Bigfoots Don't Do Mini Coopers (Kate Storm Book 1)

by Meredith Allen Conner

  Morgan and Harley were just waking up as I shut the front door. The make over had been a truly brilliant idea. Harley looked, and more importantly smelled, wonderful.

  Turned out, Harley was mostly a chestnut brown with chocolate lowlights. She had a slight curl along her shoulders, distinct auburn eyebrows, and currently a gorgeous shade of cranberry on her finger and toenails.

  Her fur had a lovely soft sheen to it. In the sunlight, I’d bet it would glisten. It was combed and brushed, not a single knot or stray leaf anywhere. My right arm and shoulder could attest to that. It took both Morgan and myself a solid couple of hours to get all the snarls out. And that was after a good scrubbing, most of my shampoo and all of my conditioning products.

  I’d had to place another order for hair products online and pick overnight shipping. Not something I’ve ever had to do or will ever do again. Overnight shipping is outrageous!

  Unfortunately, I do have a rather good imagination. My fingers didn’t even hesitate over the insane cost after I pictured my curls without some form of conditioner. The utter horror.

  Morgan cracked open one eye and moaned. Bigfoot echoed the sound. I cast two more healing spells.

  “Thanks, Kate.” Morgan started to sit up, frowned at her arm and leg - both wrapped around Harley - and then did one of those lightening fast vampire moves. She was out of bed and standing next to me before I could blink.

  I kept my lips sealed. I would have been horrified to wake up in bed cuddling a stranger myself. Never mind all that fur.

  Besides I had all I needed on my phone.

  Harley sat up slowly. She only winced a few times which told me I’d be able to get rid of - um - drive her back to where I ran - ah - came across her by tomorrow at the latest.

  Harley smiled at Morgan, nodded to me and began looking around for Al. That’s when she noticed her fur. Harley was definitely all female. She gasped and cooed and purred, all the while stroking every bit of fur she could reach. She went nearly orgasmic when she noticed her nails.

  I’d fluffed my curls three times already so I could relate. There is nothing quite like knowing you look your best. Doesn’t matter if you’re a witch or a Bigfoot.

  Morgan glanced at the blackout shades. “Is it daylight already?” I checked out her glorious locks, but I didn’t notice anything different. Morgan always looks perfect and gorgeous.

  “It’s nearly eleven.” I took a sip of warm coffee. “I’ve got to leave in a couple minutes. I’ve got some UVBGone in the back of the bathroom cabinet.” I kept a bottle on hand. Just in case.

  I smiled widely at Harley just before I whispered a sleep spell. It had nothing to do with any lingering irritation I might still be feeling. I simply had to go to work and I couldn’t risk Harley wanting to go for a walk.

  Honest.

  Okay, maybe not entirely, but I still had to go to work and I truly couldn’t risk Harley exploring.

  “I’ve got to run. My new secretary is starting today and I don’t want to be late.” I wanted to squeal. I sounded like such a professional business witch. Secretary. I had my own secretary.

  I settled for a toss of my beautifully bouncing, frizz-free curls.

  “You’ve hired someone already?” Morgan tilted her head to the side. Puzzled like. Much like Al when I remind him I don’t like to kill people.

  I tilted my head too. Very, very odd. Twice now I’ve had to explain parts of my life to my UDBF when I’ve never had to before.

  “Yeah. Her name is Désirée Norma-Sue.” Morgan’s emerald eyes fluttered slightly. “She’s a redneck fairy.”

  Her brows arched into sultry peaks. “How do you know her?” Morgan’s as trustful as I am.

  “Terry recommended her.” Morgan nodded slowly.

  “A fairy this far north? She knows it snows here, right?”

  A fairy’s wings are seriously delicate.

  “Yep.” I paused. “I think she’s on the run from something.” Morgan scowled. Even her wrinkles were divine. “It’s nothing to worry about. At least not immediately.”

  I checked the time and headed for the door. I picked up my purse on the way. “I’ve really gotta go. Take your time. I recorded ‘Being Human’.” Morgan loved any shows with vampires. “And they’re having a Buffy marathon on this afternoon.”

