"Because there's a dead body in the woods. I think a girl has been murdered."
Chapter Seven
I didn’t return to the woods after Florian called the sheriff. I hung around the cottage, trying to keep busy but wondering what had happened to that poor girl. Florian had promised to update me, so when I heard a knock at the door, I assumed he’d come back with a full report.
I yanked open the door and saw no one.
“Ahem,” a voice said.
I glanced down to see a little man, no higher than my waist, wearing a Stetson. His skin had a greenish hue.
"Are you Miss Ember Rose?" the little man asked.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Sweet baby Elvis, you’re adorable." I slapped my hand over my mouth.
His beady eyes grew to slits. "Adorable? I am the Deputy Sheriff in Starry Hollow, I'll have you know. I am as far from adorable as you can get." He put his little hands on his little hips and I nearly burst into laughter. I could just imagine him trying to assert his authority in New Jersey. Elementary school kids would use him as a volleyball. And not even the tough kids.
"I beg your pardon," I said, quickly trying to recover. "How can I help you, Deputy? Is this about the girl I found?"
He tipped back his hat, which only made his head look smaller. "Yes, ma'am. I need to bring you down to Sheriff Nash’s office for questioning, if you don't mind."
"Well, actually I do mind. I'm in the middle of redecorating." True, my idea of redecorating meant moving a chair from one side of the room to another, but still.
"I don't think I made myself clear," the deputy said. "It's not a request."
"Yes, of course. I’m the one who found her. He probably needs to ask me questions about the crime scene or something." I'd been a witness to a robbery when I was younger and I still remembered having to go down to the station to identify the suspect in the lineup. Even though I’d known at the time he couldn't see through the one-way mirror, it was still an unsettling experience.
"Do you know how long this will take? My daughter is at her first day of school and I want to be there to pick her up. She’s very anxious.”
"I really couldn't say," the deputy said. "But don't worry about your daughter. We’ll make sure one of your family members collects her, if need be."
I didn't think much of it, considering how early it still was in the day. How long could a few questions take?
We walked out to the driveway and I was surprised when he opened the back door of the car for me.
"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "You’re not a taxi service. I'll sit in the front."
He gave me a strange look, but said nothing as I slipped into the passenger seat. I wasn’t surprised to see that the driver’s side had been manipulated so that he could reach both the pedals and the steering wheel at the same time.
“So…” I began. How to broach this topic? “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’re a leprechaun.” Subtlety was not my specialty.
“However did you fit inside this car with that massive brain of yours?” he shot back.
Touché. I liked him already.
"So what's it like being a leprechaun?" I asked. "I only ask because you’re the first one I've ever met in real life.”
He grimaced. "Our kind has suffered immensely in the last century. Popular entertainment has sullied our good name. Meanwhile, vampires have become sexy." He shook his head in disgust. "I don't know how that ever happened. Back in the day, vampires were nothing more than predators in the animal food chain."
"You sound a little bitter there, Deputy," I said. "But look at you. You've got this tough guy thing going on. You’re wearing the cool hat. You’re doing your part to improve the leprechaun image."
"Don't patronize me, ma'am," he said, his gaze fixed on the road. "I may be small and green, but I'm sharp as a unicorn horn."
"Are they sharp?" I queried. "I would imagine them being a little blunt at the top. Like an orange traffic cone."
He cast a sidelong glance at me. "Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit odd?"
I straightened in my seat. This remark coming from a little green man in a Stetson.
"So tell me about the sheriff," I said. "I've never met a real sheriff before either. I picture some old, white-haired dude who started when Hyacinth was a baby. Probably doesn't leave the office much anymore. Sends his minions out to pick up witnesses and do all of the investigating. Am I right?"
“Are you calling me a minion?” he asked sharply.
“Hey, it’s not an insult. I was a minion for Hilda Santiago. There’s no shame in minionhood. Besides, if the sheriff is old and crotchety, then you’ll graduate to his job when he finally pops off.”
The deputy suppressed a smile. "I'll let you judge that for yourself."
The sheriff was not an old, white-haired dude. In fact, I would go so far as to say he was downright hot. Sheriff Granger Nash was about six feet tall, with a glorious head of dark brown hair—the kind of hair that made girls want to run their fingers through it. Not my fingers, of course. Just girls in general.
The sheriff swaggered into the room with an attitude I hadn't seen since I watched a John Wayne movie as a teenager. I waited for him to announce that it would be pistols at high noon.
"So you’re Ember Rose. Is that right?" He narrowed his eyes, as though studying me with half-closed eyes was a better option.
"I am," I said. "And judging from that shiny gold star on your shirt, you must be the sheriff."
He glanced down at the star pinned to his shirt as though he'd never seen it before. "Oh, is that what the star badge means? I always thought it was a reward for a job well done. I have another one at home that says ‘Didn’t Murder Anyone Today. Good job.’“
“Is that so, Sheriff Nash?” Sheriff Smartass more like. “I’m not really sure how things are done here in Scary Hollow, but I’d think murder-by-sheriff was off the menu.”
"Starry Hollow," he corrected me with a trace of annoyance. "Your family tells me that you had no knowledge of your magic until recently."
