A Thrift Shop Murder

by N. M. Howell

  The black cat feigned a cough. “Hipster.”

  “Fleabag,” I retorted. The black cat chuckled in response and I felt my lips curve, despite myself. I shook my head and reached for the old lady’s diary, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I’d enjoyed the little exchange. I was not the kind of woman who exchanged banter with a cat. I began flipping through the pages of the journal, but I couldn’t understand a word of it. Magic and spells? Hardly. The book was nothing but utter jibberish. I came to page with a pretty pencil drawing of a cat and I shifted to examine it more closely, my interest peaking. Tucking my legs up toward me, I sat up straight and read it aloud to hear the strange sounds of the unfamiliar language. “Redire ad se verum est, quod magica de oppanso corporis tui concelavi.”

  I felt a strange rush of energy flow through me as I spoke the words aloud, and I swear, the room shimmered around me. A bright flash of light filled the air and suddenly, in place of the cats, stood three extremely naked men.

  Chapter Eight

  “What the hell!” I shrieked. I threw the journal across the room and my arms and legs splashed wildly as I tried to conceal my body, sliding awkwardly under the water and gasping for breath. I threw my body halfway over the edge of the bathtub, swearing as I grabbed my robe, wrapped it around myself, and headed for the door. I’d barely taken a step when my foot slipped on the tiles and I collided with a hard, muscular body. I reached out to steady myself and my hand grabbed a piece of anatomy so impressively huge that I immediately let go in shock, catapulting myself backward into the cold bathwater. “Holy sh—”

  “Swearing is most unbecoming for a lady your age.” With a loud pop the old lady appeared in the bathroom, perched high on the sink with her short, skinny legs dangling below.

  My voice raised an octave. “What in damnation is going on here?” It was the final straw, the one that broke the metaphorical camel’s back; I had lost it. Categorically, undeniably, call the doctors, lost it. Reality was no longer the realm I existed in. There was no way in hell that I could truly be sitting soaked in the bathtub surrounded by three naked men and a crazy old lady ghost. It simply wasn’t happening. There was no way this could be happening to me.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” a soft voice said. I gaped at the man with dark auburn hair and leaf-green eyes through a haze of disbelief. He was tall and fair skinned with shoulders so broad they could fill a door. My eyes travelled down his toned body to narrowed hips and defined abdominal muscles. Instinctively my gaze flickered lower and the man attempted to cover himself with his large hands. I twisted my head, trying to focus anywhere but on what I’d just seen. He wasn’t the man I’d grabbed, but still... I chanced a peek at his face and saw his cheeks were as flushed as I was certain my own were.

  A towel landed on the red-head’s shoulder. “Here, man, cover it up in front of the lady.” I blinked at the sound of the low, gravelly voice coming from a dark-haired man with olive skin and tousled black hair. He didn’t meet my eye as he wrapped a towel around his waist, but from the brief glance I got before the fabric concealed his form, there was no denying he was the man I’d collided with before I fell back into the bathtub. I ran my hand over my forehead. I needed to get out of this room. It was too damn hot.

  “I don’t need a towel, Fluffy. I’m perfectly comfortable in this skin.” I could barely bring myself to face the third man as he lounged against the door. His long body was slender, lean, and tanned all over as if he’d spent hours lying under the warm sun. I studiously avoided looking below his waist, aware he was scrutinizing every flick of my gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his smile widen and the dimple in his chin deepen. His white blonde hair looked like he spent every moment surfing on the West Coast, but I’d spent enough time around Gerard’s friends to know his unkempt ‘do probably cost more than my smoothie bar had made on its best week. Eyebrows curved above sparkling hazel eyes. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart, we’re all friends here. Although, you still haven’t made us any breakfast…”

  No. No, no, no. I didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be happening. Sure, the voices were the same, but there had to be an explanation. It was all a set-up. I was being filmed. I gripped my robe tighter around my chest and shouted, “Punked! You got me, people. You got me, good.”

  The man with the auburn hair frowned and took a step forward. “Is she okay, guys? She doesn’t look okay.”

