A bullet.
I’d done so many things that day. I’d worn a bunny suit at a crime scene, met the local medical examiner, partnered with a detective, identified another family of witches, learned that Bentley had some sort of weird death-wish-superstition thing, and I’d managed to pick up extra cat food before we ran out—for a change.
Chapter 16
It was 2:30 when Bentley dropped me off at my house. My car, Foxy Pumpkin, was parked in her usual spot on the street, so I expected to find my daughter inside the house. Thinking about seeing Zoey helped me shake off the grumpiness I felt about getting booted off the case.
I walked in the house, kicked off my shoes, and called up the stairs, “Hi, Honey! I’m home!”
There was a pattering of tiny feet. A red fox appeared at the top of the stair. Zoey-Fox took the steps down, transitioning into human form almost seamlessly. There was an awkward moment where she was hunched forward with her fingers on a step below herself. She nearly tripped, but didn’t. She straightened up and reached the bottom step in fully human form. Her clothes had made the transition smoothly, with not a button out of place. She wore a triumphant expression on her face.
I did what any good mother would do. I clapped and cheered like her number one fan, which I was.
“That was so smooth,” I gushed. “From four legs to two, while descending the stairs. You’re my hero!”
She shrugged and tried to pretend it was no big deal. “I almost tripped over my hand and went down in a ball.”
“But you didn’t,” I said. “And you’ll get better. Practice makes perfect. At least that’s what Aunt Zinnia has been beating into my head whenever I complain about pointless exercises like the egg-peeling thing.”
Zoey crouched down to pet Boa, who was circling the cat food, sniffing all the divine smells from the veterinary clinic, and twitching her tail in pleasure.
“You were running errands?” Zoey asked. “You ditched me at the museum to run errands?”
“It’s not how it looks.” I grabbed the cat food and took it back to the kitchen. I was suddenly inside the kitchen much sooner than I expected. Something was different. I rotated slowly, scanning the room.
“Zoey, is it my imagination, or has the walk to the kitchen gotten shorter? The kitchen’s bigger now, isn’t it?”
Zoey pursed her lips and looked around, nodding. “I think it is,” she said. “About fifteen percent bigger.”
“When did this happen? I swear it was the usual size before we left for the museum.”
She scrunched her face. “When I got back from the museum, I was listening to music in my room. I heard some noise, but I thought it was just Ribbons or Boa jumping around. I didn’t think to check if our magical house was remodeling itself.”
I patted one of the walls. “Thanks, house. That was very thoughtful of you. We have been spending a lot more time in the kitchen lately.”
The house didn’t reply. It never had—not in words, anyway.
I hadn’t known the house was magic when I bought it. When I’d first toured the place, I’d fallen in love at first sight. I’d adored it for what it appeared to be: a lovely old three-storey Victorian Gothic, the exterior painted a heart-racing shade of red and the interior needing a few decorating ideas. Upstairs were three bedrooms, which had magically turned into two bedrooms plus a linen closet before I’d moved in. The house had a funny way of changing itself to suit our needs—or to suit what it thought were our needs. A basement lair had appeared at the same time my new wyvern friend found himself looking for underground accommodations. Sometimes I wondered where the house’s true loyalty lay. It had been all too happy to literally squeeze me out of my own bedroom when my father had stayed with us in a temporary third bedroom. Ever since then, I’d been extra careful to show gratitude for any and all of the house’s self-remodeling decisions, whether I liked them or not. Truth be told, I liked the change to the kitchen, so showering the house with compliments wasn’t difficult.
Zoey chimed in with a few compliments about the larger space, and helped put away Boa’s food.
I mentally prepared to fill her in on the morning’s activities. I used to try to keep my adventures from her, but she was too clever and saw through my lies anyway.
“Did you have lunch?” I asked.
“I could eat,” she replied.
“Well, obviously. You are a Riddle.”
We pulled some leftover Thai takeout from the fridge and pulled up to the new kitchen island, which now had a brighter laminate surface, in addition to being nearly twice the square footage.
