Bewitched Murder (Inept Witches 3)

by Amanda A. Allen

  Emily choked. Dean was related to Emily’s long-dead true love—at least he was according to the spell they had obviously ruined that led them to the cemetery and Elmer Wallace’s grave. Is he my soulmate? Of course he is, because he is a murderer. Damn the luck. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Hazel’s interrogation.

  “Yes,” Dean said clearly.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “We could truth serum him,” Ingrid and Emily said instantly. “I have some in my bag.”

  “You both carry it?” Gabe asked.

  “This stuff is addictive,” Emily said. “It’s so bad, it’s good. Plus, it will tell me things about you that I have decided I really need to know.” She exchanged glances with Ingrid who was trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle. What a slut she was. Laughing at her terrible love-luck while she stood next to Gabe, her personal love slave.

  “Hazel told me to help you. I don’t know why you would think I’d believe what anyone says without truth serum,” Ingrid explained. She patted Gabe’s face and smiled up at him.

  “I don’t know why I love you so much,” Gabe said as if there wasn’t a drama unfolding behind them.

  “Stop it you two. You’re dividing my interest,” Emily ordered. “Plus murder.”

  Emily walked across the bookstore and waited for Hazel to lower Dean. She smiled up at him with an angry and wanting smile. Oh, Ingrid thought, oh. She likes him so much. She watched, hurting for her friend, as Emily ran her thumb over Dean’s bottom lip before telling him to, “Open up.”

  His lips parted a little too slowly as the other two stared at each other. Ingrid glanced at Gabe before turning back to her friend.

  “Thank you for not being a villain,” she told Gabe under her breath.

  Gabe cleared his throat and stepped a little closer to Ingrid, but neither said anything else as they watched Dean take the serum from Emily’s fingers and tilt his head back to swallow.

  “Open up,” Emily said, making him show his empty mouth. She smiled and Ingrid could see how wicked it was and then her friend asked, “Did you kiss me to get closer to Mary?”

  “They are hot," Ingrid whispered to Gabe. "They are like, set the room on fire, hot. Even though he's a killer."

  Dean struggled and then said, “A little. But I’d have done it anyway.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you kill Jill?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “I just took your truth serum.”

  “Meh,” Emily said, “I think you’re still a liar.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said.

  “Beauty is subjective and you’re full of lies.”

  “You’re a terrible witch,” he said.

  “Everyone knows this,” Emily replied as if she didn’t care. But she hadn’t been the one who had been truth serumed either.

  “You work for hire,” Hazel said. “Who hired you?”

  Dean struggled to answer before he said, “Damn. The Presidium.”

  Hazel paused again. “Well.”

  “The who?” Gabe asked.

  Ingrid shrugged, but Hazel answered, “They’re a sort of supernatural council. They don’t rule, but they’ll step in when local laws are being broken with magic and the crime can’t be solved by non-supernaturals.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “No one would claim that,” Hazel said, dropping Dean to the floor. “The Presidium would make them pay. Several of their higher ranking members have given new depth to the words retribution and respect.”

  “So what does that mean?” Gabe asked.

  “Given that it was said under truth serum? It means that that he didn’t kill Jill and that he works for the Presidium. We need to keep looking. He's not the killer."

  “I have European cities to visit,” Emily growled, relieved but still mad, “and European men to date.”

  “Don’t be like that Emily,” Dean said. When she didn’t reply, he spun her to him and laid his mouth against her.

  “Oh,” Ingrid said to Gabe, “would you look at that forward dove?”

  “Which one?” Gabe asked her, pinching a lock of her hair and running the tips of his fingers along it.

  “That’s kind of hot.”

  “My fingers?”

  “Um,” she smiled at him and felt the fear that had been riding her like a pony edge off a little bit. “Maybe all of this.”

  “Ingrid Pickford, I think…”

  “By the gods,” Hazel said, “we are dealing with a murder. With a dead mother, a destroyed family, and there will be no hanky-panky until..”

