by Molly Fitz
I cleared my throat, preparing to make my statement, but the guy veered into Vlad’s office. A few moments later Vlad motioned me over.
“Marissa, I think you should get Burton’s statement.”
“What? Why me?” Not even the bravest of paranormals would directly accuse Burton of murdering Henry.
“Because you have some kind of awkward rapport with him, and the least seniority. Don’t forget, you found the body.” Vlad walked away, ending the conversation.
How could I forget? That alone had me firmly in line for runner up on the suspect list. It also became obvious that I was the only one who really cared about getting justice for Henry. My motivation to help might have been pure, but asking me to question a demon, friend or not, was outside of my pay grade. That, and I really didn’t want to find out that Burton wasn’t actually a good guy.
It was time to pack up my talking cat and bring in some outside magical help: Gran.
Chapter Six
“So you’re saying you found Henry dead in the freezer at Night Moves?” Gran leaned back in her threadbare recliner until her bright blue painted toenails came into view and the multi-colored afghan hanging over the back of the chair puddled on the floor. She took a thoughtful sip of her margarita and closed her eyes. “Girl, you do make a darn good cocktail if I do say so myself. Although I take some credit for the talent behind those crafty charmed beverages. You must’ve inherited those skills from me.”
I raised a brow. Surely, she wouldn’t want to take credit for the hot mess that my cocktails had gotten me in lately. Although, I hadn’t shared the story about Jasper the talking cat yet. When I’d retrieved him from my locker, he wasn’t too thrilled that I’d woke him from his slumber, but as soon as he woke up, he’d realized I still hadn’t brought him any food. To appease him, I’d packed him in my shoulder bag along with a customer’s leftover swordfish.
It would take forever to get the fishy smell out of my bag. It would take even longer for my ears to stop ringing from his complaints that I’d given him leftovers instead of his own personal dinner. Maybe I was wrong to assume he would’ve preferred the swordfish over the old can of tuna I’d found. Frankly, he was lucky I remembered to get his food at all after spending the shift trying to clear my name and identify potential murder suspects. His endless complaints confirmed that I could still understand him, an ability I regretted on the long walk home.
My gaze shifted to my bedroom where I’d stashed the persnickety feline, despite his lengthy protests, until I could tell Gran about Henry.
I realize everyone grieves differently, but her nonchalant behavior was a little unusual. Gran was never afraid to show her emotions; they usually came out in one big eruption, whether anger, sadness, or happiness, before she simply moved on. Her ability to handle stress by never bottling anything up was probably what kept her living such a carefree life.
“Gran. This was Henry,” I repeated and then braced myself for the onslaught of emotions.
She waved me off and looked toward the window to study the bird feeder hanging outside. It was currently vacant of birds, although that might’ve been due to a particular squirrel who continually emptied the contents as quickly as Gran could fill it. “I heard you the first time. Henry is dead. At my age, people die all the time.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees to gain her full attention and drive my point home. “But he was murdered. His death isn’t really the same thing.”
“That’s true.” She nodded and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Murder is different. I knew it would be nice to have you around. It gets boring around here, but now you can bring me all the new gossip, even if you are a little late with your delivery.”
I’d expected more of a reaction to the news. Henry was well known in the retirement community. Aside from his outrageous behavior and unforgettable attire, the females greatly outnumbered the males. Many ladies had been vying for his attention since I’d been here.
“You seem to be taking his murder pretty well.” I frowned, wondering if she was in shock. “Wait a minute. What do you mean I’m late?”
“You’re about the sixth person to tell me about Henry. Then there’s the Willow Words.” She picked up a thin newsletter and shook it. “But we never know if Fran gets any story right since she’s always in such a rush to publish the scoop first. Heck, Fran has reported more than one person dead who’s only been away visiting family. She’s quick to jump the gun.”
“The willow what?”
“Our condo newsletter, of course.” Gran tossed it to me.
The headline for the retirement home newsletter read, “Henry Miller Found Dead in Club Freezer by Esther’s Granddaughter.” The article below it went on to discuss how Henry ending up in the freezer was ironic since his favorite phrases included some version of hell freezing over. There were several pictures of Henry with Fred and other residents of the retirement condos.
I glanced to Gran. She raised her brows as she observed me. I returned my attention to the paper. If the lighthearted discussion of Henry’s death wasn’t disturbing enough, they’d also obtained a very unflattering photo of me walking to work in my Night Moves uniform. My wilted hair under the hot Florida heat and the sheen of sweat covering my face and arms was clearly visible.
When my eyes landed back on Gran, aka Esther, I was speechless for one of the few times in my life. The only thing I could manage to sputter out was, “How?”
She smiled as though she read my mind that it wasn’t Henry’s death I was referring to. Knowing Gran, mind reading was entirely possible. “Marissa, dear, you’ll need to get used to everyone knowing absolutely everything about everyone here. We’re retired and don’t have much else to do except live vicariously through other people. That’s the fun of retirement.”
