“Autumn is the real hooker,” Emily said, without heat.
It was true. Autumn despite her bulk and her snake eyes had slept her way around the island. She was a cold fish in Ingrid’s opinion, but that didn’t seem to keep people from her.
“But…why do you care what your mom said?”
“Because my mom said something to that effect. That I was burying myself for Harrison and giving up what was important to me.”
The honesty was too stark and real. Ingrid…the truth was she had loved Harrison with every single piece of her heart. But he had been very good at controlling her and he’d wanted a trophy wife. He’d wanted a pretty little, too young for him, piece of arm candy to make his peers jealous. He seduced her when she was his student and it was only looking back and thinking about the child she had been that she realized how wrong that was.
And now, now that she’d found the kind of love that seemed to accept you for who you were, she couldn’t accept it. It was true she’d pretty much given up practicing magic for Harrison. But it was also true that she hadn’t cared at the time. She had never been that good at magic. She’d always been flighty. She could have anything she wanted now that she was stupid rich. But what she wanted…what she wanted was more afternoons with Gabe. More quiet days with Em. Ingrid wanted to…she just wanted to love and be loved. She wasn’t ambitious. She didn’t care about being the best witch or the most respected professor. She had no desire for some high-powered career. She wanted to surround herself with those she loved and live her life.
Simple though that might be.
But…but the ghost of Harrison. Not the literal ghost. But the memories of him. And of how he’d controlled her. And how she’d hated herself a little bit every time she’d let him shove another of her wishes aside for some idle fancy of his. It was destroying what she had with Gabe and Ingrid didn’t know how to get past it.
“Damn,” Ingrid said. “Damn it.”
Emily had let Ingrid muse, probably knowing that Ingrid was reliving her baggage. “Yes.”
It was all that needed to be said. You couldn’t just take back years of marriage and of being controlled. You couldn’t just heal a damaged relationship with your mom when what was damaged was that you weren’t what she expected. You couldn’t just make it better with a bandaid and a kiss.
“Damn,” Emily said. Then she sighed and asked, “What did you learn? Please say it was Autumn. Did you truth serum her?”
“No, but she volunteered to take it.”
“It doesn’t count,” Emily replied, “Until she actually takes it. Until then, volunteering is just a ploy.”
“It won’t do Gabe any good anyway,” Ingrid said. “He needs evidence and stuff. Autumn wouldn’t give that. She just wouldn’t talk.”
Emily rose and grabbed the basket of polish. They were quiet as they started to take off their polish.
“So…Gallery Guy could have done it,” Emily finally said. “He was married to her after all. I'm pretty sure that Law and Order says it’s usually the family. Or something.”
“Did you see how he jumped to confess before Mary did?”
“Yes. Shoot.” Emily said. The doubt about it being Gallery Guy, creepy or not, was in her voice and Ingrid’s mind. “But maybe he did that to look innocent, knowing it would look like he was covering for Mary when really he did it in the first place.”
Ingrid tapped the bottle of polish. “My brain hurts. I’m not sure if that even makes sense. And as much as I would like for it to be that cow, Autumn, it’s probably not her. It just didn’t feel right.”
“You don’t think she could?”
“Oh no,” Ingrid said as she painted her nails black. Black for the sadness in her heart. And then she wiped the color away and pulled out a fairy pink. She was not going to be sad. Damn it. She was going to figure things out. “I think she could kill easily. I just don’t think that she’d do it without a reason and why kill Mary’s mom? Especially Autumn. She’s good at magic and stuff. She could probably have just sent her away with magic. Or made her forget something or whatever her motive was. You don’t have to fix it with murder when you could just fix it with magic.”
Emily slowly painted her nails as she thought and then she said, “I don’t think it was Mary.”
“Me neither. That kid is broken up.”
“You said you can fix things with magic instead of murder. But she was killed by magic. There has to have been a reason for that.”
