Great Balls of Fury

by Annabel Chase

  “Good afternoon, Eden.” He swaggered up the driveway, looking every inch the chief that he was. And in those tight jeans, I mean every inch. His sea-green eyes gleamed in the bright sunlight. He was like watching a living, breathing magazine ad.

  “What brings you to Munster Close, Chief?” As I took a hesitant step forward, Princess Buttercup came rushing past me and nearly knocked me off my feet. She lunged for Chief Fox, throwing her front paws on his shoulders and licking his face.

  “Whoa,” the chief said. Thankfully, he was laughing and not drawing his gun.

  “Princess Buttercup! Get down this instant.”

  The hellhound dropped to the ground and gave me a guilty look.

  “She’s yours?” Chief Fox asked. He stroked the hellhound’s head. “I’ve never seen a dog like this.”

  “She’s a black and white Great Dane,” I said. “She’s a rescue.”

  He smiled at Princess Buttercup. “Really? I hate the thought of anyone abandoning a dog, especially one as awesome as this. They’d have to be crazy.”

  If only he could see her true form, I wondered whether he’d hold the same opinion.

  “Where did you find her?” he asked.

  His question took me off-guard. I couldn’t exactly say, as a matter of fact, mere human who knows nothing about the supernatural, I found her abandoned outside the entrance to the underworld. Funny story, that.

  “Um, San Francisco. I think someone found it hard to keep a dog her size in an apartment in the city. Too many trips down the emergency staircase.”

  “Their loss is your gain. So listen, I thought we could talk about the investigation, seeing as how you’ve been interrogating suspects without me.”

  Crap on toast.

  I grasped at an excuse. “I had a good lead and I thought it was best to move forward…”

  Chief Fox didn’t let me twist in the wind. “Relax, Eden. Why don’t we go inside and talk?” He inclined his head toward my neighbor’s house. “Because I think we might have an audience out here.”

  I followed his gaze to where Mrs. Paulson was pretending to sweep her front porch at an awkward angle—an angle clearly designed to maximize her eavesdropping efforts.

  “Sure. Come on in,” I said weakly. I couldn’t decide which was worse—having Mrs. Paulson eavesdrop or invite him into my family’s home. I ran through a mental list of everyone in the house and what they were doing. As far as I knew, no one was wreaking magical havoc right now.

  I made sure to enter the house first and call out to anyone within earshot. “Look who’s here for a visit! Have you all met the new chief of police?”

  My mother darted into the foyer, wiping her hands on an apron with the picture of a chicken that read Wake Up, Mothercluckers.

  “Welcome to Chipping Cheddar, Chief Fox. It’s so lovely to meet you.” She halted in front of him, clearly taken aback. “My, my. I wasn’t expecting someone so youthful and attractive.”

  Was my mother seriously trying to flirt with a guy half her age? Of course she was.

  “Are those real muscles?” my mother continued.

  I rolled my eyes. “No, Mom. They’re fake muscles. He wears padding under his shirt to beef himself up.”

  Chief Fox snorted. “An unintended by-product of an active lifestyle, I’m afraid.”

  “Who’s afraid?” Grandma shuffled into the room in her terrycloth robe and slippers.

  “Grandma, why aren’t you dressed?”

  “I got dressed yesterday,” Grandma said. “That’s enough for one week.”

  A black cat leaped from a nearby ledge and used the chief’s shoulder as a springboard to the floor. He reeled back, startled. The cat turned to hiss at him before running off.

  “That’s Candy,” I said. “My grandmother’s cat.”

  “Why does your grandmother’s cat have a stripper name?”

  “Stripper name?” I echoed. “Well, I guess it takes one to know one.”

  “Candy’s not a stripper,” Grandma said. “I suppose she might have been in her former life, but it’s not something we talk about.”

  Chief Fox chuckled. “She’s reincarnated, huh?”

  “Hexed, more likely,” Grandma said. “Not by me, though. It was before my time. Whatever happened, she’s still bitter about it.”