I cringed at the reminder that I was now bunking in a retirement community. One that apparently took secret, unsolicited, unflattering photos of me. At least this one was taken before I’d gained the new black streak. I’m sure my magical mishaps would provide Fran with plenty of additional fodder for a plethora of stories. I looked at the newsletter again to locate the byline. “Who is Fran Stokes and why is she taking pictures of me?”
Gran waved me off. “Oh, stop fussing. Fran lives here, of course, and I’m sure she has a stockpile of photos of everyone. She’s always looking for the next scoop, so she likes to have photos ready just in case. With you here, well, I’m sure she thought you’d be in the paper sooner or later.”
Gran threw her head back with a laugh that shook her belly. “But I bet she was counting on one of those lifestyle pieces about who you are and what your life was like before Willow Hill. Not that there aren’t a lot of juicy details in that story, but now with a murder, she’s bound to be circling you for more of that breaking news. This is the biggest story since Fred was found streaking after he lost a bet to Henry. Fran really regretted not getting a photo of that. She could have probably sold it to the highest bidder.”
Her smile faded when she mentioned Henry. She looked down, suddenly interested in the small tear on the arm of her chair. Perhaps reality was settling in. I couldn’t imagine losing so many friends or family over the years. Maybe her lighthearted attitude was her way of dealing with loss. She returned her focus to me. “What happened to your hair? Didn’t Joe fix it at the salon?”
“Well … ”
Gran sighed. “What did you do now? I told you it was a bad idea to experiment with those charmed cocktails at the club.” She took another sip of her magical margarita. “Not that you aren’t darn good at them, but everyone isn’t as receptive to new things, or they might not have the stomach to handle the ingredients.” She patted her own barrel-like belly.
“About that … ” Maybe now was a good time to bring up Jasper. I could only hope that my new ability to converse with him didn’t end up as the next story in the paper. I might have more quirks than most, but no need to let my freak flag out to fly fully.
> Gran sat up straighter in her chair and her eyes brightened. “Rumor has it that Henry was asking around for something that couldn’t be obtained with a spell. What’s the name of that big bartender again? Could Henry have gotten on his bad side?”
“Burton.” I had to tell someone. “He’s a demon.”
Her eye’s widened. “A what? A demon?”
I nodded. Was a murder, a demon, and a talking cat too much to spring on her all at once?
Nope.
She leaned forward with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. “I never considered demons might be lurking among us. Did you see someone sign away their soul? Is that how you found out the truth?”
“No.” The old witch lived for this drama.
“Please don’t tell me that’s why you consider him a friend. You’ve rallied for some underdogs in the past, but sweetie, a demon can handle himself. Plus, he murdered Henry.”
“I don’t think it was Burton.”
Gran grunted her disagreement. She had mentioned more than once that I didn’t have the best judgment. She knew me better than most, but still wouldn’t give up her hope that I’d turn over a new leaf and consider more appropriate friends. Friends who didn’t hail from hell and sign up new prospects like opening a checking account, with their soul as the only deposit.
“Well, if you think so, but I wouldn’t be so quick to rule a demon out from the list of suspects.”
Henry’s interest in something that couldn’t be obtained with magic wouldn’t keep Burton off the suspect list. Burton was known to provide all sorts of things. I’d just never realized what the price was for his services, and revealing his clients was probably breaking some kind of demon code of ethics. “Besides, there was spelling residue on Henry.”
Gran scowled. “That could be planted. The vamps and wolves have always had it out for us witches. Did they examine Henry thoroughly?”
“I doubt it. I’m not sure what the usual protocol is for a murder, but they seemed more worried about him blocking the food.” I winced when I said it. “How’s Fred holding up?”
Gran shrugged. “He’s been holed up in his condo. I stopped by, but he didn’t answer the door. The poor guy is distraught. Can’t say that I blame him with his best friend murdered.”
“Shouldn’t the police be notified? Vlad brought in some guy who seemed to immediately assume it was Burton.” I twisted a stray strand of my hair around my finger. “Or a witch.”
“Lands sake, of course they wouldn’t bring in the local police. They’re mortal here. But that werewolf they use at the club for these sort of fixes is always looking for an easy solution. Most vampires and werewolves tend to stick together.” She rolled her eyes. “They seem to think they’re higher ranking paranormals than the rest of us. We need to get our fella on it first, and then he can communicate with the police.”
“Our fella?” It appeared the witches retirement village really did have its own little community complete with all of the amenities one could ask for. “Who’s ‘our fella’?”
“James Stone’s his name.”
Chapter Seven
I almost flew out of my chair when the raspy voice came from behind me and ended with a harsh cough. For a moment, I thought I’d heard a ghost. Heck, James Stone did look fairly spectral upon further inspection. His pink eyes, skin paler than mine, and light-colored clothing made him practically invisible.
Mulder took one look at him and retreated to the kitchen, forgoing his usual welcome of hopping about.
