Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3

by Angela Pepper

  I muttered under my breath and tried the spell again. Nothing. Then levitation, sweeping my hand above the table to guide the direction.

  Bentley said, “I’d rather not dirty my suitcase with those crumbs.”

  “Hang on,” I said. “I’m trying to clear them.” Another hand sweep. Still nothing.

  Steve cleared his throat. “Ms. Riddle, if you’re attempting to use magic to remove the crumbs, you’ll find it won’t work.”

  I gave him a suspicious look. “Why’s that?”

  “Uh...” He grimaced and glanced around.

  My mind made a paranoid leap. “Was there something in the cheesecake? Witchbane?” My tone was accusatory.

  “No! Goodness, no!” He held one hand to his throat. “We don’t poison people here. Not even witches.”

  He claimed there had been no witchbane, but even so, I silently admonished myself for not casting a threat detection spell over the food. The DWM was comprised of mostly shifters, and their kind had a natural distrust of witches. It wouldn’t have surprised me at all if their standard cafeteria food was laced with witchbane, the plant that sapped witch powers.

  Bentley asked, “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a dampening field in place,” Steve said with a tight smile. “Just a dampening spell. You haven’t been altered or damaged, I assure you.”

  “A dampening field,” Bentley said. “That seems logical.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I was only trying to sweep away crumbs. Is mild levitation really a security threat?”

  “It’s a potential threat if it’s witchcraft,” Steve said matter-of-factly.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “I’ve done magic down here before. Just simple stuff like opening locked doors, but it always worked before.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. “That must have been before we had Codex.”

  “Codex.” I shot Bentley a look. I did not like this new Codex system. Not one bit.

  Bentley sighed. He was still holding the suitcase above the table.

  I groaned, grabbed some napkins, and manually dusted the crumbs off the table. As disturbed as I was about having my powers dampened without my knowledge, there had been no real damage. I would know better the next time I ventured down there.

  “Good enough,” Bentley said when I was done. He set down the suitcase and unsnapped the buckles. He lifted the top to reveal the karambit inside, nestled in its multiple plastic bags.

  Steve leaned over to look at the weapon, and then immediately pulled back, hurtling away as though being struck by an invisible force. Both of his hands flew to cover his mouth. He made a guttural noise.

  Bentley and I stared at Steve. Was he afraid of knives? Why would he ask to see a weapon, then be so shocked?

  Steve held up one hand and wriggled his fingers apologetically while he composed himself. With the other hand still over his mouth, he said, “I apologize for my reaction. I suppose my curiosity got the better of me, and I forgot how squeamish I am about knives. Plus, imagining it being used to harm poor Ishmael. It’s all just too much.”

  Bentley said, “Perfectly understandable. Most civilians aren’t prepared to see the things I deal with every day.”

  Steve kept retreating, putting a few more feet between himself and the suitcase. With a forced chuckle, he said, “There’s a reason I got into the law side of law and order.”

  I squinted at him. Something wasn’t adding up. I asked, “You’re squeamish, and yet you’re dating a tattoo artist?”

  Steve wiped a bead of sweat from the side of his face. “You’ve met her,” he said shakily. “Carrot is the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  “She is... a lovely girl,” Bentley said hesitantly.

  We exchanged a look. Carrot Greyson was cute, in her own way, but it was hard to swallow the idea of her being the most beautiful girl in the world. Had she cast some kind of enchantment over her boyfriend?

  “Again, I do apologize for my reaction,” Steve said. “I’m sure Dr. Lund will be much more helpful than I’ve been.”

  Bentley closed the suitcase and snapped it shut. “There we go,” he said calmly. “You can breathe easy. The big, scary knife can’t hurt you.”

  Steve used his glasses-cleaning cloth to mop the side of his face. “Thank you for being so understanding. If you don’t mind me asking, where did you find this weapon?”

  “Around,” Bentley said cryptically.

  Steve’s eyes twitched. “Are there more of them, do you think?”

