Witchy See, Witchy Do (A Riddler's Edge Cozy Mystery #2)

by A. A. Albright

  His eyebrow lifted in a hopeful gesture. It didn’t even bother me that his brows were at least three shades darker than his hair. So what if he bleached? So what if he was vain, and a womaniser? I was having fun. And there was an added benefit to going out with a vain womaniser – they tended to come without ex-fiancée sized strings attached.

  ‘So you’ll come on part two of the date?’ He held up a hand. ‘Wait until I tell you what it is, first. It’s just me and you, somewhere really quiet, and really beautiful. I asked Pru what your favourite flowers were, and she told me you preferred them to be in the ground. So I arranged for the Glittering Garden to stay open late. Just for us.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll love it. I swear.’

  I didn’t have a clue what the Glittering Garden was, but now he’d roused my curiosity. ‘Sure.’ I smiled at him. ‘That sounds like it could be fun.’

  A wide smile broke out on his face. ‘It’s going to be more than fun – I hope. I’ve just got a little something I need to collect from the kitchen, and then we’ll be off.’

  As he ran off to find Malachy, I sat back and sipped the last of my wine. It was the nicest red I’d tasted in a long time, and it was making me feel ever-so-slightly tipsy.

  ‘Aisling.’

  My blood ran cold at the sound of the voice uttering my name. Without looking up at him, I knew I’d find Arnold Albright looming over my table.

  ‘I expected to see you at the conference today,’ he went on.

  I kept my eyes on my wine glass. ‘Grace took notes for me.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But Grace has been to a hundred such conferences. She didn’t need to go to yet another one. You, however, have been to none. I really do prefer my journalists to attend these things. Particularly if they want to stay my journalists.’

  Ah, so that’s how he was playing it now. No more sweet old guy trying to worm his way in. Well, that was just fine with me. ‘Grace is my immediate supervisor,’ I told him. ‘I’m sure that she’ll direct me to go to exactly what she feels I need to. Is there anything else?’

  To my surprise, he sat down in Jared’s seat, propping his cane against the side of our table. ‘I knew you’d befriended Jared Montague’s sister, but I didn’t realise you were quite so close to him. You know what he is?’

  I met his eyes. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  He leaned closer. ‘No matter how much you might wish otherwise, you and I both know that you are my granddaughter. And because of that, I want what’s best for you. You’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman. There are at least a hundred male witches in this town alone who would be proud to have an Albright on their arm. You can do far better than a vampire. I don’t want you to see him anymore.’

  My eyes grew round. Had there been any wine left in my glass, it’s likely I would have thrown it at him. ‘I can do better than a vampire? Arnold, I’m not an Albright. I’m a Smith. But even if I were an Albright, I’d think myself lucky to go out with a guy like Jared.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Jared appeared next to my chair. ‘I knew you’d recognise my many charms eventually.’ He looked at Arnold. ‘That’s my seat.’

  Arnold stood, making a great show of leaning heavily on his cane and giving me the big eyes. ‘I only want the best for you, Aisling. I’ve tried to stay away, to give you the time you need. But you’re my family. My blood.’ He let out a shuddering breath and patted his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘I might not have long left for this world. All I ask is that you give me a chance to get to know you before I die.’

  His voice was rising on each word, and the other diners were staring at us. I could tell that they sided with the frail old man; almost all of them were looking at me as though I was the one in the wrong.

  As a nearby woman whispered to her partner that I was, ‘a cold-hearted cow,’ I fixed my eyes on hers.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for him, love,’ I said. ‘You might have heard his pity party a second ago, but you didn’t hear what he said before that. You’re a vampire, right?’ She was drinking a glass of thick red liquid that did not look like wine, so I was fairly sure of my assessment.

  She nodded wordlessly, appearing to be embarrassed that I’d confronted her.

  ‘Well, this poor old man who is not my grandfather, has just told me that the Albrights are too good to date vampires. He wants me to find a nice witch for myself instead.’

