Wild Secrets (A Wilder Witch Mystery Book 3)

by Jade Wolfe

  Wild Secrets

  Jade Wolfe

  Published by Pinwheel Books, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  WILD SECRETS

  First edition. May 29, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Jade Wolfe.

  Written by Jade Wolfe.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  WILD SECRETS | Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  CROSSFIRE SERIES | WICKED CITY SERIES

  WILD SECRETS

  Chapter One

  “Will you take a hundred?” I asked, smiling my sweetest smile, even though that trick usually only worked on my dad. I ran my fingertip gently around the lip of the waist-high, copper-colored ceramic urn, silently willing Bill Bagly to take the offer.

  Outside, it was a beautiful fall day. The wind had kicked up, blowing yellow and orange leaves past Bill’s big storefront windows and along the wide, clean streets of my tiny hometown, Wilder, Virginia. That was one of the reasons why I liked the urn - it mimicked those same autumn colors.

  A few pedestrians wandered by, chatting or window shopping. We didn’t get a lot of tourist traffic here in the mountains of Virginia, but we got some, especially this time of year. Fall foliage tours were pretty popular and Wilder was charming, in its way.

  Bagly, owner of a fabulously thick moustache and the only antique store in town, snorted and dropped a hand onto the sales counter between us. “You insult me,” he said. His eyes twinkled, though; he loved this game as much as I did.

  We both knew that one day I’d come in and just buy the piece - which I’d already decided would look perfect on our fireplace hearth at home - but for now, I wanted to bargain and he was happy to play along.

  “I do not. That is a simple Russian, not even pre-Renaissance.” I lifted my chin. “It isn’t worth more than one-fifty.”

  A couple of kids rode by on bikes outside, laughing about something as the wind whipped leaves around their tired, and I got the silly urge to follow them. It was my favorite time of year, and suddenly I was itching to be outside under the skittering white clouds and blue, blue sky. As much as I loved needling Bill about his wares, I wanted to enjoy the turbulent weather before it got too cold.

  Maybe I should buy a bike, I mused for a moment. Nah, it would just sit in the garage, most likely, and I was trying to get things out of Aunt Sage’s house, not bring more things into it.

  I leveled my gaze on him. “One-ten. That’s as high as I’m going,” I said, taking my hand off the urn to show I meant business.

  I wandered a few feet away to a bookshelf full of hardcover books and spotted a cover I recognized - a shiny blue background, sporting a picture of a man with a gun. Your average action hero thriller. I’d seen this book before - Dad was looking at it the last time he went to the grocery store with me. I remembered him picking it up, reading the back cover, and putting it down.

  The shelf of hardcovers was wedged in and surrounded by bookcases full of romance novels - the old kind, with shirtless men, swooning women, and enough flowing hair to suffocate a horse. I believe they called them bodice rippers. Sage used to read those, and for a while in my teens I did too, stealing them from her house when no one was looking. I wondered if she missed things like that, now that she was dead.

  I doubted it - she was busy playing haunted house all over town.

  I picked up the thriller and flipped the cover open to see that it was a signed copy, and momentarily considered buying it for him. I kept flipping and saw Bagly’s red spot on the back cover. He always put one there, although I didn’t know why. Then I put it back and turned to Bagly again.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Just buy the thing already,” my Aunt Sage said, popping into view over his shoulder. I jumped, whacked my elbow on an over-burdened bookcase, and stifled a little screech. “You’re rich, in case you forgot,” she added.

  Ha - she would never let me forget, because I was only rich thanks to her. My inheritance had come with plenty of money, our giant old mansion, and a few weird strings attached - like keeping some dead sorcerer in his grave so that he didn’t destroy the town.

  I glanced at Bill while I rubbed my arm. He gave a little shudder at the sudden chill her presence brought, but of course he couldn’t see her. She was a ghost. A snotty, irritable ghost.

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head just a tiny bit, hoping she’d get the hint. The folks in this town already thought my family was nuts. No need to add to the perception by talking to myself in public.

  “No can do,” Bill said, stroking his moustache like a beloved pet. “I’d lose my shirt on it.”

  “Oh, come on, Bill.” I grinned at him. “I already know you got this at Maddie Perk’s yard sale last summer for twenty bucks.”

  His eyes shifted. A frown creased his features. “I had it cleaned, and I also had a few small cracks repaired. Those things take money, honey.”

  “So it’s worth even less than I thought,” I countered. “It’s not original.”

  He shook his head and changed the subject. "Are you going to Dwayne's book fair this weekend?"

  When I drove past the library this morning, I'd noticed that it was festooned with party supplies. "Is that what all the balloons and streamers are for? I wondered."

  "Yep - he's all kinds of excited about it. You know Dwayne." He waved a dismissive hand. "The author of that book you were just holding will be here tonight, signing copies of his newest."

