by K E O'Connor
Grandpa Lucius patted my arm before standing aside. “Don’t take any nonsense from them.”
That would be tricky. Angels weren’t the easiest of magic creatures to deal with. I’d rather deal with a grumpy werewolf or a misbehaving fairy. I walked into the cemetery in front of the angels.
“This is Jophiel.” Sablo introduced the unfamiliar angel.
“I take it Dazielle has had a recruitment drive.” I nodded at Jophiel.
“The big boss gave us extra funds. We’ve been having a lot of suspicious deaths lately. We need experts who can deal with the darker side of crime.”
Suspicious deaths! I’d helped them to solve most of those suspicious deaths. They should have offered me the job. Not that I’d have accepted. Feathers made my nose itch.
“Don’t touch that.” Grandpa Lucius hurried up behind us and swatted Jophiel’s hand from a sculpture of an angel with her wings extended.
She pouted and looked away. This new recruit needed training.
“I’ve got this.” I winked at Grandpa Lucius. “Wiggles, why don’t you keep Grandpa Lucius company?”
Wiggles growled as he glared at the angels. “I wanna come with you.”
I knew what he was like around angels. He was longing to take a chunk out of one of these feathered beauties, and I didn’t need Dazielle on my back because of Wiggles’ bad behavior.
“I’ve got a breakfast burrito we can share.” Grandpa Lucius waggled his eyebrows at Wiggles.
“Burrito beats angels any day.” Wiggles bounced around the gravestones. “What are we waiting for?”
Grandpa Lucius eyed the angels with suspicion as he backed away. “We’ll be at the family crypt if you need us.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.”
“How does your demon prison work?” Jophiel asked.
“Much like any other prison designed to contain supernatural nasties. Magic keeps them inside. We monitor them remotely, so we don’t have to go in unless there’s a problem.”
“Do they have cells?”
“No, they’re free roaming demons. There are a few who need their own private space, though. They don’t do well in company.”
“Don’t they fight if they’re all together?”
“It can get feisty down there, but they figure out their own pecking order. If they don’t, they don’t tend to survive for long.”
“How often do they try to escape?”
“Most days.”
Jophiel looked horrified. “You have to fight demons every day?”
“No, a quick whack on the head sorts them out.” I grinned at Jophiel. “This way.”
I showed them the main entry points to the prison through the Darkmore and Willow family crypts. These were the two oldest families in the village and had established the magic community centuries ago.
Sablo and Jophiel spent a few moments looking around each crypt, running their hands over the cool stone as if their angel fingers could detect something I couldn’t.
“It all looks secure,” Sablo said.
I nodded. “That’s because it is.”
“Have you had any problems with cracks opening?”
“Yes. All the time.”
Jophiel gasped. “It doesn’t sound stable.”
“It’s very stable. But the ground is old, and the magic gets weak. It’s why we always have someone stationed in the cemetery. Usually, we have two people, but with the current situation, Grandpa Lucius is managing on his own.”
Sablo looked around the cemetery. “No one got out recently? You would report that to the angels if it happened?”
“Of course. If they had, and we kept the information hidden, our reputation would be in tatters. We don’t let demons out once they go inside.”
“Which means one of two things.”
I nodded. “Either we have a demon on the loose who somehow got into the village...”
“Or, this is much closer to home, and someone you know murdered Bastille.”
I hated that that appeared to be the more likely option. “How’s the investigation going?”
“We’ve finished at the crime scene and moved Bastille’s body.” Sablo swiped her hands down her arms. “It was a horrible way to go.”
“Did she fight back?”
Sablo slid me a sideways glance. “Dazielle said you’re not to be involved. You know everyone who’s a suspect. You’re a suspect.”
“Which means I’m going to be involved. I know these witches, and I know none of them are killers. I also know I’m not a killer.”
Sablo shrugged. “Alibis have yet to be established for everyone.”
“I can give you mine now.”