  “Grandma,” I said in a low, warning tone.

  “Are you talking to me?” Grandma asked. She rubbed her ear. “You’ll have to speak up. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

  If she weren’t so old and prone to broken bones, I would have kicked her in the shins to silence her. Thankfully, Chief Fox seemed to embrace her comments as the amusing yet mad ramblings of an elderly woman.

  “I’m Sawyer Fox,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “I’m the new chief of police.”

  “It doesn’t get more impressive with volume,” Grandma replied. She padded into the kitchen and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Have you offered the chief a cold beverage?” my mother asked me. Her accusatory tone was evident to everyone within earshot.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Chief Fox said.

  “You certainly are.” My mother actually batted her eyelashes like a Southern debutante in heat. It was embarrassing.

  I steered the chief through the French doors and into the home office. “And you were worried about Mrs. Paulson eavesdropping.”

  “Looks like we might be interrupting the CEO hard at work,” Chief Fox said. He jerked his head toward the desk where Olivia spun around in the swivel chair.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said.

  “A CEO?” Chief Fox queried. “But that’s a good thing.”

  “Depends on your point of view.” She grabbed the edge of the desk to stop herself from spinning. “Want to see my constipated face?”

  Chief Fox cast a quick glance at me. “Uh, sure.”

  Olivia squeezed her eyes closed, scrunched her nose, and flapped her arms. Her bright blue eyes popped open for his approval.

  “Nice,” the chief said smoothly.

  Olivia dashed from the room to torment someone else.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “Hey, it’d be worse if she were actually constipated.”

  Why did he have to be so charming? It wasn’t fair.

  “Important question.” His gaze was fixed on something behind me. “Who owns the cardboard cutout of Fabio?”

  Oh no. I craned my neck and saw the life-size cardboard cutout of Fabio, the model that graced the covers of many of my mother’s romance novels.

  “Eden brought that with her from San Francisco,” my mother said from the doorway.

  I whipped toward her. “What? I did not!”

  My mother placed a placating hand on my arm. “Now, Eden. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Sure, he’s a little older but those chesticles are enticing.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I began, but my mother smoothly interjected.

  “Good, then that’s the end of that.”

  My insides were on fire. Why was my mom refusing to take ownership of Fabio? She adored Fabio. She decorated him for holidays with a string of lights and a Santa hat at Christmastime and a giant pink heart T-shirt for Valentine’s Day.

  I steered Chief Fox out of the office and away from Fabio. “Anyway, it was kind of you to stop by.”

  “But I didn’t actually get to talk to you about the reason I’m here.”

  I hesitated. “Can we talk outside? It’s too noisy in here for me to concentrate.”

  “It’s not noisy,” Grandma yelled from across the room.

  “Now you can hear?” I called back. This family was maddening.

  I marched outside with the chief right behind me. I dropped down on the front porch swing, making sure the door was firmly closed behind us.

  “The coast is clear,” I said.

  “Your family is…interesting,” he said.

  “They’re something,” I replied. “What’s your
family like?” I pictured them in matching khakis and loafers with colorful collared polo shirts. They probably took their Christmas card photos in November at the beach.

  He shrugged. “Typical Midwestern, I guess.”

  Okay, scratch the part about the beach.

  “Des Moines, Iowa born and bred.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Is that potatoes?”

  “That’s Idaho.” He cracked a smile. “And Ireland.”

  “Germans?”

  “That’s Minnesota.”

  “Is it cheese? No, that’s Wisconsin.” As someone from a cheesemaking town, I knew my cheese states whether I wanted to or not.

  “Corn,” he finally said. “Iowa is known for corn.”

  “Right.” I peered up at him. “So what brings you all the way to the East Coast? That’s a big change.”

  “I wanted a big change,” he admitted. “I love the water. I spent a lot of time on boats at the lake growing up.”

  “Sounds idyllic.” Not like my childhood of demons and curses.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes boring.”

  “Boring has its advantages,” I said.

