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

by Raven Snow

  All amusement was swept away when I looked down at my side to share this joke with Biscuit. Deflated, I pictured going home without the family dog. What was I going to tell Wyatt? Gulping, I realized that was the least of my worries. What was I going to tell Cooper?

  "I'd love to do some planning," I said. "I'll be over in a few minutes."

  Dumbstruck silence was all I heard for a hot second, and then Nancy exploded with excitement, expressing how happy she was that I'd finally come around—and just in time too.

  Avoiding my problems wasn't going to make them go away, but at least I'd have time to think of what kind of spin I was going to put on this story. Grabbing my keys from my back pocket, I was about to get in the car and drive to my soon-to-be mother-in-law's when I noticed something stuck in the crevice on the hood of my car.

  Frowning, I fished out several clumps of brown and grey hairs. The grey perfectly matched the fur found on the first victim, but the brown was completely new to me. I didn't have time to dwell on it, because I saw movement behind a curtain in our house. Throwing the hair in a baggy, I took off down the street like a bat out of hell.

  Which was fitting, seeing as I was headed into hell.

  Chapter Seven

  Nancy Bennett's house is perfect. Nothing is too new or too old. It's comfy, cozy, and it looks like someone actually lives there, though there's not a speck of dirt in sight. When I stepped through the door, I smelled oatmeal cookies, fresh from the oven. Now, don't get me wrong, I love oatmeal. It's a perfect breakfast food. Oatmeal in cookie form? The devil's work. Cooper felt the same way, which was partially why he didn't like spending too much time over here.

  The other reason was sitting on the couch, watching some kind of sport or other. Cooper's grandpa rarely said anything and mostly kept to the TV. Cooper, being more of a book kid, had nothing in common with the man. To tell the truth, I didn't think Cooper knew the difference between touchdowns and fumbles.

  Nancy was waiting for me in the kitchen with bridal magazines and tons of notebook paper piled on the kitchen table. It seemed she'd started the planning for me months ago, though Wyatt and I had only been engaged a couple of weeks. Readying myself for a long afternoon, I settled into the seat across from her.

  She started out the exercise by asking the worst possible question—one I hadn't even thought of.

  "Now, dear, how many can we expect from your side of the family?"

  Oh, god, wedding's required family didn't they? Just like when Boone had been hunting me this morning, a sweat broke out along my back.

  "My friends, Jeb, Oliver, Vic—"

  She made an impatient noise. "Yes, I already have them down—though I'd wish you'd reconsider. But I meant family besides your handful of friends and your grandmother. You know, cousins, aunts, that kind of thing."

  I gave her the name and address of my one cousin in Miami and fell silent. There were no more relations I knew about, and if they were just now coming out of the woodwork, I couldn't say I actually wanted them at my wedding. The truth was, I'd been alone most of my life—or close to alone. It'd never bothered me before. Now, with the prospect of a whole side of seating being left empty, I felt a little embarrassed.

  There was nothing like a mother-in-law to make you feel inadequate in every way.

  Clucking her tongue, she went on to talk about the venue. Apparently, her side of the family wouldn't hear of having it anywhere but in a church. When I weakly suggested the Funky Wheel, which had been a church before a place of groovy worship, she stared at me with abject horror.

  She moved on like I hadn't even said anything, deciding on the Catholic church in town, because it had the most seating. I sat back and watched her work, wondering if it was really necessary for me to be here for any of this.

  I began to drift, letting my thoughts go. A ray of light hitting Nancy's throat sparkled in my eyes, and I was drawn back to the present.

  "That's pretty," I blurted, pointing to her diamond necklace. I wasn't sure what drew me to it, but now I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

  She blushed faintly. "Samuel bought it for me as an anniversary present. I told him it was too much."

  I don't know why I didn't guess that. After all, a diamond necklace is exactly the kind of gift a lover gives. Nancy launched back into planning, and I was left frowning, wondering if sitting this long was giving me mental deficiencies.