  Bagly was right - I did know Dwayne, and I was pretty sure I'd never met a man who loved his work so much. He was our head librarian at the enormous library here in Wilder, and he took his job very, very seriously. It was nearly creepy, the way he took care of the place almost like it was a shrine to books instead of a public space. I was secretly surprised that he would invite us peasants inside.

  I'd only met Dwayne a couple of times - once at the Boy Scout's spaghetti dinner fundraiser and once when I went to look for a book about 18th century kneeling stools. I had one, but I didn't know much about it. I'd found mine in one of my Aunt Sage's bedroom closets when I started cleaning out the house after her death. Since antiques were my thing, I thought it wouldn't hurt to learn about them.

  Dwayne was no help that day, though. He hovered. And by hovered, I meant he followed me from shelf to shelf, breathing down my neck and taking books out of my hands because he didn't like me touching them - I could tell by the look on his face. He was polite about it, but still. Finally, I had given up, gone home, and ordered the book I wanted online.

  I glanced toward the hardcover book again. It looked like it wanted to be rescued from the horde of lovers. I wondered if I should buy it for Dad, just so I didn't leave Bagly's store empty-handed.

  Bagly and I both looked up when the bell over the door jingled to announce somebody's arrival. I was surprised to see Dante come in. He looked around, saw me, and headed my way.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, happy to see him. His dark, soft curls were still damp from a morning shower and he was wearing his
customary jeans, Wilder PD polo shirt, and a light leather jacket. His badge was hooked on his belt.

  "I was on my way to work when I saw your ridiculous truck parked outside." He laughed.

  I shook my head and grinned back at him. My big blue monster pickup truck was very nearly an impulse purchase. I'd needed a vehicle when I moved back to Wilder. That was the one I fell in love with, even though I could barely drive the thing. Parallel parking it was out of the question. "I love my truck. It's not ridiculous - it's a necessity."

  "With you driving it, it's a deathtrap."

  "Shut up. Weren't you on your way to the police station? Do you always harass law-abiding citizens before breakfast?"

  "Sometimes. It's a hobby," Dante shot back. "Tell your dad my shift ends early today, so I'll be around for supper."

  "I swear, you might as well live at my house, Dante." It was true. He'd moved from his tiny apartment to a small rancher on Cape Avenue, but he was never there - he was always at my house and usually eating something. It was all good, though. I liked his company. Dante was one of the two real friends I had in this town.

  Bagly piped up. "Are you two a couple yet? Because you sure sound like it."

  "No!" Dante and I said at the same time. I glared over my shoulder at the little man.

  His moustache twitched. He shrugged.

  Dante was opening his mouth to say something when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and fiddled with it, then answered.

  I thought I heard a hysterical female voice on the other end, but I couldn't be sure, and then Dante turned away and headed for the door. "Hold on. I can't understand you."

  I paused for a moment, then followed him, giving Bagly a goodbye wave that he didn't see.

  Dante was pacing the sidewalk with his chin tucked into his collar and holding a finger to his free ear to hear over the gusting wind. He glanced up at me when I came through the door, grimaced, and then went back to his conversation.

  I hesitated. Was this a private conversation? Was I interrupting? Just in case, I walked over to the antique store's front window and stared at a severely uncomfortable - looking dining room chair. I tried not to listen.

  After a few more moments he ended the call and came over to me. "I've got to go," he said.

  My curiosity was tingling. "How come?"

  He stopped, pursed his lips, and said, "They need me at work."

  Weird - he never got in a hurry. Nobody in this town ever got in a hurry. "What's going on, Dante?"

  He didn't say anything.

  I put my hands on my hips and grinned at his obvious discomfort. "You might as well tell me. You know I can walk down the street and find out in fifteen seconds."

  He still didn't answer. I could see the gears turning in his head.

  I pulled out my phone. "Fine, I'll just call May Marie and find out anyway." May Marie was my other friend in Wilder, who also happened to work at the police department as their only dispatcher. In fact, that might have been her on the phone. Wilder wasn't an exciting town. "Also, I won't let you come for supper."

  His eyes narrowed. I narrowed mine back at him. I knew I had him.

  He huffed. "There has been a murder."

  My eyebrows shot up.

  "At the library," he finished.

  I almost laughed. Almost. "Are you gonna find the murderer and throw the book at him?"

  "Shut up." He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. "I've got to go."

  "I'll come with you." I hitched my purse up on my shoulder and turned to walk down the street.

  He stepped in beside me. "Do you have to?"

  "Probably. You might need my help. You know...with the rune things. This isn't my first murder." My steps faltered for a moment.

  "I know."

  He should know. The two of us had solved two, just since I'd come back to Wilder last year. One of them was my Aunt Sage - the one who now haunted me on a regular basis when she wasn't harassing her other enemies in town. The second murder was the daughter of a senator who happened to be living in a small commune outside of town. I didn't exactly like solving murders, but I thought I was getting pretty good at it.

  One of the ways I helped was by casting runes. I didn't even know what runes were until I came home, just like I didn't know I was a witch. My Aunt Sage's death had been a surprise in lots of ways, and now I knew that I was the last of my family's line and one of the few people left who could read and interact with the ancient language.

