He also looked very unhappy, which I could sympathize with, especially if Mildred’s shop really was the last source of good coffee.
“Can I help you?” I asked, taking a few steps forward. Maybe he was why Mocha had disappeared although I still didn’t know if she could be seen by normal people.
“Why the heck is the shop closed?” he asked, obviously hangry, but for coffee. Maybe she sold pastries.
“The owner died,” I said carefully. I wasn’t sure how much I was allowed to disclose, if anything. What if he was with the media?
“Mildred?” His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any evidence on cause of death, or anything like that. I was a suspect. I doubted they would tell me.
He made a doubtful noise. “Who are you?” he asked, looking me over. He had taken a step closer, and he really was tall, probably six foot three or more. His hair was flying around, the wind blowing it into his face. He kept brushing it out of his eyes, irritation clear, as if he wasn’t used to it.
“I’m Louise,” I said. “Call me Lou. I moved into town yesterday.”
One well-manicured eyebrow raised. He looked as skeptical of me as I was of him. “So you’re the one who discovered the body, then.”
I took a step back, my spine straightening and my stomach clenching. I felt like someone had doused me with a bucket of ice. “How did you know about that?’
He waved his hand, dismissive at my skepticism. “News gets around in this town,” he said. “You get used to it.” He was still looking at me, like a hunter eyeing its prey.
I still didn’t really believe him, but I didn’t really have any evidence to the contrary, either. “Who are you?”
His smile was oddly feral, but there was an amusement to it. It was almost like a dog that was all bark and no bite.
“The name’s Miles,” he said. He didn’t extend a hand to shake. Instead, he tucked them in his pockets.
There was something familiar about the way he stood, a readiness he carried with him. “Are you a cop?” I asked suspiciously.
“Not anymore.” Miles tilted his head to the side, like I was a bug under a microscope. He seemed intrigued by the question.
“You’re here for more than just coffee,” I said, connecting the dots. “Are you questioning me?”
He looked approving. “You’re smarter than I thought.”
I didn’t take it as a compliment. Instead, I took a step back towards the gate, almost seeking its protection. “What do you want?” My heart was racing, and my palms were sweaty. So much for being magic. What good was magic if I didn’t know how to use it?
“I’m here to check you out,” he said.
I blinked.
“Your guilt or innocence,” he said. The look he gave me was tolerant as if he was merely putting up with the fact it could have been taken in a different way. There was a hint of glee in his eyes now as if he enjoyed nothing more than to catch me off guard and make me squirm.
“Dad!”
I jerked back, hitting the gate with my elbow and wincing. The shout had come out of nowhere, but soon enough there was a young, brown-haired girl running in our direction. She was probably nine or ten, by my best guess.
Recognition dawned on Miles’s face, and all the teasing was gone. Instead, it was pure exasperation. That was a parent look if I’d ever seen one. “What are you doing here?”
The girl screeched to a stop in front of him and saluted. “Investigating.”
Definitely related. I glanced between the two.
Miles looked at me for a long second as if deciding. Then he sighed. “This young delinquent is my daughter.”
I was about to protest, until I realized that the way he’d said it was fond, instead of accusatory. “Hello,” I said, not sure what else to say.
The girl came closer, wrapping Miles in a hug. He hugged her back, half-turned away from me now, like he didn’t want me to witness it. “Didn’t we talk about escaping your babysitters?” he asked, and although he was chiding, there was fondness, too.
The girl shrugged. “I wouldn’t do it if they didn’t make it so easy,” she said.
I coughed into my elbow, hiding a smile. A girl after my heart, that was for sure.
“Sarai,” Miles said, “this is the newcomer.” He gave me a careful look as if daring me to try something while he was standing there.
“Louise,” I said. “But call me Lou.” This time I extended my hand. She shook it gingerly, fingers clasping mine instead of a proper handshake. From the look on Miles’ face, it was something she did often.
“Are you a murderer?” she asked, watching me with shrewd eyes that looked like a copy of her father’s.
I glanced at Miles, who didn’t seem at all surprised by the direction of the questioning.
“She’s stubborn,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Newsflash for him—it didn’t.
“I’m not a murderer,” I said firmly.
Sarai frowned. “That’s disappointing.”
Of all things she could have said that wasn’t what I expected.
Miles sighed. “We’ve had this discussion,” he said, as if he was most put-upon parent in the history of put-upon parents. He even rubbed his forehead as if she was giving him a headache.
“But murderers are interesting,” Sarai said, like she thought he was being boring. The look she gave her father confirmed that.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I said. “I suppose I could be interesting without being a murderer.”
“I’ll be the evaluator of that,” Sarai said. Her gaze narrowed, and it was like Miles’s but worse at the same time.
Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, I glanced at Miles and then stared past the two, not sure what to look at. If he had a kid, he probably had a wife. I didn’t see a wedding band, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Not that I was considering him as a potential date. Nope. He was a jerk.
Sort of. He was cute.
“Dad,” Sarai said, like it was the world’s most important proclamation. “I’m hungry.”
