by Jane Hinchey
"I agree. Eight o'clock, here. I'll let Monica and Jackson know."
17
I couldn't believe it. They'd all stood me up. Okay, stood me up was probably a bit unfair. Jackson had said he was working but would try and call in. Monica had picked up an early shift at Brewed Awakening and couldn't make it at all. Jenna called to say she'd caught a break on the impounded car. Turned out it had been used at a robbery in East Dondure and she was writing up her story to hit tomorrow’s paper, and Gran? Gran had a date with the man bun guy from the bookstore, and there was no way she was giving that up.
So here I was, home alone. Tossing my coat on the sofa, I plopped onto the cushions with a sigh. It was rare for me to be home without Gran and the house felt weird without her. I heard the squeak of the cat door, little feet padding down the hallway, then Archie appeared, another mouse in his mouth.
"Archie!" I screeched, jumping up onto the sofa and waving my arms like a demented banshee. "Take it out, take it out!" I cried.
Archie sat, looked at me, and set the mouse down on the floor between his front paws. Oh god. He'd let it go. Which meant it could easily hide anywhere in the house. There was no winning in this situation. Tiptoeing the length of the sofa, I leaped to an armchair, then threw my leg over the side and bolted out the door, skidding down the hallway. In the kitchen I threw open cupboard doors, searching for something to catch the mouse with. That was my plan. Catch the mouse. Release it outside. Not directly outside though, Archie would probably catch it and bring it straight back in. I'd take it for a drive, past the town limits, let it go out there. And then I felt bad because what if he had a little mouse family and I was taking him away from them, never to be seen again. Jesus Christ.
Finally finding a plastic container and a matching lid I examined it, noticing the airtight fit. Damn it. The mouse would suffocate. With jerky movements I put the container on the bench, grabbed a knife and stabbed holes in the lid, muttering under my breath the whole time.
"Archie," I grumbled, heading back to the living room, "didn't I tell you no more critters? I swear I said no more critters. I thought we had an understanding. Don't you understand that I do not cope with critters? At all."
The sight that greeted me had me screaming out loud and dropping the container where it bounced across the floor and rolled under the coffee table. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I eyeballed the naked man in my living room, then quickly spun, presenting him with my back. "Who are you?" I demanded, "and where the hell are your clothes?"
"Sorry about that," he replied, his voice as smooth as silk. "I'm a friend of Esmerelda Higginbottom's, and I've been tasked at keeping an eye on you." I heard a rustling then he said, "You can turn around now."
I did. He had a cushion held in front of his groin. I closed my eyes and tried to gather my thoughts.
"You're saying Drixworths Academy is spying on me?" I wanted, no, needed, clarification, because if this was true…well, it was outrageous. Did they spy on all their students? What sort of place were they running? And was my magic license in worse jeopardy than I initially thought?
"Not Drixworths per se." His lips curled, and I was quite taken with the way they lifted up in the corners, and the way his eyes twinkled.
"So, you're saying Esmerelda Higginbottom—Izzy—asked you to—spy? On me?"
"Not spy. Keep an eye on," he confirmed. I snorted. "I don't see the distinction between keeping an eye on someone and spying. In my book, they are one and the same."
"Izzy sensed trouble, a darkness was following you and she was worried for you—especially since you don't have your magic to defend yourself. And it appears she was right to be concerned. Implicated in a murder? A brick thrown through your window?"
"Pft, I've got it all under control, so you can just run along and tell Izzy that everything here is fine. I don't need you spying on me. Especially as a mouse." I shuddered. "You've no idea how much I dislike mice."
"Oh, I've got a fair idea," he drawled, "and believe me, I have no desire to be captured by your familiar again either. I'm going to have bruises." He ran a hand around his ribcage where red welts were forming from Archie's teeth.
"Serves you right," I grumbled, feeling no sympathy. "Can you please leave? And tell Izzy I don't need a protective detail. Although I can't see how a mouse shifter is going to be much protection. Maybe next time send a tiger?"
