Chapter Seventeen
She goes for my neck, but she’s too drunk to get a firm hold. I shove her back, and she manages to throw my cell.
It clatters to the floor. “No!” Her voice cuts through the music. “I mean…you can’t call him.”
Nearby customers shoot looks our way once more. I rise, pick up my phone. “I don’t have time to play games, Haylee. Tell me what happened or I’m going to the police.”
She glances around with wild eyes. “It was nothing. Sean was…”
Sherlock looks smug, Persephone bored. “Was what? You had a fight and he ended up dead on my front lawn. I have a witness who says you were hanging around my house yesterday. Come clean with me about what happened.”
She crumples back into the seat, her voice now whiny. “I wanted him back, that’s all. I thought the band could reunite and he and I could start fresh.” She picks at her nails. “That’s why I called Greer and Huck. They’re home for Christmas. It made sense. I thought lunch would be, you know, fun. We could reminisce about the old days, put some bad feelings to rest.”
The band. Suddenly, I remember why Sean’s ghost seemed familiar—Travis Wooten, the keyboardist who died in a motorcycle accident.
I feel sorry for all of them. So many dreams, a lot of them gone forever.
Haylee gets some of my sympathy, too, but if she’s framing my father for Sean’s murder, I will stop her. I’m once again recording what she’s saying, hoping for a confession. “How did that work out?”
She glares at me. “I want my Hallmark moment.”
Don’t we all? “Was Sean willing to get the band back together?”
She bites her bottom lip, glances over at Dad. “Sure, he just wasn’t willing to get back together with me.”
I slide the phone closer. “And you argued about Mama?”
Her unfocused gaze drops to the tabletop. “He didn’t care one iota about her. He was using her to get at Nash.”
“You followed Sean to my place, and what? Argued, things got out of hand? You killed him and made it look like my dad did it?”
Her shock seems too real to be faked. “I would never kill Sean. I love him!” A sob. “Loved him.”
She couldn’t make this easy for me, could she? I pull out one of Daddy’s business cards. “Ever seen one of these?”
Her attention skitters away. “Nash has been passing them around like candy. It’s like he wants to rub it in our faces that he’s this big star and the rest of us are losers.”
My dad is far from being as famous as she makes him out to be, but I suppose when you’re stewing in bitterness over lost fame, even a little success seems cool. “Did you see Sean with one?”
As if on cue, the last strains of the song die off, and peaceful silence descends. Haylee, still speaking loudly, snickers. “He had one all right. Said he was going to make your daddy eat it, along with crow pie, before he ever forgave him for stealing our dream.”
The place falls completely silent, all eyes turning to us.
“Finally, some fun,” Persephone states.
Sherlock says, “Oh dear,” and vanishes.
Rhys rings the bell behind the bar. “Fresh punch is ready and so are tasty snacks.” He points to the refreshment table, where nothing has actually changed. “Be sure to put your name in the prize box to win a special Christmas basket!”
Again he indicates the table. He’s got the attention of the patrons now so everyone stops gawking at us. He nods at Dad and my father begins playing the next song.
Haylee scoots out and stands once more. “Leave me alone. Sean was a good man, and we would’ve been happy together if it weren’t for your family.”
She staggers off toward the restroom, and I call her a cab. Then I contact Jones.
Persephone waves goodbye and dissipates into thin air.
Returning to my seltzer water at the bar, I agree to hold when the desk operator at the station answers. Rhys slides a plate with several appetizers in front of me, and I eat while I wait for the detective. When he comes on the line, he seems slightly miffed I’ve interrupted his day. “What is it, Fantome?”
I relay the information Haylee was in the vicinity, was upset about Sean seeing my mother, and had a vendetta against my father. “I have most of the conversation recorded, so you can listen to it.”
There’s a pregnant pause and a heavy sigh. “This is an official police investigation. Stop harassing people.”
I take a sip. Normally, I try to be as hospitable as possible, but in this case, we're talking about my dad being framed for a murder he didn’t commit. “Do you want it or not? It would look bad if I go to your superior and tell him I had potential evidence in this case that you ignored. Or maybe I’ll reach out to the reporters who were at my door last night. I bet they’d love to investigate.”
My straightforward confrontational attitude doesn’t win him over, but he does relent. “Fine. Drop it off today at the department.”
Satisfied, I click off and gobble more food.
Dad takes a break and accepts a glass of soda from Rhys. “That wasn’t too embarrassing,” he says to me with a smile.
I assume he’s talking about Haylee’s outburst and not his music. While he enjoys the holidays, I can see he’d rather be singing rock songs. “I may have a lead on Sean’s death.”
He steals the last appetizer from my plate. “Haylee?”
She bursts from the ladies’ room, heading toward the bar. Rhys speaks to one of his waitresses, who intercepts her and directs her toward the door.
Through the front window I see the taxi I ordered pulling up. Thornhollow is so small, we don’t have any actual taxis, but there’s a local driver who does the Uber thing.
“Daddy, what happened the night of the St. Louis gig when you bailed on the band and came home?”
He looks askance. “Haylee told you I stood them up that night, did she?”
I nod and wait.
