“It is inherited,” Autumn said flatly with clearly no intention to elaborate.
“But you can do it. Hazel said that specifically. There are those in your coven who can not practice and there are those who can.”
“No. I alone can practice Necromancy,” Autumn said it calmly like she wasn’t just making herself the most likely suspect. “It is a skill that is inherited. There are several Necromancers on the island who do not practice and have never practiced. There is me. I live here and can but have not for a very long time. That’s it, in the coven, of course.”
“What are you saying,” Gabe asked.
She was throwing someone under the bus, Ingrid thought. But she took another sip of wine and waited.
“This is a tourist location,” Autumn pointed out. “This was a long time ago when Jill died, I assume? Perhaps when she disappeared or close to it?”
Gabe nodded.
“Well, it could have been any practicing necromancer ever. But,” she said it like she was throwing Gabe a bone instead of pointing out the flaw in his line of questioning and giving him more suspects to distract him from her. “And there are necromancers who come and go from the island. Like Mary’s grandparents, Dean Wallace, and that snotty Jennifer Shultz. I wouldn’t be surprised if Saffron could practice, though I do not believe she is a born necromancer.”
Ingrid cocked her head as she thought. She didn’t know Dean or Jennifer. But Mary’s grandparents made a good amount of sense. If old people who just wanted to have a connection with their only surviving relative could be automatically considered to be bad guys. Besides, it was obviously Autumn.
“It was you,” Ingrid told Autumn. “You have the skills. You were for sure here. You knew Jill.”
“Did you want me to drink some of your truth serum and be unable to confess?”
“No,” Ingrid snapped. “I’d like you to confess and then get this over with. I have exotic places to travel and shoes to buy.”
“You are an idiot,” Autumn snapped. “But wishing I was the killer will not make me so.”
“Gabe can’t use truth serum to convict anyway. I say we just go with her as having done it and get on with our lives,” Ingrid told Gabe.
He ignored their entire byplay and asked, “How did you know Jill?”
“We were in the same coven as children. We were close. After Jill had moved here, she gave up magic. But we stayed in contact. I wanted my girls to know her daughter. They have similar gifts. Being able to practice with those who have the same skills makes you likely to be more adept at your own craft than learning alone. Mary has never been the type to accept the bounds her mother put on her skills. It would have been beneficial for my girls to be around Mary. I hadn’t expected Jill to not tell Mary of them at all.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes and said, “You do not have friends.”
“I assure you that what I have said is true.”
“Well, I guess if you assure us it’s true,” Ingrid said, shifting and remembering that she was hungry and hadn’t had a sandwich. “Just arrest her Gabe. Throw her in the clink. Toss the book at her.”
“Evidence is necessary,” Gabe said. “What was the coven?”
Gabe gathered facts that bored Ingrid while she sipped her wine. Autumn probably wouldn’t have offered to take truth serum unless she had some faux serum or she really hadn’t killed Jill. Ingrid would really prefer that Autumn was the killer.
But there was that Dean guy and the Jennifer chick that Autumn mentioned. And there were all the other people who could have been there. Whenever it happened. They were never going to solve this. How long was Gabe going to pretend to figure it out? Like, until he got back together with her? Or was there some other point?
“Are we done yet?” Ingrid asked. “I want tacos. And coffee. And cheesecake. I have a caffeine headache.”
“I could offer you aspirin,” Autumn said.
“I am not stupid enough to take it, however,” Ingrid said, “you hexed me three times this year alone.”
“We are not done yet,” Gabe said. Nudging her with his toe. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he just looked at her. Cop face on.
“But after this, tacos?”
He sighed and turned back to Autumn. But Ingrid beat him to the next question.
“You’re evil and cold and mean,” Ingrid said. “I don’t buy that Jill came here to be closer to you.”
