A Murder Most Rosy: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 3) (6 page)

The county hospital wasn’t anything grand or spectacular. It only had two floors, and the lights in the emergency room sign were always going out— which was a bit like a lighthouse’s lights going out. On the plus side, every personnel in the place knew my name and blood type.

He kept driving through the parking lot of the hospital, going behind the building to a smaller, brick one that looked a little uneven. The sign read “morgue,” and there were no cars parked in front of it.

Letting himself out, unaware that he was being watched, the rude police officer slipped through the parking lot with his head down. He had a key to the locked door, which was a little strange, and he let himself in, disappearing from our view.

“Can we go get ice cream now?” Cooper asked.

My stomach made a strong affirming noise, but I said, “In a bit. I want to see if he comes out.”

But he didn’t. We sat out there for a little over an hour, Cooper pestering me the whole time, and though his car didn’t move, Kosher didn’t reappear. Heaving a frustrated breath, I started the bug and drove us back into town.

“Maybe you should ask my dad for some detective tips.”

Oh, I’d get right on that. For one thing, the smug look on his face would probably drive me to do a little murder of my own, and I didn’t have nearly as much experience covering up a murder as I did uncovering it.

              For another, if I asked Wyatt for help, he’d want the whole story— and he was annoyingly good at picking up on lies. The minute I told him about the gris-gris bag and the flowers I’d found in my car and under my pillow, that’d be the end of my investigation.

              A huge part of me felt bad for breaking my promise of telling Wyatt if things got too big or dangerous. But in this, the minority ruled. I couldn’t just stop— I was too far into it now. I
needed
to solve this, and not just because my safety was on the line.

              The ice cream place was crowded with families, and I let out a groan. But when I opened my mouth to beg Cooper for a rain check, I realized he was already out of the car and shutting the door. Never let it be said that the kid couldn’t get his butt in gear when frozen dairy products were at stake. 

              I joined Cooper in the line that spanned clear across the room from the counter and to the entrance. An impatient man behind us was talking on his cellphone and kept subtly pushing at my back with his shoulder and lamenting about the wait.

              “Wish your dad was here,” I told Cooper.

              He looked surprised— probably because that was his line. “Why?”

              “He has a gun.”

              A couple of trampled feet later— mine and those around me who got too close— we were up at the register. Cooper ordered enough chocolate ice cream to keep him awake for a fortnight. At least he wasn’t my problem at night.

              Then, with a wince, I realized he
would
be my problem tonight, because my apartment had been compromised. And I would’ve rather died than stay at Grandma’s. I knew she felt the same way.

              Grabbing Cooper’s chocolate cone and my cherry, I jumped away from the crowd of people as quickly as possible. I looked back for Cooper, but he was staring at the condiment station. Took me a second to realize why.

              I put the ice cream in his hand, pushing him towards the infamous Anna, who was getting napkins. “Go talk to her.”

              His eyes widened, and he shook his head vigorously. It was time to bring out the big guns. 

              “Your dad never hesitated to talk to a girl.” I told him with mock seriousness I was pretty sure he couldn’t hear.

              Like a parishioner who’d just received gospel, Cooper nodded and walked over to Anna with determination. I really wanted to watch the show I’d created, but I figured it’d make the kid nervous. Reluctantly banishing myself to an empty table, I settled for stealing glances every couple of seconds.

              Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Cooper had inherited his father’s way with words. At least Anna didn’t seem to hold it against him that his face was turning redder than my ice cream.

              “You’re transparent as hell, you know.”

              I jumped— couldn’t help it. Then, I glared at Kosher as he slid into the seat across from me. My expression cleared some in the wake of his fury, and I was glad we were in a crowded, public place.

              “I don’t have to sit here and listen to cracks about my complexion,” I said, playing dumb. It usually worked out pretty well for me.

              His lips curled in disgust. “Don’t. I saw you following me.” With great effort, he sat back. “It would have been obvious even to a civilian.”

              I wasn’t afraid of him, so I didn’t curb my tongue. “Please. You’re not some hardened Brooklyn detective on prime time.”

              “I warned you to stay away from Kara’s case. Now−“

              Kosher broke off suddenly, looking slightly behind me. I didn’t have to look, though, to figure out what had spooked him, because a moment later, familiar warm hands cupped my shoulders. Their rough heat sent shivers through me, but this was neither the time nor the place.

              “Everything alright here?” Wyatt asked.

              Getting to his feet, Kosher returned his gaze to me even though he addressed Wyatt. “Everything will be fine if you just keep your woman out of police business— and out of my way.”