  When all was said and done, I was left looking at the beginning of a wedding that didn't look anything like mine. It was frilly, silly, and there wasn't a neon color to be found anywhere. I'd even been shot down over playing something funky to walk down the aisle to. How was I supposed to march without shaking if there wasn't any soul in the jams?

  Nancy walked me outside because it was dark. As soon as I stepped out of the house, my problems caught up to me in a big way in the corporeal form of Agent Kline. He was leaning against his SUV, seemingly waiting for me. Nancy frowned at him, staying on the porch instead of heading in while I moved to go past him.

  "Not every day you find a corpse on your car," he said.

  I shrugged, not saying anything. Honestly, that was pretty much my everyday. But it wouldn’t do me any good to tell Kline that. In fact, it might just be detrimental to my freedom.

  "This whole case has revolved around you," he said slowly. "Someone might get the wrong idea, if that were to come to light."

  I raised an eyebrow. "The wrong idea that I chase those people through the woods, naked, leaving my fur on them after partially eating their flesh?"

  He went a little green about the flesh part. Before he could open his mouth to say more, a broom hit him right in the face. He ducked against his car, putting his hands up to ward off further attacks. Turning in surprise, I realized the broom belonged to my mother-in-law.

  "We have laws against menacing, mister," she said. "I won't abide hooligans on my property."

  I stood there in silence for a moment, watching Nancy Bennett beat up a federal agent. Then it was all too much, and I started to laugh. Once I'd started, I couldn't stop, and I was on the ground in no time, holding my aching sides.

  Kline dove for the driver's side seat, warding off the broom with little success. His face was scratched and red where the broom had brushed him, making him look like pimply teenager. He drove off in a puff of smoke, shooting wary glances at the housewife that had outdone him the whole time.

  "You really should get up, dear," she said. "You're making your clothes even worse."

  ______

  What was facing me at home was far less fun than the scene I'd left at Nancy's house. Wyatt, pacing the floor, was waiting for me when I walked in the door. I didn't see Cooper in sight. I immediately expected Wyatt to start into me about losing the dog—I'd shot him a text about it, like a coward.

  Instead, he launched himself at me, enveloping me in a bone-crushing hug. He didn't let go quickly, either, holding on for a few minutes, breathing in my scent. I let the feeling of Wyatt wash over me, soothing the hurt left over from this terrible case and his terrible mother.

  "Where the hell have you been?" he practically growled, pulling back. "I haven't heard from you in hours. I thought—" Wyatt cut off, looking away.

  Guilt surged through me, but it wasn't useful, so I set it aside. The point in the case had come when I needed to be honest. Usually, I didn't get here until after I'd caught the bad guy, but it was all too much right now. I needed to come clean.

  "About the dog—"

  "I don't care about the damn dog right now," he said, running a hand through his hair.

  "You will," I said quietly.

  And then I told him all about Biscuit. Wyatt, not surprisingly, let me get through the whole thing without interruptions. His face gave nothing away, so I had to content myself with watching his body language to see how he was taking it.

  When I was done, he said, "Only our son would pick out a werewolf against hundreds of other dogs.” His face was grave. “Harper…you ha
ve to promise me not to go near the woods for awhile. I can’t—promise me.”

  All I could do was nod, my throat clogged up. He seemed to breathe again with my movement.

  Resting my head against his chest after a moment, I asked, "What are we going to tell Cooper? The truth?"

  "Maybe not the truth, yet," he said. "I don't even know if I was ready for the truth....You saw him naked?"

  "That would be what you focus on."

  After a moment where he seemed to be thinking, Wyatt laughed. "Well, that explains something."

  "What?"

  "Mrs. Swalski down the street stopped me the other day to tell me she'd seen you in the kitchen with a naked man."

  "What a busybody," I said, pausing. "And you waited until now to bring it up?"

  He winked. "I figured you were just having an affair."

  "Oh, I am. Just not with Biscuit. But don't worry, I won't be so indiscreet with my real lover."

