Murder and Marinade: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries Book 5

by Tegan Maher

  She looked at me with disgust. "I didn't kill Al. He was my husband." She motioned toward Bobbie Sue with the gun. "She killed Al. A friend at the sheriff's office called and told me she did, so now I’m gonna kill her. I wanted to the day she hit me, when I was tryin’ to set her up."

  "No," I said, trying to think of a way out. "She didn't kill Al. Her gun came back clean from ballistics."

  Considering me for a minute, she said, "You're lyin'."

  I was. As far as I knew, the test results weren't back yet, but I wasn't going to tell her that. I had the same, if not better, mental walls that she did, and there was no way she was picking anything out of my brain.

  "I'm not. I’m tellin’ the God’s-honest truth. She didn’t kill him. But my question is this—why'd you kill the judge?"

  She flapped her hand, waving the gun. "He'd just taken five grand from Al a week before to throw the contest, then told me he was gonna renege. And that he was gonna report the recipe scam. Said he was going straight because he wasn’t gonna lose his judge card for some no-name hacks.” She spat the phrase.

  “Honestly, I didn't go there plannin' to kill him, but he called Al a wannabe loser, and laughed when I told him I wanted my money back. We were in his tent, and after he laughed, he started to walk out. His final shot as he was puttin' on that God-awful hat was "Good luck losin'."

  She curled her nose. "It shot through me, and I picked up the closest thing—the fork—and stabbed him with it before I even realized what I was doin'. He made it out of the tent before he collapsed on his fat, ugly face, and I started screamin'."

  "So, you were screamin' because you realized what you'd done, rather than because you'd found the body?" What an idiot. Even if the murder didn't earn her a lifetime in prison, being stupid should have.

  "Yeah. Not my finest moment," she said, "but when you and your man came rushin' around the corner, I made do."

  "Now, like I said, I got a plane to catch, and thanks to her, I'm catchin' it with just my big, stupid brother."

  Ah, that’s how the two restaurants tied together. “Jeff’s you’re brother?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s about time you caught up. Yes, Jeff’s my brother. And he’s waitin’ for me.”

  She pivoted the gun toward Bobbie Sue. I lunged toward her with all my focus on stopping her, but she'd already fired.

  Then time stood still, sort of.

  She was frozen in place, a look of rage and triumph on her face. Bobbie Sue had her eyes squeezed closed, and the look of horror on Justin's face, his little mouth open in a scream, terrified me. Just like before, I hadn't stopped time, just slowed it way down.

  The bullet was still moving toward Bobbie Sue, and I grabbed it, not sure what would happen, but positive I'd rather take one through the hand than see Bobbie take one to the face. It burned my hand and I let go, then swatted it, changing the trajectory so that it would go several feet to her left. I didn't know how long I had or if time would speed itself back up, so I did the bare minimum.

  I took the gun from Cookie and pushed her back to the floor—it felt like I was moving her through mud, but I managed—then looked around and grabbed Justin's earbuds off the table and tied her hands behind her back. Even they offered resistance as I moved them.

  Right before I unfroze everything, I remembered her comment about learning to block her mind, and decided it was best to gag and blindfold her so she couldn’t use any magic if she had any. Once that was done, I closed my eyes and focused on fixing time.

  Everything whooshed forward as if I'd never slowed it, except now she was on the ground and Bobbie Sue was safe. I untied Bobbie and all the while, Cookie was squealing in rage. Bobbie Sue took the gun from me. For a minute, I was honestly afraid she was gonna shoot her.

  She rolled her eyes at me and clonked Cookie on the head, knocking her out.

  "Good Gawd," she said. "I wasn’t gonna kill her, but wasn't that drivin' you batty?"

  It was official—there was nothin' on the face of the planet that could rattle the woman. Justin was clinging to her and crying, and she bent down and pulled him to her. "Hush now, she said pushing him back a bit and wiping the tears off his cheeks. "I ain't kilt, and I ain't plannin' on dyin' anytime soon."