              Wyatt’s hand pressed into my shoulders, keeping me sitting when I would’ve flown to my feet and shown Kosher the
meaning
of getting up in someone’s business. He left us quickly enough— not quite running away, but definitely not dawdling.

              When he was gone, Wyatt released my shoulders and slid into the seat next to mine. I wasn’t without his touch for long, though, because he grabbed my hand in the next moment.

              “Glad I saw your bug in the parking lot,” he said. “I’d have hated for you to break your pretty hand on Peter’s face.”

              “No better way to break a hand, in my opinion.”

              Wyatt sighed, stroking his thumb along my wrist in slow circles. “I’ve never seen him like that— not in the seventeen years I’ve worked with him.”

              “Murdering someone’ll put most people on edge.”

              Raising his eyebrow, he said, “Or maybe you just bring it out of people.”

              It was a distinct possibility.

              “He’s my top suspect.”

              “Any evidence?”

              I gave him a grin that was all teeth and no warmth. “Just as much as I had for the past two murderers I caught.”

              Though I could’ve pointed out a dozen different flaws in what I just said, he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he stood up from the table, bringing me with him, and pressing a kiss to the spot he’d traced with his thumb.

              Cooper came over to us at that moment, looking equal parts awed and embarrassed. When Wyatt looked at me, I just shook my head, fully planning to fill him in on it later.

              I encouraged the confused boy to ride with his dad so I could call my grandma on the way over to the Victorian. She answered on the last ring, almost certainly because she liked making people sweat.”

              “What is it?”

              And people accuse me of having bad phone manners. “It’s your granddaughter, and I’m great. Thanks for not asking.”

              “I knew it was you, and since you are calling, I assume you are not yet dead. That is already more information than I want.”

              God, I loved our special, little family moments.

              “Is the gris-gris bag still there?”

              “Is there somewhere else where you expected it to be?” she asked dryly.

              “The flowers reappear in their original spot no matter where you put them,” I admitted. “So I was curious.”

              “No magic item would disappear in my presence.”

              “Infinitely sorry I asked, but I’m going to ask for something else.” I hesitated, and then told her about the gris-gris bag I’d found under my pillow. “I think it was meant for me. Can you go check it out?”

              “In trouble again, Harper Foxx Beck?” She sounded mad only for a second, and then she laughed. “You remind me of myself at your age.”

              Right, and when was that again? “How terrifying.”

              We hung up without any drawn out goodbyes— or really, any goodbyes at all.

              I woke up the next morning to find Wyatt gone. Allowing myself a moment of ignoring the world, I buried my head under the blankets and breathed in the luxury of sleep. About two seconds after I started that, a knock sounded on the door.

              “Eh?” The noise I made didn’t sound completely human, so I asked, “Who dares disturb my slumber?”

              “My dad said I shouldn’t let you sleep all day,” was the muffled response.

              Grumbling about my boyfriend, I threw on some fresh clothes and met Cooper out in the hall. His brown hair was messy from sleep, and he was still in his PJs.

              “Don’t you have school or something?”

              We walked downstairs where two bowls of chocolate were waiting for us. “They’re having a parent-teacher thing today about how to deal with death.”

              “Should I be going to that?” I winced as the extremely sugary grains hit my tongue.

He shrugged. “Dad didn’t.”

I’d take that as a positive sign for skipping.

Instead of helping Cooper with his homework, I convinced him to play video games all day. It took more cajoling than one would imagine, but it was worth it to see the kid doing something normal for a change— like slacking and procrastinating. 

Just when he was starting to gain some ground in our mortal combat, the door burst open and Wyatt came through, looking very pale and harrowed. When he saw us sitting in the kitchen, he almost slumped against the wall, seeming to breathe for the first time in a while.

I walked up to him, opening my sassy mouth to ask what was wrong with him. His arms lifted me from the ground in an aggressive sort of hug that took away my breath as well. The moment he put me down, he was on a path toward the kitchen.

I followed and watched as he gave Cooper the same treatment, the boy's feet leaving the ground. After a long moment, he set his son back down and ruffled his hair in a carefully casual way.

"We've been here all day." Was he mad about my skipping the parent-teacher thing about grief? Because Cooper seemed fine, and I sure didn't need any tips. I was practically a professional griever.

He opened his mouth and then shut it. "Good."

"Oh, no it's not," I said, shoving him into a seat at the kitchen table. "You were sweating bullets when you walked through that door. Spill."

Grabbing my hand, he made me sit next to him. Cooper joined a second later, looking at his dad with comically large eyes. I wondered if this was the first time he'd seen him lose his cool. It wasn't mine, but that was due to the fact that I was usually the cause.

