by Nova Nelson
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
“You should. Avalonians are the biggest twits I ever met. Can’t do nothing but complain and talk down to folks.” His gaze bore into me so intensely that it felt like he’d managed to transfer some of the grime on himself over to me without making physical contact. “What do you want? You law?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not law, but I did want to pass along my condolences about Heather.”
His body tightened. I felt the tension more than I saw it. “You know Heather? Knew Heather.”
“We’ve met.”
“Then you already know she didn’t kill herself. Anyone who spent two seconds around her would know that.”
Interesting. “You think someone else was responsible?”
“Of course!” He balled his hands into fists by his side like a petulant child, and his tan face reddened. “Ain’t no way she would up and leave me like that! You can tell Manchester that, far as I’m concerned, he can take his suicide theory and stick it right up his—”
“I did,” I said.
That stopped him short. “What?”
“I already told him I didn’t believe that. I’m with you here, Lucent. I don’t think Heather did it.”
The tension in his body released as his shoulders drooped and his fingers uncurled. “No kidding?”
“No kidding. I want to get to the bottom of it. But I need some more information from you before I can.” I was careful choosing my words. The obvious best approach was to make him believe he wasn’t within a hundred miles of my suspect list. Rather, he and I were in this together.
He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead before flicking the perspiration off to the side. “What do you need to know?”
“First, since you mentioned your suspicion, I’m curious who you suspect.”
“Problem is, I don’t have a specific person. But I’d bet what little money I earn at this poorly run establishment that Heather’s family had something to do with it.”
“Her family?”
“Yeah, those folks never could get over the fact that she married for love rather than wealth or status. I ain’t never had neither of those things, but I loved my wife more than anything, and she loved me back. Her mother refused to speak with her after we got married, but Heather, she—” His voice cracked and he swallowed the emotion before continuing. “She never gave up on her family. She thought she could win them back if she showed them that she still cared. Heck, one of her last acts was sending a birthday present to bitter old Veronica.”
“Veronica?”
“Yeah. Her mother. The old crone lives two streets over from us in Hightower Gardens and won’t bother herself to come by. Doesn’t even come down from her bedroom when we go to visit. Heath will at least give us that when we visit him, but we almost never do. He’s in Avalon for business more often than not. Probably why he’s the most pretentious jerk I’ve ever met. Not a bad guy at heart, but almost impossible to be around for more than five minutes.”
“And Heath is?”
“Heather’s brother.”
“Ah.” Creativity was clearly not Veronica Lovelace’s strong suit. “Tell me, Lucent, is there any chance Reatta might have added silver to Heather’s meals?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. He was as certain as Heather had been. “No. Not a chance. Reatta was the kindest, most grateful person you’d ever meet. Heather’s money was the only way Reatta could afford to feed her family, anyway. She’d never risk her job security. And for what? She and Heather were like sisters.”
That again. I tried not to roll my eyes. “But Reatta prepared Heather’s meals. She made breakfast for her that morning and dinner that evening.”
“No, no, no … Whatever theory you’re building about Reatta, knock it off. She couldn’t’ve put silver in Heather’s breakfast because I ate that breakfast too. It was a big, medium-rare steak and scrambled eggs. I cut the steak in half for us and we scooped the eggs out of the same skillet. If there was silver in there, I woulda tasted it.”
Oh. How had I not even thought to ask before now? “You can taste silver?”
“The amount necessary to kill someone, oh yeah. You can do a lot of silver before it’s fatal.”
“What do you mean, ‘do a lot of silver’?” I had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to accuse him of … what, recreational poisoning?
Although, I supposed that was technically what drinking alcohol was, so I shouldn’t judge.
When he looked around, presumably to ensure Thaddeus wouldn’t overhear from the shop, my suspicions were all but confirmed. “I didn’t used to be the most up-and-up kinda guy. My family’s from the Outskirts, and I spent a lot of my teen years sneaking off to the Deadwoods to get into trouble. I’ve changed, you see, but the Lovelaces refused to see that. Heather did, though. Anyway, werewolves can put just a little bit of silver dust on our tongue, and it gets us high. Tastes awful, though. Heather wouldn’t have recognized the taste herself, since she lived her life on the straight and narrow, but if Reatta or anyone had put some in my food, let alone enough to kill, I would’ve known immediately.”
“Out of curiosity, what does it taste like?”
He thought about it. “Like sucking on a rusty nail. Kinda bitter, with a little sour edge to it. I mean, heck, you could just try it yourself. Wouldn’t harm a witch. That’s what you are, right?”
I nodded.
“Can’t affect a grim either, turns out,” said Grim. “Trust me, I tried it every way I could. Nothing.”
“I think I’ll pass on the drugs. You gave me a clear description, though.”
“I’m telling you,” Lucent said, “you spend three seconds in the same room with Veronica Lovelace and you’ll have the same suspicions as I do. I can’t figure out how she did it, but I know she had something to do with it. Would’ve rather seen her daughter dead than happy with someone like me. She said as much last time we saw her.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. Then, while we were still on good terms, I decided to wrap it up by thanking him for talking with me and assuring him I’d keep him informed.
