Witchy See, Witchy Do (A Riddler's Edge Cozy Mystery #2)

by A. A. Albright

  He lowered the phone and gaped at me, his pale skin reddening even more. Putting the phone to his face again he said, ‘I’ve got to go, Darina. Talk to you later.’

  Darina? I knew that name. She was his ex-fiancée – the supermodel-esque woman whose photos adorned almost every surface in the detective’s home.

  ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping,’ I said quickly. ‘Or at least, I didn’t mean to.’

  He grunted as he stepped out of his car. ‘Yeah. Your very loud “Ahem” made that quite clear, Miss Smith. But as far as I’m concerned you can eavesdrop all you like.’ He pointed to my phone. ‘You’re taking photos of Heather’s house? Isn’t that Greg’s job?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess so. I just thought I’d keep myself busy while I waited for you.’

  ‘Waited for me? I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.’ He looked closely at me. ‘But maybe we should have made one. Maybe I should have made one. Because we definitely need to talk.’

  He held up a keychain. There were all sorts of lovely little ornaments upon it – faeries, wands, sparkly cauldrons and the like. ‘As you can probably tell, these are the keys to Heather Flynn’s house. Would you like to come in and help me take a look while we have a chat together?’

  For a moment I just stared dumbly at him. Finally, I found my voice and said, ‘Help you? You want me to help you?’

  He let out what sounded like quite a sad sigh, and sat back against Heather’s wall. ‘Yes, Miss Smith. I want you to help me. And I also want to stop calling you Miss Smith, and for you to stop calling me Detective Quinn.’

  I did some more dumb staring. This time, I didn’t even follow it up with words.

  ‘Miss Smith – Aisling – Greg called me a while back. He told me about the symbols beneath Heather’s body. That they match those in some old witch-hunting manuals. He also told me that when you looked at those pictures, you saw the same green glow. Miss Smith–’ He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry. It’s a hard habit to break. Aisling. Why don’t you want to be on first name terms with me anymore? You were pretty insistent about it not so long ago.’

  There was some lovely aubrietia trailing down Heather’s stone wall, and I decided that it might be the best thing I could focus on while I spoke. ‘Well, you gave up having normal interactions with me pretty quickly, so I figured I might as well become an overly formal idiot, too.’

  He emitted another of those sad sighs. ‘You know you saw a green glow this morning, and you didn’t even feel like you could argue your point with me about it? That’s not like you, Aisling.’

  I gave him a brief, cocky grin. ‘So I was right. You do enjoy arguing with me. They have words for people like you, Detective Quinn.’

  ‘Dylan.’

  ‘Nope.’ I shook my head. ‘That’s not the word I’m thinking of. And as a matter of fact, I was going to argue with you about the green glow. I was just hoping that I’d have some proof in one of Greg’s photos to back me up when I did. But even though that didn’t quite pan out, and I’m the only one who saw it … I’m not in any doubt, Detective. I know what I saw. I didn’t imagine it.’

  ‘Dylan. For the love of the goddess, please start calling me Dylan again. Everyone else does. And Aisling – Ash – I would never accuse you of imagining this. I made that mistake once before. I’ll never make it again.’ He stood up and jangled Heather’s keys in the air. ‘So how about we have a poke around inside together? See if you can find anything else that has the same glow?’

  I cocked my head. ‘Just you and me? No team? You’re not afraid you’ll get into trouble for taking me with you?’

  He chuckled. ‘That’s the wonderful thing about Riddler’s Edge. People are so used to looking the other way that it becomes second nature to them. And no, I don’t have a team. There are two other gardaí in my station, and right now they’re out investigating a chicken theft. So yes, it’ll be just the two of us. But you will be wearing plastic booties and gloves and following my every order. Do you have a problem with that?’

  He had an odd little smile on his face, but I was beginning to recognise his expressions by now. Once again, he was expecting me to argue with him. And if I did, then the gorgeous weirdo was probably going to enjoy it.

  I stood up straight and brought my hand to my forehead in mock salute. ‘No, sir! No problem with that at all, sir! Lead the way, sir! Three bags full, sir!’

