by Jane Hinchey
I couldn’t see squat so I reached back in to turn on the porch light. Standing on the back porch, saucepan clutched in my hands, I scanned the garden. No sign of anyone or anything. Not even Archie.
“Who’s there?” I shouted, proud my voice didn’t wobble. At my yell, the insects went quiet and I got that prickly sensation you get when someone is watching you. “Come out!”
I took a hesitant step forward until I was at the edge of the porch and at the top of the stairs. With my heart thundering in my chest I made my way down the three steps to ground level. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if someone was hiding and did come out. Scream and run away, most likely. But they didn’t know that.
My bravery was fading fast, and the saucepan trembled in my hands as I snuck around the side of the house. The porchlight didn’t reach this far, and darkness enveloped me. What was I thinking? Quickly regretting my brash actions and deciding it was far safer inside the house—with the lights on—I almost jumped out of my skin when something brushed against my leg.
Meow?
“Jesus, Archie.” I breathed out a shuddering breath. “You scared me, boy!” I bent to rub my hand along his back, smiling when he arched beneath my touch. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” As I turned, I walked straight into a brick wall. A warm, breathing, wall.
“Yaaaaaa!” I swung the saucepan high and wide, connecting with a solid thunk.
“Ow!” the human wall complained, grabbing hold of my wrist to prevent me from swinging again. “Jesus, Harper. Quit it, would you?”
“Blake?” Peering closely in the dim light, I could just make out his face looming over me. “What are you doing skulking around in the dark?” I demanded, my heart rate nowhere near to a normal rhythm. He’d scared the living daylights out of me. With my free hand, I shoved against his chest, putting space between us.
“Checking up on you.” His voice didn’t reveal anything. Not concern. Not remorse. I blew out a breath, unexpectedly irritated he’d felt the need to not only check up on me but scare me half to death.
“You’d better come in. Let me look at that head.” I pushed past him, angry. He deserved a smack in the head with a saucepan. As I stormed inside, I felt him close behind me, heard the door close, and the lock click. “I can take care of myself, you know. I’m not some useless female who needs protecting.”
My anger rose with each word and I could feel myself becoming more and more wound up. I ignored him each time he said Harper in that resigned way, and knew he was shaking his head even without looking at him. Which annoyed me even more. What was he really doing here? I didn’t need protecting—and what did he think he was protecting me from? There had been no threats, no one was out to get me.
“Harper!” His sharp tone finally caught my attention and I swung around, saucepan still in hand. “What?!”
Then I saw the blood oozing between his fingers where he held his hand to his head. All the blood left my face and I felt my stomach turn over. Oh god.
“Don’t freak out.”
Too late. Tears welled in my eyes until he was a blurry blob. A bleeding blurry blob. I’d done this. I’d hurt him, made him bleed. I was an awful person. Tears rolled down my face as the saucepan slid from my hand and hit the floor with a thwack.
“Jesus,” Blake swore.
Oh god, this was so humiliating. I wasn’t normally a crier, but here I was, with the waterworks not showing any signs of abating. Wiping my running nose on my sleeve, I turned my back and drew in a shuddering breath, trying to get myself under control.
“Come here.” Blake pulled me against his chest and ran a hand up and down my back in a soothing gesture. “Heaven only knows why you’re crying. You’re the one who hit me,” he grumbled, but I heard the teasing note in his voice.
I giggled, the sound muffled. We stood like that for long minutes, his hand running up and down the length of my back while I hiccupped against his chest before I finally dragged in a deep breath and stepped back.
“Quit blubbering and let me take a look at that head,” I said, hurrying over to the cupboard that housed the first aid kit, keeping my back to him while I wiped my fingers under my eyes.
He chuckled. “I’ll let you have that one, Jones.”
“Thanks. Big of you.” I turned with the first aid kit in hand, stopping and taking in his big frame that was currently dwarfing one of Gran’s kitchen chairs. His hands were resting loosely on the table top, one of them stained with blood. I felt the color leave my face as my eyes sought out the wound I’d inflicted.
“Relax,” he cautioned, seeing the look on my face, “it’s not bad. Head wounds bleed a lot, that’s all.”
