Murder on the Dance Floor: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 5)

by Raven Snow

  “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for that while I’m looking for something outside the realm of fiction.”

  But we never got across the threshold. As soon as the door swung open, the house lit up and an earth-shaking alarm went off. It echoed throughout the quiet neighborhood. A second later, the lights in all the other houses were turning on and people were coming outside.

  Foiled by a bunch of rich, caring neighbors. This never would’ve happened in the inner city.

  “Flee!” I hissed as we stumbled down the driveway to her car.

  Trying to keep our faces hidden, we slumped low in our seats as Vic drove away. She hit something metallic—a trash can maybe—but kept on booking it in reverse. Peeking out the window, I saw dozens of people calling the cops. Luckily, it was too dark, and we went too fast for them to see a license plate.

  “Maybe we should’ve asked Hannah to put that signed confession on the doorstep.”

  I nodded. “I’ll make note of that for next time.”

  Directing her toward the city, we went back to the scene of the crime (almost). Jack still lived in the same apartment, just a few blocks away from mine. It was just as crappy, though not quite on the level of the drug hideout of earlier today.

  The elevator said ‘out of order,’ and Vic and I shared a moment of perfect misery. Then, we were headed to the stairs. Jack lived near to top of a building with more floors than I had disco shorts. Before long, the two of us were dragging ourselves along by the railings, panting and sweating.

  When we reached his floor, Vic collapsed against the wall. “I need a doughnut—maybe a whole box.”

  “Remember, we still have to go down,” I said. “That’ll be harder if you’re ninety percent doughnut.”

  I walked up to Jack’s door and started fiddling with the lock. A few seconds later, the door sprang open, but not because of anything I’d done. Gasping, Vic and I jumped back, hands in the air.

  A wrinkly old woman stood in the doorway. Her eyes were made gigantic by the cat-eye glasses she wore, and she had a wicked cane. It had an eagle on the top and had possibly kept a few prostitutes in line, back in its day. I was a little jealous.

  “Hey, Mrs. Stellman.”

  “Harper Beck? Is that you?”

  I nodded and walked inside when she moved out of the way to let me through. The place smelled like cat urine and weed. The second really brought back some memories, and the first made me miss my cat.

  She motioned us over to a sunken coach, waddling to her own reclining chair. “I haven’t seen you since you were a knobby-kneed girl.”

  My knees knocked together at the reminder of how awkward I’d been as a child. I’d looked more like a flamingo with my long legs than a human child. Maybe somewhere out there was a family of pink birds missing me.

  “Jack’s not home, I’m afraid,” she said, shaking her head. “Never know where that boy is these days.”

  “Would you mind if we had a little look around his room?”

  Frowning, Mrs. Stellman asked, “Why?”

  Now came the hard part. With family members, it’s was always a perilous balance of how much truth to give them. It varied by situation, but I liked to think I’d gotten pretty good at it.

  “My cousin, Connor, has received some death threats.”

  She was shaking her head before I even finished. “My Jack wouldn’t have anything to do with that.”

  I folded my hands in front of me. “We hope not. And we’re trying to clear his name more than anything.”

  Which was true—if he was innocent. I was all about justice.

  “Well,” she said, pausing. “I guess that would be alright, then.”

  I pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she batted me away, smiling in a doting manner. “You always were a good girl, Harper.”

  Funny. Nobody else seemed to think so.

  Vic and I opened the door to Jack’s room, and the smell hit us like a fist to the nose. Backing up, I flapped my hand in front of my face, trying to ventilate.

  “That’s nasty, and I’ve changed diapers,” Vic said, holding her nose.

  We waded into the disaster zone, and I instantly felt a lot better about my housekeeping skills. Food and clothes covered the floor—some of it decomposing. The scent of weed was the only fresh thing in there, and I didn’t dare go near the bathroom. Grinning, I thought about what Wyatt would do if he saw this.

  Moving piles with our shoes, we uncovered and recovered, looking for anything of importance. I found a couple bugs, evidence of a rat or two, but no confession note.

