Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3

by Angela Pepper

His steely gray eyes flicked up to mine. He nearly smiled. “You don’t mean to waste my time and be difficult? I thought that was your M.O.”

  “Ha ha.” I took a sip from my paper cup of coffee. “How are things going? Did you manage to track down the head?”

  He looked past me, his gaze unfocused. “We shouldn’t be talking about this in public. The victim’s next of kin hasn’t been notified yet.”

  I switched the pastry to my coffee hand and wiggled my fingers in front of his face to get his attention. Once I had it, I arched an eyebrow and asked, “Mind if I put up a sound-bubble spell? It’ll give us all the privacy we need.”

  An expression of disgust flashed across his face. Then he blinked once, slowly, and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  I twirled my tongue inside my mouth to summon forth the Witch Tongue, the language of witch magic. I exhaled to reset, inhaled fresh air, and cast the spell that would give us privacy. I used my free hand to guide the boundary lines. The air around us grew damp and heavy due to the spell’s compression, then lightened again on a breeze that didn’t exist. Now that I was more practiced at casting the sound-bubble spell, I noticed the subtle side effects.

  In a deliberately loud voice, I said, “I’m ready to discuss the recent homicide! Let’s talk about all the gushing blood and the headless body!”

  Bentley’s dark, straight eyebrows lifted so high that his hooded eyelids smoothed out. He looked past me, and then his eyebrows returned to their normal position.

  “It must be working,” he said. None of the people walking by were giving us a second look.

  “So?” I peered up at him expectantly as I took another sip of museum coffee. “Where was the head? What happened in that apartment? Are we dealing with an Ichabod Crane situation? Or, should I say, a headless horseman situation? Should I be listening for hoofbeats?”

  He stared at me.

  I rolled it back to just one question. “Did you find the head?”

  “We found it inside a trophy cabinet, inside the residence.”

  My hand went to my mouth. A head in a trophy cabinet. That was some next-level serial killer stuff. Suddenly, I wanted to run away and be somewhere else. I wanted to shower.

  Since becoming a witch, I’d witnessed a lot of gruesome things without reacting the way a normal person would. But the idea of a head in a trophy cabinet was downright profane. It was even worse than the headless body sitting on a couch. At least a body belonged on a couch. A head belonged on a pillow, or with its body.

  “That poor young man,” I said.

  “Did you know him? His name was Ishmael Greyson.”

  “Ishmael Greyson?” At the mention of the name, a few puzzle pieces clicked into place in my head. The last name was familiar. “He must be related to Arden Greyson.”

  “You know Arden?”

  “Not well. I know his dog, Doodles, better than I know Arden. I’ve bumped into them—the old man and the dog—around the neighborhood a few times.”

  “Did he say anything about his nephew?”

  “He did mention that he’s always helping out his family. He’s got a niece he loaned money to for some business venture. Now that I think about it, he did mention a nephew who was staying with him.” I swallowed hard. My throat was burning. I looked down at the floor. “I guess that was Arden’s apartment-garage?”

  “It was.” Bentley sounded more friendly when I wasn’t looking at his face. He continued, “Ishmael is Arden’s great-nephew. He was only twenty-six.”

  I murmured, “Such a shame.” I nudged a pebble across the museum’s floor with the toe of my shoe.

  “Now, if you’ll just tell me who killed the young man, I’ll be on my way.”

  I looked up into Bentley’s eyes. He had a hard expression. The muscles on his cheeks bulged as he clenched his jaw.

  “I don’t know who killed him,” I said, my voice rising in pitch and volume. “Honestly, I don’t know anything about his death.”

  “Come on, Zara. I thought we were past the games. I know about your powers, and the way you talk to ghosts.”

  “Bentley, I’m not holding out on you. Not anymore.”

  “But you knew about the body. You disguised your voice and blocked your phone number when you called it in, but we both know it was you who made the report. There’s got to be more to the story.”

