Crime and Retribution

by Nic Saint

  Crime and Retribution

  Saffron Diffley 1

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Print Publications

  Contents

  Crime and Retribution

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Witchy Start (Neighborhood Witch Committee 1)

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  Crime and Retribution

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  It’s an important day for Saffron Diffley. First day at the office. First day collaborating with her brothers in the family firm of Diffley Insurance. And first day as an agent for Karma Corps, the mysterious agency tasked with balancing crime and punishment in our world. A transgender woman has been murdered in Happy Bays, and it’s up to Saffron and her brothers to find out who’s behind the murder, and serve the culprit the proper retribution.

  Unfortunately, new cop in town Logan Munroe is also adamant to apprehend the killer, and doesn’t like a young and inexperienced insurance claims adjuster inserting herself into his investigation. Soon he’s not just arresting criminals, but looking to place the handcuffs on Saffron’s slender wrists as well—at least when they’re not verbally sparring while out collecting clues and interviewing a colorful cast of suspects.

  And then there’s Saffron’s little brother Rodrick trying to prove their neighbor is a witch, Dalton throwing his weight around, Calvin being his usual obnoxious self, Lucien wanting to become a woman, Brice dreaming of becoming a Hollywood star, and Jerome, the family’s aged French Mastiff, spreading a particularly noxious odor wherever he goes. In other words, chaos as usual at Diffley Manor, with Grandma trying to stay on top of things.

  Will Saffron serve justice in spite of Detective Logan Munroe’s objections? Will Logan survive the scrutiny of the Diffley brood? And will Saffron be able to resist a sudden and powerful attraction to the burly cop? Find out in Crime and Retribution, the first installment in the new humorous paranormal cozy mystery series Saffron Diffley. Expect a riveting mystery, a hint of the paranormal, a touch of romance, and a lot of laughs.

  Prologue

  Marelda slipped her Fiat 500 into the narrow parking space right in front of her friend’s condo. She glanced up as she cut the engine. Curtains were drawn, no sign of life. She narrowed her eyes as she shook her head, a wealth of copper-colored curls dancing about her round face.

  “Big surprise,” she sighed as she angled her large body out of the driver’s seat and out of the tiny but very fashionable car.

  She’d tried texting, calling, and even sexting, but so far no response from her friend. Probably still asleep. She knew no one who could sleep more soundly than Mariana. It infuriated her, though she had to admit she also admired the buxom beauty for the way she could simply shut out the world and retreat into her own little bubble.

  She yanked her pocketbook from the car with an annoyed grunt—the strap had gotten snagged on the handbrake again. The strap snapped and she cursed. And as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her heel broke. God!

  She assessed the damage, slipped off her shoes, and padded along the pavement barefoot. A raw deal on her stockings but she was beyond caring at this point. She blamed it all on Mariana. If she hadn’t ignored her calls and texts and sexts since last night, none of this would be happening.

  She jammed the key into the lock and shoved open the door. The foyer was as neat and tidy as ever. For some reason, this simply added to her fury. Gah. She knew exactly where the money to fix up this fixer-upper had come from, and she was going to have a nice, long talk with Mariana about it. Well, maybe not a nice talk. More of a lecture. The not so fun kind.

  She stalked up the stairs, and noticed that she’d missed a few spots on her legs when she’d waxed them last night. Her brow furrowed. She was one of those unfortunate people whose hormones were so overwhelmingly male that it took a long time—and a lot of effort—to go through the change. Mariana hadn’t had that misfortune. Contrary to Marelda, she’d looked and sounded like a woman from the very outset of the transition process.

  She reached the second-floor landing and stood there panting for a moment, catching her breath, hands on knees. She finally reached the door, drove the latchkey home, gave it a vicious twist and burst inside.

  “Mariana! What kind of game do you think you’re playing?!”

  When no response came, she darted a quick look at herself in the hallway mirror. Her russet hair lacked luster, and her square jaw wasn’t doing much for her attempts to look feminine. She looked more like the female version of John Cena than Jennifer Lawrence, the kind of woman she’d always aspired to be.

  “Mariana!” she hollered, stepping into the living room. “Where—”

  And then she saw it. On the floor near the kitchen, a well-shod foot was visible. She immediately recognized the sleek red heel. Mariana’s favorites. Jimmy Choos. The ones they bought together at the mall last week. Before they had their big falling-out over Mariana’s spending habits.

  With a gasp, she streaked forward. “Oh, no! Mariana!”

  The moment she rounded the corner and saw the body, she knew she was too late. Mariana Piney, her best friend in all the world, was dead.

  Chapter 1

  I woke up with a start. Somewhere in the bowels of our house, people were screaming. This wasn’t as unusual as it sounds. At Diffley Manor screaming and hysterics are pretty much a normal part of everyday life. When you live with five brothers, it’s all par for the course. But since it was barely seven o’clock, I wasn’t amused. I like to sleep. In fact I love it. And I hate it when my brothers wake me up before I’m good and ready.

