by Renee George
Tizzy had her face pressed against the passenger window. “What in ten holy hells happened here?”
“I don’t know.” No matter how much I’d hated the place, aesthetically, it had been a lovely town. After the main four-way stop by the courthouse and police department, I took a left to head down toward the Shifter part of town. To Lily’s.
I gulped. If the front part of town was run down, Lily’s block was ramshackle.
“I’m scared now, Hazel.”
“We’ll be fine,” I told her, but I couldn’t keep the nervous butterflies in my tummy still. Automatically, I patted my Glock.
Tizzy noticed. “Surrre. We’ll be fine. Says the lady arming herself for a homecoming.”
I moved my hand back to the steering wheel. “Lily’s the next block over.”
When I parked, Tizzy rolled down the window. “Do you mind? I want to check out the neighborhood.”
“And a certain Jackie Stringer?”
“Don’t be a buzzkill.”
“Go,” I told her. “Have fun.” With those words, all I saw was squirrel butt in my rearview mirror as she hurried down the sidewalk and out of view.
Lily Mason’s house was on Felicity, one of the many ridiculous names the town’s forefathers had given the streets. I’d grown up on Arcadia, uber-grateful my parents hadn’t bought a house on Shangri-La. The white paint was peeled and cracked on the small two-story home, but the lawn was mowed, the windows were clean, and the porch was clutter free. A clean, green and yellow compact truck with a short box bed was parked in the small driveway. The dent behind the back left wheel well brought back memories of our hell-raising days.
“Haze!” Lily shouted as she ran out her front door. She’d lost weight since high school, and even back then, she hadn’t had any extra pounds to spare. Her shirt hung loose, and her jeans were held up with a belt. Her hair was still the most beautiful shade of golden russet red.
“I can’t believe you’re still driving this old beater.”
“Martha is reliable.” Lily put her hands on her hips and nodded to me. “Unlike someone else I can mention.”
“I’m here now.”
She paused a couple of feet in front of me. “Yeah,” she said. “You are.”
This close, I could see how bloodshot her eyes were. So much so, it dimmed the vibrant green of her irises. I scooped her into my arms and squeezed her until her back popped. “I’m so sorry about Danny.”
“Me too,” she said, sad and sick with grief. She patted me on the back and eased out of my embrace. “Most days, I’m okay. Knowing you were coming started the water works.” She hugged me quick and brief. “I’m really glad you’re here. Maybe you can get the answers that I can’t.”
“I’ll talk to the police chief in the morning.”
“That’ll be interesting.”
“Yep. As fun as a root canal.”
Lily gave me an incredulous look. “You’ve had a root canal?”
“No.” Witches didn’t suffer from human ailments like bad teeth, which meant, I could have all the chocolate I wanted, never brush my teeth, and still have healthy, pearly whites. “But I’ve heard they’re
awful. Anyhow, I have an appointment with Adele Adams, the head of the Witch-Shifter Coalition Council tomorrow afternoon.”
She chewed her lower lip and tugged on a lock of her hair. “About that…”
A blood-curdling scream pierced the quiet street. Lily’s face blanched, and sparks tickled from my fingertips.
“That’s Joy,” Lily said.
“Stay here.” I drew my weapon as John Decker, Lily’s wereraccoon neighbor, ran out of his house, his wife Joy, the screamer, her black hair tied up in a scarf and wearing a tank style purple nightgown, hot on his trail.
“Help!” he hollered. “It’s Boyd. It’s awful.”
Joy was sobbing so hard she began to puke. “That’s not my child,” she heaved. “Not my Boyd. It can’t be.”
“Is there someone else in the house?” I asked John.
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
I looked at Lily. “Call the police.”
She nodded.
I ran up the Decker’s porch steps, through the front door with my weapon in front of me, and into their small home.
Chapter Four
INSIDE THE HOUSE, JEOPARDY BLARED on the old standard definition television, the rust colored sofa had an indention on the left side where I assumed Joy sat most of the time since the only other furniture in the room was a large, brown recliner with a peeling vinyl covering. No woman would put bare legs on that scratchy surface.
