by Nic Saint
“What are you talking about?”
“There was a ring on that finger. A ring you gave her. An engagement ring!”
“That’s preposterous,” Neptune said. “Mariana and I were never that close. We went out a few times and that was it.”
“So why give her a ring? Unless you were more serious than you care to admit.”
He was making jerking motions to release his arm from my grip, but I wasn’t letting up. I was onto something here, and I was going to see it through. “You proposed, didn’t you? And that’s when Mariana told you she was actually a he, going through a transition, and was going to transition back to being a male eventually. And you freaked out. You couldn’t handle it. You didn’t know!”
His expression had darkened and he now gave me a decidedly murderous look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “This is ludicrous.”
“So in a fit of rage, you killed her. She must have had that bat lying around, from back in the day when she played baseball.” My mind had flashed back to the picture in the Pineys’ kitchen: a spotty Mariano Piney holding a baseball bat. “And then you panicked. You tried to remove the ring from Mariana’s finger but it wouldn’t budge. Then you saw the knife and decided that desperate times call for desperate measures so you cut off her finger, ring and all, and made sure not a trace of evidence remained.”
“You’re talking yourself into a lengthy and expensive civil suit, Miss Diffley,” Neptune warned. “This is defamation of character in its purest form.”
“You must have met Huppert Bach when you were dating Mariana. Or maybe she told you about him. In any case, you decided he made for a perfect patsy. So you planted the finger—this time without the ring—and the bat in his condo, and called 911. Bach, who was just a miserable piece of human garbage in your mind, would take the fall. Case closed. That’s how it went down, isn’t it?”
With a cry of anguish, he tore his arm from my grasp and stumbled back. Then, without a word, he fast-walked away from me, darting anxious glances over his shoulder.
“I’m going to talk to the police about you, Neptune!” I cried. “You’re not getting away with this! When they see your burned fingers, they’ll know!”
He disappeared behind the corner and I shook my head. This was probably not the smartest move I’d ever made. I’d given Neptune a heads-up. If he still had the ring in his possession, he would get rid of it before the police showed up. And maybe do something about those burns of his—possibly rope his parents into supplying him another alibi for last night, same way they’d done for the night Mariana was murdered.
I crossed the street, lost in thought, and took my phone out. I needed to call Logan right away. He needed to get on this as soon as possible. And it was as I was almost across that a car suddenly accelerated, the telltale sound of an engine revving alerting me to the danger. I looked up just in time to see a large black SUV barreling down on me, and when I cut my eyes to the windshield, I saw Neptune Brunat staring back at me, his face a mask of rage.
I froze, possibly the worst response anyone can have in such a moment. There was a loud, guttural scream that sounded a lot like my name being shouted, and I felt myself being slammed sideways by a shadowy figure I couldn’t immediately identify. The impact of being thrown to the ground knocked the breath right out of me, and that’s when I saw that Logan Munroe, of all people, was lying on top of me, panting heavily.
“Um, Logan?” I asked. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I mean, I like the guy, but he was skipping quite a few steps in the dating process here. Going from kissing at Bell’s to groping me in the middle of the street was a bit much, no matter how much I liked the feel of his body so close to mine.
“Are you all right?” he asked, searching me, his hands all over the place.
“Sure I’m fine,” I said. “And if you hadn’t jumped my bones I’d probably be even finer.” Not entirely true, but I had my reputation to think of.
“Did he hit you?”
And then it finally dawned on me. “Neptune Brunat! He tried to kill me!”
And then there was a crash. A really loud one. Metal on metal. We looked up, and saw that Neptune, after trying to run me over and missing, had lost control over his vehicle, and had driven straight into a parked car.
Logan was up and away before I had the chance to tell him more. I groaned as I got up, not used to being almost run over and then being slammed into by a big cop. I’d lost my shoe in the process, and hobbled over to where Neptune had induced his SUV to commit vehicular suicide. Steam billowed from the crumpled hood of the insurance broker’s car, and he sat motionless behind the wheel. Good thing he’d hit a parked car, and no one else was hurt.
Logan went around to the driver’s side and wrenched open the door, then snatched his phone from his belt. And as he was making the call for an ambulance, animation returned to Neptune. He saw me, and that seemed to galvanize him, for he jerked his head up. And when he saw Logan hovering over him, he kicked out his foot and hit the cop straight in the stomach.
“Oomph,” said Logan, and was knocked back against a trashcan.
“Get away from me!” Neptune warned as he clambered out of the car. “I’m warning you!”
“Neptune, don’t be an idiot,” I said. “You’re not getting away.”
“Oh, yes, I am!” the chubby insurance man cried, and started staggering down the street. Which was when Logan finally had enough and tackled him. The two men went down hard, and after a brief but unequal battle, Neptune was pinned to the ground, and Logan placed a pair of familiar handcuffs on his hands.
“This is Mariana Piney’s real killer,” I said, as I lurched up, probably looking like one of those dead undead on The Walking Dead. “He did it. When she told him she was really a guy he lost it and killed her. And when he couldn’t get the engagement ring he gave her off he chopped it off.”
Logan stared down at the man. “Is this true?”
