“I don’t know.” He stopped and looked at me, his face a mask. “Why did you?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it like a fish. He was waiting for an answer and I didn’t have one to give. Why did I? Besides the fact he was cute, and I liked his daughter?
I was being so stupid. I swore under my breath, rubbing my forehead, half-turned away from him. I was inches away from turning and stomping back to the station, and waiting for someone else to take me home.
“So, the halfway house,” Miles said, starting to move forward again like I hadn’t stopped at all.
I hated him at that moment, but I followed. “I have a strong interest in helping underprivileged kids,” I said, aware it sounded like a party line. An especially convenient one, given what was happening. Magic aside, though, it was true. I resolved to get involved with an actual charity or group after this whole thing was over and my name was cleared, to make up for lying about it.
“Did you before this happened?” he asked. “How convenient.”
I bristled. “Look,” I said sharply. “I don't care what you say about me, or whatever. But leave the kids out of this.”
There was surprise on his face, but he quickly masked it. We were walking in silence now, although it didn’t feel awkward. I wasn’t entirely sure why. It should have felt awkward. My cheeks were burning from speaking up. But I wasn’t embarrassed.
“What happened to you?” I asked, more than aware that it was rude to do so. But he had been rude to me, so fair was fair. Right?
He glanced up at the sky, and it wasn’t fair how graceful he looked. He didn’t even trip over anything. His salt-and-pepper hair was waving in the wind, looking messy like a model’s. “Ethan.”
“Yep,” I said, not at all apologetic. “You want to know everything about me, so fair’s fair.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I got injured in the line of duty.”
“Yes,” I said dryly. “I heard that much.” Inwardly I winced. That was a fairly personal question. I didn't want to be a jerk, I just wanted to not let him get away with what he was getting away with. “What kind of books do you write?” Surely an occupation was less private then what got somebody off the police force.
The look he gave me made clear he didn’t think so. “I write mysteries,” he said.
Not at all surprising. “That sounds interesting.”
The corner of his lips quirked up. “You have no idea.”
We walked in silence all the way back to my apartment, my short legs having to work double-time to keep up with Miles. I’d just turned to say goodbye when the door to the small shop next to mine flew open, and Sarai came running out of it.
Miles looked exasperated. But he didn't look surprised, either, which made me wonder how many times it had happened before.
“What are you doing here?” Miles asked, even though he hugged her when she hugged him.
“I wanted to visit,” Sarai said, sounding cheerful. “You were working.”
“It's rude to give your babysitter the slip,” Miles said.
“It's not my fault she doesn't catch me,” Sarai said. She pouted.
Now that I thought about it, and that I’d gotten to talk to him a little bit, I could see where Sarai got her attitude. And if anything, Miles deserved every bit he got.
“’Sides, I visited Addie,” she said.
“The old woman in the shop?” Miles looked skeptical.
“She's nice,” Sarai insisted, giving Miles a dirty look when he didn't immediately agree. “Just because she made that gesture to you once –”
At this I looked at Miles. Gesture?
“Like she was warding off the devil,” Miles said, his tone humoring Sarai, who thought it was hilarious. “Sarai hasn't let it go.”
I honestly couldn't blame her. I didn't think I'd be able to either.
“Do you want to go talk to her?” Sarai said helpfully.
Miles looked at her, and then looked at me. “You know how to get to your car from here?” The sarcasm was heavy, given my car was maybe ten feet away.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, laying it on in return.
“Dad,” Sarai said, her face falling.
He carefully steered Sarai further out of my hearing range. Magic would have been useful. Instead I took a few steps, playing with my phone. If I didn’t look obvious, I could at least try and understand what he was talking about.
“You can't keep running away,” he said, his voice quiet.
“But none of them are interesting,” Sarai said, her voice wobbling like she’d been punched. “Not like you or Mom.”
Something akin to pain flashed across Miles’s face, I could see it from where I was standing. It was a reminder of their past, a loss they shared. Miles crouched down, his voice going quiet enough that I couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter. I had heard enough.
“We’re leaving,” Miles said loudly.
“See you tomorrow!” Sarai said cheerfully, waving to me. Miles shot me a look, like I was the one who had corrupted his daughter, then took her hand and headed off.
To be honest, I was looking forward to the solitude. I bit back a shriek when I felt something stand on my foot. Out of nowhere, Mocha had reappeared once Sarai had disappeared. That was one way to do it. I was relieved to see her, as silly as it sounded. “Took you long enough,” I said to hide my shock.
“Had some business,” she said cryptically. “What happened while I was gone?”
I filled her in. I wasn't exactly sure how a woman like Kerrity was still actively on the force, but I knew politics could and often did protect the wrong people.
“What are you going to do?” Mocha asked, as if there was an obvious answer I was missing.
There probably was, and I just couldn’t think of it. Instead I gave her a blank stare.
Mocha sighed. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Magic?”
“Investigate,” Mocha said, only partially polite. “We need to find proof you’re innocent.”
