Werewolves of Waresville: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 7)

by Raven Snow

  "How did you come to be in the animal shelter?"

  He got a far-off look. "I remember being hungry so they must have lured me in with food."

  "Why stay?"

  "Warmth, shelter, two square meals a day…" He trailed off, going silent for a moment. "There were lots of people and dogs there. It was nice."

  "A lonely werewolf," I mused. "Is that why you came home with us?"

  "No. Yes." He paused. "The boy reminded me of someone, I think."

  "His name's Cooper."

  Biscuit shrugged. "In wolf form, I don't think as a human would. Mostly, I just think of him as my boy."

  My lips twitched, because that was exactly how I thought of Cooper. "Don't you remember who he reminded you of? It must have been someone important, or you'd be off in the woods by now."

  He just shook his head, the circles under his eyes seeming to darken. "All I remember is the woods and then the shelter." He hastily added, "And now you."

  I rested my head on the steering wheel, wondering for not the first time in my life how these things always seemed to happen to me.

  "What will you tell the Master?" he asked.

  "Don't call Wyatt that—it'll go to his head."

  Instead of going for a drive like I'd told my family, I cruised over to my grandmother's magic shop. A decade or so ago, the place would've been as unfriendly as her house. Now, with Gran barely leaving her property, she'd left the running of the place to one of my best friends.

  Oliver met me at the front door, having heard my car a block away. He raised an eyebrow at the half naked man in my passenger seat, but led me towards the mismatched chairs in the back without a word.

  Today, his customary cape was a shade of deep green that did wonders for his dark complexion. The cape might have seemed a little cliché for a warlock, but Oliver pulled it off flawlessly.

  When he spoke, his New Orleans accent was rich as honey. "New toy?" he asked, nodding to where we'd left Biscuit. "Can I play?"

  "Sure. Throw a stick or something."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Not the kind of play I was talking about. Interesting, though."

  Leaning back in my seat and kicking my feet up on the glass display case, I asked, "What do you know about werewolves?"

  "I know you don't want to run into one on the full moon." He shot Biscuit a wary glance.

  "I'm sure you've heard about—"

  "The newcomers to town and the newest murder victim? I hear everything."

  How Oliver knew everything all the time was a mystery to me. Usually, though, he got the information from his sometimes honey, a woman who worked at the police station as a secretary. I had firsthand knowledge—in the form of a public freak out that involved shooting—that the two were on the outs.

  The question must have shown on my face, because Oliver smiled and said, "Don't ask what you don't really want to know."

  "Can the mysterious act and give me the details."

  Standing to grab some tea from the backroom, he raised his voice so I could hear. "Well, the first thing you ought to know is that werewolves can change any time."

  "You don't say."

  "The immortality thing is bogus too. They age faster than witches, at any rate."

  I accepted a cup of tea from him and snorted. "Guess my strategy will be to wait them out."

  "If you're going to be snarky, the door's right behind you," he sniffed unconvincingly.

  Gently kicking his foot, I said, "You like me snarky."

  "Not really."

  "What about kill methods?" I asked. "How do they do it?"

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Like a regular wolf, I'd guess—just rabid."

  "Lovely."

  "Most supernatural creatures have a downside. That's why they're painted as monsters and not heroes. At least werewolves are almost human in their desires. They're just…extra."

  I risked a glance through the window at Biscuit. He was still sitting there, watching the pedestrians with mild interest. Every once and a while a squirrel would run across the road, and his body would tense up.

  "What about memory loss in werewolves? Heard anything about that?"

  "Oh, sure," Oliver said. "It was all over the gossip column this morning."

  "A simple no would have been fine."

  My cell rang then, and I answered it without looking at the caller ID. Vic's heavy breathing greeted me on the other line. The excited panting—which reminded me of Biscuit's—was my first clue that the call was about the case.

  "I just got finished reading Kosher's report," she said triumphantly.

  "And does Kosher know you read his report?"

  "Maybe deep, deep down."

