Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1)

by Angela Pepper

  Maisy Nix confirmed it was the same one, and gave her niece’s name. Fatima Nix.

  “Fatima? I’ve met her,” I interjected. “Does she work for the veterinarian? Dr. Katz?”

  “That’s the one,” Maisy said, curling her thick upper lip to reveal her long front teeth. “You’d never guess we were related, since I’m so tall and poor little squat Fatima is so not-tall.”

  I liked how Maisy described Fatima’s shortness as not-tallness.

  Maisy shifted forward and deftly wrung the bar cloth in her strong-looking hands. “Is there a problem? Has my niece gotten in any trouble? She’s a good girl, Detective. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Fatima has a good heart. She loves animals and people.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Bentley said. “We’re looking for some witnesses who may have seen something unusual last night. Your vehicle was captured on home security footage not far from where the incident took place.”

  Home security footage? Nice move, Detective Bentley. People can’t argue with hard evidence.

  Instead of becoming more worried about her niece, Maisy relaxed, leaning forward and propping one pointy elbow on the counter. “Don’t tell me you’re chasing shadows again, Detective.” She pursed her lips and gave him a flirty eye flash. In a sultry tone, she said, “You know what they say about people who look hard enough for something.”

  “Sooner or later, they find it,” he said. “I fail to see what’s wrong with that.”

  “There are other ways to chase shadows. Have you ever tried asking nicely?” She ran her free hand through her glossy hair in a practiced move straight out of the handbook for Flirting 101.

  I reached over and patted Bentley on the shoulder. “Nicely isn’t his style,” I said.

  She pursed her lips more tightly, narrowed her coffee-black eyes, and shot me a look that could freeze rain. “And you would know, Zara? You’re familiar with the detective’s style?”

  “Somewhat,” I said, my voice quivering and betraying my uncertainty. What was the deal with Maisy Nix? She had power in that tall body of hers, of that I was certain. But what kind?

  Maisy’s tight lips relaxed into a crooked smile. “Oh, Zara. You have so much to learn.”

  Bentley took a half step back and raised his cup of black coffee as though offering a toast. “Informative, as always, Ms. Nix.”

  “A pleasure, as always,” she replied, her smile broadening.

  His voice gritty, he said, “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Oh, Detective. I never make promises I have no intention of keeping.”

  My mouth dropped open. That was my line! Who did this woman think she was, stealing the lines I said to Bentley? I nearly dropped my coffee. My arms felt heavy and my body filled with jerky energy. I thought of hockey players throwing off their gloves to begin a bare-knuckles fight on the ice. I wanted to throw down my metaphorical gloves and challenge this powerful woman to a duel. If she had magic, I wanted to see it.

  Distantly, I heard the tut-tut of my aunt inside my head. Zara, be careful. Do not allow your emotions to be used against you.

  Luckily for Maisy Nix, Bentley grabbed me by my arm and steered me out of the coffee shop before I could cast the biting spell to chomp her on the butt.

  Chapter 13

  As soon as we got into Bentley’s car, I started ranting about Maisy Nix. “That woman really thinks she’s something! Can you believe the nerve of her? All that hinting around about stuff, but without the decency of giving us anything concrete.”

  “She’s quite the woman,” Bentley said neutrally.

  I snorted. “You were right to be suspicious of her. What sort of cases was she involved with?”

  “That’s not particularly relevant to the current investigation.”

  “Humor me. What do you think she’s up to?”

  He started the engine and the air conditioning, then turned toward me, looking hopeful. “Never mind Maisy.”

  “Never mind her? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t even find her attractive. She’s much too tall.”

  I pulled my head back and blinked at him. “What? Are you implying I’m jealous of that woman? That ebony-haired, black-eyed... giraffe?”

  “She’s not my type, but I understand she’s a very striking woman. Some men might call her perfect.”

  “She’s not perfect. Her upper lip is a bit puffy, which I suppose is good, because it covers those long front teeth of hers.” I glanced over at the door to the coffee shop and ran my tongue over my own front teeth. “Do you think she’s got rodent powers? Maybe she’s a rat shifter. That would explain the teeth.”

  “Never mind Maisy,” Bentley said again. “Let’s stay on track. Did you happen to see the ghost in there?”

