Murder on the Dance Floor: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 5)

by Raven Snow

  "Car," I corrected, and then hesitated. My next words were slow and reluctant. "Fine. Next case—or whatever—I'll take you along. But you have to pipe down in front of other people. You almost gave old man Hardie a heart attack."

  "I did not scare him," the book said. "He has seen and heard me before."

  I decided not to comment on that little nugget. Hardie owned the local hardware store and had lived in Waresville all his life. Recently, he'd been forced to rob my grandma's store by magical force but had somehow managed to survive unscathed—which was strange because Gran wasn't a taking-prisoners kind of woman.

  Still, apart from that one night of weirdness, I couldn't see how Hardie had ever been involved enough with Gran to have seen and hear from her familiar. I wasn't, though, going to call the book out on its fib. Never insult something when you don't know where you rank on the food chain in relation to it.

  "Do we−" I was cut off by the familiar ring of my cellphone.

  I shot the book a dirty look I didn't know if it could see and answered. "Beck Phone Sex Line, Harper speaking. I charge a dollar per minute and everything is on the table—including on the table."

  "Harper! Oh, thank God," a man said on the other line, pausing to breath for a minute. "Is that really how you answer the phone for complete strangers?"

  "Yes," I said honestly. "Are we complete strangers?"

  "This is Conner."

  I pressed my lips together. "Conner...?"

  A chuckle came through the phone, but none of the strain in his voice eased. "Connor your cousin."

  I blinked, shocked into silence for once. I hadn't spoken to my Aunt Valerie's kid in years. We'd been close throughout childhood and high school, going to the same school for a few years, because he'd been living with us while Val had done a stint in the big house. Like me, he'd gone to our fancy private high school on a scholarship because we'd been dirt poor and my mother had slept with the administrations guy.

  He'd already gone back to live with his mother when mine passed, and we'd drifted apart. Working a full-time job while going to school all day hadn't left me with any energy to socialize, plus, I'd been in a pretty dark place. By the time I got out of that place, I'd already moved to Waresville.

  "How's your mother?" I asked awkwardly.

  "Dead," he said with the characteristic Beck family bluntness. "Gone for a couple years now. I tried to call you, but you're pretty hard to get ahold of."

  "Yet you managed this time," I said dryly.

  "I know; I'm a jerk," he said without heat. "Everyone seems to be telling me that these days."

  "Did you call just so I could call you a jerk?"

  "No," he said, and I could hear him shutting a door. "I called because I need your help. Do you still, you know, do that stuff?"

  "Heroin? That was just a rumor Victoria Casey started in the girls' bathroom." But I knew what he was talking about.

  A nervous laugh. "And boy, did it stick... Someone's trying to kill me."

  "Probably for being a jerk."

  "Trust you not to go into hysterics at the thought of losing your only cousin."

  I pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store and headed inside, resigning myself to be one of those annoying people on their cell phones. “Alright, why do you think someone’s trying to kill you?”

  “I can’t. Not over the phone. You’ve just got to come down here. The reunion is this weekend anyway.”

  “What would you like on your tombstone, again?”

  “Harper,” he said, a little bit of squeak invading his voice. “Please.”

  I paused. Five minutes ago, you couldn’t have forced me to Miami under the threat of death, but he was my only cousin. That meant something, right?

  “I’ll think about it and call you back.”

  Hanging up without another word, I found myself in the middle of the frozen pizza section. I took that as a sign from god and loaded up on the good stuff—rising crust and all the toppings. It couldn’t beat the greasy, leftover pizza I got from the Funky Wheel, but it was something.

  By the time I’d gone home and put away all the pizzas—and a misdemeanor’s amount of healthy stuff—it was almost lunchtime, so I headed over to the police station. It was in the middle of town and had one of the biggest parking lots in Waresville, though parking there without a pass was forbidden under threat of public flogging.

  Pulling right into a reserved spot, I bounced out of the car and into the station. The woman at the desk, whose name I really should have known by then, stopped me, but not for a body scan, as I would’ve assumed.

