by Zoe Arden
He tore through the gowns like they were light as feathers, pushing them aside with both hands as he searched the area. I knew perfectly well that some of those gowns must've weighed at least sixty pounds.
"Don't make it hard on yourself," the guard yelled.
There was a noise at the back of the room. We both looked in its direction. Damon came into view. He was standing in front of the exit door, desperately pulling on it, trying to get it to open. It was locked.
The guard started toward him, Taser poised and ready to shoot. I couldn't help myself. I wiggled my index finger and muttered the first spell I could think of. The Taser turned orange, and the guard let out a howl of pain as the metal burned his hand. He dropped it, and it landed on the floor with a loud clank. I muttered another incantation, and the exit doors opened.
Damon gave me one last look, then hurried out into the night.
* * *
CHAPTER
SEVEN
.
.
.
* * *
* * *
.
One of the best things about having a fiancé who worked for COMHA was that in times of trouble, he was always there. It was also one of the worst things about having a fiancé who worked for COMHA. Nothing got past him.
Colt showed up with Sheriff Knoxx. The two of them entered Bridal Barista wearing matching scowls. The sheriff went directly to Eleanor; Colt came directly to me. The others who'd arrived with them, a few deputies and Dr. Dunne, scattered across the store. The deputies hurried to secure what was now a crime scene, and Dr. Dunne hurried to look over the victim's body.
"Ava, are you okay?" Colt asked, concern etched in the soft lines of his face.
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"What happened?"
I hesitated, then said, "I don't know. One minute, Grace was standing there, the next she was lying on the floor dead."
Lucy shrieked behind us all of a sudden, and two dozen eyes turned to her. "Ava! You're still in your wedding dress!"
I looked down, realizing that she was right. With everything that had happened, I'd forgotten to change.
"Hurry!" Lucy shouted. "It's bad luck!"
"Lucy, I think we have bigger things to worry about right now. Besides, I don't even know if this is the dress I'm going to wear."
"It doesn't matter," Lucy shouted. "Get out of it. Now!"
I decided to humor her before her head exploded and took a step toward the dressing room.
"She can't change," Rachel shouted. "That dress is evidence. Look! There's blood on it!"
Everyone turned to look at me. I felt my cheeks color and looked down at the red blotch on the bodice of the dress. I felt suddenly naked.
"It must have happened when I checked her pulse," I told Colt. Sheriff Knoxx was looking at me funny. "You don't think... I certainly didn't kill her."
"Of course not," Colt said, immediately coming to my defense.
"No one thinks you killed her," Eleanor said, shooting Sheriff Knoxx a look. They'd been married for less than a year and were still in their honeymoon phase—most of the time.
"Of course, you didn't kill her," Rachel said. "I saw the whole thing."
"What's your name?" Sheriff Knoxx asked, stepping toward her.
"Rachel Underwright," the woman said importantly.
Sheriff Knox made a note of it is notepad. "And you say you saw what happened?"
"Yes. It wasn't Miss Fortune who killed Grace." I breathed a sigh of relief. "It was her boyfriend."
Lucy and my aunts looked at Colt, who looked confused and irritated. "I wasn't anywhere near the place when it happened," he said, running a hand through his brown hair. Even under the sportscoat he wore as part of his work clothes, I could see his muscles twitching. He was leanly built but still muscular and had a tendency to frown when he was nervous.
"Not you," Rachel said. "Her boyfriend." Frustration leeched into her voice. "I don't know his name, but he had dark hair and looked kind of strung out. He was hiding in her dressing room. I saw him with the knife. He did it. He killed Grace. And she helped him escape."
Colt's eyes flashed recognition at the description. Damon had always had a grungy look about him, even when he cleaned himself up.
"Does she mean who I think she means?" Colt asked, gritting his teeth together.
I looked at Eleanor and Trixie, who were looking grim. They'd recognized Grace's description as well.
"Damon needed my help," I explained.
"So, he came to see you while you were trying on wedding dresses?" Colt snapped. "You're telling me that there was no better time for him to contact you?"
I shrugged nervously.
Sheriff Knoxx, able to push aside his personal feelings and get down to business, said, "What did he want?"
"I don't know."
Colt scoffed.
"I don't know," I said. "He was in some sort of trouble. He didn't get into the specifics of it." I decided to leave out the part about the merman-werewolf, knowing that would do little to help Damon's case. He already looked guilty. If they knew what else he'd told me, he'd look crazy as well.
"How did he know to find you here?" Colt asked.
"I have no idea. I didn't get a chance to ask him."
Colt's eyes narrowed. "And he was in your dressing room when the murder took place?"
I blushed and nodded.
"So, you just let him into your dressing room?"
"We were supposed to meet for lunch the other day, but he never showed up. I was worried. So, when he showed up here, I didn't—"
"Wait a second," Colt said, cutting me off. His face looked more and more sunburned the angrier he got. "Lunch the other day? You don't mean the day when you were supposed to be meeting Lucy for lunch and she blew you off?"
"When did I blow you off?" Lucy blurted. "What lunch?"