“No. This has to be done by the book.”
I struggled to conceal my frustration. “It must be someone who lives in Willow Tree Falls. They must have a grudge against Bastille. One they’ve been holding onto for a long time, just waiting for the right opportunity to get their revenge.”
“It’s likely to be someone Bastille knows well,” Sablo said.
“Which means she didn’t fight back!” I jabbed a finger at Sablo. “She knew her killer.”
Sablo sighed but nodded. “There was no sign of a struggle. She wasn’t dragged into the garden. She went willingly.”
“They took her outside the hotel so no one heard any struggle,” I said. “They didn’t want anyone hearing any noise or stumbling into Bastille’s room mid-murder.”
“It’s looking likely. There are no signs of a fight in Bastille’s room or any suggestion she was taken against her will. Bastille went outside alone in the middle of the night with her killer. Her killer was known to her. She trusted them.”
I was reluctant to admit that any of Auntie Queenie’s friends had anything to do with this, but it sounded like one of them could be involved.
“Could a demon have tricked her?” I suggested as I continued to lead the angels around the cemetery. “A shape shifter. Demons can take human form for a short period. This mystery demon could have disguised itself in order to get to Bastille.”
Sablo didn’t look convinced. “Why bother? A powerful demon wouldn’t have cared if they’d been overheard. Demons are chaos makers. The more damage and death, the better.”
“The demon would have been cautious if it realized there were powerful witches in the other rooms.”
Sablo tilted her head. “It’s possible, but those powerful witches are also on our suspect list.”
“If it was a demon, they weren’t from here.”
“It doesn’t look like it.” Sablo stopped by the gates of the cemetery. “You run a solid prison.”
“I agree.” I nodded at Sablo and Jophiel. “Have you started questioning people yet about Bastille’s murder?”
“We’ll be speaking to everyone,” Sablo said, “including you and Queenie.”
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but I’m her alibi and she’s mine. After the party, I helped get Auntie Queenie home. Mom was also there. Auntie Queenie was in no condition to harm anyone with magic.” Magic needed a clear head to be effective, and that was one thing Auntie Queenie hadn’t had last night.
“We still need to check that out,” Sablo said. “What about you? How clear was your head?”
“Clear enough, but this has nothing to do with me. What have the other suspects said?” I had to know what progress the angels had made.
Sablo narrowed her eyes. “I’m speaking to Esmeralda and Lila first. We’ll get around to Queenie later today.”
That gave me an opportunity. If I could get to the hotel and speak to Caprice before the angels did, I could learn how bad the bickering got between her and Bastille. It was a long shot, but my questioning had to start somewhere.
“Is there anything else you need to see?” I smiled sweetly. “Maybe a VIP guided tour in the prison?”
“You’re kidding?” Jophiel backed away, her eyes wide.
“Of course she is.” Sablo’s expression grew pensive. �
�You are kidding?”
I laughed. “Anytime, you know where we are. The demons will be thrilled to see you.”
“We’ll report back to Dazielle,” Sablo said. “But remember what she said. You need to stay out of this. I’ve told you too much.”
“Don’t worry. I always listen to what Dazielle tells me.”
Sablo pursed her lips before heading toward the hotel with Jophiel.
I hurried back to the family crypt to find Grandpa Lucius and Wiggles chomping on the last of a giant burrito, alongside a bag of tortilla chips. “They’re gone. They found nothing, as we knew they would.”
“They’re so full of themselves.” Grandpa Lucius wiped his fingers on a napkin. “They rile me up with their self-importance. There’s nothing like a self-righteous angel to put you off your breakfast.”
It didn’t look like they’d put him off that much. “Our demons are not to blame for this.”
He nodded. “Any substance to the theory of a rogue demon?”
“I hope not, but I need to check it out.”
Grandpa Lucius shook his head. “Better that than the other grim option.”
