by Raven Snow
"You're going to tell me everything you've learned about this case," he said, thrusting a finger at me.
I snapped my jaw shut just centimeters from where his finger was. Surprised, he jerked his finger back and wiped it hastily on his shirt, though I hadn't actually bitten it. His expression was somewhere between disgust and smugness over me being in a cage. No doubt, he thought this my natural habitat.
He wasn't too far off base, though. I'd spent a lot of time in police holding during my misguided youth. Mostly for petty theft and the like, but I'd committed some real crimes, too. One such crime was the reason I didn't use much magic anymore.
"I'm sure I know just as much as you." I tapped a finger to my chin. "No, wait, that'd be selling myself short—about a couple million dollars short."
"Fine," he said like the words were being forcefully dragged from him. "I'll start. I believe it was Don Patron, Justina's new boyfriend."
"Wrong."
He frowned. "He's got the best motive. If Justina won't marry him—and she won't, if he's broke—he has to go back to Mexico."
"I hear it's nice this time of year," I mused. "Motive without means is nothing. He has no experience that would lend itself to counterfeit. The man sells shoes."
Kosher opened his mouth, but I interrupted him. I'm good at that. "If you're going to say something racist, I'll−"
"What is going on here?" Wyatt thundered from the door.
Kosher and I both whirled, looking guilty—him for locking me up and me for somehow managing to land myself behind bars again. Wyatt took one look at the both of us, and the vein in his forehead swelled to a dangerous size.
He strode across the floor, grabbed the keys from Kosher, and let me out. When the officer opened his mouth again, it was Wyatt who cut him off. I didn't have a chance to be smug about this, because he did the same thing to me when I tried to explain.
"I don't want to hear a word out of either of you," he said. "Like it or not, you both have to act like adults in this, because neither of you can solve this case alone."
Kosher and I squawked like birds being plucked. I resented the implication that I couldn't solve this case. True, my expertise lies with people and murders, not crimes and the United States Government, but to say I needed Kosher was just blasphemy.
Pursing his lips at our mutinous expressions, Wyatt pointed to Kosher. "Spent half a decade working for the treasury department while contracting with the FBI." He pointed to me. "Expert on witches, magic, and criminals."
"Sure," Kosher muttered, "just like worms are experts on worms."
Wyatt pretended not to hear this, but the vein I'd noticed earlier pulsed a little faster. Proving he was a bigger man than either of us—though he had nothing on Kosher's gut—he said nothing and hauled me out to the car. I hummed quietly the whole ride home, shooting glances at him in the dimly-lit car.
“You know,” I said, once we’d parked outside the Victorian. “He arrested me. Unprovoked.”
He laughed then, sounding tired. “Unprovoked.”
“Exactly.”
Leaning against me, he rested his head against mine, our breath mingling in the air in front of his. The windshield fogged, and I wondered what the neighbors would think.
“When you weren’t there when I came back…” Wyatt seemed to rethink what he was going to say. “My mother told me you’d been arrested. Thanks for that.”
“I wasn’t given a phone call—complete breach of protocol.” I wanted him to finish his earlier sentence, but I was too chicken to start something.
Cooper was waiting for us as soon as we stepped in the door. Wyatt looked bemused, and said, "You weren't supposed to be up." He shot me a look. "Then again, the whole family's been places they shouldn't be tonight."
Ignoring his father—something rarer than a blue moon—he ran straight up to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and squeezing the hell out of me. I patted him on the back, a little uncertain what had brought this on. I didn't have to wonder for long as it turned out.
"Hope called," he said, looking up at me. "She said that awful Officer Kosher put you in prison."
I tried to hide my grin at the expression "that awful Officer Kosher" on Cooper's lips. Behind his son's back, Wyatt's expression was decidedly sour, and the look he gave me promised we'd be talking about me rubbing bad habits off on Cooper.
"You mean jail," I told him helpfully. "Prison is after you've been convicted."
