What guilt they must be feeling.
What horror at the thought of what had happened to the woman they’d loved, and then hated when she left them, and then loved again once they realized she hadn’t left them. She had been taken from them.
Such a very different thing being taken or leaving of your own volition.
“This is getting kind of heavy,” Emily said. “I mean we were going to come here, prove they were wrong, and go back and pack for Prague. Or Paris.”
“Or both,” Ingrid replied absently.
The inanity of their comments silenced them as they realized that packing for some exotic vacation was a horrible thing to be contemplating while the others considered the very likely death of their loved one.
“Well,” Emily said, “I deserve to be hanged or drawn and quartered or something.”
“Man,” Ingrid agreed, “this guilt is a beeyotch.”
•••
“I must have killed her,” Mary said from behind the silent Ingrid and Emily.
“What?” They said together. Neither of them believed that for one second.
“It must have been me. And I blocked it out.”
“Of course it wasn’t you, Mary.” Gallery Guy said, he pulled his daughter to him and tucked her protectively in his arms.
“But I know how it happened. I can see it. Almost feel it. I remember it all. I…”
“Oh come on,” Emily said. She stepped forward and smacked the back of Mary’s head lightly. “I am not the most empathic or sympathetic or whatever you want to call it. But even I can see you’re broken up.”
“It must have been me,” Mary said, shaking her head. Her face was pale and there was a determined tilt to her chin that Ingrid suspected Gallery Guy had seen before. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”
“Don't say that,” her dad said. He shook her lightly and said again, more gently, pleadingly even, don’t say that.”
“Dad…” Mary’s voice cracked and a tear rolled down the side of her face, unheeded.
“Don’t say it,” he said again, so softly Ingrid had to work to make out the words.
“If it wasn’t me,” Mary whispered as if the others couldn’t hear, “Who could it have been? I can practically see it happening again. I must have at least been here.”
“This is your fault,” Gallery Guy hissed to Ingrid and Emily. “If you hadn’t encouraged her, she’d never have had these dreams. And she’d never have known.”
“Dad!”
“Better to not know than lose you. She wouldn’t have wanted that, Mary. She would have wanted you free and happy working on your own dreams.”
“Listen,” Emily interjected, “this isn’t our fault. And you didn’t kill your mom, Mary. I don’t know much about these things, but you could totally have a witch line in you. I mean, obviously you do since you can see ghosts. You could have had a psychic dream. Your mom could be trying to communicate with you. Could be a whole witch curse. Thingy. I don’t know. But I’m sure that you’re having an idea of what happened does not mean that you are the killer.”
“It tends to,” Gabe said, “lead to that.”
All four of them jumped. They looked at each other with guilt as if they’d been caught with bloody hands before turning in near unison to stare at the sheriff with his broad, commanding shoulders. His glinty eyes, and the whole wide legged stance that said he was in charge now.
Ingrid rolled her eyes at Emily, who made a face.
“Where’s this body?” Just because he was standing there all tall and handsome and manly and…professional, didn’t mean he was the boss. Not even if he had his cop face on. The one that said don’t text me pictures of your pretty toes and don’t throw yourself into my arms even though we might love each other. Cop face or not, he was delicious and Ingrid licked her lips. And then remembered she wasn’t going there right now with him.
Possibly ever.
Okay. Maybe again. But not now.
“Slut,” Emily whispered.
But his jaw was covered with just the right amount of stubble. His eyes were piercing and brilliant and they dug right into Ingrid and made her want. She was not going to admire his broad shoulders, slender waist or long strong legs.
Probably.
“It’s my mom,” Mary said, ruining Ingrid’s moment and making her remember that this might be serious. Holy doves, Ingrid needed to go to Prague right then.
“You found her?”
“She sort of remembered somehow,” Ingrid said, giving Gabe a long look that ordered, don’t jump to conclusions. And be nice.
Gabe’s replying look, however, was a fair amount of disbelief.
“You’d believe if I were Hazel,” Ingrid said out loud.
