Un-Familiar Magic (Accidental Familiar Book 3)

by Belinda White

  When the sheriff’s ringtone woke me up, I just knew it couldn’t be good news. He never calls with good news. In fact, he hardly ever calls. Usually, he leaves it up to Opie to hand-deliver any messages from himself. Generally, messages like stay off the case or whatever.

  “Hey, Sheriff Taylor, what’s up?”

  “You free for a couple of hours? We could use you and that fancy camera of yours.”

  That didn’t sound good. I swung my feet off the bed and onto the floor, feeling around for my slippers. “Where do you need me?”

  He gave me the address, but it didn’t sound familiar. That, at least, was good from my point of view. It meant it wasn’t one of my friends. After that my heart released its clutch a little. Might not be right of me to think that way, but the thought of having to take death shots of one of my friends didn’t appeal to me in the slightest.

  And I was sure it was a death. They had never asked me to photograph any other kind of crime. At least not yet.

  “Oh, and just so you know, I went to bat for you with the town council. Starting today, if I call to ask for your services, you’ll be paid for helping us out. Consider yourself a contract employee.” He paused. “There’s probably some kind of paperwork you’ll need to sign too. I’ll have to look into that.”

  He sounded distracted... and worried. That, in turn, worried me.

  “Paid or not, I’ll be there, sheriff. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  “Make it sooner if you can. We need to get a jump on this one. Fast.”

  And he was gone.

  THERE WAS A VERY GOOD reason that the address Sheriff Taylor had given me hadn’t rung any bells. I’d never been to the Metal Mansions Mobile Home Park before.

  It was back off the main road and obviously, I’d never had a reason to travel down the little gravel road leading into it. Good thing too. It was a depressing place. There were twelve homes in total and whoever named the place must have been high on crack or something. I’d seen mobile homes before. Some of them could come close to earning the title mansion.

  Not these. Every last one of them was rundown to the point of being one tiny step away from condemnation. It hurt my heart to think that people actually lived in them.

  That part was obvious though, from the throng of people milling around outside the yellow crime tape barrier. None of them seemed super upset, either. So, either the person who’d been killed wasn’t a village favorite, or they were so used to seeing police presence here that it just didn’t excite them anymore.

  Either way, it was kind of sad.

  Opie saw me and pointed over to where their police vehicles were parked. I pulled up behind the last in line and got out, picking up my camera from the passenger seat first.

  Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to center myself before I reached Opie and his dad. This was never easy. Even if it wasn’t my first time. I didn’t think it would ever get easier, even after I’d done it a hundred and one times. Some things never do.

  The look on both their faces told me this was something big and my heart lurched.

  “Oh Goddess, please tell me this isn’t a child.” I’m not sure at all I could handle that.

  Sheriff Taylor shook his head. “No, it’s a man. Pretty much the same as Ralph Morgan, actually. Appears to be stabbing wounds in his chest and stomach. Ninety-nine percent sure that’s what killed the man.” He jerked his head toward the trailer within the tape’s boundaries. “He’s in there. His bedroom is the one to the right.”

  I nodded and looked over to Opie. After a quick glance to his dad, he led me in.

  “So, what’s the story?” I asked when we were a few feet away. “Who found him?”

  Opie nodded over to a little girl, probably around ten or so, standing off to the side with a woman’s arm around her shoulder. “His daughter. He’d been on another bender last night, and she’d been afraid to go home, so she stayed with a neighbor. She snuck in this morning to get changed for school.”

  “If she was trying to sneak in, why did she go into his bedroom?”

  “She said something didn’t feel right, and she thought maybe he was waiting for her. She wanted to make sure he was asleep and not ready to pounce on her.” His voice was oddly monotone. “He wasn’t known for being a good father.”

  I let that sink in as we climbed the short set of steps and crossed into the trailer itself. The inside was pretty much what I expected. One larger area served as both a living room and kitchen. There was a door to either side that I figured had to lead into the bedrooms. I turned to the right and entered the man’s room.

  As I started snapping pictures from as far away as I could, Opie filled me in a little more.

  “The girl’s teacher called us yesterday, and we had a talk with Mr. Jefferson here. Not that it did much good. I guess after we left, he hit the bottle twice as hard. Lucky for little Nancy, the neighbor was on the lookout for her and snagged her before she made it home. Who knows what the man would have done to her. Maybe killed her this time.”

  I swallowed. “Why did the teacher call you?”

  “Nancy showed up for school limping. A visit to the school nurse was pretty damning to Jefferson. The girl’s body is mostly covered in bruises. Places you can’t see, of course, with all her clothes on. Typical for an abuser.”

  He was still talking in that monotone. It wasn’t like him at all. He was feeling this one hard. And it wasn’t the man lying dead in his bed that he was feeling for.

  I stopped snapping and looked over at him. “You okay?”

  Opie nodded, then lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I will be. Thing is, I’m beginning to think this killer is doing us all a favor. And feeling like that has me scared. A cop can’t go around thinking a double murderer is a good guy.”

  I pushed the lump out of my throat, but it took a couple of tries. It didn’t go easy. Call me slow, but I hadn’t put the pieces together that far yet. “The same killer? Wind’s Crossing has a serial killer?”