  “Just a tiny bit more. It all started when my, uh, pets woke me up before dawn. I checked on Zoey, then went downstairs, where I found a ghost sitting on my couch. I tried to communicate with him, but he seemed to think that I was a ghost, not him.”

  Bentley cocked his head. “That’s odd.”

  “Yes and no. Ghosts are usually confused. They don’t experience time the way we do. They’re slipping between worlds, caught up everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Plus, they don’t necessarily know they’re dead.”

  “Did the ghost have his...?” Bentley gestured to his head.

  “Yes, he had his head on when he was in ghost form. Thankfully. He had ears and a mouth, but he couldn’t hear me or speak to me. We weren’t able to communicate. I only sat with him for a couple of minutes, five minutes tops, before he got up and left. He walked right through me, then out the front door.”

  “Is that normal?”

  I chuckled. “Normal is just a setting on the dishwasher.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Is that typical?”

  “It’s not atypical, but keep in mind I have limited experience with ghosts. I’m a late bloomer, remember.”

  “Did you summon him back? With a spell?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t even know how. I pulled on some sandals and followed him across the street. He led me over to his place.”

  “At which point you entered the residence?”

  I smiled, feeling I’d won a point for showing some restraint. “I didn’t go inside the residence. I only looked in the window. Then I went home and called in the report.” My smile broadened. “Like a good witch.” Zara tries to be a good witch!

  “And where is the ghost now?” Bentley winced. “He’s standing behind me, isn’t he?”

  I hadn’t seen the ghost since making the phone call to the police, but I looked around, just to be certain. “He’s not here,” I reported. “He’s been gone since the sun came up.”

  “Is that normal? I mean typical? They disappear in the daytime?”

  I scratched my head. “I don’t know.”

  “What aren’t you telling me, Zara?”

  “The thing is, what happened this morning is both typical and atypical. It’s normal for ghosts to show up and mess with my life. But usually it’s because they turn into smoke, go up my nose, get into my head, and sort of...”

  Bentley cocked his head. “Possess you?”

  “For lack of a better word, yes. They tend to possess me. But they aren’t in full control the whole time.” I patted my collarbone. “I’m still me most of the time. But they do talk sometimes using my mouth, repeating things they said when they were alive.”

  “And?”

  He’d sensed there was more, and he was right. “They influence me in subtle ways. For example, Winona Vander Zalm got me to throw dinner parties. Remember her?”

  “I do recall the Vander Zalm homicide. And I recall that you knew who killed her.” He blinked. “So, tell me who killed Ishmael Greyson.”

  “The thing about the Vander Zalm homicide is I didn’t find out from the ghost of Winona herself. I had to figure it out by doing research, talking to people, and putting together clues.”

  “That sounds a lot like my job.”

  “It sure does.” I grinned. “I’ve been doing your job for a while now, and not getting paid.”

  He rubbed his square jaw and took a thoughtful moment before saying, “This Greyson case will get closed faster if we work together for a change.” There was a note of accusation in his voice that rubbed me the wrong way.

  “That’s not fair,” I said indignantly. “I’ve
been cooperating. I’ve been good.” Zara tries to be a good witch! “Did my mother say something about me being uncooperative?”

  He gave me a blank look. “Your mother?” All the color dropped out of his face.

  “Yes. My mother. The woman you were hooking up with last month. Zirconia Riddle. She looks like me, except older and meaner. Also, her hair is black. You don’t remember? Her name is Zirconia. Repeat it after me. Zirconia.”

  “Zirconia,” he said slowly, numbly. “Cubic zirconia is a type of synthetic gemstone.”

  “And she’s a person.”

  He mumbled incomprehensibly. We weren’t getting anywhere.

  I waved a hand to dismiss the topic of my mother. As much as I wanted to fill in the gaps in Bentley’s memories, he might have been better off not knowing he’d served as a blood bag snack for a certain creature of the night.

  Bentley came out of his daze. He picked up where he’d left off, saying, “You will be on the Greyson case, as my partner.”

  “Your partner?”

