Bat Out of Spell

by Amanda M. Lee

  I swallowed hard. The information highway was a two-way street, and he’d blessed me with important gossip so I felt I owed him the same. “Buddy and Blair Whitney went to college together. He got her discounts on procedures and she pretended to fawn all over him in exchange.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Mitzi.”

  “Mitzi confided in you?”

  “She … was motivated to share information,” I hedged, suddenly uncomfortable. “You know you could get in a lot of trouble for passing on this information to me, don’t you?”

  Augie nodded. “Yes, but I also know that you won’t let this go until you’ve tracked down every possibility. I don’t know why you’re so invested in this – I have a few ideas, but we can talk about them another time – but I know you’ll figure out the truth.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You always do.” Augie slapped his knees before standing, signifying he was about to say his goodbyes and leave. “You’re smart and tenacious. I have faith you’ll use those skills to do what I can’t.”

  For some reason the simple statement touched me. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “You’re also idiotic and jump in with both feet without looking,” Augie added. “Don’t call me if you get in trouble. I can’t be the one to bail you out because then everyone will know I set you on this path.”

  I scowled. “That charm thing you pride yourself on comes and goes at the oddest of times.”

  “It does,” Augie agreed. “Whatever you do, be careful. Even though Abigail won’t term it a murder, we both know it is. That means you could be on the trail of someone dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself.”

  “You’re also irritating enough to drive men to murder. Make sure that doesn’t happen this time.”

  “You can count on it. I’m not ready to die for someone else’s cause.”

  “Keep it that way.”

  Eleven

  I remained troubled by Augie’s visit even after I’d finally worked up the courage to head to town. Instead of heading to the coffee shop – which would have been my first destination on a normal day – I decided a visit to Zola was in order. I had two reasons fueling me. The first was that I wanted to get one of my witchy fights out of the way and Zola was the least likely to hold a grudge. The second was because she had access to hangover remedies in her shop.

  Yes, I’m that witch. I’m willing to put up with a fight to get rid of a headache. I’m willing to look like a user to get what I want. I’m willing to feign I was wrong (mostly because I’m never really wrong) to get relief. Sue me.

  Zola stood behind the counter, hands on hips, and barely looked up when I slid through the front door. I knew she was aware of my presence because I opted to park my Vespa directly in front of the store – right next to her scooter, which featured baskets for carrying plants – so there was no way she didn’t see me when I pulled up. As for acknowledging me, apparently she had other plans.

  “You don’t have to pretend you don’t see me,” I announced as I sauntered down the middle aisle and made a big show of ogling her most recent offerings. “The wormwood and nightshade look great. You really outdid yourself this year.”

  Zola slanted her eyes until they were nothing but glittery slits. “What do you want, Skye?”

  Ugh. Did she have to be so aggressive when I was nursing a hangover? “I want quite a few things, but I think my ultimate goal is world peace.” I offered a cheeky grin, but Zola’s lips didn’t twitch, causing me to sober. So much for charming her.

  “What do you really want, Skye?”

  Oh, so she was going to play it that way. “I’m looking for some valerian root.”

  Zola remained where she was and I had the distinct impression she was imagining doing something painful to me. She needn’t have bothered because I’d already done something painful to myself. And, quite frankly, nothing could hurt more than the conversation I was forced to share with Augie this morning. How much more was I expected to suffer?

  “The valerian root is two weeks from being ready,” Zola said after a beat. “Come back then.” She turned her attention to the plant she was trimming, ignoring my presence as I prowled through the aisles.

  “How can you not have valerian root?” I really needed it. My head felt as if the little monster living inside, the one who kept knocking on my skull, was about to break through and start terrorizing the world. “That’s a standard. You always have it.”

  “Always is an absolute. I don’t believe in absolutes.”

  “Oh, geez.” I rolled my eyes and focused on the nearest green sprout. “What about some calamus root?”

  “Nope.”

  That figured. “Corydalis?”

  Zola shook her head.

  “White willow?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Skullcap?”

  “You’re fresh out of luck.”

  Something very odd was going on here. “Are you really out of those things or just out of them for me?”

  Zola beamed as she lifted her eyes. “What do you think?”

  I dragged a restless hand through my hair and closed the distance to the counter. “I think you’re ticked about what happened last night. To be fair, it wasn’t my fault. It was an accident.”

  “You accidentally dosed us with truth serum?” Zola didn’t look convinced. “That seems unlikely. You know what truth serum does to us. We’re not genetically human, so giving us magically enhanced serum that’s geared toward humans is a recipe for disaster.”

  Oh, I hate it when she gets condescending. “I didn’t mean for you guys to drink it. I certainly didn’t mean for me to drink it. I mixed the rum runners and left them on the bar for two seconds so I could talk to Dylan. Bonnie thought I was mixing them for the four of us and delivered them to you. How can that possibly be blamed on me?”

  Zola shot me a withering look. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  I wasn’t sure. “I didn’t plan it. I ended up more embarrassed than anybody else anyway, so I don’t see why you have your witch hazel in a twist.”

