by Jane Hinchey
"Coming right up." He joined the queue at the counter and I absently stared at his denim-clad rear end before catching myself and turning my attention to Lexi, who was back behind the counter this morning. She may be small, but she was fast, hustling behind the counter like a champion. Jackson placed our order, then returned, sitting opposite me.
"I'm serious about what I told your Gran," he said, those green eyes of his so intent on me I wanted to squirm in my seat.
"But...it's almost Christmas. I can't close my store now."
"You've received a direct threat to your life."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I grumbled and he laughed. I didn’t think I'd seen him laugh before and my own lips curled into a smile at his apparent humor.
"Let me talk to Gran," I said. "If I had my own powers, I could cast a protection spell, but"—I shrugged my shoulders—"I'm as effective as a human right now. Maybe Gran could make me a protection charm."
"Do those things work?"
"Yes, well, to be honest, I’m wondering that myself. Gran made us charms last night so the foxes couldn't pick up our scents."
"You think a fox did this? Followed you back?" He didn't lecture me on trespassing out at the fox's compound, for which I was grateful.
"It's a possibility. But we were careful. We had the charms, and Jenna had taken off her plates just in case they saw her car." An awful thought hit me, and I pulled out my phone. Jenna answered on the third ring. "Oh, thank god." I breathed in relief. If the foxes had identified the car they would have gone after Jenna, not me.
"Harper? What's going on?" she asked.
"I was just checking on you," I replied, my eyes on Jackson's face as he watched me. "Someone threw a brick through The Dusty Attic's window last night with a threatening note and I had a brief moment of panic that someone followed us back from—" I stopped, spotting Lexi approaching with our drinks.
"Are you okay?" Jenna asked,
"Yep, I'm all good. I've gotta go, " I told her, "but I'll check in with you in a little bit okay?" Not giving her the chance to reply, I hung up.
"Here we go, two cappuccinos." Lexi slid two mugs onto the table, a Christmas tree outlined in the froth.
"Thank you," Jackson and I said in unison. I waited until she'd walked away before leaning toward Jackson. "Did you see that?"
"What?"
"Red dust, on the back of her jeans," I murmured, "like she'd wiped her hands on her pants."
He swiveled just in time to see Lexi round the counter, blocking her bottom half from view.
"You're sure?"
"It looked like red dust to me," I said, "but it could be anything. Cocoa powder perhaps? Although seriously, it did look red." I pinned him with a look. "Can't you take a sniff of the brick and, you know, follow the trail?"
"Sniff the brick? Why would I do that?" His eyebrows shot into his hairline at my suggestion and I frowned in confusion.
"Because you're a wolf shifter?" Duh.
He was shaking his head. "I'm not a wolf shifter."
"You're not?" Oh. Well, that was a surprise. I tried to think who had told me he was a wolf shifter. Without my powers, I couldn't tell one supernatural from another, so I was totally at a loss. "What are you then?"
"I'm a necromancer."
I almost shot coffee out my nose. A detective who could speak to the dead? Perfect! "No wonder you're a detective." I coughed, snatching up a napkin to pat at my face where I'd snorted my drink. "You must have an incredibly high success rate."
"You missed a spot." Taking the napkin from me, he dabbed at my cheek before leaning back in his chair. "Not really. I can only talk to the dead if they want to talk to me."
"Why wouldn't they?"
"A dozen reasons. Some don't know they're dead. Some are traumatized by their death and are caught in a pattern re-living it. Hard to get through to those. Some just don't like me and refuse to speak. And others have already moved on, and their spirit is no longer reachable."
"You've tried to talk to Whitney though?" I leaned forward and captured his hand, realized what I'd done and immediately released it with a muttered, "Sorry."
"I have tried, yes. So far nothing. I'm suspecting she's already crossed over."
"Damn. On two counts." I took another sip of my coffee. "This tastes different today." I looked down into the contents of frothy goodness, wondering if they were using a different blend. I was not expecting Jackson to knock the cup out of my hand, sending it flying to the floor where it shattered. "Hey!" I protested. "Why did you do that?"
