Witching in the Moonlight (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 11)

by Raven Snow

  Kosher looked paler than usual, his hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d just rolled out of bed. The clothes he wore were the ones he’d worn last night and were wrinkled and raised.

  His most distinguishing trait, however, was that I could smell the booze oozing from his pores a couple towns over.

  “Didn’t we have a fun night,” I said, moving aside and leading him into the kitchen. This is where I entertained all my potentially dangerous, uninvited guests. Consistency was key.

  I poured him what was left of the tea, because he looked like he could use a boatload or two of caffeine. While he sipped, we sat across the table from each other in silence.

  I was the one to break it. “I’ll have to report you to Vic, you know.” I didn’t even mention that I was, of course, going to have to tell Wyatt.

  “She knows I’m here,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “She sent me. After filling me in on what’s been going on in my absence.”

  His voice was accusatory towards the end, so I thought I’d clear some things up.

  “I was in favor of chasing you out of town with pitchforks.”

  Normally, that would have set Kosher off on a whole rant about me. An unflattering rant. This time, though, he let out a puff of air through his nose and controlled his temper.

  It was then that I realized he wanted something from me. A grin spread across my face.

  “What do they have on me so far?”

  “A bullet wound in Chris that was made by a police officer’s gun,” I said. “They found your badge too, putting you at the scene.”

  He digested that for a moment. I let him have that time, and then I said, “Was feeding him to a lake monster part of your plan or just a happy coincidence?”

  Happy for me, that is. Not so much for Chris. Although, when you’ve got a bullet in your chest, everything else is probably small potatoes.

  “I didn’t kill Chris,” he said, having the gall to sound annoyed.

  I threw up my hands. If we were going to play this game, I was going to need a pick me up. Leaving him at the table, I put the kettle back on the burner.

  “So you want the people of Waresville to believe you went to the lake in the middle of the night to talk to him?”

  Kosher made a face. “No, I went to kick his ass.”

  “That’ll make for a strong defense.”

  The look he shot me was pure irritation. “I went to confront him about flirting with Vic, but when I got there….” He shrugged. “The guy looked so pathetic that I stayed on the boat to have a drink with him.”

  “One drink?”

  “Okay, a lot of drinks. He was all hung up about something.”

  Like a shark scenting blood in the water, I perked up. “Do you remember what that was?”

  Kosher shook his head. “My memory is a little fuzzy, but when I left the boat a couple hours later, Chris was alive. I stumbled over to one of the cabins you can rent and spent the night.”

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, I said, “And a good chunk of the day. Why did Vic want you to come here? I’m the least likely person not to throw you to the dogs.”

  But as soon as I said it, I wondered if that were true. A traitorous part of me believed Kosher’s story, though it was very convenient. Or inconvenient, since no one could prove it and clear him of murder. It was inconvenient for Kosher, anyway. The prosecutor would see it as a slam-dunk.

  Slowly, as if each word was a tooth he was wrenching from his mouth, he said, “I need your help.”

  My lips twitched. This moment was just too good.

  “My help? Well, what do you know.”

  I could hear his teeth grinding against one another. It almost echoed in the silent room.

  “You’re…good at resolving hopeless situations,” he said, begrudgingly.

  I wondered if it hurt him to say that. Probably.

  “First, you make them a whole hell of a lot worse, of course.”

  “Of course.” My eyes rolled of their own accord. “It’s part of the creative process.”

  After having a silent laugh at Kosher’s expense, I got to thinking about the problem. I was no stranger to avoiding the law and neither were the people I helped on my little rampages. This situation wasn’t completely unique, though I was going to enjoy this next part.

  I grabbed the phone from Kosher’s pocket, ignoring the indignant cry he gave. Dropping the device to the floor, I slammed my foot down with all my might. The screen splintered and went dark, dying.

  “First rule,” I said. “No answering your phone.”

  “I was doing a great job of that already, thank you,” he said dryly.