“He should have told me!” Neptune cried, blood seeping from a cut to his forehead. “He should have told me he was a guy! I kissed him! I almost slept with him!” He shook his head, his face beet-red. “It’s disgusting!”
“Shut up already, you scumbag,” said Logan. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Mariana Piney.”
And as he launched into his usual spiel, he gave me a grin and a wink. I grinned right back at him. He’d saved my life. And we caught Mariana’s killer together. Something like that creates a bond. And I could have stood there grinning at Logan forever, if cars hadn’t started honking, and Calvin hadn’t come running, along with the rest of my brothers, and if all of Happy Bays hadn’t suddenly descended upon the scene.
Epilogue
My brothers and Grandma watched as I put the message inside the container and handed it to Calvin. With a nod, he placed the container inside the end station and closed the lid. Straightening his back, he declared, “Case 556341 is now officially closed.” With a flourish, he pressed the big black button. There was a sucking sound, a loud Woof! and the capsule zoomed up the tube.
Loud applause rang out in the kitchen, and I took a slight bow as my brothers all cheered and whistled. Even Jerome seemed pleased, as his tail was swishing happily, his dog face displaying a happy grin.
“Well done, honey,” said Grandma, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re an agent now!”
“Thanks. I don’t feel like an agent now, though.”
“How do you feel?”
I shrugged. “Like… me, I guess.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said. “You just be you… forever. And now eat. You need your strength. More cases are coming down that old pike, you know.”
I glanced at the pneumatic tube, wondering when the next message would come rambling down. Then again, I hoped it never would, for every time it happened, it also meant a life had been lost in our small community.
The doorbell rang, and a worried frown came over Grandm
a’s face. “I hope it’s not Philana Gauntlet.” She directed a dark look at Rodrick. “Have you been poking that woman again?”
“No, ma’am,” said Rodrick, wolfing down a pancake. “I haven’t.” He frowned. “Do you think I should? There’s a lot more tests I can run on her to see if she’s a witch!”
“No, I don’t think you should,” Grandma grumbled as she left the kitchen.
“I was thinking about dunking her in the lake,” said Rodrick, “but I don’t know how to do it. It’s the best way of finding out if a woman is a witch. If she drowns, she’s not a witch, and if she floats, she is, and we can burn her at the stake.”
“There will be no burning anyone at the stake,” I admonished Rodrick. “Mrs. Gauntlet is not a witch—in fact, witches don’t exist, and the poor women who were burned at the stake were all innocent victims of persecution.”
“Perse-what now?” he asked, twisting his face into an expression of confusion.
“Persecution. These women were murdered because of superstition, religious extremism and mass hysteria. So not another word about it, okay?”
“Okay,” he said grudgingly.
Just then, Grandma returned with a visitor, and when Rodrick caught sight of this unexpected guest, his smile returned. “RoboCop!” he shouted, and streaked from his chair, and into Logan Munroe’s arms.
“Ooph!” said Logan, picking him up. “You’re heavy, buddy!”
“Impossible!” Rodrick yelled. “You’re RoboCop! Nothing’s too heavy for RoboCop!”
“Leave Detective Munroe alone, Rodrick,” Grandma said.
Logan dropped my little brother to the floor, and he immediately raced off to the hallway, and I could hear his feet stomp up the stairs.
“Probably went to collect his RoboCop comic,” I said. “He’s been nagging me to get you to sign it since you came to dinner the other night.”
“So how are things down at the precinct?” asked Brice, clapping the burly cop on the shoulder. “I heard the guy confessed to the whole thing?”
“He did,” Logan confirmed.
“Sit down, Detective,” Grandma insisted. “Eat a pancake while they’re hot.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said, taking a seat at the breakfast table and ignoring Calvin’s nasty glance. “I think I will.”
“So the case is closed?” I asked, sitting down next to him.
“Yes, it is. And a fine case it is. I don’t think any lawyer is getting him out of this one. Not only did he confess, but we found the ring he gave Mariana hidden in the tank of his toilet, where he’d hidden it. We also found partial fingerprints on the murder weapon. Looks like he didn’t do such a good job at wiping it clean after all.”
“What about Mr. Christmas?” asked Lucien. “Is Mr. Christmas all right?”
“Mr. Christmas is fine. He’s been completely exonerated and won’t spend Christmas in prison after all. Though he told me he was actually looking forward to bringing some Christmas cheer to the other inmates.” He grinned. “He’s quite a character.”
“He certainly is,” I said with a smile.
“So do you still feel we were trying to bribe our way into the investigation, Detective?” Calvin asked. “And my sister trying to kiss her way into your good graces?”
Logan leveled a long look at my brother, then said, “I owe you an apology, Calvin. That comment was uncalled for and rude.” He turned to me. “You, too, Saffron. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’d forgotten all about that, actually.”
“I hadn’t,” Calvin grumbled.
“Calvin, be nice to our guest,” said Grandma.
“Oh, all right,” said Calvin. “Apologies accepted, Detective.”
“Thanks. Oh, and I wanted to extend a Thank you to you, Saffron.”
“To me?” I asked, surprised. “But why?”
