by Nova Nelson
“Fiona’s such a sweetheart. She wouldn’t hurt a jitterbug.”
Ruby caught the slip, too, and we exchanged a glance. “Bruce,” I said, “who’s Fiona?”
“Huh?” A deep crease appeared above his nose. Then it dawned on him. “Oh. I meant Tandy.”
“Nope,” Ruby said curtly.
“Who’s Fiona?” I demanded. “Were you cheating on Tandy?”
His shoulders slumped like a chastened schoolboy. “Here’s the thing about Tandy. You can’t just break up with a girl like that. She doesn’t get it. No one breaks up with someone that beautiful. She couldn’t take a hint, I’m saying. And Fiona, well, you should see her. She’s a red-haired goddess.” He addressed me directly with, “Not actually a goddess, just a leprechaun.”
Deputy Manchester hadn’t been kidding with the cad comment. “Any other girlfriends you might want to tell us about? Maybe one who would want you dead?”
“No,” he spat. “It’s not like that.”
“I think it’s exactly like that,” I said, perturbed. “And I know you won’t admit it, Bruce, but I strongly suspect you considered Jane one of those women ‘you can’t just break up with,’ too.”
“See?” said Ruby. “This is why you can’t trust the deceased. When a person’s reputation is all they have left, they’re not keen to go spoiling it, even if it’s necessary for solving their murder.”
“Did Tandy know about Fiona and vice versa?” I asked.
For a moment, it looked like Bruce might clam up under the judgment. But then he shook his head. “Tandy didn’t know about Fiona. Fiona knew a little bit. I told her I had a girlfriend who I’d tried to let down gently, but she wasn’t getting it.”
“Did Fiona know you and Tandy were still sleeping together?”
“We weren’t!” he protested, but when I crossed my arms over my chest, he knew I wasn’t buying it. He cringed. “No. She didn’t know about that.”
I took a moment to imagine being Tandy and then Fiona. I’d been those girls before—the one cheated on and the one dating the guy whose girlfriend just “couldn’t take a hint.” I was young and stupid then, easily fooled by whichever attractive and successful man came around and showered me with attention. I’m not proud of my mistakes and gross errors in judgment, but they were helpful in this situation.
“Tell me this, Bruce,” I said, my mind starting to clear as a distinct theory took shape. “What would Fiona do if she found out you were still sleeping with Tandy?”
He pressed his lips together thoughtfully, causing tiny smoky swirls around his mouth. “I suppose she would be hurt, send me an owl saying it was over, then cry in bed for a week or so.” He shrugged. “Really sensitive girl, Fiona.”
“And what would Tandy do if she found out you were cheating on her?”
It was amazing how a ghost could turn even paler. His expression told me everything I needed to know, but he put the cherry on top with, “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“You think she would become violent?”
“I honestly don’t know what she would do. That was half the fun with Tandy. She seems sweet and gentle, but when you get her alone,”—he whistled and it sounded like a strong breeze through a forest of decaying trees—“you never know what she’s going to throw at you.”
Like a frying pan?
With this new bit of information, it was all too obvious. To me, at least, and probably Ruby. But not to Bruce. “I hate to tell you this,” I said, not actually hating it one bit, “but I think Tandy murdered you.”
“But she didn’t know,” he said. “I was so careful.”
Bruce was beginning to strike me as a bit dense.
“You do know where Tandy works, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, Echo’s Salon.”
I waited, but he still didn’t catch where I was going. “And have you ever been in Echo’s? Or any salon for that matter?”
“Of course not.”
“Then allow me to fill you in. There is a zero percent chance that Tandy didn’t hear about you and Fiona.”
He sat up straight. “No! I was so careful! I made sure—”
“You’re not getting it. It doesn’t matter how careful you were. How long were you and Fiona together?”
He wouldn’t meet my eye when he mumbled, “Six or seven months.”