  “Did she say hanky-panky?” Emily was still pressed against Dean, but she had turned to look right at Ingrid. There were some things only the two of them could appreciate together.

  “She’s mad at us. Be good,” Ingrid whispered back.

  “She should just say sexy times,” Emily said.

  “Listen you two,” Hazel said. “We are going to deal with this crime, you are going to resolve this madness,” she gestured around the bookstore, “and then you are going to actually learn to do basic magic.”

  “I don’t want to,” Ingrid said instantly. “I remember now.”

  “Ingrid Elizabeth Pickford,” Hazel started.

  “Let’s just focus on the murder,” Gabe said soothingly. He edged slightly in front of Ingrid.

  “That’s not going to help,” Ingrid told him. “She could hex me across the country.”

  “Ingrid, please help,” Gabe said.

  She laughed at him and then said, “Listen hooker.”

  Emily pulled away from Dean and said, “What?”

  “Just because he didn’t kill Jill doesn’t mean he isn’t a murderer, a cheating dickhead, or carrying a VD.”

  “I’m a very good witch,” Dean said, “I don’t get VD.”

  “Enough you,” Ingrid said. “You might have gotten past Emily’s non-existent shields, but you have yet to pass either the best friend or the aunt test.”

  He smiled winningly at her, but she said, “Enough of that. I am not capable of being manipulated by your manly wiles.”

  “The murder, damn it,” Hazel said. She crossed the bookstore, finger moving and books and shelves and trash and dust fled before her. She pulled a conference table from the back of the store with sheer magic and then summoned chairs from around the store so they could sit around the table. “This murder is going to be solved. Sit.”

  “Auntie,” Emily began.

  “Sit,” Hazel ordered giving them all a disgusted look. “We are not going to have to deal with Presidium if I can manage it.”

  “Why Auntie?”

  Dean cleared his throat and shifted.

  “You know!” Ingrid and Emily said together.

  “Speak and I will make you pay,” Hazel said calmly. “You might be a Presidium goon—”

  “I have nothing to say on the subject,” Dean said carefully. His eyes shifted carefully and he avoided each and every gaze.

  “Remember that when Emily is asking you later,” Hazel snapped.

  Ingrid sat in a rickety white chair next to Gabe. Emily sat on the other side and Dean was next to her. Hazel stood on the other side of the table.

  “Who are our suspects?”

  “Doug Martin,” Dean said.

  “Doug did not do it,” Gabe replied.

  “No offense, Sheriff,” Dean began and Ingrid, Emily, and Hazel turned on him. “Um…”

  “Gabe said Gallery Guy didn’t kill her,” Ingrid said, eyes narrowed.

  “You truth serum him?” Emily asked.

  “Obviously.”

  “Doug and Mary Martin are innocent,” Gabe said again. “Of both murdering her and hiring the murderer. I double checked on the second option once we thought it was you.”

  The men’s gazes met and the testosterone in the room spiked.

  “Oh geez,” Ingrid said as Emily growled for them.

 
; “Sound effects are not needed,” Hazel replied. “And enough you two.”

  “We didn’t truth serum Autumn,” Ingrid said. She glanced at Emily and saw her lips twitching.

  “And enough you two,” Hazel ordered. Her eyes crackled with irritation, and Ingrid supposed that was fair. After all, Hazel was trying to find the killer of a witch and mother.

  “I want it to be Autumn,” Emily said.

  “Agreed,” Ingrid replied.

  “Enough,” Hazel said. She straightened her glasses and said, “None of the necromancers of my coven would have done it.”

  “Or could have even,” Dean said. “Jill might not have been practicing, but she wasn’t a shabby necromancer. No one who had the skills she did was going to be taken out by someone who didn’t even use their abilities and your coven is pretty clean.”

  “Even Autumn,” Ingrid and Emily asked in unison.

  “Yes,” Dean and Hazel replied.

  Ingrid made a face as Emily muttered under her breath.

  “What about…”

  Ingrid’s text tone interrupted and she said, “Gallery Guy says he’s bringing Mary over. She’s not doing well.”

