Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness

by Dakota Cassidy

  “But,” I whispered into the dark of the barn, “he was fighting with Gable over the SD card. That’s what Darling said. That happened for a reason. And something else that worries me sick, Monty probably did see him and hear whatever transpired between the killer and Gable. He’s not safe, Stiles. That terrifies me.”

  “Ansel’s already on it. He’s going to post someone at the hospital as soon as Monty comes out of surgery. They’ll keep him safe.”

  I blew out another anxious breath. “So I guess until Uncle Monty wakes up, we don’t have much if the SD card is gone.”

  “Well, we don’t have a lot, but we do have that missing girl. They’re sending Detective Godfrey out to talk to her parents tonight.”

  How awful for this poor girl’s parents to know she was missing—and likely, the person who’d taken her had just tonight been in a convenience store but fifteen miles away.

  But that lipstick… “What about that lipstick? If that girl’s been missing for a few days, and the lipstick was only discovered tonight, the killer has to have some connection to her, right? He must have been the one who had it. I mean, Mr. Feeney probably cleans the bathrooms at minimum twice a day. No way would a lipstick be left lying around for as long as a couple of days. Especially in the men’s bathroom. That makes me wonder if the missing girl wasn’t on that SD card…”

  “Good point. Except Mr. Feeney said he checks the video camera footage every two or three days, and he hasn’t seen anything even a little suspicious, and he said he didn’t recognize Kerry’s photo at all. Besides that, Kerry couldn’t have physically been in the store as of the last time he’d checked the footage two days ago.”

  Unless she was disguised when she came in? Or someone forced her to wear a disguise? Or was I just letting myself get carried away?

  I plucked at my lip in nervousness, getting some fuzz from my gloves in my mouth. I had a lot to process and right now, I was so worried about Uncle Monty, I wasn’t sure I was capable.

  “Let’s revisit this later. For right now, are you’re sure it’s okay to tell Hobbs?”

  “Tell me what?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin, whirling around to see the lights wrapped around the fence revealing Hobbs, his tall frame strutting through the doors of the barn with sure strides, his hands in the pockets of his favorite rawhide jacket.

  I held up a finger to him to hear Stiles say, “How can you avoid it? Listen, Kitten. I think the time has come for you to consider telling Hobbs about your visions. You can’t keep playing both sides of the fence and keep your sanity. Your visions have helped me a lot. They’re not just about lost pieces of jewelry or hidden wills anymore. They’re about real crimes, and seeing as you guys are thicker than thieves these days, he’s going to start to wonder about your quote-unquote migraines.”

  I cast a sidelong glance at Hobbs, who was petting Nana’s head and cooing at her. “How do you feel about the answer, I’ll think about it?”

  “I feel like you’re avoiding the reality of this and it’s going to bite you in the bum if you’re not careful. You don’t have to tell him you’re a witch, Hal. Maybe for now that’s too far, but he’s no dummy.”

  “That’s definitely too far,” I whispered. The idea made my stomach jolt to life.

  “And I get that, Kitten. But you can tell him you have visions. Look at it this way, he doesn’t even have to believe you, because we both know you can prove him wrong. But he’s sure gonna start to wonder how you’re hip to so much sensitive information when I keep saying I can’t confirm or deny any of the evidence you keep seeing. Not to mention, if he thinks I’m feeding you info, he’s going to think I’m a shady cop. Either way, what’s the worst he can say? You’re full of stuffing and he walks away. That’ll just mean he wasn’t worth the time of day anyhow—even though I don’t believe he’s that kind of guy, right?”

  Gulping, I nodded. “Right.”

  “I’m only telling you this because I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

  I hated when he hit me upside my head with a two by four of reason. “I do. Everything you’re saying is true and I promise to give it some thought, okay?”

  It was the only answer I could provide at this point. I had to know I could categorically, undeniably trust Hobbs. We’d only really known each other for a few months, and had only recently begun to spend much of our time together.

  “Okay. I love you, Kitten. Kiss Uncle Darling for me.”

