A Murder Most Rosy: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 3) (9 page)

"My followers shouldn't have to wait another second for every detail of my night spent in a trunk."

He stiffened at that, eyes flashing, but he still said nothing. I sat down in the chair at his desk, his presence right behind me. My shoulders were held tight enough to snap, and his fingers dug into them a second later, calming me without words.

In between him giving me a short explanation of how to sign into the computer and find what I needed, I told him about my entire night. For the first time in a long time, I left nothing out and spared no details. He didn't comment, probably realizing how hard it was to relive all of it, but his fingers did dig into my shoulders at parts, particularly the jumping out of a moving car bit.

When I'd finally logged in, I typed in the license plate I'd risked my life to look at, waiting patiently while the backwater internet loaded.

"How did someone bring Ms. Nittleman back to life?" he asked quietly after a moment. I could tell it wasn't chief on his mind, but it was probably the safest topic— which was saying a lot about the conversation.

I found myself shaking my head before I really realized what I was doing. "You can't bring someone back— not even with the darkest magic. Once people are gone, they're gone." I paused, my stomach uneasy. "It is possible to reanimate bodies of the dead, but they're just puppets."

I didn't allow my mind to go down the road of "what ifs." That road, while it might be magical and seductive, wouldn't bring me anything useful. My parents were dead— along with a lot of great people who had mattered to me. And nothing was going to bring any of them back.

Staring into Wyatt's troubled eyes, I did wonder if there was someone he was missing, as well.

He cleared his throat roughly, changing the subject for the better. "So we're looking for a witch or warlock. Do you know who?"

Nodding at the still loading webpage, I said, "Hopefully, the license plate will tell us. I did think..."

I told him about Kosher and the scratch marks. His face clouded over when I described the scene in the alley.

"Kosher put those marks on your throat?" His question was almost nonchalant, but he wasn't fooling me.

"Kick his butt later," I said. "The point is... Gris-gris bags are one thing, but reanimation? That's serious dark magic. And I just can't see Kosher pulling it off. But if not him, I'm out of suspects."

"They were lovers," Wyatt pointed out, turning into a cop right before my eyes. "That could account for the scratches. Plus, I can't see Peter sending you flowers— even to threaten you."

"Touché."

The computer made a noise that drew our attention. Upon seeing the results of running the plate, my face went completely slack, exhaustion overtaking me. I rested my head in my hands, anything to stop looking at the name on the screen.

Norbert Mason.

"That's... No."

"He did have unparalleled access to Kara," Wyatt pointed out, unaware of my complete emotional and physical collapse. "And to you." The last was added darkly.

"I liked him," I said softly.

Wyatt looked at me then, squeezing my shoulders and dropping a kiss to the top of my head. "Not all killers wear it on their skin, Harper. It's not your fault for not seeing it."

While he called in half the force, I numbly pulled on the socks that Wyatt handed me. Before long, officers were arriving in all states of dress— though none as bad as mine. As soon as they stepped foot in the station, Wyatt was sending them back out, all to different locations to try and hunt down Mason. No one seemed particularly worried since he had no idea they were coming.

They were all forgetting they were dealing with a warlock.

Kosher came in with a group of guys. Instead of stopping to get his orders from Wyatt like the rest of them, he walked over to me. Though we'd just proved his innocence, I had to fight the urge to flinch away from him or run. It'd been a hard night.

He crouched down in front of me, and I was pretty sure our expressions were matching masks of disgust. Brandishing the scratch marks on his arm, he said, "She did scratch me— I was too pushy." A look of pure shame crossed his face, and it made me hate him just a smidgeon less. "I was worried about her, and I let it color my actions."

When I didn't say anything, he stood, nodding once before heading out with his fellow officers. He did say "thank you" quietly before he went. I was pretty certain no one but me had heard and was positive that had been his intent.

By the time Wyatt made his way back over to me, I had my arms wrapped around my legs with my head resting on my knees. Keeping my eyes open had become a battle I felt I couldn’t win, so I shut them and let my mind drift.

He pulled me gently from his uncomfortable desk chair, and we headed toward the car. It was still pitch black out, but I could feel the town stirring. Pretty soon, everyone would know what had happened to Kara. They'd know what an idiot I'd been.

"It feels like cheating, somehow," I told Wyatt as he drove us to the Victorian. "I never would've suspected him if not for the license plate." 

He didn't try to talk me out of feeling inadequate, for which I was grateful. I wanted to hold on to my shame for a good long while—at least till the next case.

We kept the lights off, trying not to wake Cooper, as we made our way upstairs. Unfortunately, I made quite the ruckus by running into every piece of furniture Wyatt owned. More than once, I heard him snicker in the dark and promised myself retribution.

That payback would have to wait, however. While Wyatt went to quickly check on Cooper, I laid down on top of his covers and fell instantly asleep— snoring included. Behind my lids, Norbert's guileless face mocked me, turning evil and twisted right before my very eyes.

______

“Harper!” Someone was shaking me roughly awake. They’d managed to hit every spot that was rubbed raw from my collision with the road last night, and I sat straight up, wincing at the effort.

All thoughts of pain went out of my mind when I saw Wyatt’s face contorted in pure terror. “I can’t find Cooper. He’s not in his room.”

I sprang from the bed, running into his room like an idiot, but needing to see that he was gone with my own eyes. His sheets and comforter were strewn about on the bed, a position in which Cooper would’ve never left them. He was far too neat.

Running around the house, Wyatt and I checked every nook and cranny like this was some perverted game of hide and seek. Each minute that passed without me seeing that boy’s smiling face felt like another needle inserted into my chest.