“Which is why I can’t stop. I need to figure out what happened; otherwise, Auntie Queenie won’t get any sleep worrying about who killed Bastille.”
“Of course, you go but be careful.” Grandpa Lucius stood and kissed my cheek. “There’s a killer out there. Whoever it is, demon, witch, or otherwise, they have strong magic.”
“I will, but we have to find out what happened.” I waved goodbye as I dashed out of the cemetery with Wiggles.
“Good burrito?” I asked him.
“It could have used more hot sauce, but I’m not complaining. A burrito’s a burrito. You can never have a bad one.”
“Are you ready to sneak past some angels?”
“Of course. It’s something I’m getting top marks in lately.”
I grinned at him as we dashed to the hotel. I wasn’t all that comfortable having to question people I’d known all my life about a murder, but there was no other option.
Sablo wasn’t a bad angel, but she wasn’t the most competent. I needed to get as much information as I could to piece this mystery together.
And I had to do it before Dazielle figured out what I was doing and followed through on her threat to shove me in a cell until this investigation was over.
Chapter 6
As I entered the hotel, I heard voices coming from upstairs, but there was no one on the reception desk.
I snuck a look at the guest book and saw Caprice’s room number before hustling up the stairs with Wiggles.
I knocked quietly on Caprice’s door.
She opened it a few seconds later. “Tempest! What are you doing here? I thought we were all being kept apart by those irksome angels.”
“We are. I’m not supposed to be here.” I hurried into the room and shut the door, not wanting any angels to discover me interviewing suspects.
Wiggles jumped on the bed and bounced up and down a few times. “This mattress is too soft.”
Caprice scooped him off and placed him on the ground. “Then it’s a good job it’s not your bed, you bad boy.”
Wiggles’ tongue flopped out and his tail wagged. “I love a bossy witch.”
Caprice shook her head before her attention shifted to me. “How’s Queenie doing? We’re all so shocked about what happened.”
“Like you, she can’t believe what’s going on. The angels are talking to everyone, but I wanted to get your take on things. Did you see anything unusual last night? Have you got any idea who’d want to do this to Bastille?”
Caprice gestured to a seat in the room before perching on the end of her bed. “Nothing that would be bad enough to kill her.”
My eyebrows shot up. “But she was having problems with someone?”
Caprice rested her elbows on her knees. “Bastille lived a basic life. She never had much, not even when growing up.”
“Unlike you.” I noticed the royal blue outfit Caprice had on was tailored, and a pair of fancy studded designer boots sat by the closet. “I’ve heard you bickering at previous reunions.”
Caprice sighed. “I did tease Bastille when she turned up in second-hand clothes or a dress she’d worn the last time we met. I didn’t mean anything by it, but I know it riled her. She was happy enough to call me a snob and stuck up when she was of a mind to. That’s how we were.”
“Did she have financial problems? Is that why she lived so simply, because she didn’t have money?”
“Bastille always said she had enough, but I think she would have liked more. She never complained about being poor, but she’d run into problems recently because of a medical bill she couldn’t pay.”
“I didn’t know she was sick.”
“She’d had a persistent cough, but we didn’t think it was serious. The trouble is, we only see each other once a year. I couldn’t tell you if a cough she had five years ago was the one she had last year. I figured it was an age thing. There’s only so much magic can do to stave off the inevitable.” Caprice smoothed her hands over her sleek hair.
“Bastille must have worried about this medical bill. Do you know how she planned to pay for it?”
“Oh, yes. Samantha loaned her the money. It wasn’t a secret. She has more money than I do. Samantha married well, you see. It’s not family money, like mine. Her husband is generous, and she got the money off him to give to Bastille. She didn’t want her to worry about an unpaid debt. It could have made her health worse.”
“Do you know how much Samantha loaned her?”
“It wasn’t discussed. I overheard Bastille thank Samantha and promise to pay it back as soon as she could. Although, how she planned to do that I can’t imagine. Bastille had no money. She scraped by on thin air. Samantha wasn’t seeing that money back anytime soon, if ever.”