“Yeah,” Ingrid said shrugging. She had no idea why anyone would kill using Necromancy. She hadn’t even known it was a different type of magic until today. Or that it existed at all really. “What if they killed by magic because they could. But they had another reason to kill? Like revenge or anger or whatever.”
“So, who hated Mary’s mom?”
Ingrid and Emily stared at each other. They didn’t know. They hadn’t even known her. They came to the island after she disappeared.
“I have no idea what to do next,” Ingrid said to Emily, who nodded in agreement.
“But I want this done,” Emily said. “I need Europe before I explode. I need to get away and remember why we’re here. People need to quit dying and ruining our vacation plans. Hot guys need to stop coming to town and dazzling me with their smiles and their soft lips and…well, you know. Kisses and stuff. I hate hot guys. Assholes. Everyone.”
“I need to figure out what I want,” Ingrid said. “I need space from Gabe and from Hazel and from witchcraft.”
“You didn’t go Samantha,” Emily finally said. She said it with all the seriousness and kindness and the utter surety of a best friend. “You have to care about magic to go Samantha. It has to be something that was a huge part of you and you put in a box despite your love for it. You and I, we’ve never really loved magic or spells or this stuff. I didn’t go to college to be a witch. Neither did you. There’s a reason we can’t do the spells the little baby witches can do. And it’s because this has never mattered that much to either of us.”
“Really?” Ingrid asked. There might have been a bit of a whine in her voice.
“Really,” Emily said. “I’m not saying I loved everything about Harrison and you. But you slid into that life because you didn’t know what you wanted then any more than you do now. If you’d have known or wanted something, you’d have made it happen.”
Ingrid took a shuddering breath, wrinkled her nose, and then said, “Look. We’re going to solve this crime. I have always wanted to travel. Let’s travel damn it. That I do know. I want to see that bridge with the statues in Prague. And eat snails in Paris. Which is nasty. And I want to get on a train like in French Kiss and pass through the gorgeous French countryside while eating some cheese and crackers.”
“And wine,” Emily said, shaking her hands and then holding them out to Ingrid, who dried them with those vanity type spells she could do.
“And so much French wine.”
“And whatever kind of wine they have in wherever Prague is.”
“Is Prague a country or a city?”
Emily shrugged. “Czech Republic? Maybe.”
“Does that still exist?”
“I don't know. Too many changes over there. But the statues will be there. And the cheese and the wine.”
Ingrid realized she didn’t care if it was a city or country, a village or another planet. She only wanted to go there because of that picture she’d seen of the bridge and the way it sounded in her head.
CHAPTER 8
Frostbite
Emily woke after a restless nights sleep. She was haunted by floating images of animated tarot cards, lovers, and knights, taunting her from a distance and a skeleton chasing her through an apple orchard. The skeleton had Dean’s head.
What a dick.
She was going to find him today and make good on her silent promise to crush his man parts. But maybe she’d kiss him first and get his engine started. She snorted and considered on the way to the coffee shop wh
ere she’d met him yesterday. She didn’t know where he was staying but the island was small and Main Street was even smaller. She’d find him, torture him until all memories of her death-love nightmare were gone. Then she’d solve this damn murder and paint her toes.
She and Ingrid would paint their toes while they took the ferry to Seattle and then a plane to Europe. No murder. They needed a break from all of the murder. They were definitely not designed to work overtime solving murders. There were naps, pedicures, tacos to eat and men to torment and things to buy.
Emily walked into the coffee shop and was devilishly delighted to see Dean, the evil necromancer right in front of her, sipping a foamy latte. She was going to do something. She wasn't sure what, but something. And it was going to be...well maybe not good. But it would be something.
She plopped down in the open chair at his table. He spilled coffee down the front of him and she smiled at him. “You deserved that. And much more. Why did you lie to me about Gallery Guy and why you were here? I don’t know if I look like some dumb bimbo to you who will just sleep with you because you told me pretty lies, but that is most definitely not who I am.”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. He smiled and she thought she might explode or melt. She wasn’t sure which. “Don’t you smile at me. You lied to me. And I don’t do liars. Not in any sense of the word do.”
