The Witch's Blood: (A Cozy Witch Mystery) (One Part Witch Book 7)

by Iris Kincaid

  “Moving into my new room. Watching the Red Sox.”

  “Yeah, what was the score?”

  “Oh, I don’t remember the exact score.”

  “Do you remember who won?”

  “Of course, he doesn’t,” Zoey said scornfully. “He hates baseball. He’s always said it was boring. You’ve never sat down for a game in your life.”

  Dalton scowled at her. “Cops like baseball. I was just trying to be sociable.”

  Finn deadpanned, “Oh, much appreciated. Maybe after this is over, you can go up and pick me up a bag of doughnuts. So, what was your relationship with Franklin Churchill?”

  “We had a lot in common. You know, because we’re both entrepreneurs. There was a lot of mutual respect.”

  “He took your room. How did that come about?”

  “Oh, my daughter moved out. Temporarily. So I didn’t need such a large room. I mean, why pay for more room than you need?”

  “Was that the only reason?”

  “Sure. Why? Did you think there was some other reason?”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Spitz. Could you please tell Mr. Frost that I’m ready for the housekeeper?”

  “Yeah, great. Fine. Bye.”

  As Dalton hurried away, Finn examined Zoey closely. “Lucky guy. If he had moved one day later, things could have turned out very differently.”

  “What? How? Someone killed Franklin Churchill.”

  “But was Churchill the intended victim? Or did the killer think that Mr. Slick was still in the room?”

  “Who would want to kill Dalton?” But Zooey could see the answer in Finn’s eyes.

  “I hope you don’t . . . you can’t possibly . . . I didn’t kill this man. I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t. Not even Dalton.”

  “When was last time you talked to Mr. Spitz?

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “In room 206?”

  “Yes, he was still there. I guess he didn’t move until after dinner.”

  “And you didn’t know he was going to move?”

  “No. It didn’t really come up.”

  “What exactly did come up?”

  “I said I would be willing to drop assault charges if he’d agree to joint custody of Camille.”

  “Mighty generous to a man who tried to kill you.”

  Zoey grimaced. “He caught me by surprise. I wasn’t going to let that happen again.”

  Her words and the fierceness in her voice raised Finn’s suspicions. He gestured at her purse. “Could I have a look at that, please?”

  Zoey handed it over reluctantly, and Finn opened it and pulled out a sharp sheathed knife.

  “After what happened, I needed the protection,” Zoey said defensively.

  “Ms. Proctor. How do you disturb me? Let me count the ways. I think I’m going to hang on to this.”

  Maybe Zoey had the right to protest, but it was probably for the best. Dalton certainly knew how to test her rage. The housekeeper, Caitlin Murdoch, appeared in front of them. She was a slightly plump woman in her late thirties, dressed in a loose, shapeless housekeeping uniform.

  “Ms. Murdoch. Please have a seat,” Finn said.

  “I hope this won’t take long. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “Most important meal of the day.”

  “Yes. Especially for . . . such a difficult day.”

  “Yes, a difficult day. A sad day. What was your relationship with Franklin Churchill?”

  “Well, he was the big boss. He’s a really important man. I just clean the rooms. Which is a very important part of service, of course. But I’m just a nobody, really. He would say hello to me, that’s all. King Arthur was the one who ordered me around.”

  “Arthur Frost. Do you and he get along?”

  “I won’t lie to you. Sometimes, the man has a stick up his you know what. But he cares about this place, and someone’s got to. Especially this past week, with the movie star and all of her people. All their special requests. Clean this. Clean that. The next day, clean this. Why didn’t they mention it yesterday? They’ve got me running up and down like a windup toy.”

  “In all this running up and down, did a bottle of bleach and a bottle of ammonia go missing?”

  “I think so. But I didn’t notice it until after I found out about Mr. Churchill. Bleach and ammonia. I carry around every possible cleaning product on my cart, and most of it gets left out in the hallway while I’m inside the room cleaning. But those are two that I don’t use very often. I never thought that anyone would touch them except me. And of course, I would never use them together.”

