by Bailey Cates
Dayleen gave a little sigh. “Thanks. It’s hard to think about eating right now, though.”
I ducked my head. “That’s for sure.” My own lovely Cuban dinner felt heavy in my stomach, and I could feel the beginnings of heartburn.
“I wish I could help more,” Dayleen said. Then she brightened. “Wait a sec. I bet the cops can track Effie down at her job.”
“You know where she works?” Ben asked.
“Tucker told me she’s a hostess at Belford’s. Say, I don’t suppose you’d tell her about Tucker, would you?” She was looking at Ben when she said it. “You seem awfully nice, and I bet you have lots of experience with situations like that.”
Slowly, he nodded. “I do indeed. But the police will handle it. I don’t want to step on their toes.”
“Yeah, I guess. But she should know.”
I saw Declan heading back toward the office. Quinn, Rori, and Jaida were coming out of the motel unit where he’d been conducting his interview. Rori called out, and Declan turned and waited for them. Moments later, the four of them were crowded into the office with Ben and me.
“Lightfoot, I want to talk to you next,” Quinn said.
I blinked. “Me? Why?”
“Because,” he said curtly.
“Katie?” Jaida asked, and took a step toward me. I shook my head. She nodded and stepped back. Quinn and I had had more than a few conversations, some of them confrontational, but I didn’t think this one would require the presence of an attorney. More likely, he wanted to know if there was a magical aspect to this crime, for the simple reason that I was present. He’d only recently learned I was a witch and still had mixed feelings about the idea of magic existing at all. If Jaida was part of the conversation, not only would Quinn feel even more uncomfortable than usual talking about such things, but it would be harder for me to get any information from him. Quid pro quo, and all.
Dayleen watched with curiosity as I followed Quinn back out to the parking lot. Without a word, he strode across the asphalt to Unit 4. I had no choice but to trot after him. Once inside, he closed the door except for a five-inch gap. Protocol, I assumed. He gestured toward the battered desk chair and sank into the worn upholstered chair next to the window.
His lips pressed together as he regarded me across the short distance. “Katie, what the hell is going on?”
Chapter 6
The chair creaked as I shifted my weight. The weak light from the environmentally friendly bulb in the desk lamp cast a circular pall on the industrial carpet in the motel room, and I wondered for a moment how often that carpet was cleaned.
“You know as much as I do, Quinn. More, I should think.”
“Is there a . . . paranormal aspect to this homicide? I mean, you are Janey-on-the-spot. And when that happens, there always seems to be another layer—or two—to the situation.”
I hesitated. Eventually, I’d learned that my supposed “calling” as a lightwitch might account for how often I ended up smack-dab in the middle of police investigations that somehow featured the paranormal. It happened a lot, and I couldn’t say I was happy about it in the least. But Savannah was one of the most magical cities in the US, in addition to having bragging rights as the most haunted. If a lightwitch was going to be called, it would be here.
The murder victim’s use of a glamour may not have been intentional, though I couldn’t see how it would be so strong otherwise. I only knew the basics about glamours and needed to find out more from an experienced witch in the spellbook club. However, there was the cluster of dragonflies on the potted plants outside Aggie’s vacation house, along with the stained-glass dragonflies around the mirror, not to mention the feeling of magic in the air of Tucker’s motel room.
Finally, I answered, “I’m not sure. There are some reasons I think there might be. I met the victim this afternoon, and he was using a glamour.”
“A what?” Quinn asked.
“A glamour is a kind of magical illusion. I could tell that Tucker was making himself more appealing than he really was.”
“Uh-huh.” His skepticism was palpable. I was pretty used to it by then, though. “How would something like that get you murdered?”
I shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t. I’m just telling you what I know. For all I know, my involvement in this one might only be personal.”
He frowned.
“Remember Mavis Templeton?” As if he wouldn’t. “The only reason I got involved then was because you wanted to put Uncle Ben in jail.”
He had the good manners to blush.
I’d neglected to mention the theory the spellbook club had come up with that Mavis Templeton may have been practicing a bit of black magic on the side before she’d been killed. We’d never really know, but she was one mean old lady, that was for sure.
“It’s possible the only reason I’m here is because of the family connection. Not”—I held my hand up, as if in warning—“that there is a connection per se, other than Rori McCarthy’s bad luck in stumbling on her ex-husband’s body.”
“You’re saying it was a coincidence?” He sounded skeptical.
My hand dropped. “Could be. Could also be . . . that whole lightwitch thing I told you about. Or both. Wait. How exactly did Tucker die?”
He shook his head and didn’t answer.
I tried again. “Was there anything that made you think there was a paranormal aspect to his death?”
“Nothing struck me like that.”
“Okay. From what I understand about Tucker, he was the kind of guy who might have made some enemies.” Too late, I realized I didn’t know what Rori had or hadn’t told Quinn. Maybe I should have had Jaida tag along with me after all.
When Quinn nodded, I was relieved. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time Mr. Abbott has crossed our path.”
I straightened in my chair. “Oh?”
He gave me a look. “That’s not how this works.”
