Spooky Moves: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 8)

by Raven Snow

  “Kasey got pregnant just after I got home from Afghanistan,” he said. “I wasn’t in a good headspace and neither was she.” He rubbed his face. “Cooper changed everything for me. Everything that had been grey since Nate died was colorful again. I didn’t quite forgive myself, but I moved on from what happened over there.”

  “But Cooper didn’t change anything for Kasey,” I said, guessing. It was hard to look at that boy and think that someone on this earth was damaged enough not to want him. Hell, I was few oranges short of a fruit basket, and I was nuts about the kid.

  “Kasey had her own problems, stuff from childhood, before we even met.”

  “It seems you have a type, Wyatt Bennett.”

  A brief smile flashed over his face. “She loved me, I think. In her own way. But I eventually realized she was staying for me, not Cooper. It took me a long time to see—too long—but she couldn’t care for a kid. She couldn’t even care for herself.”

  “So you sent her packing.”

  “I gave her a choice,” he said gruffly. “Get her act together. No drinking, no partying, see a psychologist. Or hit the road.” Wyatt shrugged, but I could see the tension in his body. “And I guess you know what she picked.”

  “That wasn’t on you, Wyatt. All of this, it’s not your fault.”

  Leveling me with a stare, he said, “I’ve done some horrible things, Harper. Stuff I might never be able to tell you about, a lot while in uniform. Don’t romanticize it.”

  “My past isn’t exactly the things dreams are made of,” I countered. “But I only carry the weight of what I’m responsible for.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “Neat trick.”

  “I pull it out sometimes at parties.”

  I knew I’d gotten all out of Wyatt I could for the night. For a moment, I smiled and thought that this frustrating feeling was probably how Wyatt felt when trying to extract information about me from my past. Switching gears, I told him about my entire conversation with Stellerman.

  “He hasn’t heard from Aaqila this whole time,” I said gently. “Don’t you think it’s strange a woman on a revenge kick wouldn’t visit the man who actually shot her? Regardless the mental anguish you might have put her through.”

  He sighed. “So we’re back to Leah Anthony as our best suspect?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I don’t understand why I have to go first,” Cooper said.

  Nudging him towards the door, I said, “Because you’ve got pinchable cheeks, and you’re the distraction.”

  Cooper sighed and knocked on the door, resigned to his fate. Standing a step back, I watched the windows for any sign of movement, like Tom Anthony coming at me with a shovel again.

  Leah opened the door, her eyes first falling on me and then Cooper. The latter surprised her. Just as practiced, he held up a tray of cookies stolen from his grandmother’s house.

  “The boy wanted to see your husband now that’s he’s all ghosty,” I said, pushing our way into the house.

  “It’s a miracle,” he said, perfectly scripted. I looked down at him for a moment, surprised. Maybe I was finally rubbing off on the kid. It was a glorious moment for me, but I didn’t think Wyatt would be too impressed with me teaching his son to lie.

  Leah warmed to Cooper immediately, as I’d expected. She still had reservations about me, but I studiously kept my eyes away from her, searching the house for Tom. A moment after my search started, he appeared in the kitchen, sporting a big smile and no guilt about smashing Oliver’s head in.

  “Harper.” The smile grew. “I’d shake your hand, but…”

  When his wife laughed along with him, I suspected that that was supposed to be a joke. I let out a weak chuckle, but kept my eyes on the prize, trying to observe anything that would prove Leah was controlling the spirits, or what she could want with Fate.

  I nodded at Cooper, signaling him to take the Anthonys into the kitchen for cookies. Like a good boy, he waddled off with the doting, half-dead neighbors in tow. After acting like I was following, I quickly turned in the other direction and snuck up the stairs.

  The second floor consisted mostly of two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. I searched the master first, hoping to find something under the bed or a broken floorboard. All I saw, though, was a lot of unstylish furniture and a newspaper article on growing your own green onions.