  As the diners’ glares turned from me to Arnold, I stood up. ‘You don’t feel so sorry for him now, do you?’ I said, as I pushed my chair away and stalked out of the restaurant.

  12. A Straightforward, Non-Magical Murder

  I was halfway along the street when Jared caught me up. It hadn’t exactly been a struggle for him though. I doubted even a marathon would make him break a sweat.

  ‘I’m guessing you’re not in the mood for our ridiculously elaborate picnic anymore, then,’ he said, holding up a basket.

  I’d been so angry with Arnold that I hadn’t noticed the basket in the restaurant. I could see a bottle of champagne peeking out. No doubt there were many more goodies inside.

  I plastered a smile on my face. A distraction was exactly what I needed right now – and spending some time with a good looking guy in a Glittering Garden seemed like a decent distraction to me. ‘You’re kidding, right? Arnold Albright is not going to ruin our night. Race you to the car.’

  He let out a chuckle. ‘You’re crazy if you think you can outrun a vampire. Especially in those heels.’

  I looked down at my shoes. For the first time in months, I was actually wearing high heels. Okay, so they were only a couple of inches, but that was a lot for me.

  ‘Yeah, you might have a point,’ I admitted. ‘Maybe you should give me a head start.’

  He bowed down low and said, ‘You have three seconds, fair maiden.’

  I raced ahead, running to the carpark across the road from Three Witches Brew. Very few witches drove, so there weren’t many places to park in the town, and the carpark had been the closest space we could find to the restaurant this evening. There was a special screening of the latest episode of a show called Witch Wars in the square, so the town was buzzing. Having binged on the show with Pru a few nights earlier, I could understand why.

  As I neared Jared’s Porsche, I turned back to see him sauntering easily behind. Even at such a casual pace, he was very nearly on top of me. As I stood by the car, I found myself suddenly shivering. I was wearing a pretty little purple cardigan that matched my dress – but pretty rarely equals practical, and I was sincerely wishing I’d taken my jacket along.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you inside and get the heater on,’ he said, picking up his pace and reaching the car. ‘I have some blankets in the back, too.’

  Well, of course he had blankets in his car. Didn’t guys like him think of everything?

  He opened my door, standing back and waiting to close it behind me as I slid inside. Something told me that all of this chivalry could get old quite quickly. I was smoothing down my skirt and getting comfortable, when all of a sudden the hair on the back of my neck pricked to attention. I looked out the car window, and saw that somebody was looking right back at me. And in that moment, I knew: Jared might be able to distract me from Arnold, but there was one person he could never distract me from.

  Dylan Quinn was across the road, seated at a table outside Three Witches Brew, and he wasn’t alone. There was a stunning, chestnut-haired witch across from him.

  ‘That’s Darina Berry?’ I said, my voice oddly small. ‘Wow, she’s even more gorgeous in real life than in her photos.’

  Jared gave me a slow smile. ‘Oh, I dunno. I’ve seen better.’

  I thought back to the telephone conversation I’d heard earlier on. Dylan had been adamant he wouldn’t meet with his ex again. Clearly, he had caved.

  For some reason, Darina waved her hands towards us. She pointed straight at the Porsche, and proceeded to shout at Dylan while gesticulating in our direction. The sun hadn’t
fully set yet, so he was only partially covered. His hood was pulled up, but he hadn’t yet put on his sunglasses. I’m not obsessed with what he wears, I just mention it because, with his face naked, I could see him looking at Jared’s car and scowling. And there was me thinking he and I were finally on friendly terms. I shrank down in my seat. ‘Jeez, what have I done now?’

  Jared sighed. ‘It’s not you and you know it. It’s more a case of who you’re with.’

  I peeked across the dashboard. The detective had finally stopped scowling over at us, but only because he was scowling at his phone instead. He was having a heated conversation with someone on the other end, and I was very glad that I wasn’t them.

