“Yeah,” Issy said, her voice soft and quiet.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Dex inhaled sharply. The kiss had definitely been a mistake, that much was true. So why did it sting so much to hear her say it? “Right. Of course. I’m sorry about that.” He kicked a pebble with the toe of his hiking boot and mumbled under his breath, “Sort of.”
“Me too.” She fluffed her soft curls and squinted up into the blue sky, whispering quietly—so quietly he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention. “Sort of.”
Hard as he tried to tamp it down, a spike of hope stabbed his chest. Maybe when all this was over and the case was closed, they could go on a proper date, learn more about each other, see if this undeniable spark between them grew into more than just mutual respect and tentative friendship. First, though, he needed to clear her as suspect in any paranormal doings. Which only got harder each time she showed up around the scenes of an active murder investigation. “I meant what I said before, Ms. Quinn.”
“Issy, please,” she said, holding her hand over her eyes to block the bright sun, then bent and picked up her fluffy little dog and sat her in the truck before facing him once more. “And what was that again?”
“You shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous. And you don’t want to get caught in something by mistake.”
“Right.” Issy squinted at him a moment, her gaze far too perceptive for her own good, then climbed into the old clunker and coaxed the ancient engine to life. Black smoke chugged out the tailpipe, and it backfired loudly as she shifted the squeaky transmission into drive. “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you when I see you, Detective Nolan.”
“Dex,” he said and smacked the side of the truck with his hand, the pockmarked metal rough and hot under his palm. “And yes, you will, Issy. Count on it.”
He stood in the plume of dust stirred up by her tires and watched until her truck disappeared over the rise of the hill in the distance. His instincts told him Issy was no guiltier of killing Louella Drummond than he was. The last time he hadn't followed his instincts, the real villain had gotten away and a kidnapped child had been killed. No way would he let that happen again.
A person had died because of his miscalculations, and Dex would make sure that never happened again. Ever. Too bad it would take far more than Dex’s instincts to convince Stan the creeper man to drop Issy from his list of suspects. That guy was like a tick at a blood bank when it came to the whole paranormal nonsense.
Skin prickling now under the blazing sunshine, Dex headed over to his Crown Vic. Heat rose in hazy waves off the navy-blue hood, and he imagined it was probably hot enough to fry eggs on the black vinyl interior. After opening the driver’s-side door, he leaned in, started the engine and cranked the air conditioning. Then he shut the door, staying out of the roasting car while the air conditioning did its job. He didn't want to bake all the way back into town. Served him right, really, after kissing the one woman he should stay ten miles away from at all times.
While he waited for the car to cool down, he walked over to a shaded log near the edge of the woods and took a seat. Stan and the rest of the FBPI seemed convinced there was paranormal activity in Silver Hollow. Dex wasn’t a believer, though. He hadn’t seen anything yet that couldn’t be explained away by some kind of logic. And these days, Dex was all about logic.
Take the victim’s tongue. During his training with the bureau, he’d taken lectures on poisoning. If he remembered right, calcium oxalate caused swelling of the tongue. And the blue part? Well, that could’ve just been discoloration and mottling due to tissue death. Nope. No way was he buying into the whole witch’s-hex scenario. It was a normal murder, pure and simple. No paranormal hocus-pocus required.
He glanced over to the tire tracks left in the dust by the side of the road by Issy’s truck. And yes, maybe Issy and her cousin had been standing next to the victim when she died. That didn’t mean they’d killed her. There was a crowd of others present as well, after all. And what about the ones who weren’t there? Issy’s other cousin, the one who owned the landscaping business. Raine. Yeah, that was her name. Raine Quinn. How apropos for a gardener to be named after the element of water. He shook his head and chuckled. One more reason to get this case solved and get home, where it was safe and secure and he wasn’t surrounded by hippie-dippie tree huggers and infuriatingly stubborn and strangely irresistible pet-store owners who drew him in like a moth to a zapper.
