“What’s the other option?” I said back.
"Hope they didn't notice?" Mocha said sarcastically.
“That’ll be my strategy.” I wasn’t kidding. So much for thinking ahead.
"Let's go," Mocha said, nudging me towards the source of the noise. "You have a mini slumber party to host.”
I rolled my eyes and followed.
They were standing next to the fence, clearly debating something, although I couldn’t hear what it was.
“Almost there,” I called.
"We’re not in a hurry," came Miles’s drawl.
I bit back my first response. "Very patient," I agreed.
Sarai was standing there with a suitcase, and I looked at it with mild apprehension.
"Just one night?" I said cautiously.
"I had to bring everything," Sarai said with a shrug.
Miles shrugged. "I pick my battles," he said.
Couldn’t blame him for that. “Pushover,” I said, testing the limits.
He rolled his eyes at me, but he didn't deny it, either. “Do you have coffee?”
"I’ll make you coffee," I said. "But the last time I used a professional coffeemaker was eight years ago."
Instead of taking him upstairs, we walked into the coffee shop. It’d be safer, at least at the moment. Dropping the bag off near the entrance, Miles followed me back into the kitchen. Sarai was sitting down with her suitcase in front of her, going through it.
"So you worked as a barista at one point?" Miles asked.
"I worked a lot of jobs," I said. I wasn't ashamed of them.
"Do you have a degree?" he asked. It didn't feel judgmental, more assessing.
"I was going to," I said. "Was thinking of becoming a chef, maybe an English teacher.” My smile was faint. "But then my mom got cancer. My plans all went out the window.”
I saw Sarai fumble with what she was putting away, and internally I winced. I probably should have kept my mouth shut.
"I'm sorry," Miles said, and he even sounded sincere.
I shrugged. "It is what it is," I said, grateful as ever for my pragmatic side. No matter how much it hurt, I knew I couldn’t change it. "I got to spend the rest of her time with her," I said. The fact that it had put part of my life on hold wasn't really noteworthy.
When I turned my head to look at Miles, I saw something akin to respect in his eyes. Leaving that alone for later-Lou to dissect, I turned back to the fridge. "Don't know how much we should trust in here," I said, poking it.
"That's a reasonable question," he said.
"My mom died," Sarai said, inserting herself back in the conversation.
I nodded. "It really sucks, doesn't it?"
Sarai gave me a searching look, like I’d said something she didn't understand.
"So tell me about your mom?" I asked Sarai, messing with the coffee machine and grabbing some cups from the cupboards. We could eat when we got upstairs.
"Can I?" she asked, looking at Miles.
I saw surprise flash across his face, but he nodded. I wasn't sure why she was asking permission, and I regretted asking the question. But I'd already asked it, so I couldn't really backpedal on it.
"She was really nice," Sarai said. "I was only five when she died," she said. "So it was a long time ago, and I was really little.”
I saw Miles rub his forehead, and I grinned in sympathy. If she was really young, then what was she now? If you asked me, still a baby. But when you were ten, five years ago was half your life time.
"She was a police officer, like Dad," she said, looking at Miles. "She caught bad guys." She lifted her head, proud now. "And now, Dad writes books about catching bad guys.”
There was a reluctant smile to Miles’s lips, as if there was a long story there that he didn't care to share yet either.
And I didn't mind. First and foremost, it wasn't necessarily my business. If it ever did become my business—if this whole attraction thing ever went anywhere—I wasn't going to pry.
Quietly we took the coffee and bags upstairs to my apartment. I had already moved the furniture in the living room to clear out a big area for sleeping bags. We were going to go full slumber party style.
The fact I felt more comfortable with them there with me wasn’t something I wanted to dissect.
"I want to help you set up a security system," Miles said, the words surprising.
"What?" I asked dumbly.
He rolled his eyes, but it was a kind sort of exasperation. "I'm assuming there's no cameras or anything?"
I opened my mouth, and then closed it. "I don't know," I admitted. "I don't think so." Since I hadn’t gotten a chance to go over the magic with Ethan or Wren, I didn't know whether or not the trapping spell was of Mildred's doing, and it made me realize exactly how much I didn't know about the place that I would theoretically take over.
Miles was nodding. "It's like those gas stations," he said, grumbling.
I saw Sarai roll her eyes. "Here we go again," she said.
Miles shot her a look. Sarai grinned.
"Those stores say they have security cameras, but their security cameras are like 40 years old, and you don't even—"
"—even get a good picture, so what's the point in having them," Sarai finished. Miles glared at her, but it was fond, the corner of his lips upturned.
He reached over and ruffled her hair, a smile on his face. "It's one of my pet peeves."
"I know," Sarai said dryly. I looked at the two of them, surprised. Miles had been so withdrawn, but the two of them were so animated. He really did love his daughter, not that it was really surprising on its own, but it made me smile.
“So you never really had a career?" Miles asked, pulling out the sleeping bags he’d brought. I would order pizza, and we would watch a movie. It was probably the most normal thing I had done since arriving in Elder.
"Not really," I said. "Family’s more important, you know?"
His gaze was inscrutable. "Yes," he said. "It is."