  “Sounds like a popcorn day.”

  I’m fairly certain Morgan wouldn’t eat the popcorn. However, Al was a huge Buffy fan. And Morgan couldn’t resist his bulging eyes anymore than the rest of us could.

  I’d just opened the door when Al hollered from the kitchen.

  “Doll!”

  He’d just noticed his pink toenails.

  ****

  Désirée Norma-Sue arrived a scant five minutes after I did at exactly eleven o’clock. I decided right then and there that punctuality was an important habit for an employee to have. I was thrilled with both my new employee and the fact I was a business witch with an actual employee.

  I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what to make of Désirée’s hair. Today it was a combination of purple and black streaks. The curls were styled in a . . . Well, let’s just call it a complicated manner.

  She’d taken my dress code talk to heart. She wore a thin black mock turtle neck. It had short sleeves and her arms sparkled ever so slightly. She’d accompanied the shirt with faded jeans and a wide black leather belt with an enormous rhinestone buckle. She had black biker boots on her feet.

  I’d put on a blue t-shirt, jeans and my standard black biker boots this morning. I hadn’t attempted a belt. I couldn’t find a single one in my closet that wanted to fit and I refused to buy a larger size.

  I’d put my curls into a top knot half an hour before I left. I wasn’t sure if they were in the same position still or had taken on a new look entirely.

  We could have been sisters. Biker sisters.

  “Mornin’ Kate.” Her lazy drawl banished the daydream before it could even take place.

  “Morning. Did you have a nice,” I almost said weekend before I realized a little more than one day had passed since I’d last seen her. Wow. “Sunday?”

  “Better than a sale on fairy sparkle. Got a furnished apartment and got my things unpacked. How about you?”

  I weighed the negatives - the dead senator, staging a crime scene, my boyfriend setting me on fire, Morgan lying to me and Al flirting with Harley - against the positives - I was not in jail, Ash and I were still together, sort of, and Al had slept with me last night. In my book that amounted to a good day and a half. “Pretty good.”

  I helped Désirée get settled and handed her a box of files I had not quite gotten around to putting away then I headed into my office.

  I’d planned to double check my office and the alley again for any possible evidence I might have missed, make a few notes on what I had said to the detective in case they came back, and then go over a few of the matches I’d originally planned to put on hold before the senator bit the dust.

  That all went into the cauldron five minutes later.

  “Uh, Kate?” Désirée stood in the door to my office. Her brown eyes nearly as wide as a cauldron’s lid. “Uh, there is someone . . .”

  “Is she in there?” I’m pretty sure the strident voice could be heard throughout the three buildings bordering mine. I know it hurt my ears and made my wand quiver.

  She shoved Désirée out of the doorway and stomped towards my desk. It was a damn good thing she was human. If she’d been a member of the HC, the fury in her eyes would’ve smoldered me in my seat.

  I could take some heat from Ash, but I wasn’t about to from anyone else.

  I stood up. That’s another lesson we witches have learned over the centuries. Never face an angry mob - or one very pissed off woman - sitting down.

  Actually, I do believe that might just be a purely instinctual thing.

  “You!” I had never seen this woman before in my life. She looked like she shopped the same stores as my Aunt Tabs. And sounded like
a group of sirens arguing over one especially hunky werewolf. There’s a good reason you never argue with a siren. You give up just to shut them up.

  “How dare you!” If she upped her voice another octave my window was going to break. I was fairly certain both my eardrums had already ruptured.

  I gripped my wand in my hand, just out of sight below my desk.

  “Um, can I help you?” I wondered if she was in the right place. I have never ever - not once - had a client so enraged. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever had this woman as a client period.

  She had blonde, discreetly frosted, Farrah Fawcett curls that fell to just above an impressive set of breasts. A tight kelly green button down shirt displayed those breasts to the very best advantage possible. They heaved in perfect unison - a direct compliment to whatever surgeon she used.

