Counterfeits and Cauldrons: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 6)

by Raven Snow

  So much for using my feminine wiles to sway him to spill the beans.

  “Listen. My name is Harper B−”

  “I know who you are,” he said. “And I know that wherever you go, trouble follows.” He waved a finger in front of my face. “I don’t need any trouble here.”

  After that, Cooper and I were unceremoniously kicked out of the store, but not before my little sleuth-in-training had the chance to talk to the harassed-looking cashier.

  “Alright, what do you have?” I asked Cooper when we were back in the car.

  He pulled out a piece of scrap paper from his pocket. “So far, five out of the ten businesses we’ve gone to have the counterfeit bills. That includes the grocery store, this clothing shop, and Hardy’s.”

  I frowned. “When did we go in Hardy’s?”

  “I went in while you were trying to sneak by your grandma’s magic shop without being seen.”

  Hane’s Magic Shoppe was the most successful magic shop in town, the business started by my grandmother in the early days of the founding of Waresville. Since Gran rarely left the house anymore, though, she’d left the running of the store to my ex-best friend, Oliver Belafonte—who had been trying to get me alone to talk to me for weeks.

  Not long before I went to Miami for my high school reunion and rekindled with Vic—the cheerleader who used to bully me—Oliver had gotten mixed up in one of my cases. Except, instead of falling on the side of the angels, he’d helped a crazy witch ransack the Funky Wheel and try to steal my familiar.

  “It’s grown-up stuff,” I told Cooper. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He shrugged, looking far older than his eleven years. “You and Oliver are fighting. What’s to understand?”

  Snapping my fingers, I made a sharp turn and headed back to where we’d just been. If Hardy’s had been hit, then I had a man on the inside for the scoop on the dirty details. I made sure to park as far from Hane’s as possible, and then ran into the hardware shop.

  Behind the desk, wearing blue jeans and a Hardy’s shirt, was my grumpy, physically intimidating bouncer. Jeb smiled at me, finishing up with a customer, and I returned the friendliness. Though Wyatt liked to remind me with frequency that Jeb had a mysterious criminal past—orchestrated by his distrust of police—there were few people in this town that I trusted more.

  “Hardy in?” I asked as soon as the store was empty again.

  “He’s caught the flu again, Miss Harper. His health’s not what it used to be.”

  I’d hoped to talk to both of them, since I had an in with the old man. He’d once been bewitched into breaking into Gran’s shop—a death sentence if I ever saw one—and I’d gotten him out of it by finding the real culprit. Hopefully, he wasn’t sick enough to forget all that.

  Jeb frowned, seeming to process that I was there, visiting him at his second job. “Why are you here, Miss Harper? Is something wrong with the Wheel? I’m going on lunch break soon, so I could run over.”

  “It could use a chlorine bath and coat of fresh paint, but it’s kept for a couple decades now; it’ll keep for one afternoon, at least.”

  Cooper stepped around me, asking politely if he could have one of the suckers in the bowl at the counter. Jeb beamed at him, giving him a handful. For all that Jeb hated Wyatt and tried to talk me into leaving him nightly, he loved Cooper as much as he loved any random kid off the street. Jeb was a real sweetheart underneath all the muscle.

  “I have to confess an ulterior motive, Jeb,” I said. “I didn’t come here for the suckers.”

  “No,” a familiar voice said behind me. “You came to stick your grubby nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  Cooper glared at the man in the policeman’s uniform that came through the door. He had a dangerous gut and side burns that looked like they’d be more at home on some creature from the tundra. It was that awful Officer Kosher.

  We had a long and illustrious history, the two of us. First meeting when I’d accused him of pushing his girlfriend to her death, he’d caught me several times breaking the law and locked me up every time. After working semi-together on a couple of cases, we’d settled into a tentative agreement. We would hate each other’s guts forever but would refrain from actively trying to destroy the other. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe this meant he wouldn’t get me if he saw the opportunity.

  “Officer.” I bared my teeth at him. “Lovely to see you in such good health.”

