by Molly Fitz
I looked at Gran after he’d left. “Do you really think he’s going to figure anything out?”
“No, not really. But he offered. At our age, we want to feel useful. I couldn’t turn him down. Especially with all he’s been through with that unbreakable curse. He’s already a dead man walking and he’s still alive. It freaks people out and hasn’t helped him find work. He has to limit his time in the sun, and he can’t take much work in the evenings because the vamps don’t favor witches honing in on their preferred hours.”
I slumped in the chair, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. “Is anyone else looking for Henry’s killer?”
“Marissa, my dear, there comes a time when you realize you have to help yourself. When you want something done right, whether it’s creating one of your charmed cocktails or solving a murder, you do it yourself.”
Gran’s comment didn’t exactly assure me, since I wasn’t doing that great at either so far. “You’re right. Henry deserves justice. If Vlad isn’t going to get it for him, I will.”
A high-pitched squeaking sound startled me and I spun around wondering what would be next in this ultra-bizarre day. Speaking of curses, who knew Jasper’s laughter would sound like one of Mulder’s squeaky toys? But one thing was certain: Jasper’s amusement and obvious lack of faith in my ability to solve the murder, didn’t boost my confidence.
Jasper strutted down the hall with his tail held high, acting as if he owned the place. Because Mulder had little to no interest in anything that wasn’t food, it had been easy to smuggle the cat in without my favorite pup noticing. However, the skittering of claws across the kitchen floor announced that Mulder had now spotted the furry intruder, or that he thought the squeaky laugh was one of his toys. His bulbous eyes were locked on the cat. Mulder’s mouth hung open and his tongue lolled out as he let out little excited huffs that were his version of barking.
After a quick pause to assess the scene, Mulder raced full speed through the living room, likely intent on tackling Jasper. I jumped from the chair and prepared to intervene to prevent the collision, but there was no need. Jasper pinned Mulder with a glare and the dog stumbled over his own feet, as if sensing some invisible force field emanating from the cat. It was nothing more than the usual sheer arrogance the feline species all seemed to possess. Despite Mulder being the alpha of our home for his entire life, he appeared to be questioning where he sat in that hierarchy as he came to a stop about six inches from Jasper.
I let out a breath of relief while they faced off. Even though Mulder was bigger and had seniority, he was unwilling to immediately take on the newcomer.
Gran finally spoke. “Well, who is this little fella?”
I cringed when she used the sing-song baby talk that Jasper had informed me he wouldn’t tolerate.
“I’m sorry.” My comment was meant to temper Jasper. I feared he’d retaliate by jamming a claw into her ankle or through her thin linen pants. Instead, he jumped on her lap.
“For what?” She asked. “I think you owe Mulder the apology. You didn’t tell him he was getting a sibling.”
Jasper bumped his head against Gran’s chin. “The grandmother is allowed to call me whatever she wants.”
She didn’t react in any way to indicate she understood Jasper’s words like I did. To her, he must’ve only meowed.
“I was apologizing because I didn’t know if cats were allowed. I should’ve asked you first.” I threw out the excuse.
“Seriously? We’re witches. Do you know how many cats are around here?”
“No.” That made sense, but I hadn’t noticed many other cats. Although, if they were smart, they wouldn’t be outside when it was a bajillion degrees while the condos were comfortably air conditioned.
Gran shrugged and continued to stroke Jasper’s fur. He arched his back to press against her hand. “Me neither. I gave up keeping track of the cats a while ago. Where did you get him?”
Did I tell her the truth? She’d figure it out eventually. I couldn’t keep a secret from Gran. I decided it was best to get it all out in a rush. “I found him outside the club when I took out a cocktail spell that went wrong and blew up. When I woke up, I discovered Jasper next to me and quickly realized we could understand each other.”
I cringed, waiting for her to laugh, or declare I’d lost my mind, or make some—any—comment about my storytelling. Instead, she said, “So you found him by the dumpster? Poor little guy. He must be hungry.”
