“I wasn’t hurt.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said.
I drew a shuddering breath. “All I can think about is what might have happened to my mom. But she’s okay, and you’re protecting her.”
“Not personally, but she’s got protection.”
“If you’re not here to talk about the bomb, then why are you here?”
His expression turned grim. “I’m here about your investigation.”
My insides quivered. Dammit, I’d known this was coming. He’d told me not to investigate, and I’d asked questions anyway. He had every right to be annoyed, but someone had tried to blow up my mother. And me!
GD cat sprang to the counter. His green eyes glowed.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, but—”
Slate held up his hand. “This is getting serious, Maddie.”
No kidding. My mom was under police protection, and her car was even deader than the Christmas Cow. My arms dropped to my sides. “I know. With everything that’s happened, you must be furious.”
“Of course not. I can’t blame you for this cowbell business. Who would have guessed it would set off such a firestorm, no pun intended?”
“Firestorm? You’ve lost me. What are you talking about?”
“Dispatch has been getting calls all day from people hearing the bells. They’re convinced they’ll be next to die. The chief is going nuts.”
I sank onto the stool. “You’re talking about the curse.” That explained his sudden interest in it. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”
“Because it’s ridiculous. By any chance have you come across new information on the bells?”
“No … there’s just the curse,” I said slowly. What else was there to know?
“Since you and I have managed to solve two ice-cold cases, the chief has put me on this one.”
“I thought you were investigating Bill Eldrich’s murder?” As was I; something an honorable person would confess to. But after the attempt on my mom’s life, I couldn’t afford honor. I studied the tip jar beside the register.
His smile was slow and sensual. “I’m a good multitasker.”
Warmth flickered in my core. “But what are you multitasking? The cowbells are probably the most ridiculous curse story in the history of curse stories. What does your chief expect you to do about it?”
“Put a lid on it.”
“Does San Benedetto have a psychic police force I don’t know about?”
“It does now, and you and I are it. We need to calm things down. Telling people the curse is silly isn’t doing the job. I’ve convinced the chief if we can get to the bottom of the curse, we can debunk it once and for all.”
That would not be good for business. Selfish! I mentally slapped myself. Besides, even if the curse was debunked, I could PT Barnum something out of the normal old bells. “Are you just saying this to distract me from my mom’s car blowing up? Or is this curse hysteria really a problem?”
“Right now the panic is at level yellow—mildly annoying. But it’s wasting police and dispatcher resources. If we go to orange or red, that will be a problem.”
Yikes. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
He laid his hand atop mine on the glass counter. “You had more important things to worry about. We’ll get the guy who set that bomb.”
My breath caught, his touch warming me. Our gazes locked, and I noticed the amber flecking his brown eyes. Slate and I kept meeting under the worst circumstances, but there was something about him—
The door jangled open and Laurel strode in on a blast of frigid air. Her tight navy pantsuit, the color almost a match for Slate’s, hugged every muscled curve. Her blue eyes sparked with annoyance.
I slid off the stool and kept the counter between us.
Jason jerked his hand from mine. “Is something wrong?”
She glared at me. “No.”
Would Laurel ever get over our high school hostilities? ’Twas the season for forgiveness and goodwill toward men. And hopefully toward irritating paranormal museum owners.
“So what are you doing here?” Jason asked mildly.
“Following up with Kosloski on the bombing today.”
“You’ve got my notes,” he said.
“Right.”
They stared at each other.
GD hunched, ears twitching, eyes tracking Laurel.
I scooped up the cat. He hissed and bit my hand, and I set him quickly on the floor. GD howled, an unearthly sound that prickled my scalp.
Laurel started and edged toward the door. “The Wildes told me Kosloski was asking a lot of questions about the murder.”
Jason turned to me. “Oh?”
“It might have come up in conversation,” I said, my mouth going dry.
“It sure did,” Laurel said, “since you were playing detective.”
I winced.
“Maddie told me she’d spoken with the Wildes about the possibility their son might know something,” Jason said.
Laurel’s mouth pursed and there was a long silence.
I released my breath. She must not have heard about my chat with Dean or she would have said something by now.
“How long are we going to keep an officer outside her mother’s house?” Laurel finally asked, brisk. “We don’t have the resources to play bodyguard.”
“Let’s give it another day,” Jason said, “and then reassess the situation.”
My stomach clenched. Reassess? Someone had tried to kill my mom!
Laurel gave him a long look, then nodded and strode from the museum. The door bammed shut.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m worried about my mother. It sounds like the police protection isn’t going to last.”
“I’ll do my best to keep it in place. But Laurel was right about our resources being thin. Maddie, we’ll do everything we can.”
“I know, and I appreciate it.” Biting my lip, I looked away. “So,” I said brightly, “the cowbell curse got started in the ’80s. Can you find any police records on the deaths?”
“I’m not sure what we’ll have, since none were designated as murders, but I’ll check. So our curse investigation is on?”
“Sure. Psychic PI, reporting for duty.” I saluted with two fingers.