  He joined me on the porch swing. “Says the woman who interrogated Wade Cantrell for no apparent reason. What made you do that?”

  “He’s an attractive guy,” I said. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to him.”

  Chief Fox regarded me. “I wouldn’t have pegged him as your type.”

  “You think you know my type? We’ve known each other for what? Five minutes?”

  He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “I wasn’t trying to be presumptuous.”

  “How did you find out I spoke to him?”

  “Deputy Guthrie overheard Wade bragging to the cashier at the liquor store that he’d caught the eye of the prettiest woman in town.”

  “And Sean assumed it was me?” That was a stretch. He’d always had a thing for Sassy.

  “No, it was when Wade went on to say that the prettiest woman in town was batshit crazy and accused him of murdering Chief O’Neill. That’s when Deputy Guthrie thought of you.” Chief Fox eyed me expectantly.

  “Tensions are running high since the chief died,” I said. “Any woman could’ve accused Wade of that.”

  “Uh huh.” He leaned back against the swing. “I really need to get one of these. It’s very relaxing.”

  “I used to fall asleep out here in the afternoons when I was a kid. Grandma would come and whack me with the broom to wake me up.”

  “She couldn’t just call your name? Maybe shake an arm?”

  I shrugged. “She’s prone to violence.” And dark magic, but I’d keep that part to myself.

  He inched away from me. “Hope it’s not genetic.”

  “I’m a boring cyber crime agent, remember? They don’t do violence.” One little white lie never hurt anyone.

  Chief Fox was silent for a beat. “So do you think he did it?”

  “No,” I said. There was no reason to keep playing the game if he didn’t believe me. “I think he’s awful, but I don’t think he killed Chief O’Neill.”

  “Then I guess we need to keep the investigation going.”

  I shot him a curious look. “That’s it? You’re going to move on from Wade because I said so?”

  “Any reason I shouldn’t?”

  I drew my knees to my chest. “No, I’m just surprised you have that much confidence in me. You hardly know me.”

  He pinned his blue eyes on me. “You don’t get to be chief of police at my age without having a decent radar in place, Agent Fury. You’ve got good instincts, I can tell. I’m going to trust them until you give me a reason not to.”

  “Any more leads?” I asked. I certainly wasn’t about to share mine or the chief would be jumping on board with Wade’s assessment of ‘batshit crazy.’

  “Not yet, but I’ll let you know, as long as you promise to keep me in the loop on your end.” He stood. “And, just for the record, even if Wade hadn’t mentioned the part about the chief’s death, I would’ve known he was talking about you.”

  “Because I’m batshit crazy?”

  He grinned. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

  Without a backward glance, he walked down the front porch steps. I stared at his tight jeans as he crossed the lawn and returned to his car. If I’d known there’d be a guy like that coming to Chipping Cheddar, I might have stuck around.

  “Eden!” My mother had opened the front window and poked her head outside. “I told you I needed help before you took the dog for a walk. Get in here, please.”

  I heaved a sigh. Then again, maybe not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My mother’s plea for help involved deciding whether a blue top or a red top best complemented her coloring.

  “This is what you needed me for?” I asked. “How do you not know your best colors by now?”

  My mother adjusted the hem of the red top. “Well, honey, you wouldn’t understand. When they all look so darn good, it makes it hard to choose.”

  “Wear the red,” I said. “It highlights the burning flames of hell in your eyes.”

  “Look at you, Eden. Being so sweet.” She inclined her head. “What do you want?”

  I told her about summoning Paul’s ghost.

  “So now you want to use us for our magic?” My mother placed a hand on her ample hip. “I thought you found our magic beneath your lofty ambitions.”

  I closed my eyes and struggled to maintain my composure. “This isn’t about me, Mom. This is about trying to stop a killer before he strikes again. Who knows? If we don’t identify him soon, you could be next.” Gods be willing.