Jasper turned to me and began to purr. “I knew I liked this witch.”
“Gran. Did you hear me say I could talk to him? A cat?”
“For the last time, I don’t need a hearing aid. I heard you the first time. Why would I think you being able to talk to a cat was any more unusual than James looking like he’s already passed to the other side? Besides, I told you those charmed cocktails were nothing to mess with.”
Chapter Eight
So far, I really stunk as a sleuth. I hesitated to consider Burton as a suspect, and was slightly afraid to confront Gloria, so I decided to question Samantha.
“I already established my alibi.” She smiled smugly and tilted her head. “I was with Louis.”
Another one of the married customers. Her story gave her an excuse to keep it a secret and also made it difficult to confirm.
“If you tell Vlad, I’ll lose my job, witch. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“No. I’d like to find Henry’s killer, that’s all.” Unfortunately, I was inclined to believe her. If she was going to lie, why would she use something she knew she’d get in trouble for when she could’ve made up any other excuse? Believe me, she had a lot of them.
I pulled out my own little tablet from my apron and held my pencil by Samantha’s name, unsure if I should eliminate her as a suspect. A gust of air indicated the suspect in question had moved and was now peering over my shoulder.
“Go ahead. Cross off my name. Why would I stick him in the freezer?” She raised a perfectly plucked brow. “It would be a waste of a good meal. Even if old warlock blood is kind of bitter.”
I’d assumed the direct approach would work with her, since she often spoke before she thought, but in truth, I’d already had my doubts about her guilt. She was shady, and her vamp strength would enable her to easily lift a body into the freezer, but like she said, there wasn’t an obvious motive.
Henry might have the ladies lining up at the retirement home, but those were witches close to his age range. Henry wasn’t the type of guy Samantha would be interested in. He was unmarried, old, living on a fixed income, and his style was stuck in the 1970’s.
Samantha huffed in impatience as I took longer to cross her name from my suspect list, merely to annoy her. Since I had no real authority, her intense desire to be removed as a suspect was suspicious in itself. I was only trying to do right by Henry and clear my name.
The vamp tapped my tablet to get my attention, as if I wasn’t already acutely aware of her hovering presence. “Didn’t you see that bruise on Henry’s head? Who could hit someone that hard?” She inclined her head toward the bar.
I thought perhaps a vampire could, but I didn’t say as much because I knew what she was implying. “I don’t think it was Burton.”
She put her hands on her narrow hips. “Oh, of course you don’t. Because you’re all buddy-buddy with him. Aren’t you like his little protégé?”
“No, he’s just my friend.”
“And I’m not, or else you wouldn’t have turned me in to Vlad.” She pushed out her lip in a pout. “Do you plan to run to him now to tell him what I told you?”
I rolled my eyes as I wondered, once again, if maturity slowed for vampires due to their immortality. “No. For the last time, I didn’t mean to turn you in. I didn’t even know the guy was married.”
Her smile was slow and predatory. “Aren’t they always?” And with that, she turned to walk away.
“Wait, Samantha.” Perhaps her nosiness could b
e helpful to me. “What about Gloria? Was she here that night?”
She shrugged and resumed walking; clearly, she’d lost interest. “Nope. I don’t remember seeing her. Why don’t you ask her for her alibi? Guess you wouldn’t since she’s a witch. I’m sure you all stick together. It’s just the vamps you have it out for.”
“It wasn’t her.” Burton said each word slowly, with emphasis.
I squeaked. “Geesh, Burton do you have to sneak up on me like that?” Apparently, everyone else felt like they were doing a better job at sleuthing than me. “How do you know it wasn’t Gloria?”
“I just do.”
I narrowed my gaze at him. Why would he stick up for Gloria? He wouldn’t give up any details if she was one of his clients for who-knows-what dirty deeds. “Then who killed Henry?”
“I don’t know. There are customers waiting.” He returned to the bar.