“But I—”
“Let’s not argue about it, huh?” he cut in. “I snuck up on you outside in the dark. You did the right thing. In fact”—he paused, considering—“I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t.”
I paused at that. Was he being sincere or merely trying to make me feel better?
“Why were you here anyway?” I asked, pressing a piece of gauze to his head.
“I told you. Checking up on you.”
“Why don’t I believe you? Why not knock on the front door?” I countered, dabbing at the cut just above his temple. He was right, it wasn’t bad, more of a scratch.
“I did knock. You mustn’t have heard me. I saw the light on, figured I’d come around the back and check on things.”
I rubbed at my temple, feeling a headache coming on. It was true, I hadn’t heard him knock—but Archie hadn’t reacted to a knock at the door. Why would he lie about such a small thing?
Archie sauntered into the kitchen and headed straight for Blake, sniffing the toe of his shoe before deciding he approved and rubbing against his leg. Blake absently lowered his hand and stroked him.
“You aren’t a healer then?” Blake asked, watching as I cleared away the bloody pieces of gauze. The small cut had stopped bleeding and didn’t even need a band-aid, although there was a bit of a lump forming.
“No.” Some witches had the gift of healing. I was not one of them. Then I remembered what Annie had told me, via Gran—that he was fae.
“Fae can’t heal themselves?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen counter with my arms folded over my chest and watched him through narrowed eyes.
He didn’t squirm, merely looked at me with those impossibly dark eyes, then said, “I don’t have the gift either.”
“What is your gift?” I pressed. I had a vague understanding of the fae, that they were blessed with different gifts, different powers that as a species, used together, made them very powerful.
“I’m not sure we know each other well enough for this conversation.” He’d dodged a direct answer, which only made me want to know all the more.
“What?” I protested. “Your gift is that special you can’t tell me? I’m sure Gran already told you my gift is great power. Although, I really don’t know what I’m doing with it,” I added. So far, all I really knew was I could use my magic without a wand. Convenient? Yes, but hardly earth-shatteringly awesome. Yet, everyone was telling me how powerful I was, and I still didn’t know what that really meant.
His eyes crinkled at the corners a second before he smiled, dazzling with his white teeth. His shoulders shook with silent laughter and I almost stomped my foot in frustration. “Why are you laughing?”
He cleared his throat, muttering, “Open book,” before sobering and saying, “I was teasing. So, the fae people are blessed with different gifts, as you call them, designed so that we work more effectively together. Mine is energy manipulation. I can control and manipulate energy to use as a weapon—or a shield.”
“How come I managed to hurt you then?”
This time, he laughed out loud and pointed to the scratch on his head. “This? This tiny scratch? Oh, honey, you are nowhere near capable of hurting me. Plus, if I’d used a shield, it would have landed you on your ass and I didn’t come here to hurt you.”
“Why did
you come?”
“I promised your dad I’d look out for you.”
“I can look after myself.” I huffed and he smiled indulgently at me.
“Sure you can. But I promised your dad and when I make a promise, I keep it. But”—he held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue—“I can see you’re fine. Tired, but fine.” He stood up, headed toward the kitchen door, and paused with his hand on the frame. “Lock up behind me.”
Then he was gone. He’d left via the front door, moving at remarkable speed. By the time I’d stepped into the hallway, the front door was closing. I hurried to slide the bolt across as instructed.
Deciding I’d had more than enough excitement for one night, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Packing could wait. Right now, I needed sleep. I’d collect the keys but moving out was on hold.
Archie was already curled into a ball at the foot of my bed and I figured he had the right idea. Sleep now, follow up with leads on Bonnie’s murder tomorrow. And, above all else, push thoughts of Blake Tennant out of my head.
Chapter Seven
“I now call the murder club to order!” Gran clapped her hands, mimicking a gavel, and I shook my head. “Not a murder club, Gran.”
“About time you called us.” Jenna waggled a finger at me, ignoring the banter between me and Gran. I’d had three missed calls on my phone from her and simply hadn’t had a chance to call her back. Until now.