I bit my bottom lip. Lucy was looking at me confused. I'd forgotten to tell her that she was my alibi.
I guess the look on my face was answer enough for Colt. He glowed red with anger.
Sheriff Knoxx put one hand on his shoulder. "I've got this," he said. "Get some air."
Colt stood where he was a moment longer then stepped outside to cool down. I could see him pacing in front of the window, attempting to get his anger under control.
"Now, Ava," Sheriff Knoxx said. "Tell me again what happened. Slowly this time. What did Damon say to you exactly? And what did you see?"
I went through it all for him, and when I was finished, it didn't sound good. Even without the part about the merman-werewolf, Damon sounded guilty. Colt stepped back into the shop and rejoined us, much to my frustration.
Sheriff Knoxx said, "Is it true what Miss Underwright said? Did you help Damon get out of here?"
I felt my face tighten. The security guard stepped forward. "It's true all right. She made me drop my Taser gun then unlocked the doors for him. She used magic."
It was obvious by the way he said 'magic' that he had none of it himself. I took another glance at him, focusing on his eyes, and could tell right away that he was human. They were missing the tiny gold flecks all witches and wizards had.
Technically, humans weren't supposed to know about the paranormal world that surrounded them, but the humans who lived on Heavenly Haven were different. Although not officially condoned, it was kind of a given that if you lived on the island, you were in the loop. It was impossible not to be, living so close to witches and wizards.
"He didn't do it," I said quickly. "Damon's innocent."
"How do you know?" the sheriff asked.
"Because," I said, folding my arms across my chest.
Colt scoffed. "That's a good, solid answer," he quipped.
"Damon isn't a killer," I said.
"His father was," snapped Colt. "Maybe it runs in the family."
My mouth dropped open. So did Eleanor's, Trixie's, and Lucy's. Colt even looked surprised by his own statement. I was sure he hadn't
meant to say it; it had just come out in his anger, but I didn't care. Everyone knew the history between me and Damon, the reason why our relationship hadn't worked out.
Almost twenty-three years ago, when I was just a baby, Damon's father had killed my mother. He was a human, like Damon, and had spent his life systematically hunting down witches and destroying them. When we'd first met, Damon and I had no idea who the other was. When it had finally come out, things had gone south fast. But I'd never blamed Damon for what his father had done, and I never would. They were two separate people. Damon didn't deserve the legacy his father had let him.
"Damon doesn't deserve to be held accountable for something that happened when he was just a kid," I said, my voice cracking under Colt's gaze.
"Ava," Colt said, his own voice was a low croak. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He cleared his throat and looked around. "That doesn't change the facts though. We have two witnesses, yourself included, who saw Damon holding the murder weapon. He had the means to kill her."
I could tell that even Eleanor, Trixie, and Lucy were being swayed against Damon.
"But what was the motive?" I interjected. "Damon didn't even know the woman. Why would he kill her?"
Colt rolled his shoulders back. "When we find him, we'll make sure to ask him."
* * *
CHAPTER
EIGHT
.
.
.
* * *
* * *
.
Colt wasn't speaking to me, or at least that's what I surmised when he refused to return my texts or answer his phone when I called.
I didn't entirely blame him, but that didn't mean I was happy about it. I figured I'd give him a few days to cool off before I got too worried.
"I'm sure he just needs some time," Eleanor said. We were at the bakery, leaning against the counter. The morning rush had just ended, and we were taking a much-needed breather. Trixie and my father had gone into the back for a snack, leaving me and Eleanor to man the storefront.
"Has Sheriff Knoxx said anything to you about the case?" I asked. No matter how many times I told myself that he was married to Eleanor, I just couldn't get used to the idea of calling him Uncle Knoxx. He would always be Sheriff Knoxx to me.
Eleanor sighed. "Not much, I'm afraid. He's keeping rather tightlipped on this one."
"Any word on Damon?"
"There have been a few sightings, but nothing's panned out."
"That's good," I said and caught Eleanor looking at me.
She pressed her lips tightly together. "Ava, have you considered the possibility that perhaps Damon did it?"
"No." After getting over my initial shock at seeing Damon with the knife in his hand, I'd realized there was no way he could have killed her. It just wasn't in him.
Eleanor pressed her lips even tighter together. "How do you know? You said yourself that he was the only other person there."
I shook my head. "Damon's not a murderer," I said for what felt like the hundredth time in the last two days. "Besides, he was scared."
"Scared?" Eleanor asked, absently picking up a cupcake wrapper and twirling it between her fingers.
"Someone was after him. I think... I think someone might want him dead. Or at least, that's what Damon thought."
I remembered how tired Damon had looked in the dressing room. As if he'd been running for his life.
"Well, maybe Sheriff Knoxx will find something to help. I know he's been waiting on a report on Grace Beyers. It's supposed to be in sometime today. Maybe it will shed some light on things."
"Report?" I asked. "What kind of report?"
She shrugged. "I think he's trying to figure out why Damon," she glanced at me, "or whoever, might have wanted to kill her. Was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was there a reason for it?"
