A Halloween Hookup

by Jennie Marts

  Chapter One

  Jerry Finney blinked at the zombie blocking the sidewalk in front of him. He did not have time for this today.

  He was running on empty as it was, having spent the last three days tracking down a thirteen-year-old runaway. He’d delivered the girl to her grateful parents around two that morning and grabbed a few hours of sleep before Mickey, his mutt, had nudged him awake, ready for their morning run.

  A dark-haired dominatrix walked up to the zombie and handed it a carryout cup of coffee and a donut. The couple smiled and waved at Finn then moved down the sidewalk.

  He hated Halloween.

  He slugged back the last of own lukewarm coffee as he walked into the small strip mall that housed his private detective agency, Finney Investigations. As he absently perused the newspaper, the headline of a jewelry store heist caught his eye, and he prepared himself for the rash of calls he’d get today from concerned businesses looking for extra security details.

  More business was always welcome. The sleepy, small town of Pleasant Valley didn’t have a huge ration of crime, but he did all right. Caught up in the chase to find the runaway girl, he’d missed an appointment with a new client the night before and needed to call and make amends. Maybe he’d offer to take the guy out to lunch. His empty stomach rumbled at the thought of a greasy cheeseburger and fries.

  A flash of color caught his eye, and he sighed at the dark-haired woman standing in front of Finney Investigations. Just looking at her, he knew she brought trouble. Another thing he didn’t need today. Most days he’d be happy to start his morning with a woman at his door, but this one wore a flowing purple robe and a bright-colored scarf tied around her long hair. All she was missing was the pointed hat with a spider dangling from the edge.

  Today was Halloween, but unfortunately she wasn’t in costume.

  This was how she dressed every day. The color of her robe changed, but her style didn’t. She called herself Madame Zia, and she wasn’t a client; she was his neighbor and a certifiable kook.

  Her office sat down the hall from his, her door declaring her a renowned psychic who offered to read palms and tarot cards. She claimed to offer enlightenment, but his experience with psychics taught him that the only thing they “lightened” was the wallet of anyone gullible enough to want their services.

  They’d been office neighbors for close to a year now, but he didn’t think they’d ever spoken more than a few words as they’d passed in the hall. So why was she standing at his door, wringing her hands and looking like a 17th-century damsel in distress? Maybe someone had stolen her crystal ball.

  “Can I help you with something?” He nodded at her outfit. “Aren’t you running late for Potions class at Hogwarts?”

  She raised an eyebrow, revealing the deep green of her eyes. He’d never stood this close to her before, and damned if she wasn’t kind of pretty. “I’ve already taken Potions and mastered Magic 101.” She let out an annoyed sigh. “Not very original, Mr. Finney.”

  Touché. At least she had a sense of humor. He nodded. “Call me Finn.”

  “We seem to have a problem, Finn.” She pointed to the door of his office, which stood slightly ajar, the wooden molding splintered.

  “Son of a bitch.” He moved to stand between her and the door, and tilted his head to peer through the open crack. “Did you call the cops?”

  “No, I just got here. My door looks the same. I was getting ready to call the police when I noticed your office had been broken into as well, and then you walked in.”

  He dropped the paper and the empty coffee cup and pushed her protectively behind him. “Stay here.” Instinct took over, and he reached for the gun strapped into the harness across his shoulder. Holding it in front of him, he nudged the door open with his foot and cautiously stepped inside.

  His one-room office had been ransacked. Papers and files spilled off the desk and onto the floor. The painting on his wall now hung upside down. It looked as if a strong wind had swept through the room.

  The remains of a fast-food lunch were strewn around the overturned wastebasket, and a pool of soda soaked into the rug. His file cabinet drawers stood open and had obviously been searched.

  “What the hell?” Plaster dust littered the floor, and he peered up to see one of his office chairs hanging upside down, one leg firmly embedded in the ceiling. “How did that get up there? Somebody must have been on drugs to do that.” He glanced around the room. “Whoever did this is gone now. It’s too messy to tell for sure, but I don’t see anything missing.”

  He crossed to the big oak desk and tried the drawers. “My desk is still locked, and that’s where I keep anything of value.”

  Hearing no response, he looked up only to realize he spoke to an empty room. Madame Zia had vanished.

  ***

  Zia hurried down the hall to her office. Fear gripped her throat. She recognized the type of destruction in the private eye’s office. The presence of evil oozed from the walls, and she feared the same manifestation would be waiting for her.

  She probably should have waited for Finn; he had the gun, after all. But no gun was going to help in this instance.

  Besides, he acted like such a jerk. He didn’t even know her, and yet the first time they’d actually spoken, he’d mocked her clothes and made a joke at her expense. Who did he think he was?

  The private eye had always been aloof, barely acknowledging her as they’d passed in the hall. She’d thought being next door to a private investigator might be exciting, but the times she’d walked by his office window and seen him inside, he’d always had his head bent over the computer, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

  It seemed to her that the detective business was fairly boring, and so was the detective.

  Although she had to admit a thrill had shot down her spine when he’d pushed her behind him and pulled out his gun. Standing so close to him, his strength had been evident by the way his muscles bulged as he drew his gun. And he smelled amazing.

