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

by Raven Snow

  “So, you didn’t know about the will?” He shook his head. “And you don’t have a real reason for wanting Connor dead?”

  Pinching my nose, I pushed Vic off of me. “Do you need a doughnut, or are you going to be a big girl and stop crying on your own?”

  “Doughnut,” she wailed.

  “Wrap up a dozen, Jack. They’re on the house.”

  He started to do what I said, and then asked, “Er, why?”

  “Because I just cleared your good name.”

  We got back on the bus, while Vic and I made quick work of the doughnuts. Vic’s face was red, and it made her look a little angry, like she’d just lost the heavyweight wrestling championship and was looking for someone to punish.

  “That little girl was too cute,” she said. “Reminded me of my baby before she turned into Satan.”

  “Heartwarming,” I said, feeling a bit like the Grinch, “but we were looking to prove Jack guilty.”

  “At least we still have a suspect left. Isn’t having one good?”

  “Not when you don’t have any evidence; then it’s just sad.”

  The man with the trench coat was back on the bus, but I’d already seen everything he had to offer, so I declined for a repeat. He looked a little crestfallen, but took it all in stride, walking up to another woman to try his chances.

  It was past our bedtimes and most of the area’s, so we headed back to the hotel. Vic offered to grab a cab, but I told her that Wyatt and I weren’t using the extra bed for anything.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice small. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “Of course you do. Besides, we hardly ever have kinky sex with company over. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  We headed up the stairs, and she said, “Might not mind the sex. It’s been so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize it if I saw it.”

  Before we hit our room, a man threw the door open a few doors down. He had a widow’s peak and greasy fingers, his eyes familiarly red. He stopped dead when he saw me, smiling in a ditzy manner.

  “Harper? That you?”

  “Pete!” I gave him a hug, ignoring his roaming fingers. Pete was practically family, after all. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Just delivering a little product. You need any?”

  “Nah, the boyfriend frowns on that sort of thing.”

  He nodded. “Oh, yeah, man. I heard you were shacking up with the cop. Harsh.”

  I introduced Pete to Vic, smiling when she didn’t shake his hand. She kept sending me questioning and alarmed glances as the conversation went on, obviously waiting for me to slap the cuffs on him.

  “You know Wyatt’s chasing you, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, man. I heard about that. Harsh.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder, unable to stop grinning. “Alright. Godspeed then, Pete.”

  Vic ran circles around me all the way back to the room. “Are you going to tell Wyatt you just saw Pete in the hallway?”

  I raised an eyebrow, pausing before opening the door. “I ain’t no snitch.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, I woke up to a note on the bedside table. Wyatt said he’d be there tonight for the reunion, but was still out looking for Pete. Shuddering, I rolled over, trying to ignore the sound of the shower running. It was about time for the actual party, but I sure was dreading it.

  “Good morning, Harper Beck.”

  Startled, I almost jumped out of bed before realizing it was the book talking to me. I sighed and settled back down in the covers. “I suppose you’re mad I’m not taking you places.”

  “My time will soon come,” the book said confidently.

  It was the confidence that worried me.

  “Oh?” I said. “Since you’re all-knowing, you wouldn’t mind telling me who the murderer is.”

  “I am not all-knowing, Harper Beck.”

  I shimmied closer to the bed stand. “But you know who’s trying to do away with Connor.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  For a moment, I let myself imagine heading home. The ride would be so much better on the way back to Waresville. Cooper would run out and greet us. I’d go skating at the Wheel again. There’d be no high school friends, and I could finally let the past die.

  “And their name is...?”

  “I could not tell you that, Harper Beck.”

  Groaning, I threw a pillow at the book, rolling back over in bed. What was the point of bringing your grandmother’s all-seeing familiar along if it was only going to give you lip? I’d have to remember not to make any promises to books in the future, because, man, did they collect.

