Hex Type Thing

by Amanda M. Lee

  “That’s good, but we’re still going to talk,” I argued. “You have to tell me when something is wrong.”

  “Fine. Then you have to tell me when you’re sneaking out of the lighthouse, but only if there’s a murderer on the loose because I don’t want to set unfair rules.”

  “Fine.” My temper flashed. “I agree to your terms.”

  “Oh, so sweet.” He extended his hand. “Should we shake on it?”

  I choked on a laugh, which only made me more agitated. I didn’t want to encourage this sort of behavior, but he was so darned cute. “Sure. Why not?” I shook his hand and wasn’t surprised when he pulled me into his arms for another hug. He kissed my neck and then released me, turning serious. “So ... I didn’t come down here because I heard you almost got yourself killed helping Lilac vent. I really did get a call that had nothing to do with this situation.”

  I’d almost forgotten about that. “Who was it?”

  “Bradley Hopper, from the bank.”

  The name meant nothing to me. “And what did he say?”

  “I asked him to check on a few things for me before we left for Cooper’s Hollow,” Galen replied. “I sent him an email, which he responded to, but I forgot to check. He got worried when he didn’t hear back and called me. He found some interesting information.”

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Aurora drawled. “What information did he dig up?”

  Galen didn’t as much as pause for dramatic effect. He was too excited. “All of Alastair’s accounts have been emptied. All of them. There’s not a dime left.”

  Surprise smacked through my stomach lining and caused me to jolt. “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, but they’re tracking the money. I have to get over there. I thought you might want to come.”

  “Do I?” I eagerly stepped in his direction. “Does this mean we’re not fighting?”

  “We’re not fighting,” he agreed, “but I reserve the right to vent later if it becomes necessary.”

  “That sounds more than fair ... as long as I have the same option.”

  “I think you should just let it go. I’m really the only one with a reason to be upset.”

  “Yeah, that’s not the way this works.”

  “Fair enough.”

  24

  Twenty-Four

  Bradley Hopper looked like a typical banker. He wore an expensive suit, slicked-back hair, and boasted what could only be described as a villain’s mustache. It actually curled at the corners, and I could not stop myself from staring.

  “This is Hadley,” Galen said by way of introduction. “She’s helping me on my investigation.”

  Bradley nodded at me in a perfunctory manner. I couldn’t tell if he accepted the information at face value or was merely playing along.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Hunter. I’ve heard all about you, of course.” He extended his hand. “I’m familiar with your grandfather. I understand the two of you have been spending some time together.”

  “We have.” I took the chair Galen gestured toward. “He’s a great grandfather. He bought me a golf cart.” It seemed a lame thing to say, but I was feeling out of my depth.

  “Yes, I know. He used our facility to procure financing to purchase it.” He beamed at me before turning to Galen. “I don’t have much other than what we discussed on the phone. It’s going to take us a bit of time to track what I’ve already told you.”

  “I understand.” Galen sat next to me and crossed his feet at the ankles. “I still need some information.”

  “Like what?”

  “For starters, when was the money transferred?”

  “Why is that important?”

  “Because Alastair is dead and if the money was transferred before then, he might’ve done it. If it was transferred after ... .”

  “Ah.” Bradley bobbed his head in understanding. “I get it. Let me look. Um ... let’s see. The first account was emptied two days ago at ... nine in the morning. The other accounts followed suit within the hour.”

  I glanced at Galen, thoughtful. “He was already dead at that point.”

  “He was,” Galen agreed. “How was the money transferred?”

  “The normal way.”

  Galen bit his bottom lip. I could tell he was struggling to maintain his temper. “No, I mean was it done in person or online?”

  “Oh.” Realization dawned on Bradley’s face. “It was done online. Whoever did it knew the passwords to his accounts. There’s no reason to believe it wasn’t him.”

  “Except he was dead at the time,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, well, there is that.” Bradley looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Perhaps he asked his attorney to do it for him, or a financial advisor.”

  “Do you know who he was working with as a financial advisor?” Galen asked.

  “It think it was Dirk Bradshaw at the office on Main Street, but I’m not certain.”

  “Okay.” Galen took a moment to contemplate that and then pushed himself to a standing position. “We need to know where that money went. I’ve got the prosecutor working with a judge to issue a warrant to freeze those funds.”

  “How can they do that when the funds are gone?” I asked.

  “We should be able to follow the trail of money and freeze them wherever they land,” Galen replied. “I guess that might prove difficult if the money has been moved offshore or to a foreign bank, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Sure. Where are we going now?”

  “Dirk’s office. We should be able to get there just before closing.”

  “Lead the way.”

  He smiled. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I know this probably isn’t your idea of fun.”

  “I’m fine. I like learning things. Besides, once we’re done I expect you to buy dinner, so it’s not as if I won’t be getting anything out of the deal.”

  “There is that.” He prodded me toward the door and looked back to Bradley. “Find that money. I want it done today.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Work faster. This is important.”

