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

by Raven Snow

  I sat down next to her, Kosher taking the chair to my right. “Don’t play with me. I’m really not in the mood. You were sleeping with Chris Prandon.”

  She looked between the lipstick and me for a moment, calculating. “Fine. I slept with Chris.”

  “More than once?”

  The sound of her grinding her teeth filled the space between us. “More than once.”

  “That’s quite a conflict of interest for a journalist,” Kosher said. “I wonder if your readers would think you could be unbiased in a story about the murder of your boyfriend.”

  “My readers are idiots,” she said, seething. “They think what I tell them to think.” She took a deep breath. “I was working on that piece for weeks. Weeks. Do you know how much time that is in the news world? It may as well have been years.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, tapping my chin. “You slept with Chris on his boat. More time on the lake meant finishing up the story about the lake monster all that much quicker. And if someone—say a troublesome boyfriend—were to fall in and be eaten? Well, that makes a pretty good headline, wouldn’t you say, Kosher?”

  “Hell of a headline.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the two of us. “I didn’t shoot Chris and push him overboard. As you said, I’m walking a tight line here. If someone finds out I was sleeping with that bum, I’m done.”

  “Then, why write the story?”

  “Because it’s a hell of a headline.” Her smile was ice cold. “And I’m not going to let someone like Chris take that away from me. I’ve already done all the work.” She took a sip from her coffee. “Chris’s death was only the cherry on top, as far as I’m concerned. People eat that stuff up.”

  As twisted as Shard was, I kind of believed what she was saying. There was no insincerity in her, just a lack of compassion and human emotion. If killing Chris wouldn’t have improved her life any, I just couldn’t see her killing him in a fit of passion.

  Which was bad news for Kosher and me anyway.

  We left Shard to her coffee and writing, but I picked up the lipstick on the way out. She wasn’t completely cleared in my book, so I’d hang onto it. Just in case.

  I headed back out to the car with Kosher on my heels. Once away from the prying ears of reporters and caffeine addicts, we were free to discuss things openly.

  “My gut says she’s innocent,” Kosher said reluctantly. “At least of killing Chris.”

  “I agree. She’s definitely guilty of being a horrible human being.”

  “But that won’t exactly save me from going to the big house.”

  Rubbing my temples, I said, “Okay, so we don’t think it was Shard. And you’re pretty sure it wasn’t Sawyer.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  The solidarity between those two men was admirable and stupid. But Kosher had been on the force for a long time, so I decided to trust him on this. For now.

  If not Sawyer or Shard, we were running dangerously low on suspects. In a car and gas analogy, we’d be stuck on the side of the road, out of gas and stranded.

  “Fine,” I said. “But who does that leave?”

  “Me?”

  I shot him a look. Was I the only one interested in solving this mystery?

  At this point in past cases, I’d take another look at the facts. Since we were low on facts as well, I figured we needed a new angle. Unfortunately, that meant returning to a place that had almost made me wet my pants twice now.

  “We’ve got to go back and look at where they found the gun. In the light this time.”

  “We could have just brought a flashlight.”

  “How is that helpful to me now?”

  The drive to the lake was becoming second nature to me. I could’ve done it without even looking at the road. As Kosher was driving this time, I didn’t get to test out my theory, opting to stare out the window instead.

  I saw Sawyer’s form down on the dock, which meant no one was watching the bait shop. I did a little happy dance on the inside that I wouldn’t have to distract Sawyer with my feminine charms while Kosher searched the place.

  I wasn’t very feminine or charming.

  This time, we started inside, slipping through the unlocked door as quietly as possible. The store looked just as cluttered as before, so it was like running through an obstacle course trying to get around and search for clues.

  I banged my hip into a counter and swore a blue streak a mile long.

  “Now, is that any way for a nice young lady to talk?” Kosher mocked.

  “You’re just mad your boyfriend thinks I’m hot and that you’re yesterday’s news.”