  Agatha crossed her arms and swung her legs. “Oh, she’s all right; it just seems the snoopy little witch found my spell book.”

  “Spell book?” I mouthed slowly, staring at the leather-bound journal on the floor. We’d deal with the pot-kettle-blackness of her accusing me of being the snoop later. First, spells; later, indignant rage, I decided.

  “Yes, my spell book, girlie. And now look what you’ve done.” Agatha waved a finger toward the three men. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to meddle in another witch’s business?”

  “I am not a witch.” My voice was a shadow of its former self.

  “Definitely a witch,” the dark, brooding man with the big…blue eyes said. “You have far too many weird herbs and stuff in your bag to not be a witch.”

  “They’re just herbs,” I snapped.

  “Witch herbs,” the blond man added. He let out a wolf-whistle and winked at the other two men. “Can I just say, you’re looking good there, Muffin, Fluffy…”

  “Shut it, Pussy,” the dark-haired man snapped. From the way he squared his ink covered shoulders, I guessed he wasn’t the kind of guy you messed with. He picked up the last towel from the floor and flung it at the blond man. “Put it on.”

  “Oh, cut it out, all three of you,” Agatha barked as the blond covered himself with a towel. The ghost jumped from her perch on the sink and sprang across the bathroom to pick up the diary from the floor. I raised a brow in surprise. I couldn’t feel her, but she could move objects. Interesting. “And you!” The ghost pointed a thin finger in my direction. “My diary is none of your business, do you hear me? A witch’s spells are private. Keep your paws to yourself before you ruin any more of my work. How the hell am I supposed to fix these three when I don’t have any access to my magic?”

  “Fix these three?” I repeated. I sounded like a babbling idiot, repeating everything Agatha said.

  “You okay there, Priscilla? Do you need anything? You look like you’re about to pass out or something. You’re really pale.” The auburn-haired man looked concerned as he leaned against the far wall of the bathroom.

  “Price,” I corrected. I spread my fingers wide, palms upturned. “And yes, I do need something. I need there not to be half-naked men in my bathroom. Why are you all half-naked?”

  The dark-haired man lifted his chin. “You expected us to have some magical cat clothes? Fur that transforms into jeans and a shirt?”

  “Besides, we’re not the only ones half-naked, here,” the blond man teased, running a slow gaze over my bare legs and the soaked robe clinging to my skin.

  Agatha made a heaving noise. “Oh, for goodness sake, stop prattling and flirting, all of you. It’s nauseating.” She flicked a hand toward the men. “There’s a reason I turned you into cats in the first place; pets are so much more pleasant than people.”

  I stared at the ghost. “You turned—”

  “Us into cats?” The dark-haired man finished. His blue eyes flashed as he turned to the other two men. “What the hell? Did you two know this?”

  The auburn-haired man drew his brows together as if he was trying to catch an elusive memory. “No…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “Of course, you didn’t know, that’s the nature of the curse. A familiar never remembers its former existence.” Agatha glowered at me. “Unless some other magic interferes with the spell.”

  I glared at the ghost. “Oh, please, you turned these men into cats, but you want to make me out to be the bad guy? I don’t think so, ghost-witch.”

  Agatha tossed her head. “Pooh, pooh. How do
you know they didn’t deserve it? They could be mass murders for all you know.” At my tentative glance to my right, she added, “or rapists.”

  I eyed the men as they glared at the ghost. What a shame to waste such beauty on villains. “And were they?” I asked.

  The ghost shrugged. “How should I know? I’m dead.” The three men took a step closer to the witch, their stares as sharp as mine. We waited for her to elaborate. Agatha sighed as if she was exhausted by our collective ignorance. “I’m a dead witch; I’m bound by the Law of the Dead. I can’t access my powers or recall the details of my most powerful spells until I’ve resolved my unfinished business.” She waggled a finger at the men. “I have no recollection why I chose such distracting creatures to be my pets.” The ghost fixed her glare on me. “And now you’ve stuck your beak into the spell, who knows what way the magic will react.”

