Witch Way to Beauty and the Beach

by Jane Hinchey

  “Was he there for Jenna, do you think?”

  She shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure. He was heading toward the editor’s office though, so I doubt it. I don’t think he knew she was there, and I got her out so fast he would’ve been none the wiser.”

  “I called the cops, once we were outside, said that I thought I’d seen someone breaking in.” Jenna was her usual cool, calm, and collected self, feathers one hundred percent unruffled.

  “But she’s a smart one.” Monica tapped her temple, then pointed at Jenna. “She hid under a desk, just not her own.”

  “What?” I snorted. “Why?”

  “Well, if he was after me, he’d come to my desk, right? And find me if I were hiding under it. So I figured, who is the least likely person on staff? Hatches, matches, and dispatches.”

  “I found her under the desk of the obituary reporter,” Monica added at my puzzled look.

  “Ahhh. Good thinking. So Jenna, what were you calling me about? Before you got interrupted by the intruder?”

  Crossing one leg over the other, she leaned back in her armchair with a satisfied smirk on her face. “So getting back to the murder of Emily. She was going out with Jacob Griffin, correct?” I nodded, waving my hand for her to continue. “And she was knocked out—possibly abducted—from Jacob’s uncle’s beach hut.”

  “Well, outside of it, but go on.” I nodded again.

  “And the uncle, Daniel Griffin, is running for mayor.”

  I frowned. “You think this is political? What? Another candidate mistook Emily for Daniel?” That seemed too far-fetched, even for me, but Jenna was already shaking her head.

  “Not at all. But I started looking into Daniel, more as a side story than anything else. And”—she cut me a sharp look—“this is why I was calling you. Daniel’s campaign received a sizable donation from Richards, Jones, and Tennant.” The law firm where Blake was a partner. My eyebrows shot into my hairline and Monica paused from opening another bottle of wine.

  “Coincidence?” she purred in her sultry voice. “I think not. The plot thickens.”

  “Well, Blake was here to defend Gran,” I pointed out. “He may have had other business meetings while he was in town.”

  Jenna shrugged, holding out her glass to Monica. “Perhaps. Anyway, that’s what I was calling about. I don’t know if it was Blake personally who made the donation. I’m still digging.”

  “Plus any information on Blake Tennant would be welcome. I don’t get that guy.” Monica sank back into her chair after topping up our glasses. “He swoops in, saves the day, gets the girl—only he doesn’t, then disappears. What’s up with that?”

  “You know I’m not heartbroken over that, right?” I pointed out. “I liked Blake, sure, but…”

  “But Jackson Ward.” Jenna grinned, giving me a cheeky wink. I blushed. She pounced. “Something’s happened. Spill.”

  “Oh my God, would you look at her face!” Monica crowed, “You’re so right, Jenna. Come on, Harper, spill, what happened?” She tilted her face to the air and sniffed, narrowing her eyes. “He’s been here. Recently. Tonight?”

  I laughed, feeling the heat in my face. “Okay, okay, super sleuths, stand down. Yes, he was here.”

  “And?” they said in unison. Jenna shot Monica a look, which Monica returned.

  “They kissed, didn’t they?” Monica said to her.

  “They so did.” Jenna chuckled.

  “Fine. We kissed. And yes, it was epic. And he’s asked me out on a date.” I couldn’t contain the smile that curled my lips.

  Throwing her hands up in the air in a dramatic gesture Monica raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Finally!”

  “I’m so happy for you, Harper.” Jenna laid a hand on my arm and squeezed.

  “Thank you, guys. You know I love you like family.”

  “Ditto.” We then launched into a lengthy discussion on what I should wear, until Monica suddenly froze, her vampire stillness rendering her a statue. It was eerie.

  “What?” I asked, tossing a cushion at her to snap her out of it.

  “I just remembered something.” She blew out a breath, not because she needed oxygen, but to get her chest moving again. It was something vampires did to blend in, fake breathing. “Daniel Griffin bought a six-pack of beer the night before last.”