I nodded. "That's right. When my life was in jeopardy, I snapped.”
His curiosity was piqued. “You snapped?”
“Yep. Out came the powers, like the Hulk, but less violent. It was pretty cool, actually."
"I wouldn't know," he said darkly.
"You're not a wizard?" I asked. “You have that weird look, like you might be."
He snorted. "Weird? You really shouldn't call the sheriff weird. It's just bad manners."
And pretty stupid. I’d only arrived in town yesterday. The last thing I wanted to do was rub the sheriff the wrong way.
"Why don't we step into the interview room so we can have some privacy?" he said. "Can I offer you anything to drink?"
"Aren't you supposed to make me thirsty?" I joked. "That way I'll confess faster."
He narrowed his eyes again. "Do you have something to confess, Miss Rose?”
“No, sorry," I said. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."
His expression remained serious. “You discovered the dead body of a young lady this morning, Miss Rose. Do you really think we need to lighten the mood?"
I shifted uncomfortably. He was right. He just didn't understand that when I was nervous, I made jokes. That was how I hid my discomfort.
"Of course not," I mumbled, trailing him into the adjacent room. I sat down at a small table and folded my hands in my lap. Demure seemed the way to go.
"Do you know who the young lady is?" he asked, settling down across from me. His brown eyes gazed at me inquisitively. The long, thick eyelashes were a crime against women everywhere.
"I don't," I said. "But that's not really a surprise, since I hardly know anyone here."
"Yes, because you’re new to town. So I’ve heard.”
“My daughter and I are living in Rose Cottage."
"And why is that?" he asked. "Where did you move from?"
"New Jerse
y," I replied. "There was an incident at work…" I hesitated. I didn’t really want to relive my experience with Jimmy the Lighter. "It's a long story. I'd rather not get into it. Needless to say, my cousins found me and here we are."
“The girl’s name is Fleur Montbatten. She is…was sixteen years old and a student at Starry Hollow High School."
Nausea rolled over me. I knew she was young, but I didn't realize how young. What a waste.
“Was she a witch like us?” I asked.
"I'm not a witch," the sheriff said.
"Oh," I said. "When I said us, I meant my family. Not you and me. There is no us, right? That would be ridiculous. We just met.” I laughed awkwardly. I knew I was babbling now and felt like a complete idiot.
A smile tugged at the sheriff's lips. "No, I’m fairly confident there is no us."
I studied him. "If you're not a witch and you’re clearly not a leprechaun or a fairy, what does that leave?"
"I'm a werewolf."
Well, that explained the strong whiff of masculinity coming my way. "Wow, a real werewolf. I’m meeting all kinds today. So what's that like?"
He gazed at me with a mixture of horror and amusement. "What's that like? I don't even know how to answer that. What's it like being a woman?"
"Really good most days, except that time of the month," I said. "I guess you would know all about that though, being a werewolf."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then snapped it closed. "Why don't we stick to my questions for now?"
"Sounds good to me," I said. "I do have a habit of saying whatever comes to mind, so it's probably best that you set clear boundaries for me." My running mouth got me into trouble on more occasions than I could remember over the years. I certainly didn't want to court trouble now in the sheriff's office.
"Do you know who Fleur Mountbatten is?" he asked.
I didn't understand the question. "Yes, you just told me. Her name was Fleur, which I think means flower in French." If my eighth-grade French class had taught me anything.
He ignored my last comment. "She was the Maiden in the coven. That's an important position to hold."
"The Maiden? That's the title?"
"It is," he said. "A highly coveted title that many witches would like to have. She served as the apprentice to the High Priestess. It's a great honor to be the Maiden."
"So she's a glorified assistant?" I queried. "So what are you suggesting? That someone might have killed her because they wanted her snazzy title?"
He gazed at me intently. "You’re new to town. New to the coven. Maybe you want to make a name for yourself?”
The realization of what he was asking settled in. "Wait, you think I killed a sixteen-year-old girl so I could steal her crown.”
"Technically, she wore a silver circlet," he said.
Something occurred to me. "So she was sixteen and her title was the Maiden. Doesn't that imply some type of purity?"
"As a matter of fact, it does. The Maiden is always a virgin."
I slapped my hands on the table and burst into laughter. "Well, there's your answer right there. I couldn't possibly have killed her to take her position. I haven't been a Maiden in eleven years." I remained thoughtful for a moment. "Unless there’s such a thing as a born-again Maiden. Because it's been a good four years since I've had any action. I'm not sure how strict the coven is with these requirements.”
The sheriff's face turned beet red. He cleared his throat. “Right. That's probably a little more information than I needed, but thank you for your full disclosure."
"You think that was full disclosure? I could go on…"
He waved me off. "Thank you, Miss Rose. I think we're done here for now."
"Are you sure? Because I want to help. If this is going to be my new home, I want to make a positive contribution to society, you know?"
He managed a smile. "How very admirable of you."
"You know, if you’d done your homework, you would've known that I have a ten-year-old daughter. That would have answered your question without all of this interrogation drama."
His expression shifted to one of amusement. "Interrogation drama?"
