Wishful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 3)

by Angela Pepper

  “Don’t you dare use your bluffing spell on me,” he said gruffly.

  “I would never!” I said, which wasn’t entirely true.

  He gave me a steely look that said he also knew better.

  I avoided his eyes and looked down at his chest. He had a smattering of light-brown flakes on his button-down shirt. Bread crumbs. From the breadsticks he’d eaten while being stood up for our date. When I pictured Detective Theodore Dean Bentley munching breadsticks while the waitresses felt sorry for him being stood up, I found the idea funny and cute and sad, all at once.

  He put his finger under my chin and lifted my face as he asked, “Did you really get knocked out with an intoxication spell?”

  “Yes.” There was a soft clunk as a chunk of dried mud fell from my clothes to the floor. I had passed out in wet mud, and woken up covered in caked-on mud.

  “Why did you let one of your friends cast it on you?”

  “I didn’t let anyone!”

  “If you say so.” He sounded unconvinced.

  Slowly, tersely, I explained, “I was running a quick errand after work, and I ran into the new witch in town. A young one. Being a novice witch, and not a responsible adult like me, she completely misread the situation, and she zapped me with a powerful spell that knocked me out and made my breath smell like Captain Morgan’s finest.”

  “This came from just one spell?”

  “I think so.” I massaged my midsection, glad to find everything was feeling better by the second. “At least I hope it was only one blast. I may have great regenerative powers, but I’ve only got one liver.”

  “And did the suspect do the same to Frank? He was also unconscious when the patrol car picked both of you out of the mud.”

  “She zapped him with purple plasma fireballs, poor guy. You’re sure he’s okay?”

  “Frank Wonder will be fine,” Bentley said. “He’s with friends.”

  “At the you-know-what?”

  Bentley nodded.

  Another chunk of dried mud fell from my clothes.

  I looked around. We were standing in a cinderblock room with a metal table and two chairs. No windows; no view; no way of knowing where I was without casting a spell. I’d assumed I was at the police station, but we could have been anywhere.

  I looked down at the mud around my feet. My shoes were filthy, as were my legs, and the rest of me that I could see.

  “Cleanup on Aisle Three,” I said.

  Bentley didn’t laugh. He was sore about me standing him up, even though it had been an accident.

  That wasn’t very fair of him. I would have loved to have been inside a nice restaurant eating breadsticks rather than lying unconscious in the rain and mud.

  After a moment, he said, “Did you say something about a new witch in town?”

  “Ambrosia Abernathy,” I said, spitting out the name like it was cursed. “And she’s not new in town. According to her library card, she’s been living here for years.”

  “Is she a member of the coven? Was that the errand you were doing tonight?” He leaned over me, amplifying our height difference.

  I grabbed one of the metal chairs and took a seat at the table. “If you want to interrogate me, Detective, let’s do it right.” I waved to the chair across from me.

  He took the long way around the table and slid soundlessly into the chair opposite me. He gestured for me to speak.

  “The errand had to do with Harry the Ghost,” I said. “Harry Blackstone. As in, the homicide case that you and Ms. Persephone Rose haven’t closed yet, despite having had almost two weeks, plus access to all of your many resources.” A prickliness crept into my tone. Despite standing him up for our date, I might still have the higher ground, depending on the spin. “Perhaps if you’d located the peck of peppers poisoner, Harry would have moved on by now, and I wouldn’t have to worry about all the people attempting to film a reality TV program inside the library.”

  Silver eyes narrowed at me. He wasn’t ceding the high ground.

  I rubbed a crusty chunk of mud from my eyebrow. “Ugh,” I said. “Is there any part of me that isn’t crunchy or dirty or both?”

  “They would have hosed you down, but we have a policy of not doing so if the detainee is unconscious. People are so litigious these days, and mind wipes aren’t cheap.”

  I pointed to the camera mounted in the corner. “Is that thing recording?”

  He checked. “No.”

  I cast a spell.

