Brayden took my elbow and drew me further away from the milling deputies. We halted beside a juniper bush. My boots sank into the churned ground.
“You told me there was magic,” he said quietly. “We both know you didn't just stumble across a murder. The sheriff will never believe you did. You didn’t get to finish when we were speaking on the phone. So, tell me now, before we lose our chance. What happened?”
“The virikas,” I said, miserable. “I saw them near Antoine's and followed them here.”
“The virikas,” he repeated.
“They hunt death. They mass around the dying. I thought, maybe, I could stop whatever was about to happen. I thought I could help.”
“And why,” he ground out, “didn't you get me? I was right inside Antoine's. I’m an EMT.”
“You've made it pretty clear you don’t want anything to do with magic.”
“For good reason. It's dangerous.”
“Would you have tried to stop me from coming? Or would you have come with me?”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. “I guess I deserved that.”
“It’s not about…” I shook my head. “Things were happening fast. I made a decision. I guess it was the wrong one.”
“Jayce, didn't you wonder what might have happened if a murderer was here when you arrived? How exactly did you expect to stop a death?”
“I don't know!”
He cursed. “You should have come to me.”
“Really? Because I see how you act around Karin.”
“Karin?” His head drew slightly back.
“Like she's some sort of dangerous lunatic.”
“You have to admit—”
“No, I don't. There's nothing wrong with Karin. Something happened to her. I didn't want to believe it at first either, because it meant…” It meant the dark magic that had hurt Brayden so badly was still in action. “Because it meant Doyle hadn't changed.”
He clawed a hand through his curling, black hair.
“I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you,” I said. “It was a chicken shit thing to do.”
A tendon bulged in his neck. “And the bruise?” he pointed at my forehead.
“Someone broke into Ground the other night and banged my head against the wall to escape.”
He swore. “And I suppose that was magic too?”
“No,” I said. “It was just some jerk.”
The sheriff strode across the ruined lawn toward us.
“This isn't the time,” Brayden said, breathing heavily.
“I screwed up,” I said. “I know it. I was trying to make things feel normal for us—”
“Normal for me.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This is a lot to unpack,” he muttered.
“Tell me about it,” the sheriff said. “I'm taking Ms. Bonheim to the sheriff's department. Can I assume you'll be contacting my least favorite lawyer to get her out?”
“I'll call Nick,” Brayden growled.
“Let's go, Ms. Bonheim.” The sheriff angled her head toward a black-and-white sheriff's SUV.
“Brayden—”
“Go,” he said shortly. “I'll call Nick.”
A lump hardened my throat, but I nodded. I followed the sheriff to the car. She opened a back door for me.
Criminals rode in the rear.
“Riding in the back?” I laughed brokenly. The SUV smelled of bleach.
“Be happy you're not in cuffs.”
Yeah. There's always a bright side.
I got inside.
She slammed the door shut, then walked to the driver's side and climbed in. Sheriff McCourt started the SUV, and we glided down the steep street. Curious heads turned, marking our passage. Mrs. Raven’s eyes seemed to glitter.
“So, what really happened?” Her gaze met mine in the rear-view mirror.
“I told you.” And I knew how this worked. Her favorite technique was to ask the same question over and over again, hoping I'd trip up.
“There's no recording equipment in this car,” she said.
“So, anything I tell you is off the record,” I said, sarcastic.
“What do you know about O'Hare and Raven?”
I drew in a quick breath. “What do— You think they're involved?”
“What do you think?”
I didn't respond. I didn’t know what to say. So, I studied the handleless door, the grill between us.
“I checked them out,” she said conversationally. “They don't exist.”
“You mean they don't have any ID? Is that legal?”
“Oh, they've got ID. There's just nothing real behind it.”
“I know fake IDs aren't legal.”
“I didn't say they were fake,” she said.
I pressed my fingers to my mouth. Leaning forward, I peered through the metal grate. “I don't get it.”