  He threw his arms around her neck for a few seconds then pushed back and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I ain't cryin'," he said.

  "Course you are," she replied, wiping a tear from her own cheek. "It happens sometimes when you love someone, and there ain't nothin' wrong with it."

  Just then, Hunter poked his head around the door, gun drawn. Once he saw everything was okay, he re-holstered it and slipped behind Cookie to cuff her while Bobbie Sue explained.

  "Though I have no idea what happened at the end. One minute, she was pointing the gun at me, the next, she was tied up on the ground."

  Hunter smiled at me. "I assume that was you?"

  "You assume correctly," I said.

  EPILOGUE

  EARL AND BOBBIE SUE closed up shop the next day, and we had a huge cookout at the farm. Louise and her husband Jared came with the baby and her parents, and of course Gabi, Matt and Anna Mae were there. Levana and Rory came—she'd passed the testing with flying colors—and Camille showed up a bit later, after processing Cookie and stripping her of her magic. Hunter had her locked up in the Keyhole Lake jail until Sheriff Scottsdale could come get her.

  He caught Gregoria Stanton at the airport, after finding a 9 mil at her house. She killed Al thinking he was the one who killed the judge. Apparently, they'd rekindled their romance.

  Hunter explained everything while we were sitting around waiting for the food to cook, and when he was done, Bobbie Sue shook her head and laughed.

  "What's so funny?" he asked. "You almost ended up next on the list."

  Still grinning, she said, "I'm just thinkin' back to the first time we met, and you said this town was crazy! Just think how messed up it'd be if you'd just moved on county over, either direction. You’d have real nut jobs over there."

  My gaze roamed over the lines of his face, and I was glad he'd made the choice he had.

  And speaking of choices, I considered what reaction my interference with time might have caused, then pushed it from my mind. There was nothing I could do about it, and I wouldn’t change it even if I could. A son had a mother and a murderer was in jail. I could live with those results.

  I kicked my chair back on two legs and propped my feet on the rail, looking around at our growing family and enjoying the warm rays of the sun on my face.

  Earl and Max were sippin' scotch and playing porch chess on a giant set I'd had made just for him while Angus hovered over the board, giving unsolicited advice to both sides.

  Shelby and Cody were teaching Justin how to play cornhole out back. Matt and Anna Mae were laughing at some story Rory was telling—he was the talkative one of the two—and Bobbie Sue, Trouble, Addy, and Cheri Lynn were cooing over the baby while Louise and Jared were taking a much-needed break, petting the horses over the fence.

  Rae, who was sitting in a chair next to me, offered a toast.

  "To a dead-body-less summer," she said, clinking her tea glass to mine.

  Hunter heard her and joined in. "Hear, hear," he said.

  One could always hope, I supposed. For the moment, though, I was happy to have everyone there, happy, healthy, and enjoying each other.

  It was a good day to be me.

  <<<>>>

  Click here to order Hook, Line, and Murder, Book 6 in the Keyhole Series.

  I’m also super excited to have a new witchy werewolf series coming out next—keep reading for an unedited sneak peek!

  Chapter 1 Howling for Revenge: An unedited sneak peek

  CORI SLOANE WITCHY Werewolf Mystery Book 1

  I jogged along the stream, reveling in that peaceful, early-morning stillness that only lasts until the rest of the world stirs. I picked up my pace a little as I followed the sun-dappled path around the tree
line, enjoying the brush of the cool breeze along my skin as it dried the fine sheen of sweat from my body. The only sound beside the birdsong was my heart beating in tempo with the soft,steady thud of my sneakers against the asphalt.

  I sucked in a lungful of air, inhaling the scents of the early morning. For now, the damp, earthy scent drifting from the stand of trees overshadowed the stench of humanity. Night-blooming jasmine sweetened the air, masking the lingering odors of fast-food wrappers and cheap perfumes. I slowed as I neared the end of the trail, then stopped, placing my hands on my knees as my heart rate slowed and my breathing returned to normal. As always, tendrils of regret wound through me at the thought of leaving the peace and getting back to the grind. I propped my foot against a picnic table and leaned into a stretch, feeling a little euphoric as I did so. The endorphins flooding my brain were more addictive than any drug, which is the main reason I run daily, rain or shine, either in this form or my other.