Autumn’s snake-gaze settled on Ingrid, but she wasn’t afraid. Hazel loved Ingrid. Autumn could crush Ingrid in seconds with witchcraft, but Autumn could not hide it from Hazel. Who would make the snake-eyed witch pay so hard. Ingrid smiled blithely and watched Autumn’s eye twitch.
Score!
That was so much better than Hazel or Gabe. And where was Emily when Ingrid needed a witness? Gallivanting around town in Ingrid’s new car.
Autumn apparently didn’t feel the need to answer.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Ingrid said.
“Do, enlighten us,” Autumn replied snidely.
“I think that you used and manipulated Jill when you were young. You got some benefit from her.”
Twitch again.
“And then when she needed help, she came here with her wide-eyed gullibility that Mary doesn’t have. But, let’s be honest doves here for a second. Anyone dumb enough to marry Gallery Guy and be friends with you is as naive as my little toe.”
“You did marry that controlling Professor,” Autumn said. “Harrison. With the suave white beard and…”
“That,” Gabe snapped, “Is enough.”
“Don’t think you can insult me and expect…”
But Gabe cut in, “Ingrid’s private life is not part of this investigation. Yours is.”
“I assure you, Sher—“
“No,” Gabe said. “No. You will answer the questions or I will bring both you and Hazel to the station and have you answer them there. You will leave Ingrid and her past alone, or I will crush you.”
“You can’t crush me. I am a powerful witch.”
“I have the law and your elders behind me.”
The two of them stared at each other and Ingrid watched avidly. She wasn’t going to think about what just happened and she was not going to allow herself to recognize how very, very sexy Gabe was when he was pushing Autumn around and defending Ingrid’s honor. She was, however, totally paying Saffron to do something mean and evil to this cow dove.
“So,” Ingrid continued like they were staring each other down like two predators about to face-off. “So, Jill came here and thought you’d help her. But you didn’t really. Not beyond letting her kid around your kids. And she married Gallery Guy and went all Samantha.”
Gabe stopped Ingrid with a questioning look and she explained, “She gave up her magic for her love because Gallery Guy is a creepy douche. You know like that old time show Bewitched? The main character Samantha gives up her witchery—mostly—for her uptight muggle husband, Darren. Of course, they didn't call him a muggle. Obviously. Harry came much, much later. But you get what I mean. Remember?”
Gabe nodded, still a somewhat blank look on his face.
“Says a Samantha. Isn’t that what you did…”
“Yes,” Ingrid said before Gabe could stop her. “I stopped practicing magic that I was never very good at for Harrison.”
Her voice did not just crack. She was badass!
“But, then again, it isn’t like that was much of a change for me. For Jill, however, I bet it was a big change, and I bet you weren’t very nice about it.”
Ingrid and Autumn stared at each other and then Autumn said, “I didn’t approve of giving up witchcraft or not raising Mary as she deserved.”
“But you gave up Necromancy,” Gabe said.
“I gave up a form of magic. There are those who believe that Necromancy is a talent that is separate from witchcraft. I am not one of them. I believe that necromancy spells are just more spells and that any form of witchcraft is a form worth purs
uing. Except, of course, idiotic spells like making good coffee and removing fine lines.”
“You are a super bitch,” Ingrid said. “And your little childhood friend found that out. You might not have killed her. But you could have helped her. Only she wasn’t useful to you, and she realized you’re a cold dove. So she didn’t come to you.”
Gabe cleared his throat.
“You might not have killed Jill. But you sure didn’t save her.”
Autumn licked her lips and took a sip of wine. She did not say anything further and when Ingrid stomped out, wine bottle in hand, Gabe was only moments behind.
“I want food,” Ingrid said before he could do something stupid like talk about Harrison and what had just happened. She’d been all pushy and intuitive. “And I want to hang with Em. You’re on your own for a while.”
He looked at her for a long minute before starting his SUV and taking her back to the apartments. Emily wasn’t back yet, so Ingrid was forced to shower, actually order the bed she wanted, and then order in food. She texted Emily a copy of the online receipt for food and got a reply that she’d be back soon.