Chapter Thirty-One
I stretched as I watched Miles walk Sarai to the car, her waving enthusiastically before she disappeared from my sight. I turned away from the window, biting back a yawn. Nobody had come back, either to the coffee shop or to my apartment. It had been a fun night, but I was glad to have a bit of a break. Sarai was relentless, but in a good way. She knew what she wanted, and she wasn't going to let anything stop her from getting it.
If I ever had kids, she was the type of kid I wanted. Tenacious, and not afraid.
"And none of this solves my problem," I muttered. I still didn't know who was breaking into my coffee shop, or what they wanted. Or who had murdered Millie or Mildred.
A knock on the door pulled me out of a reverie. Curious, I went to open it, and stopped the moment it cracked open far enough to see the lovely chief of police.
"How can I help you?" I asked, putting on my best cheery expression as I finished opening the door in my animal-pajama-clad glory.
Kerrity looked me over, although what she was looking for I didn't know. "I hear you've been trying to make friends," she said, clearly irritated.
"I have been trying to get to know my family in my new town," I said carefully. "My mother's hometown.”
Kerrity didn't seem impressed by that either. "That's not what I've heard.”
"Okay," I said, not sure what she had heard or where she had heard it from.
"How did you seduce him?”
I bristled. "Excuse me?" I said, angrier than I anticipated.
"Miles knew you were guilty," she said. "And I don't know what you did, but you changed his mind.”
"I changed his mind by not being guilty," I said, my teeth gritted.
She didn't look convinced, but I was mad enough that I didn't care.
"I didn't do anything," I insisted.
"I think you're lying," she said with a dismissive, patronizing shrug. I had a lot of things to think about her, and none of them were nice. "I think you're a witch fr
om another town, maybe another coven, and I don't know what you came here for – the drugs, maybe, to clean up your operation - but you're doing damage control.”
My hands were clenched into fists to the point my fingernails were digging into the meat of my palms. "That's a far-fetched theory.”
She looked at her nails, as if I wasn’t worth her time beyond my guilt. "Who's the dubious one here?"
"I am," I said, giving her an exaggerated thumbs up.
She gave me that look again, as if she'd rather throw me off a cliff than say anything nice. That was probably fairly apt.
"Why are you playing dumb about magic?" Kerrity asked.
"Are you magic?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't play stupid.”
I shrugged, but the line of my shoulders was getting tighter as they crept up my neck. "If that's all," I said, sounding faux cheerful, "I have a coffee shop to learn how to run.”
She didn't look thrilled, but I didn't really think there was anything I could do in my life to thrill her. "I wouldn’t get used to it," she said. "I think you're much more likely to find yourself behind bars.”
“Will you not even look at other suspects?" I asked, my exasperation getting the better of me.
"I don't need any other suspects," she said, sounding almost cheerful. "I only need you."
"Thanks for your feedback," I said, and I gave her another exaggerated smile.
She narrowed her eyes at me, and then held up a finger. "All it takes is being out of step once," she said. "Then we’ve got you."
Another pointed look, and then she turned and stomped off. I had no idea how she had gotten up here in the first place.
I stood in place, incredulous. Then I dialed Ethan.
"Hello?" He sounded apprehensive, and after the last phone call, I couldn’t blame him.
"Why does Kerrity hate the family so much?" I asked.
He groaned. "I don't even know what we did," he said. “I think it was to her parents, and none of the grown-ups will talk about what it was.”
I was sort of amused by him calling them grown-ups, given that, well, we all were responsible grown-ups. Legally, anyway.
"I'll be there in a sec," he said.
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it. "Can you give me the client lists?"
Ethan paused, like he'd stopped mid-swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "The client lists?"
“The only way to get her to stop is to solve the case," I said. "So that's what I want to do.” I switched my cell from one ear to the other. “I think the client list may hold the key.”
I could feel him considering me, or maybe considering my mad plans. "Yep," he said, as if he was nodding to himself. "You're definitely one of ours.”
I laughed, both caught off guard and endeared.
"I'll text it to you in a few minutes," he promised.
"Thanks," I said, and I meant it.
There was silence on the other end for a long second, and then a faint sigh. "Don't mention it," he said. "What else is family for?"
I started in the coffee shop, because it seemed to be at the base of a whole lot of things. That was where I’d met Mildred the first time, what Millie had destroyed, and what the conflict seemed to be centered around. While the photo of the kid had been found in my apartment, I had a feeling it was tied to the whole matter too.
"What are your ideas?" Mocha asked patiently.
"If the photo was in this building, it meant it had some significance to her, right?” I asked. “It wasn’t in the coffee shop, but it was in the apartment Mildred was mad she couldn't get.” I grimaced. Maybe there was something in the apartment?
I thought about it for a few seconds, and then shook my head. I didn't think so. When I’d chased somebody out of my apartment, they hadn’t seemed to be looking for anything, since nothing had been taken. Had it just been a scare tactic? Or had I interrupted them?
"You’re so much trouble," Mocha said, although she sounded amused more than anything else.
“You're welcome," I said. “They found the drugs here, right?" I asked, heading towards the cupboards.