  “Worse than that,” Sheriff Taylor said, stepping into the room behind Opie. “It looks like we have a vigilante killer.”

  “How is that worse?”

  The sheriff looked at me with grim eyes. “Because sometimes towns have been known to rally behind the vigilante. Sometimes one or two will even try to get into the game in the name of taking back the town from the bad guys. It’s not a pretty picture.”

  Taking back the town. I’d heard that phrase just recently. Actually, I heard that phrase most times I went to the library. Crazy Al.

  Opie poked me. “Get back to snapping. The coroner will want in here soon. Not that I think his job is crucial in this case.”

  “Oh, it’s crucial all right.” The sheriff said. The monotone thing was catching on. “He’ll be able to tell us if it’s one killer or two.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Right now, truthfully, I don’t know which news would be worse.”

  I finished up in the bedroom, getting shots of every angle that I could think of. When I was done, I went into the living room and started in there. The window in the bedroom hadn’t been large enough for a man to climb through. A child maybe, but even that was doubtful. It was more likely the killer had entered by the front door.

  Opie followed me, watching me in silence. When I’d managed to get the whole area covered, I glanced at the door into the other bedroom. The one closed door in the whole place.

  “Do you want pictures of her room?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, better to be safe than sorry.”

  I opened the door, and I think a little bit of my heart broke. If I hadn’t been standing right in the threshold between rooms, I would never have believed this room could be in the same trailer. It was a far cry from the rest of it.

  It was clean and tidy. The furnishings were modest, but the girl had gotten hold of some dowel rods and an old sheet or two and had fashioned a canopy for her tiny twin bed. Pictures of castles, dragons, and royal princes and princesses
abounded. A lot of them were hand-drawn and colored. It was a room of innocence.

  A room of a girl who wanted desperately to be in a land far, far away.

  Chapter 18

  WHEN I’D GOTTEN DONE at the trailer park, I’d headed straight back home. Running upstairs, I grabbed my fuzzy, furry bean bag chair and dragged it out onto the balcony.

  Billy was already hard at work below on the gazebo, and I didn’t want to interrupt his work. But I needed the fresh breeze on my face. I needed all the comfort the Goddess’ world could give me right now because I couldn’t get that little girl’s room out of my mind.

  Nancy Jefferson had a hard life ahead of her, but just maybe it would be a better one now. No foster home could be worse than the one she’d been raised in. Could it?

  I pushed the thought from my mind and settled into the chair, closing my eyes.

  Mom had suggested before that I set up a trigger sequence to get myself ready faster for the trance state. I didn’t have time for that now, but it was something I acknowledged that I desperately needed. I wanted to be in my sanctuary sooner rather than later.

  Unfortunately, the events of the morning were fighting hard against my mind finding the peace it needed. Then I felt a soft warm lump jump into my lap, and I was there.

  The tension and heartbreak fell off me in waves as I walked the short path to my little piece of heaven. By the time I reached it, I felt whole again. I was half expecting the Goddess to be waiting for me.

  She wasn’t. Then her words from the day before came back to me. I couldn’t ask her directly about this case, or any other. She wouldn’t be allowed to answer. If she started giving us privileged information about the bad guys, or possibly over-zealous good guy in this case, then the bad entities out there could start giving our secrets away to the really bad guys.

  That way lay madness. No, I was on my own.

  But that didn’t mean I was out of options. This was my sanctuary after all. I could invite anyone I wanted in. Past, present, dead, or alive. All were fair game here. Of course, it wouldn’t actually be them appearing, but my sub-conscious brain wouldn’t know that.

  It was better than nothing. I thought about it. Who could help me best in this situation?

  Then a stray thought hit me. I wondered if the invitation would work for a fictional character. One who had never drawn breath in the real world.

  It was worth a shot, right? That opened up all kinds of possibilities, but the one my brain zeroed in on was none other than the greatest detective of all time. Sherlock Holmes.

  I was kind of surprised when it actually worked. There, before me was a tall and slender man wearing a trench coat with wings of a sort and his signature hat. He even had a pipe.

  The man glanced down at his outfit and laughed. “You honestly believe this is the way I dress?” He waved his hand and now he was dressed in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, then seconds later the jacket disappeared to be replaced with a simple pullover turtle-neck sweater.

  “Ah yes, that’s so much better.” He glanced at me. “You don’t know how very annoying it is to be immortalized in an outdated outfit that in reality no man ever would have been caught dead in.”

  I grinned at him. “Tell that to all the guys who dress up like you at costume parties. They love it.”

  “Yes, well, just wait until the fashion police catch up to them. Times do change, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  He looked around pointedly, then back at me. “There doesn’t appear to be anywhere for me to sit. Am I to stand during the interview?”

  Crapsnackles. I really wasn’t very good at this. I concentrated and a plain brown leather wing-backed chair popped into existence across from me. I waved to it, feeling very accomplished. I was getting the hang of this, by golly.

  He nodded, then took a seat. Only then did his eyes rest on my chair of choice. His laughter was immediate and long. Very long. Long to the point of becoming very annoying long.