  I threw back the covers and stomped out of bed, ready to whoop some ass and tan some hides. This is another aspect of living with five males: a girl learns to stand her ground. I quickly checked if I was decent. Hermione Granger shorts. Check. Han Solo T-shirt. Check. Gandalf the Gray slippers. Check. Hey. I like fantasy movies and books. Sue me.

  I stalked from my room and stepped into the hallway. Six other rooms lead off this hallway, along with one communal bathroom, though Grandma has been promising us for ages she’s going to install a second one, just for us girls, so I wouldn’t have to share the space with my five pig brothers.

  The noise seemed to come from downstairs, and as I crossed to the balustrade to peer down, two more doors opened and my equally sleep-deprived brothers Calvin and Brice walked out, rubbing their eyes and yawning freely.

  “What’s going on?” asked Calvin, stumbling forward. He’s one year older than me, and he’s the brainy one. With his blond hair and bright green eyes, he looks a lot like me, too. Minus the boobs, of course, and other assorted body parts.

  “No idea,” I said.

  “Probably Rodrick again,” said Brice. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he’s the photogenic one, an
d he knows it. One day he would like to be a movie star, though I hope that day never comes, as he’s already too conceited as it is.

  We pricked up our ears. The screamer seemed to be a woman.

  “Does that sound like Mrs. Gauntlet?” asked Calvin.

  “Now that you mention it, that does sound a lot like her,” I agreed.

  “I like Mrs. Gauntlet,” said Brice with a knowing grin. “She’s hot.”

  “She’s our neighbor,” I said. “Show some respect.”

  He shrugged. “So? Neighbors can be hot. And Philana Gauntlet is definitely hot.”

  “She’s also definitely married,” said Calvin. “So you better keep that in mind when you start going all googly eyes at her.”

  “I’m not going to go all googly eyes at her!” Brice cried. “Though I might.”

  “No, you mightn’t,” said Calvin.

  Brice grinned. “That’s not even a word.”

  “It is, too,” Calvin assured him.

  “Whatever, dude. You don’t get to tell me what to do,” said Brice. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “She’s our neighbor, for Christ’s sakes,” said Calvin. “And the wife of one of the richest men in the country. And from what I’ve heard Zedekia Gauntlet is involved with some very shady shit. So if you don’t want to find yourself buried three feet deep in concrete, I suggest you be on your best behavior.”

  Brice’s eyes had gone wide. “He’s Mafia?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if he was,” said Calvin, with a quick glance at me.

  I knew for a fact that Zedekia Gauntlet was an investment banker, and to my knowledge investment bankers don’t bury annoying neighbors three feet deep in cement, but I wasn’t going to derail Calvin’s attempt to keep my horny older brother in line, so I merely nodded knowingly when Brice directed a look at me for confirmation.

  “Christ,” said Brice. He’d blanched a little. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “Why? Did you make a pass at Mrs. Gauntlet already?” I asked. It wouldn’t surprise me. Brice seems to feel that as a budding movie star he needs to get a head start on the collection of his harem, which is probably the only reason he wants to be an actor in the first place.

  “Well, I might have,” said Brice dismissively. “But now I won’t.”

  “Good thinking, buddy,” said Calvin, patting him on the back. “You just saved us the cost of a funeral service.”

  “Though without a body I think we might get a discount,” I said.

  Calvin pointed a finger at me. “I like the way your mind works.”

  There was a commotion behind us, as two more doors opened and two more Diffley men joined us. I know. There’s too much testosterone in this house. I’ve learned to live with it. Barely. These two specimens were Lucien and Dalton. Lucien looks like he was adopted, as he’s scrawny, gangly and royally pimpled. His black hair is fashionably unruly, and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of spectacles. He’s also very, very gay.

  Dalton is the muscleman in our family. He can usually be found lifting weights in his room, and scarfing down chicken breast fillets. He looks like Dwayne Johnson, but unfortunately lacks that man’s fine intellect.

  “What’s going on?” Lucien asked annoyedly. “What’s all this damn racket?” He took off his glasses and polished them with the hem of his black silk pajamas.

  “Yeah, what’s with all the noise?” Dalton added, making his chest muscles dance, more out of habit than for any particular reason. He was dressed in his usual tank top, displaying a lot of finely-chiseled muscle.

  “I think it’s Mrs. Gauntlet,” said Calvin. “And I think she had another run-in with Rodrick.”

  “Oh, God, not again,” said Lucien, expressively rolling his eyes.

  “What do you mean, again?” asked Dalton. “And who is Mrs. Gauntlet?” I noticed he was squeezing a little red ball, his right bicep swelling ominously.

  “If you’re not careful that’s going to pop,” I told him.