  Now would probably be a good time to introduce myself. My name is Cordelia Delphine Sloane, but please, for the love of God, call me Cori. The only person on the planet who uses my full name is the woman who was hateful enough to give it to me to begin with: my mother.

  You’ll meet her in a bit, but there’s no need for me to be mean to you right off the bat. Oh, and I should probably mention that I’m a werewolf. Well, technically I’m three-quarters werewolf and a quarter witch, but we’ll get to that in a bit, too.

  Right now, the relevant 411 on me is that I’m the sheriff of our little berg - a small town called Castle’s Bluff. Don’t let the name fool you—we have neither a castle nor a bluff. We have a nice lake, though. Back in the early 1800s, a vampire by the name of Sean Castle won the property that the town sits on in a poker game by bluffing on a pair of deuces. He built the town, then had to move away when people began questioning how he managed to stay so young-looking. Coincidentally, he just moved back a year or so ago under the guise of being an descendent.

  As I lifted my arm and grabbed my elbow to stretch my bicep, the faint sound of several voices caught my attention. I cocked my head; there were never that many people in the park this early. I turned toward the direction of the voices and my good mood was replaced with a sense of dread. A quarter of a mile or so away, on the road on the other side of the trees, red and blue lights flashed from several police cars. Uniformed bodies stepped with care through the brush and into the edge of the forested area that separated the road from the running trail.

  Torn between irritation and a sense of duty, I heaved a sigh. Of course the tranquility was too good to last. I took one last longing look at the quiet spot behind me, then finished my stretch and headed toward the bustle of activity to see what was causing such a commotion.

  I approached a yellow police line and looked around. The county’s meager police department was out in force: four of the five police cruisers surrounded the area, forming a loose circle around the scene. An ambulance sat along the edge of the road with its rear doors open and ready to go. The paramedics, on the other hand, slouched on the back bumper with their arms crossed, watching but not participating in the action.

  The white coroner’s van was backed up on the same side of the road facing the opposite direction, which explained why the paramedics weren’t doing anything.

  I lifted the police tape and stepped under it, nodding to a lanky deputy named Stan Lee. Yeah, I feel sorry for him, too. There was no need to flash my credentials; I was his boss. Well, that and we’d gone to grade school together.

  I was nearly to the circle of cops and crime scene techs before I caught a glimpse of a delicate hand lying in the grass about ten feet from the side of the road, its glossy red fingernail polish gleaming in stark relief against the dull, gray skin of the fingers.

  As I made my way closer to the scene, I saw that the hand was attached to the body of a woman that lay crumpled about ten feet from the edge of the road, her platinum hair covering her face.

  Sam Cassidy, a seasoned deputy with forty-five years under his belt, waved me over. He used his body to shield me, which worked fairly well considering he was six-four and built like a tank.

  I’d known him since I was a kid and even though I was now his boss, he still saw me as a little girl if things got real. Of course, until recently, “getting real” usually involved a drunk tourist getting handsy when I’d have to haul him out of the Hook, our local dive bar. Even with—or more likely because of—the confluence of supernatural beings in Castle’s Bluff, things like this just don’t happen.

  I squared my shoulders and strode the final few feet to stand beside him, a frown creasing my brow. I opened my senses and caught the faint scent of a strange werewolf along with all of the other scents that I’d come to expect in this type of situation.

  The coroner, Colleen Bennett, and her team were finishing up and I would doubtless have the gory details in Hi-def waiting in my email when I got back to the office. Murders, or any violent crime for that matter, were so rare that Colleen served as both coroner and lead CSI. She was more than qualified and willing, so it was a win for us.

  I gestured toward the body, taking only a cursory glance as the two ambulance guys loaded the body bag onto the gurney.

  “Same as the last?” I asked Sam.

