“I didn’t hear anything.”
“You’re not a witch.”
“And you think Maisy Nix is?”
“Well, you’re the one who was onto her in the first place because her name kept popping up in your police reports.”
“True.”
“And... my aunt’s name is also one that popped up in reports.”
“Many times. More than Maisy’s name, in fact.”
“Right. But let me ask you this, Detective. Do any of the known DWM agents’ names appear in those non-restricted reports?”
“Never,” he said. “They’re always scrubbed right out of the regular files.”
“So, it’s only the witches in town who get officially associated with local weirdness.”
He made a thoughtful noise. “Being a witness doesn’t necessarily mean someone’s a witch.”
“No, but someone either countered my spell or cast dampening wards inside that coffee shop.”
“If you say so.”
Something else occurred to me, filling in the picture. Excitedly, I said, “Also, Maisy Nix was friendly with Tansy Wick, and Tansy was a notorious hermit who didn’t have many friends, besides my aunt.”
“Tansy Wick,” he said. “Our local supplier of magical toadstools.”
“Don’t stereotype. There’s a lot more to potions than toadstools.” I took another sip of the mint mocha coffee that had been Tansy Wick’s favorite. “Maisy did know Tansy. Did you read up about that case?”
“I know only that Tansy Wick died of natural causes, and the death was ruled an accident.”
I chucked. “Natural causes. More like supernatural causes.”
“They don’t write that in the case files,” he said, sounding eager. “I have so much to learn. My world has really opened up. The wool has fallen from my eyes. I see everything in a new light now.”
“You’re excited about all of this stuff,” I said.
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m a witch.”
“And I’m a detective. Like I said, we’ve got a lot in common.” He shot me a glance, his steely gray eyes twinkling. “We make a good team. I’ve been trying to figure out Maisy Nix for months, and for a mere fifteen-dollar investment, you’ve all but confirmed she’s a witch.”
“I thought the coffee was nine-fifty.”
“Plus tip.”
“You tip fifty percent on coffee?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or not.”
“Good.”
Chapter 14
We arrived at the Katz and Dogz Veterinary Clinic and parked on the street in front.
“Katz and Dogz,” Bentley mused. “What is it about small towns and puns?”
“It gets better,” I said breathlessly. “The veterinarian’s name is Dr. Katz. It’s his actual name.”
“I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg or not.”
“Good,” I said, and I jumped out of the car.
I hadn’t been to the vet clinic since June, when I had to get my father, in fox form, stitched up. It was also the place where I’d first laid my eyes on Boa, who’d been staying at the vet while waiting for her “furever” home.
When we walked in, Fatima Nix recognized me right away. “Ms. Riddle! How are you?”
Other than her glossy black hair, Fatima looked nothing like her aunt. Fatima was as short as Maisy was tall. She had to step up onto a platform to use the computer at the vet clinic’s front desk. Unlike the angular features her aunt bore, Fatima had a perfectly round face, olive skin, and wide-set, sparkling brown eyes. She wore glasses, a too-large pair with thick white plastic frames. The glasses were not the pair I would have picked out for her, but they gave her an adorable, cartoonish look. They did not, however, make her look any smarter than she was.
“I’m fine,” I answered, though my voice pitched up as though I was asking a question. I would have been more fine if I wasn’t there to check on her alibi for a homicide case. “How are you?”
“Tired but good.” Her large glasses slid down her small nose, and she didn’t push them up. “How is Miss Boa? Is she settling into her furever home with her new furever family?”
Bentley had entered alongside me and was now quietly browsing the clinic’s display of materials about vaccinations and flea medication. This was now our second stop where he’d pretended to be a regular customer before breaking out the interview questions. He’d been all business at our first stop, but then again that one had been different. We’d been there to deliver the bad news to the victim’s sister. It wasn’t the sort of thing someone could casually segue into.
Fatima continued to smile up at me, oblivious to the reason for our business call.
“Miss Boa is definitely part of the family,” I said. “She’s bonded intensely with my daughter.”
Fatima nodded. “Cats tend to pick favorites.”
“She’s not that loyal. If I have deli meat ham, I’m the favorite.”
“I bet! Is she getting enough exercise?”
“Absolutely. She and my daughter can play for hours.” I didn’t mention that their play involved the cat darting up and down the stairs, chasing my daughter in red fox form while an overexcited wyvern screeched encouragement. If I’d told the veterinary assistant that, she’d probably think we were abusing the poor thing. Boa, however, loved every minute of it. When she finally got tuckered out from chasing or being chased, she’d flop on the floor and expose her belly trap for Round Two, The Playful Eviscerating.
“You should get a second cat,” Fatima said. “Someone like you should have more than one.”
Detective Bentley chose that moment to drag himself away from the flea brochures and join the conversation. “Someone like her?” He nodded his head in my direction. “What do you mean by that?”
Fatima’s eyelashes fluttered behind her thick lenses. “I mean someone who’s so good with pets.” Her glasses slipped over the tip of her small, flat nose, and she finally nudged them back up to the bridge.
I gave Bentley a bored look. “She means someone who’s good with pets,” I repeated.