"Really?" He looked at me as if I had two heads and the penny dropped. I said my coffee tasted different. He thought I'd been poisoned. Wait, what?
I felt the blood drain from my face as I looked at him in horror. My hand went to my throat.
"It's okay. Don't panic." Jackson hadn't touched his drink yet, it was okay for him to say don't panic.
The people in the queue had turned and were looking at us. Another waitress approached, dishcloth in hand.
"No. Stay back," Jackson barked, and the poor confused girl looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Snatching up a handful of napkins from the dispenser on our table, he dropped them onto the coffee puddle, then shook open another evidence bag. How many of those did he have stuffed in his jacket pocket? "I'll get this tested," he said to me, his voice low. He slid the evidence bag, sealed with soggy napkins, into his pocket, then turned to the waitress with a smile. "Sorry. My fault, talking with my hands again. Here, I'll clean it up." He held out his hand for the dishcloth, but the girl clutched it to her chest.
"I can't let you do that, sir," she said. "I'd get fired."
"Fair enough," he soothed. "Tell you what, you go get a bin or something to put the broken pieces in and I'll start cleaning up. We can do it together."
She nodded and hurried off and I whispered, "Is that wise? Won't you get poisoned too?"
"Only if ingested," he reminded me. I sat and watched while he and the waitress cleaned the mess. I had an hour. If he was right and my coffee was laced with borrio bud, I had one hour to live, and then my heart would simply stop.
"Will it hurt?" I whispered, my fear real. I did not want to die. I had a bookstore to run.
Although I'd whispered the words, Jackson heard me and straightened, then dropped to one knee beside my chair and clasped one of my hands in both of his. "No," he whispered back, "but I’m not going to let it happen. There has to be an antidote."
I hoped he was right, because dying would suck.
Chapter Sixteen
"You did great!" Jackson beamed at me as we crossed the road back to The Dusty Attic.
"What do you mean?" I was in a daze at my impending death—so much to do and so little time. Was there a cure for borrio bud poisoning? I hadn't researched that far, and the book where I'd found it originally was at home, which meant I'd lose precious minutes returning home to retrieve it.
"I think she bought it." He seemed really happy and I stopped and frowned at him. "Who bought what?"
He looked at me, shook his head, muttered, "Oh boy," then grabbed my upper arm and pulled me inside the bookstore. Closing the door firmly behind us, he glanced around. Half a dozen customers browsed the shelves. His eyes landed on the red velvet curtain and he dragged me over to it, pushing it aside to reveal the storeroom door. Pushing it open, he ushered me inside, closing it behind us.
"What's going on?" I asked, thoroughly confused. "Shouldn't we be looking for an antidote? Not standing around in my storeroom."
"You're not dying," he told me, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry, there wasn't time to give you a heads up, the idea came to me on the spur of the moment."
I slapped his arm. Hard. He didn't react, but my palm stung and I muttered, "Ow," as I rubbed it against my pant leg. "Explain," I demanded.
"You saw red brick dust on Lexi's jeans," he began.
"So?" I cut in and he gave me that look, that one that said I'm not going to continue if you keep interrupting. Rol
ling my eyes, I clamped my lips together and waited.
"Lexi is a fox shifter. She lives out at the fox commune," he continued.
"She does, I saw her there last night," I agreed.
"Right. And the car that was used in the shooting was found there too. So, she's involved in some way—either directly or indirectly."
"Right." I nodded. "But what was that whole pretending I'd been poisoned thing?"
"A hunch."
"Elaborate," I cried, waving a hand in the air, frustrated that he was taking a long time to get to the point.
"We haven't found the plant yet. Only the person who'd used it to kill Whitney knows where it is. My reaction, knocking your cup to the floor, taking samples of the coffee? The killer would know why we were doing that—because we suspected your drink had been poisoned. To anyone else, it would look like I'd merely knocked your cup over."
"I'm not following," I admitted.
"If Lexi is involved, she'd know she didn't poison your coffee, right?"
"Right."