  Okay, maybe that part had been solely for me.

  I motioned for him to follow me back to the door, glancing up the stairs nervously to make sure Wyatt was nowhere in sight. Hiding fugitives is more difficult when you’re married to a cop. The sacrifices I make for that man.

  “Next rule: you don’t go home.” I opened up the door. “Drive to an out-of-the-way motel outside of town. Pay in cash for the night. Keep paying in cash for each individual night under a different name. Do not book ahead or switch around motels.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and I explained. “They’re going to be calling and asking for people who just checked in and who are staying for a while. Stay at one place so you can learn the ways and remain unseen,” I told him. “People who go outside their comfort zone are spotted a mile away.

  “Once you’re out of town, pick up a burner phone and only use it to call me.”

  We heard a bump upstairs, and I shoved him out the door without another word. Seconds later, Wyatt lumbered down the stairs, looking rested.

  “Were you talking to someone?” he asked, stretching at the bottom of the stairs.

  I enjoyed the sight for a moment before I answered.

  “Just the voices in my head.”

  He nodded. “They say anything interesting?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  A pause. “Why is Stoner Stan sleeping on my couch?”

  Chapter Four

  There had been a lot of yelling and swearing on both our parts, but Wyatt eventually agreed to let Stan stay for a couple days. By that time, I hoped I would’ve talked him out of quitting or checked him into rehab. Either option would work for me.

  So, that was how I ended up carpooling to work with Stan, who kept sticking his head out the window so he could “feel the taste of the wind in his mouth.” The man was completely sober at the moment, too.

  While Stan flipped through the radio stations like wildfire, I made a mental note to tell Cooper to never smoke. There really could only be one pothead under a single roof.

  The sun was fading over the horizon when we pulled up to the Funky Wheel. The last rays of light reflected off the blacked-out windows, almost blinding me. As soon as I opened the car door, a sneezing Jeb was by my side.

  “How’d he do, Miss Foxxy?” Jeb asked, nodding at Stan, his voice more hoarse than usual.

  “I guess you didn’t hear the sirens.”

  Though I was tall for a woman, Jeb towered over me. He gave off the air of someone who had been around the track and seen everything it had to offer. Wyatt disapproved of me employing him, since we were both pretty sure he was a felon.

  Wyatt was weird about people who broke the law. I, on the other hand, took a looser stand about it. Because of that loose stand and my own past, I didn’t mind paying Jeb under the table. Like with Stan, he was family.

  Standing back, I craned my head to inspect Jeb’s color, or lack thereof. “You should’ve stayed home. You look like death.”

  He shook his head. “Missing yesterday was bad enough.”

  Shrugging, I let him lead the way into the disco skate. Jeb worked harder than anybody in the town, sending most of the money from his two jobs home to his mother, a woman that won’t even visit him.

  But that’s none of my business.

  I ordered Stan to t
he bathroom for cleaning detail, knowing full well no actual cleaning would be done. At least there was little chance of him burning anything down in there. Especially since he’s off the stuff.

  While we were going through the motions of turning on the lights and music, I filled Jeb in on Stan’s change of heart. He almost dropped a piece of sound equipment in surprise. I needed better timing for delivering life-changing news.

  Once the speaker was safely on the ground in its correct position, he said, “It’ll never last.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Funny, Wyatt said the same thing.”

  Jeb shuffled off at that, suitably shamed and mumbling under his breath. While he shared my universal distrust of cops, Jeb especially didn’t like Wyatt. My husband had once arrested Jeb for something he didn’t do, and the bouncer never got over it.

  For a criminal, being accused of something you’re actually innocent of sticks in the craw.

  It also could’ve had something to do with the fact that if Wyatt had his way, Jeb wouldn’t have a job. But I wasn’t in the habit of letting Wyatt have his way.

  Whistling to myself, I stuck a pizza in the oven and got the hot dog machine going. The bar was fully stocked, though I’d forgotten to check the night before. No last-minute beer runs for me.