Fatima asked, “How is your red fox?”
“Fine, I suppose. He hasn’t been in touch lately.”
Fatima’s forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“Just a joke,” I said with a hand wave. “That little trickster I brought in for stitches was never mine. He recovered for a while at my house, got into all sorts of trouble, and now he’s gone again. Back to where he came from.” Silently, I added good riddance.
“That’s such a shame. He was a cutie. You know what, Ms. Riddle? You should still pose for our Furever Family calendar. All the proceeds go to some very good pet charities. You could bring Boa. We’d love to see her again.” Fatima clapped her small hands excitedly. “You know what? Her silky white fur would be a such a good contrast with your red hair.”
“You think?” I twirled a lock of hair. Flattery felt good, even if it came from a murder suspect. “What would I wear?”
“That’s easy. You could pull your hair forward, over your chest, and then you could hold Boa right across your bathing suit area.” She looked pointedly down at a bathing suit area where a woman might hold a cat strategically if, say, that woman were nude.
I made a choking sound. “I’m sorry,” I said. “For a minute, it sounded like you wanted me to pose nude.”
“You wouldn’t be nude.” Her glasses slid down her nose. “Nobody would see, except the photographer.”
There was another choking sound beside me. I turned slowly to find Bentley struggling to maintain his steely composure.
“You know what? Sign me up,” I said brightly. “Pet charities are very dear to me, ever since Boa came into my life.”
Bentley gave me a look of shock mingled with admiration.
Fatima typed on her computer keyboard, and we set up a time for my photographic debut.
Then I gr
abbed a case of canned cat food for Boa, since I was there anyway.
After I’d finished paying, and nearly forgotten the reason for our visit, Bentley finally spoke up.
“Miss Nix, I’m Detective Bentley with the WPD.” He flashed his badge her way. “We’re looking for witnesses to an incident, and I understand you were driving your aunt’s vehicle along Beacon Street at dawn this morning. Is this correct?”
She gasped and held both hands to her mouth. “Is this about that homeless lady I almost hit with the car? I didn’t hit her. I swear.”
Bentley’s calm, professional expression didn’t change. “Describe the homeless lady for me.”
“She had crazy hair, and she was wearing rags as a dress. Plus she was ranting, probably talking to the voices in her head.” Fatima pushed her glasses up her nose. “Did she say I hit her? I swear I didn’t. I was only there on that street because Mr. Greyson called me to come check on Doodles. The poor little guy was having a meltdown. He was barking at shadows and chasing his tail. I gave him a mild sedative, and he settled down. Then, when I was leaving, I hit the wrong button to adjust the seat, and it went down instead of up. I could barely see over the steering wheel, and then that crazy woman jumped out of nowhere, like she was trying to throw herself at my car.”
I pressed my lips together and bit my tongue. I hadn’t come out of nowhere, and I hadn’t thrown myself at the car. Also, homeless lady? Dressed in rags? Really? My hair had a certain wildness to it before brushing, but come on!
Bentley nodded. “I see. Is it possible the dog, the one that belonged to Mr. Greyson, was barking at this woman? The homeless lady?”
I gave Bentley’s foot a subtle kick. Did he not realize the homeless lady was me?
“Maybe Doodles was upset about the lady,” Fatima said. “Arden thought it might have been a neighbor’s cat sneaking in through the doggie door to steal Doodles’ kibble. Both of them thought it was a cat.”
“Both of them?” Bentley asked. “What do you mean by ‘both of them?’ Was Mr. Greyson’s nephew, Ishmael, present?”
Fatima’s cheeks reddened. “No.” She answered in a near-whisper. “I meant both Mr. Greyson and Doodles.”
Bentley raised an eyebrow. “Do you speak dog?”
Fatima let out a high-pitched peal of laughter. “No, of course not, but sometimes it seems that way.” She looked down and adjusted her blue scrubs. “It might not have been a cat that was bothering Doodles. It could have been anything. A raccoon, or squirrels, or even a bird. I’ve heard there’s a big raven that lives on that street.”
Bentley said, “So, you were called by Mr. Arden Greyson to check on his dog. And you didn’t see anything unusual until you were leaving, at which point you saw an erratic woman dressed in rags running across the street.”
Fatima asked nervously, “Did she say I hit her?”
Bentley took out his notepad, licked his finger, and turned through the pages slowly.
“I didn’t hit her,” Fatima said. She turned to me and repeated, “I didn’t hit her.”
“That’s not actually what brings me here today,” Bentley said, his voice low and hypnotically calm. “There was another incident this morning. A separate one. I wonder if you could close your eyes for a moment and try to recall if you saw anything unusual on Beacon Street. Perhaps when you were returning to your aunt’s vehicle?” He fixed her with his steely gaze. “Close your eyes, take a deep breath, travel back to this morning in your mind, and tell me what you saw.”
She looked at me as though seeking a second opinion. I gave her an encouraging smile. Sure. I would vouch for Bentley.
Fatima drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, exactly as he’d suggested. “I’m there now,” she said. “I’m noticing that all the lawns are brown, because of the hot weather.” She coughed once. “And it’s smoky. The air quality won’t be good today.”
