“Ooh,” Zoey said. “I like that color.”
“Me, too.” I applied the lipstick to my lips, and blotted it with a kitchen napkin.
Zoey gave me a skeptical look. “How does red lipstick help you analyze metal content? Does it make you able to taste it?”
“Good guess, but this is actually just regular lipstick. What we want is under here.”
I put the cap back on the tube, turned it over, and unscrewed the bottom. Inside was a compartment that held an odorless white powder. I gestured for Zoey to set the curved knife on the counter. She did so, and I sprinkled both the blade and the handle with a small amount of the powder.
I didn’t need to cast a spell. This was a magical compound, so the spell was already baked in, so to speak. There was a slight ozone spell as the powder analyzed the composition.
The spell did its magic, then returned the results as words spoken softly in my head. One karambit. Handle composition: Sixty percent hydroxyapatite with collagen fibers. Common name: Bone. Origin: Unknown.
“Bone,” I said to Zoey. “The handle is carved bone, but I don’t know what animal it’s from.”
“What about the blade?”
I focused my eyes on the gleaming blade and waited. The spell played on-hold music inside my head. Soft jazz. I had just started tapping my food in time with the music when the words returned. Blade composition: Unknown. Origin: Insufficient data.
“The spell doesn’t know,” I reported to Zoey. “Either that or I’m not using the powder right. What a waste.” I frowned at the tiny amount remaining in the hidden compartment. My aunt had given me the powder as a reward for learning a tricky bit of magic—peeling the shell off an uncooked egg while keeping it levitating and intact. I had actually enjoyed the task, though I pretended it was excruciating because I could tell it pleased Aunt Zinnia to torture me a little. I had planned to use the powder to find out exactly what kind of raw fish the local sushi place was using in its suspiciously inexpensive sashimi, but now a third of the powder was gone.
“It wasn’t a total waste,” Zoey said in her usual cheerful way, the way she always sounded right before pointing out the bright side of any situation.
“You’re just trying to cheer me up.”
She studied my face carefully before saying, “That lipstick suits you. I bet Detective Bentley will notice how pretty you look when he comes to pick up the knife for more testing.”
I snorted. “He doesn’t see me that way.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. He just doesn’t. Besides, he was dating your grandmother.”
“I think they were more like friends. They weren’t in love, according to her.”
“Ew.” I made a face. “Either way, I’m not interested in dating that va—” I still couldn’t say the word, thanks to her magic, but I did have a new substitution that she would hate. “I’m not interested in that upgraded zombie’s used-up leftovers. She probably drained out whatever sense of humor he had along with half his blood.”
“Gigi doesn’t drink from humans.”
“So she claims.”
“She wouldn’t lie to her family.”
I pulled my head back. “Are you serious? For one third of your young life, she did nothing but lie to the family. She let us think she was dead. For five long years.”
Zoey couldn’t argue with that. Her grandmother—my mother—had made the choice at a young age to curse away her own witchcraft. Later in life, she’d suffered an illness that could only be cured by her dying and then being brought back to life. Well, sort of back to life. I called her an upgraded zombie. She was a creature of the grave, thinner and more beautiful than ever, with her sleek, black hair. A person couldn’t blame a man like Bentley for being attracted to the woman, no matter what she was. Riddle women did have their charms, even after death.
I used my magic to grab my phone and put in a call to Bentley.
Zoey listened to my side of the conversation, watching me like I was must-see TV.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, my doorbell rang again. This time it was Bentley. He wasted no time in getting to the knife.
He stood staring at it on the kitchen island’s counter for a long time. The detective scowled at the karambit so hard, I could have sworn I saw a brand-new vertical wrinkle form on his forehead.
“You shouldn’t have stolen this,” he said gruffly.
“I didn’t steal it,” I said heavily. “Arden Greyson wandered over here of his own free will. I made him some tea, and he was so dazzled by my skills as a conversationalist that he left his whole tackle box behind by accident.”
Bentley attempted to bag the knife in an evidence bag, but the curved edge was so sharp it snagged the plastic, sliced through, and fell out. I caught the falling karambit with my magic so it didn’t scratch the floor.
Bentley stared at me with round eyes. He’d been caught off guard by my levitation.
“You get used to it,” I said. “By which I mean seeing household objects defy the laws of physics. Did I ever tell you the first time I used levitation, it was to catch a falling glass, right over there by that sink?”
He scratched his head. “Is that so?”
The knife wavered in the air between us.
Bentley looked down at his feet. “I don’t know if a guy can ever get used to witchcraft, but thanks. You saved my shoes.” He swished his mouth from side to side. “And possibly a toe.”
I held both hands to my chest and pretended to swoon. “He finds me handy! Oh, be still my beating heart.”
Bentley retrieved a new plastic evidence bag, gingerly wrapped it around the floating karambit, then carefully held it by the handle so it couldn’t escape again.
“You certainly are handy,” he said gruffly without looking at me. “It was cunning of you to entertain Mr. Greyson and gain his trust.”
“Cunning? I was being neighborly.”
“How about stealing the man’s tackle box? What that neighborly?”