  “Whoa, doggie,” Vic said, pulling out a whole lot of money from the drawer of the bedside table. It was all in small bills.

  “Looks like Jack’s been stealing more from Connor than we thought.”

  “That ups his motive, right?”

  “Wrong,” a voice said from the hallway.

  Practically jumping into Vic’s arms, we turned to see Jack glaring at us from outside his room. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was messy. It was a minor miracle that his clothes weren’t dirtier, considering the state of his room.

  “I wouldn’t try to kill Connor, you crazy bi−”

  “Hey, you better watch it,” Vic said, stepping toward him like a sumo wrestler before a match.

  “Yeah,” I said from the background, massaging Vic’s shoulders. “She killed a man once.”

  “Sale at Bloomingdale’s.”

  “No questions asked.”

  Jack squinted at us. “You two really are certifiable.”

  Unceremoniously, he kicked us to the curb a few minutes later, even though I wanted to stay for the cookies Mrs. Stellman had promised us. But judging from the murderous glint in Jack’s eyes, I didn’t think it was worth my life for them.

  “Shame we couldn’t get a look at Hannah’s house,” Vic said once we were in the car.

  “Just the way the cookie crumbles for now. I’m sure she’s changed the security codes since Con and her broke up,” I said. “Have to do a little thinking about how to go about this.”

  Vic dropped me off at the hotel, and I waved as she peeled off into the night. Wyatt’s car was in the parking lot, and I saw what looked to be an untouched bag of fast food in the passenger seat.

  Rubbing my hands together, I figured he wouldn’t want me to just leave it to rot in there. I pulled out my spare key, unlocked the driver’s door, and slid in. The cab smelled like French fries, and I rolled my eyes toward the heavens, thanking them for this feast.

  “A witch should keep her promise, Harper Beck,” a voice said from inside the car.

  Screaming, I whipped my head around, but no one was in the backseat like in a slasher movie. Besides, the voice had come from the front from inside the glove compartment.

  Wanting to hit myself upside the head for being so stupid, I pulled my grandma’s familiar out of its hiding place, smoothing my hand over the spine of the ancient text. Though it had no face, and therefore, no expression, I was picking up some very pissed off vibes.

  “I meant you could help me on a Waresville case,” I told the book. “We’re in Miami.”

  “You have no concept of how long I’ve been trapped in that little town. It’s boring and dusty. I want this case.”

  Waresville was about as far south of boring as one could get, but I didn’t want to argue that with a book. For one thing, the only part of Waresville it knew intimately was my grandma’s bookshelf. And in that regard, it was correct; the bookshelf was boring and dusty.

  “Look, this case is kind of personal, so−”

  “I see all, Harper Beck, though I possess no eyes.” The book’s voice was so loud, I had to cover my ears as the car quaked slightly. “I know far more about this mystery than any of you mortals can fathom.”

  “Wow, you really are in a mood.” I sighed, bringing the book back with me to the hotel room.

  Wyatt gave it the once-over when I set it on our bedside table. He’d seen it before an
d knew a little bit about what it could do. Shaking his head, he went back to reading the newspaper—something I made a point not to do. Too grown up.

  “It didn’t like being cooped up in the car,” I said by way of explanation.

  “That makes sense,” he said dryly. “As a book, it’s probably used to wide open pastures and gentle breezes.”

  I laughed, kissing away his mad. Before long, we were fast asleep, the book forgotten on the nightstand.

  Chapter Nine

  “Harper, wake up.”

  Burrowing deeper under the covers, I mumbled, “You wake up.” Sometimes, the ten-year-old comeback approach was the best one.

  The blankets were pulled off of me, and the freezing air bit at my skin like a million tiny piranhas. Gasping, I grabbed for them, but Wyatt kept them carefully out of my reach.

  “That delinquent friend of yours has been arrested.”

  I thought about it for a moment, shivering. “Which delinquent friend?”

  He groaned. “Get dressed.”

