Spooky Moves: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 8)

by Raven Snow

  "An annoying little mutt just like your father," she said, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "You'll share his fate."

  A gust of wind like something out of a tropical storm blew me backwards into a bench. The back of my head knocked against the wood, and all the air rushed out of me in one mighty puff. All around me, people were glancing at the scene I was making, walking quickly away. It took me a moment longer than it should've to realize that they couldn't see her.

  The woman's form flickered, and then she was right in front of me. It should have been impossible, but I could smell her putrid breath and see her teeth were the color of ancient parchment.

  "Stay away from my son, harlot."

  With that, the bench toppled over, taking me with it. One whole side of my face scrapped against the sidewalk, accompanied by an unholy burning sensation. While people ran from me, I laid there for a moment, relishing in my misery.

  "It's Harper, actually," I said, muffled, but she was already gone. I heaved out a big sigh. “I just can’t help making friends wherever I go.”

  Cooper came down to check on me a few minutes later and ended up helping me get back on my feet. He's a good lad. I pinched his cheek like I knew he hated, getting to work on formulating a new plan of attack.

  "Where are we headed now?" Cooper asked, once we were back in the car. Any other teenager would have been sulky about their stepmom dragging them around all day, but my almost teenager had a taste for adventure.

  When I told him we were going to the library, he got even more excited. "Oh, good. They've got a new book in on plant classification."

  I needed to get that kid into some parties with drinking and drugs. This was just getting embarrassing.

  Waresville had never been accused of being a literary capital, and the library was very small. Our morgue was actually better funded and had nicer updates, and that said a lot about the town.

  Cooper ran straight for what I could only guess was the plant section. Rolling my eyes but letting him go, I walked up to the desk and asked the dragon lady behind it where I could find the old newspapers.

  If I'd expected her to walk me over to a computer and type something in, I would've been disappointed. She shot me a look of suspicion and then took me down to the basement and into a room completely filled with filing cabinets. I opened my mouth to ask where the obituaries were, but she was already gone, the door swinging behind her.

  "Oh, goodie." I rolled up my sleeves.

  Cooper found me down there an hour later, completely covered in dust and surrounded by bits and pieces of old newspaper. He took one look at me, frowned, and asked, "Are you going to be able to put everything back where you found it?"

  "You are your father's son."

  Shrugging but looking secretly pleased, he sat down next to me and helped me search. About five minutes later, Cooper tapped my shoulder and showed me what he'd found.

  The paper was faded and had a circular coffee stain on it, but I didn't have any trouble making out the picture of the woman in the obituary. Her name was Shirley Tucker. She'd died fifteen years ago, and her son was named Geoffrey Tucker. G.T.

  I waved the article in Cooper's face. "This is the guy whose funeral we wouldn't let you go to—the mortician."

  "But why would she tell you to stay away from him? Did you know him?"

  "No." I winced. "But she probably saw me come in late to his funeral."

  Cooper rested his head on his hands. "Is this a clue?"

  I tucked the newspaper clipping away where he couldn't see. "I'm not sure yet."

  He gave a put-upon sigh, finally sounding like a real teenager. I was so proud.

  ______

  On the way home, Cooper got a text from his little girlfriend, so I dropped him off at her place for a family dinner. Apparently, that special occasion now included Cooper. While I was creepily sitting in the driveway watching, I wondered why we didn’t have fancy family dinners. Then I remembered we only ate pizza and chocolate cereal.

  Deciding I’d loitered enough, I headed back to the Victorian. Wyatt’s car was in the driveway, so I figured he hadn’t gone to work today. When I walked in, he was sitting on the couch, an empty bottle of whiskey lying next to him.

  “This was half full,” I said, half impressed, half astounded.

  In way of answer, his head fell back against the back of the couch. Setting the bottle down on the coffee table, I joined him, wincing as I sat, because I was still pretty cut up.