It took me about three seconds to agree. If you’d asked me maybe an hour ago if I wanted to investigate, or leave the police work to the police, I would've said no, that they knew what they were doing, and they'd investigate it truthfully. Then I’d met Kerrity.
“I'm not going to get cleared otherwise, am I?” The truth of those words sat heavy in my chest.
“I’d prefer you not get thrown in jail,” Mocha said, although her tone was light. “You're starting to get the hang of this psychic thing.”
I blinked.
“This whole conversation’s been in your head.”
It took me a second to realize that it was the positive type of in your head, and not that I'd been imagining the whole thing. It was a distinction I wasn't used to.
“Yay for that, at least,” I said wryly. “She really seems out to get me.” Although if I did the math, the list of people out to get me was probably higher than the list not out to get me. An idea was starting to tug at the corner of my mind, spooling out like a yarn ball unraveling.
“Is the sister still in town?” I asked.
“She's staying at the bed and breakfast,” Mocha answered promptly. It was like she'd been waiting for this moment.
“Where is it?” I had no idea.
“It's run by a local couple,” Mocha said, heading to my car. “You can get there on foot, but I have a feeling that the car might be better for this.”
I was already getting in the car, but I was curious. “Why?”
“If you need to flee quickly, vehicles are almost always recommended.”
I stared at her, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. From what I could tell she wasn't, but that didn't stop me from hoping.
“They most likely won't eat you,” Mocha said.
“Is that some sort of vampire joke?” I said, watching her uncertainly.
“Did it sound like a vampire joke?” Mocha asked. I got the dog version of a grin.
>
Madness. I was surrounded by madness.
“You'll find out when you get there,” Mocha said, sounding like a bad fortune cookie.
“Great,” I said, not enthusiastic. I reached over to pop open the passenger side and stopped when it slid out of my hand. Mocha hopped inside, perching like a queen on the passenger seat.
“How'd you do that?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Magic,” Mocha said, no-nonsense. “Are you going to turn on the car or are you going to gawk?”
“Can I do both?” I asked.
“I have no time for your humor,” she said.
“I have plenty of time for my own humor,” I said brightly.
Mocha sighed. “Just drive the car.”
I did.
Mocha directed me towards the small parking lot, which was bigger than I would have expected for a small town. It seemed like several people stayed there, and it looked like it had the type of nice grounds to host events too, like weddings. “Let me guess,” I said. “The owners are vampires. Or banshees.”
Mocha didn’t look amused.
“Humans?” I guessed.
“Druids,” Mocha said, looking smug.
Mentally I added that to my list of magical creatures I didn’t know much about. “Fabulous.” I turned my attention back to my mission. “You know what room she's in?” I asked.
“That's supposed to be your responsibility, Miss Private Detective,” Mocha drawled.
“You were the one who suggested this,” I pointed out.
“Gotta do your own legwork.” Mocha scratched her ear, and then apparently ignored me.
“What are their names?” I asked.
Mocha looked at me, suddenly innocent – and mute.
“I’m not talking about the sister, I’m talking about the owners.”
Still nothing.
I gave her an are-you-kidding look. She’d gone from being talkative, to now being as quiet as a nun. “Really?” I asked, and I had a strange feeling that I’d be saying that a lot.
I shook my head at her and headed inside. There was a small, grizzled old woman sitting at the front desk. “May help you?” she asked, sounding pleasant and a whole lot less terrifying than the elderly women I’d dealt with lately.
Maybe she would help me. “Hi,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “I was hoping to talk to Millie –”
“You’re the murderer.” For all that I didn't expect it to, it seemed to cheer the old woman up. “Jerry,” she shouted into the back. “We got a murderer.” She turned back to me. “I’m Claire. Nice to meet you.”
“I'm not a murderer,” I said, not sure I’d ever had to quite say that before in my lifetime. Much less so many times.
“Of course.” The old woman didn't look impressed. “We hear that a lot.”
I didn’t want to know in what context. “I was just hoping to talk to Millie and learn more about her sister,” I said, trying to sound as inoffensive and kind as I could. “Since I'm innocent, I want to find out who the guilty party actually is.”
The old woman looked at me. “You can tell us, sweetie,” she said. She reached out and patted my hand. “We don’t share secrets.”
A few moments later another old woman, probably about her age, appeared looking almost like she was one step away from the grave. “The murderer?” she asked. It came out more like a croak, but it was recognizable. “Been a while.”
“Right?” The woman – Claire – seemed quite pleased. Okay.
“We do like details,” Jerry said, leaning forward.
I held my hands up. “So if I was a murderer, and I wanted to talk to Millie, would you mind giving me her room number?”
“We don't assign numbers,” the old woman said with a wave of her hand. “You pick your own room. She's in the Rose Room.” Her gaze was conspiratorial as she leaned towards me. “Murder somebody while you're here,” she said, like she was sharing a secret.
I stared.
“If you do, it's good for business,” she said cheerfully.
I’d met a lot of strange people in my few days here, but I had a feeling that Claire and Jerry might rank among the strangest. And even better, they would be very proud of such a thing.
“And where can I find the Rose Room?” I asked.