"And he's supposed to get this report back today?"
"As far as I know."
We stood in silence a few minutes. Eleanor set her cupcake wrapper aside in lieu of a rag. She began wiping down the counters, getting ready for the lunch rush.
"I think I need some air," I told Eleanor.
"Well, if you want some air, best to get it now before the next rush starts."
I set my apron on the counter and went outside, walking in the direction of the sheriff's station. When I arrived, Sheriff Knoxx was sitting behind his desk, his face somewhat haggard. He was sifting through a file that lay open on his desk and glanced up when I came in.
"Have you come to confess to the murder of Grace Beyers so that I can stop going through all this stuff and get some rest?"
"No."
He sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that." There was a short pause. "What can I do for you?"
I licked my lips, staring at the file on his desk, wondering if that was it. "I heard you were expecting to get some new information about Grace Beyers today."
He waited, looking at me. I drew in a deep breath of air.
"I wondered if you'd found out anything useful."
"Not so far, and even if I had, I couldn't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because it's against policy."
"But you're the sheriff. You set policy."
"Which means I can't just go around breaking it. If you're not an officer of the law, then you've got no right to look at this file." He tapped the folder on his desk with his two middle fingers.
"So, that's the file there, then?"
He reddened slightly and closed the file back up. "None of your business."
At times, Sheriff Knoxx and I got along without incident. At other times, especially those when I was under suspicion for some crime, we could hardly say two words to each other without getting at each other's throats.
The station was small. There were a couple of interrogation rooms mostly used for storage, and one that they kept open for actual interviews. There was a side office where private business was conducted, and way in the back were a handful of jail cells hidden behind a wall.
The door to the side office opened and Elwin Muster, the sheriff's head deputy, poked his head out.
"Excuse me, Sheriff Knoxx. Can you come back here a minute?"
"What is it, Elwin?" the sheriff asked, not anxious to move from his seat.
Elwin looked at me, his face turning red. "The window's stuck open again, and Tadpole is getting cold."
Sheriff Knoxx sighed. "Otis dropped Tadpole off earlier today," he said to me. "He had an appointment with someone from the mainland who didn't allow skunks in their office building. Asked me to watch him." He pushed his seat back and stood up.
I heard a soft squeaking noise and saw Tadpole, the only skunk familiar anyone had ever heard of, standing on Elwin's shoulder. Elwin grinned at him and scratched his head. Everyone loved Tadpole. I was pretty sure that if he didn't belong to Mayor Otis Winken, someone would have happily snatched him up long ago.
"Did you give him some potato chips?" Sheriff Knoxx asked. "That always calms him down."
"Sure did, Sheriff, but it's the window that's bothering him. He has a chill."
As if to illustrate the point, Tadpole wrapped his arms around his torso and shivered.
"We've got to get that window fixed," Sheriff Knoxx said and followed Elwin and Tadpole back into the room.
My eyes fell back on the sheriff's desk and the file that lay closed on it. I glanced back at the office. The door was partially shut, and I couldn't see in, which meant they couldn't see out. If I was going to do it, I had to do it now.
My hands shot out and grabbed hold of the file. I flipped it open and quickly scanned the first page. Victim's name: Grace Kendall. Status: Single. Aliases: Grace Beyers, Gracie Beyers. Cause of Death: Stabbing, homicide.
Footsteps sounded from inside the office. They were heading back out to the main room. I shut the folder and laid it back on the sheriff's desk, then took one step back to put some distance between us.
Sheriff Knoxx paused when he came
out. His eyes looked from me to his desk and back again.
"Fix the window?" I asked.
He nodded and resumed his seat, slipping the file into a desk drawer. He folded his hands on the desk and looked at me. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."
"No, nothing else," I said and left the building.
Outside, my mind raced through the little but important information I had just discovered. The woman's real name was Grace Kendall. Grace Beyers had been an alias.
"Not a married name," I muttered to myself as I headed back to the bakery. "It said she was single."
I bumped into a tourist, who looked startled.
"Excuse me," I said.
"Excuse me," they replied huffily and turned away.
Why would Grace Beyers have needed an alias? People only used aliases for two reasons: to hide from someone, or to hide from something. If it was the latter, then it could mean she was a career criminal trying to hide from her crimes. It could also mean something much simpler and easier to take; maybe she'd committed some youthful indiscretion that she didn't want following her around forever.
If she was attempting to hide from someone, it might mean that she was afraid for her life. If that person had finally caught up to her, all we had to do was figure out who she was hiding from and why and we'd have our murderer.
My mind was swimming. I was so focused on my thoughts that I almost walked right past the bakery. When I got inside, Eleanor, Trixie, and my dad were standing huddled together around the mail. Their faces were angry and pinched.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Oooh! That Bridal Barista makes me so mad!" Trixie said, slamming one fist onto the counter. I jumped. I'd never seen Trixie so upset.
"What about them?" I asked.
My dad looked helplessly at me and shrugged. "It's nothing. They're being a little unreasonable is all."
