The Hex Files - Wicked All The Way

by Gina LaManna

  “I suppose not,” she said, then added defensively, “but if another customer comes in, I’ll have to help them.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “First, let us reiterate how sorry we are for your loss. I can’t imagine losing a brother. I have four of them.”

  “Wow,” Evelyn said dully. “Must have been nice. The truth is, it’s awful what happened to Mason. I hate that we lost him, and obviously I’m shocked and devastated. But I was very young when he left home.”

  “Your mother said you were quite close when you were both living here.”

  “We were. He was the best big brother a girl could have asked for,” she said with a thoughtful smile. “That’s the reason it’s so hard to deal with his loss. I mean, it was back then when he actually left. It broke my heart. Like I wasn’t enough reason for him to stick around.”

  I nodded, thinking specifically about Rob. We weren’t the only two children in my family, so I had other brothers left home with me when he had gone, but his disappearance had still stung.

  “I think I mourned him then more than now,” she said. “When my brother was fifteen, I was what—six? It felt almost like he’d died. I mean, sure. We got weekly letters from him, but it didn’t sound like my brother. They were formal, too adultish, not silly enough to be coming from Mason.”

  “You think the letters were faked?”

  “No, they definitely weren’t,” she said. “They came from him religiously, but it was an obligation to write to our family. He didn’t share the funny stories or the little bits and pieces that make daily life enjoyable. It read like a report of his week. Him proving to mom and dad that he was capable of making it on his own.”

  Evelyn looked over at me to make sure I understood her point. When I gave a nod, she shook herself back to attention and looked down at the pot of tea she was steeping. She jerked into action, draining the tea into two cute pink and teal mugs, then placed them on the counter and pushed them toward us.

  “I felt like I lost my brother then. When I heard the news he’d died from the Rangers, obviously I was sad and heartbroken, devastated, all of that, but I hadn’t seen him in years. He lived his own life. It was more like hearing a pen pal, or a distant uncle, had passed away. You know you should feel sad, but it’s different.”

  “I understand,” I said. “You mourned him once, and there wasn’t enough space to do it again. At least, not yet. It may come.”

  She looked at me carefully. “Yes, I suppose it might. Go on, have a sip. No use wasting it.”

  I raised the teacup to my lips and blew on it. Steam curled into my face and, out of nowhere, the thick scent of gooey chocolate cake hit me like a steam roller. I took a gulp—too big—and burned my entire mouth. But on the way down, it tasted like chocolate.

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “I’m more of a coffee drinker, but this is—”

  “Out of this world,” Primrose interrupted. “I’ll take some. Four ounces, please. Sorry, Detective, don’t try to stop me.”

  I grinned at Primrose, both because of her sheer enthusiasm, and also because of her unwillingly brilliant idea. By asking to make a purchase, she’d given Evelyn something to do with her hands, and the poor girl seemed more coherent when she was busy moving around, her brain working in the background.

  “Is there anything you can tell us that might have gotten your brother into some trouble?” I asked. “Even if it wasn’t his fault. Anything he was worried about, stressed over, that sort of thing?”

  “You mean, because his death wasn’t an accident.”

  “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. Yes. We believe that somebody wanted your brother dead, and we’re trying to figure out why Mason became a target.”

  “Honestly, I can’t think of anything. If you go off my brother’s letters, he was too boring to get in trouble.” She gave a dry smile. “I’m sort of joking. Back in the day, he wasn’t boring. But the things he wrote about lately—going to work, coming home, living a magic free existence. He cooked, hung out with his dog, did continuing education for his stupid accounting degree. I mean, it doesn’t exactly spell trouble, does it? Especially not of the magical variety.”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Did your brother happen to mention rejoining the magical community at all?”

  She snorted. “Mason? No way. He’d die before he rejoined the magical comm—” She stopped abruptly.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that Mason’s body was found on the Campus of Magic, and—”

  “I thought that was weird,” she said. “I thought it strange he’d been in the Sixth Borough at all, but I guess I figured he must have been renewing some paperwork or whatever. He’s always on top of that legal junk.”

  I offered a small smile. “Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly the case. We found his body in campus housing—in a dorm space he shared with a roommate. As a student there. He was attending a month-long immersion course for Orientation.”

  Evelyn just blinked at me. “What?”

  “Your brother was attending the Campus—”

  She waved me off. “I heard you, I just don’t believe it. There’s no way my brother would go through Orientation. I mean, even if he had wanted to move back, he would have just moved back. We begged him to come live with us all the time. Or at least move to The Isle to be closer to us, magic or not.”

  “So, he never mentioned in a separate letter to you somewhere...”

  She shook her head. “We wrote letters as a family. I’m sure my mother can get them for you if you think they’d be helpful.”

  “Thank you so much for your time, Evelyn,” I said. “If there’s anything else you can think of—either from your brother’s younger days or his time in Texas, please let us know.”

  “What sort of stuff?” Evelyn inched closer to the counter, looking at us closely. “I mean, it was a long time ago, but my brother was always a little different. You don’t think that could be what got him killed, do you?”

  “Your mother mentioned he was different, but she couldn’t say how,” I said. “Do you have any thoughts?”