“I can’t think of anything more neighborly than protecting the neighborhood from a killer.”
The detective nodded. “Very well, then. I can’t say I would have thought of the same thing, even if I had your powers. It may not have been cunning, but it was clever.”
I swooned again. “He finds me clever!”
Bentley looked around the kitchen. “Who are you talking to?”
I shrugged. Didn’t everyone have an imaginary audience who followed them around to laugh at their crazy antics? Other than those folks, Bentley and I were alone in the kitchen. My daughter had returned to her bedroom after answering the door.
He shook his head. “I swear, whenever I’m around you, I feel like I’m on some hidden-camera TV show. You’re always saying the strangest things. What’s that all about?”
“It’s called having a personality.”
“Oh,” he said flatly. “Is that what it is? I suppose I wouldn’t know. I’m only a detective. When I’m not working on a homicide case or eating donuts, I park myself in a dark closet, like a robot.”
I stared at him for a moment. I hadn’t given much thought to Bentley’s personal life until now. I tried to picture him doing regular things. Picking up milk and bread at the store. Taking his car in for an oil change. Frolicking on the beach with a kite on a windy day. Nope. Couldn’t picture any of those things, and yet, I could easily imagine him parked in a dark closet like a robot.
“Stop it,” he said. “Stop imagining me standing in a dark closet.”
I let out a burst of laughter. “Bentley! You can read minds! You have supernatural powers after all.”
“It’s not mind reading,” he said. “Well, not exactly. It’s called theory of mind. I observe a person’s facial expressions and body language, then use my empathy to imagine what I’d be thinking if I was that person.”
“Is that so? What am I thinking right now?”
He rubbed his chin and studied me thoughtfully
. “You’re trying to think of something that would embarrass me.”
I flashed my eyes and looked him over. “Such as...?” I licked my lips suggestively.
He sighed. “Stop undressing me with your eyes.”
“I was doing no such thing,” I said indignantly. Technically, I’d only been pretending to undress him with my eyes. For a laugh. I didn’t want to picture his tanned skin extending below his shirt collar across a taut, muscular chest. Or the narrow line of dark hair that might run below his belly button. Or the way his muscular thighs might look sticking out from the bottom of cotton boxers. How was I so certain he wore boxers? And why was I picturing them as gray with black stripes?
“Zara,” he said.
My throat felt thick. “What?” I’d gotten trapped in my imagination and was finding it difficult to extract myself.
He sniffed the air. “Did you eat dinner already?”
I was glad for the topic change. “Yes. I ate with Zoey. We had nuked leftovers.”
He gave the air another sniff.
I waited for him to make a comment about my lack of cooking skills, but he didn’t say anything.
His stomach broke the silence with a growl.
I suddenly caught his subtle hint. I jumped toward the refrigerator with a speed that startled Bentley into take a step backward, bumping into one of the kitchen island’s chairs, making it scrape on the floor.
“You must be starving,” I said. “You’ve been working on this case since dawn, and you probably haven’t had anything to eat, have you?”
“I had coffee,” he said. “I can go a day or two without eating.”
“Crazy talk!” I yanked open the fridge and started pulling out containers and jars. “Let me whip up something for you. It won’t take a minute.”
“No need. I’ll be heading straight back to the office with this weapon. I can stop by the cafeteria if I get hungry.”
“By the sound of that stomach, you’re well past hungry.”
“I know my limits.”
I paused in my fridge raiding and gave him an over-the-glasses look. I didn’t wear glasses, but thanks to my librarian training, under the most esteemed of long-timers, I’d learned my over-the-glasses look from the best in the business. Bentley received the look and gave me a sheepish one in return.
“Sure, you do,” I said. “Your mouth says you’re leaving, but your butt’s trying to make friends with that chair.” I waved for him to sit down. “You bought the coffee today, so dinner’s on me.”
He set the bagged knife on the counter without making a sound. “If you insist,” he said. “Where might I wash my hands?”
I nodded at the hallway. “There’s a powder room on the main floor, or you can use the kitchen sink if you can’t bear to be away from me.”
He raised an eyebrow at me as he took off his gray suit jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. “A wise man knows when he’s being tested,” he said as he walked over to the kitchen sink. He undid his cuff buttons and methodically rolled up his shirt sleeves. He washed his hands, with soap, and then held them dripping above the sink.
He said, “Paper towel?”
I realized I’d been standing motionless in front of the open refrigerator door watching him wash his hands. As though it were must-see TV. I ducked down into the fridge and called out, “On your left, behind the Darth Vader cookie jar.”
He found the roll and dried his hands as he commented, “Interesting cookie jar.”
“You like it? It reminds me of my mother.”
“Because she used to make you cookies?”
“No.” I closed the fridge door. “Because I saw her choke a person using her mind.”
He cocked his head. “What?”
“Never mind.” I dropped the assortment of takeout containers on the counter. “Tonight’s special is a fusion dish. Lemon chicken with lasagna.”
“Perfect. I’ll make the salad.”
I laughed. “Good one.”
He was heading to the back door. “I’ll use the lettuce and tomatoes from your back garden. Unless you were saving them for some other occasion?”