I held the front door open, averting my eyes when he tossed the cushion back on the sofa and strode outside, naked as a jaybird, then transformed back into a mouse, scampering down the garden path. Closing the door, I flicked the lock, then eyeballed the cushion. "That's going to need washing," I muttered, picking it up by the corner and carrying it to the laundry. I continued my rant to Archie. "Did you know he was a shifter? Is that why you caught him and brought him in? In which case—thank you, but on the other hand, a mouse! Yuk."
I stopped and eyeballed Archie who'd followed me and now sat watching me with his big solemn golden eyes. "I wish you would—could—talk to me." I squatted and stroked his fur. "That would make this so much easier, hmm?" He rubbed his face against my hand and purred. "It was probably a good thing that Gran wasn't home," I continued on my one-sided conversation, "because there's no way she'd have let a naked man out of this house. Oh no. She'd have dragged him upstairs and locked him in her bedroom and then there'd have been all sorts of trouble. Although clearly, I'm going to have to speak to Izzy about this invasion of privacy."
Climbing the stairs, I ran a bath and poured myself a glass of wine. In the end, I held my own murder club meeting. Lying in the bath, glass of wine in hand, candles flickering, I stared at the ceiling and tried to piece everything together, only it was jumbling in my head and I needed my crime board to make sense of it all. Pulling on my jeans, boots, and a Christmas themed jumper that Gran had left on the bed for me, I hurried back downstairs, grabbed my keys and bag and headed out, Archie right on my heels. I parked out front of The Dusty Attic since it was after hours and I wasn't hogging a potential customer’s parking spot and glanced at my watch. It had just gone eight thirty, and while the street was aglow with Christmas lights, no one was around. I'd expected carolers, a fake Santa having his photo taken with all the kids, late night shopping, eggnog, and smiles, yet…nothing. Where were the Christmases I remembered as a child? Had Whitefall Cove lost its Christmas spirit? Yet another mystery to ponder.
Making sure to lock the door behind me, I flicked on the lights and rubbed my hands together. It was freezing in here—again. "Damn this thermostat," I muttered, hurrying to the storeroom where, sure enough, the switch was off. Flicking it back on, I pulled out my phone and called Burt Reynolds. No time like the present to sort this out, not that it was his fault. I'd been meaning to call him back ever since he came in and took a look at it.
"Burt? Hi, this is Harper Jones from The Dusty Attic. Sorry, I've been meaning to call about the thermostat here. Can you please go ahead and order a new one? It's still turning off on its own. Thanks. Bye." Voicemail left, I hustled back to the main part of the store and moved the bookshelf hiding the crime board.
"Okay," I said to Archie, "where were we?" Archie meowed and scratched at the arm of one of the armchairs. "Oh, you want me to turn that, so you can sit and watch? Okay then." Chuckling to myself at the image of doing my cat’s bidding, I heaved the chair around and Archie immediately jumped up and sat regally, like a king on his throne, and dead set examined the crime board.
I tapped the picture of Bruce. "He's our number one suspect for killing Whitney," I told him. "He had the most to gain from her death. He had motive. But opportunity? That's a little dodgy. Jackson told us that the only coffee in Whitney's stomach contents was the one she'd consumed from Bean Me Up. Bruce didn't go near that coffee when he dropped into her office, so how could he have gotten the poison into it?"
Archie meowed and I nodded. "I agree. He didn't do it." Picking up a red marker I crossed out Bruce's photo.
"Then we have
Mike Palmer." I tapped Mike's photo and Archie's eyes zeroed in on it. "No motive that I can work out. We thought Whitney was blackmailing him, but it turns out that was false. The ten thousand dollars was a loan to lease a shop for her realtor business. Jackson confirmed that Whitney had indeed rented a one-room office space at Whitefall Towers. And again, no opportunity. Christina carried the coffees in, Mike took his and returned to his office. No time to take the lid off Whitney's cup, administer the poison, put the lid back on, all in full view."
I took Archie's meow as agreement, crossed out Mike's photo and moved on.