  “So, who would kill Jill? Why?” Emily asked for all of them.

  “It’s family. We can trust Law and Order. The grandparents are jerks.”

  “In most cases,” Gabe said, “it is usually family or friends.”

  “What have they done that is so wrong?” Dean asked. “They fight for Mary? Anyone could understand why they would be creating that battle,” Dean said. “Magic is incredibly important to them and Mary’s birthright, and it has been stolen from her.”

  Emily nodded and added, “Plus, Gallery Guy is a whack job.”

  “No argument here,” Ingrid replied, “He’s one whacked dove.”

  “But he did not kill his wife,” Hazel said. “Perhaps it was one of the traveling witches.”

  “Let’s wait for Doug,” Gabe said. “Since it is usually family or friends, we need to know more about who was in her life from before the island. Maybe she had an enemy follow her to the island.”

  Gabe pushed back his chair and took Ingrid’s hand. “Come with me,” then he simply tugged Ingrid behind him into the unused office. Before she could ask what he wanted, he spun her to him, placed his hands on either side of her face and asked, “Europe?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. Then he laid his lips against hers and she wasn’t able to think for the familiar taste of him, the familiar warmth, and the oh so sweet gentleness.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Sins of the Father

  Dean whispered in Emily’s ear as he forced her into an embrace. “I can’t believe you really thought I was a murderer.” He tried to nuzzle her neck, but his scratchy beard irritated her and she backed out of his hug.

  In a light voice she said, “Well, you started out being a liar. It’s not such a far stretch to murder from there. Just saying.”

  They were sitting on the little couch near the window, snuggled together. Had they become a couple somewhere between their first lie-filled kiss and her certainty that he was a killer? She wasn’t sure, but somehow the feel of him pressed against her side told her that…he belonged there? She looked out over the bookstore and saw the mess it was. It wasn’t so much a store as a garbage-filled location that had vague outlines of something that could be awesome.

  “I’m not living that down anytime soon, am I?”

  “Nope. You know what they say. Once a liar always a liar,” she responded smugly.

  “Enough, you two love-doves,” Ingrid said. Her hair was mussed, her lips were slightly swollen, and there was a glaze to her gaze that said her mind was partially elsewhere.

  “Um,” Emily turned with a scowl, “You two basically just left the closet.”

  “Yes,” Ingrid said, “We were in another room. Not displaying our mating plumage.”

  “What does that even mean?” Emily demanded. She smacked Ingrid, who, without delay, slapped the back of her head.

  “Shut your mouth,” Ingrid said.

  “You shut it.”

  Ingrid’s eyes widened with anger and Emily finished, “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

  “Let’s just remember who can light the other one on fire.” Ingrid’s hands were on her hips and her gaze was fixed on Emily’s. Her own eyes burned as she tried to stare Ingrid down. The hooker.

  “Anyone,” Emily snapped, “can light someone on fire with the appropriate tools.”

  “You won’t—

  “Stop it,” Hazel said, “Or I will send you both to your rooms and you won’t be able to stop me since I am an actual witch instead of a sad approximation of one.”

  “Do they do this often?” Dean asked Gabe.

  “Daily. Sometimes hourly.”

  Emily’s mouth opened, but Hazel snapped her fingers and Emily snapped her mouth closed. Her gaze met Ingrid’s and lit with humor. Ingrid started giggling and Emily joined in. Her aunt scowled at both of them before she sniffed.

  “I am going to get some supplies from the stockroom,” Hazel said referring to the witch store that was in the basement. Ingrid and Emily had actually kept that part of the business running, mostly out of fear of Hazel’s wrath.

  “Do you think she can actually send us to our rooms?” Ingrid asked Emily, who shrugged. They turned together to Dean, who nodded.

  “Dang,” Ingrid whispered. “Your aunt is a scary dove.”

  •••

  A cool breeze made Emily think that dickhead had escaped whatever hold her aunt had put on him, but instead it was Gallery Guy and Mary letting themselves in. Emily opened her arms and Mary rushed over and into them.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Mary whispered. “I wish she had just left us after all.”