  “Hey, Harper, could I talk to you?” she asked.

  Frowning, I asked, “Is someone trying to kill you, too?”

  “What? No, about Oliver.” She wrung her hands in front of her, and I remember that her and my ex-best friend were sometimes bed fellows. “He’s really upset that you two are on the outs.”

  “Let me stop you right there,” I said, and then walked rudely away. Wyatt was working on my manners, but he wasn’t having much success.

  The man in question was sitting at his desk, bent over a bunch of paperwork and looking way too happy about it. His devotion was a foreign concept to me, but best as I could figure, police work was like his disco. I could respect that.

  Before I could get to my man, though, another officer stepped in my way. He had huge sideburns and a gut and was possibly the most horrible person I’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

  “Don’t you have a hell hole to run?” Officer Kosher sneered at me. “Why must you always hang around here?”

  “Just to annoy you, my dear.”

  Ever since I’d accused him of killing his girlfriend, and he’d caught me doing a few illegal things, and arrested me for good measure, we’d been less than friendly with each other. It wasn’t that I hated him, but if a bus hit him, I’d be the lucky lady driving that bus.

  I didn’t have time to trade banter with that awful Kosher today, so I breezed past him and over to Wyatt. Before my boyfriend who didn’t approve of Kosher’s and my feud, looked up, I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the favor by sending a middle finger my way.

  We had a special kind of relationship.

  I sat down next to Wyatt, and he smiled at me. The kind of smile that made my knees feel unsteady. Sighing, I rested my head on his desk and watched him for a minute.

  “Family’s important, right?”

  “Right.” Wyatt was good with not prying.

  That was the conclusion I’d come to also. Even if I hadn’t seen or heard from Connor in a while, we’d still shared a childhood. No one whacked my cousin without my consent.

  “Remember how I grew up in Miami?”

  “I remember,” he said dryly. “Why?”

  “Well, I was considering a trip back. My high school reunion is this weekend, after all.”

  He shot me a suspicious glance that likely had to do with the fact that what little I’d told him about my high school experience had been bad. “Again, why?”

  Smiling at him, I said, “I just can’t get anything over on you; you big, strong, handsome−“

  “I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

  “Someone’s trying to kill my cousin. Magic is probably involved if he’s stooped to calling me in for backup.”

  Wyatt shook his head, signing his name on a form. “Only you. So, I’m guessing we’re not going to involve the police?”

  Wyatt and I have different views of law enforcement. For him, the police are the white knights and the answer to every problem. I grew up afraid of the police, and moving to Waresville hadn’t raised my opinion of them any. The officers around here were real big on putting away innocent people with very little evidence.

  But saying that to Wyatt—again—would’ve been a mistake.

  “Nope,” I said. “It’s my case, not theirs.”

  That earned me a groan. He’d long ago accepted that I had the investigating bug, and that I was inca
pable of letting anything go, but Wyatt was involved in a constant crusade to get me to take on less dangerous cases. Unfortunately for him, I specialized in magical murder. Before he could try and talk me out of it, I dragged him from his desk and took him out for lunch at his favorite place. Charlotte’s was owned by his mother and was the spot where we’d had our first date. We sat in our usual spot as the hostess went to get us menus we didn’t need.

  “High school reunion, huh?” he said after a long moment. “I’ll have to have my mom watch Cooper.”

  I blinked. “You’re coming?” My voice squeaked, and I was assaulted with images of Wyatt clashing with my life in Miami. He was clean, lawful, and had it all together. I couldn’t imagine how he’d stomach being with the mess I’d been in high school.

  “Sure,” he said with a grin. “Should be fun.”

  Chapter Three

  Unlike when I’d been young, wild, and free, I couldn’t just pick up my life and leave at a moment’s notice. Wyatt had to pack for both of us. A process that was made longer by his insistence on ironing and folding everything. We had to make arrangements for Cooper and Whale, let Wyatt’s boss know, and complete all manner of adult responsibilities before we could leave.

