Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1)

by Dakota Cassidy

  “Why do you have to investigate? What’s to investigate? She’s my nana. I have a right to know! Tell me what happened!” she begged, twisting my heart.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. Someone had to comfort her. I normally only dealt with people after they were gone. I usually didn’t see the sorrow and grief. I had to at least reach out and offer her some consolation, something other than the unsympathetic eyes of Officer Nelson, who appeared desperately uncomfortable.

  Putting my hand on Liza’s arm, I squeezed. “Why don’t you let the police do what they have to and come outside with me, Liza? I’ll wait with you.” I wasn’t supposed to leave Officer Gorton’s sight, but I didn’t care if it got me into trouble. Liza shouldn’t have to see this.

  Instantly, her round eyes melted into a puddle of more tears when she took my hand. “I can’t believe this happened,” she sobbed. “I just saw her yesterday. She was fine.”

  I squeezed her hand and patted her arm, keeping my body in front of hers so she wouldn’t see Madam Zoltar’s still body. “I’m so sorry, Liza. Can I get you something? A water, maybe? Coffee? What’s your pleasure? My treat.”

  She shook her head and sniffed, her spiky hair ruffling. “No…no, thank you. I just want to know what’s going on. I need to know what’s going on.”

  It was almost as if she didn’t fully understand that no one knew what was going on. “They don’t know just yet, Liza. That’s why we have to let the police do their job.” I tried inching her toward the door, and away from the gruesome figure of her nana lying on the floor, but she wasn’t budging.

  “How does a perfectly healthy sixty-eight-year-old woman die suddenly?”

  “So your nana was in good health?”

  “She was an ox!” Liza spat, anger now clearly replacing her grief. “She’d just been to the doctor and left with a clean bill of health. And that’s why I want to know what happened. Because this doesn’t make any sense!”

  I grasped at straws when I offered, “Maybe it was an intruder? A theft of some kind?”

  Though that didn’t make a lot of sense, even to me. Her foot had an injury I wasn’t qualified to diagnose, but an intruder made no sense. Nothing had been disturbed.

  Liza finally looked up at me, but behind those big watery eyes was something. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Her frantic eyes went to the seemingly untouched register. “Then why wasn’t anything taken from the cash register? Was something stolen? Because it sure doesn’t look like it. Plus, there’s an alarm she wears around her neck. It’s a necklace, small chain, a pendant with a sapphire-blue jewel in it she can press discreetly and it silently signals a place called Senior Alert. We made her get one when she wouldn’t give up the store because we worried about her and the late hours she kept just to keep this place running. She hated wearing it. She wouldn’t have had to wear it at all if she didn’t need the money her readings brought to supplement her income because the government’s cheap idea of a pension wasn’t enough for a cat to live on!”

  Funny, I didn’t remember a necklace around her throat. You’d think for all the jewelry Madam Zoltar wore, she wouldn’t forget something so important. I wanted to ask Liza more questions, despite the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. Something wasn’t sitting well with me—or right—or whatever.

  I smiled and attempted another push toward the door, hoping I could get her safely through the crowd. “So she was a hard worker, your nana Tina? Come and tell me all about her, would you? She sounds so interesting. I mean, how many people are lucky enough to have a psychic medium in the family? Let’s grab some coffee. There’s a coffee cafe just next door, I hear. It’s new to me because I’ve been away since I graduated high school and I’m dying to try it.”

  Officer Nelson hitched his jaw in the direction of his partner Gorton, stepping in front of us. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to do that, Miss Cartwright.”

  My eyes flew to his sharply constructed face as my pulse raced. “Why’s that?”

  A voice from behind me answered my question in a cordial tone. “Because you’re coming to the station for questioning, Miss Cartwright.”

  Liza promptly dropped my hand, her mouth falling open. “Oh my God! Was it you? Did you hurt her?”

  Everyone at the door went silent and looked at me with the glare of a thousand fiery suns.

  Oh, seven hells.

  Officer Nelson stepped in before I could protest, keeping Liza from me and somehow redirecting her to another officer who’d arrived on the scene.