  “Mary,” Gallery Guy said, placing a gentle hand on her back. “I…it’s…your mother loved you so much Mary. I couldn’t understand how she could leave you when I knew how much she cared for you. I should have looked for her. I should have known she wouldn’t leave you. But I was blinded by my anger. We’d had a fight about magic and…well, our last words weren’t good. I’m sorry that you are losing your mother all over again.”

  Mary sobbed, obviously still processing her mother’s murder and clearly trying to reconcile what she thought she knew about her mother’s absence with the horrifying truth that she’d not left them voluntarily. Emily watched Mary cry and couldn’t stand watching her suffer like this.

  Ingrid’s eyes met Emily’s and Emily could see Ingrid was also struggling with the size of this grief. It was just so much loss for Mary—close to an adult, but still so young—to have to carry. Damn the world that created heartache and sorrow for the innocents. Emily looked around for something to set on fire. Anything to distract her from her traitorous emotions right now. She would not cry in front of everyone. She wouldn’t. She swallowed, forcing back the tears. They were doing what they could for Mary. It would have to be enough.

  “So,” Gabe said, cutting in. “We need to discuss what’s been happening and get a new handle on the case now that we’ve ruled out Doug and Mary and Dean.”

  “Yes. Fine, Dean didn’t do it. Who did then?” Ingrid asked.

  Emily, Dean, Ingrid, Gallery Guy, and Mary stood in a circle staring at each other, each searching the faces of the others for answers that none of them had. As far as Emily could tell, none of them had a clue.

  “We aren’t going to figure it out with a staring contest,” Emily said.

  They all continued to stare at one another.

  “Let’s start with the beginning,” Gabe said.

  Dean nodded in agreement, but Emily dialed in on Mary’s face, realizing that she had a very faraway look in her eyes. “Mary? Mary!” Her face was paler than normal.

  Gallery Guy turned his attention to Mary, then so did the rest of them.

  “Mary, what is it? Are you all right?”

  “Is she h
aving a vision?” Ingrid asked Emily. She didn’t have any idea though.

  Emily and the rest watched open-mouthed while Mary started pointing at some unknown horror that only she could see.

  “You can’t have her. She’s mine. NO! I won’t let you take her.” Mary took a step forward, then paused and turned to look behind her. “Run, Mary, go to our special spot. Nothing can hurt you there. I love you, baby. Go, now. Don’t look back. Daddy will come for you,” she whispered in a haunting voice that was not her own.

  In that moment, Emily realized Mary must be channeling her mother at the moment of her death. And that Mary had been there. Mary was reliving the murder she’d seen with her own eyes but blocked out.

  Or perhaps it had been taken from her by magic.

  Maybe that was why she saw through her mother’s eyes. Her mother was somehow making Mary understand. Jill must have a good reason to make her daughter relive her murder through her own eyes. If that was what was happening. Either way, Emily’s heart was feeling things she didn’t really want to feel as she watched her friend.

  She was simultaneously horrified by and in awe of Mary’s ability to seemingly channel the dead. Necromancy was terrible. And awesome.

  Tears ran down Mary’s cheeks. Whether they were hers or her mother’s, Emily couldn’t tell. Mary’s muttering continued. “Please. I don’t want this life. Not for her or me. Why can’t you accept that?”

  Emily’s eyes were glued to Mary’s tortured face, but also could see the heartbreak etched on Gallery Guy’s countenance.

  “No,” Mary cried, “no. You can’t have her. You will have to go through me.”

  She saw his grief while he watched a version of his wife being murdered. His wife sacrificing her life and with her last breath saving their child. Technically her child, but Emily suspected by the look on GG’s face that he very much considered Mary his own daughter. And the softness in his eyes made Emily feel things for him, things like compassion and sorrow, soul-crushing grief and pity. She was feeling things she didn’t like to feel ever.

  Her attention was grabbed again when Mary started speaking again. At first, it was too low to understand but the volume rose.

  “No,” Mary begged softly now. A whimper. “Please, daddy. Let us be.”