  On the subject of taking time off, Wyatt only said grimly, “My boss was actually glad to see me go. He’s been trying to find me a partner for weeks. He’s sick of me playing the lone ranger. Now he has more time to saddle me with another dud.”

  None of Wyatt’s partnerships had turned out well. The last had been a crazy witch who had used her power to make Wyatt and others rob magical buildings, looking for a familiar she could take as her own. She also shot him.

  He was hoping for a little better than that this time around.

  With everything almost taken care of, we dropped Cooper off at his grandparents. I said goodbye to him outside, because I was on somewhat shaky ground with Wyatt’s mother. She appreciated me saving his life a few months ago but still actively hated my guts.

  Bending down, I squeezed the life out of Cooper and tried not to think about not seeing him everyday. He looked just as distressed as I felt.

  “You’re not gonna stay in Miami, right?” he asked quickly.

  “No danger of that happening,” I said with a shudder. Ruffling his hair, I motioned for him to head inside. “Give ‘em hell.”

  Wyatt shot me a censoring glance. “What Harper meant was you need to be good for your grandparents.”

  As he picked Cooper up in a bear hug, I said, “I don’t think that’s what I meant.”

  The last stop before heading out of town was to drop off a very unimpressed Whale at my grandmother’s. While I waited for her to open the door, I found myself talking to the sulking cat.

  “It’s just for a few days,” and, “I’m sorry, but our hotel doesn’t take cats.”

  Gran was wearing her customary frown and her red robe. She glared at me and ushered the cat in like an honored guest. This was pretty much the norm in our relationship, so I shrugged it off and headed back toward the car.

  “Your mother’s side of the family always was trouble,” she called after me.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  The ride out of Waresville was far more enjoyable than my travel into the town almost eight years ago. Absently picking at the upholstery in Wyatt's car, I listened to the hum of the motor and watched as the cars flew by us on the opposite side of traffic.

  After a few minutes, Wyatt cleared his throat and turned down the nonexistent radio. "You're quiet."

  "Too quiet?", I replied.

  "Not for anyone else," he said. "Something on your mind?"

  I shrugged, peering out the window again. "I've been in Waresville for a long time—longer than the original estimate of a few weeks to sell the Wheel and settle all the legal issues."

  "I know; I remember when you charged into town," he said.

  That caught my attention. "You noticed me?"

  Wyatt grinned, but didn't take his eyes off the road. "You're hard to miss."

  "Did ya have a little crush on me?" I leaned over the console, teasing him. "How scandalous. Wyatt Bennett, golden son of Waresville and married man, lusting after the troublesome newcomer."

  "I'd hardly call it a crush. You were interesting and new. I like studying new people."

  "You didn't introduce yourself until last year." I pointed out. "How much could you have studied me?"

  The tips of his ears turned red, and I laughed. "Oh, I get it. You had a little stalker thing going on. Cute."

  Well, cute now that we were involved, and I knew he wasn't a creep—just nosey.

  "I just ran a couple background checks on you, that's all," he said. "It's my job to keep the peace."

  "Right," I said seriously. "And when the background checks weren't completely satisfactory, what was the harm in doing a little recon? For the good of the town, of course."

  He shifted a little, and I knew I'd hit the nail on the head. "I was bored," he admitted. "And frustrated with my shell of a marriage. You provided a much-needed distraction—an entertaining one at that, too."

  I pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Happy to oblige."

  ______

  Wyatt woke me some time later—night had fallen—with a firm shake. The lights from the gas station burned my eyes, and I blinked against them, wondering where the hell I was. After a moment, I recognized the seemingly unassuming, one-pump establishment. The big clue was that the posters and advertisements hadn't been changed in twenty years, and though it was even more sketchy and dirty than what I remembered, it was the same.