“Is the door to Ishmael Greyson’s apartment open or closed?”
“Closed,” she said without hesitation.
“Do you hear any people?”
She frowned. “I hear rustling. Something’s behind me.”
“What’s behind you?”
“I... I can’t see it. When I turn my head to look, it’s gone, behind the bushes.” Her eyes suddenly flew open. “That’s why I was driving so fast when I pulled away. I can’t believe I forgot until now. I was scared of the thing in the shadows.”
“Some sort of animal?”
She leaned forward and whispered, “Do you believe in demons?”
Bentley replied, “Do you?”
Her eyes widened behind the thick lenses. “Of course not. It was probably just a stray cat.” She stared up at him steadily. “But isn’t it funny how your mind can play tricks on you?”
Bentley pressed on. “This thing in the bushes, did it move on four feet or two?”
“Two,” she said without hesitation. The she pulled back and wrinkled her nose. “Which means it probably wasn’t a cat, after all.”
“Not a cat,” he said, making a note in his little book.
Bentley thanked Fatima for her insight, and handed her a card. “Call me if you remember anything else.”
She asked sweetly, “What happened, anyway?”
“A homicide,” he said off-handedly. “A grisly, senseless act of violence.”
Her jaw dropped.
He observed her for a moment, then said, “Miss Nix, please keep that information under your hat until such time as the details are officially released.”
Her eyes glistened, and soon tears were streaming down both cheeks. Her lower lip trembled as she asked, “Wh-wh-who? Who was killed?”
“I believe you already know.”
She turned her teary gaze on me, then Bentley, then me again. Her voice a hoarse whisper, she asked, “Ishmael? Is that why you asked if his door was open?”
Bentley made a gesture, as though tipping an invisible hat. “Ma’am, that information hasn’t yet been released. I’m not at liberty to say.” Then he turned and strode toward the front door. He pushed open the door without a backward glance and left. The door closed behind him, and somewhere deep in the vet clinic a chime sounded.
I stood at the counter, dumbfounded. Fatima continued crying. My heart broke for her. Bentley had practically destroyed the young woman, who’d been nothing but sweet and kind and compassionate to me, my family members, and my pets.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to her soothingly. “Detective Bentley is one of the best. He’s going to find whoever did that, and keep us safe.”
She sniffed and got control of her breathing. “Zara,” she said softly. “I want to show you something.”
I nodded toward the door. “I should get going.”
She held both of her small hands up in front of her face. A rainbow of light arced between her palms.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh!” And then, because nothing more clever came to mind, I said it a third time. “Oh!”
Fatima Nix was a witch.
Hoarsely, she said, “I didn’t see anything in the bushes, but I felt it.” The rainbow sputtered out like a guttering candle. “Something horrible and nasty and evil. Do you know about that sort of thing?”
“Horrible and nasty and evil? You’ll have to be more specific. Did it have wings? Glowing eyes?”
“It was angry,” she said. “That’s all I know. So angry.”
“Okay. I’ll pass that along to the detective.” I held my own hands up, palms a few inches apart. “What about the, uh, rainbow thing? Should we meet again and talk about that?”
She shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone I told you.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Did you show me that because you know something about me?”
She clamped her lips shut and kept them that way. Her eyes, however, said yes. Yes, she’d known about me for ages, possibly even before I knew about me. Being a witch, that was.
I thanked her for her help and headed for the door
.
Chapter 15
When I got to Bentley’s car, the engine was running and the air conditioning was on. I leaned toward the vents and let the cool air dry the sweat on my temples.
After a strangely quiet moment, Bentley said, “Young Fatima Nix must have told you something. Something big.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your face.”
I rolled my eyes and continued using the vents while I lifted the hair at the back of my neck. I’d only had a few minutes on the way back to the car to think about the news I’d just learned. I had barely processed it, let alone come to a decision about whether or not to tell Bentley. Did he have any right to know the young veterinary assistant was a witch? She had a valid reason for being at the scene of the crime, and likely was off the suspect list. Her powers weren’t necessarily any of his business.
But, on the other hand, if he knew about her abilities, he could be an ally. He might even protect her from those who sought to abuse her and her powers. Fatima had figured out we were partners. Had she shown me her magic with the expectation I would tell him?
Bentley continued with his line of interrogation. “Specifically, it was the mouth part of your face,” he said. “By which I mean you got into the car and didn’t say anything for a full thirty seconds. I counted.”
For the second time that morning, I thought about how nice it would be to blast his butt with the butt-chomping spell.
He continued to stare at me expectantly.
I adjusted the cooling vents and asked, “What happens to any confidential information I give you? Does it go into a big database that everyone at the DWM has access to?”
Bentley pointed to his own temple, which, unlike mine, wasn’t glistening with sweat. “The information goes up here, and then it only goes into reports if it’s relevant to the case. What were you two talking about in there?”
I could tell him part of the truth. “Fatima swears something was watching her when she went to her car this morning.”
“I know that. I was there when she told us.”
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 42