  “I sang ‘Like a Virgin.’”

  Whoops. I forgot about that. “And you have a lovely singing voice. I know you touched me for the very first time.”

  Zola glared. “If you think I’m helping you after what you pulled last night … .”

  “The truth serum was for Lena and Rebecca. I added the daughter and assistant for good measure. I wasn’t aiming for you, for crying out loud.”

  “Why were you even aiming for them?”

  The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean … why were you trying to get the truth out of them?” Zola persisted. “You’re not the type who generally sticks her neck out to root out someone else’s truth. But you’re fixated on doing exactly that. Why?”

  She was so not going to turn this into some sort of psychiatry session with Dr. Zola sitting in a chair while I stretched out on a couch and spilled my feelings. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Zola snapped. “You’re fixated on Blair Whitney, although for the life of me I can’t figure out why. You didn’t even know her.”

  “No,” I agreed.

  “So … what’s the deal?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I was too tired to continue the discussion and let loose a long-suffering sigh as I turned to leave. “Thanks for all your lovely help.”

  “I’ll loan you some of my valerian root if you answer the question,” Zola offered, causing me to freeze and slowly turn back.

  “You said you didn’t have any valerian root.”

  “No, I said I didn’t have any valerian root for sale,” Zola corrected. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have any for personal use.”

  That was so … Zola, the master manipulator. “And all you want in exchan
ge for the valerian root is what?”

  “An honest answer.” Zola folded her arms over her chest. The look she lobbed in my direction was weighted. “Why are you so obsessed with figuring out what happened to Blair Whitney?”

  It was an easy question and it should’ve had an easy answer. I held my hands palms out and shrugged. “I don’t know.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. “I feel it’s important to find out who killed her. There’s something inside propelling me to do it.”

  “And you obviously think it was the mistress?”

  Did I? Augie’s bombshell offered up another tantalizing option. “What would you say if I told you that Blair Whitney’s husband arrived on the island the day she died?” I sidled back to the counter and ran my fingers over the velvety stem of the plant Zola toiled over.

  “I would say I don’t understand.”

  “It’s true. Charles Whitney is at the Beachcomber Resort. He checked in about twelve hours before his wife died and a good twenty-two hours before I tripped over her body.”

  Instead of offering up a snarky observation, Zola looked thoughtful. “That’s weird, right?”

  I was relieved that she agreed. “I tend to believe that’s really weird. The thing is, I thought the mistress was the obvious choice – I mean, who brings their husband’s mistress on vacation with them? But what if the husband came to town under the radar so he could kill his wife and then pop out of town before anyone realized he was even here?”

  “I would say there’re several problems with your theory,” Zola replied without hesitation. “The first is that you can’t get a hotel room on this island without a credit card. It’s simply impossible in this day and age. That means there has to be a record of Charles Whitney staying at the hotel.”

  “Unless he used a friend’s credit card … or a corporate account card.”

  “I guess that’s fair,” Zola offered after a moment. “That doesn’t change the fact that if he murdered her and didn’t want people to know he was here he wouldn’t have checked into a hotel at all. Plus, well, wouldn’t he have taken off directly after the deed?”

  “Maybe, unless for some reason he thought it was better to lay low.”

  “Let’s say that’s true. Why stay several days after? That’s just begging for trouble.”

  Huh. She wasn’t wrong. “Then why not make his presence known? Why go through all the subterfuge?”

  “I don’t know. How did you even find out about this?”

  “Augie.” His name was out of my mouth before I thought better about sharing the information. “I mean … don’t tell anyone.” I lowered my voice when Zola’s eyes lit with mirth. “I’m serious. He could lose his job over the information he slipped me, and that doesn’t seem fair because he was trying to help.”

  “Since when are you and Augie so tight?” Zola drawled. “I mean … I don’t remember you guys sharing information before.”

  “His hands are tied. He can’t investigate unless Abigail deems it a homicide, which she hasn’t yet. He could lose his job over this. He’s been ordered to ignore whatever evidence he finds. He’s upset.”

  Zola sobered. “I actually can see Augie being upset. He’s a good guy and always tries to do the right thing.”

  “You make him sound like a martyr.”

  “He’s pretty close.”

  “Don’t ever tell him that. His head will only get bigger, and it’s already in danger of needing its own ZIP code.”

  Zola tapped her bottom lip as she surveyed me with unreadable eyes. “You and Augie spent a lot of time together last night.”

  “Yes, and you know why. I had no idea until after it happened that I’d downed one of the dosed drinks, and by then it was too late. You know what those drinks do to us.”

  “I do.” Zola nodded. “They make us stupid and slow. I know if you fight them the magic overflows into something else. I watched you last night, so I know that your excess magic oozed out in the form of flirting.”

  I was pretty sure I hated the way she phrased that. “Nothing oozed out.”

  “You two danced … a lot.” Zola, lost in her own little world, barely looked at me. “You drank … a lot. You also laughed … a lot. You were all over each other the entire night.”

  “That was the spell. It made me act out of sorts.”

