Hotter Than Spell (An Elemental Witches of Eternal Springs Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Annabel Chase

  “What does a Great Dane have to do with me?” It wasn’t like Lucas and I were dating or anything. We’d only run into each other a couple of times.

  “We've seen you spending time with the Shirtless Wonder and his mighty steed,” Tut replied.

  “I don't know anyone with a horse,” I said, being deliberately obtuse.

  “You know exactly who I mean,” Tut said, retracting his claws and popping them out again for affect.

  “Put those away,” I admonished him. “You know you can't intimidate me. That chair will become electric faster than you can say cat.” I wiggled my index finger in a menacing manner.

  Tut relaxed back into the chair. “The dog and her shirtless friend have been coming to the forest for years. We’re familiar with her feces.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. I couldn't believe this was the conversation I was having. I seriously hoped Dottie wasn’t eavesdropping.

  “Listen, I have information for you, but you need to remain calm,” I said.

  Tut’s ears perked up. “You have information for me?”

  “It happens on occasion.” I cleared my throat. “The truth is I’m glad you came by because I’ve needed to talk to you. Apparently, there are flying monkeys at large.”

  Tut froze. “Flying monkeys?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed them in the forest. That’s where they seem to be congregating at the moment.”

  “It’s a rather big wooded area,” Tut said defensively. “I take it they’re from…”

  I nodded. “I’ll get rid of them, I promise. Just keep the little ones on a tight leash for now. Maybe institute a curfew until the matter’s been resolved.”

  “And when will that be?” Tut inquired. “You know wrangling cats isn’t easy.”

  “I can’t give you a date,” I said. "My time is a little on the tight side at the moment."

  “Because of the murder?”

  I blew out an annoyed breath. “How do you know about that?”

  “Because I was peering over Skye’s shoulder at her house while she wrote about it.”

  My whole body tensed. “You saw Skye writing an article about Pete's murder?” That filthy witch! She knew perfectly well she needed to wait to run that story. It would reflect negatively on the competition, as well as the town. I couldn't have that.

  Tut dug his claws into the upholstery of the chair. “Who’s Kyle Charney?”

  “Kyle Charney?” I echoed. “He's the tax assessor for the northern quadrant. Why?” What on earth did Kyle Charney have to do with anything?

  Tut retracted his claws again, leaving tiny holes in the fabric. “I have no idea, but his name is mentioned in the article. I suppose you should ask Skye.”

  Right now, I would rather wash my eyes with bleach, but I needed any information Skye had. I had no choice but to pay her a visit.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I said. “Next time it might be better if you visit me at home.” Not that I wanted that either, but I also didn't want rumors circulating at the office about strange visits from a hairless cat.

  “As you wish,” Tut said, and promptly jumped down from the chair. I watched in fascination as he stood on his hind legs, jiggled the doorknob with both paws, and let himself out. He was so competent — if he weren't a feral cat, I'd probably hire him.

  It didn't take me long to track down the wind witch. In typical Skye fashion, she was still at home in her pajamas. As far as I was concerned, the witch had no work ethic and even fewer organizational skills. The second the front door opened, a winged creature zoomed toward me, skimming over the top of my head.

  “Swoops!” I shouted. “That bat is a menace to hairstyles everywhere.”

  Skye appeared in the doorway, laughing. “It’s an improvement from where I’m standing.”

  I smoothed my dark hair. “I want to see the article your writing,” I demanded.

  Skye’s expression shifted to one of complete innocence. “What article? The one on the opening of Mary Lou's chiropractic clinic? I'd be happy to share it with you, but it isn't finished yet.”

  I folded my arms. “You know exactly which article I'm referring to. I explicitly asked you not to cover the murder right now. The competition is days away. You’ll completely ruin the event if you publish a story about a murder connected to it.”

  “The news is the news,” Skye said. “People deserve to know if there’s a murderer afoot.”

