Great Balls of Fury

by Annabel Chase

  He clenched the stem of his flute. “How did you hear about that?”

  “Oh, you know how the rumor mill is in this town. Always working overtime.”

  “I don’t actually,” he said. “I tend to spend most of my time here on the yacht.”

  “Then why be here at all?” I asked.

  “It’s a picturesque place from this vantage point.” He swept his arm toward the shoreline. “Not as pretty as Monaco or Capri, but it has its charms.”

  “So what was the argument about?” I pressed.

  “He tried to issue me a ticket for reckless driving,” Wade complained. “I don’t need that on my record.”

  “Were you?” I asked. “Driving recklessly?”

  “I might go a little faster than the speed limit, but how is that any different from driving in a car?”

  I peered at him. “People driving in a car get tickets, too.”

  “Only if they get caught.”

  “Um, you got caught.”

  Wade looked at me askance. “Whose side are you on?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that without getting booted off the yacht, and I wasn’t finished asking my questions. “Did you end up getting the ticket? I bet you didn’t.” I nudged his arm playfully.

  “I did, as a matter of fact, and I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “How unhappy were you?”

  He frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Unhappy enough to toss him overboard?”

  “It was a citation, not a prison sentence.”

  “Okay, so maybe it was an accident that you tried to cover up,” I said. “It’s understandable. He’s the chief of police and he’s drowning. You’re afraid if you try to save him, you’ll drown too. People panic in that situation. It’s a normal reaction.”

  “I did not panic,” he griped.

  “Oh, so you’re saying you remained calm while the chief fought for his life in the water?”

  “That is not at all what I’m saying,” Wade said. His face was pink with pretentious rage.

  “What happened after he issued the citation?” I asked.

  “I yelled. He stayed annoyingly calm. He left the yacht. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t leave the yacht to follow him?”

  “No, I went downstairs to rejoin my special guest.”

  Ugh. “Who was your companion?”

  He looked blank for a moment. “Lila. No, Leila. It was Leila.”

  Poor Leila. “Is she local?”

  “Yes, I met her on the promenade the evening before. She’d been jogging and twisted her ankle.”

  “And you nursed her back to health with a few glasses of champagne and a good night’s sleep?”

  He smirked. “It was a good night. Can’t comment on the sleep.”

  I heaved a weary sigh. “Any idea where I can find her? Maybe a last name?”

  “No idea about her last name. She said she works at the diner. Gouda Nuff.”

  In that case, Leila would be easy enough to track down. “And what did you do after she left?”

  “I showered and then I called my mother to complain about the citation.”

  “You called your mom? What are you, five?”

  Wade sulked. “She was appropriately outraged.”

  And I’m sure she shoved a few grand into his trust fund to ease his pain. “What time did you speak to her?”

  He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “It was early. I know that much. She chastised me for interfering with her beauty sleep. Mother doesn’t function without her full eight hours.”

  He turned the phone toward me so that I could see the time stamp.

  “And what did you do after you cried to mommy about receiving that well-deserved citation?”

  He snatched the flute from my hand, clearly irritated that he’d wasted his good champagne on me. “I went to breakfast at The Daily Grind. They serve the only drinkable coffee in this town.”

  Well, we agreed on that score.

  “Who waited on you?”

  “Caitlin.”

  I started, not expecting he’d know the answer. “You actually take time to learn their names?”

  “Only the pretty ones,” he admitted.

  Jerk. Part of me was tempted to sprout my wings and frighten him overboard.

  “I’m going to check out your alibi. Assuming it matches your story, you might want to think about relocating this yacht somewhere else,” I said.

  His gaze swept across the deck. “Why would I do that?”

  I patted his cheek. “Because Wade, my love, there’s a new chief in town.”

  Clara sat across from me in the Gouda Nuff diner. Every sip she took of her chocolate milkshake made my stomach sick with envy. It didn’t help that she had a plate heaped with bacon and a stack of silver dollar pancakes. That’s the beauty of diners—you can eat whatever you want whenever you want.

  She smiled. “Eden, if you’re hungry, order something.”

  “I already ate,” I said. “I’m just here to check out Wade’s alibi.” I’d told Clara about speaking with the chief’s ghost and my conversation with Wade Cantrell.

  “But the way you’re staring at my food…It’s like your mother in front of a cosmetics counter.”

  I snorted. “What can I say? The woman loves her makeup.”

  “Who cares if you already ate?” Clara slurped the thick ice cream through her straw. “It’s not like you’re on a diet.”

  “And I’d like to keep it that way,” I said. “If I keep eating the way I do, there will come a day when I start gaining weight.” And I’d be terrible at trying to lose it. I had discipline, but not when it came to good food.

  Clara speared a piece of bacon with her fork. “Eden, is anyone in your family overweight?”

  “No,” I said slowly.

  “Do you live a sedentary lifestyle?”

  “No.”

  “Then what makes you think you’re going to be overweight?”

  “I don’t want to buy new pants.” Ever. I also had no idea whether my family members used magic to stay slender. They’d never admit it if they did, which meant my real genetic disposition was a mystery.