  ≈

  The inside of Heather’s house was just as pretty as her garden. The walls were covered with decorative plates and paintings, depicting woodland faeries, mischievous witches and cute black cats.

  There was an altar in her bedroom, with her various witchy implements all laid out. She had an extremely clear crystal ball, a wand that looked like she’d bought it at a Harry Potter theme park, and a selection of crystals.

  As we wandered around we scoured her bookshelves for anything that might suggest an interest in dark magic, but all we could find were books of healing spells, money spells, and spells to direct true love into your life.

  ‘Do any of these spells look real to you?’ I asked Dylan, passing one of the books his way.

  His eyes glided over the spells. ‘The lotion she uses to heal varicose veins seems pretty much spot on with one my mother used to use. The cold remedy seems decent, too.’

  ‘And the love spells?’ I handed him another book.

  His face went a little red, and he cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, when you grow up an unempowered witch,’ he told me, ‘you don’t get to go to any witches’ schools. But I do know one thing for sure – if a witch was studying up on love spells, they wouldn’t be reading them in a pretty lilac-covered book like this one. Love spells are illegal.’

  ‘Really?’ I wrinkled my nose, pointing at the directions on the page. ‘It’s illegal to sneak a lock of your hair into someone’s pillowcase?’

  He laughed harshly. ‘That would be illegal in any world, seeing as there’s breaking and entering involved. But none of this is real witchcraft, Ash. And nothing here is even close to dark magic.’

  We abandoned the bookshelf and headed for her kitchen. It was a large, open-plan room, with a small living room opening off one side, and a greenhouse attached to the other. There was a gorgeous wooden workbench between her kitchen and her greenhouse, and we could see some bowls, bottles and herbs laid out.

  ‘It all smells divine,’ I said, sniffing a sprig of rosemary on her cutting board. ‘In fact, this whole place is lovely. It’s all confusing me a little bit, to be honest,’ I admitted, looking across the room at him. He was searching through a desk behind Heather’s dining table. ‘Greg and Grace have given me a lot of supernatural reading material so I can swot up. From what I’ve read, Heather seems like a wiccan. Which is pretty much the same as a wizard, isn’t it?’

  The detective shrugged, leafing through a notebook and not looking at me. ‘Wicca does fall under the wizard definition,’ he said. ‘But there’s a difference between someone who reads a few spell books and someone who winds up being a wizard. You need to find a way of obtaining actual power to be a wizard. The kind of wiccan who qualifies as a wizard is someone who truly makes contact with the supernatural world. Someone who can find a way to channel the power they would need to see it. The objects in Heather’s house are your standard everyday charms and stones. Sure, they might make a person feel calmer, and sure, her lotions and potions might have some valuable healing qualities. But there’s nothing unusual about anything she did. Nothing that would qualify as supernatural.’

  ‘Huh.’ I sniffed a candle on the table. ‘It sure does feel special to me, in here. Who knows? Maybe she was just one spell away from being an official wizard or wiccan or whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘Maybe. But one spell away is still too far. Heather wasn’t magical. If she was, she would have been able to see things like the Wandering Wood, the way you could see glimpses long before I ever gave you your Ring of Privilege.’

  I
glanced down at the green-stoned ring on my finger. ‘Speaking of this, it’s probably about time I bought one of my own. There’s a stall that sells Privilege jewellery in the Riddler’s Cove market, isn’t there?’

  He finally looked up from what he was doing. ‘There’s no need. I want you to have it. Do you know when I bought that ring?’

  I shook my head. ‘Obviously not.’

  He looked like he was considering his words carefully. After a few seconds, he said, ‘I bought it the day I met you on the train. I was in Riddler’s Cove shortly afterwards, after dropping my arrest off with the Wayfarers, and I spotted it for sale on a stall. I already had my own Privilege jewellery, so I had no idea what made me buy it. It was just one of those weird compulsions, I guess.’

  I thought back to the evening he’d given it to me. Sure enough, when he’d taken it out of his car’s glove box, it had been in a jewellery box, and it had seemed shiny and unworn. I tried my best to think of a light-hearted comeback. Perhaps even a smart-arse remark. Instead, I just looked away and went on with my search.