“Nice choice on the island,” I said loudly while offering two thumbs up at the ceiling.
“Enough about the reconfiguration,” Zoey said. “What did you do with Detective Bentley after you ditched me at the museum?”
“We began our adventure with a no-holds-barred tour of the murder house. I mean, uh, the crime scene.”
“Was it super-gross?”
“Yes. I would definitely describe the scene of the crime as super-gross. I believe that’s what Bentley wrote in his official report.”
“Did they find the head?”
“It was in a trophy case.”
Her hazel eyes widened. “Cool.”
I pointed at her. “Not the reaction I was expecting.”
She ran a hand through her shiny red hair casually. “I think I could help the police someday. I’ve got a really good sense of smell, especially in fox form.” She gave me a serious look. “I could have sniffed out that severed head in no time.”
I leaned forward, gave her a pat on the head, and continued telling her about my day. After touring the crime scene, I’d had my conversation with Dr. Jerry Lund, the medical examiner, who was one of the key people in the know about the town’s supernatural secrets.
From there, Bentley and I had gone to see the victim’s sister, Carrot Greyson, the tattoo artist. She was likely in shock from the news, but managed to give us a lead when she mentioned the feud her brother had with the owner of Dreamland Coffee, Maisy Nix. When we found out Maisy’s car had been on Beacon Street that morning, it seemed we were closing in on our chief suspect.
Zoey listened without interrupting. If I paused too long to chew my Thai food, she waved impatiently for me to keep talking, even with my mouth full.
I explained how the visit with Maisy Nix would have been a dead end, except I’d detected a counterspell at work, deflecting my threat detection spell. That, combined with Bentley’s suspicions about the woman, pointed toward her being a witch. Then Maisy told us her niece Fatima had borrowed her car, so our next logical step was to visit the younger Nix.
Unfortunately, Fatima Nix hadn’t noticed much at the Greyson residence. She’d detected an angry, evil presence as she was leaving, but that wasn’t big news, since I’d felt it at the crime scene myself.
However, she had revealed to me a pretty big secret. I described the rainbow light to Zoey, and what it all meant.
“They’re witches,” I said. “The Nix family. Aunt and niece, just like Zinnia and yours truly. How do ya like them apples?”
“Wow,” she said. “More witches.”
“Like us,” I said.
“Like you,” she corrected.
When I was done telling my sixteen-year-old fox-shifter daughter everything there was to know about the Greyson homicide investigation thus far, she was quiet for a long time.
“Hey.” I poked her with a chopstick. “I haven’t broken you, have I? Should I have kept this to myself? It’s all pretty heavy for a teenager.”
She forced a smile. “I’m not broken. Just thinking.” She rubbed her forehead and frowned. “Since magic runs in families, that means that everyone who knows you’re a witch must think I have powers, too.”
“Or at least suspect you do,” I said.
“And everyone who knows about Auntie Z must know about us.”
I nodded. “Which is why Fatima Nix knew she could show me a magical rainbow with
out me passing out in terror.”
She shook her head. “It’s not fair,” she said.
“Life’s not fair.”
She crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. It was a childish pout I hadn’t seen her do lately.
“This sucks,” she said without elaborating.
“So what if a few supernatural people know about us? We’re getting to know them all, too.”
“It should be private.”
“Should it? Really? I mean, aren’t we stronger if we all pull together, like a community?”
Her pout increased.
“Zoey, if you keep sticking out that lower lip, a bird is going to come along and poop on it.”
“This isn’t funny,” she huffed.
If it wasn’t funny, why was she making such a ridiculous pouting face? I probably shouldn’t have teased her, but I couldn’t help myself. That pout!
“Zoey, I think I hear Marzipants flying around the living room, looking for you. I didn’t tell you, did I? Old Mrs. Pinkman wanted us to have her budgie, so she sent him here by bus.”
“Even less funny,” she huffed.