We turned onto Main Street and drove to the highway.
“I was warned off investigating those two.” Her hands clenched the wheel.
“Warned off? By who?”
“By whom.”
“Whom then?” I asked.
“It doesn't matter.”
“Someone in government?”
She was silent.
I bit my bottom lip. “It would have to be someone in government.” An official, someone high up, was the only person who had a chance of influencing her. “The mayor?”
She barked a laugh.
I sank back against the seat. Electricity seemed to spark through my ribcage. All right, not the mayor. Someone higher. “Otherwise…”
“Otherwise?”
O'Hare and Raven didn't seem like government types. I rubbed my hands on the thighs of my jeans. And the sheriff hadn't backed off. Not if she was asking me about them.
“I don't like being told what to do,” she said. “I've also noticed they spend a lot of time at your coffeeshop.”
“I don't know why. I've tried to talk to them, but they mostly just… watch.” Crazy old Mrs. Steinberg seemed to know about them. But something warned me against landing her on the sheriff's radar. If I did, Mrs. Steinberg would never speak to me again. Though I wasn't entirely sure that was a bad thing.
“And your sisters?” the sheriff asked. “Do O'Hare and Raven watch them too?”
I nodded, then realized she probably couldn't see the movement. “Yes. I've seen them outside Lenore's bookstore. I don't know if they’ve been watching Karin though.”
“Yes, she's moved to Angels Camp, hasn't she?” She muttered something beneath her breath. I thought it was, lucky girl.
“Were they looky-looing outside Mrs. Sinclair's house before you called nine-one-one?” she asked.
“I don't know. I didn't see them until after you all arrived.”
“But what do you think they are?” she insisted.
What they are?
We turned onto Main Street, a glowing old-west fairyland at night.
My head throbbed. The hell with this. I was tired of tiptoeing around the issue. “I don't sense magic on them, if that's what you're asking.”
She shot me a startled glance in the rear-view mirror.
“But there's definitely something… uncanny about the two. And a powerful magician would be able to mask their presence.” That was another lesson I'd learned the hard way.
“Magic,” she said slowly, as if testing the word on her tongue.
“What?” I asked in a strained voice. “You didn't think they were aliens, did you?” Of course, if O’Hare and Raven were magic, and they were affiliated with the government, that would mean the government had a top-secret magical department.
That would be cool.
Or terrifying.
On second thought, definitely terrifying.
She cleared her throat. “And these murders, are they magic?”
“I haven't encountered any magical murders.” My hands fisted i
n my lap. “Plain old humans seem to always be behind the crimes. But there's a pack of fairies in town which are drawn to coming death. They're called virikas. I saw them headed up Silverado and decided to follow.”
“Fairies,” she said flatly, turning onto the mountain highway.
“Yep. Well, more like gnomes. Evil, bloody gnomes. And I don’t mean bloody in the sense of the British swearword. Their faces are coated in the stuff.”
“Attracted to death.”
“Coming death,” I corrected. “Which would mean Lydia Sinclair must have died not long before I arrived. The virikas beat me there.”
“Ah.”
An RV lumbered past, its lights blinding.
Frustrated, I shook my head. “You don't believe me.”
“As you said, murderers are human.”
I slumped back in my seat. Telling her had been a stupid idea. What had I expected would happen? “I suppose now you're going to say I'm crazy.”
“This is California. Everyone's crazy.”
*****
The sheriff didn't argue much with Nick when he turned up, alone. I tried not to overthink that detail. Of course they wouldn't let Brayden in with the lawyer.
Nick escorted me through the police department's high-ceilinged atrium. I scanned it eagerly for Brayden.
He wasn't there.
“Thanks for getting me out. Did Brayden—?” I swallowed, heat flaming my cheeks. The automatic doors swished open before us. Chill, night air flowed inside.
“He said he had to drive to San Francisco,” Nick said.