"There was... a break-in at the morgue," he said, his face pale. "I thought— I'm just glad you're here."

"You thought I broke into the morgue?"

My voice was mild, because it really wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. If I'd thought that Kara's body could tell me anything about her murder or murderer, I would have. As it was, I wasn't a medical examiner and could only pick up so much from a body I'd already seen when fresh.

"It's bigger than that, Harper." He let out a shaky breath. "Someone stole Kara's body."

A crime that most definitely would have landed me in jail if I'd committed it— nothing Wyatt could've done to protect me. His concern made sense now, even if I was a little miffed about it.

"I wouldn't steal a body," I told him, nose in the air.

"Right, because you're above breaking the law," he said. "But it's more than that. I was afraid..." He trailed off, looking between Cooper and I like he couldn't get enough of our faces.

I squeezed his arm. "We didn't leave; no one came over. It's been a very uneventful day on our side."

He sighed. "I'm glad."

"Who took Ms. Nittleman's body?" Cooper asked.

"We're not sure, but we're looking. They won't get away with it."

I leaned back in my chair and gazed at the ceiling, thinking about the case. "Believe she was murdered now, Wyatt?" I taunted absently.

"It's a possibility," he said dryly. "And if she was, I want you to stay away from the case. You just recovered from being poisoned. Sit this one out."

Cooper and I exchanged guilty looks. If Wyatt knew just how far I’d dived down the rabbit hole, he likely wouldn’t talk to me for a month. On the bright side, maybe he’d change his mind about moving in together.

That night, I decided to ignore all opposition about me heading in to work. Really, I'd been away from the Funky Wheel too long, even if we'd never kept regular hours in the long and scandalous history of the establishment. Being away felt like an ever-widening hole in my side. Pretty soon, I'd be ripped wide open.

"A woman is dead and her body is missing, Harper," Wyatt said, as I struggled into my disco shorts. "Stay. We'll play Monopoly. I'll let you win."

As if he'd have a chance at all beating me.

"I've got to go, and you've got to stay. Cooper has homework, it's a school night, and the Wheel is not a place for kids after hours."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Funny, I seem to remember you taking him skating plenty of times after dark."

"I'm not a very good parental figure— you should learn from my mistakes."

His lips twitched, and I knew I had him. Though I was only half-dressed, he strode across the bedroom and took me into his arms. I breathed in his fresh, slightly minty scent with a sigh. One million excuses not to head in to work and to stay in his embrace raced through my mind, but none of them stuck.

Pressing a kiss to my forehead, he said, "You're a great parental figure. Hurry back."

A few minutes later, after enduring a disapproving look from Cooper, I was on the road. A tour bus passed me as I was about to enter the parking lot, and it let loose a harrowing witch's cackle. I flinched, and then cursed myself, fully aware that it was just Waresville's version of a clever horn sound.

Still, as I walked up to the front door and removed the closed sign, I couldn't help but jump at every shadow and read into every whistle the wind made.

I shut myself inside, and after waving to Jeb, went to turn on all the lights and the sound system. Instead of taking his usual post by the door to be suspicious of customers, Jeb followed me in my opening duties.

"I heard about that teacher, Miss Foxxy. Is your boy okay?"

"Cooper's made of sterner stuff than either of us," I told him, plugging in the stereo in the DJ’s corner. "Mostly, I don't think it's really hit him yet."

"I could run the Wheel if you wanna stay home."

Even though I classified as an Amazon, I had to straighten up to my full height to put my hand on Jeb's shoulder. "Thanks, but my place is here— at least for the next couple of hours."

Right as Stoner Stan was stumbling to his post behind the concession stand, eyes red from substances unknown, the early crowd shuffled in. They were mostly older, wearing their disco garb, ordering cocktails, and throwing around their ancient words from the best era this world had ever seen.

I smiled and greeted each one of the regulars, skating around a bit and showing off my moves. My heart wasn't in it, though, and I wondered if I should've just headed home. True, the Wheel was good for whatever heartaches were ailing me, but right then, I longed to be with Wyatt and Cooper. I wouldn't feel completely safe and in control until I was.

I popped into the office to check on Amber and the ticket sales. The shy teenager smiled at me while giving back change for a twenty to a top-heavy man with an Afro that was almost identical to mine. He motioned between our two hairpieces, making me grin and give him the double groovy peace sign.

Just before I was about to declare nothing amiss in that quadrant, a sudden movement on the other side of the glass had me look twice. Across the street, a man passed under the street light, going fast. No one walked that fast in Waresville— in fact, no one walked that fast in the south, period. The laid back vibe was one of my favorite things about this region.