  Chapter 21

  The spell I cast was to to clean myself. It wouldn’t do a perfect job. That was why I still showered regularly. But it would get rid of the main bulk of the crunchy mud caked all over my skin and clothes.

  The only downside to the spell was the static cling. The wash and dry cycle didn’t have a fabric softener or hair conditioner function. Not yet, anyway. I did have some home brew ideas for modifying the spell—ideas that would make the rest of my coven tsk-tsk disapprovingly.

  As the spell did its thing, complete with scrubbing bubbles that floated all over me like jellyfish, Bentley’s silver eyes grew large and round. His jaw dropped open slightly, and he didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. In our time together, the man had seen me do many spells, yet new ones still amazed him. I liked that about him. It almost balanced out how cranky he got whenever I was so much as five minutes late for a date, or missed it entirely because I was passed out in a drunk tank.

  He asked, “Are those soap bubbles?”

  “Yes. It’s a cleaning spell.”

  Without blinking, he asked, “Where does the mud go? Where does stuff go when you make it disappear?”

  “There’s a secret landfill in the middle of Indiana where everything goes.”

  His dark eyebrows bounced up.

  “Not really,” I said. “Gotcha.”

  He winced, as though my efforts to make him laugh were causing him pain.

  I changed the subject. “So, about Harry Blackstone,” I said. “Should we compare notes? I miss the good ol’ days when we partnered on cases.”

  “The good ol’ days?”

  “Don’t be grumpy. You had fun with me. A lot more fun than you have with Persephone Rose, I bet. Does she even have any powers?”

  His expression became as opaque as a stone wall. “I can tell you what we’ve learned about Blackstone, but that’s it.”

  “Fine. Tell me about Harry.”

  He excused himself to get some files.

  I cast the spell and gave myself another wash and dry cycle.

  Bentley returned and spread a multitude of files and photos across the table.

  He and Persephone had done a detailed analysis of the type of poison used on Harry Blackstone. It was a compound that wasn’t typically found in peppers, but they’d found peppers in his stomach.

  They’d done a surprising amount of grunt work, tracing Harry’s activities and grocery shopping over the days leading up to his death.

  The suspect list had included a few ex-girlfriends he’d casually dated over the years, as well as some neighbors with the typical grudges—Harry had been both stubborn and territorial—but so far the detectives hadn’t connected any of those people to the crime.

  “You’ve got nothing,” I said.

  “Ruling out theories is the opposite of nothing,” he said defensively. “What have you got?”

  We hadn’t seen each other much that week, so I had a lot for him to get caught up on. I told him about the increase in traffic at the library due to the ghost hunters, Harry’s afternoon ghost naps, Ambrosia’s appearance at the library, my tour of the dead man’s house, and then all about my rain-soaked battle with the bratty little witch.

  My fists clenched at the memory of Ambrosia’s petulant face as she cast the inebriation spell on me.

  When I was done, Bentley said only, “Drinkwater. Why is that name familiar?”

  “She’s selling the Moore house,” I said, then held out both hands in exasperation. “How is that your m
ain takeaway from what I just told you? Do I need to draw you a diagram? Ambrosia poisoned me. Also, someone poisoned Harry Blackstone. She’s going around telling people about seeing him, and then she’s lurking in the bushes outside his house. I don’t know how or why she killed him, but isn’t it pretty easy to fill in those details once you get your perp?” I used my finger to draw a line across the interrogation room table, as though connecting point A with point B. “Ambrosia is your perp.”

  “Isn’t she just a kid?”

  “Kids get into trouble all the time.” I shrugged. “Maybe she’s working with another person. We don’t know who she associates with. I was planning to ask Zoey to—” I jumped to my feet. “Zoey!”

  “What’s wrong? Are you getting a premonition?”

  “Nothing magical. It’s just that Ambrosia knows Zoey’s my daughter. What if she’s at my house right now, kidnapping her?”

  Bentley got to his feet and gathered the papers quickly. “We have to go check on Zoey. Make sure she’s all right.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” I said, successfully calming myself with my sensible words. “She was staying in tonight, and we have protective wards on the house.”