“Ingrid…”
Emily snorted.
“Hazel is…”
Ingrid glanced at Emily, who was mocking them both.
“Hazel is the queen of witches compared to us,” Emily said for him. “She could tie us up with witchcraft while being tied up herself. She could hang us upside down by our toes without lifting a finger. Hazel, my very best friend Ingrid, is uber badass. Even Gabe notices and he’s all normal and upstanding and non-witch-crafty.”
Gabe stepped towards Mary and Gallery Guy. Probably he’d had enough of them.
“Suck up,” Ingrid stage whispered to Emily.
“Listen, even Detective Dumbass can’t pin this one on us,” Emily replied with a huge amount of snark. “We don’t have to be good this time around, and I don’t plan on it. We can just watch Gabe and Dumbass stumble around, trying to solve the crime while we don’t help at all.”
Ingrid looked at Emily until they both started laughing. Somewhat hysterically. They might have figured out who the murderers were the last time they’d come across bodies. But so had Gabe. Without magic or truth serum or anything.
It was uncanny.
One look at Mary's face and they immediately stopped laughing.
•••
Gabe dug where Mary pointed. And as Mary watched, she cried, as if she were still seeing her Mom murdered. Just over and over again. If she was, Ingrid didn’t want to know.
Emily and Ingrid were not unsympathetic. But their coping and empathy skills went to handing someone coffee, wine, or getting a pedi together. Since those weren’t options they currently had, they felt helpless. Emily might have offered to harm whoever the killers were, but Mary was still convinced she was the murderer and obviously Emily wouldn't rage-injure her. She did have a heart, even if it was two sizes too small.
Ingrid didn’t need to know that Gabe dug to humor them. Her mostly. It was there in the stance of his shoulders and the line of his back. He did not expect to find a body. He did, however, expect Ingrid to humor him a little more once he’d dug far enough. Mary might not have been able to tell that Gabe didn't exactly believe them.
But Ingrid knew.
Emily probably couldn’t tell. Mostly because she was facing the other way muttering about wine or vodka for dinner.
But Ingrid knew that body too well. He was digging, the jerk dove, because he was trying to get her to forgive him. It was laughable that he was trying for forgiveness. Somehow, she’d made him feel bad when she was the one who had ruined things. She’d had her magic go crazy again, thought she’d murdered someone, buried the body, and then fouled his investigation. But, somehow she’d turned the table on him.
He felt guilty.
She didn’t.
She hadn’t meant to mess things up so bad. But she’d intended him for a plaything, and then she’d realized that she loved him.
Maybe.
And that she wasn’t ready to love someone or trust someone after Harrison, her dead husband who had made her doubt everything about herself and somewhat despise the person she’d become after she married him.
She wasn’t ready to trust again. She didn’t trust herself yet.
And…so…poor Gabe. He was digging up phantoms and trying not to
shake her. If she did forgive him, she’d have a lot of apologizing to do.
He probably wouldn’t expect it either.
Damn it.
He was just supposed to be a pretty face.
He stopped digging suddenly. His whole body tensed and she knew he’d found Mary’s mom. Ingrid nudged Emily, who swore and turned around. Mary slipped back to her knees, sobbing while Gallery Guy knelt next to her.
“I… I… It was,” Mary struggled to finish and Ingrid knew the kid was going to confess.
“It was me,” Gallery Guy said in a rush. “I killed her. She was leaving me, and it made me angry, and I killed her.”
“No, Daddy,” Mary said, shaking her head. She hadn’t pulled away from him, so it was clear she didn’t believe what he was saying.
Gabe sighed as he looked at the father and daughter. Ingrid didn’t need to read his mind to know that he could see what was happening. By all the holy doves, even Ingrid could see it, and she worked so hard at being oblivious.
He looked at Ingrid as if asking her if her witch sense had told her who had murdered the woman.
Ingrid shrugged. She had no idea.
His shoulders seemed to droop.
