A Murder Most Rosy: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 3)

by Raven Snow

  Wyatt considered that for a moment. "Apart from the fact that Ms. Nittleman's death was a suicide, Peter didn't kill anyone. He's a good man once you get to know him."

  I snorted in an indelicate fashion. "You always take his side."

  "There aren't any sides."

  "Says the one straddling the fence." The principal's office was in the middle of the deserted school, and I knocked twice on the door and waited. When I heard something rustling behind it, I said, "Gotta go."

  By the time Mrs. Winston answered, I'd already hung up on him. The principal was a plump, stressed-looking woman. Her purple suit was wrinkled, and her heavily hair-sprayed ‘do was crooked and messy.

  "Harper Beck," I said in introduction, taking the seat she offered me. "Cooper's..."

  I trailed off, because I didn't really know how to explain my relationship to my boyfriend's son. Partially, I'd taken some role in his upbringing, though I didn't live with them, but I couldn’t really put a name to it. Wingman didn't seem appropriate, either.

  She nodded, though, as if I hadn't hesitated. "I know who you are. Cooper speaks of you often."

  Aw. My insides warmed up, but then I thought of all that the kid could report on me to his teachers and wished the brat would've kept his mouth shut. My parenting style was best kept a secret between people who could understand my sarcasm and black humor.

  "Right. Well, Cooper wants me to help out as director since you're short a−"

  I cut off abruptly as Mrs. Winston jumped out of her chair, rushing toward me like a football player— but I wasn't holding any ball. My hands went up in subconscious self-defense, but the woman just grabbed them and shook one with aggressive friendliness.

  "Bless you," she said, looking close to tears. "I've been on the phone all day trying to find subs to take over Kara's classes for the year— tons of interest. But no one will even touch this play with a ten foot pole."

  That sounds promising, I thought sardonically. So happy I signed up. It was a little like volunteering to go check for land mines in Vietnam, I supposed. That kid was lucky I was crazy about him.

  "I could cancel the play," she continued, "but with all that's happened... I'd just feel horrible doing that to the students."

  "I don't have any formal drama training," I told her. Just a flair for the dramatics.

  She waved a hand, a big grin on her face. "Neither did Kara. Oh, this is perfect! Thank you so much, Miss Beck."

  Half bemused, half fearful, I found myself being pushed out of the office— seemingly so I could leave before I changed my mind. Wondering what I'd gotten myself into, I went back to my bug and headed toward Wyatt's again. I'd probably left Cooper alone enough, and I'd apparently need insider information on the theater department.

  ______

  The first practice was that night, and Cooper and I left Wyatt alone in the Victorian at about seven. Both of the men in my life seemed thrilled by this new development— Cooper because I was going to help him get the girl, and Wyatt because he figured this would keep me out of trouble and danger. The latter waved at us as we took off, a relieved smile on his face.

  As soon as Wyatt was out of sight, Cooper turned to me with a serious expression on his face. “Her name’s Anna, and she’s playing Juliet.”

  “Anna. Juliet. Got it.”

  He made a face. “I’m Romeo.”

  “That makes it easier,” I told him, a little puzzled at his dismay. “You two are in love in the play.”

  Sinking down in his seat, he said, “I never say the right thing. Dad always says the right thing.”

  I didn’t point out that he was scripted, so there was no way to say the wrong thing— unless he was trying to insult Shakespeare. His words were also so much like my earlier imitation of him that I almost laughed.

  “Trust me,” I said, “your dad puts his foot in his mouth all the time.”

  He gave me a thoughtful look that was very perceptive for an almost eleven-year-old. But then again, Cooper was mature for his age. “Dad likes you.”

  I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to say that. “Of course, he does. I’ve bewitched him.”

  Cooper laughed at that— probably at the thought that his invincible father could be caught unaware by my magic. The sound was so guileless and happy that I found myself laughing too.

  Just as we were about to head into the theater, Cooper stopped me outside. The noise from within told me that most of the kids had arrived and were being their rambunctious selves.