He rolled his eyes at me, heading back in to finish the chocolate cereal he'd started before we got home. Wyatt and I followed, and Wyatt grabbed a bowl of his own. Though usually pretty strict about sweets before bed, neither of them considered chocolate cereal a sweet, but a food group all its own. I couldn't stand the stuff, which set me apart as not being a Bennett by blood. That and the eyes.
"Kosher only managed to lock me up because your dad wasn't doing his job as my protector," I told Cooper, while grinning at Wyatt.
Cooper shook his head. "My dad always does his job."
We laughed and headed up for bed. Wyatt pulled me down on the sheets, kissing the smile away from my mouth, and I knew I was forgiven. For tonight's altercation, at least.
Wyatt was already gone by the time I rolled out of bed the next morning, so I didn't bother changing out of yesterday's clothes. He was the main reason I bothered with silly things like showers and clipping my toenails.
Cooper was sitting at the table when I came down, looking a little bleary-eyed. Pouring him a bowl of cereal, thus fulfilling my motherly duties for the day, I grabbed a bowl of oatmeal for myself. Unsweetened. It was too early for chocolate or happiness.
"Up late?" I asked him.
His bedtime was early enough to ensure he got eight hours of sleep, hence no need for the sleepy eyes. My question was simply polite, though. Wyatt was the one obsessed with structure and rules. I'd been out all night pretty much every night of my childhood. Of course, I also had a rap sheet the length of my arm, so maybe it was a point to Wyatt.
Cooper nodded, spooning in chocolate puffs by the shovelful. "My teacher gave us a new reading assignment. It's not due ‘til after the break, but I just couldn't put it down."
"What's it about?"
"The migratory patterns of birds."
"You are such an odd duck."
Ruffling his hair on my way to the door, I turned before I got there. "I'm locking the door behind me."
He looked confused. "Okay."
"And leaving you alone. For the whole day."
"Yeah?"
I pursed my lips. He wasn't getting it. "You could do absolutely anything, and your father and I wouldn't know."
"I was just going to finish the book and start on some of my other homework."
I sighed. "Your parents are going away, and you're not going to throw a wild party?"
"Why would I want to throw a wild party?" He cocked his head to the side like a dog.
"Odd duck."
I called Vic as soon as I got to the car. She answered on the first ring, and I sighed again. Clearly, no one around me knew how to live their lives when I wasn't around. In the background, I heard Hope listening to cartoons and yelling at that explorer girl.
"Meet me at the grocery store in ten," I told her.
"Great. That'll give me an excuse to try out my new sitter. It's this girl from the local church."
"Is she bringing along holy water?"
We hung up, and I headed back to the store where the case had begun. It was early, so the only people there were restless housewives getting a little shopping done for Christmas dinner. With a start, I realized Vic and I were the same age as most of these women. At least I hadn't resigned myself to buying underwear in bulk.
Vic showed up a little after me, and I asked, "Babysitter bail when she met Hope?"
She shook her head. "No, but I couldn't leave until Hope put down some... ground rules."
A kid with a shopping cart nearly ran me over, so it took me a moment to
reply. "Ground rules. If I'd tried to put down anything for my mom, I would've had trouble sitting for a week."
"Me too," she said, laughing. "But I really want Hope to like it here. She's been through so much in the last year."
While Vic eyed the fudge bars sitting at the front, I walked up to the first available cashier. The teenaged girl blew a gum bubble right in my face. It popped with a sound loud enough to match a gunshot, and I narrowed my eyes for a moment before putting on the face I used to weasel information.
I stuck out my hand. "Harper Beck."
She looked at it for a moment. "So?"
"So," I said, my teeth grinding, "I'm the one investigating the counterfeit money. So, if you don't show me to your security videos, I won't be able to solve the case. So, if you'd like your butt to stay in its current unbruised state−"
"Geez, don't have a freak out."