“Oh, for fang’s sake!” Ruby said, smacking the tabletop.
I finished my tea, which was still hotter than I preferred and stood. “That settles it. Tandy knew. You said Fiona lives over in Erin Park?”
“Yeah, but you’re not going to go—”
“Someone needs to warn her that she might be in danger, Bruce.”
“Send an owl,” he suggested.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The idea was so ludicrous. “You want me to send an owl to someone I’ve never met saying, ‘Don’t open your door because there’s a murderer loose and you might be next?’ That sounds like a prank a psychopath would play on someone who’d personally wronged him.”
Bruce blinked quickly. “Well, when you put it like that…”
“Before I head out, there’s one thing I need to know.”
“Yes?” His voice wavered like he was expecting more chastisement. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But that wasn’t my focus.
“What kind of creature is Tandy?” Before he responded, I added as an aside, “Oh, and is it rude to ask that of people? Because it feels like asking a stranger their sexual preference.”
Ruby quickly bit back a chuckle as Bruce said, “It’s a little personal, but considering you’ve only been here a couple days, most folks will overlook it.”
“Ah, good.”
“And she’s a xana,” he said.
Not exactly helpful, considering I had never heard that word in my life. “A what now?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about it much, but it’s some sort of water being. I don’t honestly know much about it.”
“What’s her, um, power?” They all had some power, right? And subsequently, some weakness. That was how life worked, as far as I knew.
“I always assumed it was her beauty,” he said. “The way men fall at her feet when she smiles at them. If that isn’t a special power, I don’t know what is.”
Seemed kind of lame to me. Surely there had to be something else at work, otherwise she was just a beautiful woman. Texas had plenty of beautiful women, and as far as I knew, none of them were paranormal creatures.
I forced Bruce to dictate Fiona’s address, which I copied down onto a small scrap of paper from Ruby’s stationery box before heading out.
I had a lot of ground to cover (figuratively and literally), and every second I wasted was one Tanner spent staring down the business end of a wand.
Chapter Eleven
I knew the moment we set foot in the Erin Park neighborhood. For one, the people were shorter, mostly leprechauns.
How closely the leprechauns fit with my stereotypical image of a leprechaun was downright cringe-worthy. I mean, really. I spend my life fighting subconscious stereotyping impulses and then here come the leprechauns in their pointy green hats, green and brown clothing, and gold belts.
Any guesses about what their shoes looked like? No, it’s fine, go ahead and stereotype, because you’re totally correct if you say green loafers with gold buckles.
“For fang’s sake,” I mumbled, borrowing a phrase from Ruby.
“Whatever you do, though,” Grim replied, clearly following my train of thought, “don’t ever say they all look alike. They don’t like that.”
“Don’t tell me they like to brawl, too.”
“Er, okay, I won’t tell you that.”
“Oh gosh … Next you’re going to tell me they like to drink their weight in beer.”
“I won’t tell you that, either, but you might want to take a look to your left.”
When I did, I realized we were passing a pub.
It was packed.
It was maybe one in the afternoon.
But wait, was that—
I spotted the sign. Sheehan’s pub. I wondered briefly if Fiona Sheehan had any connection to it, but mostly I remembered that Tanner sometimes went there after work. Making a mental note of the location in case I wanted to drop in sometime and—oops!—bump right into Tanner, I continued following Grim down the cobblestone road, passing tiny shops and restaurants along the way.
Erin Park seemed somewhat self-contained. The emporium wasn’t terribly far, but judging by the stores they kept here, they didn’t need to go into the heart of Eastwind to stock up.
“Down that street,” Grim said, motioning with his head, “is Rainbow Falls. The water flows down in, you guessed it, rainbows.”
“Water does that where I come from, too. It’s called prisms.”
A low growl rumbled from him. “I get that you assume I don’t know about prisms because I’m a dog, but I do. I’m not talking about prisms, though. I’m talking about the water actually flowing like a rainbow.”