  “Why?” Bentley cocked his head.

  Steve took a deep breath to compose himself, then curled his index fingers into C shapes. Using the curved fingers, he made a scissoring gesture. “Two blades working together would act as scissors,” he said. “That would explain the twin blood spatters on the wall.”

  “You saw the blood spatters on the wall?”

  Steve nodded, then brought both hands up to partially cover his eyes with his fingers, like a kid watching a scary movie. “I had a look at the crime scene photos on my computer, like this. I didn’t want to, but if the other people in Ishmael’s family are in danger, I felt I had to look. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

  “I’m glad you did take a peek,” Bentley said. “That’s a very keen observation you’ve made about two of these blades working together like scissors.” Bentley made a scissoring gesture. “Chop, chop, and off goes the head.”

  Steve swallowed audibly, then burped. “Oh, no,” he said. “I might be sick.”

  Bentley waved a hand in the direction of the cafeteria’s exit. “Don’t let us keep you another minute. You’ve been a great help in the case, Mr. Adebayo.”

  “Any time,” Steve muttered as he half-walked, half-jogged away.

  Chapter 22

  After Steve left, Bentley said, “What an odd man.”

  “Is he still a suspect?”

  “I don’t know,” the detective said slowly. “He does give the impression he’s hiding something, or covering for someone.”

  “You mean his girlfriend? The most beautiful girl in the world?”

  Bentley frowned. “Love is blind,” he said.

  I pointed at him. “I’m glad you said it and not me. I try not to judge people by their looks, but...”

  “Say no more.” He nodded. “She’d only make the top ten list,” he said. “Not the number one spot.”

  “Exactly.” I looked down, plucked a stray cheesecake crumb from my suit jacket, and popped it in my mouth. “Where to next? Is it time for the morgue?”

  “That depends. Are you feeling up to it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s why we came.”

  He waved one hand. “What about the dampener field? You have no power down here.”

  “No, but I’ve got you, Bentley. My personal bodyguard. What more does a girl need?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him.

  “I do have my service revolver,” he agreed. “You don’t suppose the dampener field affects guns, do you?”

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

  * * *

  After a few wrong turns in the underground labyrinth, we finally reached the morgue.

  Dr. Jerry Lund, the medical examiner, had left a note on the door for Bentley: Back in five minutes.

  The door was unlocked, so we entered.

  Despite being in a secret organization’s underground headquarters, the morgue looked exactly like all the morgues I’d seen on TV. There was a big wall of metal drawers, rolling steel tables, hanging scales, a workstation full of glass vials, microscopes, and computer equipment. All of it was lit with bright overhead lamps. The only thing unusual about this morgue was the large arched picture window. It was the same height and shape as the ones I’d seen earlier that day at Dreamland Coffee. Unlike Dreamland, which showed the Wisteria street outside, this huge window showed an alpine meadow view.

  At the sight of the lovely meadow, I forgot all about the wall of huge drawers. For an insta
nt, I forgot I was in a morgue. As I stared, a Jersey cow meandered into view, the bell on its collar tinkling with its slow, ambling movements.

  Bentley and I exchanged a look. We were deep underground, so the window was just another illusion, probably a high-resolution screen. As for the sound of the tinkling bell, it must have been transmitted through speakers. Even so, knowing the cow was an illusion didn’t take away the wonder. I went to the window and looked left and right. To my surprise, I was able to see more of the alpine meadow view.

  “This isn’t flat,” I said in astonishment to Bentley. “It’s not a screen at all. Come over here and look.”

  He begrudgingly joined me at the window and took a look for himself. There was an audible click as his jaw dropped open.

  Bentley composed himself to say, “Magic?”

  “They prefer high tech down here over magic, but maybe.” I sniffed the air. The morgue had smelled of disinfectant when we entered, but over here by the window, the air was as sweet as a summer meadow.

  Bentley said, “I swear I feel a breeze.”

