“No, malutka. I was watching all the pretty…how do you call them, MIFFS?”
I laughed out loud, scrolling through Wade’s timeline, which had begun to accrue some condolences. “It’s MILFS, and we’re not going to explain the acronym because it’s not very nice.”
“I don’t recall anyone being quite as rude as Harris, Dove. If you’ll recall, I lingered in the shadows. Then you invited me to the floor to dance, and I was so besotted with you and how bloody beautiful you were in that dress that I forgot everyone around me.”
His words made me blush. It truly had been a lovely evening with my only regret being Win wasn’t able to join me for the entire event.
As if on cue, I found a picture of me in that very dress, smiling with the happy couple. Though, to note, Rosemary was behind us, and she looked anything but pleased. I had to wonder if she felt the same way about her son’s marriage that Harris did.
“Look at Rosemary’s face in this picture, Win. She looks desperately unhappy.” I tapped the laptop screen to show him.
“That guy,” Belfry said as though he were making an accusation. “Harris is a jerk. He yelled at Whiskey once when he got away on one of our walks and ran down to the beach. Threatened to shoot him if he got near him. He’s a real dirtball. Can’t blame his wife for having that pinched look about her.”
“She does look quite sour,” Win agreed. “Though, wouldn’t you be a miserable sow if you were married to Harris?”
Laughing, I nodded my head. I’d rather have my skin peeled off at high noon than be married to Harris.
“Touché. I don’t know why I didn’t notice that during the event. I guess I was caught up in the romance and how in love they were. Anyway, I’m headed down a rabbit hole here, and that won’t help solve Wade’s murder. So back to those letters and words. Anyone have any thoughts about what Wade said? Anagrams? Anything?”
Win ran a hand over the back of his neck, massaging it. “Aside from Kirkland, loved him, and all the hurts, helps and pleases, which make perfect sense? No. None of the rest makes sense.”
“That leaves us with B, M, club, lies, and so many. So many what? Lies? Clubs?” Running my fingers over my eyes, I shook my head and yawned. “I can’t even make a cohesive sentence out of those, and they might not even be related at all. So I say we start with the word club. Do we know if Wade was part of any clubs?”
I wrote that down as a question for Kirkland while Win scanned his Facebook groups. “He’s very active in some pharmaceutical groups.”
That was when a theory began to form.
I sat forward in my chair, excited by the idea I was beginning to shape. “You know, here’s a thought. What if Wade found out something about a new drug? Don’t pharmaceutical reps hear all the goss on clinical trials for new drugs? Maybe he heard something he shouldn’t have and someone killed him for it?”
“I’m sure he’s privy to some things; maybe he did, in fact, overhear something. Threatened to tell someone? Big Pharma companies are certainly anything but lily white. The news tells us that all the time, Stephania.”
I chewed on the end of my pen and mulled that over. Sure, it was a possibility—but where I come from, it was also possible The Invisible Man had killed Wade.
No. I don’t know that there really is an Invisible Man, but invisibility is possible if you’re a witch. That aside, the theory didn’t make me tingle with possibilities. Which also didn’t mean anything—except, it didn’t feel right.
“That doesn’t feel right to you, does it, Dove?”
Win knew me so well. “No, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t a possibility.”
My eyes were growing heavier by the second, grainy and tired from the day’s events. With my stomach full from a dinner of grilled rosemary and lemon chicken and creamy parmesan risotto (honestly, I’ve never eaten so well as I have since Win crashed into my life), I was sure to succumb to the sleepies soon if I didn’t get it together.
And I had to get it together for Kirkland’s sake. His sweet face, his eyes full of such pain, begging me to help, haunted me.
“My Swedish meatball, you are tired. Why don’t you go to bed and we start again in the morning?”
“I will in just a minute. Right after I text Kirkland to be sure he’s with someone for the night, and once I look at the last post Wade made on Facebook.”
