by Jane Hinchey
She had the grace to look ashamed. "I know. I'm afraid it was very much a case of shooting the messenger. I'd asked him to follow my husband—whom I suspected of having an affair—and if he was, to provide evidence of it. He did exactly that and I attacked him for it."
I took a sip of coffee, not knowing what to say. Tonya filled in the silence. "I'm a nurse, you see. I work a lot of night shifts. Sometimes we can go for a full week without physically crossing paths. I guess he got a little tired of that, of me not being here when he needed me."
I wanted to argue that none of this was her fault, but kept my mouth shut. I wasn't here as her friend. I was here as an investigator, and despite her distress, I couldn't rule out that she was involved in Ben's death. What if she'd taken things further? What if she really blamed Ben for all of this, for shoving her husband’s affair under her nose? Was it enough to tip her over the edge and kill him? Possibly.
12
"Witches are real," Brett Baxter told me. I sucked my lips, releasing them with a popping noise.
"Fair enough. You are entitled to believe whatever you want to believe." I nodded. I was in Brett's apartment. We'd finished up at Tonya Armstrong's. I'd bolted down my coffee and promised her an invoice would be hitting her inbox in the next day or so, making it very clear that as far as Delaney Investigations was concerned, her case was closed. She'd nodded, nose red, and thanked me for the visit. Then it was on to our third and final case. Brett had hired Ben to prove witches existed.
"You don't believe me," Brett huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
I shook my head. "Not at all. It's just rather a broad statement and for a private investigator to actually investigate...you'd need something a little more specific than a generalized statement. What was it, exactly, that you wanted Delaney Investigations to do?"
Ben's notes had been maddeningly empty. Ben had written one word. Witch-hunt. I didn't know what that meant, and apparently neither did the ghost version of Ben. I was surprised that Ben had even agreed to take Brett on as a client. I figured it had to be the connection between the Armstrong case and the Phillips case, since Brett was the event planner for the Firefly Bay Hotel.
"Witches are real and they need to be wiped from this earth." Brett's voice was high with passion. My eyes swept his apartment, the decor in particular. Crosses hung on the walls, a huge painting of Jesus Christ hung on the wall above his television. Ben had disappeared like he had in Tonya's house—to see what I couldn't beyond the walls where I was currently standing. Having a ghost on my side was certainly coming in handy.
"And what makes you say that?" I asked, keeping my voice professional. It didn't matter what I believed. Only what he'd hired Ben to investigate—and if that was what led to Ben's death.
"Listen." Brett leaned in as if about to reveal a big secret. "I'm the event planner at the Firefly Bay Hotel." I nodded. Tell me something I don't know, Brett. Thankfully he did. "So I hear things. A lot of things." He tapped the side of his nose.
"Like what?" I pressed.
"Secrets," he whispered. You know, he presented as a completely sane person. It was such a shame he was a nutjob. Today was his day off, hence why we'd been able to catch him at home. He was casually dressed in blue jeans and a grey T-shirt, neatly pressed. His brown hair was trimmed close at the sides, fashionably coiffed on the crown of his head, and he had a neatly trimmed beard. He looked around my age, give or take. He also wore a very nice cologne and I had to stop myself from leaning in to take a bigger whiff.
"I'm going to need something more...tangible," I prodded. "You said Ben had accepted your case? What exactly did he accept?" I pushed.
"Coffee?" Brett offered brightly, swiveling on his heel and taking three steps into his kitchen. His place was slightly bigger than mine in that his bedroom wasn't in his living room and it appeared he had a hallway. I never thought I'd have hallway envy, but here we were.
"Sure." Why not? A perk of the job I hadn't anticipated was free coffee. If all clients kept me caffeinated, I could be on a winner.
"So it's like this," Brett said, back to me while he prepared the drinks. "Like I said, I organize a lot of events. Like. A lot. And to make sure they run smoothly I attend each and every one, and that's how I discovered it. Snippets of conversations I'd pick up in passing, but over time...well, I started to keep a record."
I rolled my eyes. This guy was a nutso stalker. I wished Ben would hurry up and come back.