  “You didn’d hurt anyone, Wyatt. You just made a mistake.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I was a good soldier. I thought I’d do it forever.”

  “Only the funk can live forever.”

  To my amazement, he laughed. “You’re funny. That’s half of why I love you.”

  I hated to admit it, but I was starting to like drunk Wyatt. He was a lot looser, and sober Wyatt would have never encouraged my horrible sense of humor like that. Maybe I needed to keep whiskey in the house more often.

  “What’s the other half? The hair?”

  He tapped a finger to my forehead, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. “This. You’re driven. Live for the mystery.”

  “You know what I love about you?” I said softly.

  My words seemed to reach him through his haze, and for a moment, he was deadly serious and sober. It wasn’t often that I brought up my feelings, and even less frequently did I explain them.

  “Mostly, it’s the body.” That got me a laugh. “But I also love that you never let anything knock you down for long.”

  He snorted, though he looked a little pleased at the praise. “That was pointed.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a job to do.” With that, I reached under his arms and pulled him to his feet. In reality, I wouldn’t have been able to do it if he hadn’t assisted, but when I told this story (and I would be telling this story) I did it all by myself.

  Getting up the stairs was a challenge, and a couple of times, Wyatt toppled over, landing on top of me with a force that left us both giggling breathlessly. After the third time, I developed the sneaking suspicion he was doing it on purpose.

  The roles had been switched—now I was giving him a bath, hydrogen peroxide not included. Wyatt wasn’t so gone he couldn’t bathe himself, but where was the fun in that? I simultaneously played nurse and kept his head from sinking under the water when he got a case of the giggles.

  About an hour before Cooper was due to be dropped off, I pushed Wyatt down on the bed where he flopped like a fish out of water for a moment. His skin was all pruned, and strangely, I found that really appealing, taking the time to kiss each of his fingertips as he snored.

  He woke suddenly, head coming off the bed to look at me just as I’d been about to leave him to his nap. His wet hair was all messed up, but his eyes were sharp enough. Wyatt might even remember this conversation in the morning.

  “You know why else I love you?” His words barely slurred. “You take care of me,” he said simply, and then went back to sleep.

  Funny. All this time, I figured he was taking care of me.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Where's my dad?" were the first words out of Cooper's mouth when he stepped through the door.

  I didn't answer him at first, walking over to the window and peeking through the shades. His little girlfriend and her mother were in a minivan in the driveway, waving at us as they put it in reverse. Glaring suspiciously, I stayed at my window post until they disappeared into the night. I didn't trust people who could be that cheerful all the time without any narcotics.

  "He's napping," I told Cooper, going back to my tea.

  He frowned, his eyes holding a frantic quality that hadn't been there when I dropped him off. "My dad never naps."

  "You're right. He's not napping," I said, picking at my nails. "I killed him this morning. Looks like I'm your only guardian now. Can you spell ‘boarding school’?"

  "I need to talk to him."

  I
didn't say that he'd likely just be talking to the whiskey at this point, because I was the picture of discretion.

  I kicked out the chair next to me, motioning with a nod that he should sit in it. Cooper wasn't the type to disobey orders, and so he sat reluctantly. Biscuit, sensing an easy mark, immediately came over to slobber on the kid. This was usually enough to get Cooper to rush outside to play with him. Tonight, however, he just stroked Biscuit's mangy fur absently.

  After a moment of silence, I said, "Didn't you want to talk about something?"

  His ears went pink, and I was instantly interested. Putting down my tea, I gave him my full attention—a gift that few ever received.

  "I...." He blushed again. "It's Anna."

  Anna was his little girlfriend, but I rarely called her by her real name. It wasn't that I didn't like her, it was just that she was a little kiss-ass, and I didn't want Cooper turning out like her. For god's sake, the girl had the nerve to tell me in my own house that Jesus loved me no matter what. A bad influence if I ever saw one.