I waved my hands around the room. "Yes, dragging me down here and putting me in the hot seat. All of this would’ve been easily avoided if you’d done your due diligence."
He pushed back his chair and stood. "What makes you think I didn't know?"
He walked to the door and held it open for me.
"Because you thought…” I stood in the open doorway. "Oh, I see. You just wanted to take the measure of me, is that it? See how I responded under pressure?”
He grinned. “You talk a lot, that’s for sure.”
“You don’t even know she was murdered. Maybe she tripped and fell in the woods and hit her head.”
“Her death was no accident,” he said darkly.
I could tell he had more information than he was sharing. “Am I still a suspect then?"
His jaw tightened. "Everyone is a suspect until I’ve identified the murderer."
"But we've established that I had no motive," I argued.
"The only thing we’ve established is that you have not been a virgin in over a decade," he said. "I have no idea what other motive you may have had. That's all part of the investigation."
I didn't like the sound of that. "Aunt Hyacinth is not going to be happy about this. I get the feeling that she doesn’t like the Rose name under scrutiny.”
He snorted again. “You read people pretty well, don't you?"
"It was kind of a necessity where I'm from," I said. "You don't read people well, you end up in trouble."
"If your Aunt Hyacinth has a problem with my investigation, you can tell her to come and talk to me about it. I'm always happy to hear from citizens of Starry Hollow, especially bluebloods like descendants of the One True Witch."
I could tell by the way he said Aunt Hyacinth that he didn’t approve of my family. It was easy to guess why. Sheriff Granger Nash was a werewolf in a town mostly comprised of witches. Hyacinth Rose-Muldoon was the de facto leader of the town. She and the sheriff probably butted heads regularly.
“What’s the One True Witch?” I asked.
His eyes grew round. “They haven’t told you about your heritage yet? Fancy that. It’s one of the qualities that makes your family so darned special. Your bloodline can be traced straight back to the very first witch, or so the legend goes.”
How about that? “Then I guess I can cancel my ancestry.com account.”
He seemed mildly amused. “Guess so.”
"Well, if you have any more questions for me, you know where to find me," I said. "Maybe next time come yourself. I don't think your deputy likes me very much."
He arched an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I do?"
"Like I said, I read people pretty well. I guess that includes werewolves."
Before he could respond, I sailed out the door.
Chapter Eight
I’d never stayed in a bed and breakfast before, so I didn't know what to expect when we arrived at Linnea’s inn. Palmetto House was striking from the outside—from the blue wrought iron balconies to the Silver Moon flag that hung proudly from the second floor. Colorful flowers were woven into the scalloped wrought iron.
We each took a different set of stairs and met on the front porch.
“That’s awesome,” Marley said. Sometimes it was life’s simple pleasures. Like a symmetrical set of stairs.
"Should we just go inside?" I wasn't sure what the etiquette was when someone lived in an inn.
We didn't need to speculate because Linnea appeared in the doorway. Her white-blond hair was pulled back in an unkempt braid. She wore a gray sleeveless top with black capris and black flip-flops. She looked far removed from the elegant Rose-Muldoon cousin I’d met in my apartment. Then again, she was in her natural habitat now.
"Welcome to Palmetto House," Linnea said, ushering us inside. “This is the main floor where we g
reet guests of the inn.”
"It's very nice," I said. It really was. The decor was tasteful with a parquet floor and traditional throw rugs. The marble fireplace was the centerpiece of the room. Above it hung a gilded mirror flanked by sconces. A large bouquet of flowers sat in a vase in the middle of the mantel. Everything was carefully appointed.
"This place is huge," I said. "How many rooms does it have?"
“Fifteen,” she replied. "We get a fair amount of tourist traffic here because of the location. Paranormals love the seaside just as much as humans do. We also get our share of business travelers."
"Is it full now?" I asked.
"Only half," she said. "I have staff to help me when things are busy. When it's only a few occupants, I handle things myself."
Marley seemed enamored. "So will we get to eat dinner with your guests?"
Linnea smiled at her. "I'm afraid not. We’ll eat in the residential part of the house with my kids." She hesitated. "Hopefully, they’ve cleaned up like I asked them to."
We went down a back staircase to the lower level. Linnea flashed an apologetic look over her shoulder.
"I've been so busy upstairs today, I haven't had a chance to monitor life down here. It’s a crapshoot as to whether they did as I told them. They’re teenagers, you know?”
The staircase emptied out into a main living area. While the decor itself was as tasteful as the rooms above, it was hard to see beyond the clutter. There were stacks of magazines on the tables and shoes everywhere. I half expected her to tell me her children were training as cobblers. How many pairs of shoes did one family need?
Linnea lifted a pair of sneakers from the floor and wrinkled her nose. "Hudson plays every sport under the sun. He seems to need a different uniform and pair of shoes for each activity. It's ridiculous."
“You said Hudson is thirteen?” I asked.
“Yes, and already turning into his father, which scares the magic out of me. Bryn is my fourteen-year-old. She's sporty like her brother, but she likes her books, too.”
I could tell. There were piles of books jammed into every available space. At least she and Marley would have something in common, despite the age difference.
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