  His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then said, “I have to do something here, but we can leave for your place in about an hour. You want to hang out in the cafeteria, or should I throw you back in the drunk tank with your new friend?”

  “Very funny.” I brushed some of the breadstick crumbs off his shirt. “I’ll find my own way home. You can come over when you’re done here. It’s not too late to salvage our date night.”

  He looked into my eyes. “Zara, I wanted to talk to you about something over dinner.”

  “You’re breaking up with me and getting a dog instead. A corgi.”

  “Stop saying that. Why do you always joke about us breaking up?”

  “I joke about everything.”

  “You do. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you such a striver?”

  “It’s how I am.”

  “Same here.”

  He glanced down then up into my eyes, as though resetting. “I’m heading out of town for a bit,” he said.

  “For work?”

  “No.”

  “Family stuff? Vacation?”

  “It’s to do with that thing you refuse to talk about with me.”

  “Your hideous ex-wife,” I said. I didn’t know that she was hideous. I didn’t know anything about her. Every time he’d tried to talk about her, I’d shut him down. Why did he have to be so stubborn? If I said I didn’t want to hear about something, I meant it.

  “While I’m away, Persephone Rose will be your point person on the case,” he said. “In case you get anything useful.”

  “No problem.” I rolled my arms to loosen my shoulders. Sleeping on a drunk tank bench wasn’t the best rest I’d had. “I can work with her. I can work with anyone. I’ve helped you solve all sorts of cases, haven’t I?”

  Slowly, carefully, he said, “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  I detected sarcasm, but I didn’t complain. Deep down, I knew I deserved a little flack. I could be difficult and self-aware at the same time. It was one of my non-witch superpowers.

  He picked up the stack of case papers and prepared to leave.

  “I can have Rose look into this witch friend of yours,” he said. “Ambrosia Abernathy.”

  “She’s no friend of mine. Friends don’t inebriate their friends.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I know,” I said. “One of the main thing friends do is inebriate their friends. I realized how dumb it was as soon as the words left my mouth.”

  “You are nothing if not self-aware.”

  “Stop reading my mind!” I pointed at my temple then at his.

  He rolled his eyes and opened the door.

  We walked down a corridor, got into an elevator, and went up. I recognized the lobby the elevator opened on. We were in the Wisteria Police Department after all.

  We strolled through the lobby, then stepped out into the cool night air to say goodbye. The rain was still coming down, so we stood in the narrow dry space under the building’s overhang.

  “Good luck on your trip to see your hideous ex-wife,” I said. “You’d better come back to me exactly the same as you are now, which is perfect.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not perfect.”

  I kissed him on the tip of his perfect nose. “I’m really sorry for standing you up tonight.”

  “I know you didn’t mean to,” he said. “You don’t need to apologize.”

  I circled my arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said in a low, husky tone.

  We said goodbye, and then he went back into the building to deal with some official business.

  I checked the time. It was one o’clock in the morning. I fished a chunk of mud out of my ear. The cleaning spell was effective, but it did leave a person’s holes alone. Probably for the best.

  I called Zoey to check on her safety, and to let her know where I was.

  She yawned and said, “Why’d you wake me? I knew you were going to be out with Bentley tonight. I wasn’t worried.”

  “I was worried about you. I met your little friend Ambrosia today. She attacked me. Did you know she was a witch?”

  There was a long pause, then, “No, but that does explain a lot.”

  “She’s not coming for make-your-own-pizza night,” I said. “Keep your distance. She knocked out Frank, and she cast a nasty spell on me.”

  “Is she okay?”

  I chuckled. It was sweet that my daughter assumed I’d won the battle.

  “For now,” I said. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. Check the locks and the wards on the house.”

  “Boa is sleeping on my bed.”

  “She’s just a regular cat. She’s no substitute for magical wards.”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  We said goodbye, and I told her not to wait up—not that she was going to.