  "What about her?" I asked, trying to play Wyatt, the supportive parent.

  "She…" He cut off, his face going redder than his ears. I wondered if I should get him an icepack or something. Then, he blurted out, "When was your first kiss?"

  Now I was the one going red. "Er, maybe you should talk to your father about this one."

  "Was it with my dad?"

  I laughed, caught off guard and said the first thing that came to mind. "God no. Far from it."

  Cooper's eyes went wide with the realization that I'd been with other guys before his dad. I watched nervously as his mind processed the implications of that.

  "Does Dad know?"

  "...I think so. We, uh, I guess we've never talked about it." I shook my head, clearing it. "Weren't we talking about you and Anna?"

  But Cooper was not to be dissuaded. "Who was it with?"

  I opened and shut my mouth like fish, my mind curiously blank. Not sure what the protocol for talking about past lovers with my almost step-son, I decided to keep quiet. It was probably for the best, as I couldn't really form a coherent thought anymore.

  Getting up from my seat, I said, "I'll wake your dad right now." Even if I had to use a cattle prod.

  But then he looked at me with those big, pleading eyes. "Please?"

  I sat back down, putting my face in my hands so I wouldn't have to look at him, not really believing I was about to do this. "Okay. But I'm only going to say this once, and then it's over. We never talk about this again."

  He nodded eagerly, and my stomach flipped over.

  "I was twelve. There was a dance. A horrible dance with lots of pink."

  "Did you kiss him at the dance?"

  "Not exactly. And no questions." I took a deep breath. "And I'm not going to give you names, either, because you'd just tell your father."

  He didn't try to deny it.

  "Right. Well, my date and I ditched the dance, stole a bunch of beer from a convenience store with some of his friends, and got drunk in a parking lot." This was also the story of my first beer. Special times all around.

  "He kissed me. It was gross. And I puked all over him and two of his friends. That's why I'm going to be Mrs. Bennett and not Mrs. Pescaro." Crap I'd given out a name.

  I also wasn't going to be Mrs. Pescaro, because my first kiss had been locked up for multiple counts of grand theft auto.

  "And if you're lucky," I continued. "Your first kiss will be just as magical as mine. Now, go to bed."

  "It's only seven o' clock."

  "Bed!"

  Wyatt greeted Cooper on the way to the kitchen, looking a little too amused and very alert. He poured himself a cup of coffee, smiling the whole time.

  "Pescaro, huh?" he asked, sitting next to me.

  "I don't know any Pescaro," I said, batting my eyelashes. "I was a virgin when we met."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to tell that first time story, too?"

  "Go to your room.”

  ______

  Just as I was about to go out for lunch and search the phonebook for someone to get rid of the ghost at the Funky Wheel, Fate called. Apparently, G.T.'s mother was back to watching her hotel room. Sighing, I wondered idly if I was going to go bankrupt before I solved this case.

  The library was closing early today, so I rushed over, earning me a look of pure hatred from the dragon lady. Grinning and doing a finger wave, I went down into the basement. Now that I knew the name of the lady I was researching, it shouldn't be too hard to dig up dirt on her and her son.

  Three hours later, about fifteen minutes before the library was supposed to close, I rubbed my eyes, hands covered in ink. There wasn't much about the son, other than a birth, graduation, and death announcement. The mother, on the other hand, had been in every issue of the local paper since the early 1900s. She'd been one of those powerful, bitter old ladies who secretly ran this town. Her ancestors were some of the original settlers—non-magical as far as I could tell. The only thing she'd been really noteworthy at was growing tomatoes in the state fair. That wasn't exactly a supernatural feat in northern Florida.

  Stretching, I gathered up the articles I was going to take with me. The lights in the hallway outside the records room were completely shut off. Frowning, I shut the door behind me and started feeling the walls for a switch.