  The next few minutes passed in silence as we searched under old pieces of furniture and shuffled through what looked like twenty years’ worth of receipts. Most of them for beer and cigarettes. It seemed Sawyer had a mostly liquid diet.

  I could respect that.

  “Find anything?” Kosher asked after finishing his half.

  “Not unless moldy corn chips count.”

  We moved our little search party outside, hurrying now, because it was getting closer and closer to sunset. The further the sun sunk in the sky, the more I felt a little hopeless and desperate.

  What if we didn’t find anything here? Searching the place where the police found the gun for undiscovered evidence was the last good idea I had. Without any suspects or new evidence, I might as well tell Vic the next time she’d be seeing her boyfriend would be at a conjugal visit.

  I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts of defeat that I almost missed the boot prints by the pile of firewood. They were a little small to belong to Sawyer, who was a big man though age had shrunk him.

  Crouching down, I realized the tread reminded me of rain boots. But it’d been sunny for weeks, so who would be wearing rubber boots?

  From my position on the ground, I could see under the pile of wood, and something caught my eye. It was bright, almost see-through, and contrasted with the darkness of the wood. Reaching under the collection, I felt around until my fingers closed around something plastic, the tip squishy.

  “What the…”

  I pulled out a pipette, like they used in science classes, and everything clicked into place. It was one of those beautiful moments in a case that I lived for, making all the crap that had come before worth it.

  It was Skipper, the environmentalist that had been hanging around the lake, taking samples. He’d have no reason to come up to the bait shop; he wasn’t fishing. And even if he’d come to talk to Sawyer, he wouldn’t have been out back with the firewood.

  That was the reason no one had found any prints besides Kosher’s, because Skipper wore gloves when he was testing the water. That little detail hadn’t fit with a crime of passion.

  I called Kosher over to show him my findings, and his face lit up. For a moment, I knew he could see himself being cleared of all charges, reinstated at the police department. He could finally stop hanging out with me. Oh, glorious day.

  Then, it all dimmed when reality came crashing back.

  “It’s a start, Harper, but it’s not enough to convict.”

  He was right. “We need motive.”

  A glint appeared in his eyes. “Yes, let’s go ask him. I saw his car by the lake when we pulled in.”

  Sawyer was gone from his chair when we headed down to the water, though he wasn’t back at the shop. We’d have crossed paths on the way here. Skipper was also missing, but his car was still parked in its usual spot.

  Could nothing go right today?

  But Kosher seemed to know what to do even if I didn’t. He put his finger to his lips and beckoned me forward into the woods. I was a little hesitant at first, because this was an area where no one would hear me scream.

  But I was intrigued.

  We traveled through a little patch of woods and came out in front of a couple of cabins. They were small, probably only containing the basics, and were made to look like they were built with logs. Being a city girl, I was mildly repulsed
.

  “Sawyer told me the kid was staying close to the lake,” Kosher said.

  In other words, Kosher had probably stumbled right past Skipper that night, drunk as a skunk. The environmentalist had then known that Chris was alone out on the water, and that Kosher would have no alibi come morning.

  You didn’t have to be a scientist to do that math.

  We ruled out the cabin that Kosher had stayed in and went straight to the oldest one, thinking of the budget of a kid trying to study bacteria in a lake. We hit the money, because after politely knocking, Skipper showed up at the door, looking surprised.

  “Oh, hey. Aren’t you guys Sawyer’s friends?”

  We introduced ourselves, and Skipper let us in, asking if we wanted anything to drink. He was a polite murderer I’d admit that.

  Once inside, I saw that the walls were covered with posters about Mother Earth, recycling, and anything else green related. He had his testing kit on the dining room table. Seemingly, these were his only possessions in the world besides ugly socks and rubber boots.

  “What can I do for you guys?”

  I ran a finger along one of his posters. “We’re investigating the murder of Chris Prandon.”

  “Oh.”

