by Raven Snow
When Wyatt emerged, his face was grim, and he joined me without comment as we waited for backup.
“Well,” I said weakly, “is this enough to clear Jeb?”
He didn’t look at me, studying the ground instead. “Harper….”
My eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re going to keep him locked up after this. Don’t you dare!”
I shook off the hand he tried to place on my shoulder. “He could have had a partner, or this could simply be a copycat.”
Stumbling back from him, my jaw dropped to the ground. “You’re unbelievable! You’re so stubborn, you’re willing to send an innocent man to jail just to avoid being wrong.”
Eyes flashing, he said, “That has nothing to do with it. We can’t just let our prime suspect go, not with all the evidence against him. Until we catch someone else—“
“If you catch someone else, you mean,” I spat out. “Until then, Jeb’s your scapegoat.”
“Harper….”
I left before he could say anything more.
Chapter Eleven
“Thanks for letting me stay here tonight,” I said, clutching a pillow to my chest. “The police are closing down the Funky Wheel and my loft until further notice.”
Oliver shook his head, heading into the kitchen and pulling out a frozen pizza. “You’re welcome for as long as you like, sweetie. I love playing hostess, anyway.”
“Martha Stewart wouldn’t serve pizza from a box.”
“Oh, shut up, you little ingrate.”
Demolishing the entire pizza in a matter of minutes, we watched some home improvement shows. Watching the professionals take down the most destitute house and replace them with these beautiful and modern works of art was the best therapy I could afford.
“Think they do people?”
Oliver popped a lone pepperoni into his mouth. “Not lost causes, so forget about it.”
“Hey, I’m a successful business woman—“
“With no business at the moment.”
Crushing the pillow against my face, I said, “Yeah, guess that’s going to make it hard to get Jeb a lawyer like I promised.”
There was silence for a moment. “Man, Oliver… I was just so sure it was Irina. She had motive, means, opportunity— everything fit. Now, the police think Jeb has a partner avenging him because Irina didn’t stick to his side through prison.”
“Never mind that we’ve exhausted the list of Jeb’s associates. Besides you, me, and Hardie, he doesn’t know anyone else in town,” Oliver pointed out.
A loud song from the 70s sounded from my purse. Scrambling, I raced over and received the call just before the final ring.
“Hello?”
“Miss Harper? It’s Phil, from the pharmacy.”
My heart leapt like someone had taken the electric paddles to my chest. Just as I had lost all hope, my friendly neighborhood pharmacist had reached out a helping hand to Jeb and me. Everything was going to be all right, now; I could feel it.
“This is she. Did you figure out what that stray pill was?” I gripped the phone tighter, my fingers going numb at the pressure.
“Well, that’s the strange part. It’s pregabalin— commonly known as Lyrica, and your grandmother shouldn’t be on it.”
“What does it treat?” I asked breathlessly.
“Some doctors proscribe it for patients with epilepsy, but it’s mostly used to relive nerve and muscle pain from diabetes, shingles, fibromyalgia, and a few other illnesses,” he said. “Julia wasn’t prescribed it at any time, however, so—“
“Must have been someone else’s,” I said quickly. “Lots of people have lived there, and even more visit.”
“Maybe, but I’d feel better if—“
“Thanks for all your hard work, doc. We really appreciate it.” I hung up without further fanfare.
Joining Oliver on the couch again, I said, “It was Lyrica— the pill that I found near the first body.”
“What does that mean for the case?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Falling into Oliver’s guest bed that night, I thought I’d toss and turn all night, tormented by my inability to help someone I cared about or to save the Funky Wheel from certain death. The trauma of the last couple of days caught up with me however, and I fell into a restless, troubled sleep.
A split second later, I opened my eyes to gaze upon the inside of my grandmother’s kitchen. Surprisingly, I was acutely aware that I was dreaming.