  Now I understood what he’d meant about us working together for a change. He’d been trying to get me on board. Funny how it had come across as an insult. Was I oversensitive, or was he just bad at asking for help?

  I clarified. “Are you asking me to play detective with you, Bentley?”

  He winced again.

  “I mean be a detective,” I said quickly. “Not play detective. I’ll take it seriously. I promise.” I touched my collarbone. “Zara tries to be a good detective!”

  His expression remained doubtful. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He gestured toward the exit. “We’ll head over to the crime scene now, where you can do some of your ghost business.”

  “Let me say goodbye to my daughter first. I can’t just ditch her here. What kind of mother do you take me for?”

  Gruffly, he said, “I’ll be waiting in my car.” He ducked his head as he glanced up at the atrium’s high ceiling. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  I patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Yes, dear. Let’s leave the scary museum with the bright lights and the priceless emeralds, and go visit the bloody crime scene of a recent decapitation. That’ll be much less creepy.”

  He shrugged off my hand and headed for the exit.

  Chapter 6

  On Beacon Street, crime scene vehicles were taking up all of the street parking in front of the Greyson residence.

  Bentley rolled past slowly and parked the car at the end of the block.

  He turned off the engine but didn’t move to step out right away. I could hear him breathing. With the air conditioning off, the car immediately started heating up under the bright sun.

  “We have a mixed crew working the investigation,” he said in a neutral tone. “A few of them are in the know, like us, but the majority of the technicians haven’t been made aware of any supernatural elements. Zara, what I’m trying to say is I’d prefer that you keep a low profile in there.”

  “A low profile? Darn. There goes my plan to make a grand entrance.”

  He didn’t ask me to elaborate, but I did anyway.

  “I was planning to fly in on a broomstick, shooting blue fireballs from my hands.”

  He kept staring straight ahead out of the window.

  I followed his gaze. There was nothing of note on the street, other than rubberneckers trying to get a glimpse of what was happening behind the crime scene tape.

  After a moment, he spoke in a soft voice. “I remember driving in that old car with you.”

  “The old car?” My car was old, but he hadn’t been inside it, so he must have been talking about our car chase at Castle Wyvern.

  Bentley rubbed his forehead with one tanned hand. “Zara, I don’t know which of my memories are real.” He sounded exhausted, beaten.

  “But you do remember driving in the convertible Cadillac?”

  “Was it a Cadillac?” He massaged one eyebrow and then the other. “Who’s Lucille?”

  “The car!” I exclaimed. “The Cadillac was named Lucille. We borrowed it from my buddy, Nash.”

  “Yes.” His voice didn’t sound so beaten now. “We were chasing someone.”

  “A genie,” I said, my mouth tasting sour. “There was a nasty ol’ genie who took someone hostage. He kidnapped a woman with black hair.”

  “A woman with black hair? I remember her now.” Bentley dropped his hand to his lap. “She was someone we both knew.”

  “That’s right.” The woman with the black hair was my mother. He’d been involved with her, but her mind-wipe glamour was still in effect.

  He turned to me slowly and then startled, as though he hadn’t expected to find me in the passenger seat.

  “Your clothes,” he said, blinking rapidly.

  I reached down and smoothed the slim pencil skirt of my suit. Bentley had noticed I wasn’t in my usual colorful attire. Earlier that morning, I’d consulted my closet with an outfit-picking spell, as I usually did. My closet had suggested the conservative gray suit that I only wore for job interviews. The wool was lightweight, but I’d still found it an odd choice for such a warm summer day. I’d taken my closet’s advice anyway, since my closet knew best. Now I understood why. Bentley and I were both in conservative gray suits. We were a team.

  “You look nice,” he said. “Not like a clown.”

  “You sure know how to give a compliment.”

  “It’s a good suit. You should dress like this more.”

  “You’re only saying that because I look like your twin.”

  “Like my twin, but prettier.”

  “Well, obviously.” I waved away his compliment.