I cleared the front of the house and made my way down the hall. The first door on the right had to be Joy and John’s bedroom. It was tidy, and the bed made. The next door was a towel closet. Then the bathroom. All clear. And the last door was Boyd’s bedroom. I had a memory flash of Lily and me, elementary age, jumping up and down on Boyd’s bed while he judged who could go the highest. He’d been a goofy and funny kid. Not too bright but genuinely nice.
I braced myself for what was coming. The wall near his door had a grease smudge. It was probably nothing, but Joy was a fairly neat housekeeper, even with the old worn furniture, the bare floor of the hall was swept, and the carpet had been vacuumed.
The door was wide open, so I didn’t have to worry about getting my prints on it. Just in case there was blood on the floor, I stuck my head in first. No blood, but…
“Oh, Goddess.” I put my hand to my mouth. What I assumed was Boyd look more like a twisted lump of skin, misshapen flesh, and patches of white and black fur. An arm was extended out from what looked like a butt crack, not kidding, and the fingernails had turned to slender black claws. I gagged, because, hello, witch. My kind had a highly developed gag reflex. Over the years, I’d gotten better at not throwing up at crime scenes, but I always brought a baggie with me just in case. Right now, I wished I had the bag.
I cast a sideways glance at the bulge-shaped Boyd. He looked like he’d been mid-shift when things had suddenly gone very wrong.
A skittering up my leg startled me forward into the room. A high squeaky voice said, with great alarm, “What the fudge? Goddess in a mini-skirt, Haze! That’s some awful crap.”
I pushed Tizzy away from my ear and farther out onto my shoulder. “Don’t sneak up on me at a crime scene, Tiz. Not cool.”
“I wanted to warn you that police chief is here.”
“Why warn me?”
“It’s Dick Knuckles. The peckers in this town saw fit to promote him to asshole-in-charge. He heard you were in here, and he looks ready to blow a dozen veins in his flabby nose.”
Dirk Nichols was a warlock, which meant Tizzy was exaggerating his looks. He would be handsome. There was no such thing as a physically unattractive witch or warlock. Regrettably, Lily, Tizzy, and I might have pranked once or twice in our misspent youth, but surely the man wouldn’t hold a grudge. After all, we were both law enforcement officers now. I hoped he’d extend me some courtesy.
“Officer Baylor,” I heard Nichols say from the living room. I felt the color and heat drain from my face. Not Ford. Not Ford. Not Ford. Please don’t let it be Ford. “Escort Miz—he said it with a really hard Z—Kinsey to the police station. If she gives you any trouble, arrest her for interfering with a potential crime scene.”
“Yes, chief.” The low timber of his sexy voice made my skin shiver.
“Crap.”
“The po-po is coming for you, Haze.”
“I am the po-po,” I reminded Tiz.
If I was getting hauled to jail, I might as well get my money’s worth. I strolled closer to the body, careful of where I stepped. The room smelled vaguely of the smoky tang of recreational pot. There was a pair of jeans thrown haphazardly on the floor, but otherwise, the room was as neat of the rest of the house. His lamp had one of those multi-faceted round crystals used to reflect and disperse light, and just under that was a water bong, confirming
my marijuana suspicions.
While my magic wasn’t strong, I’d gotten good at location and reveal spells from a Witchcraft for Idiots book of all places. I’d bought it at a bookstore on a lark before Quantico, and while most of the book was nonsense, a few of the spells had worked with a little tweaking. It had been a valuable tool when I started working kidnappings. The spells helped me to discern actual clues from normal items at a crime scene.
My time was limited, so I quickly incanted:
“Goddess bring me second sight.
Turn the darkness into light.
A deed is done, most obscene.
Reveal the path, unseen seen.
Done is done, Goddess grant to me,
Second sight, so mote it be.”