His eyes narrowed. “And you’re not investigating the Eldrich murder.”
“It’s a small town,” I hedged. “I can’t really avoid the suspects.”
“You’ve identified suspects?”
“Um. Well. There’s Craig and his college buddies—a prank gone wrong. Or, if not, then it would have to be someone who wanted Mr. Eldrich dead.”
Jason quirked a brow. “Your suspect is someone who wanted the victim dead. Really?”
When he put it that way, my deduction didn’t sound all that clever. On the other hand, I didn’t want him to know I was going to keep detecting. I had to investigate.
The door opened and I turned toward it, grateful to end the conversation.
Mason, my ex, strode into the museum, his blond hair tied back in a ponytail and his muscles straining the leather of his jacket. “Hey, Maddie. I saw your truck, and Belle said—” He clamped his mouth shut. His gaze traveled from me to the detective. “Slate. Am I interrupting something?”
GD’s ears swiveled.
The two men were a study in opposites: Jason Slate dark and tall with lean muscle, Mason Hjelm blond and built like a Viking, with arctic-blue eyes.
“No,” Jason said. “I was just leaving. Maddie, if you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat.
Mason and I watched him leave.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “I heard your truck was blown up, but it’s sitting
outside.”
I frowned. If Belle had told Mason I’d asked about her winnings in the Christmas Cow betting, he would have led with that. Or would he?
“Not my truck, my mom’s car,” I said. “How’d you hear about it?”
“Are you kidding? It’s all over town.” He shifted his weight. “Belle said you spoke with her yesterday. Why?”
I stalled, wondering how much to tell him. “Do I need an ulterior motive?”
“No, of course not. But I notice you’re not really answering me.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re asking me and not Belle,” I said slowly.
“I did ask her.”
“Then you have your answer.” But I got the feeling he didn’t. Was Belle keeping her bet hidden from Mason? I gnawed my lower lip. “I was in the beauty parlor with my mom, and everyone was talking about the Christmas Cow fire and where they were that night …” I trailed off, hoping Mason would fill in the blanks about Belle’s whereabouts.
He didn’t.
“Pretty crazy stuff,” I said. “You must have smelled the smoke from your apartment. In fact, you probably had a bird’s eye view. You can see the park from your place, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “The sirens woke me up.”
“I’ll bet Jordan and Belle got a real show.” And if they were home, then Belle was in the clear.
“I didn’t get out of bed,” he said.
Rats! I could have just asked him directly, but something stopped me—cowardice.
“What’s Christmas in San Benedetto without setting a giant straw cow on fire, right?” I asked. “Belle must think we’re nuts.”
His jaw clenched. “She’s not confiding in me, but I think San Benedetto is a little too small for Belle. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work.” He nodded and strode out the door.
GD cat sneezed.
“Something’s up between those two, and I’m not getting in the middle of it,” I announced to the cat. Even though a part of me still wanted to protect Mason. I shook myself. That ship had sailed, sunk, and rotted on the ocean floor. His relationship with Belle was none of my business.
GD sprang from the counter to the checkerboard floor. His source of entertainment gone, he slunk to the Gryla exhibit and curled up beneath the ogress.
I locked up, swept up, and pulled up my notes on the cursed cowbells. It was odd that every member of the Christmas Cow committee had died within a year of bringing those bells back from Sweden. The business about them hearing the bells before they died had to be an urban legend. Hearing cowbells in a town with its own Dairy Association isn’t exactly unusual, especially since two of the original committee members were in said Dairy Association. But the two Ladies Aid members and the city council member who’d died were a little harder to explain.
The bookcase slid open and Adele walked into the museum. She whipped her apron off and hugged me, then stepped away. “Is it true about your mom’s car?”
I nodded.
“Thank God you’re both all right. How can I help? Does your mom need to borrow a car? My parents have an extra they don’t use. It belonged to my grandmother.”
“I’ll let my mom know, but I’d rather keep her grounded and under police watch as long as possible.”
“It’s as bad as all that?” she asked bleakly.
“Worse.” I studied my friend. Her skin looked drawn, and several strands of black hair streamed inelegantly from the bun at the nape of her neck. “It looks like you had a rough day too.”
Adele laughed shortly. “It can hardly compare to yours.”
“What happened?”
She unknotted the bun and shook her blue-black hair free. “Nothing important. I was supposed to go Christmas shopping for Harper at lunch but there was no time. We’ve had a waiting list today for people to get in, which is fantastic. But I had to beg one of my waitresses to come in on her day off, we lost three vintage teacups, I still have no idea what to get Harper, and my feet are killing me.”
“Lost?”
She gave me a look. “That’s a euphemism for broke. Have you gotten anything for Harper?”
“A deck of Italian tarot cards and a new book on the Italian folklore traditions. Since she’s Italian.” Adele didn’t know that Harper was a strega, practicing her witchcraft on the sly, and Harper was super-paranoid that word would get out and ruin her reputation as a hard-headed financial whiz. If it hadn’t been for a murder case we’d gotten involved with earlier in the year, I wouldn’t have learned about it either.