"I'm pretty sure they were having meetings. Of their coven."
"Their coven," I repeated.
"Yeah. Witches belong to covens. It was this same group of women, and I'd overhear them talking about witch stuff."
"Like what?"
"The moon. Crystals."
"Errr. Hardly proof that they're witches," I pointed out.
Brett shot me a glare over his shoulder. "I told you," he snapped. "I started keeping records."
"Okay?" I shrugged.
"Here." Brett thrust a steaming cup of coffee into my hand. "Lemme go get 'em." He shot out of the room and was back a couple of minutes later with an armful of journals, dumping them on the table. "Take a look," he offered. "You'll see."
Curious, I picked up a journal and flicked through it. Oh, good Lord. It was true. Brett had written down almost word for word snippets of conversations he'd overheard at events. I wasn't even sure that was ethical, as event planner for the hotel, that he was recording his guests. Well, sort of. Page after page of very neat handwriting.
"This is...impressive." I put the journal down.
"Thank you." Brett beamed, pleased with what he perceived to be praise.
"And did you tell Ben about these journals?" I asked.
Brett shook his head. "I hadn't had my first consult with Ben yet, other than to hire him, that is."
"And he accepted your case? That you wanted him to what? Prove that witches are real?" I really needed to get it clear in my head what Brett had wanted Ben to do for him.
"I wanted him to catch the witches," Brett said.
"Catch them?"
"In the act. Spellcasting and making blood sacrifices to further their own power." His face took on the same crazed look he'd had earlier.
"Right." I put my coffee cup down and was about to open my mouth to tell him we wouldn't be moving forward with his case when Ben strolled through the kitchen wall. I quirked a brow at him and he mimed talking on the phone.
"Oh, excuse me. My phone's vibrating," I said to Brett, pulling out my phone, pretending to swipe the screen and quickly holding it up to my ear before he could see the screen wasn't lit. "Delaney Investigations," I fake answered, wandering over to the living room window where Brett's apartment overlooked a parking lot.
"Don't ditch the case," Ben said.
"Why?"
"Because you're right. I think there's a connection with the Firefly Bay Hotel. I don't want you to cut him loose just yet."
"What sort of connection?" I lowered my voice. "What did you find?"
"Aside from all the religious artifacts he has scattered throughout the place, he's got all of the staff schedules pinned to his wall, with pins and strings linking them. Too bad I can't snap a photo for you."
"Yeah, that'd be handy. Any idea why?" Ben shook his head and I lapsed into silence while I mulled over what he'd told me. So Brett was what? Investigating his team members? And made a connection? I needed to get a look at the wall for myself. Ben's suggestion of a photo wasn't a silly one. If I could get access and snap a pic with my phone we'd be golden.
"You've had an idea." Ben grinned, hovering in front of me.
I nodded. "I have. Okay, thanks for the call." I wrapped up the fake call.
Turning back to Brett who was sitting at the table arranging the journals, I said, "Sorry about that. Would you mind if I used your bathroom?" It wasn't a lie. With all this coffee I did need to pee, but there'd be no time for indulging my bladder. I needed to get into Brett's bedroom, take a photo, and get
out again. Preferably without him knowing.
"Sure. Door on the left." He waved toward the hallway. As I turned, my bag—that was still slung across my shoulder—swept across the table, collected my cup—still full of coffee—and sent the contents flying.
"Noooooo!" Brett screeched, trying to pull his journals out of the path of the fast-flowing pool of coffee. It was too late for one poor journal that was now drenched. Jumping up, Brett grabbed a tea towel and began sopping up the mess.
"I'm so sorry."
He cut me a glare as he frantically tried to save his journals. "Just go use the bathroom," he snapped.
"Go," Ben urged. "This is going to keep him occupied for a few minutes. He won't notice how long you're gone. Brilliant plan."
"It wasn't intentional," I said out loud.
"I should hope not." Brett pouted, reminding me that I'd inadvertently spoken aloud to Ben. I really had to watch myself with that. This time I moved away more carefully, making sure my bag didn't knock anything else over.