  “Watch out for Chase Wiser,” he said before running into the auditorium to likely find his bonny lass.

  I called the kids to attention, making them group up in front of the stage. This was less like herding cats than it was like herding hungry tigers. Their beady little eyes told me they could smell my fear, and it made them hungry.

  One boy about Cooper’s age with an obnoxious, upturned nose asked, “Who are you?” He then wrinkled said nose like he’d smelled something bad.

  “Replacement for your dead teacher.”

  That stunned them into silence. I didn’t doubt that every kid there knew about Kara— probably knew more than me, to be honest— but they clearly weren’t expecting me to be so blunt. I wasn’t sure what was considered tactless, but I knew I had to solidify myself in a place of power for them to listen to me.

  “Right, then,” I said, pacing in front of them. “I’ll be your new director. My name’s Harper Beck, and if you call me Ms. Beck, you’ll stay behind in detention.” There were a few nervous laughs at that. “I’ve been well briefed on your progress.” Sort of. “So, let’s get started.”

  The same kid with the nose raised his hand. “Ms. Nittleman always had us do acting exercises before starting.”

  Well, Ms. Nittleman is dead, isn’t she? I curled my lips against the urge to say that. Instead, I said, “You must be Chase.”

  He nodded, and I continued, “Well, Chase, that sounds like a really dumb idea.”

  Outright laughter broke out at that, and it took all of my willpower not to laugh with them. Really, I didn’t have much more maturity than the kids in this room.

  To my surprised relief, the students didn’t need too much help to run-through the show. Everyone had a job, whether it was acting or helping, and the whole thing ran like a well-oiled machine. I found myself silently thanking the late Ms. Nittleman.

  So, instead of watching the horrible rendition of Shakespeare, I watched Cooper watch the Anna girl. She was the same angelic blonde I’d noted on center stage earlier that day. I hadn’t had the chance to talk to her yet, but if Cooper’s mooning was anything to go by, she was probably a perfectly nice girl.

  While I was busy with Cooper’s little crush, I didn’t notice a short man with a sweater vest and glasses until he was right on me. He stuck out his hand and smiled at me.

  “Sorry I’m late. Norbert Mason. I teach math, and I’ve been—was helping Kara.”

  I shook his hand firmly, feeling an instant camaraderie with him. He was to be my fellow soldier in the trenches. Us against the tiny humans.

  “Harper Beck. I own the Funky Wheel.”

  Standing beside me, he motioned to the crowd of kids. “Which one’s yours?”

  “Uh,” I stammered, and then pointed Cooper out. “That one. He’s kind of a loner, though.”

  Norbert’s— who names their kid that, anyway?— smile was wiped clean off his face. At first, I didn’t know what I’d said to turn him off so, and then I heard the clack-clack of heels walking down the aisle.

  He leaned in a little close for comfort, but I couldn’t work up any discomfort. “Mrs. Wiser— Chase’s mom. She’s very… spirited.”

  A tall woman with striking features and a regality I’d never possessed stopped in front of me. There was an air about her that I immediately hated. It took me back to my childhood, to the parents and children who had looked down their noses at my mother and I. Speaking of noses, she had the same one as her son and— I found out
after she opened her mouth— the same attitude.

  “And just who would you be?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “The new director.”

  Her lips twisted unpleasantly at that before forming an unfriendly smile. “Funny. I was under the impression that I was next in line for the job.”

  I thought back to my meeting with the principal. She’d been plenty desperate, so there had to be a good reason she didn’t hand the auditorium over to Mrs. Wiser. Not that I could blame her. The woman did look like the type to eat her young.

  “You’ll have to take that up with Mrs. Winston.”

  Sorry, Mrs. Winston.

  “I will,” she said with a sniff and then beckoned her son forward. “Come along, Chase.”

  When they were both out of earshot, Norbert spoke again. “She’s been after the job for ages. Mostly to brag to her PTA friends about.”

  A couple minutes later, we dissolved the practice. The kids were out of the room before I could even think about clean-up, which left me, Cooper, and Norbert with a whole stage full of crap to stuff elsewhere.