The breath left my lungs. “San Francisco?” I stopped inside the open doors. “At this hour?”
He shrugged. The expensive suit jacket over his shirt and jeans shifted about his broad shoulders. “I didn't ask.”
The doors made a hesitant motion to close, and I stepped through and onto the cement steps.
Inside Nick's SUV, I phoned Brayden. My call went to voicemail, and my lungs tightened, my breath coming in shallow draws.
But it might not mean anything. He never answered his phone when he was driving. I'd threatened to buy him a headset, but he said he didn't want to feel like a cyborg.
Nick dropped me at my apartment. I went upstairs. Went to bed. Didn't go to sleep.
*****
The next day, I continued my witness interviews at Ground. The coffeeshop was filled with the usual Friday mix of locals and tourists. The latter shot bemused glances at the tipsters I met at my corner table.
I sat across from the last of today's leads and smiled brightly. “You saw what?”
The elderly woman clutched her white, patent-leather purse and leaned forward. “Like I said, I saw a bright beam of light, shooting down from the sky and scanning across the lake.” Her voice quavered. “The aliens took Mathilda.”
What was it with old ladies and UFOs? “Okay, thank you,” I sang out, and made a notation on my lined notepad.
“You be sure and tell the sheriff now.” The old woman swung her body forward, lifting her hips from the chair, and fell back down.
Hurriedly, I rose and helped her to standing. “Thank you, Mrs. Parker. It was good of you to come in.”
“I wouldn't mind winning that free coffee for life,” she said. “But the truth is, I'm sick and tired of these damned aliens picking us up and putting us down like we're discarded toys. It's plain rude.”
“Yes, ma'am. I couldn't agree more.”
I escorted the old lady to the front door, smoothed my apron, and returned behind the counter.
“Anything?” Darla asked and handed a customer a paper cup of coffee.
“Another UFO sighting.”
She smothered a laugh. “Ever since that UFO festival last summer, people have had UFOs on the brain.”
I raised a brow. “Only since the festival?”
“Okay, I guess it's a chicken and egg sort of thing. But come on! Aliens?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
She shivered. “I suppose being killed by aliens is better than thinking someone in Doyle is a murderer. Someone we know.”
But aliens weren’t involved. And there were other things bumping in the dark, things that made the virikas look sweet and harmless.
We worked until the crowd thinned to a few millennials typing on their computers.
I walked around the counter with a damp cloth and wiped down empty tables. At a window table, a wink of gold on the sidewalk caught my eye. I looked up.
Judge Longway's wife strolled past. Her heavy gold earrings swung above the fur collar of her coat.
I frowned. She'd argued with Lydia Sinclair. That made her interesting, but not necessarily a suspect. Still, my witness interviews had been a bust today. Maybe interesting was enough.
Hurrying to the counter, I dropped the cloth behind it. “Darla, I have to run outside for a few minutes. But I'll be right back.”
“Sure thing.”
I trotted outside and down the block. “Mrs. Longway!” I caught up with Evangeline Longway outside the Lavender tasting room.
She stopped, turned, her eyes narrowing. “Longway-Chatterton.” The sunlight glinted dully off her cap of platinum-blond hair.
“It's me. Jayce Bonheim. We met the other day with Lydia Sinclair?”
She stiffened. “I'm on my way back to the office. I really can't talk.”
“Just a quick question. Where were you last night around seven o'clock?”
Her nostrils flared. “What business is that of yours?”
“None.” I fiddled with the cuffs of my ruby sweater, my face warming. “But is it really such a big deal?”
“I was home,” she said. “Alone.”
So, she didn't have an alibi. My breath quickened. But did she have a motive?
“And I suppose that makes you think I killed Lydia Sinclair?” she continued.
“No, of course n—”
“Lydia Sinclair was a trying woman.” She sniffed. “But she led a trying life. I only had sympathy for what she went through with that stepdaughter.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you mean?”