  “So . . . bleach and ammonia. Everyone knows that’s a bad combo?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows that.”

  “We do now,” Finn conceded. “So, you leave the cleaning cart out in the hall, and you go in to clean each room for . . . how long?”

  “Change the bed. Clean the bathroom. Empty the garbage. Fifteen minutes. An extra ten if I have to scrub out the tub.”

  “So, anyone passing through the hallway could have swiped those bottles.”

  “Anyone. But of course, it couldn’t have been just anyone, could it? It had to be someone who hated Mr. Churchill.”

  “And who might have hated him?”

  “He did have an ex-girlfriend. They broke up over a year ago. But before then, she practically lived here at the hotel with him. Whitney was her name, I recall. Whitney Blair. They parted on pretty nasty terms.”

  Finn added that name to his notes. A cute, impish young woman, about thirty years old, came and stood in front of him.

  “Officer Cochran, please stop harassing the employees,” she said teasingly.

  “Hey, Sis. You taking off?”

  “Yes, and Caitlin usually joins me for breakfast. Are you done with her?”

  “I suppose so. Glad to see that your boss’s misfortune hasn’t ruined anyone’s appetite.”

  “It is pretty horrible. And sad. And yet, I’m starving. You could join us if you’re finished.”

  “Far from it, but thanks.” Finn noticed Zoey’s curiosity. “Zoey Proctor, this is my sister-in-law, Bette Bailey. She’s the night manager here. And by the way, I’m going to have a few questions for you later, as well.”

  A scruffy young man holding a camera walked nearby, and Bette called out to him.

  “Mr. Wyatt. Are you still here? When do you ever sleep?”

  “The press never sleeps,” he responded in mock righteousness.

  “He’s Susan Sidwell’s paparazzi. Is paparazzi plural or can he be a paparazzi all by himself? Anyway, he has been taking photos of everyone and everything for a whole week. He practically lives in this lobby.”

  “Photos of everyone?”

  “Everyone. Even the non-celebrities. Everyone who walked through this lobby. Although he’s pretty unobtrusive, I’ll give him that. He’s here every night till like two o’clock in the morning. And he’s the first one up every morning. Mr. Churchill thought he was a nuisance, but Ms. Sidwell said to let him stay. She actually likes the publicity.”

  “I may have just found my security camera,” Finn said thoughtfully. “Yeah. I would very much like to see all of that young man’s photos. Especially anything he took in this hotel. You mind getting him back here for me?”

  “No problem.” Bette helped Caitlin to her feet, and the two of them headed away.

  “And there should be a time stamp on every photo. Sweet.”

  “You think those pictures will help you find the killer?” Zoey asked hopefully.

  “I think those pictures will probably confirm what I already know,” Finn said ominously.

  Zoey bristled. How could he honestly still be thinking that she was the killer?

  “Zoey. How on earth did you get caught up in all this mess? You’re not even staying at the hotel.” It was Susan Sidwell, with her entourage standing several feet behind her. Ajax gave Zoey a little wave and a big smile.

  “Don’t worry about
brunch. But we’ve rented a yacht for tomorrow morning. Say you’ll come with us.”

  “Sure. Sounds nice.”

  “And who is your handsome friend here?”

  “Officer Finn Cochran, ma’am. A real pleasure to meet you. My wife and I watched a couple of your movies just a few weeks ago. She’s a big fan of yours, and she would never forgive me if I didn’t . . . do you mind?”

  Finn whipped out his camera phone, and Susan enthusiastically mugged for a few selfies.

  “Thank you so much. She’ll get a big kick out of that.”

  Zoey pouted. How come Finn was nice to everyone but her? Because she was an ex-con. And so far, she was his primary suspect. Clearly, she was going to have to take it upon herself to open his eyes to other possibilities.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The dark and creepy Esmeralda was the first prospect to look into. For this, there was no one that Zoey could turn to besides Delphine.

  Delphine was happy to hear that Zoey had tried out the meditation class, although it was too soon for it to really show a lot of progress. Delphine’s cookies still made their way into Zoey’s eager fingers.