  I gave it a glance over, since I was newly-poor. Or at least heading in that direction. The bill for the new stereo equipment at the Wheel had come in that morning, and I’d locked myself in the bathroom to cry for a good hour. By the end of it, Wyatt had been pounding on the door, panicked, but I wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. He’d just fix it.

  I could afford to pay the sum. I wasn’t crying because of that. I was crying because seeing those big numbers flash before my eyes took me right back to Miami. Every other week, there’d be bills with horrible, large, red numbers on them waiting on our doorstep. When mom was asleep, I’d sneak out and read them, trying to come up with harebrained ideas on how to pay them.

  Now it felt like I was in that awful, destitute place again. It made me feel trapped, and that made me feel horrible. My mom had done the best she could. I didn’t want my memories of resentment to be all I had of her.

  And I really didn’t want to go back to dipping my cookies in water instead of milk.

  The bathroom, when I checked it, was clean. Well, it was free of clues, I thought, grimacing at the odor and the strange stains that spotted the room. I had never been so thankful that Wyatt was a clean freak.

  I expected the next room to be a spare or an office, but when I walked it, I hit my head on a mobile. The little planes and blue teddy bears tangled in my hair, making me wince. I freed myself and inspected the rest of the room, taking note of a toy chest and a crib. All of the baby stuff was new—completely unused.

  There was something very creepy about an empty, silent baby room, so I started to back up and smashed into something wooden. The sound it made against the wall was cringe-worthy. My head stuck out the door, around the corner, seeing if anyone was running up the stairs with a shovel.

  Turning back to what I’d run into, I crouch down next to the bookshelf, picking up everything I’d knocked off. One of those items was a magic book.

  My eyes widened in alarm and victory, though the book was hardly very magical at all. It was just simple magic—spells used to clean household items and make a homemaker’s life easier. Still, it was magic, and I couldn’t help but grin.

  I put the book back when it became clear that it was the only magic artifact I was going to find. The stairs creaked on my way back down, and I muttered some choice frustration words. Luckily, Cooper was still doing an excellent job of entertaining the Anthonys.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “It’s about time we got back. Coop’s got a lot of homework.”

  They all turned to look at me standing in the entrance to the kitchen. For a moment, Cooper frowned at me. He had finished his homework the minute he got it, as always. I waited for the realization to dawn on his face, thinking the kid still had a lot to learn.

  “Math homework,” he blurted. “Algebra.”

  The Anthonys smiled and waved as we pulled out of the drive, telling us to come back any time. Just as we were about to disappear from sight, Leah leaned over to kiss her husband, her hand going to her stomach in an unmistakable gesture.

  Well, unmistakable to me.

  “Does she have a tummy ache?” Cooper asked, when I mentioned it.

  “No, she’s pregnant.”

  He looked over at me, alarmed. “How can you tell that?”

  I tapped my temple, letting a smug smirk fall over my face. It was best to let the boy think I knew all. Though it may be a moot point, I was still preparing for Cooper’s wild teen years. They wouldn’t catch me unprepared.

  Going back to looking out the window, I could tell I'd just turned his world upside-down. My lips twitche
d of their own accord, and I knew I needed to say something serious before I burst out laughing.

  "This is great for our case, Coop. You did a good job distracting them."

  Scratching his head, Cooper asked, "How is Miss Leah being pregnant good for your case?"

  I ruffled his hair, enjoying my superiority for the moment. "Would you want to raise a baby all by yourself?"

  "I guess not."

  "You guessed right. Children are a horrible burden that is best spread out between as many people as possible." I shot him a look, so he'd know I was ribbing him. "That means Leah had the best motive of anyone in town for summoning ghosts."

  "Why would she even want her husband back as a ghost? It's not like he can change diapers."

  A fair point. "Not everyone is as rational as you. Sometimes, we're just scared to go it alone."

