But while I was still here at the club, I decided it might be worthwhile to try and ask some casual questions. I went straight to the bar, tottering up the floating staircase, and bought a shot of vodka, which I downed instantly. Feeling considerably less inhibited now that I’d slurped down some more liquid courage, I danced my way up to a couple of girls standing in line at the bathroom. They gave me quizzical looks, but I ignored them. I was in no position to care much what these random strangers thought of me.
“Hey, do you guys come here a lot?” I asked loudly over the pumping music.
The girls looked at each other, confused as to why I was even there. The blonde one replied dubiously.
“Uh, yeah. I guess so?”
“Cool, cool,” I said lamely, bobbing my head to the music. “So, the other night there was that crazy robbery at the jewelry store, right? Crazy, huh?” Yeah, I was definitely not cool anymore. Or ever.
“Sure,” answered the brunette.
“Yeah, so were you guys here that night?” I asked, feeling my confidence swiftly disintegrate under the judgmental eyes of these young women.
“I don’t know. Probably. We’re here, like, every night,” said the blonde. “So?”
“Yeah, who are you? The curfew police?” sneered the brunette. They both burst out laughing and high-fived each other, and if I hadn’t been a hundred percent certain this was real life, I could have almost thought I was in some bad teen movie.
“You didn’t see anything weird that night, did you? Anything suspicious?” I pressed on.
“Not anything half as weird as this,” said the brunette, looking me up and down.
Well, that was that. I’d had just enough hazing from the mean girl brigade. I had gotten more than my fill of that in high school, thank you very much.
“Ok, thank you for your time. I will let you ladies get back to waiting in line for the bathroom,” I said quietly. I hurried away, my cheeks burning and my heart pounding. Suddenly, I was no longer interested in holding interviews on the dance floor, and I began looking for Tabatha and Blake. They found me before I found them, both looking dog-tired, sweaty, and a little green in the face.
“I think it’s time we head home, huh?” Blake suggested, wiping his forehead.
I nodded vigorously. “Yes. Totally. Please.”
“The room is spinning,” Tabatha groaned, her face slumped into Blake’s shoulder. He patted her head awkwardly.
“I know, Tabby. We’re going home now,” he assured her. “She’s a little drunk.”
“I can see that,” I agreed, grimacing at her overall deflated appearance. “Let’s head out.”
After much propping up and cheek-patting, we managed to get Tabatha mostly upright on her broom, and we made the very slow and cautious procession back to the Manor. By the time we got home, it was nearly one in the morning, and both cats were waiting for me in the foyer with disapproving looks. After I managed to ease Blake and Tabatha into their own beds and set a couple glasses of water on the nightstand and a bucket on the floor, I trudged into my room, cats in tow. I stayed awake just long enough to wash my face, brush my teeth, peel off my fancy clubbing outfit, and slip on some pajamas before conking out in bed. The last coherent thought I managed before falling asleep was that I would have to go back to the club the next day to keep looking for clues.
Chapter 16
I woke up from a dead sleep to the sensation of tiny round feet batting at my face. Opening my eyes slowly, I blinked my eyes awake a few times. The morning light beamed in brightly and cheerfully through the window, sunshine streaming over my bed like fingers reaching to prod me awake. My head was pounding and my stomach growling in a way that suggested both hunger and displeasure. I groaned as I realized that two cats were patting me on the face with their paws.
“Leave me alone, you guys,” I mumbled, my voice gravelly and gruff.
Lucy meowed in annoyance and Luna sighed.
“If you don’t get up soon we’ll break out the claws,” she warned me.
“How long have you been trying to wake me up?” I asked groggily.
“Oh, ever since the curtains rolled open and you didn’t wake up,” she replied curtly.
“What?” I burst out, sitting up straight with my eyes wide and round. I glanced at the vintage alarm clock on my nightstand and gasped. It was nearly eight in the morning. I had definitely overslept.