  My mother huffed loudly. “Fine, but I expect something in return. We’re not performing magical monkeys, not even for family. It takes a lot of time and effort…”

  I knew her speech could go on for a while, so I caved immediately. I didn’t have time to bicker. “I have an expense budget,” I said. Maybe. I’d have to ask Neville.

  My mother perked up. “Ooh, look at you, Miss Big Spender. Holding the FBM by the short and curly purse strings. Must be nice.”

  “No black magic,” I added quickly. “Just a garden variety summoning spell.”

  Her brow lifted. “Now you propose to tell me how to do my own magic?”

  “There’s no need for blood or anything else,” I said. “This kind of spell doesn’t require it.”

  “You telling me what I can and cannot do under my own roof, young lady?”

  “Do I need to show you my badge?”

  We stared at each other for a lingering moment.

  My mother broke first. “Fine, but only because it isn’t necessary for the spell. One of these days, someone might remove that wand from your posterior and beat you with it.”

  I sighed. “Can we just get on with it?”

  “I need Aunt Thora,” she said. “We have to wait until she gets back from her gardening club meeting.”

  Now that I had a working theory, I didn’t want to waste time. Not when there might be a demon killer on the loose. “Where’s the meeting?”

  My mother looked at me askance. “At the senior center. Why?”

  “Because I’m going to get her,” I replied.

  “Great. Let’s go,” Grandma interjected. I didn’t even notice her enter my mom’s bedroom. For an old woman with creaky bones, she moved like a Ninja.

  I whirled around. “There’s no need for a passenger.”

  “You won’t even know I’m in the car,” she said. “I’ll be as silent as the grave.”

  If only.

  “Your idea of silence is banging pots and pans at a slow tempo.”

  Grandma laughed. “Play your music loud enough and you won’t hear me. Oh, wait. You like that annoying noise that disguises itself as music. On second thought, I’ll sing.”

  Dear gods of Olympus. “Grandma, I won’t take you anywhere if you sing. You have to be quiet so I can think.”

  “Oh,
is that the problem?” Grandma asked. “You mean if we’d have been quieter when you were growing up, you would’ve been smarter? Maybe you’d even have a full set of fury powers by now.” She looked at my mother. “That’s where you went wrong Beatrice.”

  “Oh, so this is my fault?” my mother shot back.

  “I am smart,” I said. “And I don’t want those fury powers. You think I like having wings?” The words escaped my lips before I could stop them.

  My grandma’s eyes rounded. “You have wings? Since when?”

  I groaned. There was no way I’d get out of this. “Since I left San Francisco. My…incident at work triggered a new fury trait.”

  Grandma clapped her hands. “Why didn’t you tell us? This is great news. There’s hope for you yet. Finally, your mother can stop casting her Lost Cause charm.”

  I froze. “Mom’s been casting spells? About me?” I shot her an accusatory look.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Grandma said. “She’s been at it for years and you didn’t notice.”

  “What do the wings look like?” my mother asked. “They’re black, right? Please tell me they’re black.”

  I closed my eyes, resigned to have the conversation. “Yes, they’re black.”

  “How big is the wingspan?” Grandma asked. “Your cousin Stella grew wings that were six feet. I remember your father mentioning it once.”

  “Yours are at least that, right?” my mother urged.

  “You’re going to be competitive about wingspan, too?” I asked. “Is there anything you’re not competitive about?”

  My mother and grandmother exchanged quizzical looks. “I’ve got nothing,” Grandma said.

  “My wings are perfectly proportionate to my body,” I said. I refused to give exact measurements.

  They both scrutinized me. “Hmm,” my mother said. “Maybe there’s a spell…”

  “Enough!” I said. “I need to get Aunt Thora.” I yanked the door open and marched outside. Princess Buttercup was sprawled across the front porch and I nearly tripped over her. She lifted her head a fraction when she noticed me.

  “You want to go for a ride?” I asked.

  Her ears perked up.

  “I’m not sharing a seat with that mutt,” Grandma said. “She smells like acidic farts.”

  “You’re not sharing a seat with her,” I said.