One of them lunged toward me and gripped my arm. “Have a shot with us, doll.”
“Doll?” I echoed.
“Are my guys being inappropriate?”
I craned my neck to see Felix behind me. “Not yet, but give it a second.”
“No more drinks for the rest of the day,” Felix told his band members.
“Why not?” a bald one complained. “It’s not like we have to perform.” He winked at me. “On stage, anyway.”
Ugh. “I’ll check on the radio coverage where it’s safer.” I motioned toward Evian near the stage, who was talking to Rachel. Uh oh. I’d better make sure Rachel wasn’t trying to strong-arm Evian into unauthorized changes. I had the sense she could be a real pitbull when she wanted something.
“I’m so pleased to see Pete’s wife here,” Felix said. “It must be difficult for her, though.”
I frowned. “Where do you see Tiffany?”
“There.” He pointed to where I was already looking. “The icy blonde.”
Tiffany was blond, but she wasn’t the one talking to Evian.
“That’s Rachel Simonson, the manager for Fat Gandalf,” I said.
And that quickly, all the pieces fell into place.
“Excuse me,” I said in a rush. “There’s something I need to take care.”
“Um, it’s someone, doll, and I’m right here,” the bald guy said, holding a shot glass aloft.
Under my breath, I muttered an incantation and heard a scream of shock.
“Water,” someone shouted.
I smiled to myself. It wasn’t the first time I’d turned a fireball shot into an actual fireball.
“He’s fine,” Felix said. “Only a little burn on his upper lip.”
I didn’t bother to glance over my shoulder as I walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time I reached the stage, Rachel was gone. I asked Evian what she’d wanted.
“She’s still pestering me about playing Fat Gandalf songs,” Evian said. “As if I’m not completely busy right now.”
“Do you know where she went?” I asked.
“Not sure. She wasn’t happy with me, though. She said something about complaining to Buddy about my lack of island spirit. I think she headed toward the beach.”
“Thanks, Evian.”
“Good job on the flying monkey problem, by the way,” Evian said. “I heard they’ve been sent back.”
“They have,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Evian’s brow lifted. “Really? Like you’ll stop by and hang out just for fun?”
I recognized that expression. Like me, Evian wanted to be appreciated as more than a witch, an island protector, and a radio station owner. She wanted to be appreciated as plain old Evian.
“Yes, I’ll bring Gerald,” I said. “He and Paul can catch up.”
Evian lit up like a firework and I hurried to the beach to catch up with Rachel.
I saw her up ahead, trudging along the coastal path lined with tiki torches. Her back was straight and her stride determined. She gripped a bottle of prosecco in her hand, no doubt anticipating the band’s big win.
“Rachel!” I called. When she turned around, I gave a friendly wave. May as well lure her into a false sense of security.
She stopped walking and faced me. “Is there a problem, Kenna?”
I hustled toward her, my shoes sinking into the sand. “You tell me.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “What’s that supposed to mean? Was your friend complaining about my radio station request? I mean, come on. Fat Gandalf should be on there every day.”
I launched right into my accusation. There was no time to hesitate. I had a competition to run. “I thought you didn’t love Pete.”
“Pete?” she asked, perplexed. “Why are you asking me about Pete?”
“You told me you didn’t love him, that night at Coconuts.”
“I did? I must’ve been really drunk.” She paused. “Not because I actually loved him, of course, but because I talked to you about it. I barely know you.”
I kept the involvement of truth serum to myself.
“If you didn’t love him, why were you so upset at the prospect of him leaving the island?”
“It wasn’t about him leaving me,” she scoffed. “It was him leaving the band. Fat Gandalf was about to have its big break. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? He was going to ruin everything?” Her voice grew shrill. “All my hard work and he was going to leave our band for that giant mustache and his Pigs in Blankets.”
Rachel had been telling the truth about one thing—her lack of romantic feelings for Pete. Despite their affair, it was clear that Rachel didn’t care about Pete at all. She only cared about the success of the band she managed.
“Why did you need to kill him?” I asked, and saw her flinch. “Couldn’t you have just hired another drummer?” The way Pigs in Blankets had hired Pete. “That’s what you ended up having to do anyway.”
She looked around us and back at me. I could see the wheels turning in her mind. We were the only two at this end of the beach. Everyone else was in the bar area, watching the performance.
“I had no desire to replace Pete,” she said. “It takes ages to get the sound right. The drummer is the backbone of the band.” The vein in her neck throbbed.
“Then what happened?” I asked. “Tell me, Rachel.” Maybe it was an accident.
“I didn’t intend to kill him. I was trying to talk him out of the deal with Pigs in Blankets, but he refused to rescind the contract.” Her fingers tightened around the bottle of prosecco. “He tried to end the argument by going into the men’s room, but I followed him in. Like a bathroom door could stop me.”
“You were really angry,” I said, more of a statement than a question.
“I was furious!” Her arms flailed. “I couldn’t believe that he would betray me like that. We were supposed to be in this together.”
“So you followed him into the bathroom,” I said. “Then what happened?”