“Oh my moon,” I murmured, hurriedly pushing the sheets back off of my body as a rush of cool air assaulted my bare skin. It appeared that in my sleepy, half-drunken haze last night I had decided a sports bra and threadbare pajama shorts would suffice as appropriate winter time sleepwear. Underneath the blankets I had been mostly warm enough, but outside the covers was a whole different story. Goosebumps prickled up along my arms and legs, and I snatched a throw blanket from the end of the bed to wrap around myself as I rushed across the room to my en suite bathroom.
Both cats came skittering after me, sliding into the bathroom just as I was closing the door.
“Lumenoa,” I whispered to turn on the lights and promptly leaned toward the mirror to inspect the damage. I winced, realizing I had only wiped off about half my makeup last night before collapsing in bed.
“You look like a hot mess,” Luna commented rudely. I shot her a warning glare which she ignored.
“Are you as rude to Lara as she is to me?” I asked Lucy, who was curling up in a basket of extra toilet paper rolls on the counter as though it was a stack of pillows. Lucy simply purred.
“Well, probably not. Since Lara is a beautiful celebrity and everything,” my familiar quipped. “What is there to criticize?”
“Wow,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m the one who feeds you, you know. You might want to try being nice to me for, I don’t know, five minutes.”
“Meh. I’ll pass. Plus, I’m still mad at you for being out so late last night. And then you had the audacity to snore like a lawnmower all night long and keep me awake,” she remarked, licking her front paw snootily.
“Well, my apologies for being a less than pleasant bedmate. But you know that you snore sometimes, too. You sound just like a little piglet,” I teased.
Luna looked scandalized. “You’re lying. I don’t snore. I sleep silently and gracefully, like a baby angel. You’re just jealous.”
I laughed and stripped out of my clothes to take a quick shower. I could almost feel the stress and grime of last night being power-washed off of my skin, and the hot water against my skin was just so rejuvinating. As much as I wanted to stay in the shower and keep warm, I knew I was already behind schedule. I needed to hurry up and go downstairs to cook my guests a hearty breakfast. I had a feeling we were all going to need it. So I rushed through my shower, slipped on a comfy pair of black leggings with a drapey dark gray, long sleeved dress, and threw on a black beret to keep my head warm, as well as my black boots. Then I made my way down to the kitchen, both cats hot on my trail.
To my immense relief, my guests were nowhere in sight. I would have felt absolutely awful if I’d slept in longer than they had. I looked around, just to make sure, and eventually determined they were still upstairs in the guest room, probably still trying to sleep off their hangovers. With a grin on my face, I walked over to my gigantic cookbook and began thumbing through the pages in search of a good post-drunken-night breakfast. Something with carbs and cheese and spicy flavors to wake up and toughen up my wobbly guests.
“Breakfast tacos,” I said triumphantly, poking my finger down at a page.
“Sounds weird,” Luna remarked, always the critic.
“Well, good thing they aren’t for you, then,” I shot back, sticking my tongue out at her. I strolled over to my record player and put the needle down on my favorite old Elvis record. To the plucky tune of “Jailhouse Rock” I began my culinary adventure.
“Capioroa: sweet potatoes, corn tortillas, tomatoes, red onion, garlic, jalapeno peppers, cilantro, lime, queso fresco, chorizo, and
eggs,” I called out.
Each of the ingredients came floating dutifully out of the refrigerator and cabinets to line up neatly on the counter while I busied myself with heating up a cast iron skillet and grabbing bowls and utensils. Luna hated that spell - something about the way the items moved made her think it was super creepy. Her hair stood up on end as she hissed and flattened herself down on the opposite counter. Lucy, however, seemed unperturbed.
“Evil!” Luna hissed, her ears pushed back against her head.
“Oh, hush. It’s just a spell,” I told her. “Look, they’re all done now.”
“I wish you’d just grab all that stuff with your hands. Don’t be lazy,” she retorted, still recovering from the scary moment. I ignored her and set to work chopping vegetables to make a spicy pico de gallo.