“It would be pretty funny if a budgie flew in here right now and pooped on that giant lower lip you have sticking out like a please-bomb-me target.” I rubbed my chin. “I wonder if the house takes requests. Maybe if you say ‘I wish’ and then you wish for something, it delivers. I wish... I wish a budgie would—”
Zoey clamped her hand over my mouth. The new island was larger, but not too large for her to reach across to shut me up in the nick of time. With a hand-muffled voice, I promised to behave myself. She released my mouth and let out a huge sigh.
“I’m over it now,” she said. “I always suspected that the people around here knew about our secrets, even though we don’t know theirs. On some level, I’ve always known, but it’s different to hear you say it out loud. It’s weird that the short girl we buy Boa’s cat food from knows about our family.”
“You have to admit it’s a little closer to being fair now. Now that you know she’s a witch.”
Zoey brightened. “Plus, she only thinks she knows. I’m actually a shifter, not a witch.”
“Not so fast. That was the same clinic who stitched up Pawpaw. Fatima didn’t say as much, but she might know the fox was a family member.”
“Right,” she said, her brightness fading.
And then I opened my big, dumb mouth and said something I shouldn’t have. “But Fatima doesn’t know about your birth father.”
My daughter narrowed her eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
Zoey, your father’s a genie! A demon!
The truth burned in my throat. Oh, how I wanted to tell her the truth. Except I didn’t. I wanted someone else to tell her. What could I do? How could I stifle the burning in my throat?
I grabbed a wonton and stuffed it in my mouth.
She repeated herself. “What do you mean?”
With wonton crumbs spraying everywhere, I started rambling. “All I mean is that nobody knows everything about a person. There’s always a bit of mystery. For example, today I discovered that Bentley has a sense of humor. It’s very dry, or at least I think it’s dry. Is dry what you call it when it’s more cruel than funny? I mean, does anyone find sarcasm funny when they’re the target of it? People say puns are the lowest form of humor, but maybe it’s sarcasm.”
Zoey continued to stare at me with narrowed eyes. She saw through my rambling as easily as she saw through my lies.
I kept going. When in doubt, double down! “Oh, speaking of Bentley, I learned today that he is a very generous tipper, at least when it comes to coffee.”
In a low, level tone, she said, “You sure like to talk about Bentley a lot.”
“Never mind about Bentley. Who do you think killed Ishmael Greyson?”
Her expression relaxed, and she glanced up at the ceiling the way she did when she encountered an intriguing logic puzzle. Ziggity! I had successfully engaged her intellect and steered her away from the taboo topic of her birth father.
She considered my question for a while before replying carefully, “Based on what you’ve told me so far, it sounds like the aunt who owns the coffee shop has a weak alibi. Who stays up all night roasting coffee when it could be done any time of day?”
I gasped. “You’re right. That is very suspicious.” I’d been so distracted by the counterspell, I hadn’t seen the obvious.
Zoey beamed. “See? I could be very helpful on investigations.” She touched her finger to the tip of her nose. “And not just with my sniffer.”
I nodded. “The criminal masterminds of Wisteria need to think up better alibis if they want to get away with murder in our town.”
Her smile faded. “I hope it wasn’t Maisy Nix, though. It would be nice for you to have some witch friends besides Auntie Z.”
I rested my elbows on the counter and my chin in my hands. “I feel the same way. I mean, she scares me in a mean cheerleader way, but I also want to be part of her posse. You can take the girl out of high school, but you can’t take the high school out of the girl.”
“I wonder if there’s one coven in town or more than one. Whenever I ask Auntie Z, she pretends she doesn’t hear me.”
“Speaking of Auntie Z, I forgot to tell you the big news.”
“Is she coming back early?”
“Not that I know of. The big news is I found out where she works. Would you believe she has an actual job?”
“I might believe it. What kind of job?”
“She works for City Hall. In the permits department.”
Zoey shook her head. “I don’t believe it. That’s just... so... ordinary.”