  As soon as he had me in the car, he drove off toward the police station—a much larger and dirtier place than the Waresville one. I fell back asleep halfway there and woke up with my face in Wyatt’s lap, which was not a bad place to be.

  I walked through the doors and started sweating. Everything in here was exactly as I remembered it from the few times I’d been picked up for petty theft and such. Large, burly officers passed me, and I flinched, wanting to keep their cuffs in sight at all times.

  “Bennett,” one of them said, coming up to Wyatt. “Picked up a woman on breaking and entering, and she said she knew you.”

  The detective was big like his friends, and his mustache had turned grey since the last time I saw him. His eyes slid past Wyatt and rested on me, frowning. “Don’t I know you?”

  “Nope,” I said cheerily, practically running toward the holding pen. I could feel Wyatt watching me the whole way, but I didn’t stop until I’d found Vic.

  She was sitting in a cell with a bunch of the good people of Miami. We had prostitutes, drug dealers, wife beaters, and there Vic was, housewife, chatting them all up like they were old friends. It did me proud.

  Seeing me, she sprung up, coming to the bars with a big grin on her face. “I broke into Hannah Workman’s house.”

  “Might not want to go around confessing that,” I told her with a raised eyebrow. “Get anything good?”

  “Well, they caught me pretty fast, but I had time to read one entry in her diary.”

  Most people would’ve seen that as a grievous invasion of privacy, but as I wasn’t most people, my smile grew to match hers. If there were a confession any place, it’d be there. “What did it say?”

  “That she knew about the appointment to change the will and was all kinds of mad about it.”

  We did an awkward high-five through the bars, and then I was frowning. “When are they releasing you?”

  She shrugged. “Depends on whether Hannah’s pressing charges—so I hear. I already called a babysitter, just in case.”

  I stepped back, having taken all I could of being this close to the cage. “I’ll see if I can’t talk to her about it—tell her you had a break from reality after your divorce.”

  “Hey!”

  I gave her a look. “Shouldn’t be too hard to sell.”

  When I walked back out to Wyatt, he was still standing next to the guy who had arrested me no less than five times. Unfortunately, the haze had cleared from Detective Grayson’s eyes, and he was glaring at me.

  “Harper Beck, as I live and breathe. Figured you died when I stopped picking you up.”

  I smiled so wide, I thought the skin around my mouth would split. “Surprise! Is this a great early birthday present or what?”

  Wyatt shuttled me away at that point, looking less than pleased. He waved goodbye to his new buddy, who had probably already told him every dirty secret and low moment I’d ever had. This was going to be a fun ride home.

  “You and Bill have quite the history,” he said finally, his tone carefully bland.

  “Known him since I was a kid, but you’ve probably already heard.”

  “I didn’t ask him to tell me anything, Harper.” He shot me a withering glance. “I’d rather you do that yourself.”

  “Sure,” I said easily. “What would you like to hear about first? Petty theft? Stripping? Oh, I know, the drug charges. Maybe you should just get out now before my colorful past messes up your lily white one.”

  He pulled the car over, and people blared their horns at us. Looking right into my eyes, he said, “I love you—a whole damn lot. Nothing that you or anyone else has done is ever going to change that. You just can’t keep me in the dark.”

  ___

  When I woke up a couple of hours later, Wyatt had gone, and I felt more alone than I had in years. Loneliness can be numbing like that—you don’t realize just how cold you are until the sun comes along. And when someone takes away that sun, the cold can be almost unbearable.

  After telling Con to park far away, I found Hannah outside her house, sitting on the porch with two bottles of wine next to her. That sounded pretty good to me, so I walked up, sat down, and took a few swigs.

  Gasping, I said, “These are full of vodka.”

  “The wine ran out weeks ago,” she said, taking a longer pull from the bottle than I would’ve thought possible. I changed myself to match her when it was my turn, but I ended up choking and sputtering.

  “So… Vic tried to break into your house.”

  “Yep.” She took a swig.