CHAPTER 6
Serial Killer
Emily left Hazel's house and sped down Main Street in Ingrid's yellow Land Rover, not caring about her speed. The cops had their hands full with murder so speeding tickets would take a backseat. What she needed was a bookstore, so she could think. Not the magic shop with potions and books and baggage and a ghost that they owned but the real bookstore. The one at the other end of Main Street that was organized and smelled like ink and paper. It had no dust on the shelves. Instead, there were overstuffed leather chairs at the end of every row of books. That’s what Emily needed right now. Books.
Sure as one of the owners of a bookstore, you’d think she’d be able to…linger in her own shop. But her shop was haunted. And filthy. And she felt the continual itch when she was in it to dust or something. She was forced to linger in a proper bookstore where she could grab a huge pile of books, cuddle into an armchair, and leave the ones she wasn’t going to buy on the floor without an iota of a qualm.
She roamed the aisles, not really seeing. She wanted Prague and Paris. She would even go to Paraguay if it meant getting off this island and away from the murders that seemed to stick to her and Ingrid like white on rice. Of course, they would stay and help solve this murder so Mary wouldn’t go to jail and, sadly, Gallery Guy wouldn't either.
Not that it would be so terrible. He was kind of a dick and super irritating. But Mary had already lost her mom. Her grandparents were not involved much with her life. They wanted her, apparently, since they ignored that she was 17 and kept trying to get custody. But, for Mary’s sake, Ingrid and Emily needed to find Mary’s mother’s murderer. Plus, they needed Mary focused and drama free in order to be able to leave the bookshop in her care. The sooner, the better.
Emily couldn’t help but wonder if they turned Mary over to Hazel and told her to clean up if they’d return to find their bookshop, Enchanted Tales, looking like some dreamy book haven.
After she looked at some travel books. She flipped through the glossy pages, drooling over pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Arche de Triumphe, the ancient cobblestone streets and iconic bridges that made Prague charming. Soon. She must get there soon. She imagined Europe would be practically crime-free compared to all the nonsense that Sage Island had provided them lately.
She noticed a tall delectable man select a book from the travel section and sit down in a leather chair opposite her. He had short dark hair, almost black and definitely sexy. Catching her breath was a little hard all of a sudden. She kept turning pages, not really seeing them but taking frequent side glances at Mr. Delicious. Dang. Hotness.
Who was this guy?
He was definitely not from around here. If he was here on his honeymoon, it was going to ruin her day and leave her ready to kick just about anyone in the kneecap. She could just see his wife--she would be a little thing. But all glossed and pretty like Ingrid. She'd probably be sweet. Sweet like candy and really mean it. By all the gods, Emily hated her already.
The Tarot reading from earlier flashed through her mind and she groaned inwardly thinking about this guy and death all in one afternoon. Damn it. It would make sense that this was her true love and he was married.
He cleared his throat and she looked at him.
She blushed.
Damn. He caught me staring.
He extended his hand to shake hers, but she was so busy thinking about how brown his eyes were and how she could lose herself in them that she sat there staring at him like an idiot.
“Hi, I’m Dean.”
Emily swallowed, willed herself to focus and shook his hand. “Emily.”
Get a grip, woman. He’s just a boy. Boys are trouble. Don’t get all flitter-pated over this one. Plus he's married. Probably.
“I have very bad taste in men.” Oh, my gods. Did I just say that out loud? What did it matter? He was married anyway. Holy embarrassing introductions. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He laughed, “Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind. I wasn’t really trying to hit on you, though. Not that I’m not flattered, of course. I can flirt with you if you want?” He arched his eyebrow, making her heart speed up and her palms sweat. She slammed the book closed and opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say. She couldn’t think of something stupid to say either. She couldn’t think of anything at all, actually. This was a disaster.
She stared at him, with her mouth open, completely forgetting how to speak English.