“Truncoroa,” I muttered, ordering a knife to start dicing up the sweet potatoes. The magicked-knife worked faster than I did, and I promptly tipped the sweet potatoes into the sizzling cast iron pan along with the diced chorizo and a decent amount of olive oil. While they fried up to a nice crisp, I warmed the corn tortillas in the oven. And when the potatoes and sausage were done, I scooped it into a bowl and cracked six eggs into the skillet. I fried them all over-easy and then set to work plating everything. Corn tortillas with sweet potato hash, spicy chorizo, a sizzling fried egg, pico de gallo, queso fresco, chopped cilantro, and a dash of lime juice to finish it off. I cast a warmth-preserving spell over the dishes and waited patiently for my guests to trudge downstairs and slide into their chairs at the dining table.
About fifteen minutes later they wandered down, both of them looking like they were nursing pretty severe hangovers. They muttered hello, then flopped down at the table like it had cost them all the energy they could muster. They were definitely not doing as well as I was.
With a cheery smile on my face, I brought them their hearty hangover breakfast and they both looked so intensely grateful I thought they might shed a tear. I left them to it and headed back into the kitchen to eat my own breakfast tacos before the cats could steal them. As an apology for coming home late, snoring all night, and waking up late, I tossed them both some bits of chorizo, which they gobbled up happily. I figured Lucy probably wasn’t allergic to meat. When I was finished, I walked back out to the dining area to do a magical cleanup, only to find my guests slumped at the table.
“Are you okay?” I asked, truly concerned.
They both turned to look at me slowly, sleepily. Tabatha managed a smile and Blake replied sleepily.
“That was amazing. We’re going to go upstairs and die now.”
“Oh, okay. Well, uh, if you need anything from the pharmacy, it’s right down the road. I could even pick you up some things if you’d like. And if you’re more into the herbal route, there’s a wonderful apothecary around the corner. I know the owner and everything he sells comes straight from his own greenhouse.”
“Thank you, but I think we just need to sleep. In the dark. And silence,” Tabatha said.
I gave them an apologetic smile. “Ah. Yeah, that would probably help. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
I decided it would be good to get out of the Manor and let them rest in solitude for a while, which was perfect, since I needed to go back to the club and do some sleuthing. I finished tidying up, then wrapped a thick, oversized chunky scarf around myself and headed out into the snowy sunshine.
It was a truly glorious day, the skies bright blue and the breeze crisp. There was a fresh smell in the air, something like new snow mingled with cinnamon. As I hopped on my broom and got moving, I realized the cinnamon smell was coming from The Magic Bean. I smiled and inhaled deeply as I passed it, wondering what kinds of delicious, cozy treats Bella was cooking up in there. I almost regretted having already eaten breakfast at home, but I didn’t exactly have time to stop and chat with my friends at the cafe anyway. I was on a mission.
It was a lovely, brisk ride downtown to the block where the club was located. During the day, the area looked considerably more cheerful and inhabited. Shoppers and joggers paraded along the sidewalk, window shopping, chatting, and stretching. I definitely preferred this atmosphere to the pulsing beat of the club last night.
I started off by casually strolling along past the club, toward the antique shops and thrift stores full of vintage clothing and kitschy art pieces. I was reminded once again of how much I loved my town. Moonlight Cove could be a little boring sometimes, a little too quiet, but it was really a wonderful place to live.
When I got to the same alleyway that I’d been in the other night, I casually turned into it and began walking down. In the light of day it was significantly less creepy, but it was still quiet and very hidden. Standing at the back door of the club, I looked around nervously to make sure no one was watching. I looked up and saw a security camera, which surprised me. My heart skipped a beat, afraid that I was going to have to explain to some security guy as to why I was hanging around the back door of a club at ten in the morning. I quickly made my way away from the camera, as if I was going back towards the street, then retraced my steps, this time hugging the wall so I’d stay out of the camera’s field of view.