Honestly, Dex didn’t know a jack-in-the-pulpit from a jack-in-the-box, but that local sheriff had taken the case with zeal and discovered the plants were a rich source of calcium oxide, so Dex had done some research himself online. In fact, his next stop was going to be to a few of the recent jobs that cousin of Issy’s had finished, to see for himself whether or not Raine was using those plants in her landscape designs. Not that finding the plants meant the cousin was the killer either, but it would be one more piece of evidence pointing away from Issy.
After about five more minutes, Dex stood and walked back to his car. It was still warm inside but tolerable. He slipped on his mirrored sunglasses and clipped in his seatbelt then took off, enjoying the breeze from the open window ruffling his hair as he drove. Given Stan’s rabid interest in bringing in what he considered “paranormals” at any cost, Dex figured it was his job to play the voice of reason around here and discover the identity of the real killer based on solid facts and reasoning. One of them had to keep a level head, after all. And Lord knew Stan had lost his objectivity where this case was involved a long time ago.
As he steered around another curve in the winding two-lane highway, he turned on the radio, smiling as the Eagles song “Witchy Woman” came on the radio. Fitting, he thought. Very fitting.
Issy Quinn was smart and funny and quirky and more intriguing than any woman he’d met in years. In the few short times he’d seen her, she’d treated others with kindness and joy and respect. Even him, a stranger. He just couldn’t picture her doing something as dastardly as killing another human being. Or her cousins, either. Didn’t make sense. They all had successful businesses, happy lives. His untrustworthy instincts aside, happy people didn’t kill other people. End of story.
Now, what he needed to do was keep Stan away from the Quinn cousins as suspects while buying himself some time to uncover the identity of the real murderer. Which wouldn’t be easy. For some reason, Stan had set his sights on Issy Quinn and her family as the culprits, and it would take a miracle to sway him in a different direction. Stan had told him the other night over dinner some wild tale about this area being rife with witches and werewolves and all other manner of dark and mysterious creatures.
Dex had just laughed and ordered another ale from the bartender. Good thing he didn’t believe in any of that crap. Good thing since he had his sights set on Issy Quinn as well. Not to jail her, but to prove her innocence. After all, witches didn’t really exist. And Issy was a nice, kind, sweet person. A rare find indeed, these days, and one he intended to protect, no matter the cost.
14
Later that afternoon, Issy was back at the pet store. She’d sent her assistant home after the lunch rush and was now enjoying the peace and quiet as she checked on all of her shop’s inhabitants. Long shafts of sunlight drifted in through the front windows, and an aura of peacefulness descended over the place.
Bella trotted along beside her as she fed the turtles their daily portion of lettuce and ruminated about what had happened earlier. “We shouldn’t have kissed him, should we, Bella?”
The little dog yipped in response then sat back and stared up at Issy adoringly.
“That’s right. No, we shouldn’t have.” She swiped a stray copper curl from her eyes and slid the top of the turtle enclosure back into place. “Though technically, he kissed me first.”
“Yip yip,” Bella barked in response.
“I know, I know. It doesn’t really matter who kissed who first
.” Issy continued farther down the line of cages to a pair of cute little tree frogs. She grabbed a bag of dried crickets and tossed a handful inside. Bella trailed along after her. “Or the fact that it was really nice.”
“Yip?”
“Yes, really nice.” Issy sighed and rested her chin atop her hand on the edge of the frog tank. “He’s very cute, don’t you think? And nice, and smart, and funny.”
Bella growled in response.
Issy sealed up the bag of crickets and set them aside then picked up her little dog and cuddled her close, nuzzling the top of her head. “Not nearly as nice as you, though. Who’s a smart little doggie, huh? Who? You! Yes, you are!”
The little dog wriggled with happiness in her arms.
“And don’t worry, my precious familiar. No matter how smart and funny Dex Nolan is, we won’t forget who he works for, will we?”
“Yip!” Bella licked Issy’s chin. “Yip yip!”
“Though I do wonder about those salamanders.”
Brimstone strutted around the corner from the back of the shop, looking regal and completely bored. “Snogging the enemy, eh?”