“So, Paris?”
“Er, what?”
He pointed at her book. “You are looking at pictures of Paris. I’m assuming that’s because you want to go? Or you have been and you're reminiscing? Maybe you hate Paris? That’s probably it. You were jilted by a lover there once and the city of love has become the city of nightmares for you. Am I right?”
He winked at her. She wanted to slap him and also make out with him. Immediately.
Instead, she got a hold of herself. “My best friend and I are going. Soon.”
“It’s a lovely city.”
“I’m sure it is.”
An awkward silence settled over them. She opened her book to distract herself from him and began turning the page. Flip. Flip. Flip.
“Do you have a photographic memory? Or maybe you speed read?”
She looked up at the handsome stranger and ordered herself not to fall under the spell of his eyes.
“What?” She tried to sound irritated, but it came out more like a croak. She was thirsty. Suddenly just so thirsty.
She gripped her throat with her hands and watched him. “Well, you are turning the pages faster than the speed of light so I’m assuming you can speed read. Otherwise, you’d just be turning them for something to do. To avoid having a conversation with me. And that would be sort of awkward. And slightly rude.”
She stared at him, shaken by his directness. She swallowed and it actually hurt. How could her mouth have gotten so dry? Maybe she was coming down with a case of rapid-onset strep throat.
“I, uh—that is, I mean—I have to go. I think I’m getting sick.”
She stood up and replaced the travel book and raced out of the store. One foot out into the fresh air of Main Street and she remembered she left her purse on the seat.
“Damn it all to hell.” She turned on her heel and went back inside, hoping desperately the man would be gone. No such luck. He stood there with a cat-ate-the-canary-grin holding her purse in his hands.
“Forget something?”
She reached out and snagged it out of his hands. “Thanks.” She turned and raced back out of the store. She felt a hand on her shoulder and whipped around.
It was him. “You said you weren’t feeling well?”
She swallowed. “Yeah. I mean, no. I’m not feeling well.”
“Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of tea. It will help. Tea fixes ev
erything.”
In that moment an image of her One True Love being murdered in front of her own eyes flashed through her mind, along with Hazel’s knowing look and the spread of Tarot cards on her aunt’s table. Damn. No, this was not her true love. And just in case, she’d kill him now before he got a chance to make her love him. Besides, that was usually her line. She was the one who knew that tea made everything better. How dare he steal her line? And try to claim her key to mental health. And having tea with this man was definitely not going to help her. She couldn’t even think. Or speak.
Yep, murder. That was her only option.
Except he was so dang pretty. He was Gabe level pretty. Except prettier. Dean looped his hand through her arm and started walking towards the coffee shop two doors down. She wanted to protest, but no words came. She thought about slugging this guy for being so presumptuous. But then she got a whiff of him and he smelled amazing. Something spicy, yet fresh. She pictured a deodorant container called Spicy Fresh and started giggling. He smelled so yummy that she forgot to be irritated.
What the hell, Emily. Get your shit together. He could be a serial killer.
“I’m not a serial killer.”
“Oh man, did I say that out loud?” She felt herself blush and wished for a hole in the sidewalk to swallow her up. He nodded.
“Yup. You did. But I’m not a serial killer. I’m in town for work and I could use some help with some directions. And maybe some information about the locals. Can I buy you a drink in exchange for some help? I’d really appreciate it.” There. He was waiting for her permission. Not that she thought she could say no to this beautiful specimen of rugged manliness.
She swallowed. It hurt. She really could use a mug of Earl Grey. Oh hey...he wasn't here on his honeymoon. “Fine. I’ll help you. But you’ve got thirty minutes. And I’m not going to sleep with you, even though you are the hottest man I’ve seen on this island in weeks and I completely kicked my last boyfriend to the curb. I have needs. Womanly needs. But he was stupid. Are you stupid?” Shut up, Emily. “Are you married?”
Bewitched Murder (Inept Witches 3) Page 6