He and Samantha had squashed my little investigation just like that. Maybe they were trying to lead me to another path to protect themselves or someone else. Maybe they just didn’t care for witches, or Henry. But I did.
My investigation needed to expand outside of the club. I wasn’t sure where to start, but perhaps Gran, or someone else at the retirement condominiums, could tell me more about Henry’s usual routine. Fran probably had it documented somewhere. Guess there were benefits to living with so many busy bodies.
Luckily for me—or not—I’d get to see most of the local witches together at Henry’s wake. They’d decided to hold the event right here at Night Moves, which would speed up my interviewing process.
All the television murder shows Gran watched claimed the killer often liked to return to the scene of the crime, or the funeral. The wake would be the perfect place to try out my confession cocktail. Granted, I hadn’t made it since I was a teenager trying to get Ava to admit the truth about the dent on Mom and Dad’s car. Even then, I couldn’t get Ava to drink it—she never did trust my charms—but it turned out her best friend Staci had been the one to blame. To this day, I wasn’t sure if the charm had worked, or if Staci had just decided to fess up. She was similar to Ava with her sense of propriety.
After mentioning my dilemma, Jasper insisted he could be helpful with the case. Since I was coming up empty so far, and it appeared as if James had ghosted the investigation or perhaps forgotten he’d offered to do it, I gave in. Our new partnership risked irritating Mulder, who was excluded for obvious reasons. The two of them vied for attention like children and made it abundantly clear I was going to need to develop a whole lot more patience.
I worried Jasper might get stepped on at the club with the liquor flowing and a plethora of oldsters without stellar vision, so I insisted he stay in my tote bag.
The cantankerous feline only agreed to the ride in the bag looped over my arm because he was more concerned with being fussed over. He might tolerate Gran, but she seemed to be an exception, and the only one he permitted to fawn over him with baby talk. There was nothing like a black cat to get all the witches fussing.
The room Night Moves had set up for the wake was packed. They either loved Henry, or the promise of free food and drinks. It was the least Vlad could do to try to maintain his loyal customer base since the warlock had been found dead on the premises.
I weaved my way through the witches and warlocks, accidentally bumping my bag into people and furniture until Jasper’s complaints gained my attention. “Could you watch where you’re going?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously,” He popped his silky black head from the bag to swat at my arm.
“Oh, who do we have here?” Charlotte descended upon my tote while Jasper attempted to sink back into its depths. Too late.
Like a fussing free-for-all, she shoved her hand into the bag, heedless of whether she might gain a scratch or pull who-knows-what out, just to scoop Jasper up under his front legs.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He might bite.” My words fell upon deaf ears. Literally. Charlotte wasn’t wearing her hearing aids. Although, if the enamored look on her face was any indication, I don’t think my warning would’ve done any good. Jasper’s eyes narrowed to slits and he flattened his ears as she planted kiss after kiss on top of his head.
Several other witches noticed Jasper and created a small circle around us. They all clamored closer to see him and shoved me out of the way until I was left standing on the outside of the huddle holding my empty bag. As I looked around the room, I realized it wasn’t just the cat that was out of the bag.
My confession cocktails were a huge hit, especially since I said it was a drink in Henry’s honor and neglected to mention the charm, or the nature of the charm. My truth, along with all the other truths that were starting to pour out from loose lips like water from a faucet, would come out later. Most of the conversation was about things no one ever wanted to hear. Learning who waxed what, who slept with who, which witch had plastic surgery on what, was unpleasant. Even more unpleasant was that no one was talking about Henry’s murder. Fran was writing furiously in her little tablet, bound to have enough material for the rest of the year.
Gran came to stand beside me and pulled a flask out of her pocket. She knew me way too well, and despite what she said, she didn’t trust my cocktails all that much either. “I see you dug out that old charmed confession cocktail again. You do remember it didn’t work the first time with Ava?”