  My stomach sank. I didn’t need this kind of trouble so early on in my return to Ebenezer Falls. It was all I could do not to scream right then and there.

  So for sure, when I got my hands on Winterbutt, he was a dead ghost walking.

  For. Sure.

  Chapter 4

  Swallowing around the thick lump in my throat, I widened my stance. “Questioning? For what?” I shouted in disbelief, whipping around to catch my first glimpse of the newest person to enter the fray.

  The latest man dressed in blue from Ebenezer Falls’s finest was wide like a linebacker, solid and imposing, but for his openly cheerful face, which was round and pleasant, with ruddy cheeks and lively eyes, all topped with shortly cropped muddy-brown hair. He stopped and gaped at me.

  “Stevie Cartwright, is that you? Wow, you look just like you did back in school. Haven’t changed a bit. Well, except you nixed the black lipstick and all that eye makeup you used to wear. Remember me? It’s Sandwich! We graduated together, class of 2001. Holy spitballs, long time no see!” He grinned at me, his eyes swallowed up by his round cheeks.

  Nelson cleared his throat and put on his “I’m in charge” face, meaning, quit passing pleasantries with the suspect. “Officer Paddington. Please take Miss Cartwright to the station.”

  Sandwich Paddington, who I was still trying to place, tipped his hat at Nelson, his pleasant face going crimson. “Oh yeah. Right. Right. Sorry, Stevie. It’s my job.”

  As Sandwich went for my arm to escort me out, I took a step back. “Hold up! Am I being arrested?”

  Officer Nelson gave me the policeman’s glare of authority. “Not unless you make me arrest you. We’d just like to ask you some questions in a more formal setting about what happened here, Miss Cartwright. If you’re not agreeable, I can certainly cuff you.”

  Shaking my head, I held my hands up. The last thing I needed to do was create a scene in front of the people who would be my neighbors. “That won’t be necessary. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”

  With that, I made my way through the burgeoning crowd, past Chester, who growled at me and snapped his teeth, and out toward the police car, still trying to figure out who Sandwich was.

  I’d been cautious about getting too close to anyone during high school. I could do things no one else could—like talk to the dead—and I was still learning how to manage it when I grew into my teens. No one in Ebenezer Falls knew I was a witch, and at that very crucial time in my life, when I was awkward and my self-esteem was at its lowest, I’d put myself in self-imposed isolation.

  As we made our way to the curb, the eyes of Ebenezer Falls were on me. Burning a hole into my back, people whispering behind their hands.

  I was about to make my way to the passenger door when Sandwich scuffled behind me and gripped my elbow. “Sorry, Stevie. I have to put you in the backseat.”

  There was a groan from the interior of my purse I had no choice but to ignore as I got in the backseat, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “You want me to put the sirens on?” Sandwich asked, his face smiling at me from the rearview mirror.

  “To announce I’m being questioned in the death of Madam Zoltar?”

  His face went bright red. “Aw, shoot. I wasn’t thinking about that. I was just thinking people always ask because they think it’s kinda cool. Sorry.”

  I managed a smile. “It’s okay, Sandwich. Under any other circumstances, I’d be
all for it. So here’s a question maybe you can answer. Am I under suspicion in the death of Madam Zoltar?”

  His wide shoulders bumped upward. “I dunno. Nelson just called for backup and when I got there, Gorton said Nelson’s orders were to bring you in for questioning and a statement. It’s standard procedure. That much I can tell ya.”

  That made me feel a little better, but not by a lot.

  As rain battered the windshield of the cruiser while we whisked through the streets of Ebenezer Falls, I tried to place his face, but failed miserably. “So you say we graduated together?”

  While I mostly kept to myself in my high school days, it wasn’t only due to the fact that I was a witch, but also because I did broody-Goth-rejected-from-society like a champ. I saw it on a show I’d watched and decided I had no real identity. Nothing people would remember me for. Like a signature label that said, “Hey, remember Stevie Cartwright? She always used to wear black clothes and matching black lipstick and we all thought she was part of a satanic cult?”

  I thought it made me dark and mysterious, when I suppose it just made me look like a good portion of Seattle’s youth.