  “So?” No big surprise there. Lots of locals purchased take-away alcohol from Brewed Awakening.

  “But he doesn’t drink beer. We had quite the discussion over it recently. He’s a scotch man. He doesn’t like the flavor of beer. I even gave him several samples to try to win him over. Screwed up his face at each and every one.”

  “He could have been going to a function or event,” Jenna said.

  “No, but think about it. This case. The dead girl is a teenager. Her boyfriend is a teenager. Her boyfriend is also the nephew of Daniel Griffin.”

  I snapped my fingers. “You think Daniel bought the beer for Jacob.”

  “It’s possible, I guess.” Jenna nodded. “I’ll talk to Daniel. I want an interview for the paper, anyway.”

  “He’s not going to admit he purchased alcohol for his underage nephew,” I pointed out.

  “No, but he might just let it slip if he thinks it’ll get his nephew off a murder charge.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jordan and I were unpacking a book order delivery the following morning when Jackson arrived. I straightened, putting a hand against my aching back, and waited.

  “Oh, there he is, don’t you look lovely today, Detective?” The ghost of Whitney Sims appeared as it did whenever Jackson and I were together in the store.

  “Morning, Whitney.” Jackson grinned, crossing to my side and dropping a kiss on my cheek. Jordan looked on in surprise. It was the first time she’d seen Whitney. Not to mention Jackson kissing me.

  “Oh, my!” Whitney clasped her hands to her chest, looking from me to Jackson and back again. “Are you two an item now? How long have I been gone? Wait, you’re not married are you?”

  Jackson laughed. “No, we’re not married.”

  Despite Whitney giving me the jitters, I leaned into Jackson’s side, enjoying his warm strength. This was nice. “So, what brings you here?”

  “Can’t I just pop in to see you?” he teased.

  “Yes, well, you know how I feel about that.” I jerked my head toward Whitney who had drifted over to the boxes we were unpacking and was trying to lift a book out, only of course she couldn’t. Because she was a ghost.

  Jackson dropped his voice. “We could try an exorcism. Because I plan on dropping by a lot.”

  “As tempting as that is, I don’t think I could do it to her,” I whispered, watching as Whitney joyfully flitted through the bookshelves. “When she was alive she was a bully that no one liked, yet as a spirit… I’ve never seen her so happy. She’s even happy to see Bruce!” Bruce was Whitney’s husband, who’d been having an affair with Whitney’s best friend—now my employee, Wendy—when Whitney was unfortunately murdered. In my store. Hence her haunting the place. But if Whitney could forgive her husband and best friend for their affair, who was I to deny her existence?

  “Your call. I don’t mind either way.” Jackson helped himself to a coffee from the pot I kept on a dresser in the middle of the store, “Actually I dropped by to give you an update.”

  “Oh?”

  “Wait!” Whitney drifted down from the mezzanine. “What’s happened? An update on what? Has there been another murder?”

  “Emily Sherman.” I nodded. “Did you know her?”

  Whitney tapped her lip in thought. “Sherman, Sherman.” She snapped her fingers. Well, mimicked snapping her fingers. Since she was incorporeal she made no sound. “Rose Sherman has property on Rigby Road.” Whitney had been an office manager for a local construction company when she was alive, but had also been the town’s realtor, and she knew every property in town. And its value.

  “That’s right. Rose was Emily’s grandmother; Emily went
to live with her when her parents died in a car accident.”

  Whitney nodded. “I remember that. Philip and Kelly. They had a little two-bedroom place on Damon Road.”

  “Yeah, well, big news, Rose was about to become a great-grandmother,” Jackson muttered, keeping his voice low in case Jordan overheard.

  “Emily was pregnant?” I hissed.

  “That would explain the sudden growth explosion in the boob department,” Gran murmured from beside me and I nearly shrieked at her sudden appearance.

  “Gran! I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Evidently.” Gran sniffed. “Whitney. How goes life in the spirit world?”

  “Oh you know, can’t complain.”