I felt so detective-y.
As we wound our way out of Whirligig’s, I leaned toward crossing Lucent from my list of suspects. “I believe he truly loved Heather,” I said to Grim.
“I got that sense, too.”
“I don’t think he killed her.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“And if he did kill her, silver poisoning seems too subtle for him.”
“Oh yeah,” replied Grim. “He strikes me as the type to leave a lot of blood at any murder scene.”
“Thanks for the mental image.”
“That’s why you bring me along, right?”
“Not particularly. I bring you along for protection and insight.”
“I think I was being particularly insightful with my assessment of how that psycho would murder his wife.”
I sighed. “Fine, you win. You’re so insightful, Grim.”
I spied Ansel twenty yards off the path and thought about waving goodbye, but he had his hands full, battling a giant cactus that flailed its spiny arms at him, presumably in self-defense. Ansel jumped out of the way of a hard blow, tried to grab the cactus’s pot from a few more angles, then eventually gave up and scampered out of the cactus’s reach.
“Here’s another bit of insight,” said Grim. “That silver habit Lucent mentioned, the one he said he quit before he married Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“Load of unicorn swirls. He never gave it up. Or if he did, he’s relapsed in a big way. I could smell the silver in his sweat.”
I stopped walking to stare down at my familiar. “Wait, really?”
“Yep.”
I started walking again. “Hmm … that’s interesting. I need to think more about that.”
“Considering we have no prime suspect, you need to think more about a lot of things.”
“You’re so encouraging, Grim. What would I do without you?”
“Probably fumble around like a—”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
It was true, though. I needed some time to think over my conversation with Lucent, and maybe talk about it with someone other than Heather.
Ruby might be the witch for the job, but my mind kept jumping to another witch. Was it Insight driving me that direction? Or was it just a good old-fashioned crush? Only one way to find out.
Chapter Five
By the time Grim and I returned to Medium Rare, the dinner rush was on. I slid onto a stool at the counter and Grim settled himself at my feet, squeezing his large body in the small space with impressive flexibility.
Bryant and Jane scurried around, splitting the booths between them, and it was five full minutes before Tanner emerged from the back, eyes wide like prey’s, spotted me, and approached to see what I wanted. Instantly, I felt guilty. I should’ve just jumped behind the counter and served myself. But my main point of coming here wasn’t to eat (though a sunrise burger was an added bonus). It was to speak with Tanner.
Now that I saw the state he was in, my plan changed.
“What can I do for you, Nora?” he asked, painting a smile on his face. But I saw right through it. He wasn’t great at faking.
“Uh, more importantly, what can I do for you?”
“Huh?”
I hesitated before explaining. I didn’t want to jump into this role again, but I would for him. “I can help.”
He shook his head vaguely. “Help with what?”
“This.” I motioned to the restaurant. “Running things. Managing.”
Hope sprang fresh in his eyes, even if he was clearly trying to suppress it. “Really? You know about managing?”
“Yeah,” I admitted begrudgingly. “I owned my own restaurant before I came to Eastwind. And before that, I was a manager, and before that, a server.”
Understanding dawned, and the corners of his mouth, which had hung slightly open, turned up into a wide grin. “That explains it! I was thinking you were a fast learner. Like, a super fast learner. But no, this makes sense.” He wagged a finger at me. “Okay. Yeah.”
“So, what do you say? We find some time to sit down, go over your responsibilities, and help you come up with a plan that works.”
“Yes.” He’d hardly let me finish speaking before the word was out of his mouth like a proclamation. “That. Let’s do that.” He leaned over the countertop and placed his palms on either side of my face, staring into my eyes. “You, Nora Ashcroft, are an angel.” He let go. “Well, not actually an angel, obviously. Witches can’t also be angels. You get my point, right?”
I laughed. “Yep.”
He shot me a quick finger gun. “Great. Help yourself to whatever food and drink you want. On me.”
As he hustled off, I called after him. “Holler at me when you have time to meet.”
A moment before he disappeared back into the kitchen, he threw me a thumbs up over his shoulder. There was a spring in his step now that almost kept me from regretting getting dragged back into management.
So, that was settled. I’d become Tanner Culpepper’s business mentor. Not quite the relationship I’d hoped for, but it was one that made sense and likely benefitted him the most.
Speaking of benefits, was mentor-with-benefits a thing?
Probably not.
I placed an order to-go and sipped on coffee while I waited for Anton to whip it up in the kitchen.
I was on my way to solving Tanner’s problems, but there were still pressing problems that remained unsolved.
Namely, who killed Heather Lovelace.
* * *
Trinity fluttered her fairy wings as she prattled on to Donovan, who waved his wand around effortlessly, pouring and mixing drinks behind the bar at Franco’s Pizza. Even from this distance and without any other inside knowledge, I was sure Trinity had it bad for Donovan. If I’d never had an interaction with the sexy bartender, I might have said I didn’t blame Trinity for her crush. I might’ve had a crush on him myself.