  I waved at Oliver and mouthed "thank you" before heading out the door. Stopping short of getting in the car, I realized that this conversation probably wasn't something I wanted Biscuit to hear—especially because I couldn't account for his whereabouts during the murder.

  "The most interesting thing by far in the whole thing is that Niddle's credit cards were missing."

  "He was naked, Vic. Unless he hid his wallet up his—"

  A woman walking with a baby stroller shot me a hideous look. Without missing a beat, I flipped her the bird. Giving an outraged hiss, she and her little urchin took off.

  "We found the clothes in the woods. Folded and everything," she said. "We think he did it himself, since we couldn't find any skin or hair besides his own on the clothes."

  "We?" I asked, smiling slightly. "A week or so on the job, and you're one of them?"

  "They let me have doughnuts."

  "I'm watching out for your damn cholesterol," I said. "Anything else worth hearing in the report?"

  "We had one of those park rangers up to track his path from the clothes to the body." She sighed dreamily. "He was hot stuff. Those boots alone—"

  "Gag. Spare me the details about Ranger Rick."

  "Your loss. Ranger Rick found the trail of the beast and the victim. Said that the animal was a top predator, good hunter. He couldn't find any tracks good enough to watch to anything, though."

  "Boots and a brain, how intoxicating." But my mind was elsewhere. "So, we're looking for a skilled hunter who needs cash. Sound like any creepy werewolves you've heard about?"

  I knew I didn't trust that Boone. From the moment I'd looked into his eyes, I'd seen a wild beast, a top predator, as it were. I was pretty pleased with myself to have such a definitive suspect so early on. This might've wrapped up to be one of my easiest cases to date.

  "The academy always stresses not to jump to conclusions," Vic said.

  "Good thing I'm not a cop. I spend most of my time jumping. That's how my calves stay so firm."

  I passed Wyatt in his car about a block from our house, Cooper in the passenger seat. Luckily, Biscuit had changed back to dog form in the woods a couple miles back and was now drooling in my lap.

  Pulling up next to each other, we rolled down our windows and made kissy faces at each other to annoy Cooper. He invited me to come with them to pick up dinner, but I declined so I could have a moment alone with Biscuit to lay down some new house rules.

  Once inside, Biscuit jumped up on the couch, the piece of furniture sagging under his weight. He put his head on his paws and watched me, obviously waiting for the axe to fall.

  “First order of business,” I said, refusing to be softened, “I’m locking you in the bathroom every night, and you’re to stay there all night.”

  He whimpered and, when I wouldn’t budge, showed me his teeth.

  “God, you’re worse than having a teenager,” I said. “Grounded and that’s final.”

  “Oh, and there will be no more accidents on the carpet now that I know you know better.” I paced in front of the couch. “And no sneaking meat. That’s right, I know where that steak went.”

  I was interrupted from my tirade by a knock at the door. Frowning, I looked at Biscuit. “Boy, but I’m popular today. Were you expecting someone?”

 
; It was kind of nice to talk to someone who could understand but couldn’t talk back. Freeing, even. The people around me were far too lippy, though thinking that made me the biggest hypocrite in the tri-state area.

  I opened the door to a man in a very dark suit—the kind of suit that is instantly recognizable to anyone with half a brain. And even operating with my measly one fourth, I figured it out. The federal agent on my doorstep wasn’t a stranger to me, though he looked even less friendly than the last time we met.

  Agent Kline wasn’t exactly what you expected from a government agent. His hair was light, and he had surfer boy good looks. Keeping in line with his job description, he’d been a real hard ass when he rolled into town to investigate a counterfeiting case. The thinly veiled supernatural happenings had made him more than a little suspicious.

  He was holding a danish from one of the well-known stores downtown, and I smiled a bit. “That’s how we get ya. Come for the faux money, stay for the pastries.”

  He gave me an unfathomable look. “Is that how you do it?”

  Apparently, tasty sweets couldn’t distract a federal agent for long. It was probably just as well that I’d never be one of them.