  Clara waved to the waitress. “Leila, can we please get another chocolate shake?”

  Leila snapped her gum. “Sure thing. Anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” I said. I lowered my voice so as not to be overheard by the people in the booth behind us. “Do you know Wade Cantrell?”

  “Sure. We’ve met,” she said, smiling.

  “Is it true that you spent the night on his yacht recently?”

  Leila glared at me. “Are you trying to slut shame me or something? Because we’re both single adults…”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Not at all. Were you on the yacht when Chief O’Neill issued Wade a citation?”

  “I was below deck, but I heard their conversation. Wade got a little loud at one point, but he cooled.” She ran her tongue across her upper lip. “Then we he came back down to me, he got hot and bothered all over again.”

  “On second thought, I don’t think I need that milkshake.”

  “Any more details you’d like to know?” Leila asked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

  “Do you remember whether Wade came straight down after the chief left?”

  She nodded. “Sure did. I heard him call the chief a name over his shoulder on the steps. He wanted to have the last word.”

  Naturally.

  “He told me the chief seemed to be afraid of the water,” Leila said. “He thought it was funny. I told him I didn’t find it funny at all because I have a real fear of butterflies. If someone stuck me in one of those butterfly gardens, I’d have a heart attack.”

  Ugh. Laughing at the chief’s deep-rooted fear of water? I really hoped Wade took his yacht and hightailed it back to whatever port he came from. “And you’re
sure you didn’t hear a splash?”

  Leila narrowed her eyes. “Hang on. Are you asking me all these questions because you think Wade pushed the chief into the bay and drowned him?”

  “I’m simply following up on a lead,” I said.

  “Why? Are you the new chief? I thought the new chief was hot.”

  “She’s FBI,” Clara interjected.

  Leila’s eyes flickered with surprise. “I see.”

  I flashed my FBM badge, which I knew would appear as a normal FBI badge to her. “Agent Fury.”

  “Well, Agent Fury, I think you’re out of luck with Wade.”

  I thought so, too. “I appreciate your candor, Leila. If you think of anything, though, will you let me know?”

  “Sure will.” She snapped her gum again. “If you’re not going to order anything else, are you ready for the check?”

  Clara patted the table. “Leave it here, thanks.”

  Leila dropped the check and moved on to the booth behind us.

  “What are you thinking?” Clara asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have that look.” Clara tried to imitate my expression by scrunching her face. “It means your brain is hard at work.”

  I knew I had an expressive face, but I didn’t realize it was that transparent. “Well, a thought did occur to me. The thing Leila said about the butterflies.”

  “I know. I didn’t realize fear of butterflies was an actual thing.”

  “It is. Lepidopterophobia.”

  “So why is that relevant?”

  “Paul Pidcock died from his allergy to bee stings. If you know you have a severe allergy that can kill you, you’re probably afraid of bees, right?”

  “I know I would be.”

  “And Elliott Bradford had a fear of enclosed spaces. Avoided them at all costs, but for some reason, felt compelled to take the elevator and had a heart attack.”

  Clara’s brow creased. “You think they’re all related.”

  “I’m starting to think so. Chief O’Neill doesn’t remember anyone near him or pushing him, but he remembers feeling compelled to go to the water. What if Elliott felt that same compulsion to go into the elevator? And why Paul approached an active beehive?”

  Clara shivered. “You think a demon is responsible?”

  “I think it’s highly likely.” Many demons, like my father and brother, draw power from their victims. It was possible that whatever demon was on the loose in Chipping Cheddar was absorbing the fear of their victims. Fear is one of the strongest emotions and can create powerful energy.

  “Why haven’t you seen their ghosts?” Clara asked.

  “The other two victims?”

  “Yes. If Agent Pidcock was murdered by the same demon as Chief O’Neill, wouldn’t his ghost be haunting your office?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “Paul was a wizard. He doesn’t necessarily stick around if things go south for his body.”

  “Can you summon his ghost?” Clara suggested. “He’d be more aware of an invisible demon hand than humans like Chief O’Neill or Elliott.”

  “Good point.” Although summoning someone like Paul meant I’d need to enlist the aid of my mother’s family. I didn’t have enough experience to do it on my own.

  Clara handed me a slice of bacon. “Fuel for thought.”

  “I love that you still eat bacon with a fork.”

  She chewed happily. “Old habits die hard.”

  Although it wasn’t the lead I expected to uncover when I went to see Wade Cantrell earlier, a supernatural killer made a lot of sense. Unfortunately, it also meant that my role in the investigation was about to get a little tricky with Chief Fox.

  Chapter Twelve

  My epiphany in the diner had me steeped in thought all the way home. I barely managed to get through the front door when Princess Buttercup accosted me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, patting her head. “I’ve been out all day, haven’t I?”

  The hellhound’s mournful expression told me that she was, indeed, feeling neglected.

  “How about a nice walk around the neighborhood?”

  Her tongue rolled out, sparks shooting along the way. One of the hazards of being a hound from the underworld.

  “Eden, is that you?” My mother’s voice rang out.