  Swoops raced back through the open door, nearly knocking the earring straight out of my earlobe. Hungry, the bat said. On verge of total collapse.

  “Don't you ever feed this poor bat?” I asked.

  Skye shot him a warning look. “What do you think? You don't get as chubby as him without more food than you need.”

  “Now that you mention it, Swoops does look a bit heavier than the last time I saw him.”

  Skye stared at me. “That’s offensive and rude.”

  “What? You mentioned it first.”

  Skye eyed me the way I looked at Dottie when she came to the office wearing go-go boots and a mini-dress.

  “By the way,” I said quickly. “You’re on Zola’s list because of the candle wax prank.”

  “I’m pretty sure that was you, fire witch.”

  “Nice try. Zola and I figured it out, so you may want to make it up to her before she finds a way to repay you.”

  “Since when do you two put your heads together?” she asked, a note of suspicion creeping into her voice.

  “I went looking for cackleberries, which apparently you cleaned out of the forest. Zola didn’t have a batch ready either.” I didn’t mention the incident with Clover. The last thing I needed was Skye knowing about the problem in the forest. Knowing her, she’d probably conjure up a strong gust of wind to bring the stench downtown the day of the competition.

  “What can I say? A girl has needs.”

  I have needs, Swoops said, sailing past us. Dietary needs.

  “Tell me about Kyle Charney,” I said.

  “The tax assessor? I’m pretty sure he’s married. Why, are you interested?” Skye batted her eyes. No, she couldn't make this easy, could she?

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have time to mess around. My To-Do list was far too lengthy at this point. “Name your price,” I said.

  “How about another rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart on karaoke night?”

  Coconuts hosted karaoke every Friday night. Although I don't usually sing in public, Skye had accidentally spelled the rum runners, which resulted in an evening of ’80s power ballads. I was still living down that night. I even heard the janitor humming the familiar bars of the Bonnie Tyler song when he was mopping the floor behind me the other night.

  “No way,” I said. “Something else.” Anything else…except country. I draw the line at country music.

  Skye smiled. “Okay, fine. How about a song of your choosing?”

  I huffed. “No karaoke, Skye.”

  She doubled down. “No karaoke, no Kyle Charney. See how that works?”

  I resisted the urge to shake my fist at her. She knew she had me. “Paybacks are a witch,” I said. I felt a brief moment of satisfaction when I saw the fear flicker in her eyes. Just as quickly, it was gone.

  “It turns out that Kyle Charney has been hired to replace Pete Simpson as the drummer for Fat Gandalf.”

  The dumpy tax assessor was a part-time rock-n-roll drummer?

  “So you think that's a motive for murder? The local tax assessor desperately wanted to be the drummer in a local band that may or may not win a competition?”

  Skye shrugged. “If I’ve learned one thing in my years of reporting, it’s that people do things for dumbass reasons. What you or I would consider a strong motive isn't necessarily relevant.”

  Fair point. “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I only got the tip yesterday. When I went by his house, he wasn't there.”

  “Perfect,
thanks,” I said. With Skye still in pajamas, I had plenty of time to track down Kyle before she did. “I'm going to ask you one more time. Please hold off on publishing a story about Pete’s death until after the competition.”

  “Buddy is already annoyed about the negative gossip,” Skye said. “You want me to forgo the opportunity to turn the screw?” She clucked her tongue.

  “He'll have a heart attack if you publish a story that ruins the competition that the town has invested so much money in,” I said.

  “Let’s be honest. Would Buddy having a heart attack really be such a bad thing?” she queried. “I don’t even think his wife would be upset, unless she was put in charge of the bed pan.”

  I disliked Buddy as much as anybody else, but he was also my boss in a convoluted way and I generally endeavored not to piss him off.

  “We had a deal, Skye,” I said. “How about I ask Zola not to return the favor of pranking you?”

  Skye made a show of examining her stubby fingernails. “I’ll hold off on the story on one condition.”

  Uh oh. This didn't bode well for me. I could feel it in my bones. “What is it?”