  "I appreciate that,” he said. “I knew something had been bothering you all week. I just figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” He smoothed a hand over my hair. “Of course, waiting is easier said than done. I figure I would’ve beaten it out of you in a day or two.”

  “And then sleep with one eye open for the rest of your short life.”

  He kissed both of my eyelids. “Of course. Kosher called while you were gone.”

  The look I gave him must have been comical, because he laughed. “Not for you. He wanted to fill me in on the body found on your car.”

  “And?” I said impatiently.

  “I’m not sure you really deserve that information after lying to me.”

  “And I’m not so sure you deserve to sleep on the couch for the duration of our marriage, but go ahead, test me.”

  He didn’t look impressed, but he did spill the beans. “This kill was a lot less sloppy. If the last time had been a crime of passion, this one was almost cold.”

  I thought back to all the chunks taken out of the hunter. “That was cold?”

  He shrugged. “The bites are more precise, like the thing was toying with the victim and trying to keep him alive longer.”

  Now, wasn’t that pleasant. Hmm, who did I know that liked to torture human beings? “Is there any connection between the two victims?”

  Shaking his head, Wyatt said, “Doesn’t even seem like they breathed the same air. The only connection they have is their deaths.”

  Nothing about this case had been easy, so I didn’t exactly expect the answer to fall into my lap. Still, if the universe wanted this case solved, it had a funny way of showing it.

  While we were in the process of coming clean, I decided to tell him where I’d been the past couple of hours. His eyebrows went up at the mention of his mother and then down when I told him what we’d been doing.

  “You must have been truly desperate to avoid me if you hid at my mother’s.”

  I shuddered. “It looks like the wedding from hell threw up in there. Apparently, we’re getting married in a church.”

  “A witch on sacred ground,” he said dryly. “What a good idea.”

  “It won’t kill me—probably. Though, I think Gran might not attend just on principle.”

  “Maybe the church thing isn’t such a bad idea,” he teased. His smile didn’t last long, though, and he was serious in the next moment. “I want your grandmother there. She’s your family.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I put my arm over my eyes, obscuring my expression to save Wyatt any guilt about my current misery.

  He wasn’t a detective because of his pretty face though, and he saw the change in my expression before I had the chance to hide it. Leaning in close, he pulled my arm away, placing it gently in my lap.

  “We could go to Vegas,” he said. “Skip the whole thing. You could get married in a showgirl’s outfit.”

  Before I could tell him a resounding yes, there was a knock on the door. Wyatt got up to check who it was through the keyhole. With a grunt of disgust, he fell back on the couch, burying his head in the pillows. That could only mean one thing, so with a big smile on my face, I opened the door for Vic.

  She was wearing a mini skirt with her police-issued shirt and tie. The fishnets were doing a good job of holding in all that she had, but there's only so much you can ask of fabric. Her toes were painted a horrible color of yellow that I just loved.

  Looking her up and down, I said, "Whatever you want, it's a yes from me."

  She held up the lock picking kit that I'd gotten her for Christmas. "Want to do something illegal?"

  From the living room, I heard Wyatt moan. It sounded a bit like the last utterance of a dying man. I felt some sympathy for my man, but not enough to keep the grin from enveloping my face.

  "Why, I'd just love to, Officer Vic."

  "Then get in the car, civilian," she said, racing down the driveway to her sedan.

  "I'll spring you from the cells in a couple hours if I don't hear anything," Wyatt called to me as I shut the door, sounding resigned.

  He knew the drill.

  The spring heat hadn't quite hit Waresville yet, so the night was a little chilly. Vic actually had the heat on in her car, and since we were both practically naked, we huddled around the vents. Vic drove like a bat out of hell towards the old motel where we'd almost arrested Daniel. I'd come to appreciate Vic's driving in the past couple months, so I just buckled up and hung on for the ride.

  Daniel's room was unsurprisingly empty. I'd let Vic do the lock, though I could have just blasted it in with magic. She needed to learn. We walked in, looking around for anything out of the ordinary. I was half hoping I'd find Biscuit in here, waiting patiently in some kind of cage for me to rescue him. No such luck. For not the first time that day, I prayed that Daniel would be a man of his word.

