Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1)

by Dakota Cassidy

  Enzo’s truck was at the bottom of the mudslide we called a driveway, the bed filled with two-by-fours. Well, that was something anyway. Maybe I’d actually have a wall to hang a picture on.

  I slipped my heels off and pulled on my work boots, preparing to make the arduous climb to the front porch. I didn’t say anything more—at this point, I was just too deflated. Though, the sight of the porch, and the holes now covered in protective plywood, did give me hope.

  I pushed the door open to the tune of Tony Bennett and the sound of a drill. “It’s just me, Enzo!” I yelled before kicking off my boots and heading up the staircase.

  The drill stopped for a brief moment then returned to its droning. Trudging down the long hallway to my bedroom, the plan was to maybe grab a quick bath, relax before I had to attend my flaying at the police station.

  When I rounded the corner, I stopped dead and gasped in surprise.

  “Do you like it?” Win grumbled in my ear.

  It was a bed. A bed every girl who likes a cozy nook to bury herself in dreams of. I almost couldn’t move my feet into the room to approach it.

  “Oh, Win,” I whispered tearfully. “It’s beautiful.”

  It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Built directly into the wall where the windows faced the Sound, was the most amazing queen-size bed I’d ever seen. Fashioned like a huge window seat, the entrance was hexagon-shaped, framed with crisp white molding on top and edged on either side of the entry to the mattress with scrolled brackets. Beneath the bed, there were three drawers with matching scrollwork along the bottom.

  As I approached and looked closer, I inhaled. Inside this heavenly creation where I’d rest my head was a plump mattress with a blue and white chintz comforter and tons of fluffy pillows to match. All around the interior of this peaceful nook, including around the white, thickly framed trio of windows, wainscoting had been installed and painted a pale lemon.

  But the best part of this magnificent structure was the pure white bookcase directly above the headboard, built into the nook’s wall and harboring one lone hydrangea and plenty of room for some of my favorite gardening books.

  It was like coming home to a warm hug, and I didn’t know how to say thank you.

  “Enzo’s got a stained-glass pane coming to place in the center window. But I hoped this would do for now.”

  “Do?” I squeaked, fighting more tears. “It’s amazing. It’s the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  “Hey!” Belfry chimed from my shoulder. “Did you forget the Best Birthday Gift Ever of 2003?”

  I giggled a watery sound. “How could I forget my Madonna tickets and neon-green scrunchie?”

  “I’m rather sure I’ll never be able to top that, Belfry,” Win assured.

  “Darn right you won’t, Winterbutt. I’m going to catch a power nap, folks. Wake me when we’re ready to take this guy down.” Belfry slid from my shoulder and headed to the broad-leaf plants in the bathroom.

  I sat at the edge of the bed and wiggled my toes. “Win, this was too kind of you. I don’t know how you knew something like this would appeal to me, but it rocks.”

  “Bah. There was something about a vision board in your old apartment, an uncomfortable futon, the colors pale yellow and blue, and your love of the water. It was nothing, really.”

  He’d been talking to my spirits again. I didn’t understand this man. One minute he was as brisk as a wintry wind, the next, warm as a tropical island. Complex and infuriating, delightful and considerate.

  “Who made this in such a short time?”

  “Enzo, of course. And his sons, Tomasso and Patritzio. They own a mill and woodworking shop here in Seattle. Beautiful place. Madam Zoltar helped me find a picture from the description I had and she placed the order for me.”

  I grinned, hugging a pillow to my chest. “You were pretty sure I was going to take that deal, huh?”

  “I was pretty certain I could talk you into it.”

  “I’m breathless. It’s like you’ve thought of everything. Thank you, Win. This was just what I needed to put the wind back in my sails.”

  “You rest for a bit now. I’ll make myself scarce,” he said, and then his warm aura was gone.

  Just as I lie back on the bed, there was a loud pounding on the front door.

  Crap. Maybe it was someone helping Enzo?

  I looked out the beautiful window to see who it was and my heart stopped. Why were the Ebenezer police here? I told Officer Nelson I’d answer all his questions about that stupidhead Hendrick when I went into the station for my interview.