“Oh. That sounds … nice?”
“More like ‘trying too hard.’ ”
“That was actually my first thought. But I figured you might be into it.”
“That doesn’t sound like me,” said Grim.
As we approached a row of tiny cottages, Grim trotted toward one of the porches. “This should be hers.”
When the door swung open, and I laid eyes on Fiona, I was struck with a burning question: How in god’s name did Bruce hook so many beautiful women?
He wasn’t necessarily ugly, but he wasn’t anything spectacular. He was bulky, but not in an athletic way so much as a dad-bod way.
He was confident, though. I remembered the way he’d greeted me in our one interaction before he was murdered. There was no accounting for the effect of confidence in a not-entirely-unattractive man, I supposed.
“Can I help you?” she said, looking at me puzzled.
Her puffy eyes were a good sign, insofar as she was actually sad about Bruce’s death. This was how someone acts when the man they love is murdered; not what Tandy did. I couldn’t believe she’d fooled me with her lame rationale.
“Hi,” I said, regretting not sending an owl ahead to introduce myself. “I’m Nora. I’m, um, new in town.”
She nodded slowly. Her smooth, innocent face wore a small bit of suspicion like an ill-fitting glove. “I heard about you. You were the one who found Bruce.”
Before her mind could jam together puzzle pieces that didn’t actually fit, I jumped in. “Yes, and that’s why I’m here. I think I’ve figured out who did it, and I’m about to go to the police, but I think you might be in danger until that person can be arrested.”
“Huh?” Her rosy cheeks drained of color, leaving her face a pale palette.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to alarm you. I probably should’ve sent an owl ahead to let you know I was coming. I only thought of that as I was walking up to—”
“Is he yours?” she asked, pointing behind me to Grim.
“Well, he’s with me, but he’s not necessarily mine. He’s, um…”
Why was I trying to hide the reality? Nobody here cared if I was a witch.
Except me.
I supposed I still felt a little like a lunatic saying he’s my familiar aloud. But these people were used to it. And it wasn’t like I would be able to hide my abilities for long. Or that there was a point to hiding them.
Sure, there was the possibility that I would have a target on my back every time someone else in Eastwind wound up murdered without seeing who the killer was. But we all have to die sometime, right?
And, apparently, I’d already died once. That meant I had more experience with it than just about anyone else in this town. Except Grim and Ruby. And, of course, Ted.
“He’s my familiar,” I said, trying to sound unashamed, if not proud.
“Oh,” she said, nodding. “That makes sense. Ruby True has a dog familiar, too. Does that mean you’re one of those Fifth Wind witches, too?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Neat.” She smiled acceptingly, then suddenly her expression changed and she looked like she’d just seen a ghost. “Wait, did you talk to Bruce?”
Oh boy. “Yes.”
“A-a-and did he talk about me?”
Ready, set, bald-faced lie! “Talk about you? He won’t shut up about you! I would’ve come sooner, but I was swamped.”
I don’t know why I thought that would cheer up Fiona. It was like my brain temporarily forgot how sensitive people behaved.
The waterworks were in full force with that one when I glanced behind me at Grim.
“Smooth move, there,” he hollered telepathically. “I have literally spent my entire life in the Deadwoods, cut off from society, and I could’ve told you not to say that.”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘He didn’t mention you until he accidentally called his other girlfriend by your name’? Would that have been better?”
“It couldn’t have been worse.”
As her crying subsided, I remembered that every second I spent here was a second Tanner spent in who knew where. In lockup? In an interrogation room with a spotlight pointed in his eyes? Did they have habeas corpus here?
With a final reminder to keep her door locked and, until she heard from me, not answer it for anyone, not even someone she thought she knew well, I followed Grim toward the sheriff’s department.
Chapter Twelve
“Just come in with me,” I urged Grim. “They let werewolves in here, so why not a dog?”