  “Stow it, w−” he cut off after sending Cooper a thoughtful glance. “You better not be thinking of meddling around in my case.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Your case? Isn’t counterfeiting a federal issue?”

  The look he gave me could’ve peeled the paint from a brand new car. “Anything magical we take care of in-house,” he gritted out.

  Turning back to Jeb, I put a cheerful smile on my face. “Anything you can tell us about the fake money being passed around?”

  Kosher made indignant noises behind me, caught between wanting to hear what Jeb had to say and not wanting me to hear it. It was a hard line that the officer had to walk.

  Jeb stared at Kosher doubtfully with more than a little resentment. “It’s hit the store pretty hard. Almost half of what we take in is fake.”

  I blanched. “How is that possible?”

  Kosher, always quick to prove himself smarter than me, stepped in. “We’re a pretty close-knit community. The money is staying within the town limits and getting passed off quickly—usually without the customers being any the wiser.”

  Jeb shrugged. “I’ve been trying to encourage people to pay with credit, but there’s not much I can do. The counterfeits look real until they go up in a cloud of smoke.”

  “Can you think of any specific people who have been giving you counterfeits?” Kosher asked, pulling out a notepad.

  Glaring, Jeb directed his answer to me instead. “No. The money doesn’t go up ‘til later, and by then, it’s impossible to know what belonged to who.”

  Cooper was right on my heels as I left the store, surprising Kosher into following me. He looked fit to be tied, and I had a moment of silent congratulations for working him up like this. I was really getting better at my job day by day.

  “You,” he said, poking me hard in the shoulder, “will stay far away from this case. It’s mine.”

  “And here I thought there was enough crime to go around, Officer.”

  Cooper, acting more and more like Wyatt every day, stepped between us when Kosher’s face started turning purple. I knew full-well that the only problem the kid had with the officer was that I didn’t like him. Still, if I could impress nothing else of value on him, at least I could show him how to pick appropriate enemies.

  “This case,” Kosher said, “is big. So big it’s going to get me a detective’s position.”

  Smiling, I said, “I don’t doubt that. What surprises me—what with the station’s lack of quality standards—is that you haven’t been promoted yet.”

  We watched Kosher drive off in an indignant cloud of smoke, and then Cooper turned to me, frowning and shaking his head. “My dad says that manners are to be observed at all times.”

  “Oh, give it a rest.”

  After hauling him to the car, enduring his lectures all the time, I pulled out my phone and dialed Wyatt. He answered after only one ring, slightly breathless. I almost felt a little bad, because I usually only called from jail or dire situations. He obviously thought this was one of those times.

  “I have your son,” I told him. “And if you ever want to see him again, you’ll order pizza tonight from the place with the cheesy crust.”

  Wyatt laughed, half from relief and half because I was hilarious. “Keep him. He eats us out of house and home, anyway.”

  Grinning at the squawking noise Cooper was making from the back seat, I asked Wyatt if he knew where Old Man Hardy lived. His silence wasn’t an indication of thinking, because Wyatt knew everything right off of the top of his head. Always.


  “Why?” he asked slowly.

  Smart man. “I thought I’d check on him for Jeb. He’s been in poor health.”

  Wyatt sighed and read off the address from memory, along with competent directions on how best to get there at this hour—taking into account traffic and everything.

  “We’ll be home in time for dinner,” I told him as my way of saying goodbye.

  “Just don’t kill Hardy with whatever you’re actually planning on doing tonight.”

  I pretended not to hear that dry command. “Thanks, sugar plum. You’re my rock.”

  After I hung up, Cooper made a sour face at me. “My dad lets you call him ‘sugar plum?’”

  “Your dad,” I said sagely, “lets me do all manner of things to him.”

  Cooper made gagging noises the rest of the way to Hardy’s and talked about me scarring him for life. I figured that was a parent’s job, so I patted myself on the back for a very productive day.

  Hardy lived in one of the most populated neighborhoods in Waresville, directly on the opposite side of town from my grandmother. Fifty years ago, when he’d bought the house, it’d been the only one there. Now, there were dozens upon dozens of suburban houses that all looked identical, crowding Hardy’s little one-bedroom.

