Beewitched

by Hannah Reed

  “It’s probably nothing,” I added. “But I’d really like to trace that call your aunt made at the store.”

  “It is a loose end,” Greg agreed. “But didn’t the cops already think of pursuing the origin of that call?”

  “I’m not sure they thought anything of it,” I said, sure that the police would have looked at her phone calls at some point. “I didn’t consider it myself until today, and totally forgot to mention it to anybody before now. And the police were more concerned with the witches who were present, not the one who was a no-show.”

  Why would they? The women out at the farm had supplied the whole town with plenty of suspicious characters to focus on.

  Greg picked up the phone and powered it up. I had to scoot my chair around to his side to get a view, and that was only a limited one. Guys! Always have to be in control of every little thing. Sure he was the surviving nephew, but yours truly was the investigator.

  Part of me wanted to grab the thing right out of his hands. The other part of me practiced patience. Ooohhhmmmm. After all, this was a suspect sitting at my kitchen table, for a meeting that wouldn’t have taken place if not for the protective presence of Ben.

  Then while I was mentally reciting my mantra, Greg’s expression changed. He frowned in puzzlement. “That’s odd,” he said.

  “What? What? Let me see.” I reached out my grabby little fingers. Ben sat up, his ears erect, paying attention to every move we made.

  Surprisingly Greg handed the phone over. Then he waited for my reaction.

  Which didn’t take too long.

  Because right away I could see that all the data on the phone had been erased.

  Wiped clean.

  Gone for good.

  “Who would do that?” he said, more to himself than to me. Next he looked me right in the eye. I looked right back.

  That was a good question. Who would do that?

  “There would still be phone records,” I suggested.

  “Which neither of us can access.”

  “True.” Hunter could check into it for me, but he’d want a full story before deciding whether to help or not, and just because he had the power to invade people’s privacy didn’t mean he abused it. Plus, anytime he wielded that power, he had to file a report with his supervisor, who was a certified battle-ax.

  “So it’s a dead end,” Greg said.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It is.”

  And with that I walked him to the door and bid him good night.

  And really hoped that Greg Mason hadn’t been the one who’d deleted all the history from that phone. But who else had the opportunity?

  A private eye can’t let every little setback bring her down. We still had the victim’s computer to explore. If Rosina had been in contact through social media or e-mail, we’d follow the clues and crack that nut. Or rather Patti would. She was a techno whiz.

  She had better come through.

  Thirty-two

  Hunter called about an hour later. He was not a happy camper.

  “We have Patti Dwyre in custody,” he told me in a ticked-off voice. “And you’ll never guess whose name keeps spilling from her lips? I’ll give you a clue. It’s not the name of her attorney.”

  “What happened?” I asked, fully aware by Hunter’s transparent guessing game that my partner had thrown me under the bus. It wouldn’t be the first time. And now that we were once again in cahoots, it probably wouldn’t be the last time, either. How had this happened?

  “Milwaukee issued an APB for her car about an hour ago,” he said. “One of our officers on patrol spotted the vehicle heading west in Waukesha County about four miles from Moraine, and he busted her. He actually had to run her off the road into a culvert to get her to stop.”

  I gave myself an internal high five for not being in her passenger seat. “So what did she do this time?”

  “Broke into an apartment, but you already know that, don’t you? The downstairs neighbor called nine-one-one while Patti was inside, then attempted to chase her down the street on foot when she took off before a squad could respond. The neighbor isn’t much of a runner. Patti got away, but not before the neighbor took down her license plate number.”

  “I can’t believe that woman,” I said, sounding incredulous as I should.

  “Quite a coincidence that this neighbor turns out to be Lucinda Lighthouse. Anything familiar about that name? Oh, and the apartment in question was recently occupied by our murder victim.”

  “Uh, yes, that is strange.”

  Hunter actually snorted as though he didn’t believe a word. Go figure. “Patti’s calling out your name.”

  “She didn’t admit to the charges, did she?” Confessing to a crime wasn’t P. P. Patti’s style, but I was buying time, racking my brain for a way out. Any little wormhole would do.

  “No,” he answered, “but she’s whining that you should come down and get her.”

  Hang on, that was all he had? No big finger-pointing by Patti? Yes! “Um,” I said, thinking fast.

  But my heart sank. The wiped-clean cell phone had been a bust, now this. Hunter must surely have confiscated the laptop. Our last hope, my final lead, flushed away down the proverbial drain.

  Hunter went on. “We didn’t find anything that didn’t belong to her inside the vehicle when we stopped her, although Lucinda claims the deceased’s laptop was taken. Do I need to send a Milwaukee officer inside the flat to check?”

  “Why are you asking me? What does Patti say about these charges?”

  “Denies them, of course.”

  “So it’s her word against Lucinda’s. What if Lucinda took it?”

  “Lighthouse has her own believability issues. I ran a background check on her. The Wisconsin bar has had numerous complaints against her. Apparently integrity isn’t her strong suit.”

  “Well, there you go. Case closed. One nut after another.” Whew, this was what Hunter in front of the bathroom mirror might call a close shave.