“Uh, no. Not at all. Now is the perfect occasion to use the lettuce and tomatoes and whatever else is growing back there.”
He walked out to the back yard. I peered after him in semi-disbelief. I’d completely forgotten about the small vegetable garden I’d planted while under the influence of a ghost with two green thumbs.
What a day of surprises this was turning out to be.
* * *
After dinner, Bentley insisted he couldn’t possibly eat another bite, but then I showed him my method for making ice cream sandwiches using miniature chocolate chip cookies.
He ate three.
“I’ll just waddle my way out the door,” he joked.
“One for the road?” I sent another ice cream sandwich orbiting around his head like a satellite.
He sighed and then opened his mouth.
I sailed the flying vessel into port.
He pushed his chair back, unrolled his shirt sleeves, straightened his tie, and pulled on his suit jacket. He was Bentley, as before, but also not as before. He looked different now. Not as monochrome. There was color in his cheeks.
“I should be getting back to the office,” he said.
“Are you done for the day, or will you stick around while they do testing on the knife?”
He snorted, as though finding the idea of being done for the day amusing. “I’m not done by a long shot,” he said heavily. He took a step toward the door and paused. “What sort of things do you have planned for this evening?”
“I’ve got a few books I was going to look through to see what there is about beheadings.”
“Research is always good.” He nodded and adjusted the sleeves of his jacket.
“But I already had a quick scan through my books this morning, and there wasn’t much.”
“Ah.” He rubbed his chin. “If you’re not sick to death of me, you could come along with me to the medical examiner’s. Your perspective thus far has been rather helpful.”
I snapped my fingers and held out my arm for my purse. “The morgue on Saturday night? Now that’s a date!”
He blinked. “You really are a witch, aren’t you?”
“I really am.” I walked ahead of him toward the front door, stopped at the stairwell, and called up to my daughter, “Bentley’s taking me on a date to the morgue! Don’t wait up!”
Her disembodied voice replied, “Don’t do anything Auntie Z wouldn’t do!”
“You know, when you say something like that, you’re just egging me on!”
She giggled. “Have fun at the morgue!”
Bentley joined me at the stairwell and called up, “I’ll take excellent care of your mother, Zoey.”
There was a thump, and footsteps, then Zoey appeared at the top of the stairs. Her hazel eyes were wide. “Are you really going to the morgue? I thought you were joking.”
“This is what happens when you joke all the time,” Bentley said to me. “You become the boy who cried wolf.”
I held up my hand, sassy style. “Excuse me? The boy who cried wolf was doing it to get attention. He wasn’t very funny. I’m hilarious.”
Bentley gave me a smug look. “My point stands.”
“He does make a good point,” Zoey said.
I put my hands on my hips and glared up the stairs. “Et tu, daughter?”
“Mom, this morning when you tossed me the keys at the museum and said you were going to help Detective Bentley solve a homicide, I thought you were just going to the bathroom or something. I waited around like a dummy for an hour before I realized you weren’t coming back.”
My hands were still on my hips, and I was starting to feel the exasperation I’d been pretending to feel. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”
“I’m not.” She sighed. “Sometimes when you run off, I feel like I’ve been...” She mumbled something under her breat
h.
“What?”
“Abandoned,” she said. The word stung.
My daughter felt abandoned? Because I tossed her the car keys and didn’t get into a lengthy discussion about homicide investigation in the middle of a crowded museum? That didn’t seem fair.
Her cheeks were flushed. Softly, she repeated, “Sometimes I feel abandoned. I’m not saying it’s your fault. It’s just... how I feel.”
My own cheeks felt hot. She was calling me a bad mother, right in front of the detective?
I should have calmly reflected back her feelings and promised to discuss it in detail at a more appropriate time.
However, being me, I volleyed back with what seemed like humor. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss right now? How about the fact I don’t turn down your bed and put a chocolate mint on the pillow every night?” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. But there was no spell that could pull back words.
She said nothing.
I felt Bentley’s hand on my shoulder. “You’ve had a long day,” he said. “I shouldn’t take you away from—”
I wheeled around on him. “Don’t you dare ditch me now, partner. You promised me the morgue, and we’re going to the morgue.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a wide-eyed look to the floor beneath our feet. “All right, then.”
I turned to my daughter. I’d had a few seconds to calm down. Barely. I softened my voice as much as I could manage. “Sweetie, I’m sorry it felt like you were abandoned at the museum today. I should have taken more time to talk to you.” I swallowed, and then the words I should have said in the first place came to me. “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”
Bentley, wisely, said nothing.
After a long pause, Zoey took three slow steps down the stairs toward us and ducked her head. “Oh, Mom. I was fine. It all worked out.”
“I just wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.”
“I know.”
“You’re my everything, kid.”
Her cheeks flushed again, this time probably with embarrassment. “I’m okay, I swear.”
And she was. The thing about teenagers was they could go from okay to not-okay in a heartbeat, but they could go the other way almost as quickly, too. And my beautiful, sweet, kind daughter was more resilient than most. She really did deserve a better mother than the one she got. But I would keep trying, anyway.
Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Page 14