I entered the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the cold water tap before carefully, slowly turning the knob and peeking my head outside. I could hear Brett in the living room, muttering about his journals and how they were ruined. I tiptoed to the door at the end of the hallway and wrapped my fingers around the handle, slowly turning. Thankfully he didn't have squeaky doors. I slipped inside and closed it behind me.
Ben was right. One wall contained what appeared to be work schedules for staff members of the Firefly Bay Hotel. I snapped a dozen photos of the wall, plus other scraps of paper he'd pinned amongst the woven red thread that was connecting them all. Hurried to his desk that was also scattered with papers, snapped as many pictures as I dared before Ben popped his head through the door. "He's finishing up. Get out of here."
I hurried back to the bathroom, turned off the tap, a pang of guilt for wasting water, then rather noisily opened and closed the door behind myself and rejoined Brett in the living room where order had been restored.
"I'm so sorry," I offered again.
Brett, it seemed, had calmed down. "It's okay. They survived. The damage is minimal."
"That's good." I wiped my palms on my thighs. "I'll be honest with you, Brett. I'm not sure Delaney Investigations can help you. But"—I held up my hand when he opened his mouth to protest—"you paid a retainer and I will honor that. I'll look through the journals and see if I can find a pattern and then we'll talk again. Fair enough?"
Brett smiled. "I'm happy with that. How long, do you think?" He nodded toward the dozen journals he'd stacked on the table.
"How long will I need them?" I cocked my head, eyeballing the stack of reading I had in front of me. I wondered if Ben would be able to read them...if he could turn the pages, that is.
"Yeah." Brett wrung his hands. "I will need them back."
"Of course. Look, I'll take them with me today and get back to you next week. How does that sound?"
Brett was nodding. "Yes. Good. I can work with that."
Back in the car I tossed the journals that Brett had piled into a plastic shopping bag onto the back seat. Pulling away from the curb, I headed back to Ben's house. I'd visited all three of Ben's cases today and was still none the wiser as to who killed him.
13
I pulled up behind a familiar SUV parked out front of Ben's house. Climbing out of my car I watched while Detective Kade Galloway did the same, striding around his vehicle to meet me on the front lawn.
"Detective." I nodded my head in greeting, my eyes not missing the black jeans and blue checkered shirt. My heart fluttered at the sight. Why did my one weakness have to be currently adorning a cop? So unfair.
"Miss Fitzgerald." He nodded his head in greeting and I squinted, imagining him in a cowboy hat. Yep, that was all that was missing from my little fantasy.
"Call me Audrey," I said. "Only my bosses call me Miss Fitzgerald and it's usually when I'm being fired."
"Bosses? As in...plural?"
I shrugged, leading the way up the garden path. "I'm a temp. Hence I have a lot of temporary bosses."
"Word on the street is you're now the owner of Delaney Investigations?" He rapped a knuckle on the sign that was attached to the wall by the front door.
"Word on the street?" I snorted. "You mean the Firefly Bay Police Department received the news that Ben's will has been read. I'm sure you have a copy of it and you're here now to see if I had motive for wanting my best friend dead." Sliding the key into the lock, the door swung open and I ushered him inside, not missing the hint of color in his cheeks. Yeah, that's why he was here all right.
"Almost, but no cigar," he said, coming to a halt in the living room and standing with hands on hips, legs planted. My eyes traveled the length of him, from the corded thighs to the chiseled chest and broad shoulders. His face was easy on the eyes too, the five o'clock shadow dusting a strong jaw, up to his stormy grey eyes that were currently giving me an equally thorough inspection. Heat rushed to my face and it was my turn to blush.
"Are you..?" Ben danced in front of me, peering closely at my face. "You are!" he crowed. "You're blushing!" He laughed, then laughed some more. It was incredibly difficult to ignore him with Detective Galloway standing a few feet away. "Oh this is priceless." Ben's mirth continued unabated. "Audrey has the hots for a cop! If this doesn't take the cake!" He doubled over, holding his belly.
"Will you quit it?" I grumbled.
Galloway blinked in surprise. "Quit what?"