  “And I swear I can smell those flowers.” Over on the alpine meadow, the cow’s ears pricked up, as though she’d heard me. She lifted her tail and let out a pile of road apples. A different scent hit my nostrils. I turned to Bentley with wide eyes.

  “Yup,” he said. “I smell it, too.”

  “I can understand the flowers, but why would they program in cow plops?”

  Bentley glanced over at the stainless steel tables. “Morgues do have certain odors,” he said.

  “Ah,” I said, catching on. “If you’re working on a body and you catch a whiff of something, you’d rather believe it’s coming from the adorable cow outside your window than from a human corpse.”

  Bentley made a fist and reached up to rap on the glass. His knuckles passed through the plane and kept going. When his fist had been submerged to the wrist, he finally struck a solid surface. There was a dull thump that matched the movement of his arm.

  The cow, who’d been watching us, twitched an ear as though irritated. She stared at us a moment, then went back to cropping a mouthful of yellow wildflowers.

  Dr. Jerry Lund, who must have entered the room on tiptoe, spoke behind us. “I see Bessy has been keeping you entertained in my absence.”

  We both whirled around to face the short doctor.

  “Is she real?” I asked.

  “There is a Bessy,” Lund said enigmatically.

  I took another look at the view over my shoulder, and then checked the time. “Switzerland is nine hours ahead of us. Sunrise would be around six-thirty this time of year. Judging by the angle of the sun, I’d say this is a live view.”

  Lund chuckled. “Close. Daybreak is shortly after six o’clock this time of year.”

  Bentley, who still had his hand submerged in the view, said nothing.

  Lund clapped his hands. “I understand you’ve brought me a possible murder weapon?”

  Bentley pulled his hand from the view and slowly turned away from Bessy on her mountain meadow. He put his suitcase on a rolling steel table, opened it again, and cautiously withdrew the weapon.

  The medical examiner got to work. He unwrapped the knife with gloved hands, and set it under a trio of tools similar to magnifying glasses. Next, he placed it in a steel compartment, closed a hatch, pressed some buttons, and watched a monitor.

  After a moment he said, “No blood. If this was used to slice off Ishmael Greyson’s head, it was impeccably cleaned.” The monitor flashed. The medical examiner wheeled around to face me. “But there is residue from a magical powder on the blade.”

  “That’s my fault,” I said sheepishly. I explained how I’d used my aunt’s powder to determine the materials in the blade, only to turn up no answers. “The powder is supposed to disappear completely after the test runs.”

  The doctor bounced his eyebrows. “Things that are supposed to disappear completely rarely do.” His bullfrog lips formed a wide, knowing smile.

  I apologized for sullying the potential evidence.

  He waved it off with one gloved hand. “No harm done, Zara. I’m just giving you a hard time.” He clasped his hands together. “Now, we get to do the fun part.”

  The fun part?

  He excused himself, went through a door, and returned a moment later. He was wheeling a cart, on which was a life-sized human bust made from what appeared to be Jell-O. It was green and jiggled.

  “You’ll see why this is the fun part,” the doctor explained.

  He grasped the handle of the karambit with both hands, checked to see that nothing was behind him, then wound up and sliced the blade through the air with surprising speed. He chopped off the green Jell-O head.

  Beside me, Bentley made a low, guttural sound. The bust wasn’t Jell-O through and through. The interior contained both bones and meat, anatomically similar to that of a human.

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Uhh,” Bentley said, grimacing. “That’s a new one.”

  I took a closer look without touching the material. “It’s like those jellied salads people made in the fifties,” I said. “Aspic. Or head cheese.”

  “Very much so,” Lund said, grinning. He set down the karambit, then picked up the severed head with the enthusiasm of a kid grabbing his new toy on Christmas morning. “I’ve got to run the next test in the lab next door,” he said breathlessly. “But based on a quick visual of the striation pattern, I’d say we have our murder weapon.”

  Bentley and I exchanged a look.

