I flipped on the small TV near the coffee maker. Some chatter would help distract me as I fixed Al his meatball and doggy food breakfast.
“ . . . it looks like Senator Tom Crawford got caught in the middle of a break-in. We will keep you updated on this breaking story throughout the day. Back to you, Sharon.”
My fingers tightened on the knife. Right. I had more important things to worry about than my relationship with my Chihuahua.
15. Matchmaking Is Serious Stuff.
I’ve worked Sundays before. As a small business owner, I do whatever it takes to make my matchmaking company successful. But I didn’t have to work this Sunday.
In fact, I didn’t have much on the books at all. I’d assumed I would be busier than usual with the senator’s match and had postponed several new inquiries for a couple of weeks.
However, I also knew the police would want to question me. Senator Crawford or one of his aides would have made note of his appointment with me. And I definitely didn’t want Al around when I was questioned.
Given his chosen profession in his past life, Al has a poor impression of the police. I have no problems with them myself. Actually, I was sort of looking forward to being interviewed. At least this time I wouldn’t have to do my own investigation into a murder.
I was a little surprised no one had called me yet. But I figured the police would be questioning the senator’s staff members first and that would probably take a while.
The front door opened and a deep voice called out, “Hello?”
I walked out of my human’s only office, several folders in hand as I’d planned, as if they had interrupted my full load of clients.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I pretended I didn’t know who they were or why they were here. Just a normal day at my office.
“Surprised you’re open on a Sunday.” They didn’t bother to introduce themselves just yet. Probably scoping out me and my business first.
“Love doesn’t stop on the weekends.” Ouch. I hid my wince. I sounded like a Hallmark card. I could do better than this.
“I’m Kate Storm.” I held my hand out to the two detectives. They wore dark pants and suit jackets. Mr. Brown Jacket tucked his hand inside his pants pocket, pushing his jacket back, displaying the badge and gun near his kidney. “You must be here about the senator. I heard about his death on the news. How awful.”
Straightforward, in charge, and nothing to hide. Much better. I’ve watched a few crime shows. I’ve always liked the suspects who had that attitude. Even if they turned out to be the guilty ones. They always appeared to have their stuff together. Aside from the small matter of committing a murder.
Since I hadn’t actually committed the murder, I figured it should work for me.
“Detective Sam Connor.” Brown Jacket held out his hand. “This is Detective Gary Brushing.” He nodded at Blue Jacket as we shook hands. “We’re with the Idaho State police. Why did you think we would be coming by? It’s on the news the senator was killed during an attempted burglary.”
I managed a slight frown. “Yes. I know. I just sort of figured since he was a senator, every part of his life would be examined.” I sighed, equal parts sorrow and bewilderment. “And he was just here yesterday.” I considered shedding a tear, but decided it might be overkill.
Blue Jacket continued to frown at me, so I added, “I watch a lot of crime shows.” As if that might explain everything.
Apparently it did. Both detectives grunted. Brown Jacket even added in a slight eye roll. I’m sure if I’d been a detective, fake shows about what I did for a living would annoy the heck out of me too.
Re-runs of Bewitched drove me batty. I hadn’t watched any since Mom passed, although we’d watched several episodes together when she’d been alive. Every time I’d glared at her, she’d just smiled and said “it was a living.”
“We understand from the senator’s aide you run a matchmaking business.”
“That’s correct. I match couples. I don’t run an escort service, a dating service or any other shady business. I find the perfect love match for people.” Glaring and snarling at the detectives I’d hoped would solve the senator’s murder had not been part of my game plan.
No one, of any species, however, is allowed to knock what I do for a living. And Brown Jacket’s tone had just enough derision to set me off.
Both Blue and Brown Jacket stared silently at me, eyebrows slightly raised. I’m sure it’s a detective technique to encourage people to continue talking/confessing while they mull over their own thoughts and opinions.
It works rather well.
I crossed my arms defensively. “You had that look and that sneer in your voice. It drives me crazy. Love and relationships are the most important things in people’s lives. You don’t ask some bum on the street to draw up your will. You go to a professional. So why wouldn’t you use a professional to find you the perfect match?”
Brown Jacket wrote something down in a little notebook. Damn it. He was probably labeling me as unstable. So much for my effort at cool and together.
“It’s a totally legitimate business.” The more they stared, the more I rattled on. “Honestly, there should be more matchmakers. If more people were matched correctly, with someone they truly loved and were happy with, there would be less crime and violence.”
Great Spirits, now I was both defending my passion and trying to convert them. Not that I didn’t believe in what I was saying. I did. Every word.
But I was babbling and they weren’t.
Damn it.
I zipped my lips. “Why don’t we go into my office?”
They followed dutifully behind me as I led them into my human’s only office. I’d scoured every inch of the office first thing this morning. There was absolutely nothing to indicate the senator’s body had been here.
Morgan and Al were true experts.
“What’s in there?” Blue Jacket pointed to my other office.
I obediently opened the door, displaying the matching office. I’d had the foresight to cast a spell to disguise the pictures. They saw a mirror image office with a large gold stencil on the wall.