  What I should have done next was call a taxi to take me home, or take me to pick up my car.

  That would have been the sensible, adult thing to do.

  But the inebriation spell hadn’t entirely worn off. And here’s the thing about an inebriation spell—something they don’t mention in the books: The recipient, once dosed, doesn’t necessarily want the effects to wear off entirely.

  What to do... What to do...

  Every woman, witch or otherwise, should have a friend she can call at all hours to go for a drink. Bonus points if that friend always has a supply of good tequila.

  I put in the call to Charlize, and the rest of the night was a blur.

  Chapter 22

  Saturday Afternoon

  (Well Past Brunch Time)

  I woke up a little disoriented, but in a much better situation than the previous wakeup, which had happened in the drunk tank, with Becky and Becky’s armpit smell. I was at home, in my own bedroom, and the only thing I smelled was vanilla.

  I rolled over and found myself looking in a mirror. It had to be a magic mirror, because my face was rotated ninety degrees.

  The redhead in front of me said, “Good morning, Zara. Or should I say good afternoon?”

  I jerked upright. The mirror wasn’t a mirror at all. It was my aunt. My much older aunt. I must have mistaken her for my reflection because she looked incredible. The sides of her mouth were unwrinkled, her eyelids had a youthful plumpness to them, and her cheeks were rosy.

  “Aunt Zinnia!” I exclaimed. “When did you get back in town? I didn’t know—” I bumped my head on the ceiling. The ceiling? Was my bed levitating? What sort of Exorcist nonsense was this?

  I leaned over and looked down. There was another narrow mattress below me. Apparently, I’d bumped my head because I was on the upper berth of a bunk bed. Sleeping on the lower berth was my
gorgon friend Charlize, her matted blonde hair lying in chunks across her pillow.

  “My bed is bunk beds,” I said.

  Zinnia put her hands on her hips. “You say that like it’s a surprise to you.”

  “Uh, no,” I lied as I scratched my head. It wasn’t a complete surprise, anyway. I’d seen Zoey’s bed turn into two, to accommodate me for a giggle-filled sleepover when my own bedroom was temporarily out of order, but I had never seen bunk beds in my room. Had the house split my bed, or had I?

  Zinnia said, “You don’t remember what happened to your bed, do you?”

  “Curse you and your ability to know me well enough to read my mind without actually reading it.”

  She pinched her youthful, unlined lips. “Don’t joke about cursing people, Zara. You, of all people, should know better.”

  I apologized and ran a quick counterspell to remove any inadvertent cursing, hexing, or jinxing.

  “It was probably the house that split the bed,” I said. “The house is always doing stuff like this. It’s been banging away on the roof for weeks, doing who knows what up there. Splitting a bed is nothing. The house probably did this last night. It likes having people stay over. My house is an extrovert.”

  Zinnia pressed her lips into a flat line, then said, “Your house usually has excellent taste. This bunk bed has Zara written all over it. The bed frame is purple, and the linens are decorated with...” She paused, running her fingers over the patterned linen. “Are those llamas, or unicorns?”

  “I believe they’re a hybrid. Llama unicorns.”

  She looked more closely. “Indeed they are. Llamas with rainbow horns. Now I’ve seen everything.” Her face relaxed. “I do like the flower garlands they’re wearing.”

  While she studied the fabric—probably planning to make a weird vest or skirt-pants out of the material—I located the ladder to get down.

  Zinnia reached up and steadied me as I climbed down. She was surprisingly strong. I felt almost weightless as I came down with her steady hand on my back.

  When I felt the worn wood floor under my bare soles, I turned to look straight into her familiar face. Her hand was still touching my back lightly.

  A lump swelled in my throat. I hadn’t seen her in so long, and now we were in the same room. She’d been gallivanting around Europe with my mother and my mother’s friends, who were all wealthy, supernatural, and eccentric. Zinnia and I had stayed in touch through phone and video calls, but now that I was only inches away, the pain of her recent absence hit me all at once.