He shrugs and continues working on his beverage. “It was election night, and your mama thought she was going to lose to Dwight Emerson. She was in quite a panic.”
I know what he’s going to say before he finishes. “You gave up performing to come home and be with her during the returns, didn’t you?”
He keeps his gaze on his glass. “She won. I left again in the morning.”
True love. “Was Springsteen’s manager really in the audience?”
Another shrug and a sad smile. “I regret nothing. It was a great moment for her, and I was happy to share it.”
I’m downing another swig when my phone buzzes. It’s Rosie. “How’s it going?”
Her voice is an octave higher than normal. “Ava, we’ve got a big, big problem.”
Adrenaline causes me to hop off the stool. “Now what?”
“I can’t believe the supplier mixed this up!”
With the way things are going, I’d believe almost anything. “Calm down. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out and get it fixed.”
Memories of toilets flooding and ruining the Country Club ballroom fill my head. It’s only been two months since a ghost tried to wreck the most important wedding Thornhollow has ever seen by doing just that.
“I’m afraid we don’t have time to,” she tells me.
I lean over and kiss my dad on the cheek before I hustle toward the exit. “Tell me what happened.”
“The boxes of mistletoe?”
I hit the door and fly down the steps, heading for my car. “What about them?”
“They didn’t send the right thing, Ava. The mistletoe ball is going to need a name change.”
Yep, I’m definitely cursed right now. “What did they send?”
“There won’t be kissing under mistletoe this year for the big finale. I’m afraid they’ll have to do it under eucalyptus.”
Chapter Eighteen
I spend the afternoon hunting for mistletoe, Haylee Dean’s words ringing in my ears.
The irony of Sean threatening
to make my dad eat his guitar pick, then ending up dead with it lodged in his throat, isn’t lost on me. While I’m running around, I email the recording to Detective Jones.
Mama calls as I’m driving to Helen’s and asks what happened at the bar. Gossip is flying through town faster than Santa Claus about her, Dad, and Sean, thanks in part to the display this afternoon at the Toad. “Did you know the police told your father not to leave town?”
Her anxiety is off the charts— her voice high and tight, reminding me of Rosie, who’s still at the Country Club waiting for me.
“He is a suspect, but there’s nothing to worry about. Logan will get him cleared, and I’m pretty sure I know who did it.”
“That woman at the bar?”
“Yes, Mama. She has means, opportunity, and motive.”
“You sound like your father.”
He was a cop for ten years. Guess some of that rubbed off on me. Could also be I’ve read too many crime novels. “At this point, Haylee is my person of interest, and I’m not done investigating yet.”
“Are you sure, Ava? I remember back in the day when she was trailing after your dad and the band. I don’t believe she ever had all her horses in the barn.”
Mama’s way of saying she’s not too swift.
The mansion comes into view, and I pray I can use my leverage with Helen to talk her out of all the mistletoe she has in her house. We can’t exactly have the so-named ball without the key ingredient, and we can’t order more in time because it’s so close to Christmas—all of the suppliers are sold out.
“Did you know she and Sean were a thing?”
My mother makes a weird noise on the other end of the line, suggesting she doesn’t believe this at all. “Only in her mind. I’m telling you, that girl has a few screws loose.”
“She told me Sean was her soulmate.”
Mama laughs with derision. “They had a flirtation a long time ago, that doesn’t make them soulmates.”
I hate to ask the question, but I need to know. “Were you and Sean serious? You weren’t…”—I make a face—“in love with him, were you?”
Please say no, please say no, please say—
“Oh, Ava. We were just having fun.”
I release the breath I’m holding. It comes out in a rush. “And how do you feel about Daddy?”
“Oh dear. Sorry—I have to go. Amelia Bronson is calling about the new city administrator position. Love you!”
The line goes dead. I park, sure she has no intention of answering that question, but later I’m going to put her on the spot again. One way or another I need to know if there’s any hope for reuniting my parents.
Today, Helen meets me at the door rather than her butler. “Did you do it? Did you finally get rid of that ghost?”
“I’m working on it. The reason I’m here—”
“The curse expires tomorrow!”
I bite the inside of my lower lip. “I’m aware. I need all the mistletoe in your house.”
She blinks. “Will it help you save my son?”
She thinks I want the plant for a spell. I lie without hesitation this time. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
We spend the next hour unwinding sprigs from the swags and garlands. She tries to pin me down about the specifics of how it’s going to keep Logan safe, but I’m in no mood for discussing it.
“I heard about your father,” she says at one point.
I’m no mood to discuss his situation with her either. “It’s great to have him home for the holidays.”
“I meant about the sordid business with his band member.”
“Former.”
“And your mother? How does she feel about all of that?”
I need to take care of the mistletoe, follow up with Detective Jones, and call Raven if I don’t hear from her sister soon. Not to mention those darn preachers who still haven’t called back.
I stuff some of the berry laden plant into a bag. “Mama’s a rock, no matter what happens.” I offer a forced smile. “I think this should be enough. Thank you.”
Helen shows her disgust with my lack of insightful answers, and I try to reassure her before I go. “I’m going to work on the hex-breaking tonight, I promise. You’ll be the first to know how things turn out.”