  Norbert, for his part, didn’t seem to mind. He chattered in my ear the whole time, pausing briefly, so I could answer a few of the multitude of questions he shot my way. Apparently, I was very interesting.

  Before we turned off the lights and left, Norbert grabbed my hand in a lingering farewell shake. Normally, I wouldn’t have let it go on, but his face was just so harmless and cheerful that I didn’t see the harm.

  While walking to my illegally-parked bug, Cooper said with a frown, “Mr. Mason likes you.”

  “I’m a likable person,” I told him and drove us home.

  Chapter Three

  I rolled out of my own bed the next morning— a rarity— and left my loft almost immediately. I’d been at Wyatt’s too late last night, and that meant I was off to a late start on my plans for the day. Breaking into other’s homes is not something to be rushed.

  Whistling to myself, I pranced down the stairs, enjoying the last tendrils of my good mood. Upon seeing my orange bug, I stopped dead, almost tripping over my own feet in my haste.

  Inside the cab were about ten different bouquets, all filled to the brim with roses. It looked like someone had started their own little love garden in my beat-up bug. Racking my brain, I tried to think of anything Wyatt had done to piss me off this much in the recent past.

  Nothing came to mind. Plus, Wyatt wasn’t really a flowers kind of man, and I appreciated that. Flowers were overdone, in my opinion— thoughtless. I preferred his personalized gifts.

  Opening the door, the fresh scent hit me like a fist to the face. I rummaged around, looking for a card or something, but nothing appeared. Of its own accord, my stomach grew small and hardened into a cold, nervous ball.

  Before I panicked too much, I pulled out my cell and dialed Wyatt. For the first time, his brusque, movie-like greeting didn’t make me smile; I was too wound up.

  “Did you put flowers in my car?”

  All business disappeared from his tone, and he became very wary. “No… Should I have?”

  Without a word, I pulled all the flowers out, throwing them onto the ground. I didn’t leave a petal behind, not wanting any trace left in my car. Mr. Bunson’s words about Kara receiving flowers from an unknown benefactor blared through my head through a loud speaker.

  “What’s going on, Harper?”

  “Nothing,” I said, and then winced, because it was probably the least convincing lie I’d ever told.

  “Right.” The single word was bit out. He drew in a deep breath and then let it go slowly. “Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing, just please don’t. I love you— god, but some days I wish I didn’t. If anything happened...”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” I said firmly, despite being a little shaken.

  Though this wasn’t the first time Wyatt had told me he loved me, it always struck me right in the gut. I’d been alone for so long, and I wanted his love so much that now that I had it, I was scared beyond reason to lose it. I think that was part of the reason I hadn’t said it back.

  A couple times I’d been ready to, the words right there on the tip of my tongue. Smiling at me, Wyatt shook his head and took my hand.

  “I don’t need you to say it to know you feel it,” he’d told me.

  Unspoken between us was that it would’ve been nice to hear it aloud.

  “I can’t promise not to sleuth,” I said, kicking myself once again for not telling the man how I felt.

  A heavy, knowing sigh. “Then just tell me before you do anything, alright? I’ll back you up.”

  Of course he would, I thought, because he was a good man. A good man who loved me.

  I hung up the phone and got into the newly-cleaned bug. It’d taken only minor digging through the phone book to find Kara’s address. Unlike most Waresville citizens, she lived almost fifteen miles outside city limits.

  It took about twenty minutes to get there, and by the time I did, I was all worked up about Wyatt and the worrisome flowers. Couldn’t I have one normal mystery? Hell, couldn’t I have one normal day?

  Thoughts of letting sleeping dogs lie raced through my mind. It’d be the first time I’d ever walked away from a case, but maybe I could do it. For Wyatt, at the very least. If the flowers turned out to be a deadly foreshadowing, I’d be leaving him and Cooper behind. Was I prepared to do that even if it meant bringing a killer to justice?

  Whatever my inner doubts, I left the safety of my car and magicked the door open with shaking fingers. The release of power flowing out of me made me tense, bringing back memories that were best left dead.