“Reseraroa,” I whispered, barely audibly as soon as I reached the back door of the club. I held my breath, waiting to see if the lock was enchanted or ordinary. Within a few seconds, there was a click. I reached out and tried the knob - it turned easily.
“Thank the moon,” I murmured.
I slowly - very slowly - opened the creaky back door, peering inside to see if anyone was there. It was totally dark and seemed empty, so I slipped inside.
“Lucernoa,” I muttered, holding out a finger, causing a marble-sized ball of light to ignite at the tip of it. It was just enough light to guide my way, like a handheld lighter.
I let the little pinprick of light guide me as I fumbled along the wall. Finally, I came to the jackpot: a small cubicle that looked like an office. And inside it, a television monitor. I opened the office door and slipped inside, sitting down in the swivel chair in front of the monitor. I squinted in the darkness, checking for a way to turn on the TV. I found the power button and pressed it, which brought up a screen showing me the alleyway out back in real time. I fumbled around a little more and discovered a way to play back the tape. My heart pounded as I rewound it back to the night of the robbery, hoping there would be something that would help me figure out what had happened the night of the robbery.
When I reached the correct date and time mark, I pressed play.
“My moon,” I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth.
On the monitor was Jackson Long, plain as day, sneaking out the back around the time of the robbery. I fast-forwarded through about fifteen minutes until I saw him return through the back door. He wasn’t carrying a bag of loot or anything, but surely he had just stashed it somewhere. He had only been gone a few minutes, but the jewelry shop and the club were so closely located, with that alleyway connecting them, that it made sense that he could pull off the heist in that amount of time.
“It was Jackson,” I muttered, shaking my head. “He did it.”
I had found the thief.
Chapter 17
I hurried out the back of the club, my heart hammering away in my chest. Closing the door, I bolted away down the alley, making it halfway down before I realized my mistake. I stopped and turned, pointing my finger at the door knob.
“Seroa,” I muttered, and the instant I heard a distinct click, indicating that I had successfully locked the door, I took off running. My heavy-booted footsteps clattered and echoed down the alley as I ran, clutching my scarf close as I shivered. The sky, which had been such a glorious blue before, was now turning grayish-white. The air was significantly colder, and I could practically feel a new snowfall approaching. Rounding the block and finding myself where the jewelry store was located, I promptly slumped against the brick facade, my chest heaving.
“It was him,” I murmured. “I knew it.”<
br />
But I needed to be sure.
I needed to track down Jackson Long and ask him what was going on. I had to confront him somehow. If I threw my newfound information right in his face, there was a chance it would knock him off-kilter and surprise him just enough to get him to admit the truth. I could trick him into confessing. And once I knew for sure that he was the thief, I would be one giant step closer to finding out who was the killer. I was so sure it was Jackson, but I couldn’t just leave it at that. I needed real proof.
I whipped out my phone and sent a quick text to my sister.
Is Jackson Long working up at the Academy today?
After what felt like an absolute eternity, my phone buzzed. I nearly dropped it in my haste to check the response.
No, of course not! I gave him the whole week off, and told him he could have longer if he needs it. His sister just died. Why would I have him here mopping floors and scrubbing toilets? Who am I, Caligula?
I had to laugh a little at her reply. Typical Diana. I had a feeling she was probably working on her fourth or fifth coffee already today. I tucked my phone back into my pocket and thought hard about what to do. I sort of wanted to ask Diana if she knew where I could find Jackson. Surely she had his address on file, since he was an employee. But I knew that if I dared to raise such a question to my sister there was no way she would give me the answer without interrogating me about why I was asking. She knew me too well. She would just try to stop me from pursuing the issue any further. Heck, she’d probably call the police and have them arrest me before allowing me to hunt down a potential murderer on my own.
And to be honest, I wasn’t sure that was such a bad reaction. After all, I wasn’t exactly well-armed. I had my finger and my spells, but I was no duelling champion, and she knew it. But that said, I needed to know; I needed to get the answers I was after.
Thank my Lucky Spells: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Moonlight Cove Mystery Book 3) Page 11