  Heaving a sigh, I opened the door wider to let him in, since he didn’t appear to be going anywhere. The problem with outsiders is that they don’t really believe in all the magic and nonsense that the townies take for granted until it’s too late. Then, when they’re forced to believe, it isn’t pretty.

  We sat down at the kitchen table, and he surprisingly didn’t look out of place. Wyatt was a suit-wearer, so the house must have been used to a bunch of stiffs invading it.

  “So if you’re not in town for the danishes, why are you in my kitchen?”

  He didn’t smile, even though I was being funny. “The FBI, after a key report from my last visit, has decided this town warrants investigating.”

  “A key report written by you, I’d wager.”

  He said, “Maybe. Something isn’t right in this town. The crime rates for such an isolated, non-urban place are off the charts. I can’t believe no one’s looked into it before now.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “They have.”

  It went unsaid that they either left town empty-handed, or they didn’t leave at all. Waresville had a way of protecting its secrets, and while Agent Kline was undoubtedly hot stuff where he was from, he was Army strong, not Waresville strong.

  “I’m spearheading the initial investigation,” he said into the silence. “Any information you give me freely would be much appreciated.”

  “Freely?”

  “This is a federal investigation.” A bit of steel found its way into his words. “I can court martial you if I have to.”

  “Kinky. Will I need a safe word for that?”

  He stood, looking a bit put out. “Don’t try to be cute, Miss Beck. I’m serious.”

  “Not trying to be anything. I can’t help being cute. It just seeps from the pores.”

  “If you think of anything helpful,” he said through gritted teeth, while handing me a business card, “call me. I sincerely hope I get your call, Miss Beck, or the next time we meet won’t be as pleasant.”

  The door slammed shut behind him, and I grimaced. “Yeah, because this time was all sunshine and daisies.”

  A second later, I called Oliver up and asked him to keep his big ears open for gossip about a guy in a suit poking his nose around Waresville.

  “Trying to keep a leash on the fiancée?”

  My lips twitched. “As if I could. No, this is a different hunk in a suit.”

  He sighed. “You get all the pretty toys, while I am left with none.”

  “Such is life. But I don’t think I’ll be having much fun with this one.”

  After I hung up with Oliver, I sat in the kitchen thinking for a few moments. Biscuit, who had helpfully kept out of sight when Kline was here, plunked down at my feet. Scratching his ear absently, I reevaluated my involvement in this case.

  For one, werewolves weren’t my normal gig. Apart from what little I’d learned so far, I knew nothing about them. And I didn’t think it was a good idea to go to my usual source for information this time. Gran could be unpredictable at the best of times, but especially when it came to other supernatural creatures. I actually liked Daniel and Felly, so I didn’t want them to go down in flames like their horrible, possibly homicidal pack mates.

  Now, with Kline looking into the strange happenings of Waresville, it was even more dangerous. I was used to killers taking a special interest in me—cue Boone’s watchful eyes—but not investigators. The last thing I wanted was to bring down a rash of FBI agents who would put me in cages and prod me—and not in a fun way.

  There was no way, either, that the recent murder wouldn’t prick Kline’s interest. A wolf attack in northern Florida? Maybe not unheard of, but it definitely wasn’t commonplace. Before long, he’d probably have his whole task force down here.

  Wyatt and Cooper burst through the door with pizza in hand. Usually, the sight of the best food in the world would have cheered me up, but I was too deep in my dilemma. I waited for them to put the boxes down on the table, but instead, Wyatt grabbed a basket and some eating supplies, putting everything into the basket.

  “Going somewhere?” I asked dryly as they fit the pizza in the container.

  Cooper bounced over to me, his enthusiasm cheering me up in a way the pizza hadn’t. “My dad said we can have a picnic at the dog park and let Biscuit run around. That way he’ll stay in the house tonight.”

  I debated telling them that Biscuit had already reluctantly agreed to stay put, but shrugged off the impulse. I’m not much of a sharer at the best of times and while on a case, I get downright closed-lipped about the important details. It drives Wyatt crazy, which is reason enough not to change my ways.