See? Nothing to hide.
“I have two offices.”
“For those moments when you overbook or have a Valentine’s sale?” He hadn’t been rude. Exactly. Or asked a totally impertinent question. A complaint wouldn’t even get him a slap on the wrist. I had a feeling Brown Jacket knew this all too well.
Being a cop would only encourage and confirm his cynical nature. I did understand this. Truly. Also, I needed them to believe I had merely interviewed the senator and hadn’t seen him again after that interview. Which meant I should be making an all out effort to be as sweet and innocent as I could possibly be.
However, I love my job. I am damn good at it and it is something I believe in with all my heart. Being Cursed In Love made it all the more important.
Brown jacket thought he was being funny and obnoxious to a human. And that there was nothing really I could do about it. Too bad for him I’m a witch.
I slammed the one door shut and stomped into the other office.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” If he wasn’t thirsty, I’d have to find another way to work my spell. I couldn’t cast a really bad spell. I’m not a black witch. But love is essential to everyone, it’s not a joking matter.
The spell had a time limit on it, so the ending was entirely in their hands. And it would prove my point.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“I take mine black. Thank you.”
I got the coffee going, sat behind my desk and folded my hands in front of me. This time I raised my eyebrows at them.
Blue Jacket spared one sideways glance of annoyance at his partner before he started in on the questions. What time was the appointment? How long did it last? Could they see my file on the senator’s interview? Were these my standard questions? When had we planned to meet again? Did I see the senator out? Had his driver pic
ked him up? In what direction had they left?
I answered everything truthfully. Honestly. Without any hedging or attempt at deception.
Until, of course, they asked me if I had seen or had any contact with the senator after our appointment.
Then I lied my ass off.
The coffee was ready about seven minutes into the questions. Blue Jacket received his, black as requested. I added my spell along with the cream to Brown Jacket’s coffee.
The spell began to work right away.
Brown Jacket suddenly had a hard time taking his eyes off Blue jacket. His cheeks grew flushed and his eyes took on that slightly glazed look a person gets when they first fall in love. Or a dieter sees the window display at a bakery.
By the time the detectives had asked all of their questions, handed me their cards, warned me they might be calling back with more questions, Brown Jacket had stepped as close to Blue Jacket as possible. Their shoulders brushed as often as he could manage it.
I am not a spiteful witch. If I hadn’t seen the truth when we first shook hands, I might have been content to add an embarrassing burping and gaseous spell to his coffee and leave it at that. It had been my favorite when I’d been bullied at the Witch Academy.
But I believe firmly in the power of love.
The spell I’d cast had a four hour time limit. After that it was up to them.
I felt rather good after the detectives left. Which was a very odd feeling considering I’d just been questioned in conjunction with a murder.
However I’d: 1) Given love a nudge. I always feel good when it comes to matchmaking. And 2) This time around I didn’t have to worry about winding up dead myself.
The last time I’d relocated a dead body that had been one of my main concerns. That plus everyone I held near and dear winding up dead as well.
Those types of thoughts can really prey on a witch.
This time I didn’t have to worry about any of those concerns. This time the police were involved which meant someone else - people who were actually qualified to conduct detective work - would look into the murder.
I was completely free to worry about Bigfoot, my own love life and my coven’s curse.
As I turned to head back into my office, the clouds shifted, sending a brief patch of sunlight into my waiting room. Shadows from the lamp post outside my building and the center frame of my window sill elongated, bracketing my own shadow and throwing it into a dark cell.
My heart skipped several beats.
Until the senator’s murder was solved - without any knowledge of my involvement in staging a crime scene for the murder - imprisonment remained a distinct possibility for my future.
Rotting behind bars, locked inside a concrete square. Sun, nature and life, a forbidden temptation instead of a given right, perpetually out of reach?
Death might be preferable.
****
Thoughts of incarceration tend to make me go a bit crazy.
I didn’t have time for a breakdown, so I marched into my HC office, sat down in my chair and pulled my mother’s Book of Spells out of the bottom drawer.
I’d brought it along with me this morning in case I had a few moments to study it alone. I knew if Al saw it, he’d harass me into telling him all about it. And while it might be good to get his perspective on what was in the book, I was still too pissed off at him to have a causal conversation, let alone one which involved my mother.
I slowly unwrapped the book.
I opened the cover. There, in an elegant red scrawl, was my mother’s name. I quickly flipped over a couple of pages.
She’d been a good student. Study notes and thoughts lined the margins on several pages. Nothing personal. I found the section on hexes and curses. Oddly enough, I couldn’t find a single note there.
I did notice a lot of the spells were out of date. Not surprising, humans don’t request crop growing spells anymore. Really, they don’t request spells period. As if magic isn’t something to be believed in anymore. It continues to boggle my mind.
I was bracing myself to go back to the beginning and search each page, one at a time, when the bell above my door rang. Telling myself I was not a wimp, merely a serious business owner, I rewrapped the book and set it carefully back in the drawer.