  Racing out of the room, I flew down the steps and threw open the door. “Didn’t I tell you I’d answer your questions when I came in for my interview? You bunch are pushy, huh?”

  Officer Nelson stood there, along with Officer Gorton, two other officers and some official-looking guy, who held up a piece of paper. “Miss Cartwright? We have a search warrant. Please step aside,” Official Dude said.

  But I wasn’t budging. Enough was enough with the murder accusation. “For what?”

  The official-looking guy gave me a hard glare, his bald head shiny under the light in the entryway. “Miss Cartwright, if you don’t step aside, we’ll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

  I flung open the door and motioned them in. “Fine. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but have at it, boys. I wish you luck finding anything in this mess of sheetrock and rotted wood.”

  I stepped aside just as Enzo came wandering out of the kitchen, something shiny and oval dangling from between his fingers.

  “Afternoon, Miss Cartwright. Found this on the kitchen counter by the microwave. Thought you mighta misplaced…”

  Necklace? I hadn’t even unpacked my jewelry.

  Everyone stopped to look at what Enzo was holding, as did I.

  And then everyone looked at me, their gazes hawk-eyed and hard.

  Oh yay. Bet five bucks that was Madam Zoltar’s Senior Alert necklace.

  And right here in my own house, too.

  Who’da thunk?

  Chapter 14

  “You have two choices, Stevie?” Win whispered in my ear as I stood by the staircase.

  “Hmmm-mmm?” I muttered as the police milled about my house, yelling instructions to each other, tearing into walls and floors, searching with flashlights for something they refused to share with me.

  “You’ll need to use your thighs,” he warned, his tone grave.

  “Oh, good. Not a problem. I’ll invoke the Gods of Pilates. I’m sure they’d be happy to help. Hang on just one sec while I dial them up. Oh, wait. I can’t. Know why I can’t? Because my hands are tied behind my back with zip ties, Win!”

  “Then pay close attention,” he ordered, excitement riddling his voice. “Here’s what you do. Deep knee bend while you use your arms like a jump rope. Get your arms in front of you, lift them high, and bring them down as hard as you can, as quickly as you can. That should break the restraints. Then head for the windows in the parlor. Tuck just as you do a running launch against them; when you hear the glass shatter, roll. You’ll have about twenty, maybe thirty seconds to do this before they take note and come after you.”

  “Is that all? Bah. That should be cake. I can’t believe you don’t want me to swing from the scaffolding into a half-gainer off the entryway wall as I somersault through the air, taking out cops like bowling pins as I go.”

  “Good point. Definitely a more solid stab at freedom. Do you think you can handle that? I’m not sure that’s a level of escape you’re ready for.”

  “Win?”

  “Yes, Stevie?”

  “Shut up,” I warned, trying to keep my voice low. “I’m no more capable of making a jump rope of my arms than I am of winning the Kentucky Derby.”

  “No. I’d think you’re too tall to be a jockey.”

  “Win!” I hissed. “Knock it off! We have a problem. How the heck did Madam Z’s necklace get here inside the hou
se? I’ve been framed, Winterbottom. Framed but good.”

  “Just like Roger Rabbit.”

  I grimaced as a cop raced past me up the stairs. “Not laughing, Win. I’m going to jail, pal. You’d better hope this Luis Lipton guy is good at what he does because I think bail’s going to be involved.”

  “They have nothing to hold you on, Stevie. Nothing. It’s going to take a lot more than a necklace to prove you killed Madam Z. If she was strangled, it certainly wasn’t from something as flimsy as the chain on that necklace. And fret not; Luis will take meticulous care of you. I’ve made sure of it.”

  “I never did ask. How…?” I shook my head, already mentally answering the question about how Luis Lipton had been asked to take care of me. “Never mind. Madam Zoltar handled that, too, right?”

  “Right. I put many things in motion before she was killed, all gambling on the fact that you’d accept my offer. Every rich woman needs a solid attorney. There are all sorts of unsavory people in this world, looking for ways to steal your money. It was a just-in-case plan. Thank bloody God, too, or I’m not sure where that giraffe would have ended up.”

  I made a face of outrage into the dimly lit entryway. “You bought me a giraffe?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I just wanted to gauge your emotional state.”

  “My emotional state is freaked out.”