  Did I imagine a little nervous tremor in that short word?

  “We were wondering if you saw anything that night.”

  He hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Well, I saw the detective coming up here to sleep in one of the cabins. Then, I was inside mine for the rest of the night.”

  “Alone?” Kosher asked, scenting blood in the water.

  Skipper nodded.

  Neither of us said anything to that. Instead, we just stared at Skipper, really putting the pressure on. He stood there, eyes flickering between Kosher and me. A single bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and I knew we had him.

  A little victory song sounded in my head, and I couldn’t help but smile. This wasn’t going to be the case I failed on. My record was still intact.

  Take that Chief Hauptman.

  It was probably the smile that unnerved him, that was just a step too far. He expected someone to put the screws to him, but smiling? We must have known more than he thought.

  Skipper turned tail and ran out the back door, quick as a bunny. Kosher and I glanced at each other in surprise, and then, the chase was on.

  We ran after him through the trees we just came through. My feet were flying, but I still didn’t feel like I was making up any ground. Man, Skipper was fast.

  But he was about to run out of deck into water, not really paying attention where he was going. I guessed we just scared the sense out of him. Which was a little flattering.

  He screeched to a halt right before he would’ve charged into the water off the edge of the dock. Trying to change direction, he took a moment too long to decide to go left or right to get around us, and we were on him. He made a squeaking noise as Kosher and I surrounded him.

  “Why’d you do it, Skipper? Chris make one too many jokes about your bacteria?” Kosher asked.

  Apparently, Skipper’s microorganisms were a point of pride. Good to know.

  “No!” Skipper said, shaking his vehemently. “It wasn’t that.”

  “So, what was it Skipper? We’re trying to understand why you’d shoot a man point blank and then feed him to Sabrina. Not to mention that you tried to do away with the both of us.” I motioned to Kosher and myself.

  “No, no! I would never!” He made a little moaning sound in the back of his throat, and I swear I saw tears in his eyes.

  I blinked. I never had a murderer cry on me before. And I really hoped I could still say that when the night was through. It’d just be embarrassing for everyone involved.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he said, sounding like a little boy instead of a young man.

  “You didn’t mean to shoot Chris in the chest?” Kosher asked.

  “Or you didn’t mean to push us off this dock and into Sabrina’s tender mercies?” I asked. “Didn’t mean to try and frame Kosher for murder with his gun, badge, and cell phone?”

  He looked away, and that was enough of an answer to my last question.

  “I didn’t push you in the lake,” he said. “Just wrote the note. I just wanted you to stay away, so I could work.”

  “So you wouldn’t get caught for murder you mean.”

  His words jogged my memory about the threatening note on the back door at the Funky Wheel. After someone tried to kill me with a giant lake monster, a note had ranked pretty low in my worries.

  Still, it was entirely possible that he was just pleading guilty to the note to save himself two counts of attempted murder to go with his one count of actually doing the deed.

  Tears started rolling down Skipper’s face, and I felt a little like a bully. Shifting uneasily, I kept my guard up in case this was some kind of ploy.

  “He—he just…he wouldn’t stop throwing cans in the lake.”

  Whatever I thought Skipper was about to say, that wasn’t it. Both Kosher and I rocked back on our heels. I resolved not to let him know that I usually just threw away my paper instead of recycling. Bad Harper.

  Skipper read our looks of surprise and judgment. “It wasn’t the cans really. It was….”

  “The principle of the thing?” I asked dryly.

  Skipper shook his head, looking miserable. “Chris was always here—everyday! And every day I’d ask him to throw his beer cans away on land, and he’d just laugh at me. Like wanting to save the environment is so funny.”

  I could picture that all right. Chris had been a typical “good ol’ boy”. And he was jerk to everyone below him in high school. Heckling Skipper would have been a bigger treat than catching a huge trout.

  “So, you came out here that night,” I said, prompting Skipper to continue, “to talk to him?”