  The inside of the house was immaculately groomed, leaving me to think Kara hadn’t spent much time here. She was a teacher, after all— married to her job. There was nothing really new or nice in the house, but all the furnishings had been taken good care of, making it feel homey and approachable.

  I walked into the kitchen, and my entire perception about the state of the house was tilted on an axis. If I’d thought my car had been jam-packed with flowers, I now realized that’d been a conservative amount.

  There, in Kara’s kitchen, were at least a thousand roses—conservatively. A couple looked brand new, their petals still a deep, healthy red. They couldn’t have been more than a day old. Others were rotting and wilting, dirt and coffee grinds on them like someone had tried to throw them away, but they’d come back— on their own or by the force of another, I wasn’t sure.

  Those were two distinct possibilities you had to take into account when you were in a town like Waresville. The place thrived off of spooky bus tours and magic shops. We boasted being the most supernatural place in Florida— but usually only after a couple of drinks.

  Along with the flowers, boxes of chocolates littered every available surface. These, too, looked like someone had tried—desperately— to get rid of them, but hadn’t had a lick of success.

  Trying to shake off my sense of impending doom, which was really too hyperactive these days, I headed upstairs to take a look at her bedroom. Like every room but the kitchen, the bedroom seemed completely normal. Not a flower was in sight except for the pattern on her comforter.

  I smoothed my fingers over the material, trying to think through a lifetime of reluctant magical knowledge. Unfortunately, all I got was the feeling that magic was involved— not overly impressive in Waresville.

  Taking my hand away, a small pouch fell out from under Kara’s pillow. It was a new burlap material that was sewn together with the same thread doctors used on stitches. I was all too painfully familiar with that thread.

  Prying it open, I had to juggle to keep the contents from overflowing onto the floor. Tons of flowers and herbs— none of them roses— tried to get past my blocking. They were all mixed in so well, and minced as far as I could tell, that it was impossible make out what any of them were.

  One element that needed no studying brushed up against my hand, making me cri
nge. It was a single, blood-soaked tooth. And if my hunches were worth anything, I’d bet it’d belong to Kara.

  Holding the bag together so nothing would fall out, I rushed out to my car. I almost tripped down the stairs and bit back a curse when I realized all of the flowers I’d thrown away had reappeared in the cab. Instead of wasting time on throwing them out again, I just pushed them over and drove as fast as I could.

  My grandmother’s house was an off-white plantation-style home on top of the biggest hill in Waresville. Being one of the oldest homes in the town and sitting next to the other oldest homes, it was a popular stop for the tour buses.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to contend with them today, sliding into a parking spot next to my grandma’s barely-used sedan. I breathed a sigh of relief when I noted that Wyatt’s car wasn’t there.

  A couple months ago, my scary grandmother and Wyatt had come to an agreement about him dating me. Now, because of that agreement, he came over in his spare time to mow the lawn and patch up things around the house. The old broad wasn’t making things easy for him, either. I was coming to suspect she was breaking things just so she could make my boyfriend fix them.

  That was Gran for you.

  I entered without knocking, and she appeared in her token red robe like the devil being summoned. Giving me an unhappy look at my barging in, she went into the kitchen and poured herself some tea. I didn’t hold my breath for her offering me anything. She was weird about people drinking from her glasses.

  Instead of a traditional greeting, I set the bag between us and asked, “What’s this?”

  She spared it the measliest of glances, and said, “Can’t that man of yours keep you out of trouble for five minutes?”

  “He tries his best.” I wasn’t in the mood for games, especially when Wyatt could show up at any moment. “Do you know what it is?”

  The look she shot me told me to watch my step. “Of course. It’s a gris-gris bag. Haven’t seen one in a while.”

  I wasn’t sure quite how old Gran was. A neighbor— who was now a frog (by her own doing)— had insinuated that she was almost immortal and had lived for at least a couple hundred years. As the woman got touchy about me drinking from her cups, I’d never pressed the age issue.