  She swallowed hard. “Not much thanks to stupid Wesley Romper.”

  “Wesley?” I jotted the name down.

  “Don’t bother,” Evelyn said, her eyes flicking toward my notepad. “He’s dead. Died a few years ago in a spellcasting accident. Not a huge loss if you ask me—he was the biggest bully. I’m almost positive he’s the one who said something to my brother that scared him off from talking about his gifts.”

  “Gifts?”

  “He could see things,” Evelyn said in a hushed voice. “But I never found out what. Ghosts maybe, or something. He always kept so mute about it. I think he told Wesley the truth—they were friends in grade school—and I think Wesley made such awful fun of him that Mason decided he didn’t like being different.”

  “Shame Wesley’s not around to tell us what that might have been,” I said. “Seems like it’s the least he could do for your brother after that.”

  “Nobody liked him. He was a meanie. But yeah, I think he might’ve been the only person who knew exactly what Mason could see.” Evelyn hesitated. “I always think our house spooked my brother. I blamed mom and dad for many years after Mason moved away.”

  “Your mother and father?”

  “They keep this one room in the house locked,” she said. “They always have, ever since Mason or I could remember. We used to try and pick the lock, slip Peepers under the door, anything we could think of, but it didn’t work. All I know is that Mason would sit and stare at that door for hours. Like, hours on end. He’d forget to eat. It was strange.”

  “What do you think he saw?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it triggered his gift—whatever it was,” Evelyn said. “If there’s a theory, I’ve had it. Dead bodies in the room, buried treasure, stolen goods. For a while, I was convinced my parents were spies. I mean, they’re obviously not—did you see my mom’s collection of Christmas sweaters? But the
re was something strange in there if Mason’s to be believed.”

  “Do you think your mother would talk to us about it?”

  Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Not a chance.”

  “Not even if it could help solve her son’s murder?”

  “You have to understand something.” Evelyn came out from behind the counter, walked just a hair too close inside my personal space bubble. She lowered her voice, her eyes a little wild. “Whatever is in that room is more important to my parents than either of their children. When I told my mother that I thought Mason might move back if we got rid of the door and whatever was behind it, do you know what she said?”

  “What?” gasped Primrose, clutching her teacup to her chest.

  Evelyn stepped back, eyed both of us. “She said, ‘That’s too bad’.”

  Chapter 12

  “It’s weird, don’t you think?” Primrose asked as we shuffled down Main Street. She clutched a small baggie of chocolate cake tea leaves to her chest. “Angela White didn’t seem that... I don’t know, crass when we spoke with her. It seemed like she really loved her son.”

  “It did,” I agreed. “But here’s the thing about being a cop, Primrose. People lie to us. There’s a chance Angela isn’t quite as warm and fuzzy as her Christmas sweater. And there’s a chance that Evelyn’s making the whole thing up about that door in their house.”

  Primrose gasped. “But how can someone who makes such exquisite tea be a big fat liar? Even my mother would like this tea, and she’s made even the best tea connoisseurs cry before with her assessments.”

  “Your mother sounds quite charming,” I said. “But regardless, I’m not saying that—what were your words?—Evelyn is a big fat liar. That’s not what I meant at all. I’m just telling you not to get attached to any one story, any one theory. There are good liars out in the world. Believe me, I’ve seen them first hand.”

  “Are you talking about Trenton?”

  At the name of my ex-boyfriend, I felt my head do a slow turn as an ugly smile crept over my face. “What did you say?”

  Primrose’s face was already Christmas-red as she muddled through an apology. “I’m so sorry—I told you, I read your case files, and... I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” I said icily. “And I’d appreciate if you don’t bring up his name ever again.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I just meant... it doesn’t matter.”

  We continued north in chilly silence, though the air was warm and the sun beat down on us. I rolled my shoulders and attempted to ease the stress out of them, but it was good and built up.

  What bothered me more than the mention of Trenton was just how thoroughly Primrose seemed to know me—while I knew nothing about her. I preferred to live a private life, and it set me on edge to know that someone had access to such intimate details of my life, even if they were part of my case file.

  “It’s creepy when you talk like you know everything about me,” I finally blurted. “Yes, I was talking about Trenton. He was a brilliant liar, and I fell for it. But let me tell you that. Don’t tell me about my own life. Got it?”

  Primrose nodded. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Thank you. It’s great you did your homework, but...” I shifted uncomfortably. “Working with someone is new for me. Do your best not to weird me out.”

  “Don’t weird out the boss,” she said, nodding vehemently. “Absolutely, sir. Again, I apologize.”

  I flicked a smile over at her asking for a hint of forgiveness. “I’m trying to help you, Primrose.”

  “I know. I appreciate it. Trust me, sir.”

  “I’ll tell you what—why don’t you handle the next interview?”

  “Alone?”

  “I’ll be there next to you,” I said. “But I’ve talked to Angela and Evelyn, and you’ve done a good job—” I hesitated, amended my statement—“a pretty good job keeping your trap shut. I think it’s your turn. Let’s see what you can do.”

  If possible, Primrose’s fingers went even paler as she gripped the bag tighter to her body. Her eyes shone. “Really? I mean, it’s a big investigation.”