“Second floor,” Jerry said pointing. “Just don't get blood on the carpet, yeah? It’s expensive to clean.”
Claire gave me a disapproving look. “Improve business, but don’t increase my dry cleaning bill.”
“Okay,” I said meekly, heading in the direction she had pointed.
You heard about bloodthirsty old ladies in murder mysteries. This was Elder’s pair of bloodthirsty grannies.
“That could have gone worse,” I muttered.
“It could have,” Mocha agreed. I almost tripped going up the stairs, because as far as I had known, she was still in the car. I hadn't really expected her to follow me inside, given that she was a dog, and most places banned animals.
I glanced at her. “You think it could have been worse?”
“She could have eaten you,” Mocha said, sounding far too cheerful for my liking.
I stared at her. “You're joking, right?”
She gave me that side eye I was starting to get more and more familiar with. “Who says I am?
I opened my mouth, and then I closed it, and added that to the long list of things I wasn't sure I wanted to know if I wanted to survive my time in town.
“This whole place is mad,” I said. There was a finality to it, but even worse, there was a part of me that was falling for its madness. Okay, I could've done without the whole murder thing, or the magic, or something else. But even I could admit there was some sort of character in a place that had crazy grannies who wanted to use murder as a claim to fame.
I made it to the top the stairs, kicking myself out of my own thoughts. I had something much more important to deal with.
“Ready?” Mocha asked, and I was pretty sure it was a sarcastic question, because nobody was really ready for what we were about to do.
“As ready as I'll get,” I said grimly.
“You're learning,” Mocha said, sounding faux-amused.
“If there was ever a do or die situation,” I said, trying to find some humor.
Mocha scoffed. “Not quite yet,” she said. “You’ve a ways to go before you get there.”
“You know that's not reassuring, don't you?”
“Of course.” I got the oblivious look.
“So Millie's magic?” I asked, glancing at Mocha before I knocked.
“Yes,” she said. Most of her attention was on the door in front of me. I could practically hear her mad cackling in my head.
At least somebody was getting some joy out of this. Maybe Mocha should have joined Claire and Jerry downstairs.
I knocked, the noise feeling loud and echo-y in the quiet hallway.
“Who's there?” Millie's voice came out, short.
I didn't exactly want to be like ‘oh, the woman who supposedly murdered your sister.’ But I wasn't sure what else to say. “Um,“ I said, stumbling. “It's Lou, from – above the coffee shop?”
The door flung open.
“You killed my sister,” Millie hissed.
“I didn’t,” I said immediately, as pointless as it was. “I'm sorry you think I did.”
“What do you want?” Millie asked. “Murderer.”
“Well, I know I didn't do it,” I said, my voice patient. I want to do some more research and find out who did.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, but I just looked steadily back. One of us would have to give at some point. Thankfully, it was her.
“I don't want to talk to you,” she said.
I sighed, because I couldn't make her.
“I think you're guilty.”
“I'm aware of that,” I said dryly.
“I don't want to give you things for your defense,” she added sharply.
“Okay,” I said. “Then
tell me why you think I'm guilty.”
“I think you're making up that whole thing about not knowing magic,” Millie said flatly. “It's too convenient. Summoning the familiar, one who can't talk to others. One who can't say for sure that you were where you said you were. It’s convenient, and I never really believed in coincidences.” There was a sneer on her face. “Then you asked about the coffee shop.”
There was disdain mixed with hurt in her eyes. I noted that down. Something about the coffee shop seemed to trigger that. “And now you’re on my doorstop, pretending that you didn’t kill her.”
“I'm sorry,” I said, although why I had to apologize for having curiosity, I wasn't really sure. She didn't look impressed with my apology.
“That's a family shop,” she said tartly.
“I was just curious,” I said, holding my hands up like I was surrendering.
Millie didn't look convinced about that, either.
“Did she maybe have any customers that could have hurt her?” I asked, fishing for something that could help.
“I doubt it,” she said, watching me skeptically.
“Did you know much about the day-to-day operations?” From what I could tell, she wasn’t always in town.
That got me a glare, although I wasn't 100% sure why. “No,” she said finally. “I've been out of town on a few business trips, and Mildred mostly ran the shop by herself.”
“Okay,” I said, careful to leave judgment out of my tone. “Do you know who can tell me more about the business matters?”
“That girl of yours.” She didn't sound quite thrilled by it.
“The girl of mine?” I asked, a huge question mark in my brain.
“That Wren.” If she kept making that expression, her face was going to stick like that, and she'd scare the children. But again, that wasn't something you said out loud.
“Wren knows?” I asked, mentally noting this.
“She worked part-time for my sister,” she said. That was something I hadn't known. “From my understanding, they had a decent relationship.” Not that she sounded particular pleased with it, but I had a feeling this woman wasn't really pleased about anything. Especially anything that had to do with my family.
“Well, thank you for your time,” I said, and I meant it. She didn’t have to talk to me, and the fact she had gave me some hope that I could find who actually did this. Even if she thought I was guilty. Even talking to me a little bit was better than nothing.
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