Neither My grandmother nor her trademarked red robe were anywhere in sight, and there was a wonderful smell wafting from the oven— a piece of machinery I was sure had never been used in real life. Walking over, I opened the heavy metal door, letting the gloriously rich smell of fresh cookies wash over me.
“Back again, dear?” a familiar voice, just as sweet as the treats, asked.
Not leaving my perch on the floor near the open oven, I shifted to look at the new figure that had appeared in the room. “Miss Thelma,” I said, smiling. “I guess I couldn’t stay away.”
Her expression changed, becoming predatory in a way that was so alien to Thelma, I almost blanched. “Yes, I suppose I should have known you wouldn’t. You’re just as stubborn and nosey as your grandmother— and your father.”
I blinked and she was right in front of me, staring down at me like a bug on the bottom of her shoe. “But he met his sticky doom in the end, didn’t he? Just like Julia will one of these days… when she stops living on borrowed time.”
“What are you talking about, Thelma?”
I’d never heard Mrs. Gibb speak an ill word about anyone, especially my dad. I hadn’t even really considered that she would have known my father and had probably been around when he died. But why, then, did she say he met a “sticky” end? He died in a car crash.
Thelma smiled then, but it was nothing like her normal sweetness. This one had teeth, and her eyes held about fifty years’ worth of pent up anger. “Yes, yes, he met his messy end. Just like you will— right now!”
With more strength than I would have believed possible, she shoved me into the oven, slamming the door shut after me. Everywhere the metal touched me, an unbelievable pain sprung up, drowning out all the fear. I screamed and banged against the red-hot door as I was baked alive.
Somewhere through all the pain, I saw Thelma’s face on the other side of the oven door and heard her voice.
“Well, now,” she said, her words as sugary as they’d ever been in real life. “Isn’t this funny? We were in an old timey fairy tale and didn’t even know it!”
I woke with a sharp inhale of blessedly cool air. Springing from the bed like it was on fire, I paced around the room like a caged wild animal.
Consumed with the illogical need to go to the Funky Wheel, I wanted to put on my skates and wheel around the rink without a care in the world. Despite all the nastiness of the past couple of days, I knew I would feel safe there, like in the arms of a parent— or a father.
But I couldn’t do that. Not now, at least, because a crucial piece of evidence, the only one that mattered, kept pounding at my skull, banging to get out. I didn’t want to see it, but it was there nonetheless.
“Oh, Julia’s always been a moody thing, ever since I’ve known her. And I’ve known her for at least sixty years! Though, I do find the age making me a little testy some days— that and the fibromyalgia.”
Striding out into the dimly lit kitchen, I groped around for the phone and dialed the number I was starting to know by heart.
“Detective Bennett,” a groggy voice said.
“You should really look at your caller ID; it’s there for a reason.”
“Harper?” His voice was suddenly sharp, alert. “Is everything okay?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I haven’t been having the best couple of days.”
“Harper—“
“I’ve found two dead bodies in my place of business, been threatened in a message with my own blood, saw one of
my closest friends behind bars, was a victim of vandalism, fell hard for a stupid cop, and had a crazy witch try to kill me by messing with my bug!”
By the end of that, I was breathing heavily, steam shooting from my ears. It’d been a hard week after all, and it was just getting worse and worse for me.
“But the past couple hours have really taken the cake. Not only did the evidence I withheld from the police turn out to be instrumental in solving the case, but I’m gonna have to go bring down one of the sweetest old ladies I know.” I took a breath. “I mean, I guess she’s a sweet old lady. Can you still be counted as sweet if you murder two people in cold blood?”
“What old lady?” Wyatt asked. “Harper, you’re not making any sense.”
“Thelma Gibb. I found her medicine at the scene of the crime. She did it.”
His shocked silence filled the phone. “What’s the motive? How could a little, old lady physically kill two strong adults?”
I was suddenly talking to the detective, not my maybe boyfriend, and it was kind of comforting, if a little annoying.