“Urgh,” Adele said. “Those are perfect. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you don’t work in a paranormal museum?”
She rolled her eyes. “But I’m in here often enough.”
“So … time for a girls’ night out?”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” she asked anxiously.
“I desperately need it.”
“Then I’ll call Harper.”
We met Harper at our usual watering hole, a local microbrewery called the Bell and Brew. The place was packed, but Harper had managed to snag a booth behind the giant copper vat. I suspected the host had a crush on Harper, who was a Penelope Cruz clone.
She scooted over in the red Naugahyde booth to make room for Adele. Three beers sat on the table, the mugs still frosty.
I sat and grabbed mine, raised it. “To Friday.”
“To you and your mom escaping a bomber.” Harper toasted.
We clinked mugs, and I drank deeply. “Though I’d rather not talk about the bomb,” I said, “if it’s okay with you.” The more I thought about it, the more frightened I became. Better to just move forward and deal with it.
“All right,” Harper said, her green eyes sympathetic. Her usual pinstripes had been exchanged for an emerald turtleneck. “But one question first. Are you holding up?”
“Barely.” Adele ran through a litany of woes—from smashed tea cups to a flooded toilet.
Harper folded her arms, a resigned look on her face. But I knew Adele was rambling to distract me from my own problems, and I appreciated it.
“And then this one”—Adele jerked her thumb at me—“ nearly gets blown up!”
“Which I’d rather not talk about,” I repeated. “Adele, go on.”
She smiled knowingly. “The tea room is doing well. Our Christmas menu is a hit, especially the ginger cinnamon scones and sugar plum fairy tea. And …” She raised her brows.
“And what?” Harper asked.
“I saw a certain detective in the museum after closing hours,” she said.
“Slate?” Harper asked. “Did he have any news about the bomb?”
“No.” I sipped my beer. “He thinks we need to research the cowbells, and—”
“That doesn’t sound like normal police activity.” Adele propped her chin on her hands. “Do tell.”
My face warmed. “It’s just business.”
“Curse research when there’s a bomber on the loose?” Harper looked skeptical.
“I guess people have been calling the police station about the cursed bells,” I said.
Adele coughed into her beer. “About the cowbells? Are you kidding me?”
“I’m only telling you what Jason said.” I raised my hands, palms out.
“Jason?” Adele smirked. “You’re on a first name basis?”
“She ought to be,” Harper said, laughing, “considering she’s the SBPD’s best customer.”
“I am not. Now, focus.” I snapped my fingers, slippery from the beer mug. “Cowbells.”
“So Detective Jason Slate wants your help researching a curse,” Adele said. “And you don’t find this the tiniest bit convenient?”
I flipped my hair over one shoulder. “It’s incredibly inconvenient, since I’m also trying to figure ou
t who blew up my mother’s Lincoln and nearly killed us both. I think he’s just trying to distract me from the bombing.” But was that all it was? Frowning, I stared into my beer mug. Had I imagined the spark between us? My body grew heavy. Of course I had. I’d only broken up with Mason a few months ago. I wasn’t ready to get into a new relationship.
“I just thought one of you might know more about curses than I do,” I muttered. What I really wanted was Harper’s help, but I couldn’t say that out loud.
“Well, I don’t know anything,” Adele said. “But Harper’s a secret witch. She might.”
Harper’s cheeks went white, then dusty rose. “How did you find out?”
“Oh, please.” Adele waved her hand dismissively. “Dieter told me.”
“Dieter! How did Dieter know?” Harper asked.
“His lips are sealed, and so are mine.” Adele gave her a look.
“I’m sorry,” Harper stammered. “I should have told you.”
“Forget it,” Adele said. “And spill. Curses.”
Our witch friend shifted in the booth. “What do you want to know?”
“How do curses work?” I asked. “If I’m going to debunk the bells, I need to know the basics.”
“Most people think that it’s all psychosomatic,” Harper said. “If you think you’re cursed, then you start making yourself ill, or causing your own accidents.”
“Like a reverse placebo effect?” I asked. The way Herb had been panicking over the bells, I could easily see him making himself sick.
“Or …” Harper said.
We leaned closer. A chill shivered my skin. “Or?”
“Or the object is in fact used to hold and channel negative energy toward its victims. In this case, the easiest way to deal with it is to destroy the cursed object.”
“Destroy the cowbells?” I asked, aghast. “They’re historical!” I’d paid a lot of money for those bells. They were perfectly good bells!
The hostess led a trio of men in cowboy hats past our booth. Their gazes lingered longingly on Harper.
“There are some people who know how to neutralize objects through a binding spell,” Harper said. “And if you’re a magician yourself, you can always change the energy. I mean, energy is just energy. It’s like a painting. You can paint something lovely or awful, but paint is paint. It’s not inherently good or bad. A magician can change the negative energy to positive, so that the object actually sends out good vibes.”
Deja Moo Page 9