“What? No.” Issy frowned and put Bella back down. “I mean, we kissed. Once. But that’s it. Never again.”
“Right.” The large charcoal-colored cat leapt up onto a nearby shelf and began cleaning his front paws dismissively. For an animal, he sure had human snootiness down pat. “And just how desperate and lonely are you that you need to talk about your love life to”—Brimstone glanced over at Bella, who now sat below him on the floor, gazing up with rapt wonder—“that.”
“That is my wonderful familiar in training, thanks so much. And I’m not desperate—I’m just thinking out loud.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Aren’t we in a mood today?” Issy said, cheerfully moving on to scoop out several portions of bird chow for her colorful macaw parrots. “Who stole your mouse?”
“Very funny.” Brimstone stretched out his form across her counter, nose in the air and eyes half-closed. “Pardon me for being more concerned about the murder than who you’re kissing.”
Issy rolled her eyes and picked up a broom to sweep the floor beneath the birdcages.
“Did you find anything new on your trip to the woods?”
“I did, actually. There are some rare salamanders out in the forest. Word has it that Louella Drummond knew they were there and was threatening to tell the world. If she did, then that would prevent anyone from building on the land.”
“And that would cost a lot of people a lot of money,” Brimstone said. “Right. Not to mention the fact those salamanders can be used in all sorts of dark magic and…” Issy reached for her dustpan just as the bell over the door jangled merrily. She leaned to the side slightly to see past a row of cages and spotted Enid Pettywood, one of Silver Hollow’s oldest and dearest residents. “Enid! How lovely to see you!”
Issy set her cleaning things aside and rushed to the front of the store to hug the elderly woman. The jury was still out on Enid’s exact age—witches didn’t age like normal humans—but most put her at least at one hundred fifty.
“Isolde Quinn,” Enid said, squeezing Issy tightly. She was the only person who called Issy by her full name, and there was something special and sweet about it. “Aren’t you just fresh as a daisy today.”
“How are you, Enid?” Issy couldn’t help snuggling a bit deeper into the woman’s embrace and inhaling deeply—cedar and roses and old, deep magic—before stepping back and placing her hands on the older lady’s shoulders. “Are you taking care of yourself?”
“Of course, dear.” Enid nodded, sending the fussy flowers on her little pillbox hat flopping wildly. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“We just care about you, Enid,” Issy said. She placed an arm around the elderly woman’s shoulders and guided her gently into the store. “What may I help you with today?”
“Oh, well, I came in for…” Enid stopped and frowned. “What did I come in for? Wait.”
She fiddled with her old-fashioned pocketbook and sighed. “The old mind is like a sieve these days, dear, you know? I know I wrote it down here in case I forgot.”
Issy bit back a smile as the older witch began pulling impossibly large objects out of her tiny enchanted handbag. A full-sized broom. A black iron caldron. A twenty-or-more-pound rabbit that proceeded to hop—and poop—all over Issy’s freshly swept floor.
“Oh, oh, oh dear.” Enid gasped as the rabbit hopped over the top of her feet. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I’ll clean that up, I promise. I just need to find…” She rummaged through her bag some more. “Oh! Here it is. Yes, yes. I wanted to buy some special treats for Becky.”
“Of course.” Issy led Enid toward the far wall of the shop and the treats section of the store. Becky was Enid’s familiar, a cute and quite rotund little potbelly pig. She held up a peanut butter—flavored popcorn ball. “These are quite popular with our porcine customers.”
“Oh yes!” Enid smiled. “Becky will love these. I’ll take six, please.”
“Certainly.” Issy began to bag up the purchase. “Are these for a special occasion?”
“Why, yes. They are. I’ve been practicing my spells with Becky. One must keep in shape, dear. Use it or lose it, as you young folks say.”
“Good for you, Enid.” Issy tied a particularly pretty pink bow around the top of the cellophane bag then handed it to her favorite customer. “Here you go.”
“How much are they, my dear?”
“No charge.” Issy shook her hand. “Consider them a present from me.”