"Wendy Haley. Whitney's best friend. Motive aplenty since Wendy was having an affair with Whitney's husband and was also pregnant with his child. She's a witch, so there's a possibility she knew about the borrio bud plant, and she's a nurse, so she'd know the effects the plant would have. Opportunity?" I tapped the marker against my lips, thinking. "She brought in muffins. She may have had the opportunity to slip poison into Whitney's coffee then, assuming the coffee was unattended. I was with Whitney when the coffee arrived. She didn't take it with her into her office. I was there, oh, ten minutes tops. But Christina was at the reception desk—where the coffee was still sitting when I left. Hmmm. Doubtful that Wendy could have administered the poison but not out of the realm of possibility, especially if Christina left her desk for a bathroom break or something."
I marked Wendy's photo with a question mark. I felt it was more of a long shot, but I needed to know more of Christina's movements before I could rule her out. I glanced at Archie, tapping the marker on Christina's photo. "This brings us to Christina herself. Motive? Jealousy. Absolutely. She was in a rage about the Christmas bonus. Why Whitney lied about it I do not know, but Christina truly believed Whitney had received a massive Christmas bonus and she was furious about it. Mad enough to kill?" I paused, and Archie meowed. "Oh. You think?"
Here I was, conversing with my cat like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Okay, well, let's look at opportunity. Yes, absolutely she could have added the poison to the coffee. All the cups were clearly labeled, so she could have slipped the poison in on the way back from Bean Me Up. But..." I paused, pointing the marker at Archie who cocked his head. "How did she know about the borrio bud plant? She's a Brownie, are they into gardening? Horticulture?"
Archie meowed and stretched, his paws aimed at the bookshelves to the right. Of course! Look it up. Running up the spiral staircase to the mezzanine level, I ran my eyes along the books until I spied what I wanted. A really old leather-bound edition of the encyclopedia of species. Hurrying back to Archie, I perched on the edge of the chair and flicked through the pages until I found the information on Brownies. Thankfully they'd evolved from the dirty-looking creatures depicted in the book, but my general understanding of their species was correct. They were a domestic spirit who excelled at—enjoyed even—household chores.
"You think then that Christina would have been beside herself at the state of Whitney's office, wouldn't you? I mean it was a mess, and as a Brownie, I'd imagine Christina would have been compelled to clean it, sort it out."
"Meow," Archie chimed in.
He patted the page with his paw and I read what he was pawing at, "If angered, they can sometimes turn malicious." I patted Archie on the head. "Malicious enough to kill, do you think? And she was falsifying official paperwork to scam the insurance company into paying her higher commissions. That could be another motive. Maybe Whitney found out? Although, Whitney's head wasn't in the game recently. She was distracted. Lost my keys. I doubt she was paying much attention to what Christina was up to."
Closing the book, I put it on my desk and returned to the crime board, putting a question mark on Christina's photo. "Let's finish going through our suspects and then see if we can narrow it down after." Archie settled himself into a loafing position, front paws tucked under, eyes on the board. Waiting.
"So finally, we have Lexi. The barista who made the coffees that morning. Motive? None that I know of. We know Whitney could be a bit of a bitch and there's the possibility that she'd been rude to Lexi at some point, but Lexi herself said she'd rarely had any interaction with Whitney. It was Christina who bought Whitney's coffees for her. And even if Whitney had pissed Lexi off, poisoning her is a tad extreme, don't you think?" Archie didn't respond, so I continued, "So, no real motive. Opportunity? Hmmm, a bit dodgy, but I guess it could be done. The coffee machine would have hidden Lexi from view while she was making the drinks, so yes, she could have added the poison then." I added a question mark to Lexi's photo.
Standing off to the side of the crime board, I studied it and Archie meowed. Twice.
"Yes, I agree, we're not taking into consideration the shooting. Was it related? Or are they two separate crimes? Either way"—I pointed to Wendy's photo—"Wendy couldn't have been the shooter because she was at work that night. She'd been on duty when Bruce was brought in. Plus, the car was found at the fox's compound. Yes, maybe she had an accomplice or hired someone, but that seems a stretch and, despite her having an affair with her best friends’ husband, I sense that Wendy's feelings for him are real. I don't think she wants him dead." I drew a cross over the question mark on her photo.
“Let’s revisit Christina.” I paused, thinking. “Bruce works at the bank. Did he know about her scam? But if he did, he would have told the police, surely? That brings us to Lexi."