  I was beginning to suspect that the cops had nada, and Hunter confirmed that by saying, “I’m going to have to let Dwyre loose on society, as much as that pains me. You wouldn’t believe what she’s wearing around her neck, either—a crucifix the size of her head. She says she’s been born again.”

  I almost burst out laughing at the reminder of her latest fashion wear. I’d forgotten completely.

  He went on, “And if you were involved in her recent shenanigans, you’re asking for trouble.”

  “I found trouble the day I hooked up with you, Wallace.”

  “Sass will get you in even deeper.”

  “Let’s discuss this further.”

  “First, I better go break the good news to Dwyre.”

  “Please don’t say I have to come and get her? She has her own car. Besides, we”—I thought the plural “we” was a nice touch, implying he and I were on the same team against the crazy neighbor—“we can’t believe a thing that comes out of her mouth.” My big mouth just kept going on its own, so the next statement that it produced was involuntary. “Trust me,” I said. “I’m not involved.”

  Now why had I gone and said that, when he hadn’t asked for any further explanation? Out of habit? Have I deceived him so many times that it’s now second nature? Would our relationship survive me? And worse, was I subconsciously sabotaging us in some kind of twisted way? Did I need a shrink?

  I called Holly, who’s the next best thing.

  “I’m sort of busy right now,” she interrupted my lament to say. “I’ll deal with your issues after the wedding.”

  “Is that Story?” I heard Mom ask.

  Then they had a conversation while I waited. “Yes, she wants relationship advice,” I heard my sister say.

  Mom: “I can give her a piece of my mind.”

  Holly: “Not necessary, Mom.”
<
br />   Mom: “Didn’t I advise her against dating Hunter Wallace, let alone living with him?”

  Holly: “You did, Mom. But he’s . . .”

  Mom: “Don’t tell me how nice he is these days. Remember I had the misfortune of dealing with him as a teenager. A wolf in sheep’s clothing is nice, too, until he eats you.”

  I decided to intercede with a few harsh words of my own. “I see Mom’s back to her old self,” I said to Holly.

  “I heard that!” Mom shouted.

  A belated thought occurred to me. “Holly, am I on speakerphone?”

  “You sure are,” Mom answered for her.

  Grams piped up, “Come over to the house, Story sweetie, and let’s take some pre-wedding photos for my album.”

  No way was I walking into that lioness’s den.

  “I’m too busy. Tell Mom to take a chill pill,” I offered. “By this time Tuesday she’ll be a married woman, if she doesn’t go over the edge and blow it.”

  “I heard that.”

  I hung up and thought about poor Tom and what he thought he was getting in my mother and what he might actually find himself stuck with instead.

  Been there, done that when I married a two-timing jerk who happened to be a skilled actor.

  And just because I’ve known Hunter since we were kids wasn’t enough of a reason to let my guard down. What you see isn’t always what you get. People put on their best faces at the beginning of a new relationship, and some of them can maintain that illusion for a long time. Sometimes you think you’re getting the real deal when all along you had a cheap copy.

  Thirty-three

  Patti’s fatigue jacket was streaked with dirt and grass stains when I slipped into her car after she pulled up at the curb outside my house.

  “Geez, what happened to you?” I asked.

  “That witch chased me on foot. Lucky for me, she wasn’t very fast. She tried to cast a spell on me though, and might have killed me if I hadn’t been on my game and remembered my crucifix, which I made sure she got a good look at. And you didn’t think faith would work against evil. Now you’ll have to believe there’s a higher power.”

  “I never said I didn’t believe.” I just didn’t believe in Patti, who as far as I knew had never invoked the name of any higher power until the witches arrived in Moraine. “Besides, what makes you think her hex didn’t work?” Patti turned on an overhead light and peered at herself in the rearview mirror before turning to me. “Do I look like I’m under one of her spells?”

  “Did she say any abracadabra stuff out loud?”

  “I was pretty busy defending myself with the cross and running at the same time with that other witch’s laptop.” Patti fingered the cross around her neck.

  “Then how do you know she was casting a spell?”

  “When I got in my car, she was standing behind me and she had her arm stuck out toward me and she was mumbling something.”

  “Did you see a wand?”

  Patti shook her head and said, “Well, did she zap me?”

  I studied Patti’s beady little eyes, then shook my head. “No, you look the same crazy as usual.”

  With that reassurance, Patti flipped off the light, pulled away from the curb, and did a U-turn. Then she turned right on Main, where everything was closed for the night except Stu’s, where (judging by all the cars outside) quite a few customers were hanging on to the very last of the weekend. Hunter’s bike wasn’t outside the bar, meaning work had slowed his progress (thanks to Patti), so time wasn’t running out for me yet.

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” I said, trying to recap all the twists and turns of the story Patti had related by phone as she drove from the jail to pick me up. “The gist is—you nabbed the computer, Lucinda chased you, you managed to toss the computer in a bush without her seeing you do it, then you got away, but you snuck back for the computer, thinking ‘mission accomplished.’”

  “Right.”