  Vic chose that moment to come out of the bathroom. Steam poured out after her, and she fought with the tiny hotel towel the whole way to the bed, trying to cover at least some of the naughty bits. I watched with the same interest I’d shown the trench coat guy last night.

  “Cover yourself, woman,” I said, struggling into a fresh pair of disco attire. “We’ve got to visit our last hope. Do we need to take the bus again?”

  “No, your hunk jumped my car.” She sighed. “Now, if I could only get a guy like that to jump my bones.”

  “One miracle at a time, Vic.”

  The school parking lot was deserted except for the two most diligent workers’ cars. Apparently, everyone else was busy visiting with friends and getting ready for the party tonight. Inside, Suzy was flying around like she was on wheels, ordering the cleaners and caterers around. It was oddly like a sheep dog herding cattle.

  Hannah was in one of the chairs, staring up at the ceiling and wearing dark sunglasses. We sat down on either side of her, assuming unassuming positions. Watching Vic trying to look inconspicuous was throwing me off my game, so Hannah looked over at me sharply.

  “You again.” A hard glance went to Vic. “And the one who tried to rob me. I knew I should’ve stayed in bed this morning.”

  Vic put a hand to her generous bosom. “I was just trying to break in—not rob.”

  “Oh, then, by all means, let’s be best friends.”

  Vic leaned forward to catch my eye. “I don’t think she’s sincere.”

  Trying not to roll my eyes, I put on my happiest face; one I figured girls used while talking about girl stuff. “Doesn’t seem like it’s been ten years, does it?”

  “It feels like it’s been ten years since you sat down,” she said, taking a swig from a floral flask.

  Vic’s mouth twisted, but I spoke before she could. “Have you gone back to see your old locker? You know, for old time’s sake? It’s so strange to think that someone else is using it.”

  It didn’t feel strange to me at all. I had never been one of those girls who decorated my locker; it’d just been a space to shove crap. For one, we hadn’t been able to afford it. For another, the thought of pink felt in that cramped space made me vaguely nauseous.

  Hannah gave me such a look. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Oh, you know,” Vic said, chipping in. “Just see how the kids have been taking care of it.”

  She rolled her eyes and took a heavy pull. “It’s not like I could get in to see the inside.”

  I glanced at Vic, and she shrugged, not knowing what Hannah was talking about. “Why couldn’t you?” I asked slowly.

  Her eyes narrowed; I had the sneaking suspicion she was calling me stupid in her head. “They change the codes at the end of every year. That’s why.”

  “Then, when do students get their locker assignments? And the new code?”

  “First day of school.”

  Which wasn’t for weeks. Vic and I left Hannah to her drinking, pulling off to a deserted part of the gym and whispering under her breath.

  “That’s bad, isn’t it? Wasn’t our main clue the screws?”

  “Yes,” I snapped, feeling a headache coming home. “Whoever hid those screws is the culprit, but if Hannah couldn’t get into that locker
…”

  “You believe her?”

  “Yeah, no one who’s ninety percent alcohol could lie that well.” I sighed. “This complicates things.”

  Deciding we needed a little greasy, fatty food to help us get over this blow, we headed toward this great Cuban place Vic knew about. The whole ride was spent deep in thought, pouting at times.

  Without Hannah, we didn’t have any suspects or any evidence. Connor and I had just been attacked. Ice didn’t just freeze in people’s throats of natural causes. After Jack had fallen out of the running, I’d figured Hannah was perfect. Hell, she’d handed us the punch.

  But that wasn’t quite right, either. Hannah had been class valedictorian, and even if she was a little bit of a lush now, she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t hand us the liquid she was going to kill us with in front of people. Besides, she’d been surprised to see us choke. Everyone had been.

  I needed someone who had motive to kill both Connor and I but was mainly after Connor. After all, I hadn’t been a target until I showed up in Miami. There’d been no plots on my life in Waresville lately—a fact Wyatt liked to point out at every available opportunity.