  The silence between us wasn’t awkward though. It was humming. Maybe I ought to be a little guilty about feeling so alive while I was searching a dead woman’s home, but there was no way I could tamp this excitement down.

  I was standing on a chair and peering into a cupboard filled with lentils when I heard his voice again.

  ‘Ash,’ he said, ‘I think I might have found something.’

  I scrambled down and rushed to his side. ‘You found something with those symbols?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No. Better than that. I found a love letter.’

  ≈

  We sat on Heather’s couch, reading the short letter for the tenth time. He was holding it in gloved hands, and our heads were leaning close together (I wasn’t feeling remotely thrilled or breathless about that, honestly I wasn’t).

  My Precious Heather,

  I miss you so much it burns. I know you said I need to leave you alone for the sake of my marriage, but I just can’t live without you. I need to see you again. I’ll be able to get away late on Sunday night. Meet me in the church hall then?

  Love,

  M.

  ‘There’s no date,’ said the detective. ‘But it was sandwiched between her latest electricity and gas bills. I’ll check with the postman, but I’m guessing they were delivered Friday morning. This could put a whole different complexion on things. Maybe this was a murder. Maybe someone lured her to the bell tower.’

  I sat back. ‘M,’ I said. ‘I can think of at least six guys in this town whose name begins with M. And quite a few women, too. I was thinking of going to choir practice tonight. Maybe I’ll hear some gossip there.’

  ‘That could be a good idea,’ he said as he slipped the letter into a plastic sleeve. ‘Despite your stubborn, argumentative nature, people seem drawn to you. They might tell you things they wouldn’t tell me.’

  I was just about to argue with him, but I stopped myself in time, wagging my finger in his face. ‘I see what you’re doing there, Detective Dastardly. If I argue with you about whether or not I’m argumentative, you’ll take that as evidence that I am argumentative. And you’ll probably enjoy it a little bit, too.’

  He shot me a sheepish grin. ‘I should never have asked you to call me Dylan, should I? Now there’s no way you’re ever going to treat me like the bad cop again. Look, be careful tonight, okay? And make sure you have me on speed dial. Actually … maybe I should pick you up afterwards just to be on the safe side? We could … I dunno … maybe go for some dinner and compare notes?’

  He’d stopped looking at me around halfway through his short speech. Being the more mature one, I politely looked away as well. ‘That would be great, but … I have some plans tonight.’ I really didn’t want to tell him who my plans were with, but this was a small town. He was going to find out anyway. ‘With Jared. He’s taking me to Malachy’s restaurant for dinner.’

  Seeing as I was looking at Heather’s curtains, I had no way to be sure, but I had the feeling he was still focusing his eyes on anything but me. ‘Well.’ He stood up. ‘That’s none of my business. I suppose I’ll see you whenever I see you.’ He crossed the room and gathered Heather’s keys from the counter. ‘We’re probably about done here.’

  7. The Chapter Without a Name

  When I returned to the office, Malachy called me over to his desk.

  ‘I saw your broom following you down the street a couple of hours ago,’ he whispered. ‘Just as you were headed out for lunch.’

  ‘Criminy, criminy, criminy!’ That about summed up my feelings on the matter. ‘I knew I felt like I was being followed, but I just thought it was some minion of Arnold’s. Do you think any humans saw?’

  Malachy shook his head. ‘Unlikely. And if they did, they’ll already have come up with a reasonable excuse. Told themselves it’s a trick of the light or something. People in Riddler’s Edge manage not to see an awful lot. At least it’s headed off home now.’

  I peered around me. It was true – I hadn’t felt like I was being followed since I left Norman’s Shop. ‘Did you see it go home?’

  ‘About an hour ago,’ he confirmed. ‘I stuck my head out the door and saw it fly in through the Vander Inn’s back entrance.’