  “You think you can do it?”

  “Yes!” It came out almost as a yelp. “I mean, yes, sir. It would be my pleasure. But if I make a mistake—”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said. “You’ll be fine. We’ll do it together. You take the lead.”

  The building that housed Spellcasting Sorcerers loomed shiny before us, tucked on an outcropping of land that hung over the ocean. The materials used for the building were a pearly shade of white with interesting, sloping ridges. It looked almost like an oversized seashell resting against the shoreline.

  “Do me a favor though, Primrose,” I said as we reached the front doors, two arches made entirely of milky glass.

  Primrose looked up expectantly. “Yes?”

  “Wipe the goofy grin off your face or nobody will take you seriously.”

  “Right, sir.”

  Almost comically, Primrose struggled to frown, but her face just didn’t bend that way. She was one of the permanently smiling, or at least pleasant-looking, types of folks, unlike me. But at least I couldn’t see all her molars.

  We scooted up to the front desk and waited in somewhat awkward silence for a long minute until Primrose jerked to attention and realized that her job had started the second we passed through the front doors.

  “Hello, I’m looking for Colton White,” Primrose said to the front desk receptionist. “We need to speak with him briefly.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” The woman behind the desk brushed curly blonde hair over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t have an appointment, but it’s urgent,” Primrose said. “His wife sent us, and it is imperative we speak to him immediately.”

  The receptionist frowned. “Is it a family emergency?”

  “Something like that,” Primrose said, shifting a glance in my direction.

  “I’m Detective DeMarco of the Sixth Borough,” I said, flipping my badge out and resting it on the table. “And that’s Officer Primrose. We’d like to speak to Mr. White. It’ll only take a second, I promise.”

  “His meeting ends in five minutes,” the receptionist said, glancing at a sheet of paper before her which presumably had the day’s schedule listed on it. “I can let his receptionist know, and she’ll do her best to squeeze you in.”

  “Great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Primrose barely lasted past the front desk before she raised a hand to her mouth and chomped down on her thumbnail. “God, I screwed that up. I’m so sorry, Detective. I completely understand if you want me to keep quiet during the interview. I’m getting pretty good at that.”

  “You didn’t screw up back there,” I said, giving her a smirk. “Unless you count being too nice as a crime. You’ve got a badge. I’m not telling you to abuse it, but you should learn when to use it. That’s why you carry it, Officer.”

  Primrose took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. If it’s alright, I’d like to continue with the interview.”

  “I assumed so.”

  We shared a quick smile before coming to a stop outside of an office where a second receptionist sat—this one with sleek black hair that dangled in a straight sheet down her back and matched the midnight-colored dress that was tailored perfectly to her figure.

  “Excuse me,” Primrose said when the receptionist didn’t look up after several throat clears and a few taps of the toe. “You might have gotten a Comm from the front desk?”

  The receptionist blinked up looking unimpressed. “Right. Well, Mr. White is very busy today. The conference is this weekend, and he doesn’t have time to speak with the two of you. So, I’m sorry, but whatever Melissa told you isn’t accurate. He’s got no extra time in his schedule.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Primrose said, leaning forward and adding a bite to her words. Her voice shook, but she did a good job covering it up, and
I doubted anyone but me could tell. “However, unless you’d like to take a trip with us back to the Sixth Precinct and get yourself charged with obstruction of justice in a murder investigation, maybe you can squeeze us into the schedule for five minutes. We’ll be brief. I promise.”

  I hid a smirk as Primrose visibly wobbled with nerves, but the receptionist was too busy gaping to notice.

  “Let me check,” the receptionist said once she’d gathered herself. “I can probably reschedule a few calls to fit you in.”

  Primrose stepped back while the black-haired woman excused herself and disappeared through a door behind the desk. Primrose glanced at me, hope and fear scrawled in her eyes.

  “So?” she asked.

  “A bit overkill,” I said. “But a very good start. And I liked the touch at the very end.”

  “The promise bit? Yeah. I got that from you.” She said with a nervous laugh. “But it sounds a lot more ridiculous coming out of my mouth than it does yours.”

  “There are all kinds of cops, Primrose. You don’t have to be a bitch like me in order to be successful.”

  “No?”

  I glanced at her. “I think you just called me a bitch, but I’m going to let it slide because I like you.”

  “I just meant you’re fierce,” Primrose said and pumped a fist for good measure. She looked extremely sheepish after. “I really wish I hadn’t said fierce. Or did this whole thing.” She repeated the first pumping thing. “Okay, I’m all done, I swear.”

  “Mr. White will see you now,” the receptionist said, appearing in the door behind the desk that presumably guarded Colton White’s office. “But he has a call in five minutes so if you are not gone by then...”

  Primrose and I waited patiently for the rest of the threat. It never came. What could she do, really—call the cops? We were the cops.

  “Great,” I said. “Very nice of you to find time for us.”

  We skirted the desk and made our way into a spacious office that must have been lofted above the water because one entire wall was made of windows and through it, all we could see was the lake. Whitecaps washed against the shore below us, and it gave me the feeling of being very, very small.