  “Yep. We were in the same English class our senior year. Remember Mr. Stowe?”

  “A trip down memory lane. How quaint,” Winterbottom muttered in my ear.

  I ignored him, and the fact that he was a traveling ghost, unfettered by the usual hurdles ghosts encounter. Like moving from place to place without some object to tether them. I also continued to ignore the fact that he could communicate with me when my medium abilities were long gone.

  Or were they? I was afraid to get my hopes up. So I squashed them like an annoying fly, hovering over a plate of watermelon.

  No way was I going to get all juiced just to find out this was some crazy fluke, or worse, start hoping maybe I’d retained some of my powers. I couldn’t be crushed like that twice in a lifetime.

  “Hah!” I barked. “Do I remember Mr. Stowe?” I scrunched up my face and made a sour expression, puffing out my chest. “These are classics we’re reading, children! This is Shakespeare and Theroux. Just because they don’t use words like ‘dis’ and ‘da-bomb’ doesn’t mean they can’t be equally as interesting!”

  Sandwich howled a laugh. “That was Mr. Stowe all right.”

  Even racking my brain, I still couldn’t remember Sandwich. “I can’t believe I don’t remember you.”

  “Well, if I’m honest, I didn’t show up near as much as I shoulda. But I straightened out pretty good. And my real name’s Lyn. Lyn Paddington. They called me Sandwich because someone once dared me to eat a sardine sandwich with mayo and sweet pickles in the cafeteria.”

  That’s when it hit me. “Oh! I do remember! You threw up on Principal Fellows at assembly in the auditorium!”

  A groan whispered in my ear, giving me a rash of goose bumps along my arms. “Ah. You Americans. You’re so well educated—or maybe a more apt word is refined. Is it any wonder you have people the likes of The K—”

  “Shh!” I ordered, only to realize Sandwich was looking at me with curious eyes. So I faked a loud sneeze. “Sorry. I think I’m catching a cold. So you threw up on Principal Fellows.”

  “Yep. That was me. Lost my cookies all over the front row, too. Had the nickname ever since. So what brings you back to Ebenezer Falls, Stevie? Heard you moved to New York for a little while. Then I think we lost track of ya come reunion time.”

  How did I explain this? A crooked council member and a witch-slapping to beat all slaps is what had me here, tail between my legs. My life in ruins, maybe?

  I sighed. Rather than tell him the truth, I put my Stevie spin on my tale of woe. “I missed home, I guess. You know, you get to a certain age and you start to hanker for the things that once brought you comfort. Familiar things, I suppose.”

  His glance told me he wasn’t quite sure what I meant. Probably because Sandwich had never left Ebenezer Falls. “Heard your mom moved to Rome. That’s pretty exciting.”

  Yep. With warlock husband number five, who’d advised her to stay out of the mess I was in for fear the council would exact some kind of retribution. Bart the warlock was all about playing by the council rules, and my mother, Dita, was happy to oblige, seeing as Bart paid all the bills for their posh villa and cruises to Saint Tropez.

  “She did. She seems very happy there.”

  Sandwich pulled to a stop in front of the police station, right across the street from the docks where various boats were tied up along the sides of the pier, bobbing in the choppy waters of February.

  The police station hadn’t changed much. Not that I spent any amount of time here when I was a kid. I’d been on a tour once during a scared-straight seminar that was all the rage when we were in high school.

  Mostly, the lesson was don’t end up like Old Man Cletus, who drank a little at this old bar where fishermen hung out and ended up in the drunk tank from time to time. He was the best Ebenezer Falls had to offer in the way of hardened criminals, and the program scared absolutely no one straight.

  The brick structure still lacked the intimidation factor. In fact, it looked more like a long, flat house, with its arched windows and winding cobblestone pathway lined with short box-hedges.

  Sandwich put his hands on the steering wheel and caught my gaze from the rearview mirror. “We’re here.”

  I blew out a breath and waited for him to open the door before I slid out and followed him across the parking lot and toward the glass front door. “Hey, thanks, Sandwich. It’s been fun remembering old times.”