  We had our murder weapon?

  “But what about the blood?” I asked. “You said it was clean.”

  The doctor blinked at me. “I said it must have been thoroughly cleaned. But the striation pattern tells a story, and that story is that this karambit, or one like it, was used to chop off the victim’s head. I’ll be able to prepare a thorough report after I run some more tests.”

  Bentley asked, “How long will these tests take?”

  “A few hours,” Lund said. “You can wait here, if you’d like.” He glanced around. “I’ve misplaced the remote control for the window view, but if you can find it, you can switch Bessy’s channel to something more entertaining.”

  There was a distinctively cow-like snort that came over the speakers. I turned to see Bessy standing a mere three feet from the window, chewing her cud and seemingly staring directly at us.

  Bentley asked in a whisper, “Can she see us?”

  “Not exactly,” Lund said. “I’d love to stay and chat, but time’s ticking.” He waved the severed jelly head emphatically.

  “See you in a few hours,” I said.

  “No,” Bentley said to me. To Lund, he said, “We’ll show ourselves out. You have my number. You can call me with the test results.”

  “Will do, Detective.” Lund used his hip to push a big red button next to a door. The door opened, and he passed through with the green severed head in his hands. “Oh,” he said, and he came back into the room again. “If you’re looking for the victim, he’s around here somewhere.”

  He was? Bentley and I must have had the same thought, because we both looked over at the wall of drawers.

  Lund chuckled. “Yes, his body’s in there. We put the head back on and we’re waiting to see if he comes back to life. Nothing yet.”

  “Good?” Bentley said, half statement and half question.

  “What I meant was his ghost is around,” Lund clarified. “There have been some sightings around Greyson’s former desk. We have a few members on staff who are sensitive to such things. Not witches, exactly, but similarly afflicted.”

  “Ishmael’s spirit is here?” I asked. “Down here, underground?”

  “You’re the witch,” Lund said. “Go check his office, and then you tell me!”

  Chapter 23

  After stopping a few different DWM employees to ask for directions, we finally reached Greyson’s office.

  We opened the door. The ghost was the
re, sitting on a chair, probably looking the same as he had when alive.

  The office itself was tiny, but private. The workspace was a nondescript L-shaped desk that wasn’t huge yet was still too big for the room. In addition to the desk and chair, there was also one chair for visitors, and a brass coat rack. A navy-blue windbreaker hung on the coat rack, its limp fabric making a bat-like shape.

  I didn’t have to imagine how Ishmael Greyson had looked in his office environment, since he was there now, albeit slightly translucent. He glanced over at the two of us standing in his doorway, then went back to work, flexing his ghostly fingers over his computer keyboard.

  Bentley was first to enter the office. “It smells sweet and rotten,” he said. “Do ghosts have a smell?”

  I hadn’t told him about the ghost sitting on the chair. I probably should have, but I was curious to see if the detective could sense the spirit in other ways.

  Bentley had detected one thing, for sure. The office did have an odor. “Check the garbage bin under the desk,” I said.

  Bentley stooped down and did so. “Banana peels,” he reported. “That explains the smell.” He sighed and took a seat on the chair.

  Ishmael, who’d been sitting on the chair, jumped backward, through the chair. He stood behind it, indignantly waving his arms and frowning at the man in the gray suit who now occupied his chair.

  “Brrr,” Bentley said, rubbing his arms. “Did you do something to the air conditioning?”

  “Nope,” I said, still watching him closely. “Do you sense something?”

  Bentley ran his hands over the surface of the desk, then abruptly wheeled the chair around to face me. “We’re not alone,” he said, eyes wide.

  “We are not,” I confirmed.

  Bentley’s eyes narrowed to their regular steeliness. He rotated his head, slowly surveying the office. “He’s standing right here,” Bentley said, gesturing to an area next to where Ishmael stood.

  “Close. You’re about two feet to the left of him.”

  Bentley snorted. “But not bad for a regular guy.”