I wondered where Officer Kosher was off to so quickly in the middle of the night. Biting at my lip, I told Jeb to man the Wheel— like a pirate— while I got some air. The cement felt funny under my skates because I was usually on the disco floor, but I adjusted soon enough, making my gait silent as the night.

He'd gone down a dark alley between the hardware store and a barber shop. Didn't they always? I didn't let the smell from the garbage or the rustling of rats in it disturb me as I glided down the path, keeping to the plentiful shadows and trying to pick out Kosher. He had to pick the only dirty spot in the entire town, didn't he?

Something slammed into me from behind, and I turned just quickly enough to avoid getting a face full of brick. The back of my head, though, was violently introduced to the neighboring wall, and I bit out an unladylike curse at the sharp pain.

That was the last thing I could say— and I wouldn't have had it any other way— because a large forearm was pressed against my throat, making breathing difficult. On the plus side, I also wasn't focused on the smell anymore— a blessing, because it was seeping into my clothing as I choked. 

"...lot of nerve stalking a cop," Kosher snarled.

I couldn't make out his face in the light, but I recognized his voice sure enough. Was he going to strangle the life out of me? And here I thought pushing women to their deaths was more his forte. Man, but I love a guy with layers.

"Thought we'd... already... been over this," I wheezed.

"Harper?" I thought I heard a frown in his voice. After a really long moment in which barely any oxygen made its way to my brain, he released me, taking a step back.

I gasped. "I usually go by Foxxy in this garb. But people who physically attack me can call me what they want."

"I'll remember that," he bit out. "What are you doing following me? I thought I made myself clear."

"Crystal."

Though it was Florida and it wasn't ever truly cold, I started shivering. After the shivers came, so did the bone-deep exhaustion and weariness. I was probably standing in a dark alley with a murderer who hated me, but all I wanted to do was curl into the fetal position and go to sleep.

Getting angrier by the minute, he practically threw his coat at me. Murderer, maybe, but like Wyatt, he was a southern gentleman to the end. The mulish set of his jaw and the malicious glint to his eyes told me he hadn't decided about not hurting me yet, either.

"You should go back inside before I decide alienating Wyatt is worth all the trouble you're bringing me." His words were dead serious, and I shivered again for different reasons.

I moved to the side, closer to the street entrance, and Kosher followed me. I was gearing up to run, ridiculously large coat weighing me down or not. Then, in one of those moments of pure chance, the street light hit his bare, hairy forearms, illuminating the skin. There, etched like angry, red tally mark, were violent scratch marks. The kind that would've taken off skin.

I've never skated so fast in my life. The car keys seemed to twitch about of their own accord, making it impossible to put them in the ignition and start the bug. I could hear Kosher's heavy footfalls, too, getting closer and closer. My breath was coming out like a chain smoker's by the time I got the engine to catch and roared away from the Funky Wheel. I didn't stop until I was parked in front of the Victorian.

Looking up at the cozy, little house, I breathed and breathed like I might've never gotten the chance to do so again. My mind was chugging along like the bug's engine, trying to put together some plan of action.

It was too much of a coincidence that someone other than Kara might've scratched Kosher, especially when I knew Kara had scratched someone right before she died. But where was my proof beyond a shaky eyewitness account of seeing the scratch marks in the dark? I could convince Wyatt, sure, but his word was worth little when backed up with my word. Besides, with Kara's body gone, there was no link between the scratches and the victim.

I banged my head against the wheel. If I hadn't been a target before, I sure was now. Not only had I seen something that confirmed Kosher as the killer, but I had the means— in theory— to bring him to justice. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of any way to do it right then, and that didn't bode well for me surviving the week.

Wyatt was sitting alone in the kitchen when I walked in, staring intently at a tiny, portable television that was probably playing some sports game or another. I wondered briefly why he wasn't watching on the big screen. Then, I noticed a small, slumbering form on the couch and smiled, though it felt foreign on my lips.

I tiptoed into the living room and peered over the sofa. Cooper's arm was thrown precariously over the side. His mouth formed a perfect circle, and I could faintly hear his steady breathing. Gently picking the math book up off his chest, I set it on the floor next to me. His blanket had also fallen down a bit, so I tucked it back by his neck.

Wyatt looked up in surprise when I came into the kitchen. Looking at his watch— something he never went without, he frowned when he realized it'd only been a few hours.

"Miss me too much?" he asked.

I sat down next to him, resting my head on his shoulder, and watching the tiny players on the TV. "Exactly."