  While we parallel parked—a driving requirement instituted by the devil—Vic sighed over hot, Cuban men as they came and went down town. She’d decided on the way down that what she needed was a cabana boy of sorts. I didn’t have the heart to point out that she didn’t have a pool or a backyard.

  “Look at those buns,” she said, bruising me in an effort to get my attention. “Fresh from the bakery.”

  I looked up from my black thoughts, and said, “Hey! Those are my buns!”

  Springing from the car, I ran after those pastry treats while Vic yelled that she’d get us a table. I caught up to my target and slipped my hand in his back pocket.

  Wyatt jumped like someone had taken an electric drill to his butt. Whirling, I saw him reach for his gun and then stop when he saw it was me.

  “I should shoot you on principle,” he said, but he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close and not telling me to get my hands out of his pockets. “Are you following me again?”

  I kissed his jaw. “You like it. But not this time, actually. I’m here for the food, not the gun play.”

  “We think we have a lead on Pete,” he said, nodding to Detective Grayson, who was a few yards ahead, glaring at us and checking his watch.

  Snuggling closer, I asked, “Take your girlfriend to work day?”

  He looked torn, so I dug my fingers a little deeper into his pockets.

  “Alright, but you stay back.” He went to drag me off toward Grayson, but stopped short, whispering, “You don’t have that cannon on you, do you?”

  “I’m clean as a whistle,” I said, mostly for Grayson’s benefit. “You could frisk me if you wanted.”

  “Civilian involvement is never a good idea, son,” the old grump said. “I don’t care how pretty she is.”

  “What she is,” Wyatt said, earning major brownie points, “is useful to have by your side. In any context.”

  “You trust a criminal to take down a druggie?”

  He smiled at me, and it stole the breath right from my body. “I trust Harper with my life. What’s my career compared to that?”

  Grayson still wasn’t happy about it, and he mumbled the whole way there. A stairwell heading into probably the only basement in all of Florida was damp, musty, and dark. From behind a door, there was the sound of men yelling and chickens squawking.

  Making a face, I whispered to Wyatt, “You would bring me to a cock fight.”

  “I was running out of inventive date ideas.”

  As if on some kind of cue, Wyatt and Grayson kicked open both sides of the door, busting into the room like only a couple of cops could. The floor and walls were dirty, impure cement, giving the whole structure a leaning quality.

  At least five dozen men were pressed around a small, circular fence in the middle of the room where two heartbreakingly bloody chickens were going at it. If anything could dissipate my appetite, it was this.

  As soon as everyone realized the cops had shown up, they flooded toward the door, almost trampling me when I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Wyatt started toward the back room, likely to find Pete, and Grayson went to follow him.

  He didn’t make it, though, because a large man with a comparatively small gun came out of thin air and fired on the detective point blank. The bullet hit him square in the chest, and right before my very eyes, the villain of my youth was on the ground.

  While I stared, transfixed at the fallen officer, the guy moved on to me, growling in a heavy accent that wasn’t immediately recognizable—definitely not Dominican, though.

  “Cop.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, “not me.”

  But he wasn’t listening or he wasn’t understanding. The man raised the gun, pointing it at my chest now. My blood flowed like it was trying to make a quota of number of laps, and my heart beat so hard, it hurt.

  His finger went to pull the trigger, but my fingers were a little bit faster. I snapped them, and the gun turned red hot in his hand. Howling, the man dropped the gun, cradling his burnt fingers.

  Before he could come to his senses, I ran forward, kicking his balls into his throat. He collapsed on the ground, and I gave him a solid kick to the jaw, watching his eyes roll back and his body go limp.

  Running over to Detective Grayson, I was prepared to get all bloody applying pressure to the wound, but there wasn’t any. In fact, the old man was just wheezing, having caught the bullet square in his chest where his bulletproof vest now peaked out. Likely, he just had some broken ribs.

  Watching him squirm around in obvious pain, I said, “What a proud day for law enforcement this is. The veteran cop saved by the criminal.”