  He hung up the phone and I put mine in my back pocket, my hands cold, my thoughts swirling around in my head like leaves in an autumn windstorm.

  Hobbs peered at me from Nana’s stall, his eyes glittering. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything is a subjective word. Listen, I have to tell—” My phone beeped, cutting me off. I held up my finger again and pulled my phone back out of my pocket to read a text from the hospital.

  For the first time since I’d picked up Uncle Darling from Feeney’s, I let out a cleansing breath.

  “Uncle Monty’s out of surgery and stable for now. So far, they haven’t induced a coma, so the doctor said Uncle Darling can see him for a couple of minutes.”

  Hobbs let out a breath of air, too; it puffed into the interior of the cold barn. Then he smiled that wholesome cowboy grin. “Your car or mine?” he asked.

  My heart lurched in my chest. Not only because Hobbs really comes across as a genuinely good guy, but because I liked him, and if I told him one of my secrets, and he rebuffed me, or worse, laughed at me and told me I was nuts, it was going to hurt.

  A lot.

  Chapter 6

  The Little Drummer Boy

  Written by Katherine Kennicott Davis, Henry Onorati, Harry Simeone, 1941

  The ride as Hobbs drove us to the hospital in his Jeep was quiet. Uncle Darling lost in his thoughts but at least a bit calmer, and Hobbs concentrating on the road. I pondered not only what Stiles had said about telling Hobbs about my visions, but the missing girl, Kerry Carver.

  I’d decided to relay the information Stiles gave me to Hobbs, sans my vision, and as we crossed the icy hospital parking lot, Uncle Darling clinging to Hobbs for dear life, I wasn’t sure if I was glad I hadn’t told him about my visions, or more stressed.

  We walked into the lobby and headed for the elevators, still in silence, both of us holding on to Uncle Darling, who exhaled deeply.

  When we stepped out the doors to the ICU unit, the sterile smell and the beep of life-saving machines couldn’t be cheered with the Christmas decorations, though, they’d done their best. There was a small Christmas tree in the nurses’ station reception area and silver garland hung from the front of the counter where the pleasant-looking nurse sat.

  I approached with soft feet and smiled at the nurse behind the counter with glossy black hair and warm chocolate-colored eyes. “Hi there. I’m Hal Valentine—”

  “Are you the lady who owns Just Claus?”

  I smiled wider and held out my hand over the counter. “That’s me. You are?”

  She shook my hand with her dry, cool grip. “Belinda Espinoza. It’s really nice to meet you. My aunt Rosalie works for you. Rosalie Lincoln?” Then she flapped her hands in a dismissive gesture. “You have a lot of people working for you. I’m sure you don’t know who she is. How can I help you, Miss Valentine?”

  I tapped the counter with my fingertip. “First, I do know Rosalie. She works in customer service, and all our customers ask for her because she’s so bubbly and fun. She’s also got at least a hundred pictures on hand of her grandchildren, Sophia and Max. We love her, and her laugh is infectious.”

  Her grin lit up her face. “That’s Aunt Rosalie. No one escapes without seeing at least one picture of Sophia and Max. She’ll be so thrilled to hear you remembered them because, according to her, there are no other grandchildren in the world. Now, my aunt’s bragging aside, how can I help, Miss Valentine?”

  “It’s just Hal, and we’re here to see my uncle, Montwell Danvers. D
octor Jordon said he’s just out of surgery and Darl—er, his husband, Andrew Darkling, could see him for a few minutes. So we rushed right over. Can you help?”

  She pulled a chart from the pile on the reception desk and nodded with another warm smile. “Yes. Of course. But only for a few minutes and only his husband, okay? You and your husband,” she said, pointing to Hobbs, who had his arm around Uncle Darling’s shoulders, “will have to wait outside.”

  My cheeks grew pink and my skin went hot. “He’s not…um, my husband.”

  But Belinda wasn’t paying any attention to me anymore. She came around the reception desk, her shoes padding softly along the white-tiled floor as she introduced herself to Uncle Darling and Hobbs.