  “Do not express any emotion one way or the other to these blokes. You are stone, Stevie Cartwright. Stone. In the meantime, what can I do to make you feel better as we pass the time?”

  “Tell me how you died. No! Wait! Don’t say anything. Just nod yes or no. Scratch that. Sorry. You can’t nod. Just grunt if the answer is yes. I bet you died while you were hanging upside down in a dirty warehouse somewhere in like, Germany. You know, the kind with a lone light bulb swinging from the ceiling because of some unseen draft. I bet they were torturing you—you know, like maybe while upside down, your wrists cuffed, your fingers were hanging in a dirty puddle of water and they used jumper cables to shock you into telling them where the diamonds were. Am I close?”

  “Jumper cables are so old-spy torture.”

  But I’d lost my zeal for guessing how he’d died. As more of the officers centered in on the crumbling dining room, talking and pointing, I had to wonder what else might have been planted and by whom.

  “What do you suppose they’re looking for? I mean, if the murder weapon was her scarf, what’s left?”

  “I don’t know. Your diabolical plan drawn on paper, perhaps? Local law enforcement is below my pay grade. I’m used to espionage and intrigue. It’s bigger, more complex, messier than just plain old small-town murder.”

  “Well, la-dee-da. You’re so fancy,” I said with an eye roll.

  “I’m just stating the facts. When I’m in the height of a mission, I’m looking for codes for bombs and Russian submarine navigational longitudes and latitudes. But I’ll learn to simplify.”

  Leaning back as another police officer took off up the stairs, I fought a tremble in my voice and said, “Do me a favor. Make sure Belfry calls this Luis Lipton to be sure he doesn’t miss our meeting at three. I have a feeling he’s more necessary than ever. You stay here. It’s too much with you in my ear when I need to concentrate, and if Luis is as good as you say he is, I won’t have to say much anyway. Plus, Bel’s never very good without me. He’s a smart aleck, but he’s a sensitive one. Also, tell Bel to stay put. No matter what, he doesn’t leave the house, okay? I want him safe, not locked up in some evidence locker. You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

  “Of course, but Lipton’s, as you Americans say, a shark. He’ll have you out in no time. Belfry will hardly know you’re gone. I give you my word.”

  Officer Nelson approached me, his tall frame dwarfing mine. “Miss Cartwright, please come with me.”

  I smiled coyly at him. “Are we going for a ride in your shiny cruiser? Will you turn the lights and sirens on?”

  “No.”

  “Aw, you’re no fun. Sandwich…er, I mean, Officer Paddington offered to the last time I was needlessly taken to your place of business. You could learn a thing or two from him. He’s super easygoing. You, on the other hand? So tense, rigid even. Ease up there, Cowpoke. You’ll get wrinkles.”

  Lifting his clean-shaven chin, Officer Nelson pointed toward my front door. “After you.”

  Okay, obviously the good times weren’t rolling with Officer Nelson anymore. I had a glimmer of hope he considered me innocent back at the inn, but now he looked like he was pretty sure I was involved. Who wouldn’t think I was somehow involved when I had Madam Z’s necklace?

  So I did as I was told. Even I knew when to shut up. Well, mostly. As I descended the stairs with the aid of Officer Detached, my stomach twisted and turned in anxious, empty turmoil.

  “Stay tough, Stevie. I’m on it. And if they break out the jumper cables, remember to clench your teeth. It makes the pain easier to withstand. Don’t ever let ’em see you sweat!” Win called behind me.

  Yeah, yeah. Easy for Spy Guy to say. He could jump rope with his arms.

  * * * *

  I sat in the interrogation room of my hometown police station under the most heinous of glaring fluorescent lights beside my swanky lawyer, Luis Lipton, in his seven-hundred-dollar-an-hour pinstriped gray suit, and stared down the detective across from me.

  Oddly, the players were a lot like they were on TV.

  There was the first detective; he was Good Cop, according to Luis. Detective Ward Montgomery, early forties, nice enough suit on a detective’s salary, easy enough on the eyes, calm, obvious stabs at endearing himself to me, chummy even.