  “Gran, did you know about this? About Emily?”

  She shrugged. “She’d either had a boob job or was knocked up. I hadn’t decided which.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure. I figured if I waited a few more weeks, if she were preggers a belly would pop. If not, then definitely a boob job. But then I don’t know where she’d get the money for that. I asked her if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Off the record type thing. She told me no. If there’s one thing I know about teenagers, you can’t push ‘em.”

  “Fair point.” I looked Gran up and down. Today she was dressed in grape leggings, a hot pink halter neck with a sequin heart covering the front, and bright red lipstick. “How are you feeling today? Should you be up and about?”

  She waved away my concern. “Pft, stop fussing over me. I told you I’m fine. Agnes wove her magic as she always does and I’m fit as a fiddle once more.”

  “Did something happen?” Jackson was watching our exchange, his eyes narrowing. Dealing with Gran was a lot like dealing with a willful teenager. Difficult at times, but worth it in the end. “I’ll tell you later.”

  To Gran I said, “So what brings you into the Dusty Attic this morning?”

  “Actually, I came to see Jordan,” Gran announced.

  Jordan paused from where she’d continued to unpack the books and, keeping a cautious eye on Whitney, glanced over.

  “How would you like to join the winning team for the talent competition?” Gran’s swagger was comical as she made her way toward Jordan, bedazzled flip-flops slapping on the floor.

  “You’re going ahead?” I’d thought with Emily’s death that the team would have pulled out. Not to mention Hannah’s arrest for arson.

  “The others have trained so hard for this, it hardly seems fair to pull out now just because we’re down a member.”

  “But…” Jordan scratched her head, brow furrowed. “Why me?”

  Gran smacked her lips together and slung an arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “I remember your audition, you were damn good.”

  “Not good enough to pick me for the team,” Jordan shot back, shrugging Gran’s arm off.

  “Yes, well.” Gran cleared her throat and tugged at the waistband of her leggings. “That’s because you were pipped at the post by Hannah. I had you on my list, but the routine only called for three girls and three boys. You were always in my mind as a backup, but I couldn’t tell you that and make you feel like second best poop now could I?”

  I cringed at the wording but understood where Gran was coming from. She continued, “You’ve got talent. Raw talent, but with some coaching—from me—I’m confident I can get you up to speed.”

  “And I’d be partnered with Jacob?”

  “Correct.”

  Jordan continued to stare at Gran, holding her gaze as she considered her options. To be honest, I was a little bit proud of my young employee. Gran had a way of roping people in with very little effort, but she was having to work for it with Jordan. This girl would not be a pushover. I crossed my arms and waited.

  “I’d need a new dress.”

  “You’re about the same size as Emily,” Gran shot back.

  Jordan shook her head. “No way I’m wearing a dead girl's dress.”

  “She didn’t die in it.”

  “I don’t care. What color is it?”

  “It’s blue.”

  “Deal breaker. I look like crap in blue. It has to be red.”

  Gran ground her teeth. “Fine. I’ll get you a red dress.”

  “It can’t be Emily’s dress, spelled to look red. A new, different dress. And I have the right of refusal.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.” Gran pouted.

  “You need me.” Jordan pounced. “And you know I don’t like people in my personal space. I’m making a sacrifice for you if I do this. Least you can do is deliver on the dress.”

  “Deal.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you.” Jordan held out her hand and Gran shook it, giving the young girl a wink.

  Jackson leaned over. “I think that was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I smiled. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  Jordan heard me and glanced over. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I forgot about work! I’m sorry, Mrs. B, I can’t. I promised Harper I’d help here.”

  “It’s fine, Jordan, you go join the rehearsals. I can manage here just fine.”

  “Are you sure?” The excitement she’d managed to keep hidden during her negotiations with Gran burst through. She was practically bursting at the seams with it. I gave her a hug, although she didn’t like people touching her. I’d seen the routine. She would be in physical contact with Jacob almost the entire time—best she got used to it. “Go. Have a good time. Do me proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thanks, Harper.” Gran reached up and pecked my cheek. “Drop on by later and see for yourself.”