  “How can we fix this stupid Law of the Dead business?” I asked, trying not to stare at the three men. “I mean, we need to figure out if these guys deserve to get back to their real lives or if they’re dangerous criminals that should be behind bars.” I glanced in their direction. “No offence.”

  “None taken,” the dark-haired man growled.

  The red-haired man raised one large hand. “I actually do take some offence at that. I’d rather if we didn’t assume I’m a rapist or murderer. if that’s cool?”

  Agatha ignored both men and stepped close enough to me that I noticed the delicate blue of her eyes for the first time. Baby blue. “There’s only one way to appease the law, Priscilla.” I didn’t bother to correct her. “Resolve my unfinished business; find my murderer.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Agatha, you weren’t murdered.” The ghost stared down her nose at me with a disapproving frown and I held my hands up. “I’m sorry, I really am, and I’m no expert in criminal forensics, but a grape isn’t a murder weapon.” The blond man snorted and I gave him a sharp glance. “Where the hell were you guys when she died anyway? Chasing mice?”

  From the look on the men’s faces, I was pretty certain I’d hit a nerve. The dark-haired man crossed his strong, tattooed arms. “We were out. By the time we got back, she was…gone.” Something about the weight in his eyes sucked the anger from my bones and I dropped his stare.

  Ding-dong.

  The echo of the doorbell rang through the house. Grateful for the distraction, I jumped from the tub, dripping wet, and reached for a towel to find there were none left. The blond man dropped his hand to his waist and made to loosen his towel, and I slapped my hands over my eyes. “No! No more nakedness, please.”

  “I don’t know, I quite enjoyed the nakedness when you were getting changed earlier,” the blond drawled. I could practically see his grin despite my closed eyes.

  The sound of a drawer opening and closing was followed my something soft being shoved against my hands. “Here.” I recognised the dark-haired man’s deep tones. “We’ll all turn around so you can put it on.”

  I lowered my hands to find all three men with their backs turned to me and the blond man grumbling loudly about gender equality and roaming female eyes. I couldn’t help but smirk as I peeled off my soaking wet robe and tried to rub myself off with a hand towel. Three pairs of taut buttocks winked at me from beneath thin cotton towels.

  “Ahem.” Agatha nodded pointedly toward the door as the sound of the doorbell rang out again. I pulled on the frilly pink robe and secured it as tightly as it could. On me, Agatha’s robe only reached mid-thigh and gaped at the chest in a way that would have been indecent on somebody with a more generous bust.

  I bolted out of the room and down the stairs toward the front door before the three men had a chance to turn around again.

  Opening the door a crack, I poked my head through to see who was there. A short, elderly man I vaguely recognized from the funeral stood on the front step, looking rather nervous. “Miss Priscilla Jones?”

  I nodded, glancing back quickly into the entryway behind me. To my dismay, the three cat-men and the old crazy lady stood behind me, eagerly peering over me to see who was at the door. I glared at them and turned back to the short man. I stepped halfway through the doorway, pulling it tight behind me so the poor guy at the doorstep couldn’t see the motley crew behind me.

  “Price,” I forced a smile as I replied to him. “You can call me Price. What can I do for you?”

  I could hear the three guys and the old lady squabbling on the other side of the door. I waved my right hand slightly in an attempt to shush them, but they simply raised their voices and spoke louder. Eager to make the stranger on the doorstep go away, I smiled at him and nodded encouragingly, hoping he’d hurry with whatever the heck it was he wanted. The last thing I needed was for someone else to witness the disaster going on inside. Or worse still, have someone confirm my biggest fear that all this was just a figment of my imagination and I was indeed going crazy.

  “Well, Miss Jones,” the man said. He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp cotton handkerchief which he twisted nervously as he spoke. “Price, I mean. Price. I work at a small law firm just down the road. I was the one who managed Mrs. Bentley’s affairs and she was... well, she was kind to me. And she was very happy when she called me and asked me to come help put her affairs in order a few weeks ago. She was excited to work with you, and she told me that you didn’t know anything about the estate being in your name. That she wasn’t going to tell you anything. That it was what she wanted; she was a very strong-minded woman, you know, very capable.”