  “Do you know this Esmeralda? Can you tell me anything about her?”

  “Well, she was quite right that you should avoid Fiona and Zelda. They are practitioners of the dark arts and can only encourage you in a bad direction. Although, I’m not entirely sure that Esmeralda shouldn’t have added herself to that list.”

  “Is she bad? Is she capable of murder?”

  “Capable, yes. Quite capable. But . . . I would never call her entirely bad. Certainly not on par with the others, or Lilith.”

  “Take care how I am discussed. We want this young woman to be on my side,” Lilith fussed. “I did not kill without good cause. That is an important distinction.”

  “Absolutely. Although, Lilith, I still maintain that it is better not to kill, even if it might be deserved.”

  But Zoey was very unclear about the distinction. “I don’t understand. You say that Esmeralda is not bad but that she’s capable of murder?”

  “Perhaps this is one way of understanding it. You said there were women at your prison who had committed murder, yes?”

  “Yes. Quite a few of them.”

  “Were they all terrible, evil people?”

  “Some of them were scary. But some of them were surprisingly . . .”

  “Nice? The kind of people who would show you pictures of their grandbabies, share some of the sweets from their care packages with you?”

  “Yeah. Some of them were actually quite decent.”

  “Same with witches. There is a group of scary ones, typically the ones with the greatest powers, who are constantly jostling to be top dog. I have always been happy to be out of that particular competition, and I would never like to see you dragged into it.

  “When Lilith died, it left an opening at the top of our community. And a lot of individuals have been fighting for that top spot, wanting to be acknowledged as the dominant witch in our community. Esmeralda may well have aspirations. Which is why I must caution you about her offer to mentor you. I should hate to see you ill-used for any dark purpose.”

  “And the murder? Could she have killed Franklin Churchill?”

  “Doubtful. He’s an important man, and I’ve always found Esmeralda to be oddly . . . status-conscious, at least as far as commoners were concerned. Killing a wealthy man who owns the hotel that she’s living in? No. Not to mention, ammonia and bleach! A witch has far more elegant options, for want of a better word, at her disposal when she wants to get rid of someone. No, there is a commoner behind this crime.”

  “I’m a suspect. Because I’m an ex-con. Because of my history with Dalton, and that whole room switch. I could be charged with another crime that I didn’t do!”

  “Then why are you dawdling here? You know what you need to do. Find the killer.”

  Zoey had already come to the same conclusion herself, but it was good to hear from Delphine that she was on the right path. She made a hasty exit.

  “You see why I suspect Esmeralda?”

  “She would not kill without cause. Did you ever do anything to offend her? Did you insult her? Steal from her? Threaten her?”

  “On the contrary. It is she who offended me. Which is why I set her house on fire and burned it to the ground, and why she now finds herself living in a hotel.”

  “Lilith. Lilith, Lilith, Lilith . . . ”

  “Save your scolding. I am dead, and it is too late to improve me.”

  *****

  The housekeeper at The Grand mentioned that Franklin Churchill had an ex-girlfriend. If their relationship had been half as contentious as hers and Dalton’s, then this woman was definitely a potential murder suspect. And if not, then a uniquely insightful source of information about who might have wanted Churchill dead.

  Not wanting to alarm Justine that she herself had become a suspect, Zoey shared just enough information with her roommate to solicit some assistance. Justine was really good at digging up information and was able to get an address on Whitney Blair.

  Whitney lived with her mother, Autumn Blair, in a modest two-bedroom home. Zoey had not wanted to be the one to inform her of Franklin Churchill’s death, but judging from the somber, tense look on Whitney’s face, she already knew.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you at this difficult time, but would you be up to speaking to me about Franklin Churchill?”

  Whitney’s mother, Autumn, joined her at the door. “What’s your interest here?”

  “I was present . . . that is to say, I was involved with the police interrogation of hotel staff earlier today, and your daughter’s name came up.”

  “As a suspect?”

  “I’m sure it can be cleared up. If I could just have fifteen minutes of your time.”