Except I’d had brief interactions with him, and they were never fantastic. Mostly, they were centered around his suspicion that I’d had something to do with Tanner being arrested on suspicion of murder when Bruce Saxon was found dead. Donovan just wouldn’t listen when I told him that, no, I was actually doing my best to exonerate Tanner. That much should be obvious by now, at least, but the bartender still didn’t much care for me. And he made it obvious.
He wasn’t listening to a word Trinity was saying. Instead, he directed his attention to me, no doubt wondering what I was up to, sitting in a booth by myself, not ordering any food, my familiar curled up at my feet.
Over the first few months in Eastwind, I’d slowly gleaned from looks and the wide circles people made around Grim and me that many Eastwinders were not, in fact, down with having a grim walking around town. Finally, I went straight to the source and asked Grim one day while we were walking through the emporium.
“Do you have a bit of a reputation around Eastwind?” I said.
“I’ve been telling you this. I’ve done some things. Awful, horrific, nightmarish—”
“No, drop the bad-boy act. I don’t believe it.”
“Fine.” He snorted loudly. “I’m a grim. Usually, when people see a grim, it means they’re going to die if they keep on the path they’re on. In fact, it used to be my job to be right-place-right-time for the ones who had it coming. But then you showed up, and I was forced into early retirement.”
“How could you tell who was about to die?”
“Instinct. It’s what makes a grim. Mostly I operated in the Deadwoods, which was a cushy job since most people who go into the Deadwoods never come out. I just had to go about my business, listen a little to my inklings, then, there I was, appearing before whatever dumb goblin thought a camping trip sounded like a nice vacation. If he didn’t drastically change his behavior, for instance get the heck out of the Deadwoods, it would be lights out for him before long.”
“Sheesh. That’s morbid. You couldn’t have liked that job.”
“I didn’t like it. I loved it.”
I considered that having a grim as a familiar might contribute to some of why Donovan seemed to hate me, but I knew that was probably wishful thinking since he’d loathed me even before he’d ever laid eyes on Grim.
So, he must’ve just hated me. Something about me. Everything about his behavior indicated that. Or maybe ol’ Donovan “Sexy Eyes” Stringfellow just couldn’t let the Tanner thing go. If I had to guess one of Donovan’s innate magical powers, I would go with holding grudges.
“I cannot fathom why we have to wait for her when she’s running late,” said Grim.
“Because it’s the polite thing to do.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about that when meatballs have been parading past my highly sensitive olfactory glands for the last fifteen minutes. If they close the kitchen before I can eat—”
“Just chill out. You’ll survive.”
“I’m not worried about my survival,” he mumbled. “I’m not the one that’s about to get eaten by me. You think I won’t snatch that fairy out of the air and make an appetizer out of her? She smells like candy, Nora! Candy!”
“For fang’s sake, Grim.” I nudged him with the toe of my boot. “Enough with the man-eater routine.”
“Fairy-eater, to be exact,” he said, grunting when another nudge of my boot hit him in the haunches.
Finally, Jane appeared, hurrying past the host stand, and relief washed over me; being stood up by a friend was worse than being stood up by a date. And I was new to the female friend thing, truth be told.
“Sorry,” she said, sliding in across from me. “My shift should’ve ended an hour ago, but Bryant was so in the weeds, I helped him with his side work.”
“It’s fine,” I said. Then to Grim, “She was late because she was helping a fr
iend. Now don’t you feel bad?”
“So bad. The only thing that can comfort me is hot lasagna. Ooh! Or meatballs.”
“I never should’ve fed you people food. You’re an addict.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“Anyway,” Jane said, “I’m glad to be here, even if it is almost closing time.”
“Jane!” Trinity fluttered over. “So good to see you, what can I get you to drink?”
“Just a water for me,” she said, “but I think we’d better order if we want to avoid Grim accidentally eating someone.”
I jerked my head around to look at her. How did she guess?
Jane caught my eye. “I’m good with canine body language.”
Werewolf. Right. Made sense in that skewed kind of way all things did in Eastwind.
Once we’d ordered, Jane sighed, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands. “I’m so glad we finally found time for some girl talk.”
“Yeah, me—”
“Because I’ve been dying to hear what’s going on between you and Tanner.”
I sat up straight. “Huh? Nothing. There’s nothing going on. I mean, I’m going to help him a little bit with the business side of Medium Rare, but that’s it.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “That’s a steaming stack of unicorn swirls and you know it. I see the way you two look at each other. Well, mostly the way he looks at you.”
“That’s just how Tanner looks at people,” I protested weakly.
“It’s not the way he looks at Ted. Not even the way he looks at me.”
It suddenly felt stiflingly warm in the restaurant.
“Nora,” she said firmly, “I think I can tell when two people have it bad for each other.”
“I don’t have it bad for Tanner.”
I totally had it bad for Tanner.
“Whatever you say. All I’m gonna tell you, though, is that if you’re interested, the path is clear. He’s available and interested.”
I shook my head, staring down at the table. “Even if that were the case, it would only make things complicated at work. He’s my manager. What if we decided to start something and then it blew up? I’d have to quit, because asking Tanner to would be ridiculous, since he owns the place. And I like working at Medium Rare.”