"So, what would you do if you were the killer, that you were the one who'd poisoned Whitney but now it looked like someone else had been poisoned with the plant you stole?"
"I'd go check on that plant and see if someone had stolen it from me," I shot back. Then the penny dropped. "Oh!"
"Oh indeed."
"So why are we standing in here when we should be following Lexi?"
"Good point. Let's go."
I followed him out of the storeroom and back into my shop. "We have the perfect vantage point here," he said, standing back from the window, close enough to see out but far enough back you couldn't be seen from outside. Gran approached, and I hugged her, so very glad I wasn't dying after all.
"What's up with you?" she asked, and Jackson shot me a warning glance.
"Nothing," I replied. "Spilled my drink and didn't get my caffeine hit." It was almost true. Gran shuffled off and was back a minute later with a steaming mug of coffee for both of us.
"Oh Gran." My heart melted at her thoughtfulness. "Thank you."
"You two are acting weird," she said in return, then spied the same young man who'd been in the other day, the one with his hair in a bun, and she hustled over to him, her hips swaying, and I couldn't contain my laughter.
"Back so soon gorgeous?" she cooed at him. Rather than running away in fear, he turned to her with a big, warm smile on his face.
"She's a character," Jackson said, taking a sip of his drink.
"She so is," I agreed. Then movement outside caught my eye. "Look. It's Lexi!" We watched as Lexi stepped out of Bean Me Up. Standing on the footpath, she looked left, then right, seemingly unsure which way to go. I took a big mouthful of coffee, then sat the mug on the windowsill. Jackson's car was outside, as soon as Lexi headed off, we'd follow her. Well, I assumed that was the plan; otherwise, this entire ruse was for nothing.
"Oh my god," I breathed, "is that Mike Palmer?"
It was a rhetorical question, but Jackson answered anyway, "Yep." We watched as Mike approached, slid a hand around Lexi's neck and lowered his head to kiss her. She wound her arms around his neck and returned the kiss. For quite some time.
"So, it was Lexi in that photo," I said, "which means Mike lied to us. To you—the police!"
Jackson glanced at me. "One thing you'll learn with investigative work, Harper, is that everyone lies. It's a given."
"Oh." I felt a little foolish. Lying wasn't something I did, well, outside the little white lie here and there to save someone's feelings. Like the cupcakes Aunt Mildred used to make. I'd lied and said they were delicious when in fact, they weren't.
Finally, Mike and Lexi came up for air and I cocked my head. "Why now? Why this public display of affection when obviously they'd been keeping their relationship a secret?" I said it aloud but was talking more to myself than Jackson.
He answered anyway, "I think it's for our benefit."
"What? They know we're watching?"
"Possibly. But even if we weren't, there are plenty of people on the street who are now gossiping about the sizzling kiss they'd just planted on each other. And as you pointed out, it proves that Mike lied in an active police investigation."
I gasped. "She's throwing him under the bus!" Grabbing Jackson's arm, I practically jumped up and down on the spot. "I'm right, aren't I? She was worried you were on to her, so now she's outed them, thrown suspicion on to Mike because she'd have known you'd talked to him and he'd lied about it being her in that picture."
"And if you were keeping a relationship secret in this town and were under scrutiny, what would you do?"
"Lay low. Not see each other for a while," I answered.
"Not meet each other in broad daylight, in the middle of the street, and kiss."
"It's a diversion. She's hoping to throw you off. Is it working?"
It was his turn to sigh as he stroked his fingers over his stubbled jaw in thought. "To be honest, I'm not sure what's going on, but it all looks very suspicious. The car from the shooting is being towed to the station for forensics to go over it. I'm confident we'll find traces of gunpowder. Maybe even the shell casing if they were careless enough."
"But the car was stolen, and we don't know who drove it."
"We'll see if we can't find a fingerprint. If they're smart, they'd have wiped the whole car down, but there's usually something left behind, some small clue they've missed. It's our job to find it."
Lexi cupped Mike's face in her hands, reached up on tiptoes to softly kiss his lips, gave him a big smile, then went back inside Bean Me Up. My disappointment was palpable. "Maybe it isn't her. Who poisoned Whitney," I clarified. "She's not running to check on the plant."