  About halfway down the hallway, the air started to get colder, my breath becoming visible in short puffs of smoke in front of my face. I tucked my purse closer to my body, wishing for the first time that I was wearing real clothes instead of disco shorts and a tank top.

  The lights flickered on, and I saw Mrs. Tucker at the end of the hallway. Barely keeping the startled squeak from coming out of my mouth, I backed up and tripped over my own feet, crashing to the floor in an explosion of newspapers.

  I quickly tried to round everything up, stealing panicked looks at the ghost the whole time. Her eyes were on me now, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the chill. When I looked up again, she was closer, her eyes unnerving and never blinking.

  Without a word or a scream, I grabbed the rest of the newspaper and booked it back down the hallway. She was blocking the exit, so I slipped into a bathroom as far from the woman as I could get, locking the door even though I knew that was pointless. Shutting myself in a stall, I tried to think clearly.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket, shaking fingers making it hard to dial. My magic was only halfway restored, and there was no way that was going to be enough on her. She almost looked like I could reach out and touch her.

  As if I would want to.

  "Harper?" Wyatt answered. In that funny way he had, he seemed to realize this was an urgent call, his voice all business.

  "I'm trapped in the bathroom in the library's basement," I said, cutting right to the goods. "Get here as soon as you can, and bring something to fight off a ghost."

  He started to say something, and I could hear the worry in his words, but the line went dead. I pulled the phone back, looking at the dead screen that had been fully charged this morning.

  On the bathroom door, I heard nails scratching against metal, grating on my nerves and ears. The linoleum under me felt like dry ice, the air freezing in my lungs. I wrapped my arms around myself, ready to reach for my magic if it came to that. Which, if it did, I was probably done for.

  "Evil, nasty girl," Mrs. Tucker said from the other side of the door, her nails still scratching at it. "Children who disobey deserved to be punished."

  "I'm the nasty one?" I asked, disbelieving. "You're the one who sounds like two cats…"

  I cut off at the sound of running water. All around me, the sinks were turning on, pouring water into their basins and overflowing. The toilets did the same, the water falling to the floor only seconds later. I waited for it to run out through the drains or under the door, but that didn't happen. Only a minute later, and it was halfway up my shins.

  "You had to choose the ba
throom," I muttered to myself, looking around desperately for a window. "A tiny bathroom, at that."

  The water started to shimmer around me, turning as cold as the air. It pricked at my skin like pins and needles, taking the air out of me. Trying to stay out of the freezing water, I climbed up on a counter. The water level was rising fast, so even that wouldn't have kept me dry for long.

  But I didn't have to worry about that, because a gust of ghostly wind knocked me off the counter like a cat with an empty cup. I splashed into the water, the cold taking away my breath and instantly soaking me.

  Coming up gasping for air, I struggled to get to my feet. The water was now waist deep. The bottom was too slippery, though—ice seemed to be forming on it. Every time I'd get purchase, about to pull myself up, I'd tumbled back into the water, the cold hitting me like a physical blow.

  "This is awfully passive aggressive of you," I yelled to the ghost on the other side of the door. "Couldn't even face me when you killed me."

  The scratching sped up, and I heard her cooing something that I couldn't quite make out over the sound of the running water. Whatever it was though, it put more ice in my veins than my cold surroundings did.

  The freezing water was taking its toll on me as well, my muscles all but paralyzed. I couldn't do much but shiver, struggling to keep myself afloat in the suddenly deep depths. The ceiling was only a couple feet away from the water line—only that much space between me and no more air. I wasn't sure that would be a problem, though, because it was getting harder and harder to keep my head above water.

  My head bobbed beneath the water unexpectedly, my mouth and nose filling with water. I was back up in the next instant, paddling harder and sputtering. I couldn't believe I'd just had toilet water in my mouth. It was enough to make me consider just letting myself sink in disgust.

  Again, my head went under the surface, my arms stuttering in their fight. I was under longer that time, the water biting at my exposed flesh and seeming to drag me further under.