“Come on, Quinn. Did he have a record? He must have. I bet there are a half dozen suspects right off the bat.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “His name has been linked to a couple cases of fraud, but his legal record is clean. I’ll do some more digging, of course. There could be civil suits. And you might be right. Declan’s little sis might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Problem is, I still don’t quite understand why she was here at all.” His eyebrows rose a fraction.
I gave him a wide-eyed look. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps it was the way you asked the question?”
He snorted. “Why don’t you just tell me, and then we’ll be able to cross her off our list and move along.”
“Seriously? I have no idea what you all talked about in here, but I’m pretty sure Jaida wouldn’t appreciate me weighing in on that interview.” I stood. “Tell you what. You check up on the leads related to the fraud cases, and if I find out anything regarding some magical aspect to this murder, I’ll let you know.”
Glaring, Quinn rose. “Katie, if you know something, you need to come clean.”
“I don’t! But I feel like you’re trying to do some kind of end run, for whatever reason, and I’m not going to be part of it. She’s my sister-in-law, Quinn, and if you have any intention of focusing on her as a suspect, remember that you don’t have the best record in that department.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. He had a great knack for narrowing suspects, actually, just not in cases having to do with magic. His record was the best in the department, though. No matter that it was partly due to yours truly.
This case might involve magic, or it might not. Either way, getting on Detective Quinn’s bad side right now wasn’t going to help anyone.
“I see,” he said stiffly. “Well, thank goodness you’ve been there to set me straight. You may go.”
“Quinn,” I said.
; He opened the door.
“Sorry. I’m getting married on Saturday. I’m a little frayed.”
Slowly, he turned and gave me a long look. “How well do you know your sister-in-law?”
“I know her . . . well, we haven’t spent much time together,” I admitted. “A few days around the holidays when we were visiting Declan’s mom in Boston. But I like her, and I have good intuition when it comes to judging people.”
He continued looking at me.
“You don’t think she actually killed Tucker, do you? I mean, seriously. She’s a tiny thing.” However, Quinn hadn’t said how he’d died. For all I knew, someone had shot him.
He gestured to the open door. “After you. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”
Worry warred with guilt as I slipped past him to the motel parking lot, but I didn’t know how to smooth things over. A glance over my shoulder showed him standing in the door frame, watching as I walked away.
It’ll be okay. Quinn and I have been through worse, and we always end up friends. Sort of friends. On good terms, at least.
As I crossed the asphalt to the office, I saw that Aggie and Eliza had arrived and were ushering Rori toward their rental car. Worry creased their mother’s forehead. Anger clouded Eliza’s face, and her jaw was set. I could only guess the talking-to Rori was in for.
Ben was engrossed in a conversation with a paramedic by one of the ambulances. I could tell from his body language he was deep in his role of counselor. Declan and Jaida were by the office and met me halfway.
I gestured toward my uncle. “What’s he up to?”
“Catching up with an old protégé,” Declan said.
“Ah.” Ben had a lot of those in the community.
“How’d it go?” Jaida asked.
I made a face. “I’m not sure. Quinn tried to get me to tell him why Rori was here in the first place. He said she didn’t have an explanation.”
Jaida pressed her lips together.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything,” I said. “Was he just trying to confirm her story?”
She sighed. “I wouldn’t normally tell you—attorney-client privilege and all—but you already know. She told Quinn the same thing she told us, that Tucker wanted her to give him the music box back and she wanted closure on her marriage—and on her divorce. He looked at the music box but said he didn’t see how Tucker could get any real money for something like that. Gave it back to her. As for the rest, I could tell it sounded like girly mumbo jumbo to Quinn.” Her mouth gave a wry twist. “He asked why she didn’t try to get closure over coffee rather than coming to a motel at night.”
“Coffee shop sounds a lot better to me, too,” Declan grumbled. “Or telling the jerk to get lost on the phone, tossing that birdhouse thing in the garbage, and calling it good. It wasn’t like she was breaking up with him or anything. They were already divorced.”
I put my hand on his arm. “They were. Then he showed up in her life again. You’re a guy, so maybe it would be different for you. Rori wanted to feel in control, wanted to say her piece, and cut all ties.”
After a moment, he blew out a breath and nodded. “Yeah, okay. But you can’t say she doesn’t have closure now.”
Jaida and I looked at each other and sighed. I changed the subject. “What did you find out from them?” I gestured to the paramedics, who were getting ready to leave the scene.
“Apparently the room was a real mess,” he said.
“I saw. A fight?”
“Maybe. Probably. But the drawers were all pulled out, his luggage had been dumped. Someone was looking for something.”
“Money?”
“If Tucker had money, he wouldn’t be staying in a place like this,” Declan said.
“But he told Rori he owed someone. Did she tell Quinn that?” I asked.
Jaida nodded. “How did he die?” she asked. “Quinn wouldn’t tell us.”
“Me, either,” I said.
“They said it looked like he’d suffered a severe blow to the temple. Looks like he hit the corner of the dresser. He might have been struck first, or he was pushed and fell and hit his head on the way down.” He looked at his watch. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to Five House.”
Jaida turned to me. “I need to get going, too. Full day tomorrow.”