  “Excuse me, but in case you are wondering, I like this chair and I really don’t care what you think of it.”

  It was a struggle, but he managed to contain himself finally. “Agreed.” The laughter was still in his voice, but I could handle that better than the other.

  “So, if I may ask, why do I suddenly find myself in such a... unique... place?”

  “I need help. There have been two murders in my little town, and I just needed someone to talk it out with.”

  “Ah, so the game is afoot.” Then he paused, frowning. “Did I ever really say that? It doesn’t sound like me at all.”

  “I’ll have to re-read the stories to be sure, but yeah, I think you did. Quite a lot to be honest. It’s a catchphrase now that people just connect with you.”

  “A pity that. I shall have to choose my words more carefully from here out, I suppose.” Then he leaned forward slightly, his eyes widening slightly. “So, tell me the details.”

  A part of me knew that I was just taking myself back through both deaths in my own mind for my own purposes, but I did just what he asked. I started from the beginning of getting the call from Mabel and brought him all the way up until now. It took a while because I didn’t want to leave anything out. I felt that was important. Who knew what astounding clue I may have missed that he would now jump on to solve the case with a nice and tidy little red bow.

  When I stopped, he leaned back in his chair, reached into his pocket and drew out a match to light up his pipe. A split second before touching the flame to the bowl, he looked to me. “Do you mind?”

  I shook my head. “Go for it.” I might not like cigar smoke in the slightest, but I always thought pipe tobacco was kind of sexy. Not that I found Sherlock sexy. Although... no, I had to drag my thoughts back onto target. No rabbit hole traveling today. I was on a mission.

  “Well,” he said finally, after a quick puff on his pipe. “I’m guessing that the police are already questioning this Crazy Al you spoke of? Of course, he would be the prime suspect after his abundant sermonizing on taking back the town.”

  Yeah, well, tell me something I didn’t know. That’s what you’re here for. But I didn’t say that. It wasn’t nice to be rude to guests you had invited into your sanctuary. Even if they were nothing more than figments of your imagination.

  I waited.

  “Unfortunately, in my experience, the perpetrator of the crime is rarely the first suspected of it.” Another fragrant puff. I’d have to see if it listed anywhere in the stories what type of tobacco Sherlock used. It was rather intoxicating. In a good way. Could be useful in spell work. Or simply as a kind of odd potpourri.

  “So where should I start?”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, a good detective—or even someone such as yourself with time on their hands—might begin by going back to that list of suspects you spoke of. Perhaps someone on that list has a connection to both men?”

  I felt my mouth drop open. Now this was more like it. Not that I appreciated his words about my lack of ability as a detective, mind you. I forced myself to let that slight pass.

  “Do you have any particular suggestion as to where to start? Does any of them seem to stick out to you as more suspicious than the rest?”

  Now the other eyebrow rose. “I would hardly be a good judge of that, as I know none of the people on that list. One would need to do a little investigative work to ascertain any possible connection.”

  He had a point.

  Then he stood, brushing down the front of his pants to dislodge any wrinkles that sitting may have caused. Yeah, like he was used to wearing jeans.

  “So, was there something else you required of me?”

  “Not that I can think of at the moment.” I paused. “Would you be willing to come again if and when I need you?”

  That got a brilliant smile. “Oh yes, I quite look forward to it.”

  I guess I expected him to simply disappear, kind of like his sudden popping into existence, rather in reverse, but he didn’t. I
nstead, he walked out the front threshold of my sanctuary and down the tree-lined path.

  For just a second, I wondered if I had just set a slightly modernized version of Sherlock Holmes loose into the world at large. Then I realized that we were still firmly encamped in my mind.

  And having the greatest detective of all time camped out in there couldn’t be a bad thing.

  Could it?

  I DID A LITTLE LEGWORK and found my first connection pretty quickly. Which could actually turn out to be connections, as in plural, since the main binding factor appeared to be the cigar club.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t the wealthy and well to do men folk in town that frequented the club. It was more the scummy underbelly of men—well, you get my meaning. The club was a place for men to spend money they couldn’t afford to spend in the hopes of striking it rich on a great hand of poker. Like that would happen.

  But it didn’t stop them from trying. Apparently, the basement card den also made a small killing on serving alcohol. No liquor license, either, so I was rather hoping a police raid would shut the place down sooner rather than later. Get these men back home to their families where they belonged.

  Then I thought about Jefferson and his daughter. Maybe spending time there rather than home wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It might give the family a much-needed break. But the alcohol supply still needed to be stopped. That didn’t help things one bit. But shutting down their little illegal bar wasn’t my main mission today.

  Today, I was staking out the place to try to find out who the women were that worked there.

  I’d already made Marco’s acquaintance, and while I could believe he would kill Ralph in the heat of the moment over the missing money, I was having a hard time putting him in the role of murderer for Jefferson. If the man owed money to the club, I could understand breaking a kneecap or something, Godfather style, but dead men didn’t make good on their losing bets.

  But the women? They were a different story. People might think a woman wouldn’t choose to kill a man by stabbing him. I wasn’t all too sure about that. Especially if the man had no reason to fear her. Maybe because he knew her in every sense of the word?