“Oh my.” Enid gave her a watery smile. “That is so sweet, my dear. Becky will be so happy with these, and you are always so kind to me, my dear. How old are you now, Isolde?”
Normally such a question would’ve given Issy pause, but she’d learned long ago to go with the weird flow where Enid was concerned. Many of the younger witches in town considered the elderly lady bothersome or strange or nothing but an outdated fossil, but Issy loved the older lady’s wisdom and gentle humor. She was quirky, that was all. Issy winked. “Old enough to know better than to answer that question, Enid.”
“Old enough to marry, my point being.” Enid patted Issy’s left hand. “You’re so beautiful, my dear. The spitting image of your mother. And so kind and soft hearted. You need a strapping young man of your own, that’s what you need. Someone to look after you and protect you and love you as much as I do.”
Issy ignored the pinch in her heart and the images of her and Dex kissing that flashed across her mind. He was strapping, all right. And completely and utterly inappropriate for her.
“Let me just…” Enid wandered off down a nearby row of cages and stopped near the tree-frog enclosure. “Perfect! Help me get this one out, my dear.”
“What?” Issy moved in closer, her tone dubious. “What are you up to, Enid?”
“Once, when I was your age, I needed a special date to the annual Witches Ball, and there wasn’t anyone around. So I made my own.” Enid slid the lid off the enclosure and reached for a larger male frog then closed her eyes. “Now, let me just see if I can remember the proper incantation…”
“Enid, that’s not necessary.” Issy tried to loosen the woman’s grasp on the frog, but it was surprisingly strong for a woman of her advanced age. “Really. I don’t think this is such a good idea. Remember what happened last time you tried a transmutation spell?”
Unfortunately, Issy remembered all too clearly. Enid had tried to cast a health spell on the old, withering oak in Issy’s front yard and instead ended up conjuring the ghost of Colonel William Polk instead. Afterward, she and her cousins had a heck of a time getting the Revolutionary War hero to cross back over to the other side. In fact, he followed Issy around for a good six months, moping about his lost bids for North Carolina governor. It had been awful.
“This time will be different, dear. I’ve been practicing, you know.” Enid waved her cane over t
he frog with her other hand before Issy could stop her. Enid used that cane like a wand to focus her powers and mumbled an unintelligible spell. The only words Issy caught were rinse and prince and… POOF!
Through a cloud of pink haze, Issy coughed and squinted.
“Oh my,” Enid said woefully.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Issy choked out.
She stepped closely to Enid and squinted down at the newly minted flowering quince shrub now sprouting from the floor of her shop. Well, she supposed, it could’ve been worse. A lot worse. “It’s okay, Enid. I’ll have Raine come over later and remove it.”
“Looks like I better keep practicing on that one,” Enid said glumly. “I’m sorry about the frog, dear. I’ll pay for that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure between us Quinn cousins we can turn him back into his little frog self again soon enough.” Issy put her arm around Enid again. “No worries.”
“Everything’s been off with me lately. All that bad energy from what happened to poor Louella. So horrible.”
“Yes. It was awful. I was there when she passed away.”
“Oh dear!” Enid took Issy’s hand. “You poor, poor thing.”
“Yes.” She led the older woman back toward the front of the store again. “There are detectives here looking into the murder as well.”
“Yes, I’ve seen them.” Enid scrunched her nose in distaste. “Don’t like those men at all. Especially the one in charge. He’s got shifty eyes, like a ferret. Or a rat.”
“His name is Stan,” Issy said, laughing. “And yes, I think a rat is a perfect description for him.” Heat prickled her cheeks, and she looked away. “The other one seems nice enough, though.”
“Hmm.” Enid’s eyes narrowed perceptively. “I see. Do they have any idea why someone would do something so heinous?”
“There’s a rare breed of salamander out in the forest. Louella knew about them and was supposedly going to report it to the authorities. Developers have had their eye on that land for years. They want to put up another strip mall or something. Having those lands protected would put a stop to that.”
A Spell Of Trouble (Silver Hollow Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) Page 9