Since it was a Saturday, and the Whitefall Cove Annual Ball was tonight, I’d decided not to open the shop. Instead, I’d called Jenna and Monica, my two best friends, and asked them to meet me at the store. I’d moved the bookcase that had hidden the old case board I’d put together from Whitney’s murder and had pinned Bonnie’s name in the center. We had a new case, and the stakes were higher than before. Not only was Gran a suspect but they’d arrested her for the murder! I would not rest until her name was cleared.
Monica pulled the blinds, blocking out the sun, before disposing of her big floppy hat, sunglasses, and ankle-length coat. “There, that’s better,” she said, easing down into one of the armchairs in the reading corner and draping her legs over the side.
“Thanks for coming out during the day,” I said, knowing Monica’s vampire biology kept her out of the sun most days. Not that the sun would kill her, but it would give her a nasty sunburn in a matter of seconds.
“For you babe, anything,” she purred in her sexy-as-sin voice.
Jenna cleared her throat. “Here’s what I’ve got,” she said, approaching the board and pinning some notes to it. Jenna was a reporter for the Whitefall Cove Tribune, and I was extremely grateful to have her expertise on my side. Jenna had contacts that could prove useful.
On the board, she’d pinned four names. Bernice Kemp, Vernon Garza, Kristen Lane, and Gladys Marquez. Bernice was the other witch Vernon was dating, Gladys was Bonnie’s neighbor who’d delivered the eggs, and Kristen Lane was the witch who had found Bonnie’s body.
“Hey!” Gran protested. “Why aren’t I up there?” She stood with hands on hips, dressed in black stirrup pants—seriously, why are those things still around?—a yellow boob tube with a hot pink mesh singlet over the top, and a garish floral jacket with shoulder pads that a linebacker would envy. On her feet, instead of her beloved Uggs, she had novelty slippers. Tigers, to be precise.
“Because you didn’t kill her,” I pointed out. “Therefore, you are not a suspect. Not in my book.”
“Mine either,” Jenna and Monica said in unison. Gran considered our responses then, apparently satisfied, nodded her head and took a seat.
I leaned on the edge of my desk and studied the names on the board.
“Let me take you through it,” Jenna offered, standing by the board and pointing to Bonnie’s name. “Bonnie Emerson, seventy-four, head witch of the Crescent Coven. Died by choking. Unconfirmed reports it was the cake she’d intended to enter into the Decadent Desserts competition.” We remained silent, each lost in our own thoughts about how Bonnie had died. Jenna continued.
“Kristen Lane, twenty-seven, fellow member of the Crescent Coven, discovered Bonnie’s body at approximately five p.m. Thursday afternoon. She’d called in to pick Bonnie up and give her a lift—the Crescent Coven had their blessing ceremony that night.”
“Kristen’s grandmother, Delores Lane, is next in line to be head witch of the Crescent Coven,” Gran said. “Maybe she did it. Got tired of waiting to be top dog, decided bumping Bonnie off was faster than waiting for her to kick the bucket in her own sweet time.”
“Interesting,” Jenna commented, but jotted down Delores’ name with a question mark and pinned it beneath Kristen’s. “We’ll have to explore that angle some more.”
She continued with her presentation. “Then we have Bernice Kemp. Yet another member of the coven and also dating Vernon Garza—our other suspect.”
“I hear that Vernon had also been dating Bonnie on the sly,” I said, “and that Bonnie and Bernice didn’t know he was dating the other.”
“Oh really?” Jenna narrowed her eyes in thought. “Here’s a big motive. A love triangle!” She moved the pins around so Vernon was at the top and Bonnie and Bernice beneath, forming a triangle.
“So maybe Bernice got wind that he was dating Bonnie and decided to remove the competition—”
“Or Vernon did away with Bonnie. Maybe he tried to break up with her and things got out of control?” Monica piped up, tapping her ruby red lips with a slender finger.
I cleared my throat. “We’ve got plenty of motive on this board, but little evidence. I can tell you that we found the remnants of burned love letters in Bonnie’s attic.”
“From Vernon?” Jenna asked.
I shrugged. “Could be. Jackson took them as evidence. Also”—this time, I aimed my words directly at Gran—“Bonnie’s Grimoire is missing.”