  “Then when you thought you were safe and were almost home, out of nowhere flashing lights and a siren went off behind you. You attempted to outrun a Waukesha sheriff’s deputy, but he ran you off the road.”

  “Right. Or almost right. I wasn’t really trying to outrun him, just buying some time while I prepared to chuck the evidence out the window.”

  “How is that even possible while steering?” I attempted to figure out the logistics of doing that but gave up.

  “You’d manage, too, if you were about to get arrested with stolen goods.”

  “We’ll be lucky if her computer is all in one piece after the abuse you subjected it to.”

  Now Patti slowed down near a farmer’s field. “It’s somewhere along here. And quit worrying. I wasn’t going very fast when I threw it. Besides, I wrapped it in a blanket before I tossed it. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

  Maybe not a complete one, but a partial one for sure. “Are you telling me the cop didn’t see what you did?”

  “That cop looked about twelve years old and was too full of himself to see past his own shiny badge. You’d think he was our police chief’s over-bloated relative, that’s how self-important he was.”

  I shook my head in amazement. Why did Patti get all the breaks? If it had been me, I wouldn’t have escaped from the witch let alone snuck out of criminal charges. Not only had Patti bamboozled a very crafty witch, she’d also gone on to dupe the police. Then she said, “Over there. That’s it.”

  I couldn’t see a thing in the dark (was the woman nocturnal?), but Patti pulled into a ditch, stopped the car, killed the lights, and said, “Over to your left. Go get it, and make it quick before someone comes driving along and spots us.”

  “Why aren’t you getting it yourself? You’re the one who threw it.”

  “Because I’m driving the getaway car. Hurry!”

  I ended up tripping over the bundle and fell to my knees. Wouldn’t you know Patti just happened to have wrapped the thing in a black blanket, too? I got up, snatched up the blanket and its content, and ran for the car. Out of my peripheral vision I spotted headlights coming from the opposite direction.

  Patti’s car window slid down.

  “Throw it in!” she yelled, an uncharacteristic trace of panic in her voice.

  Apparently I take orders without question when under perceived distress, because I did just that. Pitched it through the window, blanket and computer tumbling onto the seat.

  My hand was on the door handle when the car started moving forward. “No time!” Patti was still yelling. My brain registered what she was doing while my legs tried to keep up. In spite of my effort to leverage myself through the window, she left me there in the ditch, eating her dust, roaring away in the dark without any lights.

  What on earth had just happened? Had I just been used and tossed aside? Had her whole scheme been designed to pump me for information then abandon me? Leave me out in the cold (literally)? It was frickin’ freezing out here!

  I glanced down the road in the opposite direction, saw brake lights go on from the vehicle that had passed us, then the car turned around and came at me. I prepared to stick out my thumb to hitch a ride. Ha, I’d teach Patti to treat me this way. Wait until I get my hands on her. And I’d turn state’s evidence against her for breaking and entering, too.

  Suddenly, the approaching car turned on its lights and siren. Oh geez. Please don’t be . . . Johnny Jay.

  “Fischer,” he said as he pulled alongside me, looking puzzled for a change. “Where’s your vehicle?”

  “What vehicle, Johnny?”

  Now he had on his standard mean face, the one I knew how to handle. “It’s Police Chief Jay to you.”

  Did we have to go through this same spiel every single time?

  “And don’t play dumb with me.”

  “I’m not playing.” That didn’t come out quite right.
Although if I told anybody what had just happened, they might label me with a big “dumb” stamp on my forehead.

  I blinked and looked at my surroundings as though just now realizing I was in a strange setting, and I set my facial expression to major confused. “How did I get here? Last I remember I was watching television. Either I have amnesia or I’ve been sleepwalking. I do that sometimes.”

  The police chief got out, slammed his door hard, and stalked over to me. We went nose to nose. “So you’re out in the middle of nowhere and expect me to believe that hogwash? That’s the trouble with you, Fischer. You’re the town’s biggest liar. Now, what was going on and who was driving that car?”

  At least Patti hadn’t driven off with my phone. So instead of arguing with him, I called Hunter.

  “Where are you?” I wanted to know.

  “Finishing up some paperwork. Why?”

  “The chief is harassing me for no reason again.”

  “What did you do this time?”

  “Nothing. But I need a ride home. He has me trapped out in the middle of nowhere and I’m scared.”

  Johnny rolled his eyeballs. “Give me that thing.” He grabbed it out of my hand. “Wallace, is that you? Figures . . . She’s up to something . . . No, I don’t have cause . . . No, but . . . I don’t do favors for you Wallace, you should know that by now . . . Well if something happens to her out here, why should it be my responsibility? . . . Fine!”

  He ended the call and handed back the phone.

  “Wallace seems to think I have a duty to make sure you get safely back to Moraine.”

  I grinned. It was true. I happened to be a taxpayer and had rights.

  “So get in the backseat and shut up. And this isn’t a cab service. You’ll walk from the southern edge of Main.”

  “If something bad happens, I’ll have your badge.”

  The chief snorted and did exactly as he’d threatened—he dumped me on the outskirts of town, then turned around and headed for the police station.