I shrugged. “I thought it couldn’t hurt.” Well, I hoped it wouldn’t hurt anything or anyone. After all, it had been awhile since I’d stirred up this particular brew.
She tucked the flask away who knows where in her skin tight outfit and tugged at my arm. “Come on. Now’s our chance to go over to the table where Henry’s memorabilia and photos are displayed. We might learn something there.”
I pointed to the crowd of witches. “But they have Jasper. It’s like they’ve never seen a cat before.”
She waved me off. “He’ll be fine. He might act like he hates it, but I’m guessing he loves all that attention. Let’s go check out Henry’s stuff while everyone’s distracted.”
After several quick steps, we stood beside the table featuring photos of Henry. Gran took my hand and squeezed it. Despite her nonchalant attitude, I think she needed this time to say goodbye. The photos confirmed that the warlock had maintained his seventies-style mustache for some time. The clothing styles and hairstyles might have changed over time in the photos, but the mustache remained evergreen.
By the time I pushed my way back through the witches and reclaim Jasper, he looked desperate. “It’s about time you rescued me.”
Jasper played up his outrage but I could tell it hadn’t been all terrible. He’d barely stopped purring before I snagged him. Gran was right; he did enjoy the attention. His irritability was just an act. Deep down he was really a softie.
The liquor was starting to kick in with the remaining crowd, so the volume was increasing. By now, I’d had about enough of the wake, but to pacify Jasper and allow him to think he was doing his part, I agreed to do one quick spin around the room before we made our exit. A nice hot shower followed by a cup of tea was calling me, and I had to work the early shift tomorrow.
Jasper scanned the room as I walked. He dipped down into the bag anytime he felt as if someone was giving him more than a courtesy glance to avoid another fuss fest. “Wait.”
I was just circling past the table of photos and memorabilia when I heard his muffled request. This area of the room was a bit more open since people were starting to trickle out into the main area of the club to the dance floor.
I sighed as exhaustion weighed on me. “What? We’re almost done.”
“No. Stop right here.” Jasper had his paws on the edge of the bag and was staring at the photos. “Who is that in the picture?”
“What picture? There’s a whole table of them.” I spread my arms to illustrate the volume of items on the table.
“The guy
with the mustache. The one who’s in most of the photos.” He swatted my arm.
I rolled my eyes. “Funny. That’s Henry.”
Jasper’s gaze shot to me. “The guy who was murdered?”
“Of course. Why do you think we’re here?” I sighed in exasperation. “Are we done now? My feet are killing me and I still have to walk home.”
“How was I supposed to know what he looked like? You never showed me a picture. I see lots of humans. Most of them look the same. But that’s him. That’s both of them.” Jasper’s voice rose with excitement and he bounced in the bag.
I frowned. “What are you talking about? That’s who?”
“The guy with the mustache, Henry, and that other guy with him in most of the pictures.”
I scanned the photos. The person accompanying Henry most frequently was Fred. I picked up a framed photo of Henry and Fred with their hands clasped, raising a paper Bingo card in victory. “Who? This guy? Fred?” I tapped his image on the frame. “What about him?”
“He’s the other human that was with Henry that morning. He’s always with him in the morning at the club.”
“So? They always hung out together.”
Jasper sighed as if he were explaining to a simpleton. “Those two humans, the ones you call Henry and Fred.”
I nodded.
“Every morning they’d go into the club before it opened. I’d wait outside. After they met me, and realized how absolutely adorable I was, of course, they’d bring me food when they left. The day I met you when you collapsed from the utter joy of discovering me, only one guy left the club, and he left in a hurry. So quick that he didn’t stop to give me anything to eat. That’s why I was out there when you came. I was still waiting for something to eat.”
I gasped. “Are you certain you saw them both go in the club that morning?”
Jasper frowned. His whiskers twitched as he concentrated. “Yes.”
“Could they understand you, like I can?”
“No. What does that have to do with anything?” He rolled his eyes.