“I pretended that I understood his reasons and wanted to congratulate him properly.” A vague smile tugged at her lips. “That got him to open the stall door. He was always so easy to seduce.”
Good Goddess, she was horrid.
“I swung the door hard and hit him in the head. He twisted and fell backward. Then his head slammed again on the toilet tank.” Her eyes blazed with fury.
“Was he still alive?” I asked. He might have lived if she’d gotten help.
She shrugged. “I didn’t bother to check. He slid down to the floor and collapsed, like a loser. I don’t deal in losers, so I left. Good riddance to him.”
When I looked into Rachel’s steely eyes, I was shocked to see myself reflected there. The anger and resentment. The fiery passion that lurked beneath the surface. The need for organization and control. I understood her more than I cared to. There was one crucial difference.
“I have a heart,” I said quietly.
“Congratulations,” Rachel spat. “A shame it’ll have to stop beating now. Can’t have you telling the authorities what really happened.”
“What’s your plan?” I asked. “Because I can drink a whole bottle of prosecco, no problem. It won’t kill me.”
“The prosecco won’t, but the glass might.” Rachel smashed the prosecco bottle against the base of the nearest tiki torch. The bubbly liquid spilled out onto the sand. She brandished the broken bottle like a knife.
“Hey, someone has to clean that up,” I yelled, pointing to the glass fragments in the sand.
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” she said. “But right now you’re the bigger mess I need to clean up.”
“You’re insane,” I said. “We’re on a public beach. Someone will see you.”
“Not if I finish you off quickly,” she said. “One slice to the jugular and you’ll bleed out right here. Could’ve been any one of those drunk men at the bar. Such cavemen.�
� She gave a mock shudder.
“Stop right there,” I commanded.
As she advanced toward me with the jagged bottle, I set the tiki torches ablaze.
Rachel’s eyes bulged at the sight. “What? How did you do that?”
“Magic,” I said and narrowed my gaze. “If I can do that to torches without touching them, imagine what I can do to you.”
“You’re bluffing,” she said. “Nobody has that kind of power. They’re probably set on a timer like my outdoor lights.”
I pressed my hands firmly against my hips and gave her my most menacing stare. “Try me.”
She crouched in a fighting stance, still clutching the broken bottle, and eyed me with a hardened expression. I had no doubt she’d kill me without remorse. Icy blonde, indeed.
“Show me another trick,” Rachel taunted. “I bet that was pure luck.”
I thought about the bottle in her hand. I couldn’t take it by force, but I could try another way. I focused my magic on the broken bottle and recited an incantation under my breath. I felt the heat emanate from my fingers.
“Ouch! What the hell?” Rachel dropped the bottle and watched in disbelief as it dissolved into sand. “How?”
While she was distracted, I made my move. I lunged forward and tackled her to the ground. She fell backward and slammed her head into a sand dune. Too soft to knock her out. She kicked me to no avail. I held her wrists down firmly. I had no idea what to do now. I was too intent on her not getting the upper hand again.
“Don’t burn me,” she cried. “Please.”
The sound of a motor was a relief. Buddy rolled to a stop beside us, his golf cart covered in one of Mitzi’s oversized knitted cozies. I didn’t want to know how long that had taken her to make. I imagined hours of sleep after listening to that particular show.
“There you are, Kenna,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the competition? Apparently, the lead singer for Last Man Standing is too drunk to perform.”
I twisted my head toward him, still straddling Rachel. “Rachel killed Pete Simpson! It had nothing to do with drugs.”
“I know that,” Buddy said. “The toxicology report finally came back and his system was clean.” He peered at Rachel’s head, half buried in the sand. “So Keith’s wife killed Pete?”
“I’m the band’s manager, you idiot,” Rachel spat, squirming to get out from under me. I had to admire her dedication to feminism.
“Could you maybe arrest her now, so I can get up?” I asked.
Buddy grinned. “I don’t know. This is a mighty interesting situation.”
“Buddy, we’re not in the mud pits,” I said.
Buddy looked disappointed. “Too bad.”
“Please get her off me. She controls fire,” Rachel shrieked, her eyes wild. “She’s dangerous.”
“I think you’ll find you’re the one who’s dangerous,” Buddy said, tossing me a set of handcuffs. He clucked his tongue. “This is what happens when they’re wound as tightly as this one. They snap.”
“I hope you’re talking about people and not just women,” I said.
Buddy shifted uncomfortably. “Naturally.” He seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Present company excepted, of course.”
I clicked one cuff around her wrist and guided her to the backseat, where I hooked the other cuff to the golf cart.
“Your chariot awaits, Rachel,” I said, and hummed the theme song to Chariots of Fire. Her eyes widened with fright when she recognized the tune.
“Tell me who wins, would you?” Buddy asked amiably.
“Absolutely.” Whoever won tonight, it sure wouldn’t be Rachel.
She was still screaming about fire as Buddy’s cart disappeared into the horizon.
Skywalker incoming. Gerald sounded the high alert, fluttering around the house in a tizzy.
“You sound like Stuart,” I said.
That’s just insulting.
“Be nice. If he’s going to be my new security detail, you two need to get along.”