A middle aged man with a receding brown hairline and a belly which poked over his belt stood in my waiting room. His brown eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took me in, before they widened behind his round glasses.
He smiled cheerfully as he held out his hand and for a moment he looked like a young Santa Claus.
“Hi, I’m Claud Smith and I’m hoping you can help me.” His belly rolled just like a certain famous bowl full of jelly as he chortled. “I would like to get married and I could use some help.”
I couldn’t help but smile back at him. He was so adorable in a rotund and utterly clueless way.
“I’m Kate.” I held out my hand to meet his as I stepped forward. “I’d be delighted to help you find your perfect partner.”
I kept the smile too, even as I gripped his hand, whispered my truth spell and found out he was a lying cretin.
Jeez, and everyone says appearances can be deceiving when it comes to the HC. Claud “Smith” Potier took the Oscar.
I wasn’t entirely clear on how he had figured out that I was a witch, but he knew the HC existed. Or at least some of them.
He was a certified xenologist who had taken up residence four doors down from my own apartment and liked to spy on me. I hadn’t cast my spell quickly enough the other night.
Claud had caught a quick glimpse of Bigfoot. He didn’t want to find a wife. He had visions of his picture on Time magazine with the dead - and preferably stuffed body - of Bigfoot right next to him.
16. Burning Demons.
I set down the furniture spray and eyeballed the waiting area. Not bad. Actually, all the cleaning I had done was total overkill. I’d done a little extra sprucing up right before the senator’s interview.
The past two hours of sweeping, vacuuming, dusting and polishing had been totally unnecessary. In terms of cleaning.
From my terrified and irritated psyche’s point of view, it had been an absolute necessity.
I’ve always found cleaning to be therapeutic. Sure, as a witch, I could simply conjure up a good spell and be done in seconds. But then I would lose out on the rhythmic motions of a broom in my hands, the fresh scent of lemon filling the air as I Pledged the wooden end tables and the satisfactory shine of a freshly scrubbed room. Mindless and monotonous, cleaning has always soothed my ragged nerves.
My tiny apartment had been utterly spotless - in an obsessively OCD way - for a good two years straight after Mom passed.
Now, I had a little perspective. And a sparkling office.
In regards to the terrified part of my psyche - I had not been involved in the senator’s murder. And while both Brown and Blue Jacket were in stubborn denial of their true feelings, they were extremely competent detectives.
My contact with the senator had been extremely limited. I had no motive. I hadn’t been able to come up with any way I could be linked to senator Tom Crawford’s death or to the moving of his body after it had been murdered. I’d survived one frame job. I would get through this one as well.
I’d successfully managed to calm my nerves on that end.
In regards to my irritated part - I’d played along with Claud Potier’s little act. I’d dutifully taken down his information while we both sized each other up.
I’m telling you - people see a curly haired woman and just automatically assume we are stupid. Claud left, smug in his belief I’d been completely snowed and nearly rubbing his hands together in anticipation of exposing Bigfoot.
He irked me to no end. 1) I hate liars and 2) Anyone who wants to expose the HC is automatically on my shit list.
Although, technically Bigfoot isn’t a part of the HC.
Regardless, I may not be a card-carrying member - or even a memb
er who is just a hint above being tolerated - but I am still part of that group, despite their feelings towards me. So is Morgan. So is Big Al. And I don’t take threats against my friends lightly.
Not even the ones that aren’t really my friends and I might have run over and then dumped on my pull-out while I tried to heal them.
However, I had several advantages over Claud: I was onto his evil scheme and he had no clue. He couldn’t get past the protective spell I’d cast over my apartment - and apparently he had tried twice while I’d been out. And a xenologist was no match for a witch.
I was still irked that I’d been taken in by his deceptive appearance, but I had magic and some amazingly creative and slightly felonious friends on my side.
Speaking of those potential jailbirds, I’d managed to work in a little mental cleansing on my worries from last night.
Al did love me. He had totally unrealistic expectations in regards to our relationship, but he did love me. I couldn’t begrudge him his efforts at jealousy. They’d worked. And he did need to find someone to fall in love with. Albeit, a female of the canine persuasion would be preferable.
We would be fine.
The same went for Morgan. It grated that she had lied to me. Nerves still exposed and raw, but underneath the hurt, a solidity. Morgan loved me as well. I knew this. Felt it in my bones.
Not to say that whatever the problem was - however big or terrible - it wouldn’t be a challenge. I was not looking forward to confronting Morgan. And she clearly was not ready to let me in on the problem. But we would get through it.
Amazing what a little sprucing up could do for one’s psyche.
The front door opened and Ash walked in.
My psyche blew a raspberry.
I hadn’t even tried to tackle my troubles with Ash while cleaning.
Al and Morgan I could handle. They were both huge components of my life I could, and consistently would, deal with because deep down, under whatever garbage heaps of crap we had to cope with, I knew we loved each other.
I didn’t know what kind of foundation Ash and I had. If any.
Bigfoots Don't Do Mini Coopers (Kate Storm Book 1) Page 10