  I pulled my gaze away from Dreamland Coffee and took a breath to reset. My aunt was right about many things, including my weakness for letting my emotions get the better of me. I hated living up to the stereotypes about fiery redheads, but I did have my fiery moments.

  “The ghost,” Bentley prompted patiently.

  “Ishmael? No. I didn’t see anyone dead in there. Why? Did you feel something? Sometimes even regular people pick up on the presence of spirits. You might have felt a cold spot, or a sudden sense of dread.”

  “No dread, and I didn’t feel any cold spots, though it would be a welcome relief on a day like this.” He leaned forward and let the cool air from the vents stream over his face.

  “Ishmael isn’t there now, but it’s mid-day. His usual routine was to stop by after work.” I paused, picturing the skinny, pale-haired ghost walking through the wall of the coffee shop to order his usual beverages. “Bentley, do you think, if we stuck around, we’d see him show up around six o’clock?”

  Bentley rubbed his chin. “Doing a stakeout for a ghost would be a new one for me.”

  I checked the time. “It’s not even two o’clock yet. We could come back in a few hours.”

  He made a noncommittal sound and put on the car’s turn signal as he prepared to pull out onto the street.

  “Are we going to visit Fatima Nix?” I asked.

  “You’re a quick study,” he said warmly. “Are you sure you haven’t done any police work before?”

  I grinned at the rare compliment. “Maybe a detective ghost passed through me briefly and I didn’t notice. They tend to leave some stuff behind. Residual memories and...”

  “And what?”

  It was hard to say the word, but I did. “Emotions.” I cleared my throat. “The ghosts leave behind some of their feelings. It really isn’t very considerate of them. I already have a tough time trying to deal with my own feelings, let alone theirs.”

  “That must complicate your life.”

  I let out a sarcastic whoop. “And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to Detective Theodore Dean Bentley!”

  He shot me a wry smile. “You and I have a lot in common. When I’m on a homicide case, I feel possessed by it until it’s resolved.”

  The man didn’t know what possession truly felt like, but I kept my mouth shut this time and let him think he did.

  He shoulder-checked before pulling the car out onto the street. “And the difficult cases always leave behind an emotional residue.”

  I still had my mint mocha in my hand. It was too full to put in the cup holder because the smallest bump in the road would cause it to splash. Dreamland Coffee’s takeout cups didn’t have the handy cap that some coffee places did. I took a sip to bring down the volume. Before I became a witch, I wouldn’t have taken that sip lest I burn my tongue, but one benefit of being a witch was never having to worry about the temperature of coffee. Any burn I received healed almost immediately.

  The mint mocha was perfect, as usual. I nestled it in the cup holder between us, next to Bentley’s coffee. Seeing our coffees next to each other gave me a feeling. A pleasant feeling.

  Bentley broke the silence. “I don’t know anything about Fatima
Nix, but her aunt, Maisy, certainly is an alpha type. Do you know what I mean by that?”

  “Alpha? You mean like the leader of a pack of werewolves?”

  “Less supernatural.”

  “Ah. Alpha, but not supernatural. Sure, I know the type.” I listed them on my fingers. “Head cheerleaders, rich ladies with reality TV shows, and some—but not all—head librarians.”

  “Really? Librarians? I suppose you would know.”

  “Not all librarians.”

  “Right.” He tapped the screen for the car’s navigation, asked me for the name of my veterinary clinic, and pulled up the address so we could pay a visit to young Fatima Nix at her workplace.

  He took a sip of his plain coffee and asked, “Did you detect anything magic back there at Dreamland? Or am I just out nine dollars and fifty cents for the overpriced coffee?”

  “You did get the lead about Fatima driving the car last night.”

  “Sure, but I didn’t need to buy coffee to get that.”

  “Now that you mention it, there was something odd that happened.” I explained how I’d attempted to cast a threat-detection spell, only to have it splash back at me.

  Bentley said, “Maybe your spell did work, and you’re the threat. It detected you.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you should have seen the look Maisy gave me after I cast it. That was when she asked me what I’d said, and I told her it must have been my stomach.”

  “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 tr
ouble, 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 grabbed 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.”