  Cooper knocked politely before I could barge in. We waited a few moments on the porch, listening to Hardy shuffle around in his haste to get to the door. When the withered man with humorous eyes opened the door, he smiled at me.

  “Well, isn’t this nice: two witches come to call on me.” He stepped aside to let me in.

  “Two−?”

  As far as I knew, he’d never married and was born and raised in Waresville material. Most of our interactions had been pretty limited on the talking front, so I didn’t consider myself an expert on all things Hardy. Still, I wasn’t ready for what waited for me on the other side of the door.

  My grandmother, outside of her house like she’d never been a shut in, sat on Hardy’s couch, sipping from a teacup just like the one I’d seen her drink from earlier. Her expression had been perfectly friendly before I walked in, but it flickered for a moment upon seeing me.

  Catching sight of Cooper, she resumed her out-of-character smile and opened her arms to him. He ran over to the couch—the little traitor—and hugged my grandma like she was his own. I wasn’t in the habit of denying little boys more family to love them, but I did feel a little salty over the whole situation.

  Hardy ushered me over to an empty seat, teetering dangerously over me as he asked if I wanted anything to drink or eat. I shook my head, hoping he’d sit down before I had to do something heroic like catch him from a dead faint. Wyatt wasn’t even around to see it, so what was the point?

  “What can I do for you, Miss Beck?” Hardy asked cheerfully.

  Though his coloring was off, and he seemed a little unstable, he wasn’t noticeably ill. Mostly, he looked tired. Not tired enough to be anything less than his cheery self, but tired nonetheless.

  “I’m here about the counterfeit money, actually,” I said, watching his face intently. If anything, he seemed to grow even more exhausted.

  “Yes, Jeb called me about that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s taken a significant toll on my business. I don’t know…”

  He trailed off, and for a rare moment, I felt regret for bringing up what was obviously a sensitive subject. Much to my shock, Gran leaned over and took Hardy’s hand, squeezing it slightly.

  “If you need a loan, Sam,” she said kindly, “you know all you have to do is ask.”

  My jaw hit the floor, bruising significantly. My grandmother—often referred to as Julia the Terrible—was offering another being help. When I’d had financial troubles, she’d growled at me and sent me flying from her porch.

  The way she was looking at Hardy, too, was strange. It was… tender. Familiar. I’d never seen her look at anyone like that—not even Cooper, who she adored. It was beyond strange, even for a sleuth who specializes in the supernatural.

  “I won’t take your money, Julia,” he said firmly. “If the hardware store doesn’t make it… I suppose I’ll just retire.” He retained his smile to the very end, but it was nowhere near happy anymore.

  Cooper and I went home shortly after that, leaving Hardy and my grandmother alone in his house. Wyatt was waiting with pizza when we walked into the house, but I barely tasted it. It wasn’t often that I felt sympathy for someone in this town, because they were mostly all jerks. Hardy, though, was a good man and didn’t deserve to have his business taken from him.

  “So,” I said to distract myself, watching Wyatt from the corner of my eye. “Magical counterfeiting.”

  He dropped his fork in surprise, which served him right. What kind of person ate pizza with a fork? Better question, what kind person slept with someone who ate pizza with a fork?

  “How−never mind.” He shook his head, putting on his stern face. It was cute. “That’s Peter’s case. Don’t interfere.”

  Wyatt, like a man with no sense, actually liked Kosher and insisted on calling him Peter instead of any of the mean nicknames I’d made up. The feud between us never ceased to amaze and annoy him.

  “It’s his big case,” Wyatt said, chiding me. “More to the point, he’ll kill you if you even look at him wrong before he solves it.”

  “Temper, temper. He should work on being more tolerant. I’d be happy to give him a few pointers.”

  “The blind leading the blind,” Wyatt said, taking another bite.

  I leaned forward. “What do you know about the counterfeiting?”

  “Nothing,” he said firmly, if a little fast.