“Hey,” Gran protested, hand to her chest, “don’t look at me. I didn’t take it. I’ve got my own. I wouldn’t want anything from that coven anyway, the Sisters of the Sacred Flame coven is clearly superior.”
“You said we found the remnants of burned love letters.” Jenna pounced on my slip-up. “Are you saying you were there?”
I bit my lip and nodded. “They’d arrested Gran and I couldn’t sit at home twiddling my thumbs. I had to do something, so I went to Bonnie’s house to look for evidence. Jackson busted me but let me stay and help. I thought I could sense Bonnie upstairs in the attic—wondered if she was a ghost like Whitney—but instead, there was some sort of orb there. Jackson could see it better than me, he said it can happen when a person crosses over and their magic still…hangs around.”
“You know what else can create orbs?” Gran piped up, studying her nails with feigned interest. “Fae.”
I caught my breath. Blake had said he manipulated energy. Could he have been behind the orb? Using it to spy on Bonnie? Or us?
“You said yourself he got here awful fast,” Gran continued. “After I was arrested, you what? Rang your parents? Who then called him? And a couple of hours later, he was here? Like, he dropped everything for itty bitty me?”
“Oh my god, you’re right!” I gulped. My first instinct had been right. The first time I’d laid eyes on Blake Tennant, I’d thought bad boy. With a squeaky voice, I said, “Add Blake Tennant to the board. Lawyer.”
“Supposedly”—Gran sniffed and I frowned at her—“he got you out, didn’t he? There has to be some truth behind who he is.”
“Okay, ladies,” Jenna soothed, writing out a card for Blake and adding it to the board. “Tell me what you know.”
“Ummm.” I didn’t have much. “He’s a lawyer who knows my dad. I don’t know how—he wouldn’t say.”
“Do you have a business card or anything?” Jenna asked. “I can see what I can find out about him and the firm he works for.”
I snapped my fingers. “Yes! I do. Hang on.” Digging into my purse, I pulled out the card he’d given me and handed it to Jenna.
&nbs
p; She looked at it with raised brows. “Did you even read this?”
I shook my head. I’d glanced at it and put it in my purse; my thoughts at the time had been consumed with getting Gran out of jail.
“This business card is from the law firm Richards, Jones, & Tennant.”
“He’s a partner? A partner is here in Whitefall Cove, defending Gran?” My mouth dropped open. That didn’t compute.
Jenna chuckled. “You missed something, Harper.”
“There’s a Jones in the mix,” Monica supplied. “Got any lawyers in the family?”
Richards, Jones, & Tennant. It couldn’t be Dad. He’s an archeologist. The fact he knew Blake was irrefutable, since Dad had obviously called him and Blake had taken the case with no hesitation.
“Don’t panic.” Jenna touched my arm, seeing the worry on my face. “I’ll look into it. Not hard to get the info on who’s who in firms like this. I doubt it’s got anything to do with Bonnie’s murder, but you want to know who you’re dealing with, so leave it with me.”
“Thank you, Jenna.” I gave her a weak smile, my mind a whirl.
“So, who do you think did it? Who knocked off Bonnie?” Gran demanded.
Jenna, Monica, and I exchanged a look. “No idea,” I finally said. “But, we’ve got one more name to discuss. Gladys Marquez, also a member of their coven and Bonnie’s neighbor. Gladys has prolific egg-laying hens and from what I understand, she provides Bonnie with the eggs for her baking, along with selling them at the town markets and privately. There was a fresh bowl on the kitchen table.”
“Indicating Gladys had been in the kitchen that day,” Monica said.
“Bonnie could have gone next door and collected them,” Jenna pointed out.
“Either way, the eggs were fresh. I remember seeing chicken poop and fluffy white feathers stuck to the shells. The two women saw each other that day.”
“I think Vernon did it.” Gran sniffed. “I think Bonnie caught him with Bernice and kicked his sorry butt to the curb, and he got mad.”
“It’s a possible theory,” I admitted. “But did he have the strength to subdue Bonnie and tie her to a chair in the first place? He’s an old man.”