On the front steps of the modest sheriff’s office, Grim planted his feet. “No way. Of all the buildings to go into, I’m not picking the police station.”
“They’re not going to arrest a dog, Grim.”
“You don’t know that. I might seem like witch’s best friend to you now, but out in the Deadwoods … I’ve done some things, Nora. Things I’m not proud of. Things I can never take back.”
“Oh, for fang’s sake.” I threw my arms into the air. “I’m not buying the bad-dog act, okay?”
“Suit yourself. Why exactly do you want me to go in there?”
Was he really going to make me say it? I tried to wait him out, but, yep, he was going to make me say it. “Because I trust your judgment. You were right about Ansel, and you obviously like Tanner, based on the way you let him really get in there behind your ears—“
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that ever again.”
“Come on, Grim. I need you.”
He yapped a laugh. “You need me?”
“Psh, no. I mean, not need you need you, but you’ve proven yourself to be not entirely unhelpful.”
“When you put it in such flattering terms,”—he lowered himself onto the top step—“good luck in there, kid. I know you’ll do great.”
“Oh, come on.” I paused, strategizing. “If you come with me, I’ll buy you another lasagna at Franco’s Pizza afterward.”
With great effort, he lifted himself off the ground. “I guess that’s acceptable,” he said nonchalantly.
But I could see the drool pooling at the edge of his floppy jowls.
“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Ashcroft,” said Deputy Manchester when I approached the reception desk. I must’ve interrupted him chatting with the receptionist, and the two of them watched unabashedly as Grim and I approached. “It’s been all of two hours since we parted ways.”
The receptionist was a short, pudgy man. Back in Texas, I would have felt guilty for thinking, Wow, he looked like a goblin, but in Eastwind, I thought I might be spot on. What creature I was currently dealing with didn’t matter, though, so I didn’t bother asking.
“I go and tell you that you’re off the hook and you come into the sheriff’s office anyway?” He turned to the receptionist. “Some women just can’t take a hint, huh?” They shared a laugh at my expense.
Fine. Laugh away. I wasn’t here to make friends.
&nb
sp; I mean, yeah, it would’ve been nice if they weren’t sitting around laughing at me, but whatever. “I need to speak with Sheriff Bloom,” I said.
“Great,” said Stu. “Jingo can help you with that.” He nodded at the short man. “My guess is she’ll have some availability next month.”
“It can’t wait. They have the wrong person. Tanner didn’t kill Bruce.”
“And you know this how?” Stu asked, sounding mostly disinterested. “Were you together when the murder took place?” He wagged a finger at me. “That’s it, isn’t it? I could tell something was up between you two the moment I walked in.” He filled in Jingo. “You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” He mimed just such a thing for effect. “Were you two getting up to a little hocus-pocus in the supply closet?” He grinned lecherously. “You were, weren’t you? I knew it!”
“What,” I began, “in God’s name are you talking about?”
His mirth came to a screeching halt. “Huh?”
“We weren’t … there was no hocus-pocus going on.”
But also, was there that much sexual tension?
No, of course not. When Deputy Manchester arrived on scene, we were both most definitely not thinking about that. We’d just seen a dead body, for fang’s sake!
Deputy Manchester resumed a professional composure. “Then how, may I ask, can you claim he didn’t do it?”
“I need to talk to Sheriff Bloom.”
“I understand that,” he said, enunciating each syllable like it might help my slow brain understand. “But like I already told you, she’s busy until at least Ostara.”
“I don’t know what Ostara is, and I don’t care.”
“It’s our spring festival,” Grim said. “It happens every March, but the specific day varies—”
“I didn’t bring you to be my Wikipedia, Grim.”
“Fine. Put me on the calendar,” I said, addressing Jingo.
Leaning over the desk, I pointed to an open slot on his parchment. “What’s that?” I asked.
“What?” he said.
“That. What does that mean? Is that something to do with Deputy Manchester’s schedule?”