  Jared turned the key and the car roared to life. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  That sounded like a very good plan. And we would have managed it, too, had it not been for that pesky detective. Just as Jared was backing out of his space, Dylan ran towards the car and banged on the window, waving his mobile in the air.

  ‘Hey, Ash. I hope I’m not ruining your date or anything,’ he said, looking past Jared, his eyes directly on mine. ‘But I’ve just gotten a phone call from one of the officers at Riddler’s Edge. Another body has been found. And there’s no doubt about this one – it’s definitely a murder.’

  ≈

  When the detective sped back to Riddler’s Edge, I was in his passenger seat. I’d given Jared a brief kiss on the cheek and some murmurs of apology. In return, he’d been the perfect gentleman, telling me to be careful, and that he was only a phone call away if I needed him. Behind his eyes, though, I couldn’t help but sense a little bit of disappointment.

  ‘Did I mention how sorry I am for ruining your date?’ Dylan asked as he drove. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m the sort of man who goes around ruining everyone else’s fun. I mean, it probably seems like I’m exactly that sort of man. But that’s not what this is about. I mean … I just thought … well, I promised I’d keep you in the loop, didn’t I?’

  He was talking far too fast. Anyone would think there was something to feel awkward about. Seeing as I couldn’t gauge anything at all from his facial expression (because as soon as we got into the car he had pulled up his hood and put on a scarf and sunglasses) I gazed out the window at the forest blurring by. Just a few weeks ago, I had barely been able to see the Wandering Wood. It had gone from a kaleidoscope-like haze, to a brief glimpse, and then back again. Now, thanks to the Ring of Privilege on my finger, I could see everything in this little-known part of Ireland. The magic, the mystery and – unfortunately – the overabundance of murders.

  ‘Don’t worry about the date,’ I said quietly. ‘I appreciate you telling me about the murder.’

  ‘Maybe, but I doubt Jared does.’ Considering he was speaking from behind a scarf (and from between clenched teeth, by the sounds of it) his words were extremely well enunciated. ‘He’s going to think I ruined your evening on purpose, just to get at him.’

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘He’s hardly going to think you staged a murder, now is he? What is with you and him, anyway? I’ve seen you give him the evils on more than one occasion. What’s the story?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘So … you went to the Fruit of the Vein for dinner? Nice place. Malachy’s an excellent chef, isn’t he? I often wonder how he balances it all. Working at the Daily Riddler by day, running a successful restaurant by night. When does he even get to sleep? If you find out what brand of vitamins he uses, let me know.’

  Had I really expected he’d give me a straight answer? I’d been in Riddler’s Edge for weeks now, and no one seemed to know the reason he had a hate-on for Jared. So why would he tell me, of all people?

  ‘I wasn’t the only one whose evening was cut short anyway, was I?’ I remarked. ‘I hope you and your ex – Darina, isn’t it? – managed to get things sorted out.’

  He grunted. ‘You mean since the argument you weren’t eavesdropping on earlier?’

  I looked out the window again. ‘As I told you at the time, I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. But if you really want to keep your business to yourself, then maybe you shouldn’t argue in public so often.’

  He kept his eyes on the road, but even below his scarf, I could see that he’d drawn his jaw taut. ‘Hopefully we won’t be arguing at all anymore. We’ve been over for a long time, Aisling. We’ve just had one or two things to discuss tonight. You might have been on a romantic date, but I definitely wasn’t – and nor did I want to be.’

  There was another one of those silent moments. Just like in Heather’s house, though, it wasn’t remotely awkward. The air between us was humming, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I knew that one (short) date with Jared didn’t make us a couple or anything, but I didn’t want to spend the first half of the evening flirting with one man and the second half of the evening feeling excited by another. So I did what I do best – I used my winning personality to ruin the moment. ‘Huh. I would have thought you’d be dying to get back with her, seeing as her picture is still plastered all over your lighthouse.’