  There wasn’t exactly a dog park in town. Instead, the citizens used an old field just outside of town that technically belonged to an old man that had died over a decade ago. He’d had a billion kids and no will, so the property had been in contention for years. In the meantime, people were using it as an illegal poop dumping ground, which was why I was surprised Wyatt had picked it. He didn’t like filth or unlawfulness.

  A couple of families with children were out running around, toting their comparably tiny dogs. Biscuit bounded after them, trampling over the dogs and people in an effort to play. Watching but not intervening, we picked a relatively clean spot to sit and eat.

  "How long was Biscuit gone last night?" I asked innocently.

  Cooper was the one to answer, pizza falling from his mouth as he talked. "From the time we went to bed until I got up. I tried to get him to come in, but he kept running into the woods." He pouted. "I want him to sleep with me."

  Wyatt shuddered. "I don't think your bed springs could take it."

  "We'll put him in the bathroom for a little while," I said. "Just ‘til we're sure about his potty training."

  Wyatt agreed whole-heartedly about this, getting that look in his eyes that told me he was thinking about his carpet. Cooper, on the other hand, grumbled and argued for a few minutes before consenting. Now done with our pizza, we turned to check on the beast we'd brought into our home.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  "Biscuit?" Cooper called, shooting to his feet.

  "Uh oh," I said, eyeing the not-too-far off tree line.

  Wyatt seemed to get it too, because he told Cooper to stay there while we searched for the dog. The reason he gave was that he wanted someone around in case Biscuit came back, but I knew he was picturing the victim from this morning.

  "I'll take the left half," I told him, about to stride off and disappear into the shrubbery.

  Catching my arm, Wyatt hesitated. "I don't want you out in the woods alone."

  I smiled at him. "But you also know that we can cover twice the amount of ground in less time if we split up. That means less time where Cooper and I are exposed to whatever killed Niddle." />
  "I hate it when you make sense," he said.

  When I would have pulled away, Wyatt brought me closer. Our lips met, and my head went all fuzzy and hot. Neither of our breathing was even when we had to part again, and I gave his hand one last squeeze before heading off.

  Unfortunately for my human eyesight, the light was fading from the day, and in the shade of the trees, it was hard to see two feet in front of my face. I was torn between watching where I was stepping and watching what might be stepping towards me. It was an impossible choice.

  Strange sounds like sticks cracking and leaves rustling made my hair stand on end. They weren't out of character for a forest, but they felt malevolent to me. Every shadow was someone lurking, every sound announcing a sinister presence.

  A particularly loud pop to my right had me whirling. "Biscuit?"

  "Come here often—alone?"

  Boone appeared from behind a large tree. Most of his body was obscured by the darkness, but I could make out his beady eyes and something wet in his beard, a chunk of something. With a shudder, I realized I'd probably interrupting him eating. Boy, did I hope he'd at least put a dent in his appetite.

  "I'm not alone," I said, and it sounded lame even to my ears. "My fiancé will be along shortly."

  At that, Boone scanned the woods, his creepy eyes penetrating far deeper than was comfortable. The tension left his body, but there was still a watchful quality to his relaxation, like he was waiting for me to run. No, it was more like he was hoping I would run.

  Predators love a good chase.

  "No, he won't. No one's going to come looking for you."

  He took a step towards me just as a figure appeared from the opposite direction Boone had come from. It was a large, dark colored wolf whose bulkiness and lines reminded me of Biscuit. Unlike Biscuit, he looked well fed and well cared for.

  Boone's lip curled back, and he growled at the newcomer. The wolf, unimpressed, simply stared the man down. After a scant second, Boone dropped his eyes and did a mock bow, as if saying "as you command, oh mighty alpha."

  "Hey, Daniel," I said, weakly. "What, no flowery bandana?"

  He gave me a wolfish grin and let off a short bark. After that, another wolf came out of the forest. His fur was red, and he stayed far away from me, glaring. I could only guess that this was Butch. I resisted the urge to ask him if he'd fixed my grandmother's car yet.