  When I pulled back the sheets, I realized that Daniel must have made his own bed and that the maid hadn't come. It wasn't really surprising in a place like this. Hell, from the state of the bathroom, I wasn't sure if this motel even employed a maid.

  All over the white sheets was dark, coarse hair. It was too long and not the right texture to be Daniel's.

  "He must have a very hairy...friend," Vic said and sighed. "The good ones always do."

  When we moved onto Butch's room, we found the same textured hair on the bed—though these were reddish. For a moment, the hair looked very familiar to me, and it incited a moment of panic, like I had to run, to get away. The moment passed, but it left me with an epiphany.

  I hit Vic on the arm to get her attention. It was harder than I meant it to be, and she took a swing at my face. I retaliated by shoving my fingernail in between her fingers.

  Squealing, she said, "Truce! Truce!" She shook out her hand when I released it. "You almost ruined my future as a hand model."

  "Don't start what you can't finish."

  "You hit me," she reminded me.

  Oh, yeah. I pointed to the bed in lieu of apologizing. "I think the werewolves must sleep in wolf form—and shed heavily in their sleep. This is the exact color of the hair of one of the wolves I saw in the woods."

  "So Daniel isn't gay?" she said hopefully.

  "Even if you hadn't tried to arrest him," I said, "you probably wouldn't have a shot. Daniel strikes me as the type who likes his women unattached."

  She had the decency to blush and look away. I tried to be cool about the whole Kosher thing, but pictures kept popping up in my mind—images that had no business being there.

  "Ew, I said."

  "You should be happy for me," Vic informed me with her nose in the air. "I'm finally getting back on my feet after the divorce."

  "And back on the saddle, as it were. Is it really like riding a bike?"

  "More like learning to write with your non-dominant hand after a lifetime of doing it the other way."

  Wincing, I said, "Please, stop. I don't need to picture you and Kosher doing it any way."

  "He's very nice to Hope."

  "Gi
ve the man a medal." And I meant it. Vic's little girl, despite her cheery name, was mean as a junkyard dog. It didn't help that she was a daddy's girl and resented her mother for moving her here. Personally, I didn't think there was anything wrong with Hope that a swift kick in the ass wouldn't fix.

  The next room gave me the chills the moment we went in. It was almost identical to the others, but this one seemed to lack soul.

  "The heating must be broken," Vic said nervously, shuddering in the wake of the cold room.

  I walked over to the bed, which was surprisingly made, and pulled back the comforter. Grey hair that I recognized from real life and my nightmares was all over the sheets. Even if I hadn't known the second I stepped over the threshold, I'd have known now that this was where Boone roomed.

  Fear and indecision ran rampant through my body as I looked at the evidence of my tormentor's presence. For the first time, I truly considered the implications of being here. None of the werewolves would miss mine or Vic's scent in their rooms. Even if they had moved on with Daniel, I couldn't guarantee they wouldn't come back.

  And when Boone scented me, he wouldn't be able to resist coming after me this time.

  Only thoughts of the two victims, my poor, desecrated car, and Biscuit kept me from running from the motel with my tail between my legs.

  "Let's check the bathroom," I said finally. "Quickly."

  It was just as filthy as Daniel's and Butch's, but that wasn't newsworthy. In fact, nothing seemed to be out of place, and I was just about to tell Vic to head out when she called my name from the shower area.

  Joining her in a crouched position, I looked at what she was staring at. In the far corners of the shower, there was a fine but distinctive stain, pinkish, fading into red rust in some places. It was unmistakable to anyone who had seen it in a shower before.

  Blood.

  "Next room?" Vic asked quietly, trembling.

  "Yeah."

  The last room we barged into didn't have any feminine effects—except for the necklace that was lying on the nightstand—but it was undoubtedly Felly's. I didn't think Boone could fit into a size eight combat boot. But then, all the times we'd met, I hadn't been watching his feet.