I stretched and got out of bed, still dragging from all the magic I’d used the night before. It drained me of more energy than I’d expected.
Gerald flew over with a brush in his mouth and dropped it on the bed beside me. A necessity, miss.
“Thanks, Gerald.” I ran the brush through my hair and pulled out the tangles.
A knock on the door signaled his arrival. There was no time to change out of my pajamas. I splashed water on my face and hustled downstairs.
“Good morning, hometown heroine,” he said. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“That’s probably an overstatement,” I said.
“Not to the rest of us. Everyone’s talking about how you apprehended a cold-blooded murderer.”
I blushed, despite my attempt to appear nonchalant. “I didn’t have a choice. She was going to kill me.” Death by prosecco, at least it would’ve been classy.
The way Lucas looked at me—my stomach dropped to my knees. No one had ever looked at me that way before. If I had to spend the rest of my life here, then I was going to do it on my own terms. That meant that if I wanted to play with Lucas’s lightsaber, then, by golly, I was going to.
“Come outside,” he said. “There’s something I want you to see.”
“Outside? But I’m in pajamas.”
“So what? You look great. Then again, you look great in anything.”
My heart soared as I followed him outside. Lucas was the kindest, sweetest…All thoughts came to a screeching halt when I saw what was parked on the street outside my house.
“The Waffle Wagon?”
Lucas grinned. “I tracked it all morning. When I told the owner who you are and that you were desperate for one of his famous waffles, he was only too happy to oblige.”
I treaded carefully toward the wagon, as though it were a mirage. “You’re amazing.”
“Let’s not lose sight of things,” he said. “I captured a waffle. You captured a killer.”
I stepped up to the Waffle Wagon and smiled. There was no need to place an order. All the waffles were the same—delicious liege Belgian waffles.
“For you, Miss Byrne,” he said. “My name is Nicolaus and it’s an honor to serve you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”
As I held the paper plate in my hands, the flapping of wings alerted me to a presence overhead.
“Take heed,” Stuart cried. “I see cyanide all over that, my esteemed mistress.” With the swoop of a wing, he knocked the plate from my hands.
“That’s powdered sugar,” I said vehemently. I stared at the ground where the waffle had fallen face down on the concrete. I was ready to throttle that bird.
“It is sugar,” Lucas said. “I thought that was half the appeal.”
Of course, he couldn’t understand Stuart. All he heard was the squawking of a deranged albino raven.
“Another one for you,” Nicolaus said. “On the house.”
Today felt like the luckiest day of my whole life. I bit into the warm waffle and sighed. It was every bit as wonderful as I’d imagined.
“Here,” Nicolaus said, handing me a slip of laminated paper. “This is my schedule. I don’t post it publicly, so keep it under your hat.”
His schedule. The Waffle Wagon’s schedule. My pulse raced. I examined the days and times as if admiring the Holy Grail. This was too good to be true.
I clutched the schedule to my chest. “You have no idea what this means to me,” I said.
Nicolaus gave a friendly wave. “Glad you enjoy my waffles. Now I’ve got a schedule to keep. See you around.” He pulled the Waffle Wagon back onto the road and drove away.
“Is it good?” Lucas asked.
“Amazing,” I said, my mouth full of waffle. “Why didn’t you get one?”
“I’m not big on sweets,” he said.
I swallowed. “In th
at case, I’m not sure we can be friends.”
Lucas fixed me with a hard stare. “Good, because I don’t want to be friends.”
Huh? I took a nervous bite of waffle. What had I done?
“You don’t?” came my muffled response.
He gave a firm shake of his blond head. “Isn’t it obvious? I want more than that with you, Kenna. I told you, you’re my football.”
Lucas didn’t wait for me to swallow. He gripped my shoulders and pressed his lips against mine. Powdered sugar transferred from my mouth to his.
When we broke apart, I laughed. “That was probably messier than you were intending.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I like messy. More importantly, I like you.”
“I…I…” I struggled to say the words. I liked him more than I ever thought possible. It was a new feeling for me—this helplessness against the rising tide of emotions.
Lucas flashed an anxious grin. “I’m on pins and needles here. Can you put me out of my misery?”
“May the Force be with you,” Stuart called from the rooftop. If I’d had a stone in my hand, I would’ve chucked it at him.
“Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?” I blurted. “I can get us reservations at L’Etoile. They usually have tables available after eight on short notice.”
Lucas chuckled. “Kenna, you don’t have to plan this. In fact, I don’t want you to. I’ll organize everything. It’ll be a surprise.”
I grimaced. “A surprise?”
“Yes, I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. Sound good?”
Good was an understatement. An evening alone with Lucas sounded like bliss. “No blindfolds?”
He pretended to be disappointed. “No shirt?”
I smiled. “As much I enjoy the view of your abs, restaurants generally require them.”
“I was talking about yours, not mine.”
I gave him a playful swat. “I’ll go on one condition,” I said, wiping the powdered sugar from my face.
“For you? Anything.”
“Kiss me again,” I said. “I had too much waffle in my mouth to enjoy it properly.”
He pretended to roll up his sleeves. “I do take pride in my work.”
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