“If it hadn’t been for you, Mr. Christmas would still be languishing in jail, and Neptune Brunat would have gotten away with murder. So thank you for that.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, color creeping up my cheeks. “I just did what any upstanding citizen would do.”
“Oh, and about that kiss,” Logan began.
“Yes?” I asked.
Dalton, who’d walked in from the bathroom, a folded-up copy of Muscle & Fitness under his arm, caught sight of Logan and shouted across the kitchen, “Logan! My man! If you need a gym buddy, just let me know. It’d be an honor to train with you.”
“Thanks,” said Logan, “but I’m good.”
“Can I come, too, Detective Logan?” asked Lucien. “I’m a great spotter. And if you take a shower I’ll even hand you your towel. I’m a great towel-hander.” He gave the Detective a very horny grin that was entirely inappropriate.
“Um…” said Logan.
“Logan!” Rodrick cried from the door. “Can you sign my copy of RoboCop? I know you’re the real RoboCop and I can prove it!” He then hurled an apple through the room, aimed straight at Logan’s head. It bounced against the cop’s temple and dropped to the floor. Rodrick looked confused. “You should have caught it. RoboCop has lightning-fast reflexes.” He then hurled another apple at the cop.
“Rodrick!” Grandma cried. “Stop it at once!”
This time, Logan ducked the apple, which described a nice trajectory through the kitchen and hit Calvin on the nose. “Hey!” he shouted. “Watch it, little brat!”
“You’re not RoboCop,” said Rodrick. “So don’t even try to prove it!” He took hold of a third apple. This one sailed right through the window.
“Rodrick!” Grandma shouted. “Stop it!”
Lucien had sidled up to Logan. “What kind of soap do you use, Detective? I mean, your skin is so nice and soft. Personally I like lavender. I like the smell.” He took a tentative sniff at Logan’s hair. “Mh. That’s nice.”
Brice, who was now massaging Logan’s shoulders, said, “So about that ride-along, buddy. What about tonight? Tonight would work for me.”
“Logan?” asked Dalton. “How much do you bench? Two hundred? Two fifty?”
Another apple sailed through the kitchen, and hit Jerome’s butt. He stared at it stupidly.
“Rodrick!” Grandma yelled. “Rodrick! Stop it!”
Logan directed a pleading glance at me, and mouthed, ‘Help!’
I smiled and took him by the hand, then led him out of the kitchen. “Detective Munroe and I have some things to discuss. You can have him back later,” I announced, to much howling and gnashing of teeth.
Out on the deck, I said, “My family is really taking to you, Detective.”
“I wish they would take it down a notch,” he said. “How do you survive in there, Saffron? I wouldn’t last a day!”
“Oh, you get used to it,” I said. “So you were going to say something about that kiss?”
He gave me a grin. “Why don’t I show you instead?” And then he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. When it was all over, there were birds tweeting somewhere nearby, and when I opened my eyes, I had trouble focusing. Logan regarded me with a slightly worried expression on his handsome face. “So how was that?”
“Not bad,” I said huskily. “Points for technique. Though I’ve had better.”
“Oh, no, you haven’t,” he said, and took me into his arms for another demonstration. And this time I barely even noticed when Jerome plunked down on my foot and treated us both to one of his now infamous… butt barks.
THE END
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Excerpt from Witchy Start (Neighborhood Witch Committee 1)
Prologue
Leann Peach pushed the heavy oak door of St. Michael’s Church on Second and Santorini open and sh
uffled in. As usual, she was the only parishioner to grace the ancient church with her presence. At seven o’clock in the morning, that was not so extraordinary. What was extraordinary was that the lights in the church were ablaze, as if someone was expecting her.
She grumbled something under her breath about a ‘total waste of church funds’ and ‘damn wastrels’ and shuffled on. Mrs. Peach wasn’t a very pleasant person, and she didn’t care who knew it. She had her own opinions and liked to disseminate them to anyone who wanted to listen—and even those who didn’t. She’d been coming to St. Michael’s at seven o’clock every morning for sixty years and it was a habit she intended to break only when she was lying snugly in her coffin, and even then she’d stipulated in her will she wanted the funeral to be held at seven.
She glanced left and right at the stained-glass windows depicting a bunch of saints whose names she’d forgotten, and whose stern and reproachful expressions pretty much mimicked her own.
She’d just been through a most horrific ordeal and urgently needed to unburden her soul. A couple of neighborhood kids had yelled at her and called her an ‘ugly old bat,’ just because she’d insisted they pick up their chewing gum from the pavement. Rotten kids these days. Absolutely no respect for their elders. But she’d show them. She’d ask God to punish them. To give them some mysterious illness that would keep them bedridden for a couple of weeks and have them writhing in excruciating pain. That should teach the little snots.
So it was with great purpose that she strode to the front of the church, past the rows of pews, along the nave and up to the altar. She quickly made the sign of the cross and then walked around the altar to the apse behind it and knelt with some difficulty on a leather-clad footstool, her head bowed. She folded her hands and directed a keen look up at the giant cross that hung suspended on the wall in front of her. This was her usual spot, the one she imagined was specially reserved for her.