  Thinking about Sage reminded me that tonight was the full moon, and I had a date with a dead sorcerer. According to my aunt, I was in charge of keeping him in the ground, and if I failed to do the ritual that bound him there, the whole town was in danger. According to her, unleashing that kind of evil might kill us all.

  I thought maybe Sage was being a bit melodramatic, but I still went out to the gravesite every full moon and cast the spell that kept him enclosed. I’d been trying to get my cousin Jason to come with me, but so far he’d been the opposite of interested. I didn't really blame him, to be honest. What twenty-year-old guy even believed in that stuff?

  It was hard to believe I’d been back in Wilder for almost a year, especially after swearing I’d never set foot in this town again.

  Since coming home, though, I’d made my peace with the people of Wilder, for the most part. It was a little like living in a foreign country - you tried your best to fit in, but you always wondered, in the back of your mind, whether anybody really liked you. If not for Dante and my friend May Marie, I might have already packed up Jason and my dad, sold Aunt Sage’s big old house, and moved back to Nashville.

  Dante and I crossed the bridge over the Okee River that cut through the middle of town and turned toward the giant stone structure that was the library. It had once been a pretty fancy church, but the county had taken it over and turned it into the library when the pastor and owner died. No one else wanted the drafty old monster, apparently.

  We cut through the municipal parking lot. I could already see the clutch of people outside the big wooden doors, waiting for gossip. Dale was in uniform, keeping them at a distance, and the coroner's van was already parked in front of the doors.

  Dale slumped with relief when he saw Dante headed his way, then he frowned when he saw that I was coming along, too. I made Dale nervous. Unlike Dante, who moved here from Houston, Dale and I had both grown up here in Wilder, so he knew the rumors about my family. No one but me knew for sure if the rumors were true, but Dale was a believer, and he didn't like it.

  When we got to him, I noticed that he looked a little green. Of course, that might have been because he was a husky guy stuffed into a uniform that was a size too small.

  "Who's our victim?" Dante asked him.

  Dale licked his lips. He looked from Dante to me, and then back to Dante. "This is police business," he said.

  Dante shook his head. "Forget she's here, Dale. Tell me what's going on."

  "Well," Dale stood up a little straighter and shoved his thumbs into his waistband. "The victim was that author dude that Dwayne invited to speak." He paused for dramatic effect and stuck out his chest. "The killer was..." He slumped again. "Well, we don't know who the killer was." He looked at me. "Yet."

  "Well, I didn't do it, Dale," I snapped.

  He looked miffed at that. "You sure? Where were you a couple of hours ago?"

  Dante sighed. "Come on," he said to me. "Let's go."

  I followed him in through the double doors without answering Dale. Just before the doors closed behind us, I spotted William Clayburke standing in the shadow of a large elm at the side of the building. The wind whipped at his cravat and made it flounce. He nearly always wore a cravat, because he considered himself a poet and in his mind, that’s what poets wore. He was wringing his hands and staring worriedly at the library’s tall windows, like he knew exactly what was going on inside.

  There was a sign in the small foyer that invited everyone to join Jasper Davenport tonight
at seven for a book signing and selected readings from his newest book - Mad Murder Mountain. How appropriate.

  Inside, the building retained its lofty origins. Even the quiet hush of reverence was usually the same as the kind in the middle of a church service, but today there were too many voices. People moved back and forth through the main room, investigating the crime scene. Dante spotted Ben Bridges, the chief of police, at the same time I did. We headed that way.

  I had grown up with Ben, and he was as slimy as ever. Whenever I talked to him, I always got the feeling that he had just robbed a bank or kidnapped a child. Fortunately, I didn't think he was actually brave enough to do either of those things. Still, I didn't trust him. He was in this job for the money and the fame - such as it was in a town this small.

  "Hey Ben," Dante greeted him. "Dale says we've got a dead author?"

  Ben nodded. He was making notes in a small notebook and it took him a minute to look up. When he did, his eyes landed on me first, then slid to Dante like I wasn't even there. "Yes. It looks like Jasper Davenport came in early this morning to get ready for his book fair thingy. Then somebody murdered him."

  "OK...? Any details?" Dante looked impatient.

  "Well, he was supposedly here alone." He checked his notebook. "Guy named Pete Shoemaker told me that. He’s Jasper’s publicist or agent or something. We're looking hard at him, but I don't think he had anything to do with it."

  "Why not?"

  "He wasn’t here. Dwayne said Pete showed up about two minutes after the murder, before he even got the doors unlocked."

  I choked back a groan. Ben wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but this was ridiculous. Even I knew that looks could be deceiving, and if Pete was close by soon after the murder...

  Dante glanced at me. I shrugged. We could talk about it later.

  "He was a mess, too, according to Dwayne,” Ben continued. “They found the body together and Pete started crying and carrying on like a stuck calf."

  "But if there was no one here..." Dante prompted him.