  I helped him to his feet when watching him wiggling around like a bug on its back lost its appeal. He probably could have used my support to keep upright, but Grayson let go of me as soon as he was vertical, moving away from me.

  Stubborn old git.

  “You saved my life,” he said, blinking at me.

  “Makes you rethink all the times you arrested me, huh?”

  He smiled then, a secret one that held a lot of age. “Not at all. You deserved every stint in the cages. Earned them.”

  Well, at least we had a nice moment for a microsecond there.

  But he wasn’t done. His eyes glinted as he considered me for a moment, and then, to my shock and awe, he shook my hand—the firm one that guys gave to other guys.

  “But maybe I was wrong about you, Beck,” he said.

  Wyatt walked out with a handcuffed Pete. He wasn’t putting up much of a resistance now that he’d been caught, but that didn’t surprise me. Pete was more of a runner than a fighter. Usually, that was true for me, as well.

  Looking a little pale, Wyatt said, “I heard a shot. Everyone alright?”

  His eyes weren’t noticeably on me, gazing in Grayson’s direction instead, but I knew he was checking me for holes. He wouldn’t do it in front of the detective, though, because he knew we were enemies of a sort. Wyatt was sort of like the wind beneath my wings.

  “Hey ya, Pete,” I said.

  He nodded at me, looking solemn. “Hey, Harper. Light one for me, will you? Didn’t get my last smoke before they caught me.”

  “Sure thing,” I said, just to see the look on Wyatt’s face. It did not disappoint.

  Vic got up from her table when she saw us through the window of the restaurant. She took one look at Pete and said, “Oh, so you told Wyatt about seeing this guy at the hotel last night?”

  The look I got then was ten times better than the one from a couple minutes ago. Wincing, I batted my eyelashes at Wyatt, who rolled his eyes and shuffled his prisoner off toward the squad car.

  “Don’t be late,” I called after him, knowing Wyatt had never been late to anything. “You’ve still got to make yourself pretty for tonight.”

  My words deflated
Vic’s bubble, and she shortened visibly. “I forgot about the reunion tonight. I’m gonna have to wear a tight dress.” She bit her lip. “Maybe I should just get a salad.”

  “Great idea.” I walked toward the restaurant. “Maybe a side of rice and beans.”

  She followed me, caving. “And maybe some Ropa Vieja too. They fry it here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When I got back to the hotel, I showered quickly, and when I got out, Wyatt was home and putting on his tie. I paused in the doorway, leaning against the wall and admiring the view.

  “You’re putting out tonight, right?” I asked. “My friends told me you were a sure thing.”

  He flashed me a smile that was all teeth. “You paid for the night, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  I slipped on a short dress that was the same color as my wig back home. It made me miss the Wheel, and for a moment, I felt extremely homesick. Then, I put on my big girl panties—literally—and reminded myself I had a job to do.

  Wyatt watched me get ready with a veiled expression. “Do I need to bring my gun tonight?”

  Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, I said, “A gun is always a smart thing to have within reach.”

  Grabbing my purse, I hesitated for a moment and then shoved the now-silent book inside. We drove to the school in relative silence. The lights were shining from the gym onto the street, making the sidewalks rainbow-colored. Even though we were late, people were still pulling up in their luxury cars. Each time I saw a face, a moment later, a little click happened in my brain, and I saw how they looked in high school. It was a bracing experience.

  They were playing hits from our era, music I hadn’t liked at the time and now was decidedly against all of it. Wyatt moved off to get us punch—hopefully the spiked variety—and I scanned the room for people who looked murderous or guilty. No luck.

  Connor, the idiot, was on the sparse dance floor, twirling around with his ex-wife, who didn’t look drunk for once. Her unmanageable hair was held up and tight against her skull, and she was grinning from ear to ear. There was looseness to their moves that reminded me of after I’d spent quality time alone with Wyatt.