“It wasn't my husband's fault if that young man violated the restraining order. My husband is the top judge in the county. He doesn't care if someone's rich or poor. The law is the law. And there is no justice if there's no equality under the law.”
It sounded like a campaign slogan. I suspected it had been, since Darla had said almost exactly the same thing. “Okay, but Mathilda—”
“Mathilda was a minx. Ask that girl's roommate, if you don't believe me.”
“That girl… You mean Mathilda's roommate, Renee?”
Her blue eyes flashed. “She was involved with that boy before Mathilda broke them up.” She turned and stormed into the tasting room. A waft of lavender-scented air drifted through the purple, arched wood door as it closed.
And that was that. That girl. That boy.
Puzzling over what she'd said, I returned to Ground and to work. Mathilda had been the cause of Renee breaking up with Paul? And Mathilda and Renee had kept on being roommates? That was either super awkward or Paul and Renee hadn't had much of a relationship.
Or the judge's wife was lying. I glanced at Ground’s red-paned front windows.
But I knew Paul was off, because he'd hassled me.
A crowd swarmed into Ground in one of those odd ebbs and flows of coffeeshop life. Darla and I dealt with the surge of customers. The line dwindled, and I walked to the kitchen, rummaged in a drawer. Returning to the café, I added a HELP WANTED sign to a front window. It was time to hire someone new.
At a quarter to five, Darla glanced at the clock behind the counter. Ground was empty.
“Do you think we can close early?” she asked.
“It's Friday night.” My smile faded. Friday night, and I still hadn't heard from Brayden. I forced my smile higher. “If you want to take off now, g
o ahead. You've earned it.”
The bell over the door jangled, and Judge Longway strode inside the café. He wore a camel-colored coat and clenched matching, leather gloves, in one fist.
I stiffened. Crap. Had his wife told him I'd interrogated her on the sidewalk?
“I've got this,” I said to Darla. “Go ahead.”
She smiled uncertainly. Untying her apron, she walked toward the kitchen and disappeared behind the drapes.
“What can I get for you?” I asked the Judge uneasily.
“An extra-large coffee.” He brushed a shock of acorn-colored hair from his tanned forehead. “Black. To go. I've got a long drive ahead of me.”
“Oh?”
“To Sacramento. A judge's dinner.”
“That sounds…”
“Boring.” He laughed. “Which is why my wife has opted to stay home tonight.”
I relaxed fractionally. If he was going to give me grief for bothering his wife, he would have done it by now.
“I wanted to apologize for not recognizing you the other day,” he said. “You must have thought I was a jerk. Of course I know you. I see you all the time, here. But that day, you were… out of context. I knew you behind this counter, but not on the street.” He shook his head. “I should have paid more attention.”
I waved away his concerns. At least the context wasn’t Jayce, jailbird. “Don’t worry about it.”
He picked up a local paper from where someone had left it beside the counter. The judge shook his head. “Another death. Poor Lydia.”
“Another murder.”
He looked up, his brown eyes impassive. “The paper didn't say murder.” But from his expression, I could tell he knew. Of course, he knew. He was a judge in a small town, and he knew cops.
“What else could it be?” And what inside info did the judge have?
He nodded, somber. “First Mathilda, then her mother. I suppose we never know what goes on in families.”
I poured the coffee. “They were the only family each other had. They didn’t kill each other.”
“I simply meant, people are complicated, and we rarely get more than a surface view.”
“Yes. Mathilda thought her mother was stealing from her trust. I thought that gave Lydia a motive to kill her stepdaughter. But now Lydia's dead.” My words grew rushed. He must know more. Maybe he’d tell me something if I opened up a little to him. “I'm starting to think Lydia wasn't the bad guy at all. Maybe she really did have her stepdaughter's interests at heart?”
Fey: A Doyle Witch Cozy Mystery (The Witches of Doyle Book 5) Page 12