  Once we opened up for the general public, it became clear that it was going to be a slow night. People trickled in instead of the steady stream I was hoping for. Tonight, I could’ve really used some hard work to get this case off my mind.

  No matter how much I tried to move forward, my mind kept catching on the notion that I was now helping Kosher. Gut instincts aside, all the evidence pointed to him being guilty.

  Not that I was one for evidence. I usually worked best when all the odds were against me.

  Still, even if he was innocent, he was still a man I loved to hate. Vic’s wishes aside, was Kosher worth lying to Wyatt for? We’d been through this before, and I knew he’d be pissed at me for keeping this secret, even if it was best he didn’t know.

  By law, and to keep his job, he’d have to report Kosher to their boss. Turning on a friend would hurt Wyatt, but would he want me to protect him? Did I care about what he wanted or his well-being?

  Shaking my head, I plastered on a smile and kept serving drinks. My mind was only running in circles, so I kept it carefully blank until the end of the shift.

  After depositing Stan on the couch that was beginning to smell like him, I trudged up the stairs and fell into bed. My dreams were restless.

  ****

  The next morning I woke up in a foul mood. Going to bed with unfinished business does that to me. I knew I’d feel better once I decided on this Kosher issue, either way, but that wasn’t helping me make a decision.

  I slammed my mug down on the kitchen table, some of the tea running over onto the surface.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Wyatt said into his coffee cup, hiding a smile.

  “Don’t you start with me.”

  “I love you.”

  I glowered at him. “Love. That and four quarters, and I’d have a dollar.”

  Liam, ever the late riser, chose that moment to bound into the kitchen. He brought with him one of the moving boxes I'd seen in the living room. It appeared he was going to solve the mystery I hadn't been all that interested in.

  "I'm sure you've all been wondering about the boxes," he said, looking perky and full of life.

  I couldn't have that.

  "Not really," I said. "Do you still live here?"

  His smile faltered in the face of my mighty grumpy attitude and then came back in full force. "Actually, no. I'm moving out."

  I looked at Wyatt. "Get the champagne. The day we've been waiting years for has finally arrived."

  "I've only been here a few months."

  Taking a sip of tea, I thought about it. "No, that doesn't seem right."

  Liam recovered in the face of my best efforts, and I had to say I was impressed. He went about arranging the boxes by the front door, watching Wyatt and I out of the corner of his eyes the whole time. Obviously, he wanted help, but I wasn't in the mood to offer to lift anything, and Liam was too proud to ask.

  After a few minutes, Wyatt sighed, putting down his paper. "Want some help with that?"

  "If you're not too busy."

  Between the three of us, we loaded up the two cars, as Liam didn't have one, in a half an hour. By the time we were through, Cooper was just waking up, yawning widely and coming outside to watch us in his PJs.

  "Are you moving out, Uncle Liam?"

  He ruffled Cooper's hair just like Wyatt does. "Sure am. I'm moving in with Oliver."

  I blinked. This was news to me. Oliver, in addition to being Liam's boyfriend, was my best guy friend. I couldn't believe he was moving in with my brother-in-law and hadn't even told me.

  The more I thought about it, the more worried I became. Oliver was even worse with commitment than I was. Even a few months ago he'd been sleeping with the entire population of Waresville. He had to be freaking out right now. Like shave your head and get a spur of the moment tattoo freaking out.

  "Is Harper making you leave?" Cooper asked nervously.

  Liam and Wyatt answered "no" at the same time I answered "yes".

  Wyatt shot me a look. "Uncle Liam is welcome to come back whenever he wants."

  Rolling my eyes, I thought about how Wyatt had just told me the other day that he was going to strangle his brother if he stayed another night. But that was family for you. You threaten to kill them if they ever darken your doorstep again, but you take them in anyway when they do.