  “So am I right when I’m hearing you say you have no idea how Tina Martoni’s Senior Alert necklace ended up at your house, yet an anonymous tip led us straight to it?” he coaxed, pretending interest in my every word by sitting his chin on his hand and smiling.

  Yeah. That was how they’d discovered the necklace was at my house. An anonymous tip…

  I nodded and kept my answers simple, just like Luis told me to do as he prepped me for my interview and right after he made Bad Cop remove my zip-tie restraints. “You’re correct.”

  “Well, how can that be, Stevie? Don’t you know what’s in your own house? It was pretty empty—not much in the way of anything to speak of. Your contractor said he found the necklace on the counter. How could you miss it if you weren’t the one who put it there in the first place?” he asked in a friendly tone.

  But Luis held up a hand, setting his glasses at the end of his long nose and peering over them at Good Cop. “I believe this has been asked and answered, Detective. Your redundancy has become quite tedious. Now, you clearly have no solid evidence against my client. There’s no physical evidence except my client’s muddy footprints in the store, which we’ve very clearly explained. You have nothing more than a necklace with—I’m going to guess, once the lab results return—no DNA from Miss Cartwright.”

  Now, Bad Cop? He was wired for sound. Like he’d had too many Red Bulls in a row.

  Bad Cop was rather a mashup of Andy Sipowicz from NYPD Blue, all hard and rabid yelling, mixed with Ice-T on Law & Order: SVU, intense and quietly thinking of multiple ways to crush my skull with his bare hands while he chewed gum with endless pops and crackles.

  Bad Cop’s name was Detective Sean Moore. He dressed like he was trying to prove he was one of the people, just a normal citizen in low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt accentuating his crazy mass of muscles, and he’d been alternately yelling at me for over an hour while Detective Montgomery watched, swooping in when soothing me appeared necessary.

  Detective Moore drove his fist against the metal table, making me jump from my musings. “You forced that poor little old lady to call off those Senior Alert people then you thanked her by killing her, didn’t you? Wrapped that scarf around her neck so hard and pulled so tight, she hit that hocus-pocus pedal of hers with her foot and electrocuted herself!” he hollered in my face.
>
  I blinked at him and his blotchy red face and sweat-beaded brow in silent awe. Phew. Bet his blood pressure was sky-high. But I was glad I finally had an explanation for the hole in Madam Zoltar’s foot, which, according to Luis and the preliminary coroner’s reports, was almost definitely not the cause of death and nothing more than a bizarre coincidence.

  Though, when Luis told me to remain expressionless no matter what the Dynamic Duo did or said, he didn’t mention how upsetting it would be to hear Madam Z’s death revealed in actual words. I had to fight to keep from cracking by digging my nails into my palms.

  “Didn’t you just come into a large amount of cash, Stevie?” Detective Montgomery crooned.

  “Having money is certainly not a crime. What’s your point, Detective?” Luis asked as he adjusted his cufflinks, his piercing gaze making even me shrink.

  “Mayyybe our Stevie here wanted to buy Tina Martoni’s store? Maybe she wanted to buy it so bad, that when Tina Martoni wouldn’t give it up, she made her give it up? Tina Martoni was in a lot of debt. Having money has its privileges, doesn’t it, Stevie? Sometimes it can make you think you deserve to take something that isn’t yours…” Detective Moore drawled as though he were the cleverest of us all.

  Yeah, I felt so privileged today. Being called a murderer by everyone, including your favorite taco vendor, has privilege written all over it.

  Luis cocked his slick salt-and-pepper head with a sharp right. “And what do you suppose she wanted to use this store for once she got her hands on it, Detective Moore? If you check with the attorney who handled the will, as any skilled detective worth his weight in taxpayer money would, you’ll find she didn’t know about the inheritance or that she was a sole beneficiary until later in the day after Mrs. Martoni was killed. And how does this suddenly remove Mr. Von Adams from suspicion? Didn’t he want to purchase the store, too?”

  Yeah. What he said.

  Detective Moore’s face flinched a little, his jaw tightening when Luis poked a hole in his outlandish theory. “He didn’t have a Senior Alert necklace in his room at the inn. And that doesn’t mean Miss Cartwright here didn’t have her eye on the store before she got all that cash. Maybe she knew she was gonna get it?”