  Without warning, I saw an old figure in lots of robes coming out of an alley. Jerking the wheel, I parked the car on the side of the road. Cooper braced his hands against the dash, probably grateful for the seatbelt his dad always made him wear. I was happy to reinforce good habits.

  I leaped from the car, running after Madam Mystic and her cart. It was surprisingly hard work, the old hag moving with a lot more speed than one would think her capable of. At the end of the block, she turned around, seemingly waiting for me to catch up.

  "You gotta...give me...the name of...your trainer," I panted out.

  "What can I do for you today, child?"

  "You can tell me if you were anywhere near the library a couple of days ago."

  Pulling out a pillow from her cart, she set it down on the pavement and sat. Her body was very small when it was folded up like that, making me feel like a bully towering over a defenseless old lady. Of course, she wasn't the one who'd almost drowned the other day, so my sympathy was limited.

  "You want to know if I ordered that spirit to drown you," she said.

  "So you heard what happened." It was common knowledge around town. Nothing was a secret for long around Waresville. Still, it was suspicious.

  Her robed face peered up at me. "Even if I hadn't, I saw it in the bones."

  Tired of craning my neck, I plopped down next to her, ignoring the gum and filth that was probably sticking to my pants. That was Wyatt's problem.

  I rolled my eyes. "The bones are very chatty lately. They got anything else for me?"

  "You are in grave peril, Harper Beck."

  "Must be Tuesday."

  She inclined her head. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the dangers surrounding you. They are not all physical."

  “Harper!" Cooper shouted, coming up behind me and scaring the wits out of me.

  "Cooper! See how annoying that is?"

  But he wasn't listening. He shook my shoulder, pointing frantically behind us. "The car! It's...driving!"

  I started to turn around. "Yes, cars drive, pigs go oink. Very…"

  I cut off, because our car, with no one driving it, was indeed heading straight for us. There was a flicker of ghostly energy in the driver's seat, and I saw the brief image of Mrs. Tucker sitting there, eyes blazing as she drove straight at us.

  Without missing a beat, I shoved Cooper into the alley as hard as I could. He went flying out of range and only then did I start breathing and thinking again. Gesturing madly to Madam Mystic, I tried to pull her to her feet, but she stayed seated. The old broad just watched the car getting closer, no visible panicking.

  From the alley I could hear Cooper yelling for me, his voice cracking. I screamed at him to stay where he was, stilling trying to force the robed woman to her feet, growling at her all the while.

  "Are you that eager to die?"

  She turned to look at me. "It's not my day to die, Harper Beck."

  With a flick of her wrist, Mrs. Tucker disappeared from the front seat. My jaw hit the floor as I heard the acceleration stop in the car. Unfortunately, it had still built up some momentum and was coming right at us.

  Looking back, I should've dove out of the way. I was developing a really bad habit of saving others before myself, something I never would've considered back in Miami. Pushing Madam Mystic out of the way of the car, I didn't have even enough time to brace for impact, much less get out of the way.

  Getting hit by a car is pretty much how they show it in movies. The bumper slammed into my legs, and the momentum sent me crashing into the windshield and up over the top of the car. Strangely enough, I didn't feel much. Inside my body, I knew bones were breaking, but the pain didn't hit me until I hit the ground.

  But when it did…man was there pain to be had. I bit down on my forearm to keep from screaming, because I knew my leg was broken. Not even an idiot who'd never broken a bone in their life could miss that, and I certainly wasn't that person.

  While staring at my messed up leg, I was starting to forget why I shouldn't scream, but then Cooper came running around the car and I remembered. I'd never seen the kid so scared before, and I forced myself to smile. I was not going to be responsible for another of his psychological scars.

  His cheeks were wet, and I shook my head, ignoring how dizzy it made me to do it. "Don't cry. It's just a scratch."

  I must have blacked out for a bit there, because the next thing I knew they were loading me into an ambulance, and Wyatt was there. His arm was wrapped around a sniffling Cooper, but his eyes were on me, looking for the smallest movement that would give away consciousness.