  Pulling at the door, he drove his free hand inside his pocket, his round cheeks turning red at their crests. “Maybe you could just call me Lyn inside around the other guys? Professional and all.”

  Winterbottom snarfed a laugh in my ear. “This from the man who vomited his dare sandwich all over your principal. The ultimate professional really does exist.”

  I bit my tongue. Winterbottom and whatever his problem was would have to wait.

  As I let Sandwich, er, Lyn guide me to the front desk, I tried to maintain my cool. I was innocent of any wrongdoing. And I’d better be good at proving it because I couldn’t afford a taco, let alone a lawyer.

  * * * *

  An hour later and I was a free woman, with the warning I shouldn’t leave town just yet. I waved to Sandwich and a couple of other people I’d become reacquainted with during the course of my questioning as I made my way out of the police station, fighting the urge to stick my tongue out at Officer Nelson and yell something childish like, “Neener, neener, neener! You blew any future appearances on To Catch A Killer.”

  Speaking of killers, I had to wonder what led them to believe Madam Zoltar had been killed—or if they even thought she’d been murdered at all. I had, after all, been the only living person to find Madam Zoltar. It made sense they’d want to ask me questions about what I’d witnessed, but they could have asked me those questions at her store.

  Maybe this wasn’t a murder investigation at all. Maybe it was nothing more than an inquiry and I was jumping to conclusions. I’d let too much television crime drama and that rigid Officer Nelson of the granite jaw and imposing stance get up in my head.

  One narrow-eyed gaze from him, and I almost felt like I had committed a crime.

  “Stevieeee!” Belfry sounded on the verge of death.

  But I wasn’t done being angry with him for dragging me into Madam Zoltar’s. I’d had a gut feeling I ignored and now I was involved in something I wanted nothing to do with.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Fair enough, but could you do it after you feed me? I’m bottom of the barrel here.”

  I had to give it to him, he’d stayed quiet as a mouse all while they’d asked me about finding Madam Z and how the store had been torn apart. But part of that was most certainly guilt. I knew quiet remorse from Belfry, even if I couldn’t exactly feel his vibration of life thrumming through my veins anymore.

  “I told you
we shouldn’t go in, Bel. Why don’t you ever listen?”

  “Oh, c’mon. Be fair. Have you heard Mr. Accent? Who can resist a guy who sounds like Benedict Cumberbatch and Jon Snow all in one tally-ho?”

  “Yeah. Who can resist an accent from over the pond, Stevie?”

  My eyes rolled. “You’re still here? I’ll tell you who. Me. That’s who. I didn’t resist and now look. I’m a suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “That’s very dramatic, Stevie. They’re not calling it murder yet, but they will be. Or should I say, they should be—and you’re going to help me prove it.”

  I stopped walking and scooted into an alleyway so no one would see what looked like me essentially talking to myself. “Listen up, Winterbourne—”

  “You’re just being facetious now, Stevie,” he teased. “It’s Winterbottom and you know it. But most everyone calls me Win. That’ll do for now.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the empty space in front of me. “Oh, will it? Thanks for giving me permission, Win. Which, by the by, is the least of what I want to call you. You knew I was going in there blind. You knew I’m not a witch anymore. That I can’t defend myself the way I used to. Under normal circumstances, I’d have snapped my fingers and we’d have been out of there in a puff of my signature smoke and no one would have ever been the wiser.”

  “How was I to know you’d actually show up? I spent a bloody torturous hour trying to get through to Belfry here, and even then he only caught bits and pieces of what I was attempting to communicate. But you did show up, Stevie. That means the experiment worked and we were fated to meet.”

  “The experiment?”

  “A very long, exceptionally harrowing story from my training days I’ll share at a later date. For now, don’t you find it incredible I’m able to communicate with you, someone with no powers, from the grave no less? It’s damn well fantastic.”

  Yeah, yeah. It was a fantastic way to have the rug yanked out from under me. When I wasn’t under suspicion for Madam Z’s death anymore, I’d investigate further. Until then, no hope-dashing. If nothing else, his back story about an experiment was fascinating and deserved some attention.