  They left and suddenly it was just me and Jackson in the store. And Whitney. Thankfully ghost Whitney had a short attention span and was now cozied up in one of the bookshelves, reading. Well, her version of it.

  “I’d better get going.” Jackson drained his cup, setting it by the coffeepot.

  “Thanks for dropping in with the update. So, do you know who the father is of Emily’s baby?”

  He shrugged. “We assume it’s Jacob’s. We’ll have to get a sample of his DNA and get the lab to run tests to confirm though.”

  “It’s so sad.” I sighed. “Do you think that’s why she was killed? Because she was pregnant and whoever the father is wasn’t happy about it?”

  “It’s certainly motive,” Jackson agreed, “but no more speculating until we get the results.”

  “One more question.”

  He snorted. “Just one, Jones?”

  “For now. How far along was she?”

  “Twelve weeks.”

  “It must have been getting difficult for her to hide it.” I remembered what Gran had said about the increase in her boob size.

  “Is that what she met Hannah for? To tell her about the baby?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Hannah never found out why Emily wanted to meet. Emily busted her trying to light the fire and pegged that Hannah was the arsonist. They argued before Emily told her anything.”

  “What will happen with Hannah?”

  “We have charged her with arson. It’ll go before the court. Because she’s a juvenile, she may get a good behavior bond along with some community service. And counseling. That’s what I’ll be pushing for.”

  His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.

  “Gotta go, work calls.” He dropped a quick kiss on my lips, leaving them tingling, then headed out the door. “Bye, Whitney!”

  “Oh! Bye, Jacks—” Poof. She was gone, and I was alone.

  After a brief early morning rush, things had quieted down at The Dusty Attic. By lunchtime I’d unpacked and catalogued the book delivery, dusted and rearranged a few displays, and decided I’d close up and take Gran and the kid's lunch.

  The Silent Bite seemed a good choice. What teenager didn’t like burgers and fries? Not to mention it was where Emily had an after-school job. The perfect opportunity to kill two birds w
ith one stone. Locking the store, I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed up the street on foot.

  Silent Bite had changed very little since I was a teenager. Black and white checkerboard tiles on the floor, red booths and counter, rock-and-roll paraphernalia on the walls. Joining the line, I studied the menu which hadn’t changed either. The same burgers as when I’d been a teenager, the writing now faded.

  After placing my order, I leaned forward and asked the lanky teenager working behind the counter, “Did you used to work with Emily?”

  “What?” he squeaked, his voice at that awful stage, caught between a boy and a man.

  “Emily. Did you work with her?” I repeated, holding my card and waiting for him to finish ringing me up so I could pay.

  “Sure. Sometimes.” He finished typing onto the screen—that was new—and I swiped my card.

  “I heard she got fired. Know anything about that?” Putting my card back in my purse, I pulled out a bundle of notes. The teenager's eyes zeroed in on the cash. I wasn’t above leaving him a generous tip in exchange for information. Seems he was a smart kid.

  “She kept getting sick a lot. Like running off to puke halfway through her shift. The manager thought she was scoffing the food in between customers or something.”

  “Anything else?” I played with the cash. The teenager shrugged. “She was late a few times. I was here the day she got fired, and I overheard the manager telling her her standards had dropped.”

  “And what did Emily say to that?”

  “She told him to drop dead.”

  “And what about her boyfriend, Jacob?”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, was everything okay between them? Had they been fighting?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t keep tabs on her love life.” He paused for a moment. “But she was different lately.”

  “Different how?”

  “She was real happy for a while—which is saying something for Emily. Normally she treats us all like crap, but she was actually decent for a while. But then it changed.”

  “Changed?” I prompted.

  “Moody. Different from before when she was just a bitch. And she puked and stuff. Wait? Was she sick? Did she have cancer? Was she having chemo? How come her hair wasn’t falling out?”