“I hate to interrupt your delightful monolog, but I didn’t technically lie to you. I said I was a photographer looking to sell my photographs to your so-called Gallery Guy. Both of those things are true. Look.” He opened his leather satchel and pulled out a stack of photographs and lay them on the table. Bridges, trees, cathedrals. “See. Photographer. Which of these do you think would go best in his gallery? I have some of Paris somewhere. For our trip."
Her eyes narrowed, but she ignored his last statement. “You lied by omission. You didn’t tell me you were a necromancer.”
He raised is eyebrow in surprise. “You didn’t ask. Plus, I knew you were a witch immediately. Didn't you sense it when I kissed you?”
“Yes, but—”
“What do you know about necromancers anyway?”
“That,” Emily hissed through closed teeth, “is none of your business.”
“Emily. Please. I know who you are. Your aunt runs this island. What do you know about necromancers? Why do you even care about them?”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Death. Magic. Whatever. It doesn’t interest me.”
“You seem awfully pissy about my being a necromancer if you don’t care.”
Emily scowled at him and then said, “I just want off this island. Europe is calling to me.”
He grinned at her that sly, gorgeous grin and said, “Right. Paris. I could take you there, you know? Show you all the romantic spots. There are plenty of them. We could make memories in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower or stand under the Arche de Triumphe. What do you say?”
She shook her head, but he kept talking before she could interrupt. “It’s the least you could do, you know, after giving me frostbite on my balls.”
Emily gasped out loud and then laughed until she cried. “Frostbite? That is so perfect. Please don't be lying.”
“You didn't know?” He examined her closely as she laughed. Probably he thought she did it on purpose. If only he knew the truth…but she didn’t have any intention of explaining.
“It’s even better then crushing them with my hands which is what I planned to do. Guess that won’t be necessary. And no, you can’t come with us to Paris. Please just tell me what you want with Mary and her family. Why are you here? Why are you really here? And don’t feed me any BS about selling photography.”
He stared at her for a moment and she could see the silent deliberation in his eyes. Finally, she saw resolution flash through them and he began to speak. “Why are you Mary’s defender?”
“I’m Mary’s friend you jerk. Also, you’re an adult, male stranger. Can you spell pedophile?”
He leaned back and then said, “I work for Mary’s grandparents. Kind of. I am a private investigator. It’s more like a hobby, though. I don’t have many clients. Mostly just one actually. Technically I work for the Presidium.”
“The who?”
“I thought you were a witch.”
“Shut up.”
“The Presidium. Surely, your aunt has mentioned them to you?”
She shook her head, “I don’t really get involved in witchy things. Except for lately. All these murders on this murderous death hole of an island we live on. It’s cute, but it’s like the murder capital of the Northwestern United States.”
She was supposed to still be mad at him, but he was oh, so delicious to look at. Staying mad at him was beyond difficult. Emily willed herself to focus on the matter at hand. “Tell me about the grandparents. Why do they want Mary?”
“It’s sort of complicated, but she’s their heir. She has very powerful bloodlines and they want to set her up in their coven to train her to eventually take their place as one of the Elders. But Doug Martin has blocked their visitation and refused to allow Mary to go to Seattle. He’s her step-dad, you know. She belongs with her family.”
Emily glared at Dean. “Oh, no way. You were coming here to kidnap her?”
“What? No!” Dean looked insulted. Good. “Why would you say that? I came to try and talk Mr. Martin into letting her go since Larry and Marge weren’t getting any traction in court.”
Emily was skeptical. “Hmph. I don’t think I believe you. But I’ll kiss you anyway.”