  When I did move, he seemed to breathe again, just like I had when Cooper was out of the way of the car. Still, his color had to be worse than mine.

  “Two broken bones in a week,” I rasped. “This mystery’s been hard on me.”

  Cooper managed a small chuckle, but Wyatt didn't say anything. The drugs were kicking in, so I wasn't in too much pain. The freedom of that made it easy for my mind to drift, and I started feeling like we'd done this before.

  "We have," he croaked, making me realize I must have said that aloud. He grasped my hand none-too-gently. "Let's stop, okay?"

  I nodded groggily, but even in my inebriated state, I knew that was a promise neither of us could keep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I went home from the hospital the next day with a cast, and Wyatt and I immediately started arguing. He wouldn't listen to anything I had to say about Madam Mystic controlling the ghost until I'd had some rest. I told him the only rest I intended to take would happen when someone was behind bars.

  So he put a sleeping draft he got from my grandmother in my morning tea.

  "Despicable," I slurred at him as he carried me up the stairs back to our bed. My casted leg was an awkward weight between us.

  He laid me down, covering me up in my favorite comforter, and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

  "How can I have them if you're leaving?"

  His chuckle was the last thing I remembered.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up, my leg hurt, and Wyatt was reading the newspaper in bed with me. His grandfather's glasses were resting on the nightstand, and I rolled over onto him, pushing them onto my face. They made me look a bit like a sexy librarian, which distracted both of us for a few minutes.

  Finally breaking away from our embrace, a slightly out of breath Wyatt handed me a stack of papers. "I thought you might be interested in these."

  "What, now I have to do paperwork too?"

  He grinned and waited while I read them. It was a flawlessly detailed report of one Linda Settler, a.k.a. Fate. It had her whole life's paper trail on it, and I pored over it with hunger. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

  Kissing him on his nose, I said, "Sometimes, I really love that you're a cop, and not just when you pull out the handcuffs."

  "There's no work history after 2010," he said. "Likely, she was being paid under the table by someone who didn't want her to show up on his tax forms."

  "Why?"

  He took the papers from me, flipping to the background check and handing them back. My eyes widened. "Ah, teenage a
ngst."

  "Linda Settler was convicted of vandalizing a couple graveyards with some of her delinquent friends."

  "So, how do we figure out where she worked?"

  This time, he flipped to her phone records. A very long and extensive list of numbers met my tired eyes. "You start at the top; I'll take the bottom."

  "No problem," I said, reaching for my cell phone. "I love being on top."

  The actual work wasn’t nearly as fun as my innuendo. Half of the numbers I called were out of service, and the other half featured people that really didn’t want to talk to me. Which was, frankly, baffling, because I was a constant delight.

  “Listen here, you little—“ And the line went dead.

  Meanwhile, the guy next to me was Mr. Personality. People wanted to stay on the phone with him, and he was always laughing, saying “you’re too kind, ma’am.”

  “You missed your calling as a telemarketer,” I said sourly, earning me an amused kiss to the top of my head.

  I called the last number, holding my breath for some results.

  “Hello?” a woman on the other end of the line answered.

  “Hello, this is Harper Beck. I’m working for a Linda Settler. Name ring any bells?”

  Instant recognition. “Sure, Fate and I used to work together.”

  Bingo. I tried not to let my excitement get the better of me, but damn it, I was excited.

  “Mrs. Settler is actually running for public office down here in Florida. She hired me to do an extensive look into her past for anything that might show up if her competitors went digging for dirt.”

  Wyatt raised his eyebrow at me, still on the phone with someone else. Grinning at him, I flipped him the bird. He wasn’t the only one that could come up with a good cover story.

  “Fate’s running for public office?” the woman asked doubtfully.

  “That’s correct. Now, where did the two of you work together?”

  I could almost feel her shrug through the phone. “It was just a couple months at this local funeral parlor. We answered phones.”

  “Did Fate stay on after you left?”