It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it did the trick. I scanned the room again. The dangling crystal lit up like a glow stick marking it as important. The bong stayed muted. Guess the pot wasn’t the culprit. The side of his dresser glowed as well. I walked over for a closer look. A rough capital H had been carved into the wood. Why was it glowing? Maybe Boyd had tried to scratch out his killer’s name. Only one more spot in the room glowed. It was on the headboard behind the Boyd blob. I steeled my courage and forced my feet to move me in that direction. On the wall, was another greasy smudge.
I leaned in close to see if it had an odor, but an overpowering aroma of cinnamon flooded the room. “What the heck?”
“Ms. Kinsey, I’m gonna need you to come out of there.”
The powerful scent of the man, like a strong cup of chai tea, wafted into the room. Oh Goddess, it could only be Ford. I braced my floppity stomach then turned my head to meet his gaze.
And there he was. All six-foot-nine-inches of tall, dark, and bear. Light blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes. His chocolate hair, the color of molten lava cake, was cut short and neat, instead of the mop of thick curls he wore in high school, and he had a short, well-groomed beard. If anything, it made him more attractive. My girly bits sang soprano as he neared me. I gulped, looking for the nearest window to jump out. How crappy was it that Ford could still make my heart race? I glued my feet to the floor to keep from running over there to sniff him like a freshly baked loaf of bread. The last thing I needed was the distraction of a man I couldn’t have.
There’s a lump of raccoon Shifter in this room, I reminded myself. This is a crime scene for the love of inappropriate behavior, not a class reunion, so get a hold of yourself!
“Hey,” I said because I’m such a smooth talker.
Ford raised a professional brow as if to ask if I was going to give him grief or not. Other than that, it didn’t seem like he recognized me at all. I’m ashamed of how disappointed I felt.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. “Special Agent Kinsey,” I said. When I flashed him the badge, he didn’t seem all that impressed.
“Special Agent Kinsey,” he said respectfully. “I need you to come down to the station with me. Chief’s orders.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I don’t want to arrest you.” Officer Baylor took out his handcuffs, and on another occasion, I might have smiled, but his cold attitude was pissing me off.
“Police brutality!” Tizzy chittered. She crawled down my back, her tiny nails scratching me on the way down.
“Ow,” I squirmed when she clung to my jeans on the backside of my right thigh. I was looking sooo not cool in front of the one person I needed to look cool for. I glared down at the squirrel, her head poked out from around my ass, and her tail swished against the back of my thigh. “Tizzy,” I ordered. “Out.”
“But Haze,” she protested.
“Nope,” I said. “Go be with Lily. I got this.”
She looked up at Ford and gave him a hard stare, her long eyelashes fluttering with anger. “If you hurt Hazel, I swear I’ll hunt you down and harvest your nuts.”
His eyes widened, and he cast the briefest of glances at his crotch before meeting my familiar’s angry gaze. “Duly noted.”
She harrumphed loudly, and it sounded more like someone stepped on a dog toy. “I have my eyes on you, Grizzly Adams.” With two fingers she pointed at her eyes and up to his and back to hers. “Watch your back.” After her final warning, she ran between Ford’s legs and out of the room.
“She’s intense,” he said.
“You’re not kidding.”
He jangled his cuffs. “The easy way or the hard way, Kinsey.”
“Are you really going to be a douche about this?”
“That’s Officer Douche.”
He was not going to let up or let me go, so I nodded. “Fine. The easy way. For now.”
****
THE PARADISE FALLS POLICE station hadn’t changed too much on the outside over the past fifteen years, and the inside was just as underwhelming. We were let in by a plump but pleasant woman dressed in full uniform. Her name badge identified her as Officer Givens. The air inside was stale, and I felt a little claustrophobic. It was, after all, the nightmare of my childhood. Dick…er…Dirk had been an officer back then. The chief had been Charlie Tibbs, a good old boy werebadger with a badge. He was the only reason I managed to get out of Paradise Falls with a clean record. Last I heard, he’d retired somewhere south. The way the police were handling Danny’s murder told me the town was worse off without him.