I pulled her photo off the board and sat on the edge of Archie's chair again, studying the image. "She had opportunity, but no motive. But the car that was involved in Bruce's shooting was found at the fox's compound—where Lexi lives. That's the only thing we've got that ties her to this. Oh, that and assuming she made the drink that killed Whitney. And let's not forget the red brick dust I saw on her pants today. She's involved somehow."
Archie jumped down and padded over to the crime board before stretching up on his back legs and patting at Mike's photo. "Of course!" I cried. "The secret relationship with Mike. He lied about it. Someone else knew about it, someone took that photo of the two of them together and left it on his office door. As a threat? Yet today—after Jackson and I pretended I'd been poisoned—she met Mike outside, in full view of everyone, and kissed him. Or he kissed her. Whatever, they kissed. They knew they'd be seen. So why now? Why go public today?"
Archie came back and rubbed around my legs, then headbutted my shin. "You're right. Only one way to find out."
I had to go visit Mike Palmer.
18
Mike lived in an ordinary-looking house on an ordinary-looking street. I don't know why I was surprised or what I'd been expecting. Perhaps seeing that fox shifters lived in a commune type setup I'd expected wolf shifters to be the same. They weren't. Luckily his address had been listed in the local directory and had been easy to find. I'd looked Lexi up as well and she wasn't listed in the directory at all. Parking out the front, I was walking down his front path when I heard it. Shouting. I picked up my pace, hurrying to the front door, then leaning around to peek through the window.
Mike and Lexi were inside yelling at each other. I held my breath and watched.
"I should have known!" Mike threw his hands in the air, marched away and then rounded back. "Foxes can't be trusted!"
Lexi laughed, a nasty, evil sound. "Oh, but you were willing to overlook that, weren't you, old man? You didn't care at all as long as you were getting a piece of this!" She ran her hands up and down her body, taunting him. I winced at the old man dig. So did Mike. He crumpled, his face lost all its anger and he stared at her with such utter sadness on his face I felt tears well in my eyes.
"Why Lexi?" he pleaded, "Why? I love you. I thought you loved me too."
"Love? Pft! Don't get me wrong, the sex? The sex was great—older men know what they're doing, and you did it oh, so well. But that's all it was. I don't love you. I don't even care about you." Ouch, Mike physically winced at the verbal barb. How awful. I swung away from the window and leaned against the wall with my hand ov
er my heart. I could feel Mike's pain through the bricks, palpable, pulsing, a twisted mess of emotion. He'd given Lexi his heart and she was shredding it.
It was quiet for a moment, then he said, voice devoid of emotion, "You said you were going? Then go. I don't want you here. I don't want you in my house. I don't want to see you again. Ever."
"You won't," she assured him, seeming not to give a damn. "I'm leaving town."
"Go then."
"I'm going." The front door flung open and Lexi marched out. She stopped when she saw me, drilled me with a hard look, before marching down the path without a word. I hadn't seen another car out front so wondered how she got here, but the front door closing quietly drew my attention back to Mike.
"Wait." I knocked softly, and the door opened, Mike holding onto the frame as if he didn't have the strength to hold himself up.
"Now's not a good time, Harper," he said.
Ignoring him, I pushed my way inside, waited for Archie to follow before closing the door and pointing to the sofa. "Sit." Both Archie and Mike obeyed.
"I guess you overheard that?" He flopped his head back and stared up at the ceiling.
"I did. And I'm sorry," I said quietly, taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa, Archie in the middle.
Mike turned his head to look at me. "Should have known it was too good to be true." Tears glistened in his eyes and my heart broke for him.
"You loved her?"
He nodded. "I did. Stupid mistake. I told myself not to, I warned myself she was trouble. But I couldn't help it...I did it anyway."
"We don't get to choose who we fall in love with." I nodded in agreement.
"That's right." He pinned me with his gaze. "Your man cheated on you, right? That must have hurt."
"It did." But not as much as the pain I could feel rolling off Mike in waves.
"But you're here, starting over, surviving." And I knew what he needed—he needed hope. At this moment he needed reassurance that he wouldn't die from this pain, that he would love again, that it was entirely possible that one day, he'd be happy.