  Her legs were encased in white pants so tight I couldn’t imagine how she wiggled them on. Five inch emerald fuck me heels completed the outfit.

  I have to admit, I was impressed. I wouldn’t have been able to totter across a room, much less stomp as elegantly as she was doing. Actually, I don’t think I could even remain upright in those heels.

  She slung a matching leaf green purse on top of my desk. It slid several inches, the leather practically vibrating with the force of her rage and shoving a file onto the floor. The papers from the file flew out. One of them had Tom Crawford’s picture on it.

  We both glanced down. My stomach turned a few times. I confess, it had more to do with remembering all the blood than any twinge of pity.

  The two-legged figure of wrath had a different reaction.

  She shrieked.

  I know I can be unreasonable when it comes to politics and politicians, but she was taking it to an all new ear splitting level.

  “How dare you!” Clearly she felt that sentiment was worth repeating. Frankly, I was pretty sure I’d caught on the first time she’d shrieked those words.

  “Umm.” I had nothing. Not a thing. No clue. Not even a hint of who this siren-rivaling woman was or why she felt the need to scream at me.

  “What did you do? Bribe him? Promise him someone younger? Offer him some sort of kinky sex?” She looked around as if she expected to find handcuffs and whips hanging from my walls.

  As I still had no clue, silence seemed my best option. I figured her boyfriend must have broken up with her and now he was a current client.

  “You have nothing I can’t offer him.” Okay, considering her tiny waist and ability to negotiate around in potentially deadly heels, she had a small point. However, my witchy half reminded me I didn’t have to take it.

  “I don’t know . . .” I couldn’t get the rest of the words out, much less my gas inducing spell, before she interrupted me.

  “I can’t believe he would come to you.” Okay now, that was taking things a bit too far. I may be twenty or thirty pounds overweight - I try not to keep track of the exact amount - but Ash had no complaints so far. Plus it didn’t matter what I looked like, I was the matchmaker.

  “Look . . .” I didn’t get any farther than that before she started in again.

  “A matchmaking service. Really? You expect me to believe that?” I had no idea what she was talking about. I am not a believer in false advertising. “More like an escort service.” She sneered at me. “Or do you “import” your women.” She made little air quotes as she said the word import.

  She’d gone far enough. No one - I don’t care what species they belonged to - could insult my business. Or imply I was involved in human trafficking.

  The. Utter. Gall.

  My fingers flexed around my wand. Giving her gas would not do it. She needed several moles on her glorious breasts. Complete with hair growing out of them.

  I tightened my grip on my wand.

  “I can offer him everything and anything he desires.” She placed her hands on my desk and leaned forward. Her gravity defying breasts heaved ferociously. I took a step back.

  “You have nothing. You hear me? Nothing!” Repeating herself seemed to be a recurrent habit with her.

  I started to whisper the words to my spell.

  Ms. Righteous Fury broke down and began sobbing.

  I gotta say, I did not see that coming.

  Well, crap. I couldn’t very well cast a nasty spell on her now that she was wailing like a sick siren barred from her first orgy.

  Her wailing reached caterwauling levels. Trust me, after Harley, I know caterwauling to every excruciating decibel.

  Sweet Spirits.

  I dropped my wand and barreled around my desk, wincing with each step. My ears were never going to be the same. Even with a healing spell.

  She’d wrapped her arms around her waist as if for comfort. I wrapped my arms around hers.

  “There. There.” Damn it. I really did need to brush up on my comforting skills.

  She wailed some more.

  “There, there.” I was reaching for the paperweight on my desk to knock her out, when she gave a deep sob and collapsed against me.

  This was marginally better. At least she wasn’t wailing anymore. However, she was now sobbing into my t-shirt. I don’t know anyone in any species who can sob like that without snotting too.

  Damn it.

  I gave her five minutes. At which point, my shirt was drenched and my empathy had dwindled.

  I was considering my paperweight again when she lifted her head and pulled back. “I’m sorry.” I thought a more abject apology would be appropriate considering the depths of her insults, but I’d take what I could get. “I didn’t mean to break down like that.” But she did mean the accusations?