  He grunted again. All of a sudden, he seemed to be driving much faster. ‘I knew you had a problem with the stupid photos. I’ve taken those things down half a dozen times at least. Thrown them into the bin. Smashed them to pieces. And yet somehow, they keep reappearing on my walls.’

  For a moment I felt shocked by his words. Who was he to insinuate I had a problem with the photos in his house? Next of all he’d be accusing me of finding him attractive. But then a second thought slipped into my mind, and I couldn’t help but voice it. ‘Hang on a minute. You know dozens of witches. Surely someone could undo the spell. Maybe you don’t really mind the photos being there. Maybe you like Darina’s tenaciousness. Must be nice, having someone love you so much they never want to let you forget them.’

  He snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Every man should have his very own stalker. And I have asked a few people to try and get rid of the photos for me, as a matter of fact. Greg has tried. Grace too. Ask them if you don’t believe me. The only reason I met with Darina tonight – the only reason I ever meet with Darina – was to tell her to leave me the heck alone.’

  And once again, the air was humming. But I’d stopped that buzz of possibility just a few seconds ago, and by golly I could stop it again. Because if I didn’t … well, if I didn’t, then I might just have to do something about these irritating feelings. And I definitely wasn’t ready for that.

  ‘That’s your business,’ I said. ‘You don’t need to tell me the personal details. Who was murdered, anyway?’

  There was a beat of silence, until finally he replied in a hollow voice. ‘It was one of Heather’s friends. Rachel Loughnane.’

  ≈

  Detective Quinn was right – there was no doubt about this one. It was, most definitely, a murder. The method of killing seemed fairly straightforward – Rachel had been shot, directly through her forehead. But the scene, now that was far from straightforward.

  Rachel’s body was in a barn behind her house, and on the floor of that barn, a large circular design had recently been painted. The symbols that ran along the inside looked – at first glance, anyway – to be the same symbols that had been painted beneath Heather. Rachel’s body was laid out right in the centre of the circle. According to Rachel’s cousin – who had turned up at her barn forty-five minutes earlier to collect some eggs – that was exactly the way he found her. There was a note next to the body, in hastily scrawled writing: ‘Not such a nosey witch now, are you?’

  Greg was already there when we arrived, taking photos and flashing his scanners around. I had grown to know the difference between the two he used most often – one for telekinetic energy and the other for magical traces and signatures. Right now, neither were flashing.

  Which was a bit of a problem, seeing as I was seeing the same green glow around these symbols. ‘Detective,’ I said, tugging at his arm. ‘Could you tell me – does that look like the same
gloss paint to you as before?’

  He glanced at the ground. ‘It looks just the same to me. But I’m guessing that you’re seeing a mysterious glow again?’

  I nodded. ‘I am. And don’t laugh at me, Detective, but I have a really weird feeling about this. Sort of … a sense of foreboding, maybe.’

  He tilted his head to the side, looking at me with a hard-to-read expression on his face. ‘First off, I told you – I’m open to whatever you have to offer to this investigation. I’d never laugh at you, Ash. Secondly … I’m going to start up a formality jar. It’s like a swear jar. Every time you call me Detective instead of Dylan, or any time I revert back to calling you Miss Smith, then we have to throw a silver star in the jar.’

  I laughed weakly. ‘Knowing us, we’ll have enough for me to buy a plane ticket out of the country by the end of the week. Listen, I’m guessing that Greg’s scanners aren’t going to show up anything. And yours aren’t either?’

  He shook his head. ‘I have mine set up to beep, and so far they haven’t. On the surface of it, this is a straightforward murder. Unless we come up with evidence that it’s actually supernatural, then it’ll be for the gardaí to handle.’

  I looked down at the note. ‘On the surface of it I’d agree, I guess. But can you think of any kind of magic that wouldn’t show up on these scanners, or on any of Greg’s tech?’