  “Perfect timing,” I whispered to Princess Buttercup. Loudly, I said, “I have to take the dog for a walk.” I didn’t manage to escape before she caught up with me.

  “About time,” she replied. “You can’t keep a hellhound that size cooped up in the house all day. She needs fresh air and exercise.”

  “There’s a house full of people here,” I said. “Anyone could have let her out in the backyard.”

  My mother harrumphed. “She’s your responsibility. Your niece’s snake and your grandmother’s cat are more than enough for the rest of us to take care of.”

  Wait, what? “What snake?”

  “Olivia’s snake. Charlemagne.”

  “How have I not seen this snake?” I asked. I wasn’t a huge fan of slithering critters.

  “What do you look so nervous about?” my mother asked. “Your ancestors’ hair was full of snakes. You’re lucky you didn’t inherit that trait.”

  My hand flew instinctively to touch my hair. “Definitely lucky.”

  “Charlemagne is a giant sweetie pie,” my mother continued. “He’s a reptilian puppy if ever there was one.”

  “You mean he pees in the house and chews your furniture?”

  My mother narrowed her eyes. “No, I mean he chases the cat and likes to lick.”

  I cringed. “With a forked tongue? Gross.”

  Princess Buttercup whined beside me. She was desperate.

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” I told my mother.

  “Good, because I need you to help me with…”

  I put my hands against my ears and began to chant as I accompanied Princess Buttercup outside.

  We walked to the corner of Munster Close and turned right onto Gruyere Way. The sun was still shining and it felt good to be walking at a brisk pace with Princess Buttercup by my side. For a moment, I was back in San Francisco, making my way down the crookedest street and laughing at the oversized vehicles that got stuck when they failed to properly navigate the street.

  “Eden Fury, as I live and breathe.”

  Ugh. I didn’t need to look to recognize that shrill voice. “Hey, Tammy.” Tammy Leighton was probably in her mid-fifties but still wore her graying hair in pigtails.

  “It’s lovely to see you. Listen, dear, I know you haven’t been here in quite some time, but you simply can’t walk your hellhound off leash.”

  “Since when?” Tammy was a human with the Sight, so it didn’t surprise me that she could see Princess Buttercup in her natural form.

  “HOA rule number thirty-seven. Your parents have copies of the handbook if you need to familiarize yourself with the neighborhood rules now that you’re back.”

  I stared at her. “When did the neighborhood form an HOA?”

  “Three years ago,” she said. “I’m the president, of course.” She smiled like she’d won the Citizen of the Year award.

  “Humans can’t tell she’s a hellhound, you know,” I reminded her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tammy said. “Great Danes need to be leashed all the same. Even my precious Captain America needs to be walked on a leash and he’s not a threat to anyone.”

  Captain America was Tammy’s dachshund. “He’s still around, huh?” He had to be pushing the limits of his lifespan, bless him.

  Tammy practically burst with pride at the mention of her beloved dog. “He’s gone a bit gray around the face, but who hasn’t?” She tittered. “He’s still the same wonderful companion.” Her hard lines seemed to soften. “Tell you what. Given that you’re sort of a born-again resident, I’ll let you off with a warning this time.”

  “Thanks, Tammy,” I said.

  “And tell your Aunt Thora
that I’ve seen those lemon trees in her garden,” Tammy said, all business once again. She clucked her tongue. “She knows full well those are not permitted under HOA rule number ninety-two.”

  There was an HOA rule dedicated to lemon trees?

  “Why can’t she have them?” Aunt Thora was obsessed with lemons. If she could be buried in a coffin with lemons that stayed fresh for eternity, she’d welcome death tomorrow.

  “They attract unwanted pests and disease,” Tammy said. “We have to keep such things under control or the entire community suffers.”

  Tammy’s problem was that she wanted to keep everything under control, no matter how minute.

  “I’ll pass along your message.” Thankfully, Aunt Thora didn’t share the personality traits of the other female members of my family. In other words, she wouldn’t hex Tammy for her simple, rule-abiding request.

  “How long do you and your hound plan to stay with your family?” Tammy asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I just started a new job and I’ve been focused on that.”

  “Well, between you and your brother’s family and the animals, your mother is already in violation of several rules.”

  “What does the HOA care how many family members are living under one roof?”

  Tammy looked at me like I was nuts. “If we don’t care, who will?”

  “No one,” I said. “No one outside of the house should care. Besides, my brother’s family is only there until their remodeling is finished.”

  Tammy pressed her lips together. “So I’ve been told.”

  What was that supposed to mean? I’d had my fill of Tammy. Fresh air and exercise were supposed to de-stress me, not trigger more.

  “It was good to see you, Tammy.”

  “Remember,” she said. “Leash the beast next time.”

  I guided Princess Buttercup back toward Munster Close, no longer in the mood for a walk. We made it back to the driveway when the sound of a car caught my attention. I turned to see a police car come into view and my heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here?

  Chief Fox pulled in front of the mailbox and waved. I stood awkwardly on the lawn, uncertain what to do. Was he here to kick me off the case because I spoke to Wade Cantrell by myself? Did he figure out there was something strange about me or my family?