"Give it time. We surprised her today. Keep an eye on her, will you? You've got the perfect vantage point. Call me if she leaves."
"You're going?" I'd been hyped up to follow Lexi and nail her ass for murder and now I just felt deflated. A day spent in my store seemed boring in comparison.
He nodded to his phone where a text had just arrived. "The car’s in forensics. I want to go check it out. I'm going to send Liliana down to talk to Lexi, see if we can't get a sample of that red dust from her jeans, tie her to the vandalism of The Dusty Attic at least. And I need to bring Mike in for a chat. She'll be expecting that."
"You're playing her?" I liked the idea of that, for I hadn't suspected Lexi capable of throwing a brick through my window and threatening me. I'd thought she was a nice young woman, friendly and warm. To learn otherwise was a shock.
"Two can play at her game and I've been playing a whole lot longer." He winked, waved goodbye to Gran, and let himself out of the shop. I watched as he climbed into his car and drove away.
"You like him." Gran slid an arm around my waist and joined me by the window.
"I don't," I protested automatically. But the truth was, I did like him. And couldn't have him because he belonged to someone else and I would not do to Liliana what Simon had done to me. Ever. My relationship with Jackson Ward was and always would be, platonic.
"It won't last with her," Gran assured me and I wasn't sure if she was in my head reading my mind or if she was guessing.
"Gran, you can't say things like that. They're together. In love."
"Together? Yes. In love? Doubtful. At least he isn't. His aura is all wrong for a man in love." And despite it being wrong to feel that way, a little seed of hope planted itself and I hated myself for it.
"Did you know he's a necromancer?" I asked, steering the conversation away from Jackson Ward's heart and who he did or did not love.
"Is he?" Gran seemed surprised by this news and I looked at her suspiciously but decided I'd let it drop. For now. She had to know. Her magic would have alerted her to the fact, so why lie about it? A little white lie to protect me? But why? So many lies and so many questions.
Archie appeared, rubbing around my ankles and meowing. "Hey, boy!" I picked him up and snuggled my face into his fur. "You would
n't lie to me, would you? No," I crooned, dropping kisses on top of his head, "of course you wouldn't."
"Shop’s all yours," Gran announced, collecting her purse. "I'm going to art class."
"Art class? I didn't know you were taking art classes."
"Today is real life sketching day." She nodded, eyes gleaming.
"Real life? As in?"
"Nude." She shrugged into her coat. I shook my head at the thought of my Gran sketching someone in the nude—that poor model. She nipped that notion in the bud at the door when she casually threw over her shoulder, "Can't be late. I'm the model."
The bell above the door jingled and I glanced up from where I was ringing up a customer to see Jenna bustle inside, her face flushed from the cold.
"Hey." I smiled in greeting. "I won't be a sec." Turning my attention back to the middle-aged woman who'd just purchased a cookbook, I swiped her card, carefully wrapped her book in tissue paper, and placed it in a paper bag before handing it to her. "Merry Christmas and thank you for shopping at The Dusty Attic."
"Business looks like it's going well," Jenna commented when I came around from my desk to hug her.
"It is. But then it's only been a few days," I pointed out. "Plus, you know, Christmas. What brings you by?"
"I was down at the police compound lot, trying to get a quote. Saw them tow in the car from the fox's compound so knew they must've been reasonably confident it was involved in the shooting."
"Jackson said something about testing it for gunpowder residue?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. For Bruce to have seen it and get a partial number plate, it had to have been heading west on Main Street, which means the shooter had to be the driver, or a passenger sitting directly behind the driver."
"How do you know all this stuff?" I said, impressed with my friend's skills.
"Duh, it's my job." She grinned. "Anyway, I think they found something."
"Really?" That caught my attention and I glanced around, wishing my customers would clear out so we could examine the crime board.
"Lots of sample bags," she said, "but I was too far away to see what they were collecting. But I did see one forensic guy pluck something from the headrest, so I'm guessing a hair."