"Yes," Mocha said. "Hidden in extra cupboards.” She gave me a scrutinizing look. "But if Mildred was in charge of the drugs, who killed Millie and why?”
“I don't know yet," I said. Part of me wished this case could be simple, but if it was simpler, then the police would've solved it in the first place.
"What do we do next?" Mocha asked, looking at me.
I opened my mouth to retort sarcastically, and I stopped. "Okay, let's talk through this," I said, starting to pace. “There's no way Mildred killed Millie, because Mildred was dead. We know she was dead, people don't come back to life like they do in fiction.”
Mocha let out a long sigh. "Yes," she agreed patiently. "But what does that tell us?"
“It tells us that there might be two separate motives," I said, although the thought of it made my heart sink, because that definitely didn't make the case easier to solve. "Two separate murders. But why wouldn’t they be linked?"
"You didn’t say they were," Mocha pointed out.
"But what if they were?" I asked. "Devil’s advocate.”
“I didn't know the devil had an advocate," Mocha said airily.
I looked up at the ceiling as if it would give me patience.
"Millie was mad that she didn't inherit the coffee shop," Mocha said. “What if she knew about the drugs?"
I glanced at her, surprised. "Because if there were some here, she would have known about it, and if she didn't inherit it, she'd be putting other people at risk of discovering it," I said slowly. “But why would she reveal the drugs?”
“Angry people don’t always make sense,” Mocha said.
I had to give her that.
“There’s your motive," she said. "Maybe Millie killed Mildred.”
"But then who killed Millie?" My head was starting to hurt. “Wasn't there something about her family?" I asked, struggling to remember. "Mildred's family being rich, or something?"
“She is part of an esteemed family," Mocha said, although she didn't really sound that impressed. "But I don't think even they would hide a murderer.”
I thought about all the corruption I'd seen in the human world, and my lips twisted into a wry smirk. "I'm not surprised by anything any more," I said. "Especially when it comes to humans.”
"What about the kid?"
I thought about the photo as I headed upstairs to my apartment, searching the walls for a hidden room. Mocha followed. "I read books where the missing kid was like, the murderer," I said. "If she does have a missing kid, maybe she murdered Mildred for abandoning her?" It sounded cheesy, and I wasn't really thrilled with it, but I did believe in exploring all avenues.
“How would she know, though?" Mocha asked, tilting her head at me.
That was a good question. "Yanis said she tried to blackmail him," I said. "So maybe he knew."
"But what motive would he have to kill Millie?" she asked. I groaned at the back-and-forth. Why couldn’t the answer just be easy?
"What if it was to keep her quiet?" I asked, starting to warm to my theory. "What if Yanis was more involved with the drug operation, and in order to keep them safe, he killed Millie to keep his name from being in it?”
I paused, troubled. Where did Vance fit in?
"Do you really think Vance is involved?" Mocha asked.
I hesitated at that. "I don't know," I admitted. "I'd like to think not, because he's Ethan's fiancé, but I also don't know him.” I didn’t know anyone in Elder, not really. Not in the way where I could say for certain they could or could not have done something.
"And that can hurt you in more ways than one," Mocha said. She came over, laying her head against my thigh. "I think you're on the right track.”
“Three months ago, if you’d told me that I'd be happy that the talking dog had confirmed my thoughts, I would've told you to
go to the hospital," I said wryly.
Mocha chuckled. "Our expectations in life change quite often," she said. "Funny how that works.”
"I think I need to talk to Valencia," I said.
"Why her?" Mocha asked, but not like she was judging, more like she was testing my ideas.
"She knew Yanis," I said, the idea slowly taking shape. "I asked her about Mildred and Millie, but I never asked her about Yanis. She never mentioned him, either.”
“Worth a try,” Mocha said.
I reached for my phone and stopped. What if Valencia was the guilty party? But she couldn't be. She didn't really have a motive, no reason to kill either or both of them. Nothing I'd heard made Mildred a bad boss, even if she was a bit shady. I shook the thought away and pulled out my phone.
I dialed her number and was surprised when she answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Valencia? It's Lou."
She let out a long sigh. "Can I help you?"
“I was wondering if you could answer a couple questions for me about Yanis," I said. “If you’ve got the time.”
Valencia's voice wobbled. "Yeah," she said. "It’d be a good distraction.”
“Are you okay?" I asked, already guessing what the problem was.
"Mix is back in the hospital," she said. It was a feeling I understood far too well. The grief threatened to tip me over, and I fought it back. "They're going to remove life support later today.”
Oh God. "I'm so sorry," I said, and I was. Mom had never fallen into a coma, but I'd seen a few other people have to withdraw their loved ones’ life support, and it was never easy. Nobody wanted to watch their loved one take their last breaths, knowing that they’d given the command. No, they'd much rather them wake up, come back. But sadly, that wasn't how life worked. "I can wait –"
"It's fine," Valencia said. "What did you need to know?"
"I don't think the same person killed Mildred and Millie," I said.
There was a pause on her side of the line. "Interesting," she said. "Why?"
"I think Millie may have killed Mildred," I said.
"Mildred was always getting blamed for what Millie did," Valencia said absently. "Do you think it was something about the drugs?"
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