  She’d wanted to close her eyes and inhale his aftershave, the musky scent doing funny things to her insides. A small scar lay under his ear, and she’d been tempted to run her finger down the white line and then along his neck.

  The boring, sandy-haired detective was younger than she’d first assumed, probably in his early thirties. Close to the same age, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of reading glasses. The ones he wore made him look older and hid a fairly handsome face.

  She’d always been a little intrigued by him, but his stodgy demeanor and standoffish attitude had made attempts at getting to know him almost impossible.

  Now she knew he hadn’t been worth the effort. Not only did he seem boring, but he acted stuck-up as well. Then what had her fantasizing about running her fingers along the scar on his neck and still smelling his scent?

  His reaction to the office break-in had been the most excitement she’d seen in him since they’d met. But this was not the kind of excitement she needed in her life.

  Her office contained more than just a workspace. It was her sanctuary. The place where she offered help to the needy and healing to the broken.

  Her business meant everything to her. She’d worked hard to create a soothing environment filled with positive energy. It was decorated in jewel tones with a mystical motif, and the comfy furniture and a trickling fountain made her clients feel at ease. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with old spell books, candles, and baskets and jars holding crystals and herbs.

  She eased open the door and gasped at the broken glass and destruction of the room. It looked like a tornado had spun through the room. She took in the bright red sprays of blood spattered across the gold-painted walls and let loose a scream of terror.

&nb
sp; ***

  Finn rushed down the hall. The woman really was crazy. Still, he didn’t want her to get hurt. Who knew if the guy who did this was still around?

  A blood-curdling scream filled the air. He reached for his gun and sprinted for the psychic’s door.

  Zia crashed into him, throwing her arms around his waist. Her warm body trembled in his arms. “There’s blood. So much blood. Someone was murdered in my office.”

  He gave her a reassuring squeeze then gently pushed her behind him as he cautiously approached her door. “Stay behind me. I’ll check it out.”

  He’d seen his share of blood in his years as a cop, but his concern lay more in the worry that the perpetrator was still in there.

  A single glance inside showed the chaos of the destroyed room. Glass had been shattered and books and trinkets lay scattered around the floor. But what he didn’t see was blood. Not a trace.

  Chapter Two

  Confused, Finn gently pulled the trembling woman into the room. “I don’t see anything. Show me where you saw the blood.”

  Zia shook her head, a baffled expression on her face. “It’s gone now.”

  “What do you mean it’s gone?” Now he really was starting to question this woman’s sanity. The room was a mess, but he didn’t see anything to suggest a murder. “Blood doesn’t just disappear.”

  Zia hesitantly stepped further into the room and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, as if inhaling the atmosphere of the room. “Something terrible happened here. I can feel it. It feels like pure evil, and the color red is very strong.”

  Oh brother. What a nut job. “Look, lady, I don’t know what kind of hocus-pocus you get up to in here, but I deal in facts. And the fact is, I don’t see any blood. I don’t feel anything evil, either. This was most likely a simple robbery, since both of our offices got hit. Somebody looking for some easy cash.”

  “Oh, really? I thought you were a private investigator. You’re obviously not a very good one.”

  He bristled at the insult. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know me or how I operate.”

  “Whose fault is that?” she mumbled as she bent to pick up a broken plant that had spilled dirt onto her royal purple rug. She stood, the remains of a shattered pot in her hand. “You’re ignoring the clues. Signs that are right in front of you. The upside-down painting, the chair in the ceiling, the books all over the floor. If you opened your mind for one minute, you would see what’s really happening.”

  Distracted by the stretch of bare-skinned leg that she exposed when she bent to retrieve the plant, he tried to refocus on what she’d said.

  Geez, what had gotten into him? Since when had he been attracted to great ankles? Or ever even noticed ankles? But hers were slim and delicate and had a thin silver chain looped around one.

  Why was he letting a little glimpse of skin get to him? He cleared his throat. “I don’t think an upside-down painting is exactly what you’d call a clue. What is it you think I’m missing? If you have it all figured out, why don’t you tell me just what’s going on here, Madame Zia?”

  “It’s obvious. Something evil happened here last night. My guess, from the amount of blood splattered around the room, would be a murder. And whoever was murdered is trying to send us a sign.”

  What blood? How did she go from scattered files and spilled trash to a murder? “First of all, I don’t see any blood. And I don’t see any signs, except maybe one above your head that’s flashing ‘cuckoo.’”

  She rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “Really mature, Mr. Finney. The signs are all around us. This was obviously the work of a spirit trying to send us a message.”

  Cuckoo? Change that to cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Was she nuts?

  She moved to stand behind a long counter, an antique cash register on one end with a grouping of old glass jars next to it. One of the jars had been toppled over, and multicolored velvet bags had spilled across the counter.

  She had righted the jar and begun scooping the bags back into it when a spooky sound filled the room. A low groan issued from the cabinet above her head, and her hand stopped in midair, a red velvet bag clutched in her palm.

  Another groan, this one an eerie moan followed by a thumping. A shiver ran up Finn’s back, and he automatically held up his weapon. “Get back.”

