare with the weather the way it is. But I suspect they’ll likely charge her with Hank’s murder.”

  Then this conversation was over.

  I lifted my chin and pushed the tail of the scarf still around my head over my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what you’re here to do. I told you, Officer Nelson, they’re not here.” There. Decision made and out in the universe. I couldn’t take it back now.

  “And I think you’re lying, Miss Cartwright,” he insisted, his mouth a thin line of anger.

  Believe me when I say, we’ve been at odds like this before, except this time, the stakes were much bigger. This was a childlike woman’s life on the line.

  I shot him my haughty, one-eyebrow-raised glare. “I don’t care what you think. Now, unless you have a search warrant to tear my place up again while you look for them—which I’m guessing you don’t because what judge in Eb Falls is awake past nine o’ clock?—I’ll simply thank you to be on your way until you can show me something official,” I said from stiff lips. We weren’t playing a fun game I could talk my way out of anymore. Now I was playing for keeps.

  “You’re harboring a suspect in a murder investigation, Miss Cartwright. I don’t always like my job, but it’s my job, and I have no intention of losing it—not even for you.”

  I wandered my way to the front door, ignoring his words as I did. I pulled it open, grabbing Whiskey’s collar to keep him from jettisoning out to play in the snow, which continued to pile up.

  “You have no proof I’m harboring even so much as a grudge. It’s time you left, Officer Nelson. Good night.”

  Dana’s nostrils flared at my words but he tipped his head and was gone, down the snowy steps, leaving only his footprints in his wake.

  Letting out a breath of air, I fought the sting of tears. Dana was my friend, but I knew I was right about not giving up Coop. Knew it in my bones.

  “Dove?” Win whispered in my ear. “How fare thee?”

  Sniffing, I shrugged. “Thee fares rather poorly, thank you. I just couldn’t let him take Coop, Win. And it’s not the violence I worry she’d face in jail that made me lie.”

  “It’s her determination to be, as she calls it, ‘a good person’. She’s tough as nails, but she’s also quite vulnerable. I understand and support your choice, Stevie.”

  “Me, too, malutka. This Coop is violent, but not without cause and not without provocation.”

  “So you guys aren’t mad?” I asked in disbelie
f. “I thought surely when you told me not to use my emotions, you meant I should give her up, Win.”

  “Why would I be angry, Dove? You’re protecting someone who needs protecting in a way that has nothing to do with strength. What I meant was to simply think about your emotions—meaning, when fear is heightened, we sometimes do things we regret. I didn’t want you to give in to the fear Officer Nelson would arrest you.”

  I grinned up at the ceiling. “Wow, you’ve come a long way, haven’t you? You used to be Mr. By The Book, Spy Guy.”

  “And I still am for the most part. But I also know Officer Nelson, and if he didn’t come with a search warrant, he doesn’t really believe Coop’s guilty. He just wasn’t motivated enough, or he’d have suggested getting one before he ever drove out here. I’m sure he knew you’d ask for one. Subconsciously, he believes in Coop’s innocence, leading me to believe they don’t really have anything on her. I pray that means they didn’t find some sort of toxin in the tattoo gun’s ink. He’s simply following orders. Now he can go back and tell his superiors she’s not here. Mission accomplished.”

  Well, that was one way to look at it. I’d like to believe Dana was being fair, but Dana was Dana. He played by the rules with no regrets.

  “So don’t be angry with him, Stephania, eh?” Win prompted.

  I flapped a hand at the ceiling and made a face. “I’m a little angry with him, but not enough to sever all ties. I’ll get over it. For now, we have bigger fish to fry. We have zero time to find Hank Morrison’s killer before they hunt Coop down, Win, and hardly anything to go on. If Starsky can pin it on her, he will. Without a last name and any kind of history, she looks like a vagabond. And it won’t be long before they drag Trixie in there, too.”

  Just then, I remembered Coop and Trixie were still in the basement and rushed to let them know the coast was clear. Coop met me at the top of the basement stairs.

  She poked her gorgeous head out of the door. “Is the policeman gone?”

  I nodded confirmation with a sympathetic smile. “He is, and we have work to do. So grab your beverage of choice, put on something comfortable, and let’s get crackin’, girls.”

  But Coop hesitated, driving her hands into the pockets of her leather pants as she stepped back into the kitchen, her expression now shy and maybe even a little fearful. “Maybe I should go to the policeman’s station and turn myself in. That’s what it’s called, right, Stevie Cart…um, Stevie?”

  Trixie was directly behind her with Livingston on her shoulder, her eyes wide and glassy from lack of sleep. “We heard everything he said, Stevie. We’re giving you nothing but grief. I don’t want you to lie for us. It’s the last thing we want you to do. I think we should just get in the car and leave.”

  “But it’s freezin’ out there, lass!” Livingston protested, the feathers on his back ruffling.

  Coop put two fingers over the owl’s beak and frowned. “Hush, Livingston. It’s not nice to be ungrateful and complain when someone has been kind to you. We’re treating Stevie poorly by staying here in her house and putting her at risk. She told lies to keep us safe, and I know Trixie said sometimes you have to tell white lies, but Stevie could still get into trouble for harboring a…a bad person.”

  Without thinking, I threw my arms around Coop’s neck and hugged her hard while her arms hung awkwardly at her sides and her entire perfect body went stiff. “You’re doing no such thing, Coop. Knock it off with that kind of talk. You’re here and you’re staying here until we figure this out or I find you a better hiding place. You’re not leaving this house unless you’re free and clear. No outlaws allowed.” Drawing back, I patted her cheek before turning toward the kitchen table. “Now, we have work to do. Let’s do that, shall we?”