“Daddy,” Mary said.
“Mary,” he snapped. “Go to Hazel. Your grandparents will try to seek custody of you when they hear I'm in prison. If anyone can protect you from your grandparents, it’s Hazel.”
He stood, held out his wrists and said, “I’m the killer. Arrest me. Foul witches,” Gallery Guy commanded to Ingrid and Emily, “get Mary out of here.”
He expected to be obeyed, and Ingrid couldn’t help but pull Mary up and wrap the girl in a hug.
“No,” she said to Ingrid’s shoulder, shaking her head and sniffling. If the poor kid hadn’t seen her mom murdered who knew how many times, she’d probably have been thinking on her feet better.
“Shush,” Ingrid replied, certain that Mary had not killed her mother. And certain too that Gallery Guy hadn’t.
Ingrid looked at Emily.
Emily stared back.
“Prague,” Emily mouthed and then sighed.
“After,” Ingrid mouthed back. She looked over her shoulder at the man she loved, the guy who creeped her out and did not look at the body of a woman who had been taken from her family.
A family, Ingrid realized, who had loved her desperately. Been broken by her loss, and loved her enough to be terrified that they had somehow destroyed the woman they loved.
Well crap, Ingrid thought, something had to be done.
Gabe took Gallery Guy to the car, making Ingrid, Emily and Mary walk ahead to protect the crime scene. He’d learned too well to keep his crime scenes from the duo.
Ingrid tucked Mary into the backseat of her mustard yellow land rover and turned to Emily.
“Hooker,” Emily growled as the door closed Mary away from them, “we were going to Prague and Paris and I don't know. Somewhere else.”
“We can’t just leave her,” Ingrid hissed.
“I don’t have to be happy about it.”
“Do you think I am? Gabe and I are never going to work things out if I keep investigating murders. We’re not even good at it.”
Emily laughed and then sighed. “We can’t just not. What if we could have helped?”
“We might be idiots.”
“Too true.”
“We’ll help anyway,” Ingrid sighed.
•••
Gabe put Gallery Guy in the car. The sheriff hadn’t, Ingrid noticed, read Gallery Guy his rights. Which meant, Ingrid thought, that Gabe didn’t buy the situation any more than Ingrid and Emily.
He stared at the two of them, giving them a look that made them shift in their designer sandals.
Ingrid hunched a little, hoping to avoid a lecture that she’d have to be mad at him about. Emily thrust out her chin as if daring Gabe to order them out of the crime scene.
“This feels…” Gabe hesitated and then stopped.
Ingrid bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything.
Emily didn’t bother. She asked with her snidest voice, “Familiar? Don’t bother ordering us around, sheriff.”
“It feels,” Gabe countered, “pretty magical.”
“What?” Ingrid and Emily asked in unison.
“Magical,” Gabe sighed. “It feels like magic and a crime I…can’t just…”
“Wait,” Emily breathed. “You’re not…”
“No way,” Ingrid answered, “He’s not asking us for help.”
“Well, not you,” Gabe said. Then realized what he said and blushed, quickly adding, “Alone.”
“Terrible save, Gabey,” Emily snorted while Ingrid narrowed her eyes.
“I was hoping you’d go with me to Hazel,” Gabe said.
“Why?” Ingrid and Emily asked in unison.
“Because,” Gabe said, looking straight into Ingrid’s eyes. “I like Hazel. I think she’s a good woman. I think she would lead me astray if she thought that her coven needed her to.”
“So,” Ingrid said, holding his gaze.
“But you,” Gabe said, “You and Emily I trust.”
Ingrid smiled as Emily whistled and then said, “Smooth, Gabe, smooth. Comments like that just might get you back into Ingrid’s pants.”
CHAPTER 3
Hostile Negotiations
Hazel’s house was the home of the coven. Not that the whole coven lived there, but they just sort of showed up randomly, walked in without knocking, and lingered. Also you didn’t really need to knock with Hazel. She always knew who was coming and when they’d get there. Ingrid wouldn’t be surprised to come in and find sandwiches waiting for them. Made just how they liked and other such witchiness.