  “That was partially the spell, and it didn’t make you do anything you weren’t willing to do,” Zola corrected. “You know that’s not how magic works.”

  Ugh. This was a conversational rabbit hole I didn’t want to go down. It didn’t look as if I had a choice, though. “And what are you suggesting?”

  “That you spent a lot of time with Augie last night.” Zola’s grin was impish. “I was distracted by a few things of my own, but when I did see you, I believe you were having a good time.”

  Well, great. This was the last conversation I wanted to have with a pounding head and a mounting to-do list. “Listen here … .”

  Zola barreled forward. “Not only were you two together last night, now you’ve suddenly shown up with information that came from Augie. Did he give you this information last night? Because, and I’m going to be honest here, I don’t think he was sober enough to deliver any believable information.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “He didn’t deliver it last night.”

  “I see.”

  “He told me the story this morning.”

  Zola’s lips curved in such a fashion I wanted to smack her face to get the smirk to disappear. “You saw him last night and this morning, huh? Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Yes. You’re being a busybody … and being ridiculous to boot. There’s nothing going on between Augie and me, so get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Uh-huh.” Zola was obviously dubious. “Why did he show up at your house this morning? Curious minds want to know.”

  “Because he wanted to apologize for last night.” I could’ve lied – actually, I thought about it – but it seemed a wasted effort. “He blamed himself for the flirting. He didn’t realize I was causing it and felt terrible.”

  “Oh.” Zola sobered. “That’s nowhere near as fun of a story as I thought it would be. Poor Augie.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m willing to take it that far,” I grumbled. “He had the information about Charles Whitney yesterday. Someone anonymously slipped it under his office door, which is weird in itself, and then he was ordered to back off the investigation.”

  “Which explains why he got that drunk in the first place,” Zola mused. “I wondered. He’s not a huge drinker. I mean, he likes to have a good time and all, but he’s not the type to get witch-faced for nothing.”

  “No, and he felt like a gigantic creeper this morning and brought me coffee and an apology. As part of that, he gave me the information about Charles Whitney. He thought I could investigate him without getting into trouble. I won’t be in danger of losing my job for following the information, so … .”

  “So you’re going to follow the information,” Zola finished.

  “I am.” I bobbed my head. “I know you don’t understand why I want answers. I’m not sure I really do either. I only know I tripped over Blair Whitney and now I feel responsible for finding out how she died, why she died.”

  Zola blinked several times in rapid succession and then exhaled heavily. “Fine. I guess I understand, although not really. You’re doing what you have to do.”

  “Exactly. I need valerian root to do it.”

  “I’ll get some from the back,” Zola mumbled to herself as she disappeared into the back room, allowing me a few minutes to peruse the plants … and change the small signs to misidentify everything, because even though I was grateful for the imminent headache relief, I was still me and wanted to mess with her. I was back at the counter by the time Zola returned.

  “Don’t overdo it.” She dropped four small nubs in my hand. “I would put it in a tea to get it to work faster.”

  “I was going to
chew it.”

  Zola arched an eyebrow. “That sounds … classy.”

  I smirked. “Thanks for this.” I cupped my hand around the roots. “I’ll let you know if I come up with any good information regarding Charles Whitney.”

  “Just be careful,” Zola ordered. “If you’re right, he could be a murderer. If he catches you sneaking around, he won’t like it.”

  I snickered. “You sound like Augie.”

  “Augie wanted you to be careful?”

  “He was adamant about it.”

  “Yeah.” Zola adopted a knowing look. “I think Augie is right. You should definitely be careful … and watch your back.”

  “Trust me. Charles Whitney won’t get a chance to sneak up on me. I don’t need to watch my back.”

  “I was talking about watching your back with Kenna,” Zola clarified. “After what happened last night, she’s on the warpath. When she finds you it won’t be pretty.”

  I swallowed hard. Yup. I should’ve been expecting that. “I’m not afraid of her.” I was more bravado than brains sometimes. “She can come find me whenever she wants.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “Great. I think that will be just … great.”

  That was so not great.

  Twelve

  I spent what was left of the morning (which wasn’t much) watching room sixteen at the Beachcomber Resort. Because of the facility’s layout, each room had a private entrance. That meant I had to sit on the beach, pretending the already bright sun didn’t exacerbate my pounding headache, and chew on valerian root.

  Charles Whitney didn’t as much as stir. That meant I needed to come up with another plan.

  Once my hangover started to ease, I took advantage of the hotel’s dining room accommodations and slipped inside. I didn’t recognize the young woman behind the desk at first glance, so I decided to bypass her in case I needed to run a scam later. I grabbed a table in the small dining room. The waitress who hit me up there three minutes later was a familiar face.

  Faye Bradshaw was the friendly sort. She was in her thirties, a single mother, and she worked three jobs to keep her two kids in nice clothes. She wasn’t a complainer by nature – something I didn’t understand, because if I had two kids and had been abandoned by my husband who took off to play hide the seashell with a girl barely out of high school I’d totally be bitter – and she graced me with a bright smile.