  “You invite Skywalker to Coconuts for karaoke night,” she said smugly.

  My eyes popped. “How do you know about Lucas?”

  She smirked. “I'm the town reporter, remember? It's my job to know things.”

  “I barely know him,” I said. “What’s the point of inviting him?”

  “Ah, but you want to know him,” she said. “So that ramps up the embarrassment factor to a higher, more enjoyable level.”

  “He’s a really nice guy, Skye,” I said. “And we were awful to him.”

  “So you want to pity date him, is that it?”

  “I don’t pity him,” I said quickly.

  Her eyes lit up. “But you do want to date him. I knew it! My sources are always good.” She flicked an invisible piece of lint off my shoulder. “Invite Skywalker to your big performance or the deal’s off.”

  I couldn't possibly invite Lucas to Coconuts, especially when I was being forced to sing karaoke. He'd never want to see me again. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't want that to happen. On the other hand, I desperately needed Skye to hold off on the story for the good of the town, not to mention for the good of my job. A failed Battle of the Bands competition could mean the loss of my job. Buddy would have blinders on when it came to all the good I'd done before this. He would only be able to focus on what was right in front of him. Like a toddler.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” I said. I regretted the words the moment they passed my lips, but there was nothing I could do about it. I fled Skye’s house and went in search of Kyle Charney.

  Chapter Ten

  Just my luck that Kyle Charney was assessing houses in the northern quadrant. I called that area of the island the tundra because the temperature there was much colder than the part of town where I lived, and I hated the cold with a fiery passion…which made sense given that I was a fire witch.

  I stopped by my house to grab a coat and hat. The wind alone would be frigid without extra layers. I ran upstairs to find Gerald in my bedroom, curled up on the bottom edge of the bed. He looked so adorable that I slowed my pace so as not to disturb him.

  When I opened the closet door, I let out a shriek of dismay. My clothes were in disarray—a black top hung beside a green one, while two red tops were interrupted by a blue top. It was anarchy! Worst of all, my freshly laundered jeans were in a crumpled in a heap on the floor.

  “Gerald,” I yelled at the top of my lungs, forgetting he was asleep on the bed behind me.

  The armadillo cracked his sleepy eyes and peered at me. Is it a mouse?

  “No, it is not a mouse, but thank you for putting that image in my head.” Gerald knows that mice are a secret fear of mine. Their little flexible endoskeletons freaked me out.

  He fluttered over to the closet. What happened in here?

  “That’s what I’m asking you. I thought you were going to perfect the organizational spell. This is the opposite of perfect.”

  I was busy researching the flying monkey issue today. I didn’t bother with the organizational spell. It must’ve been that Stuart, trying to frame me.

  “You can’t blame it on Stuart,” I said. “He’s not even smart enough to find a way into the house undetected.”

  It wasn’t me, I swear it, miss, Gerald said. He paused. Actually, I take it back. I did begin a color coordination spell but got distracted by a package delivery. Your monthly vegetable box.

  “Great, thanks,” I said distractedly. “I need to find my coat, but everything’s out of order.” The cottons were even mixed with the synthetics. It was a textiles nightmare.

  I thought you kept your coat with the Rarely Used Items, Gerald pointed out.

  I snapped my fingers. “You’re right. Well done, Gerald. All is forgiven.” I hurried downstairs to the closet under the stairs, where I stored any items I might need one day, like a pair of Rollerblades or a chef’s apron. Or a coat.

  Why do you need a coat? Gerald asked, as I slipped on the warm and cozy eggplant-colored coat. You despise the cold.

  “I have to beat Skye to the tundra to question a suspect,” I said.

  A suspect? Shouldn’t you leave that to Buddy?

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Leave work to Buddy? You can’t be serious. That man can’t find a fourteen-inch knitting needle in his wife’s yarn basket. He’s still waiting for the toxicology results before he’s willing to label the death suspicious.”