  “I don’t suppose I could… you know… convince you not to press charges?”

  The wine bottle shattered against the wall just above my head, and I figured that was my cue to leave. Running down the street, I found where Connor’s truck was hiding with minor difficulties, because I couldn’t see him in the window. This turned out to be because he was slouching in his seat in an effort not to be seen.

  “Big baby,” I told him as I slid into the passenger seat. “Go face your wife.”

  “I divorced her so I wouldn’t have to face her,” he grumbled, starting the engine.

  “Who’s your lawyer?” I asked suddenly, getting an idea.

  When he told me, I groaned, sliding down in my seat. “I thought he was an accountant.”

  “Jose’s got a law degree, too,” Connor said cheerfully. “Does wills on the side.”

  “Of course he does.”

  We headed through the dwindling traffic to the little Chinese store. I could smell the egg rolls being fried, and even though it was still early for lunch, my stomach growled with obvious longing. A woman who was sweeping the floor smiled at me and waved me in.

  Connor stopped me just before I made a break for it. “I thought you wanted to talk to Jose.”

  “Well, yes, but−”

  Rolling his eyes, he dragged me inside of the little office, farther away from where I wanted to be which was neck-deep in noodles. The office was high-quality, but everything seemed like it’d been taken straight out of an 80s catalogue. I sat on the electric blue coach, thinking about the last accountant’s office I’d been in.

  His name had been Matt Gibb, and he’d been my very first case. His psycho mother had killed him and his Russian bride to gain immortality. Then, Gran had turned her into a frog. I didn’t consider it much of a loss all around. The wife had been greedy and a little awful, Matt had always stared down my shirt and grabbed my butt, and his mother had tried to suck the life out of me.

  I hoped this trip to the accountant would go a little smoother.

  Jose was sitting in his office, typing away at the computer. When he looked up and saw us there, he smiled that smile that got him elected as class president. Still, though I was biased, I happened to think Wyatt’s was more blinding and a lot more genuine.

  Both Con and I sat at the same time, and there was a moment of discomfort between us when we realized our body language was exactly the s
ame. Shrugging, I chalked it up to that strong Beck blood.

  “We need to talk to you,” I said, leaning forward and keeping my face neutral.

  “Anything for you.” He turned to Con. “Is this professional business?”

  “Er−” His eyes darted to me, and I grinned at how well I had him trained even after all these years.

  “We need to know if you told anyone about Connor drafting a new will.”

  He sat back, frowning. For some reason, I preferred him like this. The Jose I’d known in high school hadn’t been all fake smiles and nauseating charisma. He’d been a nice, honest guy—normal. Everything I never thought I’d be able to have.

  But now, I did, and I was in danger of messing it up.

  “That’s confidential information,” he said. “I wouldn’t−”

  “Hannah knew somehow,” I said, and Connor paled next to me. I’d forgotten to share that little nugget with him.

  Jose looked immediately uncomfortable, shifting from cheek to perfect cheek. “Well, Ms. Workman is a client of mine. She’s been in the office.”

  I wasn’t in the mood for games. “How long did you leave her alone with your paperwork?”

  “I had a very important phone call.”

  “I don’t suppose Jack Stellman is a client of yours as well?”

  He shook his head mutely, red tinting his cheeks.

  Standing, I pulled Connor to his feet. “That’ll be all. Thank you.”

  He called after us as we left his office. “It was only for a few minutes! How was I to know she’d go through my files?”

  “Next time, Con,” I said as we stood in line for well-deserved egg rolls on my part, “pick a lawyer your ex doesn’t frequent.”

  When we sat down, him with his fried rice and me with everything else, he asked, “You think she did it, then? Hannah?”

  “She’s a real good suspect, Con. Sorry.” My mouth was full of noodles and cabbage, so it probably sounded less sincere than it did in my head. Still, the food was good enough to justify not emotionally comforting my only cousin.

  Connor put his head in his hands, sighing deeply. “We used to be so great, you know?”