  Before he could stop her, she turned and opened the cabinet door. A streak of black flew out, and she screamed as it skidded across the counter and leapt to the floor.

  Zia scooped a black cat into her arms and nuzzled the frightened animal against her. “Poor baby. It’s all right, Sam. Are you hurt?” She held the cat out, as if examining it for injuries.

  A black cat? Seriously? “You really might be a witch,” he mumbled.

  She whipped her head up, narrowing her eyes. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

  “No, no. I said a witch.” He waited for the onslaught of criticism, but was instead rewarded with a grin.

  “Oh, well in that case, thank you.”

  “Thank you?”

  “Yes, thank you for noticing. I am a witch. But not the kind you’re thinking. Not the hunched over, wart-covered crone casting evil curses, with a crow, and a bubbling black cauldron.” She shrugged, then grinned. A crooked grin filled with mischief and a naughty twinkle sparkled in her green eyes. “Well, wait, I guess I do have a black cauldron, but it’s a small one. And I don’t have any warts.”

  “Is that why you wear that silly robe? Or are you going to sing in the church choir later?”

  She looked down at the robe. “This is mostly for my customers. They expect me to dress the part.” She set the cat on the floor. “So, no, I’m not headed to Hogwarts or choir practice. But for the record, I do have a lovely singing voice.”

  He watched her bend. The satiny robe displayed a hint of curves, and he imagined the feel of the satin in his hands. What was wrong with him? Maybe she’d cast a spell on him. A horn-dog spell.

  Why was he suddenly so intrigued by her robe and envisioning what else she had on under it? Or if she had anything on under it? She said she was a witch. Did she drop the robe to dance naked in the moonlight?

  He cleared his throat and shook his head to clear the image of Zia naked in the moonlight. Or naked anywhere. “I don’t believe in all that nonsense. My job involves science and evidence. Not talking to ghosts and magic spells. In my job, I actually help people.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “So do I, Finn. That is the purpose of everything in this room. The herbs, the lotions, the crystals. It’s all to help people. I am a white witch, so I spend my energy on healing and helping my clients find peace.” She lifted a corner of the purple robe. “Even this outfit is a way to help my clients. It makes them feel at ease. Like they’re with a professional.”

  Oh no. Don’t start thinking about that robe again. “How does your outfit and some fancy rocks help people?”

  She shook her head and lowered her voice, as if speaking to a child. “There is a reason behind everything I do. To soothe. To protect. To heal. From reading tarot cards to simply listening is my way of giving comfort and aid. What I do helps my clients find peace or understanding. Do the services you provide offer your clients that?”

  “Of course they do. Suspicions can lead to a lot of nasty outcomes, but knowledge is power. Having proof can offer my clients peace too. I don’t just deal with jealous spouses. My firm helps solve crimes, track down killers, and find missing or kidnapped kids. But we deal in evidence and substantiation of proof.”

  She stepped closer and looked up at Finn, her voice now combative. “Of course you track down leads, but haven’t you ever heard of intuition or a cop having a gut feeling? Don’t put down what you know nothing about. Plenty of psychics have been used to help solve crimes or aid in police investigations.”

  He tried not to look at the way her chest heaved as she argued her case. The zipper of her robe was open just enough to expose the pale crescent of the tops of her bre
asts as she leaned forward. His mind muddled at the lacy black fabric just visible under the robe, and he couldn’t think of a single argument to oppose what she’d just said. What had she just said?

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, saving him from having to form a response.

  The voice of his business partner, Jake Landon, sounded in his ear. “Hey, Finn. What’s on tap for today?”

  “A little B&E, and I’m afraid we’re the ones who’ve been broken and entered.” Finn absently rubbed his whiskered chin as he spoke, and hoped he could find his spare razor in the mess of his office. “Somebody broke into our office last night and trashed the place.”

  “You’re kidding. Have you called the cops?”

  “Not yet. I just got here. They hit the office next door to ours as well. The one belonging to Madame Zia. I’m with her now.”

  “The hot psychic?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Heat warmed his cheeks, and he snuck a glance at Zia to see if she’d heard the comment. Ignoring him, she’d turned back to the task of cleaning. “She thinks something evil happened here. She claims she can ‘feel’ it. In fact, she’s arguing that it was a spirit or a ghost that trashed our offices.”

  “A ghost?”

  He heard Jake chuckle, and muffled voices in the background. “Who are you with?”

  “I’m over at Sunny’s house. Edna brought by her famous cinnamon rolls, and we’re drinking coffee and having second breakfast.”

  Finn pictured Sunny, the woman in Jake’s life, with her round curves and curly blonde hair, and imagined just what Jake’d had for his first breakfast. Edna was Sunny’s eighty-something-year-old neighbor who thought her substantial viewing of television detective shows gave her the ability to solve actual crimes. “Don’t tell Sunny’s kooky neighbor about this. She’s probably got Ghostbusters on speed dial.”

  Jake laughed. “Too late. Give us ten minutes. We’re headed over to the office now. All of us.”

  “Great.” Finn looked over at Zia as he disconnected and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “I guess one more kook around here won’t hurt anything,” he mumbled. “She’ll probably fit right in.”