  “It was just seeing his picture put me over the edge.”

  Wow. And I thought I had issues with politicians.

  “I guess I’m still in shock. I didn’t find out until last night he’d come to see you.” She sniffed, reached into her purse and pulled out a kleenex. I glanced down at my top. She didn’t need it. “I was gone over the weekend and just got back this morning.” She patted delicately under her eyes. I don’t know why she bothered. “I was at a modern organic spa.” She saw my puzzled look. “They don’t allow electronics. So I had to hear the news when I got back.”

  For the life of me, I still could not figure out what her problem was. A break up with her boyfriend was between them and I had nothing to do with the senator’s death. Staging his murder scene? Yes. But not the actual killing. Plus, I hadn’t heard my name or business mentioned on the news. Even if she was some sort of psycho political groupie, she shouldn’t have made a connection between me and the senator.

  “Tom didn’t even bother to call. He had one of his aids leave the message.” She crumbled the kleenex and dropped it onto my desk. “I cannot believe he thinks he can just brush me aside after all these years.”

  Crap. I was starting to get a really bad feeling.

  “He can’t even be bothered to return my call now that he’s looking for a wife.”

  Oh. Shit.

  “After all I’ve done for him. He thinks he can just toss me aside like yesterday’s garbage?” She tossed her head. Her frizz-free, silky blonde locks moved in unison. “I’ve got a few choice words for him.” She narrowed hazel eyes and stabbed her finger towards me.

  I would have taken offense at that, but I was too busy trying to figure out how to tell her that her lover was dead.

  “Um.” I drew a complete and utter blank.

  “Did he even mention me to you?”

  “Ah.” I couldn’t insult her before I found the right words that would completely devastate her.

  “Did he tell you how long we’ve been together?” Luckily she seemed content to continue on without my input. “Did he tell you how much money Daddy has contributed to his career?” She held up one slender hand as she ticked off her complaints with her fingers. “Or how many connections he’s made with Daddy’s help?”

  “Uh.” I racked my brain frantically to find the gentlest way to inform her
of Tom’s demise. Something calm and sympathetic would work. Perhaps with an offer of tea as well.

  “Did he tell you about all the parties I’ve hosted for him? The countless hours I’ve spent making sure every little detail was perfect? All the right people were invited?”

  “He’s dead.”

  That stopped her tirade.

  Well, shit. I clearly needed to work on my sympathetic skills as well as my comforting skills. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  She ignored my offer and frowned at me. “Who’s dead?”

  I took a small step back and braced myself for another round of wailing. “Tom Crawford.” I covered my ears with my palms.

  “Hhh whaa?”

  Frog warts. I lowered my hands just enough so I could actually hear. “What did you say?”

  “Did you say Tom Crawford is dead?”

  I nodded and slapped my hands back over my ears.

  She didn’t break down. She didn’t start wailing again. Nor did she attempt to attack me.

  I’d pretty much counted on any one of those three reactions. Now I was just puzzled.

  Maybe she was in shock. I lowered my hands. “Did you hear what I said?”

  She frowned at me. “Tom Crawford is really dead?” One of us was going to have to actually answer a question.

  “Yep. He’s dead.” I braced myself. “Murdered, actually.”

  Her eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Someone murdered Tom?”

  “Uh, huh.” I lowered my hands completely. Maybe it was simply too much for her. I should probably pick up my wand, just in case she was in shock and fainted. Or started the high pitched screaming again.

  “Who killed him?” She was taking this rather well.

  “I’m not sure. The police said it could have been a burglar.” I rounded my desk and picked up my wand. “They found him at his campaign office in Virtue.” Each sentence was totally true.

  “That son of a bitch.” I dropped my wand again. I could not get a feel for this woman. Her reactions were beyond anything I could relate to. “I can’t believe he did this to me.”

  I refrained from pointing out the obvious: I sincerely doubted Tom Crawford managed to get himself murdered just to piss her off.