I gave her a hug and inhaled her cinnamon scent. “Thanks for stepping in like you did.”
“Oh, honey, of course.” She stepped back. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded, and she walked to her vehicle.
“You’re going back to work?” I asked Declan.
“Might as well,” he said. “My mother has Rori in hand, and there’s nothing I can do right now.” He peered at my face. “Unless there’s something I don’t know about.”
I shook my head. “No. I just miss you.”
“You want me to come home?” he asked.
He was serious. If I asked him to, he’d call in and get the rest of his shift off. I loved him for it, but he was already taking time off around the wedding. Besides, he was right. There wasn’t anything either of us could do tonight. Quinn had his suspects to question, and we could only hope one of them turned out to be the killer.
I managed a smile. “No. You go on back to work.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.” I brightened the smile.
He hesitated before finally saying, “This feels really off. Not just the murder. Not just Rori. It’s because Connell is gone. I can feel his absence like an ache, Katie. And sometimes when I’d normally know exactly what to say or do without thinking about it, I don’t. It’s really disconcerting.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, putting my arms around him. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to the spellbook club about how to get Connell back. I’m hoping they’ll have some ideas. We’ll dive in right after the wedding.”
“Thanks. I never knew how much a part of me he was.” He gave me a quick kiss. “Gotta go.” And he headed back to his truck.
Ben saw him go and glanced back to where I waited. He quickly finished up his conversation and met me at his pickup. When I climbed inside, Mungo greeted me as if I’d been gone for days, jumping onto my lap and licking my face. The enthusiastic welcome calmed my nerves, which were more jangled than I’d admitted to myself. After he’d settled down, I buckled in, and Ben took off.
“I’d better call Lucy,” I said. “So she can at least let Mimsey know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell her,” Ben said. “Let’s get you back to your car so you can go home and get some rest.”
I looked at my watch. It was after nine thirty. I rarely slept for more than two or three hours a night, a condition that I’d always thought was a sleep disorder, but it turned out had something to do with my magic. Tonight, I felt far too jittery to fall into an easy sleep.
We pulled away from the curb, and a familiar Audi turned onto the street and drove slowly toward the motel. Its left turn signal came on, and it stopped, waiting for us to go by. I sat up in my seat to see if the driver was who I thought it was. Sure enough, Steve Dawes peered through the windshield. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but even though he came into the Honeybee nearly every day, it was disconcerting to see him in this environment. Steve tended to cover more high-profile cases, or at least cases that involved the moneyed and powerful. His eyes widened when he realized who was in the truck, and his head turned to watch as we drove by.
No doubt he’d quiz me tomorrow at the bakery, especially if he found out the woman who’d discovered the body was the sister of his old nemesis. Declan and Steve had had a difficult history before I came into the picture, but once I did—and had sort of been seeing them both for a short time—the enmity between them had only increased.
I sat back and sighed.
“Was that Dawes?” Ben asked. He didn’t sound happy. My uncle had been Team Declan from the get-go.
“He’s probably on call tonight.”
“Hmph,” was the only response.
Refraining from comment, I hugged Mungo to my chest. Anticipating Steve’s questions ramped up my anxiety another notch. A few deep breaths helped, but I was still a little shaky when Ben dropped me at the carriage house and drove away. I went inside, thinking I might unpack a few more boxes before calling it a night. When I flipped on the light, I sucked in a surprised breath.
The spellbook club hadn’t left after supper as I’d expected them to. They’d stayed and unpacked every box, arranging books on the shelves and items in the kitchen. It was stunning how they’d known just where everything should go. Mungo followed me into the bedroom, his nails clicking on the floor behind me. In the walk-in closet—a far cry from the armoires I’d been using to house my wardrobe up until now and the bags stuffed under the bed that Declan had kept his things in—I stood with my mouth open.
“Ohmygod,” I breathed. “Mungo, will you look at this?”
In the brief time I’d been gone, the spellbook club had not only unpacked the moving boxes but also organized our brand-new closet. Four double-hung rods expanded the space for clothes and freed up the middle of the back wall for a full-length mirror. On one side, my clothes were hung, and on the other, Declan’s. A single high rod on the left held longer items like coats and dresses, separated into his and hers. On the shelves to my right were cubbies for shoes; baskets for unmentionables, scarves, and the like; lidded boxes with blank labels; and larger cubbies for hats and sweaters. A ladderback chair with a plush cushion sat in one corner.
And there, hanging on a valet hook that swung out of the wall, was my wedding dress. A smile spread across my face, and I moved to run my fingertips over it. Eliza would hate it, since I’d ditched the idea of a fancy white gown. The white dress I’d bought for my first wedding to Andrew-the-jerk, the wedding that never happened (thank goddess), had been rather well recycled, I thought, into a zombie bride costume for Halloween. Instead, I would be married in a simple, sleeveless sheath of plum-colored lace that fell to mid-knee and widened at the top to barely fall off my shoulders. Matching lace covered the custom pumps on the floor beneath it, and the slip and fancy undergarments, no garter belt, thank you very much, hung behind the dress, all ready for the big day.