He looked entirely unconvinced. “Did you sneak out before she made you breakfast again?”
Sarai didn’t look innocent at all. “I like your food better.” She didn’t even try to sound like she wasn’t lying although she batted her eyes once or twice. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
I’d never met a kid like her before, and I wasn’t sure I ever would again. But it sounded like she made life interesting.
Chapter Seven
“I do have to do things other than tend to you,” Miles said, although he sounded more amused than exasperated. It sounded like an argument they’d had frequently.
“No, you don't,” Sarai said, matter-of-factly. “This is your fun job, not your real job.”
I coughed into my elbow again, biting back a grin. I would have ended up grounded, speaking like that. Miles just sighed. I glanced around for Mocha, more unnerved by the fact she hadn’t reappeared. It was discomforting, a reminder of the life I had lived less than 48 hours ago.
“Do you make breakfast?” Sarai asked, looking at me.
“I don't think your dad –”
“I like meeting new people,” Sarai said as if his opinion didn’t matter. “Could you make us breakfast?”
I opened my mouth, and then closed it. Miles’ face had closed off somewhat, hiding his emotions except for the pride and fondness he felt towards his daughter. That leaked out through his eyes, the way his lips quirked up in a smile, and the way he tracked her as she bounced around.
“I'm sure she has other things to do,” he said.
Sarai gave him the look and he stopped. “I doubt it,” she said promptly.
“How old are you?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.
“Ten,” Sarai said, beaming. “How old are you?”
“Twenty eight,” I answered without think
ing. It was a valid question.
“So you should be able to cook, then.” Sarai looked expectant now.
“I would,” I started, hesitant.
Sarai’s face lit up.
“But I'm afraid I don't have any groceries at the moment.”
Sarai's face fell.
I took a stab in the dark. “But, if you come by tomorrow, I'll have something delicious for you then.”
Miles cleared his throat.
I deferred to him. “If your Dad says it’s okay.”
Sarai made a scoffing noise. “You say that like it's difficult to make him.”
Miles cleared his throat again, sterner now, but Sarai only grinned. She was absolutely fearless, I'd have to give her that.
“Sarai,” Miles said, his voice steely. “Can you –”
“Dog!” Sarai shrieked and then ran in the direction of Mocha, who'd reappeared near the café door. She stopped inches from colliding with the glass, something which made my heart stop. But Mocha glanced at me and it restarted, relief surging through me. I had no idea where she'd been, but I was glad to see that she was back. Whether I believed in this whole magic thing or not, she'd sort of become a cornerstone to the whole thing. If she disappeared, it was easier – and terrifying – to think of the last forty-eight hours just as an illusion.
I didn’t want to think I was crazy.
“Is the dog yours?” Miles asked, moving closer to give Mocha a look-over. It was like he was checking her for rabies or something with just a visual examination.
“Yeah,” I said, because that was mostly the truth. Technically she was her own person, but that was semantics for another day. Although curiosity itched under my skin. Was he magic? Was that something I could ask?
Sarai was crouched down next to Mocha, talking softly to her and scratching her ears. Mocha seemed to be soaking up the attention.
“She likes dogs,” Miles said, although he didn’t sound convinced it was entirely a good idea.
“That's a good thing,” I said.
Miles snorted as if I’d said something hilarious.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to study him out of the corner of my eyes. I wasn’t sure what to think about him. Good looking with a sense of humor? Or a stick-in-the-mud whose only interest was whether or not I’d murdered the owner of the coffee shop?
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, Sarai’s words about a ‘fun job’ flashing to the forefront of my mind.
There was a wry twist to his lips that indicated it wasn't his favorite question. “I do stuff.”
“How descriptive,” I said dryly. I heard giggling and glanced over to see Sarai watching us, an arm around Mocha. Mocha sat there, looking patient. If I had to guess, she probably enjoyed the attention.
“What do you do?” he asked, almost challenging in return.
“Currently nothing,” I said promptly. That was an easy question to answer, in my current state. “Haven't got a job here. Last job was at a temp agency, so I did a bit of everything.”
Ignoring his probing gaze, I kept my focus on Mocha. She wasn’t speaking to me, although she was looking at me. Uneasiness coiled in my gut, and made my fingers shake as I tucked them in my jeans pockets. What if she was just a real dog? Her talking had been something of a reassurance that at least something was consistent, although not normal.
“A temp agency,” Miles said, sounding skeptical. It didn’t come across as a compliment.
“What’s that?” Sarai piped up. She was closer now, sitting cross-legged on the ground with Mocha standing on one of her legs in order to get Sarai to scratch her ears.
“It’s when you fill in for sick employees,” I said. “I did a little bit of everything. Office work, medical equipment, receptionist.”
“Sounds boring.” Sarai didn’t look impressed.
“It could be,” I had to admit. But some of it had been nice. I had also met a lot of different people with a lot of different stories. I glanced at Miles, toying what to do with him. If he was going to investigate me, I might as well learn more about him and the town I now lived in. “So what do you know about this place?”
“We haven't been here more than a couple years,” he said, and surprise flickered over his face, like he hadn't meant to admit that.