  "Sure, he can come back," I told Cooper. Then, under my breath so only Liam and Wyatt could hear, I said, "If he wants to leave again in a body bag."

  Smiling widely, I patted a paling Liam on the back and took his suitcase from him, putting it in the backseat of the bug.

  We headed over to Oliver's in two separate cars. Cooper was with me, and Wyatt smartly had Liam ride in his car. I was feeling unfriendly, and I wanted my house back. Especially if I was going to have to house Stan. He hadn't been there for months, only days. That was the crucial difference between the two.

  Like I'd predicted, Oliver, a lean warlock with dark skin and a rich New Orleans accent, was pacing the front lawn when we pulled up, his usual cape billowing in the wind. Liam took one look at his condition (sweats, chills, darting eyes) and gave him a peck on the cheek. He wisely said nothing, opting to just help Wyatt move his stuff into the house instead.

  I'd done my heavy lifting for the day, so I walked up to Oliver, moving slowly as one might towards a wounded animal. As soon as I was in range, he seized my arm, drawing me close and likely giving me bruises.

  "On the count of three," he breathed, "we'll run for the car. Don't say anything. Just drive."

  "Okay," I said easily, though his fingers were crushing me. "Where are we going?"

  "Anywhere. Everywhere.... Away."

  "I hear those places are lovely this time of year. Did you pack sunblock?"

  His expression was sour when he looked at me. "I'm in crisis here. As my best friend, you need to be too."

  Shrugging, I said, "Best friends usually tell each other when they're moving in with their boyfriend."

  "I've been calling you all week." Oliver shook his head mournfully. "All that would come out was a choking noise, and then I'd hang up."

  "I did wonder about that," I admitted. "I just figured someone cut out your tongue as some ritual sacrifice. But there's been this lake monster thing going on, so it fell pretty far down on the list."

  His screaming eyes held equal parts panic and curiosity, so I filled him in on the situation, especially the bit about Kosher’s involvement. By the end, he was completely focused on me, a grin spreading across his face.

  “Oh, that is just too good.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I said. That awful Kosher, after years of berating me, needs my help.” A pause. “But I’m not sure he’s going to ge
t it.”

  Oliver held up his hands like he was stopping traffic. “What do you mean?”

  Quickly, and in hushed tones so Wyatt and Liam wouldn’t hear, I explained my reservations. He listened to the parts about Wyatt’s feelings, my own feelings for Kosher, and the fact that this was almost an impossible case to win.

  “But that’s exactly why you have to do it!” There was fire in his eyes, and I was a little worried that it might set the town ablaze.

  “If you clear Kosher’s name,” he said, “he’ll owe you forever. No more undermining your mystery solving efforts or being a pain in the ass. You’ll also save Wyatt the pain of locking up a friend, so the ends justify the means there.” He thought about it. “Vic would be grateful, too.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said, still unsure at my core. “But—”

  “Harper, forget about all that,” he said, waving his hand. “This is a lake monster. This is the case of your career. You could retire on this case.”

  “I’m not sure you understand that I don’t get paid for this.”

  But he was off on a tangent, and there was no bringing him back now.

  “This case is like something out of a folktale,” he said. “If you solve it, they’ll be telling stories about you.”

  “Are you saying that all my tales aren’t worth heralding?”

  But he had a point. No matter the issues with Kosher, this was a one of a kind case. How many lake monsters were there in the Waresville area? Only the one that I knew of. When was another case like this going to fall into my lap?

  In the end, though, despite all the other reasons, I think it was Hope that got to me. I kept hearing her cries upstairs when I’d visited Vic, and I remembered what it was like to grow up without a father.

  Chris had been a crappy human being, but he must have done something right to win the heart of that little girl. So, I was going to find his killer and bring him or her to justice.

  Even if that person was Kosher.

  I waved good-bye to my family, who looked at me quizzically. I wasn’t going to spend another sleepless night worrying about Kosher. In fact, when I was done with my business, I fancied taking a nap.