James’s appearance gave the impression he was older than dirt. There was barely a hair left clinging to his scalp despite an excess of hair sprouting from his white eyebrows. It was as if his eyebrows were trying to lower the expectation of his scalp to produce adequate coverage. The casual flowered button-down beach shirt hung untucked and his khakis were rolled up to display bony ankles. His flip flops, which housed toes that contributed their share of hair, didn’t portray my image of a detective.
Gran interrupted my gawking to confirm that James was actually standing there and not an apparition. “For goddess sake, Marissa. Quit gaping. Haven’t you ever seen a person cursed to be pale as a ghost? They walk the earth while appearing like they’ve already left this world.”
“Umm, sorry.” A response didn’t seem necessary to confirm that obviously I had not, in fact, seen someone cursed in that manner. James Stone was just one more unusual thing in this very unusual day. I stood and extended my hand and part of me wondered if his hand would pass right through mine, like I envisioned a ghost’s hand might. “Hi, I’m Marissa.”
He ignored the gesture. Instead, he kept his hands in his pockets and stared at me while he rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes. “I know who you are. Everyone does.”
I glanced at the newsletter. “Of course you do.”
“Your grandmother called me.” James perched on the edge of the couch and pulled out a small tablet and pencil. When he looked at me, his gaze settled briefly on the dark streak in my hair. I hadn’t thought I’d need to conceal it in the comfort of my own home—well, Gran’s home.
He licked the tip of the pencil and then scribbled something in his notebook. I leaned forward from my chair but couldn’t see what he was writing. Most likely something along the lines of how the streak in my hair elevated me to his number one suspect.
I settled back against one of the fringed pillows. This guy was Henry’s best bet?
If I was honest with myself, it was likely the club would be looking for a scapegoat, and there was a good chance that if it wasn’t Burton, it would be me. Even worse, that meant a murderer would still be on the loose.
The elderly investigator seemed content to sit and scribble in that darn tablet, letting the silence stretch on. I wasn’t as content. “Are you like a private investigator, or something?”
He met Gran’s gaze and then returned his attention to me. “Yeah, or something.”
I waited but it didn’t sound like I was going to get any more explanation.
“You work at the club and were there at the time of the murder.” He made the statement while keeping his expression blank.
If he thought he could intimidate me with a hard stare, he didn’t know who he was up against. He couldn’t compete with the likes of Burton. “After the murder.” I pointed at his tablet. “I want to set the record straight.” And I’d always wanted to say that last line.
“Sure. After.” He scribbled something in the tablet again. “Tell me who you think might be a likely suspect at the club.”
“Well, if it happened at the club. That’s making an assumption, isn’t it?” I looked from Gran to James.
He frowned and paused his incessant scribbling. “What do you mean by that?”
“The club wasn’t even open. The murder had to have happened the night before, and I doubt Henry was there that late.”
“That’s true.” Gran nodded vigorously enough to get her large hoop earrings swaying. “The part about Henry being there the night before. That club is open late. I mean, it’s open way past nine o’clock.”
James looked at me. “What time does the club close?”
I pursed my lips in concentration. “Usually last call is around two o’clock, but sometimes there are private vampire parties that are there until four or five a.m.”
James and Gran locked gazes and then returned their attention to me. “So you’re saying it’s open well past ten p.m.?”
“Yes. Aren’t most night clubs?” This line of questioning seemed like a waste of time.
He shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know. Once you get to a certain age, your priorities change. Getting to bed as early as possible so you can get up as early as possible becomes much more standard. Not by choice, necessarily. It just happens as a natural part of aging. So, you’re right. It’s unlikely Henry was at the club so late. Therefore, it must’ve happened in the morning when you were there…alone.”
“Wait a minute. That’s no
t what I meant. I meant that Henry could’ve been killed somewhere else and then put into the club freezer.”
James drew his brows down. “Why would the killer do that?”
I tossed my hands up. “I don’t know. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to find out?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.” He took more notes. “Tell me the suspect list again.”
“I didn’t tell you anyone yet.”
“That’s what I said.”
I looked from him to Gran but she didn’t meet my gaze. There was a good chance she’d hired someone whose memory was already faltering with age. It didn’t happen often with witches, but from the spell this dude had already endured, anything was possible.
The odd investigator was still staring at me with his unnerving pink eyes so I named Samantha, Gloria, and then after hesitating, I added Burton.
Gran brightened. “He’s a—”
I cut her off with a sharp look. It wouldn’t help the investigation for Gran to push this guy to jump to conclusions with the rest of the club.
James looked to her. “He’s what?”
She pursed her lips as if this new gossip was difficult to maintain. “An odd fella.”
I nodded and then included a few details about Vlad and the other employees. If I was guilty until proven innocent, everyone else should be too.
One thing was abundantly clear: I was the only witch who worked there most of the time.
He stood. “Okay. I got what I need to get started.”
“Wait. What are you going to do?” He hadn’t done much of anything except write down information I already knew. Had he made his mind up about my or Burton’s guilt already?
“What do you think? Detective stuff.” And with that parting comment, he walked out the door.