  He cleared his throat and looked down at my legs. “You look so pretty.”

  I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Hey, mister. My eyes are up here.”

  He stared at me, his eyes glazed. Was his dazed look caused by trying to access his glamoured memories? The stress of the morning’s homicide? Or the sight of my pale calves below my pencil skirt? Probably all three.

  I didn’t know what to do about him complimenting me. Bentley had looked at my legs before, and even said the odd flirtatious thing, but I hadn’t thought much of it. We had a playful routine of teasing each other. Whenever he bumped into me around town, he would suggest I was up to criminal activities. Then I would get back at him by ordering all the rainbow sprinkle donuts at his favorite bakery so he couldn’t get one. That was our thing. This new thing, with him giving me genuine compliments, was new. New and weird. But not bad.

  I snapped my fingers again. “Are you okay?”

  “Excuse me,” he said gruffly, turning toward the driver’s side window. “My mind must have drifted on me.”

  “No kidding. It was caused by your eyes drifting down to my legs.”

  He cleared his throat. “I did see your legs.”

  “Bentley, if we’re going to be a crime-solving duo, you shouldn’t ogle my legs like that.”

  He snorted. “Looking and ogling are very different.”

  “How so?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Ogling is strictly against Wisteria Police Department policy.”

  “Good to know. I’ll try not to be so ogle-able.”

  He didn’t move to get out of the car yet, even though it was heating up in more ways than one.

  “You were saying it’s a mixed crew in there,” I said, turning and looking down the street toward the garage apartment. “How are you going to explain to the non-magical folks about me being there?”

  “I have a plan. I’ll tell them you’re a behavioral consultant with a specialty in deviant behavior.”

  “That’s not far from the truth,” I said seriously. “I can always tell when a patron in the library is trying to hide food or use the computers to find weird porn. Fun fact: A lot of people who do one of those things, do both of those things. What’s that all about?”

  He nodded. “It’s true. People who violate one boundary violate more
than one.”

  I reached for the door handle but didn’t open it yet. Once I opened the door, I’d be on the case. Partnering with Bentley in an official capacity was going to change everything. Was I ready? Judging by his hesitation, even Bentley wasn’t ready.

  “You might know the victim’s sister,” Bentley said. “Her name is Carrot Greyson.”

  I didn’t know the woman. “Did you say Carrot?”

  “Yes. There are a lot of odd names in the Greyson family, not just Ishmael. You must have heard about his sister, Carrot. She worked with your aunt at City Hall until quite recently.”

  My jaw dropped. Aunt Zinnia worked at City Hall? She’d been so secretive about her work that I’d assumed she didn’t have a job at all. Zoey and I had a theory she used her short-range psychic powers to make money as a day trader on her computer.

  I closed my jaw and said, “Aunt Zinnia never mentioned anyone by that name.” I looked down and traced a circle on my wool skirt. “Remind me, what’s my aunt’s job at City Hall?”

  “She’s the head of the Wisteria Permits Department Division of Special Buildings. She took over in February, shortly after the second death in the department.”

  “Right,” I said with fake casualness. “The second death.” I had a million new questions to ask my aunt.

  I looked over to see Bentley staring at me, a bemused expression on his face. “You didn’t know,” he said. “All that business at the Permits Department happened before you moved here, and you didn’t know.”

  I snorted. “You’re new here, too. You don’t know everything.”

  “But I have access to the redacted reports now. I know what happened to my predecessor, Fung.” He crossed his arms and leaned back. “And you don’t know.” He looked as pleased as I’d ever seen the man.

  I tilted my nose up in the air. “I’m sure if my aunt had wanted me to know, she’d have told me. It’s probably for my own protection she didn’t mention it.”

  “Sure,” he said flatly. “You can ask me about the case later, if you really want to know.”

  “Thanks.” I did want to know about Zinnia’s past, but I wanted to hear it from her, not Bentley’s version. Not the watered-down, doctored version. Even if he did have access to more detailed reports now, there was a slim chance even they told the whole story.