  Then she took his hand, and we trailed her as she led Darling into the ICU room, where the lights were dim and it felt like a thousand machines were lit up and monitoring Monty’s life.

  When I saw him there, for the briefest of moments, in that bed that looked as though it had swallowed him whole, hooked up to heart monitors and an IV drip, I choked up.

  He looked so small, even though he was easily six feet, his face gaunt and slack under the effects of the anesthesia, his head bandaged in white gauze, his pale skin almost translucent under the dim light over his bed.

  It was then I wished I could have gone in with Uncle Darling, who sobbed softly as Belinda led him to the bed.

  When the door swung shut, I dropped my chin to my chest and squeezed my eyes closed. My throat grew tight, and I almost couldn’t breathe from the fear I felt about the fact that we could lose Monty. I’d managed to keep it together for a few hours now for Uncle Darling’s sake, but I didn’t think I could keep doing that without a meltdown first.

  Leaning forward, I braced my forehead on the wall and tried to force back my tears, but they wouldn’t be thwarted. They rushed forward against my will, in all their hot saltiness, dropping to the white tile floor and leaving splotches of wet marks.

  I adored Monty. Above all else, I adored that he adored my uncle. I loved that he’d convinced one very skeptical Andrew Darkling that love was real and if he’d just take a chance, he could spend the rest of his life reaping the benefits of passion, laughter and loyalty, but he had to allow Uncle Monty the chance to show him.

  And he did take a chance, probably a bigger risk than he’d ever let on, and if the person who’d done this to my uncle got away with it, and took away what was most important to Darling, I’d hunt him for the rest of his miserable life.

  And if I found him, I’d show him a thousand tortures with my magic, Atticus and the rules for mortals be hanged. I couldn’t meddle with the cycle of life. I knew better than to use my magic to heal Uncle Monty, and so did Uncle Darling, but if he died because he was caught up in a robbery gone wrong and my uncle lost the one thing he cared about the most in this world?

  Things would become very ugly.

  As my anger and sorrow rose, Hobbs put his hand on my shoulder and gently turned me around, pulling me to his broad chest, and I let him.

  I cried ugly, sloppy tears, jamming my fist to my mouth to keep from screaming out my anguish and frustration, and Hobbs didn’t try to stop me.

  He smoothed circles over my back as I wet his shirt with my muffled sobs and enjoyed the comfort of his broad chest and warm embrace.

  I needed air. Lifting my head, I swiped my tears and looked up at Hobbs. “I need a minute. Can you wait here in case he’s done before I get back?”

  He cupped my chin and wiped my cheek with his thumb. “You bet. Text if you need me and I’ll come running.”

  Turning, I hightailed it to the elevator and pressed the button, jumping in the second it arrived. I had to catch my breath and keep it together for Uncle Darling.

  I jetted out into the lobby and made a break for the doors leading outside, letting the bitter cold hit my face and evaporate the tears on my cheeks.

  Gulping the frosty air, I zipped up my jacket and tightened my scarf around my neck, looking out at the parking lot lights and gathering my senses. The ocean was a bit more distant from here, but I could still hear the crash of the occasional wave and smell the tangy salt, and I let it do what it did best—soothe me.

  The parking lot was mostly deserted at this hour, giving me the added bonus of privacy.

  “Miss Valentine,” a voice from out of nowhere called.

  I turned to find a neatly dressed man in a tweed coat, with cheerful eyes and a lean build, approaching me.

  Wiping at my eyes, I acknowledged him. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  He held out a business card, his smile easy and warm. “My name is Abraham Weller, from Weller and Walgreen.”

  An attorney. Talk about gossip traveling fast in a small town. Instantly, my guard was up. “And?”

  I made my aggravation clear in my tone, but that didn’t deter him. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I understand your uncle was involved in a murder this evening at Feeney’s Fuel and Gruel?”

  Perfect. Just what I needed. An ambulance chaser. Staring him directly in the eye, I glared. “I’m not at liberty to discuss anything. In other words, you’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Weller. Go chase a different ambulance.”