That was a possible motive. If Bastille had reneged on that promise and Samantha was in need of her money, it would give her a reason for confronting Bastille. They could have argued, especially if Bastille had told Samantha there was no money and she couldn’t repay her.
I didn’t know Samantha’s husband, but maybe he was the one pressuring to get his cash back, and Samantha panicked. How would Samantha feel knowing she’d never see the money again? I needed to speak with her next and find out.
“I hope the angels sort this mess out soon,” Caprice said. “I wasn’t as close to Bastille as the others, but I’d never wish her harm. She was one of us, no matter where she bought her clothes.”
“Is there anyone else who might have had a problem with Bastille?”
Caprice played with the hem of her skirt. “I shouldn’t say.”
“The angels will ask you the same thing.” I leaned forward. “What do you know?”
She glanced at me and looked away. “Tempest, I hate to say this, but Bastille and Queenie did argue yesterday at the party.”
I jerked back in surprise. I hadn’t expected Caprice to point the finger at Auntie Queenie. “I was there. It wasn’t a full-blown argument. It was the same thing they always bicker about.”
“Exactly, your Uncle Kenny.” Caprice smoothed her silk skirt over her knees. “Bastille knew how to hold a grudge. She’d never forgiven Queenie for what happened.”
“Auntie Queenie had no reason to kill Bastille. She got her man.”
Caprice arched an eyebrow. “Bastille swallowed her pride and her dislike of Queenie, so she could remain a part of the group. She’s always civil to Queenie but nothing more. I think, deep down, there was a lot of anger still simmering.”
I blew out a breath. “I had no idea. I mean, I knew they weren’t that close.” Could this be true, and Bastille had been silently seething all these years every time she saw Auntie Queenie?
“Their argument was never resolved. Queenie apologized plenty of times, and Bastille pretended to accept and say it was fine, but she wasn’t fine. She held in all her anger. I believe that’s pa
rt of the reason she suffered such poor health. You bottle your rage and hurt, and it festers like a wound.”
“Did Bastille ever talk to you about how she felt?”
“She shut the door on that conversation. I tried several times to get her to open up and say how hurt she was and admit that she still loved Kenny, but she wasn’t interested.”
I shook my head. “Even so, I know for a fact that Auntie Queenie isn’t involved. I was with her last night. I helped get her back home. And I watched her go up the stairs with Uncle Kenny. That was the end of her night. Even if she’d wanted to, she was in no fit state to sneak to the hotel, convince Bastille to go outside with her, and kill her. Her magic wouldn’t have been effective. She’d had too much to drink.”
Caprice shrugged. “I hope you’re right. I’m only telling you what I know. And I’ll have to tell the angels what I think.”
My eyes narrowed. “Don’t drop Auntie Queenie in this. She didn’t kill Bastille.”
Caprice lifted her chin. “Somebody did. We’re all under suspicion.”
“What will you tell the angels about your whereabouts last night?” Caprice could be deflecting attention by suggesting Auntie Queenie was involved in Bastille’s murder.
“I was here. After the party, I came straight back with the others and went to sleep. I’m not used to these late nights. I fell into bed and didn’t wake until Samantha knocked on my door this morning. I’m a sound sleeper. I didn’t budge from this bed once I was in it.”
That wasn’t a great alibi, but I could check with Tabitha, the hotel owner, to see if she’d seen Caprice on the prowl when she was supposed to be asleep. “I’ve seen you do fire magic.”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, I can perform proficiently in all elemental magic, fire magic included. But before you go jumping to conclusions that means nothing, I’d never hurt Bastille.”
She might not have hurt Bastille, but she had the power to kill with fire. Caprice also had a lousy alibi. It made me queasy to think she was involved or that any of the wonderful witches I’d gotten to know over the years could be Bastille’s killer.