Probably there would be coffee out for Ingrid to make. She always made the coffee. It was one of her few magical skills and though the children of the coven could tie her up with their baby magic spells, not even Hazel could make better coffee than Ingrid no matter how sophisticated the spell.
Mary didn’t get out of the Land Rover when they got there. She didn't so much sit inside the car as slump to the side. She wasn't crying anymore, but she was shuddering in that snotty, jagged way that told anyone in hearing distance she had cried until she was physically incapable of crying any more. Ingrid and Emily stared at each other helplessly until Hazel brushed past them. Sure they were stupidly watching the kid cry, but they couldn't bring her mom back or erase Mary having to constantly relive her mom's death. What were you supposed to do then anyway? Hazel, though, she just pulled Mary out of the SUV, wrapped an arm around the girl, and then she just stopped crying. Hazel took her inside while Ingrid and Emily stayed outside.
“Gallery Creepster just told us to bring her to Hazel,” Emily said, “We could totally escape. Grab our passports and fly away.”
The post-tears sniffling of Mary lingered in Ingrid’s head, and the memory was infusing Ingrid with a level of compassion she did not want to feel. The kind of crying that left you sort of shuddering could not be ignored. Even if she really, really wanted to.
Plus Gabe.
Damn him for asking for help.
“I don’t want to grow up or be responsible or any of that normal doves stuff,” Ingrid said.
“Please don’t,” Emily said fervently.
“Mostly, I’d like to sleep off this morning on my couch and maybe drink that last bottle of that St. Maarten’s wine.”
“An excellent plan,” Emily said, staring towards the house with an expression that already acknowledged that they wouldn’t be getting their way.
“This sucks,” they said together.
Hazel tucked Mary into a bed after giving her a sleeping potion laced cup of tea. It was nice to see the girl finally calm down. Sleeping potion. Ingrid needed to make a note of that. Definitely needed to add that to her useful magic's list. By the time the kid was out, Gabe was at the door.
Ingrid looked at him as he came into the kitchen. He felt like he was hers
again. Had something happened that she hadn’t been aware of since blowing him off the day before and calling him for help today?
Holy doves, was she that easy? Just say you need her help and that you trust her, and say it with those honest sheriff eyes in that perfect lickable body, and you just had Ingrid wrapped around your little finger again?
Was she disgusted? Or was that just relief she felt?
“I’m still going to Prague,” she told him without warning.
“And Paris,” Emily added, “Possibly somewhere else that starts with P. Or even another letter of the alphabet.”
•••
“I didn’t have long to check out the body,” Gabe said. “But there was a mark on her skull. I left Kevin and Officer Griffith to process the scene. We have to get moving fast. If the killer is around and feels like they’ve been safe, they might run if they realize we found the body.”
Ingrid and Emily stared at him, wordlessly. Really. He was just making assumptions wasn’t he—about what he could expect.
Ingrid couldn’t help herself. “How long has she been dead?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Years. Since she disappeared, I expect.”
Gabe pulled out his phone and handed it to Ingrid. She took a quick glance, realized it was the corpse of Mary’s mom. Not that you could tell. It was just bones. But, after Mary’s little episode, who else could it be? Ingrid shoved the phone to Hazel.
But when he stepped closer to Ingrid, she stepped closer to him. He’d trusted her with that picture. He hadn’t just shut her out. A quick flash of memory of the afternoon and the love that father and daughter had…it started working its way through Ingrid’s imagination. That was the type of love she and Gabe could have, she thought.
Devoted.
The kind of love that was protective and heart wrenching and beautiful. It didn’t matter that Gallery Guy and Mary loved each other as father and daughter instead of like lovers. What mattered was their connection. That kind of beautiful.
If only Ingrid didn’t have baggage. She might be feeling—softer—towards Gabe without baggage. But she wasn’t ready.
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