  DIRK BRADSHAW WAS MUCH MORE laid back than Bradley. In fact, he wore plaid shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. His back was to us, but the bell over his office door signified our arrival and he spoke before looking.

  “I apologize, but it’s too late in the day to see clients,” he supplied. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, bright and early.” When he turned and saw who was waiting for him, his face fell. “Oh, you’re going to make me stay, aren’t you?”

  Galen nodded without hesitation. “I most certainly am. We have business to discuss.”

  “But I don’t want to.” Dirk sounded like a whiny fourteen-year-old, which had me biting back a smile. “I have plans with the guys from the real estate office. We’re going to head down to Lilac’s bar, get drunk and see if we can pick up desperate witches. It’s all we’ve talked about all day.”

  Galen’s eyes flashed with amusement, but he didn’t back down. “Hopefully I won’t take up too much of your time. The sooner you stop arguing and start helping, the faster this will be over.”

  “Oh, man. Fine.” He flopped in the chair behind the desk and fixed Galen with a petulant glare. “What do you want? Last time I offered to help you invest that huge trust fund of yours you turned me down.”

  “I don’t pay any attention to that trust fund and you know it.” Galen was calm as he sat. “I’m here about Alastair. I heard he might be a client of yours.”

  “Alastair?” Dirk furrowed his brow. “Why do you want to know about him? Unless ... are you going to arrest him for what’s going on down at the beach? If so, I have to tell you that’s a mistake. That’s not how to get him to cooperate.”

  The way Galen shifted on his chair told me he was uncomfortable. It was obvious Dirk hadn’t heard about his client’s death.

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Galen countered. “In fact
... um ... this is going to be difficult for you to hear. I assumed you already knew. I apologize in advance for how this is going to sound, but … Alastair is dead. He has been since the night before the festival started.”

  All the color drained from Dirk’s face. “No way.”

  “He was out at one of the cabins at Cooper’s Hollow. He’d locked himself away — probably because he knew I would eventually come looking for him. We found his body.”

  “I can’t believe it.” All thoughts of escaping gone, Dirk slumped back in his chair. “How did he die?”

  “Badly. He was stabbed multiple times ... with the same knife that took out Salma Hershey.”

  Dirk’s mouth dropped open as he absorbed the news. “You’re kidding. I assumed that was some sort of sexual thing, like she had a date and it went wrong or something. I didn’t realize she was involved in this Skyclad Festival.”

  “She was acting as an influencer,” Galen volunteered.

  “I don’t know what that means.” Dirk drew his eyebrows together. “Is that like a silencer on a gun or something?”

  Galen’s chuckle was hollow. “No. Basically she accepted goods and money to praise things on the internet. That was her job.”

  “That’s not a job.”

  “I happen to agree with you. That doesn’t mean it’s not a thing.” He shot me a sly look upon using my words and continued. “Apparently she was aware that Alastair was running a huge scam. The thing is ... I don’t understand why he would go to these lengths to steal money. He was rich. Obscenely rich. Why would he do this? I’m hoping you can answer that question.”

  Dirk straightened in his chair and I didn’t miss the way he gripped his hands together. “Well ... you know I can’t release financial information to you until I get clearance from a judge.” His eyes traveled to the clock on the wall. “And that’s not going to happen today.”

  “You could tell me off the record.”

  “And risk losing everything I’ve built if my other clients find out.” Dirk shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Galen. I need you to get a warrant. Once you have that, I’ll gladly sit down and talk to you ... and I think it will be an enlightening conversation. But I have to follow the rules.”

  Galen looked as if he was about to argue but then changed tack. “Fine. You should know that we just came from the bank. All of the money in Alastair’s accounts is gone. It’s been transferred to other accounts. They’re working to track it, but ... it might take some time.”

  Dirk rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t share his financial information — even though he’s dead — without a warrant. That’s simply how it works.”

  “Then I’ll get a warrant.” Galen pushed himself to a standing position. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Dirk walked us to the door. “I really do wish I could tell you. Ethically, though, it’s a violation.”

  “I get it,” Galen replied. “That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Have fun with your witches, but make sure you’re here on time. We need to find answers and fast. And I’m guessing you’ll have some interesting information.”

  “I think you’ll definitely be interested. I still intend to chase the witches, but I don’t plan to stay out late. I’m going for the needy ones, so I think it will be over fast.”

  “That’s nothing to brag about,” I offered, earning a chuckle from Galen.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you under different circumstances,” Dirk volunteered. “I hear you’re all kinds of fun, which might explain how you managed to snag our illustrious sheriff so fast.”

  “I am all kinds of fun.”

  “I bet you are.”

  INSTEAD OF TAKING ME TO A RESTAURANT FOR dinner, Galen surprised me when we stopped at the grocery store long enough for him to disappear inside and return with a picnic basket. He smiled when he registered my surprise and handed it to me before climbing behind the wheel.

  “No peeking.”

  “Why not?” Now that he told me I couldn’t look, I had an overwhelming urge to pry open the lid and dig deep.