  “I see,” I said slowly, uncertain where on earth the conversation was going.

  The man swallowed hard. “Well, I just wanted to let you know before you heard from another source; some new evidence came to light following the pathology report and Mrs. Bentley’s death is being investigated as suspicious. And, well, with you arriving so suddenly and inheriting everything so unexpectedly…” My mouth fell open a little as the cogs in my brain began to turn. The man gave me a tight smile. “I’m very sorry, Miss Jones. I just wanted to warn you before anything happens, and to let you know I’m here if you need any legal support. I owe it to Mrs. Bentley.”

  Before he could add anything else, I offered a forced handshake, thanked him, and hurried back inside. The entryway was deserted, the cats and their owner, their real owner, had obviously decided the old man wasn’t worth eavesdropping on. I peered through the peep hole and watched the small, balding man as he stood on the doorstep for a moment before plodding away. I had never even asked his name. As soon as he was gone, I turned on my heels and ran back up the stairs, yelling for Agatha.

  I stormed into the bedroom and the ghost appeared beside the window. “I told you I was murdered.” Agatha’s face was alive with smug triumph. “Now do you believe me?”

  I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands and sank down onto the edge of the bed. “You did tell me.” I glanced up at her and chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. “I’m sorry, Agatha. That I didn’t believe you, and that, well, you know.”

  “That I was murdered in cold blood?” The ghost asked. “That I was savagely ripped to shreds in the prime of my life?” I drew my brows low and pressed my lips together. She was pushing it a bit with the ‘prime of her life’ nonsense. She was no spring chicken.

  A shadow fell on the wooden floorboards as three figures crowded into the room. The blond guy cocked his head and made a face. “Come on, Aggy, the murder weapon was a grape and you’re at least a hundred. It’s uncool, but it’s hardly Jack the Ripper standard.”

  The red-haired man knocked his friend halfway across the room with a nudge of his broad shoulders. “She was murdered, Pussy. It’s not a joke.” He turned gentle green eyes on the elderly ghost. “Are you okay, Ag? I mean, I know you thought somebody had… Jeez. This sucks.”

  The dark-haired man leaned his weight against the door frame and crossed his arms over his still bare chest. I eyed the towel slung distractingly low on his hips and wondered
were there any clothes in the store that would fit the three men. I had enough on my plate without the added complication of damp, ludicrously enticing bodies lounging on all sides. The man inclined his head in my direction. “And hipster here is in prime position to take the fall for a crime she didn’t commit. It’s bullcrap.”

  The other men nodded, even Pussy looked sombre as he pushed a lock of blond hair out of his hazel eyes. Agatha tipped her head in agreement. “It is. Total poppycock.” Her lips twisted into a grin as she turned in my direction. “It does have one upside, though.”

  I raised my eyebrows and stared at the ghost, waiting for her to reveal the silver lining to the poop sandwich I’d been handed. She schooled her mouth into what I gathered was her best attempt at a winning smile. “Now, you’ve got no choice but to help find my murderer, and quick-smart, before—”

  “Before I get blamed for your murder,” I muttered.

  She was right, damn it. Things just got personal.

  Chapter Ten

  An overwhelming exhaustion flooded through my bones as I sank into an armchair in the living room. I folded my hands in my lap and stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

  “She’s doing that thing again where she doesn’t speak and makes a face like a robot,” a voice I recognised as belonging to the red-haired man whispered.

  I glanced up in time to catch the man with dark hair and tattooed skin nudging his friend. “Not helping, man.”

  The blond guy, Pussy, leaned casually against the doorframe, striking his trademark pose as if he were pulled straight from Calvin Klein magazine. “Is she even still alive? Someone should poke her. I volunteer—”

  “Touch me and you lose a hand,” I snapped. “Or a paw, whatever.” I pushed myself up off the chair and began pacing the room. “I’m trying to think, and I can’t do that with you guys distracting me.”