We pulled out our phones at the same time, Wyatt dialing every person in town— including everyone on the force, and I called my grandmother.

She picked up on the first ring. “What?”

“Cooper’s gone, Gran.” That was all I could force through my throat, which was rapidly closing.

In truth, I didn’t know what my grandma could and couldn’t do. But I had to believe she could find my kid. She had to be able to. The alternative was unthinkable.

“I will consult the books.” She hung up immediately after saying that, but I couldn’t help but feel a little calmed by her seriousness and can-do attitude.

That calm evaporated when I turned around and saw Wyatt’s stricken face again. He was between phone calls, and though he’d gotten more sleep than I had, his face looked sallow. There were painful-looking circles under his eyes.

“They haven’t found Mason yet,” he said. “You don’t think…”

Though a cold hand had closed around my heart, I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s not drive ourselves crazy jumping to conclusions. Have you called your mother yet? What about that Anna girl he likes at school?”

As if Cooper would ever sneak out, but we both needed hope and something to do with ourselves.

In the hope of finding something to do with my hands, I walked into the kitchen, going through the cupboards and looking for tea. My fingers shook lightly, but I couldn't do anything to make them steadier. When I turned my focus toward the fridge, I froze, barely daring to breathe.

A page of notebook paper, hastily ripped from its binding, was hanging from the otherwise spotless expanse of white. The Bennetts didn't hang notes from anything, because that might make the space look dirty or lived in. I ripped it down with careful hands, not wanting to risk tearing it.

“Wyatt," I called softly. "Come in here."

He was by my side in the next moment, standing slightly behind me and reading what I'd already memorized over my shoulder. The air seemed to leave the room bit by bit, and the longer we stood there, the harder it was to think or breathe.

The terms were as simple as they were cold. If we wanted to see Cooper again, I had to go to the abandoned factory just outside of town. Alone.

The place had closed down in the eighties, but before that, it'd mostly manufactured microwave popcorn. My befuddled mind found that information very useful, and I focused on it for a minute. Then, like a dog shaking the water out of its fur, I came to my senses.

"I'm gonna need a gun," I told him, springing into action.

I knew he kept firearms hidden all over the house— bless his paranoid soul— but I needed something small and concealable. Wrenching open one of the cabinets, I found a handgun on my first try. It was a little like getting a bingo after only five turns.

"Stop," Wyatt said.

Ignoring him, I searched around for a strap to secure the gun to my ankle. "They can't show up at the factory until I give the word, but you'll need to have the force ready to mobilize." The sound of Velcro wrapping around my leg and the gun was loud in the kitchen. "I'll need boots to hide this."

"You're not going alone," he said, sounding very calm considering the situation. "No."

"The letter said to go alone," I pointed out, fishing around in the drawer by the door for keys. "I'll take your car— it's more reliable."

"
We'll
take my car."

"Wyatt..."

Then the anger came. "No, Harper, we do this my way. He's already got Cooper. If I sent you in alone and neither of you came out..." He shook his head, an inscrutable expression coming over his face. "No, we go in together."

When I opened my mouth to counter, Wyatt looked like he would cut me off, but I held up my hands in peace. "You can come with, but you can't come in with me."

The sound that came out of his mouth was barely human, but I didn't let that dissuade me. "You know I'm right, Wyatt— or you will, once we get Cooper back. He'll panic if he sees you, but you can stay close and out of sight just outside."

Rather than giving me a yes or no to that plan, he grabbed his coat and the key I'd been looking for and headed out the door. I was practically dragged along in his wake, but I didn't mind. I was in just as much of a hurry.

On the way over, he berated me about procedure and how to talk down a psycho, like I didn't have any experience in that area. But I knew it helped him to feel useful, so I bit my tongue and listened, picking up a few tips along the way that I wouldn't have thought of.

My game plan, though, was still to kick Norbert's pasty body all the way to the next county.

The factory looked like an industrial castle with the long tubes that emitted steam and pollution resembling towers. Its rusty walls were the only kind of manmade things for miles except for the road, which was, unfortunately, graveled. The rocks crunched under our tires, announcing our approach as well as a quartet of trumpets could have.

We pulled up to a patch of grass behind a couple of trees that obscured the car from the view of most of the factory. Letting out a deep breath, Wyatt turned to me. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes were hard. I imagined his expression matched mine to a tee, but perhaps I was a bit less afraid. It's harder to watch someone you love risk their life than it is to risk your own life.

His kiss was quick and to the point, and I knew I'd have bruises from the force of it. I didn't mind; it was exactly what I needed just then.

"Get in, get out, and do it in less than three minutes, because that's all the time I'm giving you," he said, his forehead pressed against mine.

"Five."

"This is not a negotiation."

I knew I had to leave now or never, so I forced myself away from Wyatt and out of the car. The air was stuffy and hot, which felt inexplicably wrong. In the movies, it’s always cold and raining when horrible things happen. Couldn’t Waresville get anything right?

I went through the side door instead of the front, trying to be sneaky. Sure, this lunatic was expecting me, but I didn't have to make it easy for him. The best scenario would play out with me finding Cooper without running into Norbert. Then, I could hand him over to Wyatt and head back in to wring the math teacher's scrawny neck for laying a hand on Cooper.

The inside was devoid of most light, furniture, and machines. Whatever hadn't been taken when the company shut down had been pillaged through the years. I found quite a few broken beer bottles and fast food wrappers. Apparently, the local kids were getting their use out of this place. I just hoped none of them were around to see this.