  Exchanging a glance, the Blairs let Zoey into their home and settled her into the living room.

  “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but . . . how long were you and Franklin Churchill seeing one another?”

  “Just over two years. I moved into the hotel after about the first month.”

  “And when did you break up?”

  “A year ago.”

  “And this is a terrible question, and I must apologize for it in advance. Why did you to break up?”

  “I just wanted a normal life. Get married. Have kids. Live in a house. Everybody lives in a house. The whole world lives in a house. Or even an apartment. He lives in the hotel, which is fine for a while. But he intended to spend his entire life living in the hotel.

  “How can you even think about having children and raising a family that way? So that was a big argument. That was the thing that we just couldn’t get on the same page about. Finally, I guess he just got tired of my nagging him. So he got rid of me.”

  “When was last time you saw him?”

  Mother and daughter looked at one another uneasily.

  “We went to see him last night.”

  “We? Both of you?”

  “Well, Whitney was determined to go on a fool’s errand,” Autumn explained, “and I couldn’t let her go by herself, so I went with her and waited in the lobby. I had no idea what seeing him would do to her. She’s in a very delicate state of mind.”

  “What my mother means is that I tried to kill myself six months ago.”

  Zoey was taken aback and flooded with sad memories. She had seen a few suicide attempts back when she was in prison. Unfortunately, a couple of them had been successful.

  Autumn Blair nodded angrily. “And do you think he came to visit her afterward, at the hospital? Lousy, rotten, heartless lowlife. She’s got bandages on her slit wrists and he couldn’t even be bothered to visit her at the hospital.”

  Whitney looked away uncomfortably. “Maybe he was feeling guilty. Maybe he didn’t know what to say.”

  “Maybe he’s just a rotten human being who doesn’t deserve your devotion or your tears. And everything he did to you while he was
alive—that was bad enough. Now, he reaches out of the grave to cause you even more harm. To turn you into a murder suspect.” Autumn turned back to Zoey. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I would imagine so. And ma’am, you went to the hotel as well.”

  “I did.”

  “And you hated him. Yeah, the police will probably be speaking to you, as well. Unless . . .”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless they latch onto a more likely suspect. Whitney, you knew him for two years, probably better than anyone. Who were his enemies?”

  “Enemies? Frankie was a powerful, rich guy. Everyone wanted to be his good friend. The employees treated him like royalty. But that’s what you’d expect. Their jobs were at stake. They had to. But you never really know what’s going on under the surface. That Mr. Frost. I don’t think he ever really approved of us. He was polite as all get out. But . . . he was really image-conscious about the hotel. Didn’t want any stain or scandal or rumor attached. I mean, a man living with his girlfriend in the twenty-first century isn’t really a scandal, is it? Still, he was a little weird with me.”

  “Anyone else? Anyone who disliked Franklin Churchill? Who was angry with him?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lloyd Bacon. But you know, he’s kind of an old guy. Not a killer type. But he sure was angry at Frankie. They used to be partners until Frankie bought him out. Then somehow, Lloyd got his money back in short order and wanted to buy back into the hotel. He loved that place. He was the one who renovated it and planned all the decorations and furniture. I’ll give him that. The hotel really was his creation.

  “He tried over and over to get Frankie to let him back in. But Frankie didn’t have to and he didn’t want to. Why split fifty percent of the profits? I think Lloyd was beside himself. I don’t think he ever really got over it. But I’m not calling him a murderer. I’m just telling you what I know.”

  “Last question. What did you and Mr. Churchill talk about when you went to visit him last night?”

  “I wanted him to give us a chance. That’s all I ever wanted. I know it seems pathetic and like I have no pride. But that was it. That’s what I wanted to say to him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Autumn stepped in. “Mean things. Hurtful things. I would rather not have Whitney have to relive that conversation again. But here’s what I’ve got to say. Now I know that my worst nightmare will never come true. Franklin Churchill will never be a part of my daughter’s life ever again, and I’m grateful for that. That’s a mother’s right, to put her child’s wellbeing above anything and everything else. No apologies.”