“I’ve got you covered on that, Dove. His last post was titled, ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane. Hate when I have to leave my boo.’ Sad-face emoji, and he tagged Kirkland in the post. His location puts him at Sea-Tac airport a few days ago, which aligns with what Kirkland told us.”
I took the last sip of my coffee and sat back in my chair, closing my eyes. Arkady was right. It had been a long day, and I wasn’t going to get anywhere feeling so exhausted with all those things Wade had spewed blurring on the paper.
Just as I was about to drop a kiss on Win’s lips and say my good nights, Win gripped my arm.
“Wait!”
Instantly, I looked around in the hopes Wade had returned, but I didn’t see him.
“What?” I mouthed, suddenly wide awake. “Wade?”
Win grabbed the pen and scribbled, No. It sounds like…you’ll think I’m mental…
I made a face at him, and he knew exactly what it meant. How mental can anything sound after we’ve lived through his body possession? I mean, seriously.
So I tugged the sleeve of his shirt and bulged my eyes to encourage him to explain, but he jumped up and, I’m guessing, began to follow the sound.
Bel and I followed right behind him.
Win stopped on the stairs, halfway up, holding up a finger to gesture for us to still, making me hold my breath until I couldn’t take it anymore. “What is it, Win?” I whispered.
His expression said he was disgusted. “You’ll think this sounds bloody mad, but it sounds like…like a…like a whip or a riding crop cracking.”
And then, out of nowhere, as though to prove Win wasn’t mental, what looked like a whip appeared at the top of the steps. No hand attached to it. No body floating about.
Just a whip.
Yeah. I’d have to agree. That was kinda mental.
Chapter 7
“Good morning, my Dove. Do sit. I’ve prepared a hearty yet healthy breakfast to start our day off right.”
Win pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for me, where he poured me a cup of steaming coffee and dropped a kiss on the top of my mussed head.
He knew the way to my heart was coffee. He also knew I wasn’t a morning person. But Win was. In fact, he was a whatever-time-of-the-day person. I suppose that comes from having to be in top form at all times, but it wasn’t a standard that was easy to live up to when your partner was so on the ball.
Win busied himself gathering up our food to bring to the table, his clothes immaculate, his jaw clean-shaven, his hair shiny and silky, while I struggled to simply sit upright.
When he placed a plate in front of me—a spinach omelet, perfectly folded, accompanied by freshly cut strawberries and cantaloupe—I grunted my thanks.
Before I said a word, I took a sip of coffee and closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of some fancy blend of beans he’d probably had shipped to us from Juan Valdez himself.
Setting my cup down, I looked at my handsome Spy Guy, and even in my morning discontent, I still couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have him in my life. His handsome face was always full of life, his beautiful blue eyes bright, and he never failed to greet me with a smile. Every—single—day. A smile that made my heart flutter and my knees weak.
And he cooked. I didn’t hate that.
“Why is it, that no matter what time it is, no matter how long and grueling the day, you always look fresh as a daisy?”
He grinned, placing his napkin on his thigh. “Spy school, Dove. We’re taught to be ever at the ready. But you have a little something to do with it, too. I always want to look my best for you.”
I looked down at my old, fuzz
y bathrobe, pilling from so many washes, and my matching slippers with a small hole in the toe. Then I noted I’d dribbled some coffee down the front of my flannel pajamas and was instantly disgusted with myself.
Reaching across the table, I grabbed my Spy Guy’s hand.
“You do know the way I look in the morning isn’t a representation of how I feel about you, don’t you?”
Win barked a laugh, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I think it looks exactly the way you feel about me. A little messy and flustered. How can I be mad at that, Dove?” He handed me my fork. “Now, eat up, Mini-Spy. We have work to do today.”
We sure did, and Win was very eager to get started—probably because he lived for any kind of mystery the same way I did. His mysteries might have been more of the save-the-world variety than mine, but this would keep his lust for adventure at bay—at least a little.
I sat up straight. There it was again, that slither of discomfort when I thought about us both physically investigating this case, working its way up my spine.