  “I just wanted to take some samples. The batch I’d done that day had spilled. Faulty lid.” He crossed his arms, warding us off. “Chris was out there drinking on his boat. He called me over, so I could see his new recycling bin,” he said bitterly.

  My mind filled in the details. Skipper, hopeful that he’d actually changed Chris’s mind, skipped over to the boat where a drunken Chris was waiting. Chris always had been a mean drunk.

  “Once I got on the boat, he…said some things,” Skipper said, looking away. “And then he threw the can in the lake and said, ‘Like my new trash can?’”

  “And you grabbed the gun,” Kosher said, almost gently.

  Skipper nodded hopelessly. “It was laying there. I thought I’d scare him. It would’ve served him right.” His tears were coming faster now. “I don’t know what happened.”

  While Skipper tried to pull himself together, I watched the moonlight shining down on the glassy, black lake and thought about Chris Prandon’s legacy. At least it could be said that he died as he lived: being a jerk to everyone around him.

  It was really too bad that it was Skipper that killed him. He seemed to be an all right kid, and that just sucked all the fun out of finding my killer. I should have been jumping for joy, but instead, I just felt tired. I wanted to go home, hug Cooper, and tell him if he ever killed someone, he needed to cover his tracks better.

  “Oh, God, I killed him,” Skipper wailed. “I killed someone.”

  Neither Kosher nor I knew what to say to that, exchanging wide-eyed, confused glances. This wasn’t exactly how I expected the evening to go. There was a lot more crying and a lot less butt kicking.

  Skipper stepped forward, seemingly turning himself over to us. That also would have been a first for me and a nice surprise. Instead, his foot slipped on the damp deck. He let out a high-pitched yelp and went over the edge, splashing into the water.

  Unlike with us, there was no delay time. The water immediately started shaking and rumbling. From this vantage, we could see the whole lake being disturbed, like a localized hurricane was happening.

  I ran over to the edge of the deck, whi
le Kosher cursed not having a service gun. When I peered over the edge, keeping my body from following his over, Skipper was flailing around. His head was barely above the surface.

  “Give me your hand,” I said, reaching out as far as I dared.

  “No! I deserve to die for what I did to that man.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s a little dramatic.”

  The upset in the water was causing waves that crashed against the poles holding up the boardwalk, splashing me in the face. It was hard to keep my eyes on Skipper while I was basically drowning on dry land. Kosher came to crouch next to me, seeing why I hadn't fished our suspect out of the lake yet.

  "You realize Sabrina is going to eat you, right?" My words were almost lost over the wall of sound crashing down on us.

  Somehow, that reached him, and a little bit of fear sparked in his eyes. Drowning was one thing, but being eaten alive? That's a whole different story. I'd choose prison any day. Most of my friends were there.

  He reached up towards us, but the rolling water kept pushing him a little forward and then a great leap back, dragging him out towards the middle of the lake where presumably Sabrina would slurp him up like a noodle. I really didn't want to see that.

  "Hold my legs," I called to Kosher, inching my body over the deck.

  I bent at the waist, using my core muscles to lift my body enough that I could stretch out to reach Skipper's hand. It was wet, and it slipped away once, but I grabbed his fingers again. I swear I squeezed so tightly it was a wonder they didn't pop off. Skipper didn't complain, though; he had bigger problems.

  Because right when I grabbed onto Skipper's hand, Sabrina made her appearance. Like someone diving in reverse, she soared up from the middle of the lake, sending a wave of water charging towards us. For a few moments it felt like it was pouring rain down on us.

  “Pull us in! Pull us in!” I yelled to Kosher, losing all of my cool.

  The sound of my voice seemed to help Sabrina zero in on our location, her giant, yellow eyes turning our way. Then, she started to move.

  At that point, I was screaming. Skipper was screaming. Somewhere behind me, Kosher was screaming. It was a wonder they didn’t hear the cacophony throughout the town.