"Not you." I dismissed him with a wave of my hand and hurried toward the kitchen. Distract him was my one thought, or he was going to think I was an absolute loon.
"Who then?" he pressed, following me.
"I was talking to myself." I fiddled with the coffee machine like I knew what I was doing. Lord, but this thing was complicated. Why couldn't Ben have a simple old Keurig like I did? Pop in a pod and boom, you're done. "Coffee?" I offered, trying to get Ben's attention so he could do something useful like instruct me how to use the damn machine.
"Sure."
"Please." I indicated a stool at the breakfast bar. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you excuse me just one second?" My need for the bathroom hadn't been a lie at Brett Baxter's apartment and the need was becoming quite urgent. I clamped my knees together, concentrated on my kegels and shot off toward the guest bathroom without waiting for a reply.
Ben followed me in, but I shooed him out. "Seriously? I need to pee!" I whispered, waving my arms to shoo him back through the wall he'd appeared from. He must have been waiting outside, because as soon as he heard the toilet flush he was back.
"Jesus Christ, Ben," I complained, washing my hands, "can I not have two minutes to myself?"
"What? You're decent."
"And can you not cackle like a hyena when I have company?"
"I'm just sorry I didn't get to see this while I was alive," he replied with a grin.
"See what?"
"You. All flustered and fluttering your eyelashes at a man."
"I did not!" I protested.
He laughed. "Oh, you did. I have to admit, with all the boyfriends I've seen you with, I've never seen you act like this...with any of them. Maybe Galloway's the one."
"All the boyfriends?" I snorted. "You make it sound like I've had hundreds. And Galloway is not the one."
"Ahhh, you are aware you treat boyfriends like your career? Temporary."
"What!" I was shocked. "I do not."
"Lemme see…never make plans beyond two weeks." He ticked off on one finger. "Never let them meet the family." He ticked off on another finger. "Never give them a drawer at your place—or vice versa." He paused in ticking the list off. "Actually I'm not sure you ever fully spent the night. Didn't you used to kick them out, no sleepovers?"
I narrowed my eyes, hating that he was right. "What? I don't sleep well with someone else in the bed." It was a weak excuse. The truth was, I'd never been the cuddling type. Sex? Yes, I liked it well enough, but snugg
ling afterward and falling asleep in each others arms? No, thanks. I ignored the rest of the points he'd made. So what if he was right? It didn't matter because Galloway was not my boyfriend.
By the time I returned from the bathroom, a steaming mug of coffee was waiting for me. I slid onto the barstool next to him.
"Thank you." I nodded toward my cup, beyond relieved that I hadn't had to wrangle the complicated machine into submission.
"You're welcome. Do you always talk to yourself?" He took a sip of his brew, eyeballing me over the rim.
"Always." I shrugged. I knew he'd probably overheard me talking to Ben again at some point, no point in denying it.
"You were having quite the chat in the bathroom." Lucky for him he softened the words with a cute grin.
"I didn't think I was that loud." God, I hoped he hadn't heard what I'd actually said, and I frantically replayed the conversation with Ben in my mind to check for anything incriminating.
"Not at all. Just the murmur in the background."
I cleared my throat, studying the contents of my cup with great interest. "Yes. Well, just another one of my quirks."
"Ben didn't mention it. When talking about you," he clarified. "He said you were clumsy. And single."
"Pft. I didn't realize he needed to produce a dossier on me." The color was back in my cheeks; I could feel it burning like a sunburn.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about Ben. And offer you a deal," Galloway said, studying his cup.
"A deal?" I snorted. "I’m a suspect now that I've inherited all of this?" I waved my arm to indicate the room around us, narrowly missing hitting him. He instinctively ducked and I cringed. "Sorry," I muttered, mortified that I'd nearly smacked him in the face with the back of my hand.
He straightened and grinned at me. "You certainly know how to keep a guy on his toes!"
I heard Ben's muffled guffaw from behind me and narrowed my eyes in warning. Then Galloway's words penetrated. Was he flirting? I focused on him again. I couldn't tell.