  “Identical. Looks like another animal attack, honey. Same tracks as last time are gathered around the body—some sort of dog or wolf. A big one.” He paused for a few seconds. “We gotta find what’s doing this, Cori. What was done to that poor girl ... nobody deserves that.”

  His voice was tired and his thick salt-and-pepper hair was standing on end. I knew he’d been running his fingers through it like he did anytime he was frustrated.

  He gestured toward my running clothes. “I got this handled if you want to go home and change or something.”

  I gave him a wry half-smile. “I will, but first I wanna take a look at the scene before everything gets trampled worse than it has. See you back at the station in an hour?”

  Sam nodded. “See ya then, kiddo.”

  Despite his use of pet names, Sam respects my position as sheriff. As a matter of fact, he’s the one who pushed for it when others urged him to step into the role instead. He said he likes fishin’ too much to listen to old ladies bicker over parking tickets. To be fair, that’s definitely a time-suck.

  I noted the slight hitch in his step as he walked back to his cruiser. He brushed off his aches and pains, but I worried about him. At 65, he was healthier than a lot of people in their early 50s, but still.

  I picked my way to the body, careful not to step on any tracks or get in the way of the photographer. Huge, dog-like footprints surrounded the body, so numerous that they overlapped each other. I pinched my lips together as I bent down to study them; the prints confirmed what I already knew: it was a werewolf, and a big one.

  Some of the impressions pushed deep into the mud, indicated that the wolf had been dragging something, which corresponded with the wider drag marks that were presumably left by the woman’s feet. Others were less pronounced, as if the beast had been just standing or walking around the area.

  It was as if he didn’t care if he got caught, which was a problem on a number of levels. He had to know the pack wouldn’t tolerate this, and if we didn’t get him, the Trackers would, and that was a hot mess that I wanted no part of. Ever. So, he didn’t care who knew what he’d done, and actually seemed to be flaunting it, but why?

  I closed my eyes and pulled a deep breath through my nose, trying to pick apart the different scents. I may as well have saved my breath. Just like with the other victims, all I could discern was that it was definitely the same single male werewolf that had committed the other crimes. I opened my eyes and looked around one last time before getting up.

  “Cori?” somebody said from behind me. My heart stuttered at the familiar voice, even though I hadn’t heard it in nearly twelve years.

  I paused as a tangled rat’s nest of competing emotions writ
hed in my stomach. I mentally wadded them up and shoved them to the back of my mind. That was a therapy session or twelve for another time.

  I willed my heart to slow before I pushed to my feet and turned to face the only man I’d ever really loved. Because, you know, I didn’t have enough to deal with right then. I schooled my face into a friendly yet detached expression.

  The years had chiseled the round edges of youth into the sharper angles that came with maturity. It looked good on him. His hair was lighter, pushing toward a sandy blond, and his skin was a deep bronze that came from a life lived outdoors. I struggled not to look at muscles that were straining through the t-shirt he was wearing.

  Down, girl, I warned myself.

  “Zach! How long’s it been?” As if I didn’t know. I stepped under the police tape and stood before him.

  He was smiling, but his eyes looked wary. “Twelve years.”

  I nodded, doing my best to fake nonchalance as my heart tried to beat its way out of my ribcage. “Wow! Long time. What are you doing here?” And why didn’t you leave me to begin with? I shook the errant thought off.

  “I have a friend here who told me about the animal attacks you’ve been having, so I came down to see if I could help. I’d just arrived in town when I heard there’d been another woman killed by a large canine.”

  I confirmed what he’d heard; it’s not like it hadn’t already made the gossip circuit, anyway. “Wolf I think, but I won’t know for sure until the coroner sends me her report. At this point, I can’t confirm that they’re related until I hear from her.”

  He’d said he came to see if we need some help. What did that mean? “So, are you some kind of vengeful hunter and you’re here to offer to help us track this thing and kill it, or are you actually a reporter looking for a story? Because to be honest, if it’s the latter, my office has nothing to say to you that we haven’t already said to the others.”