As I’m driving away, praying I have enough to keep the ball from being a disaster, my phone rings. My pulse leaps as I put Jones on Bluetooth. “Well? Are you going to arrest her?”
His voice is gruff, like usual. “I still have nothing to prove she harmed Sean O’Reilly. Your interrogation is worthless.”
I stomp on the brakes, nearly giving myself whiplash. “What? Come on. I have eyewitness testimony she was at my house before Sean was killed. She knew about the guitar pick and was desperate to get back with him. She blames my father for breaking up the band, and she was upset Sean was seeing my mother and didn’t want to reconcile. How much more do you need?”
“I need a direct confession, and not one where you entrap the suspect. She was drunk, you were leading her, and she never admitted to anything other than being in love with him.”
I beat my hand against the steering wheel. “You can’t let her off the hook. She did it. I know she did.”
“I suppose you looked in your crystal ball?”
Several smart retorts pass through my mind, but I decide it’s unwise to say them aloud. I have to count to ten before I answer, though, letting the strained silence hang between us for a moment, before I say, “Have a nice day, officer.”
Calling him that is intentional, and I don’t wait for a reply. Tapping my earpiece isn’t as satisfying as slamming down a handset and I throw the Bluetooth on the dash.
I sit in the middle of the road another minute, trying to decide whether proving my father’s innocence or saving Logan from his family’s curse is my top priority. They are equally important, and I struggle with which to address first. No clear answer comes, and neither Persephone nor Sherlock appear when I send out an SOS.
I think about Sean and the ghost I saw hanging around him that night. I try reaching out to him.
A loud beep jerks me from my quest. In the rearview, I see a car swerve out from around me. The driver yells and waves a fist as he goes by and I take my foot off the brake. “Merry Christmas to you, too,” I mumble.
My intention is to drop off the mistletoe at the Country Club and head home, but Rosie is in such a state, I stay to help her. When I finally return to The Wedding Chapel, I find a young woman with pigtails, reflective aviator sunglasses, and a nose ring waiting for me.
I park on the street and get out. Arthur and Lancelot are in the display window behind the girl, eyeing her with a healthy amount of adoration. Tabby is nowhere to be seen, and as I open the gate and pass by the crime scene, the pigtailed woman stands, smacking the gum in her mouth. “Are you Ava?”
“I am. Can I help you?”
She hefts a large crossbody bag onto her shoulder and removes her sunglasses. Her eyes are a match for Raven’s. “My sister sent me.” Her fingers all have rings, and I notice a small, discreet tattoo on the left of her neck under her ear. “Said you need help with an un-hexing.”
A huge weight lifts from me. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
The knocker whistles under his breath. “There's dark magick in this one. It’s all over her aura. Better be careful.”
As I unlock the door, I send a glance to Sage. She stops chewing a moment and grins. “Nice cat.”
Great. She can hear him, too. I usher her inside.
Chapter Nineteen
“You’ve done this before?” I ask. Winter cautioned against black magick, and I’m just a wee bit worried about Sage.
She scans the interior of the house as we make our way through it. I turn on a few lights as we go, but I’ve locked the door and kept the closed sign on it, since it’s after five and I’m hoping to keep Logan away.
He texted earlier, and I made the excuse that I’d be working late at the Country Clu
b with Rosie, so hopefully he doesn’t notice anything amiss. He mentioned having dinner with his parents, so I know he’ll be busy for a while and won’t see my car.
Sage leans on the kitchen doorframe while I take care of the cats, Tabby meandering in and checking her out as I fill the bowls. An unusual occurrence for her not to race to hers and gobble down the food, but she seems quite entranced with Sage. Cat and witch stare at each other for a long moment, before Sage says, “Once or twice.”
“Awesome.” That doesn’t exactly reassure me, but seeing as I’ve never done it, I try to stay positive. “I really appreciate this. I’m kind of at my wit’s end right now and this is far outside my field of expertise.”
Something passes between her and the cat, and Tabitha relinquishes her stare to eat. Arthur and Lancelot have nearly finished and it’s probably wise for her to claim her portion or they’ll happily devour it, too.
“Would you like something to drink?”
Sage reaches into her big bag and withdraws a travel mug. “I came prepared.”
My nerves are shaking so badly, I’m dying to have a glass of wine, but figure it’s probably better if I don’t. Some of Rosie’s leftover cider is still in the crockpot, so I grab a cup and heat it in the microwave as the cats begin cleaning their paws. “I believe I have all the ingredients, but I’m not exactly sure of the steps. And, I never found a preacher who fit the knock-em down variety Paris said I’d need. I’m prepared for whatever type of spell we need, but they all seem a bit…complicated.”
She shrugs out of her jacket, a sort of patchwork quilt with mismatched buttons. “It’s not that hard. The important thing is doing everything in the right order.”
“I did not realize that,” I comment, removing the warmed cider and taking a sip. My stomach is empty and I feel it sliding down and pooling in it. “And the preacher?”
“Would be nice for insurance, but we’ll manage.”
Wish I had her confidence. “There’s one thing I’d like to do before we start.”
She shrugs. “I’m in no hurry.”
Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2 Page 9