  He looked down at his bicep stupidly. “Huh? Oh, I see what you mean.” He gave me a good-natured grin. “Funny, Saffron. Very funny.”

  “Mrs. Gauntlet is our neighbor, dumbass,” Lucien grated.

  “The blond bombshell,” Brice added helpfully. “The hot chick?”

  “The very married hot chick,” Calvin said with a warning glance at Brice.

  “She’s not so hot,” said Lucien. “Her husband’s hot, though.”

  “Her husband is a banker,” I said. “How can he be hot?”

  Lucien shrugged his bony shoulders. “Like Christian Grey? He’s hot.”

  “Christian Grey isn’t a banker,” I said. “He’s a businessman.”

  “Pretty sure he’s a banker,” Lucien said in that grating voice of his.

  “Who’s Christian Grey?” asked Dalton, squeezing the little red ball with his left hand now.

  “He’s the guy from Fifty Shades of Grey,” said Brice. “The sex movies?”

  “They’re not sex movies,” Lucien protested. “They’re books. And it’s not all about the sex. There’s a significant romantic storyline. And an exploration of the world of BDSM that was unheard of before the publication of the trilogy.”

  “What’s BDSM?” asked Dalton unflinchingly.

  “Nothing you should concern yourself with,” Lucien snapped. He, more than the rest of us, could get worked up over Dalton peppering him with questions.

  There was more shouting drifting up from downstairs, so I decided that maybe we should go and have a look, just in case Grandma needed our help handling Mrs. Gauntlet. My brothers seemed to share this sentiment, for they all headed for the stairs the moment I did.

  When we arrived in the foyer, where the noise seemed to be coming from, I saw that Calvin was right. It was Philana Gauntlet, and she looked very unhappy. She was a strikingly beautiful woman with long, blond hair, vivid blue eyes, and those classic Sports Illustrated features. She’d been a model before getting hitched with the banker.

  She was unloading on Grandma, who stood stiff and unyielding, arms crossed over her large chest, her coarse features twisted in an expression of anger. Her anger wasn’t directed at Philana, but at the little boy who was weathering the storm with his customary brand of bluster.

  That little boy was Rodrick, the caboose baby in our family. I’m twenty-three, and Rodrick is ten, so there’s a big age gap. In fact I’ve heard Grandma tell her friends Rodrick was something of an accident, though she’d never say that to his face, of course. Truth is, Rodrick, green-eyed and blond like me, is a little rascal, but we still adore him. From time to time.

  “I caught him peeping through my bathroom window!” Philana cried.

  “I just wanted to see if she was a witch!” Rodrick yelled.

  “A witch?” Philana asked. “Why would you think I was a witch?”

  “Because you’re so pretty,” Rodrick admitted.

  Philana seemed taken aback by this. “You think I’m pretty?”

  “Uh-huh. Unnaturally pretty. So of course I figured you’re a witch.”

  “Of course,” Calvin muttered next to me. I gave him a shove.

  It was obvious that Philana didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed by this. “But why would you look through my window?”

  Rodrick shrugged. “I was looking for your third nipple. Everybody knows witches have a third nipple!” he added loudly when Brice uttered a guffaw. “And I just wanted to find hers!”

  “What’s a third nipple?” asked Dalton.

  “A third nipple or some other sign of the devil,” Rodrick explained. “A special birthmark. I didn’t get a good look, though,” he lamented. “Just when I got my camera out she saw me and freaked out.”

  “Oh, you brought a camera, too, huh?” asked Philana, her cheeks flushing. “You were going to film me?”

  “Duh,” said Rodrick. “I need proof if I’m going to convince my friends I’m living next door to a witch.”

  The
re was a hint of amusement in Philana’s eyes. “For your information, Rodrick, I don’t have a third nipple. And I’m not a witch. But thank you for the compliment. I guess.”

  “Don’t encourage him, Philana,” Grandma said. “He’ll just do it again.”

  “Oh, well,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Boys will be boys.”

  “You will apologize to Mrs. Gauntlet at once,” Grandma insisted. “And promise her you’ll never do it again!”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gauntlet,” said Rodrick grudgingly. “And I won’t do it again,” he added when Grandma fixed him with a kindling eye. He was crossing his fingers behind his back, though, which elicited another guffaw from Brice, who seemed to think the whole thing was just hilarious.

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” said Philana, her lips pursed but her eyes smiling. “I can’t have little boys spying on me while I’m in the shower now can I?”

  There was a soft moaning sound next to me, and when I glanced over, I saw that Brice was practically salivating at the thought of spying on Philana Gauntlet while she was in the shower.

  “Buried three feet deep in concrete,” Calvin whispered in his ear.

  “Oh, shut up already,” Brice hissed.

  Lucien had wandered off. He wasn’t all that interested in blond bombshell neighbors who may or may not have been Sports Illustrated cover models. Brice followed in his wake, and I could hear him asking, “What’s with this third nipple business?”