  Trixie let out a shaky breath and cracked her knuckles with a smile. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’m all in.”

  * * * *

  Four hours later, at nearly three-thirty in the wee hours of the morning, I flopped down on the table, head in my arms, and groaned. “What, what, whaaat am I missing?” I cried.

  Trixie rubbed the heels of her hands to her eyes, now red and glassy. “There’s nothing in these pictures, Stevie. I’m telling you, you’re not missing anything.”

  We’d blown up and printed out all the pictures I’d taken of the crime scene, every last one, and spread them all over the kitchen table, but they gave us absolutely nothing to go on. Nothing.

  “I don’t get it. Nothing about the way Hank landed on the floor or the position of his body gives us any hint as to what happened to him. We only have the assumption he was killed with the tattoo gun, but no solid proof as of yet. But there was none or very little, if any, blood on the floor under him. He looks like he just crumpled. Which could mean it was sudden. The only other explanation is poison in the gun. That would explain how everything around him is still mostly in order. For sure it doesn’t look like he tussled with anyone. Argh!” I fisted my hands and shook them at the ceiling.

  Trixie peered at the picture of Hank’s body, squinting her eyes, then shook her head. “It does look just like he fell down. What I’d like to know is how long he was there. We left the store last night for about an hour to grab some dinner at the diner before the roads got too bad. We were only gone an hour and a half or so.”

  “Did you go into the storage room when you came back?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Trixie confirmed. “We watched a little Netflix and then we went to bed. It was pretty late by the time we got back in, and of course, if it happened while we were gone, Livingston wouldn’t know because he sleeps the sleep of the dead.”

  The owl’s head swiveled in Trixie’s direction, his wide eyes droopy. “I heard nothin’, lass. Not a peep.”

  I groaned again and wrapped my arms around my stomach. “Did you go anywhere in the morning?”

  “Just to the coffee store,” Coop said, trailing her finger over one of the pictures. “But we weren’t gone very long.”

  “Well, it doesn’t take long to murder someone, Coop,” I reminded her.

  “Yes. I know that.”

  Her concise words chilled me. I didn’t want to know how she knew. “Okay, so until we have an approximate time of death, we have even less than I thought, but it had to have happened either when you were out for dinner or when you went for coffee. The locks on that back exit aren’t exactly meant to keep much out, so the killer probably just popped it open without much fuss.”

  “Once this is all over, I’m going to make it a point to put bolts on the door,” Trixie assured.

  “Do you know if anyone had keys to the store other than Hank?”

  Trixie pinched the bridge of her nose. “As far as I know, he was the only one other than us.”

  I rubbed a hand over my grainy eyes. “Can you guys think of anything—anyone—who might want to hurt Hank? Did you hear anything from other Eb Fallers about him?”

  “You’ve been over that with them already. I think it’s time to call it a night, Stephania. Surely some sleep will refresh all of you,” Win suggested with a gentle tone.

  Yet, I shook my head with vehemence. “But we have no time, Win. They’re going to arrest Coop because that’s her tattoo gun with her fingerprints on it, and whatever’s in that gun probably killed Hank. I know you don’t think that’s what it is, but it’s always the obvious, isn’t it? It’s the first thing the police considered.”

  But Coop actually looked offended. “I would never put poison in the ink, Stevie Cartwright! That’s wrong and bad.”

  I clenched my eyes shut and rubbed them, smearing what was left of my mascara on my fingertips. “I know you wouldn’t, Coop. But someone else might, and unfortunately, that will make it look like you did it. Which suggests premeditation, by any definition, but who would want to murder Hank and frame Coop?”

  “He was a bad man. I bet a lot of people wanted him dead,” Coop said in her deadpan way.

  The question of premeditation led me to something el
se. “When was the last time you used the tattoo gun, Coop?”

  “I haven’t used it yet. I only took it out of the box and looked at it. We don’t have any clients to use it on.”

  “Could someone have gotten their hands on it and put something in the ink?”

  Trixie’s eyes went wide as she twisted her hands together, her knuckles white. “I suppose anything’s possible, but it would be pretty tough to get into the store without one of us seeing something.”

  “I hate to point out the obvious, but someone was murdered—possibly while you were in the store,” I commented, feeling positively awful.

  Trixie rapped the table with a knuckle. “Touché.”

  “Okay, then I need you two to write me up a timeline of your comings and goings since you had that tattoo gun delivered. Think back on everything you’ve done, when you’ve left the store together, apart, whatever, since the gun arrived,” I stressed. “We need answers, and we need them now before they get search warrants, and I know darn well Dana will be back here first thing in the morning with a search warrant.”

  “While that’s likely true, Dove, you’ll do yourself no favors without sleep. You do know how cranky you become when you don’t get your eight. Dare I say, irrational and overly emotional.”

  Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes because Win’s words were true. As much as I hated to admit it, I’m a schlump without the proper amount of shuteye.

  Coop, who looked like she’d just left a photo shoot for Vogue, and not in the least tired, pointed to the ceiling. “I think the man up there is right. You’d better sleep, Stevie. I don’t like when Trixie is cranky. She gets weepy. I don’t think I’ll like you that way either.”

  I shot her a look of sympathy. “But aren’t you tired, too, Coop? All that worry with your neck on the line has to be exhausting.”

  Coop gave me an odd look. “I don’t need much sleep and my neck is right here, Stevie. Not on a line.” She pointed to her swan-like neck.

  Trixie burst out in laughter, jarring Livingston, who’d fallen sound asleep on the back of the kitchen chair, contrary to their claim he was nocturnal. “Stevie means we’re in a precarious situation, Coop. It’s one of those expressions.”