“Don’t know any of that,” I said. “I just know.”
The candles burning in her house, strange noises at all hours of the night, and my grandmother’s suspicions all spun around in my head. Those, with the Lyrica, were a good reason for suspecting Thelma. The fact of the matter was, deep down, I just knew.
“You don’t need to believe me,” I told him, grabbing my purse and Oliver’s keys. “I just needed to tell someone where I was going.”
“Harper.” Wyatt sounded alarmed now. “I’ll have a search party over there first thing in the morning to check into this— I promise. But you can’t just go over there. What if you’re right?”
“I am right.” The Taurus roared to life under me. “You need a warrant to search her house, Wyatt, and you can’t get one of those on the town eccentric’s word.”
His tone turned into a hard, unyielding force. It was probably great with Cooper and criminals. “Harper, turn around right—“
“Bye, Wyatt.” The car groaned as I went up the hill. “Hopefully, I’ll be calling you in a bit with the evidence you need.” Then, because I could, I said, “Keep on keepin’ on.”
Driving past my grandma’s house was hard, because I wanted to stop and hide behind her skirts. She was the toughest lady I’d ever known, and more than anything, I wished I could have just let her take care of it. But magical powers aside, Julia was just a woman— an old woman, at that— and I couldn’t put her in harm’s way like that.
Walking up to Thelma’s house, I almost knocked on the door like it was a social call. Then, I almost giggled at the idiocy of that move. I really wasn’t cut out to be a hard-ass detective; I was made of fluff on the inside.
Like Grandma’s, the house was plantation-style with noisy, scratched floors and ugly floral wallpaper. None of the lights were on, making the bulky furniture seem sinister and dark, like minions waiting to pounce on me at the snap of Thelma’s fingers.
Remembering my dream, I studiously stayed away from the kitchen, only glancing quickly in to confirm that Thelma wasn’t there. A loud thump form the dining room caused me to whip my head in the other direction, and I started off toward it like a bimbo in a horror film.
The dining room table and chairs were all discarded and broken in the outside hallway, and it was difficult to climb over their thrown corpses to the actual room.
In the middle of the rectangle-shaped room was a satanic circle— an eerily familiar circle— and sitting in that circle was Thelma. There were splatters of blood on her face, making the wrinkled skin look even more sallow, but not as wrinkled or shrunken as it had a couple of days ago.
In fact, despite the dazed sneer on her face or the covered in blood part, Thelma looked amazing, younger than I’d seen her in years. Over half of her wrinkles had smoothed out, and color had returned to her face. Her back was straighter, her muscles less sinewy, and her hair no longer resembled silver straw. It was like she had stepped back forty years into her fifties.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” she asked, addressing me for the first time, though I’d been standing there staring at her for a while. “Amazing what a couple little souls can do.”
My eyes bulged. “You—“
“—killed them for their youth?” she asked. “Certainly. Why else?” Thelma laughed, high and cruel. “Money, perhaps?”
More than a hint of bitterness entered her tone. “What use have I for money when, in a few paltry years, I’ll be gone?”
I decided not to point out that she’d had more than her fair share of years before this. “None of that matters right now. I know you didn’t mean to hurt your son or daughter-in-law, Thelma, and I’m sure if you just turn yourself in—“
“Don’t be daft, you silly child,” she said harshly. “And don’t interrupt me. I’m being very nice to you, even though you’ve come into my house uninvited, because I’m feeling grateful.”
“Grateful?” The word came out as a squeak.
She was on her feet before I registered her moving. “Oh, yes, very grateful. You see, I thought my son would be enough, but he wasn’t that young or that innocent, I guess, and he barely made a dent. People who saw me after didn’t notice a difference at all!”
“How rude of them.”
But she was on a rant, not to be distracted by me or anything else. “Irina, though, she gave me this form. Younger, yes, but not anywhere near my former glory. Even now, I can feel myself slipping slowly back, getting older with each second.”