I wanted to ask Ford why he smelled so much like a streusel topping all the time, but instead, I asked, “Why has the investigation stalled on Danny Mason?”
His cheeks reddened for a moment, but he didn’t answer.
“Is it true every bone was broken in his body?”
“I’m not allowed to discuss an open investigation.”
“Are you, though? Investigating?” Yes, I was pushing his buttons. But I was getting tired of his indifference. “I mean, doesn’t this sound like something more than a troubled young man getting what was coming to him? I know Danny wasn’t a peach, but damn, he didn’t deserve this.”
“Why did you come back here, Hazel?”
“Oh.” I crossed my arms. “You do remember me then.”
The spicy scent of him grew stronger as his gaze briefly met mine. He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit near a small desk. He took the seat in front where an old computer took up space. “I remember you.” He typed into the keyboard. A beep sounded. The screen came up with a brown and white scheme.
“Full name.”
“This is dumb.”
“Is that a legal name change, or just something you like to go by?” I saw the hint of a smile curl the corner of his mouth. The robot had chinks in his metal!
“Hazel Marie Kinsey.”
“Date of Birth.”
“Old enough.”
“Date of Birth.”
“I’m an agent with the FBI,” I told Ford. “Not a criminal, and I don’t like being treated like one.”
“This is a witness statement. Not a criminal report.”
“Not the point.”
“Kinda is.”
“Fine.” I slouched in a pouty huff…then remembered the card Baba Yaga had given me. I grabbed my wallet, pulled out the little white rectangle that said, “Pass.” And slid it across the desk.
Baylor growled. “I’ll let the chief know when he gets back from the crime scene. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”
I smirked. “I’ll do that.” Three hours, two vending machine vanilla cakes with pink frosting, and one bad cup of coffee later, Chief Nichols ushered me into his office. “I don’t like this one damn bit, Mizz Kinsey. This is my town. I really ought to throw you out on your high horse ass.”
“Did you talk to Baba Yaga?”
The blanching of his cheeks told me he did. “You should have checked in with me the minute you hit town.”
“I was planning on it first thing in the morning. How in the heck was I supposed to know Lily Mason’s neighbor was going to die?” I didn’t add “in a gruesome most awful way.” I think that p
art was implied.
“Can’t be helped now,” he blustered.
Anger wrinkled his forehead, marring his unlined face. He wasn’t ugly, as I said before, our kind didn’t do unattractive. But, even so, past his full head of blond hair and symmetrical features, there was nothing appealing about the man. He was the kind of guy that wore his warts on the inside.
“I need the investigation files and notes on Daniel Mason.” I resisted calling him Dick. He might be under orders to cooperate with me, but it didn’t mean he had to make it easy.
His expression soured even more. “I’ll have Officer Baylor get you whatever files you require, but nothing leaves this station. You understand me?”
“Perfectly.”
“As long as we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” I told him.
“You’re still an asshole,” he added.
“Ditto that, Chief.”
His lips thinned out as he grimaced. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mizzz Kinsey?”
I didn’t bother to correct him with a “Special Agent” comeback. I simply said, “Nope. The files are good for now.”
“Then get the hell out of my office.”
I stood up, turned on my heel, and did as I was told. On the way out, my heart squeezed as I saw John and Joy Decker clinging to each other in the hall outside. A man with black hair and a salt and pepper beard sat with them murmuring quiet comforts. John looked up at me, his brown eyes red-rimmed with grief.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Decker.”
Joy sobbed harder, but John tightened his mouth and nodded. “Thank you, Hazel.”
The man next to them stood up and held out his hand. “I’m Robert Townsend, a good friend of the Deckers. If I can do anything to aid you in your investigation, let me know.”
What made him think I was investigating?
I could feel the power in his grip as he shook my hand. “I am the alpha of the paullulum mammalia.“ I must have looked confused because he added, “The small animal Shifters.”
Ah. He was the head mucky-muck over the chipmunk, beaver, badger, and raccoon Shifters in the area. “I appreciate your cooperation, sir.”