  I’m not sure what made him back off, whether it was my death glare or my direct words, but back off he did. “My apologies, but I hope you’ll call on me if—”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Weller,” I said firmly, rather than punching him square in the nose with my clenched fist.

  Thankfully, he took the hint and scurried off into the dark parking lot.

  Unclenching my jaw, I forced back more tears of frustration and anger at how bold some folks were. My uncle was lying in a bed, his brain taken apart like a tinker toy and only just put back together again, and lugs like Weller were looking to score a lawsuit against Feeney’s.

  And make no mistake, that’s what this was about. I’d almost bet he was interested in suing Feeney’s for safety reasons or some such nonsense. Not only did Uncle Monty have more integrity than to hold Mr. Feeney responsible for an accident, so did my Uncle Darling.

  Oh, I wanted to sock him in the nose!

  As the doors of the lobby swished opened, in my haze of anger, I only vaguely saw two people come out and heard their whispers as they passed by. I was still pretty caught up in my own worries and fears when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  Turning, I was faced with Gable Norton’s widow, Anna, a pretty blonde with bloodshot, swollen eyes, mussed clothes, and the appearance of the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  She was with a woman who looked just like her but older, or maybe it was the other way around.

  Instantly, I wanted to give her my condolences and offer my help, but she spoke before I had the chance. “You’re Halliday Valentine, right?”

  “I am, and you’re Anna, right?”

  “Ye…yes. And this is my mother, Regina,” she said, pointing to the woman next to her.

  Scanning her body and face, rigid with anguish, and wondering why she was at the hospital, I asked, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, her tangled hair sticking to her wet cheeks. “They made me come here to be sure I was okay. That’s all. I’m fine. Fine.”

  I’d heard those words before. I’m fine, in Anna’s case, meant she was barely holding it together. I hated that for her…for her newly born daughter…for Gable.

  Regina shook her head firmly, pulling her red wool trench coat tighter around her chin. “She’s not fine, Miss Valentine. She’s a wreck. They had to give her a sedative to calm her down, she was so hysterical. That’s why she’s here.”

  “Mom, please!” Anna hissed, stomping her foot. “Be quiet and let me talk!”

  I didn’t want things to escalate, so I asked in as soothing a tone as possible, “What can I do for you, Anna? How can I help?”

  “I…” She gasped, her shoulders jerking from the effort as she pulled her puffy jacket back up ov
er her shoulders. “I need…I need to talk to you. Please.”

  Tears began to fill her red-rimmed eyes again, and that was when I took her hand. “How about we do it inside, okay? It’s too cold for you to be out here.” Tugging her hand, I led her back into the lobby and brought her to the row of dark brown chairs next to a table of magazines. “Tell me what I can do for you, Anna?”

  “Gable,” she hacked out, her chest heaving. “I need to ask you about Gable.”

  That took me a bit by surprise as I encouraged her to sit and looked into her tortured blue eyes. “Me? I’m not sure I understand.”

  She grabbed my hand and held it tight, as though she were clinging for her life. “You’re the niece of the other man who was hurt at Feeney’s, right?”

  “I am,” I offered quietly.

  “Anna,” her mother said with a softer tone, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and squeezing. “Maybe now’s not the time, honey. She’s in distress, too.”

  But she pushed her mother away and looked to me with broken eyes. “No, Mom, I have to know. I need to know what happened!” she cried, her hysteria clearly rising.

  “What do you need to know?” I used great caution when I asked.

  “Did your uncle tell you anything about what the man who killed Gable said? Did he say anything about…about drugs?”

  I blinked in surprise, gripping her hand. “Drugs? Is that what the man was doing in Feeney’s?”

  “I don’t know!” she wailed with a phlegm-filled cough. “I don’t know why he killed Gable. I don’t understand!”

  Turning to fully face her, I looked at her distraught face and held her hand tight. “I don’t know what happened, Anna. My uncle’s just out of a surgery about an hour ago, and his husband—we call him Uncle Darling—doesn’t know either. He just walked in on—”