  Fair enough, miss.

  “The Battle of the Bands has to go off without a hitch,” I said, feeling my anxiety level rise. “If the only thing people can talk about is Pete’s unsolved murder, that will ruin the event. I wanted this to be the first of an annual event, not a one-time only.”

  Be sure to wear your gloves, miss, Gerald advised. You know how your fingers get stiff in the cold. Makes it hard to do magic if you need to.

  I patted his silky head. “That’s why you’re my familiar, Gerald. You’re always looking out for me.” I pulled a pair of gloves from my coat pocket and slipped them on. “If you see Stuart lurking around the house, tell him that his guerrilla warfare tactics won’t work.”

  I acknowledged that the closet wasn’t due to Stuart, miss.

  “Oh, right. That you did. Sorry. My mind is in fifty places right now.”

  Permission to Taser him anyway? Gerald asked hopefully.

  I squinted at my pink fairy armadillo. “Since when do you have a Taser?”

  Not an actual Taser, Gerald said. A little fairy stun magic. Works like a charm.

  “You’re in charge,” I said. “Use whatever force you deem necessary.”

  Gerald’s wings fluttered rapidly, his excitement evident. I’ll have hot cocoa ready for your return.

  “You’re the best,” I called over my shoulder.

  The ride to the northern end of the island took longer than I anticipated. I should’ve worn a ski mask instead of a hat. I was fairly certain there were icicles under my nose. It’s no mystery that this part of the island has the fewest inhabitants. What is a mystery is why anyone chooses to live here at all.

  It wasn’t difficult to locate Kyle Charney. His bright orange golf cart had the Eternal Springs logo painted on the side. I noticed that it didn’t identify him as the tax assessor, though, which I was sure was a strategic move. He didn’t want people to see him coming and refuse to answer their doors. Property taxes weren’t ridiculously expensive like they are on the mainland, especially New Jersey—how anyone could live there, I’d never understand. Even so, nobody wanted Kyle to come knocking and end the day with an increase in their annual property taxes.

  I waited by his golf cart, uncertain which of the houses on the street he was assessing now. They appeared to be identical houses in an assortment of colors. There must have been a homeowners’ association rule that no neighboring houses could share the same exterior paint color.
r />   My breath came out as mist thanks to the cold. I danced around on the sidewalk to keep myself warm, resisting the urge to use magic. I didn’t want to do anything that would draw attention to myself. Goddess knew we did enough of that thirteen years ago. I tried to keep my magic to a minimum. I didn’t trust the reaction of island residents should my secret ever get out.

  Kyle emerged from the house to my left, swaddled in a down jacket and clutching a clipboard. He glanced up in surprise at the sight of me.

  “Kenna?” he asked. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “I’m the director of tourism for the entire island, Kyle, not just the good part…I mean, the warm part.” I cleared my throat. “Once in a blue moon, I take a tour to see how I can maximize our best features.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Kyle said. “I’d be happy to offer suggestions. I spend a lot of time out here. My wife thinks we should move to this end of the island, to make my commute easier.”

  He drove a golf cart to work on roads that were generally free of traffic. How much easier could his commute get?

  “You’d still need to come to the administrative office,” I said.

  “That’s what I told her. Besides, I like the ride. I do my best thinking driving out here and back again. Blue skies, the sounds of the ocean. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

  Kyle didn’t sound like someone eager to quit and tour the country with a band.

  “I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” I lied. “Eternal Springs has everything a person could ever want.”

  He continued to his golf cart and set his clipboard on the passenger seat before pulling a flask of hot coffee from the back. “You really love your job, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?” I asked.

  His hesitation spoke volumes. So maybe I was mistaken. “Mine’s not the most popular job in town.”

  Of course. It was the job itself, not the commute or the location. “Because you’re the tax assessor?”

  “Yeah. I’m about as popular as burnt toast,” he said glumly. He took a cautious sip from his flask and offered it to me, but I waved him off.