  There was nothing more certain than the fact that, if something was going down in this town, Wyatt knew about it. That was why he was my favorite source of information. Still, I could be a patient hunter when I needed to be, and I let the matter die for a few minutes.

  “Harper?” Cooper said suddenly, interrupting my timing. “Why does Jeb have two jobs?”

  So much for taking my mind off things. “Medical bills. His mother—I think she lives up in Georgia—has a lot of health problems.”

  “What’ll happen to Jeb’s mom if Hardy’s shop closes?” he asked.

  When his bottom lip trembled slightly, I cursed myself for allowing the conversation to reach this point. Cooper was a tough kid, but even a tough kid didn’t need to hear about the world’s troubles. I didn’t want any unnecessary weight on his small shoulders.

  “He’ll get another job,” Wyatt said firmly before I could say anything.

  There was a faint roaring in my ears, and I gritted my teeth. “Easier said than done in this town. Anyone with a record is considered persona non grata.”

  Wyatt shot me a look. “Criminals usually did something to deserve their outcast status. You can’t blame people for being careful.”

  Shooting up from my seat, I stalked over to the sink and tossed my plate in. It made an awful clanging noise and was probably broken, but I didn’t care. I was seeing the world in shades of red, and whoever got in my way would end up colored to match.

  “I can blame this ignorant town for whatever I want,” I said, forcing myself to slow down on the stairs and not slam the bedroom door. Mad was fine, but despite popular belief, I wasn’t a child.

  I kicked the dresser, because it felt good, and tried not to think about Jeb or Hardy. Usually, I didn’t take things so personally, not being very good with empathy.

  But Jeb was a part of my family—the family that existed at the Funky Wheel. We were outcasts, every single one of us, but we belonged to each other. Before Wyatt and Cooper had come along, they’d kept me from being lonely—an emotion I knew all too well from my childhood.

  The door opened and closed quietly behind me. I didn’t turn, because I didn’t need to see who it was to feel his presence. Sliding his arms around my waist, he pulled me back against him. After a moment, I let my head fall back onto his shoulder.

  “Jeb’s not go
ing anywhere,” Wyatt told me, reading my soul with that uncanny understanding. “I’ll help him find another job myself if I have to.”

  “You hate Jeb.”

  To my shame, the words were wet. I wiped furiously at my traitorous tears, but Wyatt caught my hand. This was probably the first time he’d ever seen me cry. He seemed a little thrown by the whole event.

  “I’m wary of Jeb,” he corrected softly. “But you love him. And I love you.”

  His words, though I heard them often, warmed me, eradicating the cold fear and leaving a path of destruction all the way to my heart. Still, after this morning, I couldn’t be too careful.

  Stiffening at the thought, I said, “We’re not getting married.”

  He laughed, pulling me back toward the bed. Frowning, I thought he sounded way too cheerful for a man who had just been shot down. Still, I let him pull the covers over us and hold me tight. With Wyatt there to keep the memories at bay, I was asleep within minutes.

  Chapter Four

  When I woke up the next morning, I heard voices coming from my kitchen. I rolled out of bed slowly, keeping my ears open, a confused frown on my face. Before heading down the stairs, I peeked into Cooper’s room to rule him out as the source of the noise. He was fast asleep, buried under his sheets.

  A bubbly laugh so cheerful and plastic that it could only belong to one person floated up the stairs to me. I paused, mid-step, wondering if I should just return to bed, but it was my house and I wasn’t going to hide from the new neighbors.

  Sure enough, the Goodfellows were seated at my kitchen table, sipping coffee with Wyatt. Despite the hour, they were all dressed to the nines, suits and dresses all pressed and clean. I was rocking the same disco shorts and tie-dye tank top from yesterday. At least the wig was on the dresser.

  Ben and Wyatt stood when I came through the door, doing that southern gentleman thing. Ben Goodfellow looked a little older than his wife, his dark hair slicked back and his suit tasteful and classy. There were laugh lines by his eyes that gave the impression that he was a likeable, fun person.

  That impression would’ve been dead wrong.