“Observe.” I pulled out my phone, put it on speakerphone, and called the number for her department. Zinnia was on vacation, so she wouldn’t answer, and besides, it was Saturday, so there was no danger of anyone in the office answering the call.
A recorded voice came over my phone speaker: This is Zinnia Riddle. You have reached the Special Buildings Division of the Wisteria Permits Department. I’m out of the country right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, please do so, as this inbox is being monitored. Thank you.
After the beep, I said into the receiver, “Busted. This is your niece, Zara. Call me when you get this.” I ended the call and set the phone on the counter between us.
Zoey’s mouth was agape.
I asked innocently, “Should I have been more subtle?”
“You sure couldn’t have been less subtle.”
“Oh, come on. I didn’t say anything about figuring out Maisy and Fatima are witches.” I reached for the phone. “I’ll call back and leave a second message.”
Zoey yanked my phone out of reach. “Don’t you dare. Auntie Z is on vacation. You’ll stress her out and make her do that thing where she pulls on her thumb.”
“She pulls on her thumb? Is it part of casting a spell?”
“It’s a nervous thing she does when you push her too far. You haven’t noticed?” Zoey set down my phone and tugged on her own thumb in a gesture that suddenly did strike me as familiar. “She does this. Like she’s making sure her thumb’s still attached.”
“You’re right! She does do that, usually while she’s giving me a lecture about being careful.”
“For all the good it does,” Zoey said teasingly.
“She’s right that I should be more careful, but she’s wrong about keeping all her secrets to herself. How am I supposed to know who to be careful around if I don’t know who’s got what powers?”
Zoey shook her head. “Don’t try to twist this around. I think you should let Auntie Z tell you things herself, when she’s ready.” She paused for emphasis. “Even if it takes a few more months. Be patient.”
“You may not have noticed this before, but your mother doesn’t sit on things for long.” My eye twitched. That wasn’t entirely true. “I would only keep secrets from my loved ones if I felt it was absolutely necessary for t
heir own protection.”
“Such as?”
“When you were just a wee little girl, I never told you the Boob Fairy wasn’t real. In fact, I kept up the ruse by sneaking into your room at night and leaving training bras under your pillow.” I paused thoughtfully. “It’s funny. You never believed in Santa Claus, not for a hot minute, but you believed in the Boob Fairy right up until she blessed you with your first bumps.”
Zoey rolled her eyes. “That’s not quite how I remember it.”
“You don’t remember our long conversations about how the Boob Fairy would have to use the fire escape to visit us since our apartment didn’t have a chimney?”
She flattened her lips and gave me a humorless look. But I’d spent the last three hours riding around with Bentley, so I was immune to humorless looks and shrugged it off easily.
The doorbell rang, interrupting whatever might have come next.
“Doorbell,” I said to my daughter.
“Doorbell?” She gave me a fake confused look. “Do you mean that funny little sound that goes ding-dong? Could that be the doorbell?”
I gave her a pointed look. Answering the door was her job and hers alone. “Doorbell.”
“I don’t hear anything,” she said. “Have you checked your ears? Auntie Z said brainweevils can cause auditory hallucinations before they eat your brains.”
Whoever was at the door rang the bell again.
I pointed to the air. “Doorbell.”
She cupped her hand to her ear. “Is that an ice cream truck I hear? Does an ice cream truck go ding-dong?”
I rubbed my hands together and blasted her buttocks with the spell that mimicked a nip by a toothy animal.
She jumped off the stool, shrieking. She twirled in a circle, looking to see what had bit her. When she realized it had been my new spell, she gave me a wide-eyed, indignant look. “Oh, no, you didn’t,” she breathed.
“That was nothing,” I said. “That was the Teacup Chihuahua level. Barely any tooth in it. And besides, you deserved it.” I pointed to the air, as though the ding-dong of the doorbell still hung there above us. “You have one job, Zoey.”
“You’re such a mom,” she said huffily.
Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Page 12