A wrinkle creased my brow but quickly disappeared as I smoothed out my expression. From the way he'd acted, I would have thought he was a local, or at least had lived there for some years.
There was something distant to his eyes. “My wife grew up here,” he said slowly. “I moved here after she died, to make sure Sarai could see where her mother grew up.” His jaw clenched and he wasn’t looking at me. He looked angry, but not obviously. Instead it was in a way that it was simmering under the surface, that most people wouldn’t see it unless they had been watching him intently.
He was cute. It was a valid excuse.
I dragged my attention back to his actual words. I closed my eyes, the pain fresh like Mom had died yesterday. “I lost my mom,” I said, wincing when I stumbled over the words. “I know it's not the same,” I added, “but that's why I'm here.”
“Your mom grew up here?” Skepticism battled with curiosity in his eyes, like he was deciding whether or not that was a valid potential lie for a murderer.
“She did,” I said, because what little details I had, I at least had that. “She didn't really talk about her past, but she left an apartment to me.” I jerked my head towards the building.
Miles looked like he was thinking things over. “So is that why you killed the coffee shop owner?” he asked casually.
I groaned. “Is this going to be a thing?”
“Until I figure out whether or not you murdered her,” Miles said cheerfully. I wasn’t sure how to describe him, but I doubted he was normal.
“Isn't that supposed to be the police’s job?” I grumbled. Not that I really was offended, but seriously, unless this guy was Sherlock Holmes, why was he doing the police's job?
“Former police officer,” Miles said with a flicker of sadness in his eyes. It passed so quickly I almost missed it.
Maybe that was something else that had happened, just like his wife. “Retired, now,” he added. The way he said retired didn't make it sound like a voluntary thing. I added it to my list of things to leave alone for now.
“Can I take her home?” Sarai asked, inserting herself back in the conversation. She was rubbing Mocha’s ears, and Mocha’s eyes were half-closed. Mocha still hadn’t said anything to me, and I was afraid to try talking to her, in case I spoke out loud. Or in case I said something and heard nothing in return. I swallowed thickly.
“She's not yours,” Miles said patiently.
Sarai looked at me and then Miles, her gaze pointed. “She could be.”
“She’s got you there,” I said, the corner of my mouth quirking up in a grin. For all she was spunky, she was likeable, too.
He rolled his eyes. “If you side with her, you'll have to babysit her,” he warned. Then he stiffened, as if his tone and casual behavior had caught him off guard. His face was less friendly when he looked at me. “If you aren’t out murdering anyone.”
“Dad,” Sarai said impatiently. “We've had this discussion before.”
“Yes,” Miles said, barely holding onto his patience. “You're not allowed to have a convicted or suspected murderer as a babysitter.”
Sarai sighed, and she turned to look at me. “Isn't he unreasonable?”
I did a good impression of a fish. Once my brain booted back up, I looked at Miles. “Has she always been like this?”
He sighed. “Ever since she was a baby.” The tone was joking, but discomfort settled over his face and body language like a blanket. He didn’t seem to intentionally be relaxing, but at the same time, he wanted to hide his discomfort from Sarai.
As a temp I’d gotten really good at reading people, from those at the doctor’s office to those arriving at the therapist’s. I wanted to be able t
o tell what would be a good job or a bad one. It worked.
“We should probably go,” Miles said, although he scrutinized me again.
I fought the urge to smooth out my shirt, wipe dust off my jeans. I didn’t think there was anything, but under that look, I wanted to double check. It didn’t look casual or flirting. It looked assessing, like he was judging what I would do once they disappeared, as if he expected me to run off and murder more people, while cackling in delight.
I didn't murder people as a rule, but I liked to think if I did commit a crime, I'd be smarter about it than that.
“Sarai,” Miles said, chiding but in a gentle way.
“What,” she said, clearly not paying attention.
“We should go home.”
“I don't want to,” she said, giving him a look. She had wrapped her arms around Mocha and her voice was muffled by her fur.
“Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want to,” he said. “We can’t always get what we want.”
“It always matters what I want,” Sarai said confidently. She was rubbing Mocha’s ears now, smoothing her fingers over the velvety fur.
Miles rubbed his forehead, like there was a vein throbbing that was about to blow.
“If you listen to your dad, maybe you can come visit for breakfast tomorrow.” I looked at him, offering him a chance to use it as a bribe.
I could practically see the train of thought going through his mind. A possible murderer – a suspected murderer – had just offered to make breakfast for his child. Even worse, his child wanted to accept. And she would probably throw a tantrum if she didn't get to. It wasn’t defeat on his face, it was resignation.
His face had cleared and turned into a mask by the time he looked at Sarai. “Maybe,” he said in that way parents always did, when it was a no but wrapped in a bow.
Sarai narrowed her eyes, as if she was getting ready for a fight.
Miles straightened and gave her a sharp look, a real look. It quieted her objections, and although she looked disappointed, she didn't argue this time. I was impressed, I had to admit. He had proven he could parent all sides of his daughter, and that he didn’t humor everything.
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