I shook it off and took a bite of my omelet. “Gouda?”
Win tapped my nose with his fingertip. “You’re learning, grasshopper. I couldn’t be prouder. Indeed, ’tis gouda and spinach with some kale thrown in for good measure, for a healthy dose of vitamins. Now, shall we discuss last night’s midnight madness. Are you awake enough?”
Right. The riding crop—at least, that’s what we thought it was. “I don’t understand what that meant, Win. I mean, that was probably the most bizarre contact from the afterlife I’ve ever experienced. I’ve seen things thrown, I’ve watched things explode and break, it’s rained and even snowed indoors, but we’ve always known the source. That crop came out of nowhere. Who carries around a riding crop in the afterlife, and does it have anything to do with Wade or is it a separate event apart from Wade? Maybe someone else in the afterlife needs our help?”
Win sipped at his orange juice, freshly squeezed, of course. “Did Wade ride horses? Did Kirkland? If that crop had to do with Wade, maybe he has a horse stabled somewhere? We need to add that to our list of questions for Kirkland.”
Yes. We.
I ignored another minor tingle of questionable irritation and nodded, savoring the delicious omelet while trying to connect the dots with a riding crop and Wade.
Neither one of us had even bothered to acknowledge the mystery of its appearance last night. Instead, we’d given each other a kiss, as though a riding crop had never appeared, and went off to bed, both of us exhausted.
Even we reach a maximum limit, and the riding crop was so unexpected, I hit a wall. In fact, I didn’t even think about it once as I prepared for bed, climbed in, and had horrible dreams about Wade struggling to breathe while Dana stared at me with blank eyes.
Cuckoopants, right?
Right.
“I don’t recall either of them ever mentioning horses. Arkady? My favorite ex-Russian spy? You up there?”
“Dah, spring roll, I am here. Good morning.”
I smiled, always reassured when I heard his deep, gravelly voice from above. “Morning! Hey, do you ever remember in any of my conversations with Kirkland if he ever mentioned a horse?”
“No, my malutka, I do not. Kirkland talk of many things, mostly pretty flowers. Horses never once.”
“So, maybe Harris has some horses somewhere? Or maybe Wade or Kirkland had one as a child? Or back in California? It’s so obscure and out of the blue, I don’t know how to parse it. But we definitely need to speak to Kirkland about it,” I said with a yawn I tried to stifle.
“Did you not sleep well, Dove? I worried you’d be up fretting about the riding crop. We rather treated it as though it was nothing terribly out of the ordinary.”
“Well, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times. You possessed a body, Win. You left the afterlife and jumped into an actual body. Is there much more that can truly surprise us?”
Nodding, he laughed again. “I suppose not. How are you feeling about your run in with Dana? I meant to ask, but we were rather caught up.”
I didn’t know how I felt. I still felt hurt, for sure. But I couldn’t dwell on our friendship when we had something much bigger to tend to today, and that was talking to Kirkland and his family.
Together.
“I think, for the moment, I have to let it go. Dana’s playing this game for a reason I can’t fathom. But if denying I exist, that Belfry exists, helps him cope with the supernatural nature of our lives, I’m going to have to accept it. What I don’t have to accept is him being BFFs with you, International Man of Mystery,” I said with a teasing chuckle—even though it still stung a little.
Win winked and gathered our plates. “How do you know I don’t have some intricate plan to reunite you with your sometime friend?”
I pushed my chair back and went to take care of the dishes. He cooked, I cleaned up. It was one of the many “couple things” I loved about our relationship.
I flipped on the tap and popped open the dishwasher. “Because you’re meeting at a pub, and I know how much you like bourbon. There won’t be much reuniting unless it’s on the rocks.”
Win placed his hand on mine and smiled down at me. “You underestimate me and my ability to mend fences. Also, I like my bourbon neat. But you’ll see. Until then, I’ll get the dishes. You go and shower and prepare for our day out. As Kirkland said, we must strike while the iron is hot. Let’s get crackin’.”