She leaned across the table surprising even herself with her hooker ways. Their lips met and she pulled him closer, practically dragging him across the smooth tabletop. When he was fully committed to the kiss, she stood up and smiled. “You can go now. All the way gone. Like out of town gone. You aren’t welcome here. I’m going to alert the sheriff that you are here to kidnap Mary, a young girl who has just discovered that the mother she thought abandoned her was actually murdered with magic. Death magic. Your kind of magic. So unless you want me to think you were Jill's murderer which I'd rather not think because you are hot, Buh-bye.”
She turned and walked out, laughing all the way to the police station. And hoping that he was leaving. She needed him to leave. He distracted her and made her think thoughts and made her want things. Things that weren't going to happen. Because men like him could not be trusted, and she needed to be able to trust the people in her life. As far as Emily could tell, the only people around here who could be trusted were Ingrid, Hazel, and maybe, Gabe.
•••
Ingrid strolled into the station in her sexiest black strappy sandals. She was well aware that those babies set off her crimson toenails. Gabe didn’t have a foot fetish. Ingrid didn’t either. But her toes looked as sexy as toes could and Gabe had discovered that she often matched her underwear to her polish. And she was absolutely wearing red lace underwear. And he was going to know it the moment his eyes settled on her toes.
“Gabe,” Detective Kevin Dumbass said.
Ingrid eye’s narrowed. She didn’t care for Kevin even if he was Gabe’s partner. And even if Gabe seemed to like Dumbass just fine.
“I just don’t think that you should be working with witches. Especially, no offense, Ingrid. She’s not even good at what she does.”
The two were talking at Kevin’s desk just outside of Gabe’s office. Neither had noticed her, and it made her kind of mad that they were just blithely talking about her where anyone could hear. Like her.
“And yet,” Gabe said with a tinge to his voice Ingrid knew well. It was the tinge that he used with her when he was investigating her for that last dead guy. A not happy tinge. “On an island full of witches that scare you a little bit, it was Ingrid and Emily who found Jill’s body.”
“Stumbled over her body, you mean. And I’m not scared of those witches.”
“I dug up Jill, Kevin. Ingrid and Emily recognized that Mary's mom was bu
ried there. There was no external sign.”
Kevin’s posture said that he wasn’t impressed. Ingrid waited, head cocked, as she listened to the conversation.
“That would imply with any other individual that they were the killer, Gabe.”
“Ingrid wasn’t even on the island when Jill died. She has no interest in or reason to kill her.”
“If you weren’t obsessed with her, you would see what I see.”
“Kevin, you were wrong about Ingrid when we investigated Sheldon Peters’ death. You were wrong about Ingrid when you told me she was sleeping with that Australian tourist. You were wrong about Ingrid when you told me I’d get over her. Let me clue you in here, she’s not going anywhere.”
“Also, Dumbass,” Ingrid said, “quit trying to pin every passing crime on me. You gossip like an old southern lady. You were sleeping with the last murderer. You were snoring away while she was washing off Sheldon’s blood, you blind idiot.”
Kevin cleared his throat and looked Ingrid up and down before he said, “Wear those sandals just for Gabe?”
“I certainly didn’t wear them for you, dumbass.”
“Kevin,” Gabe cut in. “Run the family and the names I gave you.”
Dumbass turned and walked to his desk not even trying to hide his disgust that Ingrid was there.
“You might,” he said over his shoulder, “need a witch for this investigation. But I’m not sure Ingrid qualifies as anything other than spoiled. She’s certainly not half the witch that Hazel is.”
“You’re a rude dove,” Ingrid said. “And I’m not a tenth of the witch Hazel is.”
Gabe snorted and then smiled at her. His white teeth flashed, his chin was all stubbly and strong, and she wanted to step a little closer, let her arms slide around his narrow waist and lay her head on the chest that contained a heart which seemed to love her.
Maybe she would stretch up on her toes and kiss his chin. But no.
No.
She was going to Prague and Paris with Emily. Maybe even other places. She didn’t know where they would end up, but she was sure that she was going.
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