Just when I was about to have a freak out, she showed Vic and I to the back. The store's security was all digital and computerized now, so the two of us had to crowd around a small monitor, pushing buttons aimlessly until the videos finally played.
We sat there for what felt like a couple hours, watching through the last few weeks. As suspected, every single one of my suspects had been in the store during that timeframe. Unfortunately, with this being the only grocery store in town, that didn't say much. And, with the way the cameras were set up, it was impossible to tell how people were paying.
We were just about to finish today's video when the grumpy teenager snuck up on us. "What, exactly, are you looking for?"
I shot her an annoyed look. "We're trying to note the costumers that paid in cash."
She shrugged. "A lot of people pay in cash."
"Maybe, you remember someone who always does?"
She thought about it for a moment, which was probably more brain work than she'd done in her entire life. Finally, a light bulb went on, and she said, "That Spanish guy always does. Tequila or something."
"Don Patron?"
"Yeah, him."
Vic went back to relieve the babysitter, and I walked around town for a little bit, my thoughts troubling. I kept running around in circles for this case, never really getting anywhere. Despite my best efforts, I was beginning to ponder what Wyatt had said last night about working with Kosher.
Normally, the thought would've been enough to make me puke, but I had a certain fanaticism with my cases—especially this one. If it meant Jeb could keep his job and Hardy his business, could I sacrifice my pride and sanity to work with that awful Officer Kosher?
I was so deep in thought, I almost ran smack dab into Oliver and Wyatt without looking up. The two of them jumped back, just as surprised to see me as I was to see them. Wyatt slipped a small bag—contents unknown—into his back pocket, but I wasn't focused on that. A guilty look overtook Oliver's face, while Wyatt's expression was carefully blank. No one ever wanted to play poker with that detective.
"Funny seeing you two," I said silkily. "Together."
If this had been a cartoon, steam would've poured from my ears. The world took on a red tinge, and my fingernails bit into the flesh on my palms.
Oliver stepped forward, holding up his hands. "Harper−"
But I wasn't paying any attention to him, zeroing in on Wyatt instead. "I can't believe you. I really can't."
"We were just out for a walk," he said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying this little meeting had nothing to do with me?"
Both were carefully silent, and that just made me madder. Before I could say something I'd regret, I turned on my heel and walked away. Wyatt tried to pull me back, but I dodged his grip, smacking his hand.
"I love you, Wyatt," I seethed, "but you don't get to just fix me. I don't need you interfering. In fact, I told you not to! If you can't respect that−"
I swallowed and continued walking away, not even knowing what I was about to say. My head hurt with the betrayal of it all. He'd gone behind my back, because he didn't trust my judgment. Didn't trust me to take care of my own life. It was infuriating as well as demeaning.
The police station was just a few blocks away, so I marched there, running over anyone who was stupid enough to get in my way. Justina didn't try to stop me at the front desk, so I stomped right up to where Kosher was having his lunch.
Pulling the sub from his hands, I tossed it in the trashcan. "So, are we doing this or what?"
"You'll pay for that sandwich."
"I won't."
"Then, lunch is on you."
"Agreed."
We walked straight out the front door, ignoring the curious stares we were getting. I climbed into the front of his police car for the first time, thinking with an edge of humor that I didn't get to see cop cars from the front much. Not unless Wyatt was doing the driving, but I didn't want to think about Wyatt just then. I was too hurt and steamed.
"I was just on my way to search the dressing rooms at Town Hall," Kosher said. "The radius−"
"−of counterfeit bills surrounds the Hall. Figured that out days ago." It didn't need to be said that I'd found that out from Kosher's maps. "I was also thinking of heading down there."
"They're locked. You'd need a key or a badge." He held up his badge helpfully.
I wiggled my fingers at him. "Not necessary."
We rode the rest of the way in relative silence, Kosher's face twisted in a mask of disgust. I say relative, because we did break the silence every now and again to hurl insults at the other. It was all in good sport, but my mind was elsewhere.