  “Because I said so.” He navigated his truck through town, bypassing the festival beach and giving it only a passing glance before pulling down a familiar street. I knew where he was going before the destination popped into view.

  “Why are we going to the cemetery?”

  “Because we haven’t been there in weeks.”

  “But you don’t like the cemetery.” That was an understatement. Galen absolutely hated the cemetery. I, on the other hand, was oddly drawn to it. That could have something to do with the fact that someone — nobody knew who — had cursed the property so the inhabitants crawled out of their graves and wandered the property nightly. Sure, they were dangerous zombies and walls had to be erected to keep them in, but they were still there, just hanging out. One of those zombies was the mother I’d never met. After I first discovered the truth about the cemetery, I spent hours every night watching her through the observation window built into the fence. I couldn’t help myself.

  “That’s not true,” he countered as he pulled onto the street in front of the cemetery and parked, killing the engine and smoothly turning to me. “I don’t hate the cemetery. I find it fascinating, just like you. The difference is, I don’t want you wasting your life pondering the dead when you could be focusing on the living ... namely me.”

  The answer was meant to be flirty and deep at the same time, and it made me smile. “You’re not so bad to focus on. We don’t have to come here.”

  “It’s been two weeks,” he repeated. “While I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be here every night, I also don’t think there’s anything wrong with the occasional visit. I’m worried that you stopped coming to appease me.”

  “But ... that’s not true. I didn’t make a conscious choice to stop coming. It’s more that things happened and I was distracted. I always meant to come back, but between you getting hurt and us deciding to be gooey and in love for a few weeks, that was one of the easier things to give up.”

  “And I get that.” He slipped a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to change who you are. It occurred to me today when I snapped at you for sneaking out of the lighthouse that it wasn’t fair. I wasn’t really angry with you. I need you to know that.”

  “No, you’re angry with yourself for needing more than twenty minutes to recover,” I surmised. “I already figured that out. You’re the big, strong protector and if you’re not at one-hundred percent you somehow think that diminishes you.

  “For the record, that’s man thinking, and it’s ridiculous,” I continued. “I can’t change the way your brain works and I really don’t want to. You’re perfect the way you are. Needing a few weeks to recover doesn’t make you weak.”

  “I am mostly recovered,” he reassured me. “The long trip out to Cooper’s Hollow and spending so much time in the sun today took it out of me, though. When you mix that with the adrenaline rush from the shooting, well ... I just needed a nap.”

  I smiled. “And you got it. Now you’re recharged and ready for a picnic.”

  “I am.” He reached over and snagged the basket. “I’ll take this. You grab the blanket from behind the seat.”

  “You act as if you don’t trust me not to peek,” I grumbled as I pushed open the passenger-side door.

  “I don’t.” He strolled to the front of the truck and waited for me. “Come on. I think we need some bonding time.”

  “If we get any more bonded they’ll have to pry us apart with a crowbar.”

  “I don’t think that would work.” He linked his fingers with mine. “I just want some quiet time. I think we’re guaranteed the witches won’t look for us here. All I want is you and me for the next two hours.”

  “A different way to recharge.”

  His grin was slow and seductive. “Exactly.”

  WE SPREAD THE BLANKET, gorg
ed on sandwiches and potato salad, and then he pulled a box from inside the basket. I’d caught sight of the box as he was unpacking the food, but he’d refused to let me see inside ... until now.

  “Gimme.” I held out my hands expectantly, earning a laugh from him.

  “Say please.”

  “Please.”

  “Give me some love, too.” He tapped his cheek for emphasis.

  I rolled my eyes, but only for form’s sake. When my lips brushed against his stubbled cheek he caught me by the back of the head and shifted so our mouths mashed together. It was a playful move ... and it left me breathless.

  “What’s in the box?” I whispered as we stared into each other’s eyes, causing him to laugh.

  “Go ahead and open it.” He handed it over.

  I tore into it with the finesse of a two-year-old discovering wrapping paper for the first time, gaping in open delight when I saw what was inside. It was a small cake, a perfect representation of the lighthouse on it. The water was blue frosting, a full moon in the sky. And there, standing in front of the building, were small figures clearly meant to represent him and me.

  “We didn’t really get a chance to celebrate moving in together,” he started. “I just thought we should do something to mark the occasion.”

  I had no idea why, but tears started pricking the backs of my eyes. “It’s really cool. We need a photo of it before we eat it.”

  He patted his phone, which was resting on the blanket. “I already have that covered. It’s chocolate cake with a salted caramel ribbon through it.”

  My mouth watered at the prospect. “Oh, yum.”

  He dipped his finger in the frosting at the edge of the cake and held it toward my mouth. “I thought something sweet for my sweetie was necessary tonight. We’ve both earned a bit of a mental break.”

  I laughed at his earnest expression. “That was a step too far.”

  “I know, but ... it’s the truth.”

  I licked the frosting and leaned close. “I love you.”