Our day out.
Together.
As I made my way up the stairs to shower, once more, I shrugged off my sense of investigative ownership and reminded myself how much I loved Win.
So very much. He was everything a loving boyfriend in a heathy relationship should be.
And we were going to do this. Investigate our first mystery—one that had nothing to do with us—together.
To-geth-er…
Win tucked my arm under his as we stood at Kirkland’s royal-blue door with a fun spring wreath on it. “So, are we ready to solve our first case together, Dove? I have to admit, I’m rather excited to be working with you in the physical sense,” Win said on a devastatingly handsome grin.
Yep. I was ready. As ready as ready gets. Yippee!
With the rain sprinkling me, I looked up at him and smiled at his handsome face. “Ready.”
“Then shall we?” he asked as he rang the doorbell.
Kirkland opened the door, his face haggard, his skin paler than I’d ever seen him.
“Kirkland, did you manage any sleep?” I gave him a long hug, setting him from me to see his eyes were swollen and puffy.
We’d decided to meet at Kirkland and Wade’s house, nestled amongst the pine trees in a nice upper-middle class subdivision, their cute three-bedroom, two-bath ranch with impeccable decorating and their boho-chic flair was tasteful and fun. Lots of light wood tables and chairs with macramé pillows in mustard and blue on their camel-colored couch, with a red and blue area rug in the middle of the room.
Kirkland took me by the hand and led me to the living room, where a gorgeous silver cat wound his tail around Win’s leg and meowed.
Win scooped him up and scruffed him under the chin. “And who’s this handsome chap?”
Kirkland smiled vaguely as he motioned for us to sit on the camel-colored couch. “Actually, he’s a she.”
Well, of course it was a female cat. I should have known by the way it was making googly eyes at Win.
“Her name’s Neville. Wade thought she was male, too, because when he found her in a bush, she was so tiny he couldn’t figure out her gender. Hence the name. She was…Wade’s before we met,” Kirkland said, his words hitching.
Win sat next to me and placed the cat on his lap, stroking her long fur, seemingly unbothered by the mess the feline was leaving on his dark trousers. “Well, Neville, what a stunner you are, eh?”
As Neville settled on Win’s lap with a contented purr, Kirkland offered to make us tea, but I shook my head. “No, thanks.
Forget about us and tell me about you. What can I do for you before we get down to the nitty-gritty?”
He sat down on a puffy armchair in mustard yellow, where a box of tissues sat on the small table with a mosaic top. “There’s nothing you can do but help find Wade’s killer. That’s all I care about. It’s all I can think about.”
I was glad to see he appeared much more composed today. The initial shock and grief had obviously settled and now he was in the stage where he wanted to avenge his husband’s death. I saw the determination in his puffy, tear-stained eyes and the set of his jaw.
“If you’re ready, let’s get down to it, and I need you to be as open as possible, okay? Some of the questions I ask might upset you, but promise me you know I’m not asking because I think Wade was anything but wonderful—or that he had something to hide. It’s just standard stuff, and sometimes, it sparks a memory. Okay?”
Kirkland’s nod was a slow bounce of his head, but his eyes said bring it on. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I know Wade would do the same for me.”
“Okay, so first, have you given thought to who might want Wade dead? Has he ever told you about an argument he had with someone recently or someone from his past who was angry with him? Angry enough to want him dead?”
Kirkland shook his dark head. “We dated for a year or so in Seattle before we moved back to Eb Falls, and Wade knew a lot of people. Everyone loved him, Stevie. Everyone. He was a good guy. No altercations, not even any disagreements that I can think of. Not with his co-workers, not with his neighbors. Nothing.”
“What about—” Both Win and I began a question at the same time. When I looked at him, he motioned for me to finish.
“His family, Kirkland? What about Wade’s family? Anyone angry enough to want him dead? Sibling-rivalry type stuff?”
Witch Perfect (Witchless in Seattle Mysteries Book 11) Page 7