What other reason for hanging about with Oliver could Wyatt have but to get us back to being friends? I searched and searched, but my mind came up blank. The two had never had anything between them but indifference.
By interfering, it was like he was devaluing how Oliver had hurt me, betrayed me. For god's sake, Wyatt had gotten shot on the case because of Oliver. If I hadn't melded my magic with my familiar to heal the wound... I felt sick at the thought.
The old woman who had first showed me to the dressing room to pull on the horribly uncomfortable dress met us when we entered the section with dancers. Though there wasn't a competition tonight, the floor was still open and it looked like a week-long party to bring in the new year was happening. People would take long lunches and come here and dance, getting funky with it.
Watching all the terribly white people with their terribly white moves, all discombobulated and awkward, made me wince. I turned away from it as soon as possible, not able to stomach the attack on my precious boogie oogie.
The old lady volunteer frowned when Kosher asked to see the dressing rooms. "Those are private," she said, looking at him with distaste. "Maybe if you spent a little more time on your appearance and manners, you wouldn't have to go skulking around ladies' dressing rooms."
I guffawed, almost doubling over while Kosher growled that he wanted to see all the dressing rooms—not just the ladies'. This seemed to be worse in the old woman's eyes, and she was just about to turn away when he pulled out his badge.
Deserved or not—definitely not—the police had enough reputation to get Kosher the key to the rooms without too much grumbling. Personally, I thought just stealing it would've gone a whole lot smoother. But then again, I spent a good portion of my time behind bars, usually by Kosher's doing.
Ben and Sarah didn't have a dressing room, just opting to share the one that was open for everyone to use as Wyatt and I did. We searched it from top to bottom, finding a lot of thongs, which Kosher found endlessly interesting, and a few counterfeit bills lying around. They were only recognizable by the fact that Jackson had a huge pimple on his forehead.
The next room we searched was Katy and Greg's. There was no sign of counterfeits, though to find them and not dust, we'd have to get there pretty quickly. No thongs, either, to Kosher's disappointment.
I picked up a picture frame that showed off the couple making kissy faces at each other and grimaced. "How does a pretty
girl like that end up with a fat, balding, old man? No offense."
"Lack of brains," he said after shooting me a dirty look. "I always heard she was lacking in that department."
There was another framed picture in the room, but this one was a painting. In it, was a very realistic, heroic-looking George Washington. He wore brilliant colors that I was sure hadn't been around in the eighteenth century, and his teeth were wooden.
"I wonder who did that," I said, eyeing the beautiful brush strokes.
"Greg, probably." Kosher said impatiently, "He is an art teacher."
I made a face at him behind his back, and we moved on to Don and Justina’s room.
Upon walking in, we spotted a large piece of cloth draped over a chair. I moved over to it while Kosher checked the drawers for counterfeit bills. The material was eerily familiar in my hands, soft but crisp to the touch. On a hunch, I pulled out a dollar bill, comparing the two fabrics.
A perfect match.
“Kosher, come feel this,” I said. He wiggled his eyebrows, and I gagged. “The cloth. Don’t hold your breath on an invitation to touch anything else.”
His expression went blank while he tested the fabric between his fingers. Then, grinning, he said, “A blend of 75% cotton and 25% linen with silk fibers running through.”
“Geek.”
He strode over to the door and exited, stilling grinning. I went to follow him, but without warning, he slammed the door shut, locking it. Rolling my eyes, I forced some magic into the lock, waiting for the door to explode open. It didn’t happen.
“Don’t bother,” Kosher chuckled from the other side. “Your own grandmother magic-proofed the land we’re standing on.”
I slammed my body against the door. “Kosher!”
“I have so appreciated your help on this case, Beck, but it seems I no longer need you.”
His footsteps were the only indication of him leaving. For the second time that day, I saw red. Almost immediately, though, it faded, and I sunk to the floor, exhausted. Pulling out my phone, I called the one person I knew I could count on.