  It made no sense to me – or to anyone else – that the broom should be following me the way it did. It had been Abby Albright’s broom when she was a child, but when I raced out of the Albright house after refusing to touch the coven grimoire, the broom had flown out with me. As a witch broom, it should only have had a little bit of power. Just enough to bond with whatever witch flew it. But this one acted like it had a mind of its own.

  ‘Did you know Abby when she had that broom?’

  Malachy nodded. ‘I’m eighty-nine, so yes. But I think that what you’re trying to ask is whether or not the broom followed her around the place when she lived here. And the answer is no.’

  I slid my arms onto his shiny walnut desk and let out a groan. ‘I don’t understand it. I don’t understand anything. Maybe I should do some research into witch brooms. Tonight seems like as good a night as any.’

  He lifted a plucked eyebrow. ‘And that would make this the sixth time you’ve come up with an excuse to get out of this date with Jared, would it not?’ He made a tutting noise and shook his head. ‘Oh no you don’t, Missy. Jared has reserved my very best table for you tonight. You’re going.’

  ‘It’s not an excuse!’ I complained. ‘And it’s not just the broom that’s bothering me. What about this murder? I should be concentrating on that tonight, not whether I want the steak or the chicken.’

  ‘Murder?’ Malachy’s eyes lit up. ‘Heather Flynn was murdered? Does this mean you and Detective Dreamy will be investigating together again? Oh, and speaking of Detective Dreamy,’ he continued, ‘Jared has asked me to arrange a special surprise for the two of you tonight. He’s really going all out to impress you.’

  I shook my head in faux irritation. ‘How does speaking about Detective Not-Dreamy lead us back to Jared?’

  ‘How indeed? That’s the question that’s on many curious lips. You’re Jared’s latest lust. Do you have any idea what’s with the two of them? Why does Dylan hate him so much?’

  ‘Jared’s latest lust,’ I repeated. ‘Well, you’ve just succinctly summed up why tonight is not a date. I don’t want to be someone’s latest anything.’

  Malachy beamed. ‘Oh, aren’t you sweet. Listen, if I knew you were so into vampires I might have given you a shot myself. Y’know – if you were a little bit more male. Now, what are you wearing tonight? If you’re going to go with your usual black on black, then perhaps a slashed neck? Or even better, something backless? Because I get the impression that Jared wants to show you off.’

  ‘Where exactly is this best table of yours?’ I asked, my hands getting a little on the sweaty side. ‘It’s not anywhere central, is it? Because I don’t need people to know that I’m dumb enou
gh to go out with a guy who goes out with everyone.’

  Malachy stood up to his full height and gave me the eyebrow wiggle (it was a movement he managed better than anyone else). ‘Oh, going out with him, are you? I thought this was just you reluctantly fulfilling a promise. Well, if it’s a proper date, then I really will give you my best table. I might even go as far as to pour you some unwatered wine.’

  I laughed aloud. Malachy’s restaurant was far from the kind of place that would serve watered wine. It was fine dining, supernatural style. Sure, he had a lot of vampire customers, but he catered for all supernatural tastes, and everyone who went there raved about the place.

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ I said. I picked up my bag, ready to head back to my desk, but Malachy grabbed my hand.

  ‘Oh, there’s one more thing,’ he said. He pointed his pen to the ceiling above his head. ‘Grace is back from the chroniclers’ conference. And she wants to talk to you.’

  ≈

  The entire Daily Riddler office was stunning, but Grace’s quarters even more so. She lived and worked upstairs, with a small office area in the middle of a spacious, gorgeous apartment. It was decorated fifties style, with a sunken couch and shag carpeting. Basically, it was the kind of décor that could go disastrously wrong or gloriously right, depending on the decorator.

  Grace, of course, had gotten it very right.

  As I rapped gently on her stunning double doors, they opened with a flourish.

  ‘Come in,’ I heard Grace’s voice call.

  I found her sitting on her sunken couch, a pile of notes in front of her.

  ‘Thankfully my dicta-quill has everlasting ink,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘Because if I had to take notes myself … let’s just say I would have fallen asleep in the first five minutes.’

  I picked up the pile. It was a perfectly transcribed recording of this morning’s conference, from the very moment Arnold stepped up to the lectern and started to talk.