  "This is my gas station!" I blurted out to Wyatt, who raised his eyebrows. "I mean, I used to stop here for a snack every day on my way home from school. It's probably the one thing in these snooty suburbs that isn't gold-plated."

  The shack-like station was surrounded on three sides by small, polished office buildings and boutiques. They formed a well-spaced circle around the business, because each one of them had come after it. The buildings kept their distance, though, not wanting to associate themselves with the gas station.

  Conscious of Wyatt following behind me, I pointed to the spot a few blocks down where I would take the bus into the city everyday to get home. I walked into the Mustang for the first time in almost a decade and felt the years pile on top of me, making it hard to breathe. It was dingy, brightly-lit, and smelled vaguely of smoke and stale pizza. The place hadn't changed a bit, and I inexplicably felt out of place in a way I never had here before.

  The man behind the counter took my mind off the horrible, familiar feeling of not belonging, and I squealed, running toward him.

  "Jack Stellman!" I shouted, practically tackling him to the ground.

  He was just as lanky as I remembered, though he'd acquired a beer gut in my absence. His eyes were bloodshot and had huge bags under them. I couldn't tell if that was from the probable weed or if he was just tired.

  "Harper?" After a stupefied moment, he hugged me back. "Con didn't tell me you were coming back into town."

  Before Connor and I had drifted apart toward the end of high school, he, Jack, and I had been the three amigos. Slackers stick together and all that. We'd stayed friends longer than my cousin and I, but I still hadn't heard from him in years.

  "You still work here," I asked, incredulous. "Guess things have changed—like the owner. Cranky old bastard was weeks away from firing you, if I remember right."

  His lips pressed together. "You remember right, but he doesn't own the place anymore. Connor does."

  "Connor bought the Mustang?"

  He nodded. "Along with a couple of other gas stations in town. Big shot businessman now."

  Wyatt came up behind me, and I realized I was being rude—again. "Jack, this is Wyatt, my boyfriend. Wyatt, Jack and I were friends when we were kids."

  They shook hands, and Jack immediately sized him up, making me wonder if it was a good idea to bring Wyatt, after all. "Never figured you for the type to
date a cop, Harper."

  And just like that, Jack's lips were sealed. We talked for a couple more minutes about inconsequential stuff, but it was clear that if I wanted dirt—and I did—I'd have to get it elsewhere.

  I respected and shared his weariness of law enforcement, but it was a little exasperating in this case.

  "Really!" I said, slammed the car door shut behind me. "You'd think you went in there with a cuff in your right hand and a gun in your left."

  Wyatt didn't seem concerned, kissing my palm before starting the car. "Now, you know what it was like those first couple of weeks with you."

  "I was never that bad."

  "You took over my case, toyed with my emotions, and accused me of imprisoning an innocent man on purpose."

  I thought about it for a moment. "Maybe I've gone soft."

  Wyatt snorted and asked where we were headed. I directed him to the nicely-maintained, brick school a few minutes away. It was surrounded by large, expensive homes and tons of ritzy neighborhoods. Sighing, I looked up at Hanover Prep with mixed emotions.

  "I promised myself I'd never come back," I told Wyatt. "Didn't even get my diploma."

  He frowned. "I thought you graduated."

  "I did; I just never went back for the paper proof." I glared at the school. "It's probably still in there somewhere filed away."

  We got out of the car, and for the first time, I realized Wyatt was wearing a suit. I mean, he always wore suits. That was just the kind of guy he was. But comparing him with the preppy school, I came back with the unsettling realization that he fit here. And I—with my short, disco shorts, tie-dye tank, and low top sneakers—didn't. It'd hurt when I was a kid, but I hadn't considered the possibility it would still hurt now.

  Wyatt, in one of those inexplicable moments where he reads me like a book, wrapped his arms around me. I fit against his body so well that it was impossible to imagine being anywhere else. Leaning against him, I let his heat temporarily wash away my insecurities.

  "The place seems a bit upright to me," he said, making me smile. I knew he didn't really think that; the school was perfect.