“Everyone gets older, Thelma,” I said.
She whipped her hand, her expression livid. “Don’t you say that to me! You, of all people!”
Pain seared across my cheek, and I felt the wetness of blood sliding down my face. I didn’t touch it, though; not giving her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d hurt me. It was only a scratch— for now.
“But you,” she said, looking at me like I was the last croissant roll at Thanksgiving dinner. “You have power and youth. You will sustain me.”
The breath left my body as an invisible force slammed me into the wall, pinning me there. Squirming like a bug on its back, I tried to fight her magic, but no matter how hard I strained, she held me steady.
“You don’t have to do this,” I gritted out, trying to buy time.
Walking up to me, she ran a cold finger down my cheek. It came back bloody. “Oh, but I do. It’ll be poetic justice.”
“Poetic justice?”
She turned away from me, but luckily kept talking. “Your grandmother’s older than me; did you know that?”
“Gran’s only eighty.”
Her fist tightened. “All the young ones in this town think that, because they can’t wrap their heads around the truth. Your grandma,” she sneered, “has been eighty since I was a little girl.”
It was impossible, what she was saying, but I listened, watching her with wide eyes as she stalked around the room. Even if the magic hadn’t been holding me, I would’ve been bound to the spot.
“As I grew older, weaker, closer to death, she stayed the same. Always living in that house, looking down upon us mortals.” She inhaled sharply. “I searched for years, trying to find out how she does it. I begged her— begged! I pleaded with her to show me the secrets, but she just sat back and watched as I aged— watched as I lost my beauty and strength.
“Then, I stumbled upon that little sacrifice that would allow me to take the years back. So, I chose two victims I knew they’d never suspect me of killing.”
“But it didn’t work,” I said. “You’ve only gained a fraction.”
She grinned at me, and I vehemently wished I hadn’t said anything. “I’ll sacrifice a thousand souls if it gets me what is rightfully mine, but I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
Picking up a knife off the floor, she started for me. “Before, I was too weak to kill precisely as the spell dictates: a slit throat. But I won’t make that mistak
e again.” She raised the knife, and a dreamy look overtook her face. “In one swipe, I’ll get my revenge against your grandmother and reclaim the youth she tried to keep from me. Poetic justice.”
“Oh,” I squeaked, “now I get it.”
“Thelma Gibb, drop the knife!” A hunky detective yelled from the hallway.
Hissing, she went after him like a woman possessed, leaving my sight. The spell that’d been holding me dropped me unceremoniously onto the ground in a heap. A short cry broke through my haze of happiness, because it belonged to Wyatt.
Running through the opposite door from the one I’d entered, I went into the kitchen. Not letting the memories from the dream trip me up, I headed straight towards the hanging rack over the oven.
I grabbed the heaviest pan I could lift and ran after Wyatt and Thelma. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her standing over him. He clutched a bleeding arm, and her knife was dripping.
“Two for the price of one,” she said, laughing.
The knife was headed for Wyatt, and I wouldn’t be fast enough. Behind my eyelids, I could see it all playing out faster than I could ever hope to get to his side. A tear leaked out, mingling with the blood on my cheek.
And then I was there, standing right behind her, the knife still in the exact same position in its downward stroke. My eyes widened, but I didn’t let anything distract me, raising the pan and driving it down into her skull with all my might.
A wet noise erupted from her mouth, and she collapsed on the floor right next to Wyatt, face first. I grabbed him by the arm, scrambling back and taking him with me.
He lurched to his feet, seemingly forgetting all about his arm. He pulled me behind him as we both stared down at Thelma’s crumpled form on the floor. Blood began pooling around her, originating at her stomach.
“Did— did she fall on her knife?”
“With any luck,” he said, inching forward, gun at the ready.
She sprang to her feet like a puppet whose strings had been yanked. Blood covered her from head to toe, but she didn’t look the slightest bit fazed.
