Inconvenient Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery (22 page)

Emily’s phone buzzed with an incoming text.

“Em, this is mom. Uncle Jonas finally passed. But he left you some money and a Camaro. You’ll have to come get it.”

She read the text then and her brows rose. Sweet. I mean...not sweet. But she barely knew Uncle Jonas and her memories of him were vague. But she’d totally inherited some stuff. She didn’t have to feel too bad about that right? The only reason she would be his heir was because the family had drizzled down to just a few of them on her dad’s side. But...maybe kinda sweet...after all...money was nice. And money that wasn't Ingrid's would be cool. Even if Ingrid had never minded sharing. And a inheriting a Camaro...Ingrid had given her Escalade to Aunt Hazel.

Okay, crass though it might be, a little inheritance was just the pickup Emily needed after murder, mayhem, and near death.

Plus the
woods
.

Emily turned her attention back to her computer. She was booking that vacation before anyone else could die and inconvenience her further. Her hand hovered over the mouse, trying to decide. St. Maarten or the Canary Islands?

The desire to go to the Canary Islands was 100 percent based off of the name and that the pictures she'd googled had very, very blue water. She hemmed and hawed and then closed her eyes and clicked.

Without even glancing at her computer, she shut the laptop and glanced around. As soon as she saw the bookshelf, she wanted to call Sam. But she didn't want to be creepy. Or awkward. She barely knew him. She could set something on fire again, but she didn’t want to be appear Basic Instinct crazy. First impressions were important.

Hmm.

Of course, the first impressions were over now. And being her crazy self is what had hooked Gabe like a gape-mouthed fish for Ingrid. They might not have officially hooked up yet, but Hotpants was intoxicated by Ingrid and all her whiffs of nonsense and idiocy and laziness and…was it her kindness? It didn't matter. What mattered is that Gabe like Ingrid for Ingrid.

Therefore, Em loved Gabe.

She drummed her fingers on the closed computer, trying to decide on her priorities.

Plan A: Scheme a way to seduce Sammy-boy. He was so too attractive to live apart from Emily. And, honestly, she was lonely. Plus there was all that aggression after all this Owen stupidity.

Plan B: Lay in the sun with Ingrid and drink until she forgot the Owen nonsense. Then she could make out with fireman Sam without any post-murder angst as soon as they got back.

Yep. Plan B. Vacation first. Then guilt-free kissing. Definitely the way to go.

•

Late Wednesday Night

Someone knocked on Ingrid’s door late that night. She didn’t need witchcraft to know it was Gabe. Emily had disappeared after they’d both used the potion for poison ivy. She’d been muttering about birds and blue water. Ingrid had taken several baths and burned all of her new jar of sage. The apartment smelled like smoke and something you might cook with sage. Ingrid couldn’t think of anything that you might cook with that devil’s spice, but that was probably because she never wanted to eat it or smell it again. She’d opened all of the windows and the door to the balcony, but a general fog of burning had lingered.

Still. She’d almost been murdered. She waited a minute before she asked through the door, “Gabe?”

“Yes,” he said. She waved her hand and it opened, slamming it onto the wall behind the door.

“Yes! Did you see that? I did it from over here.”

He pulled the door out of the wall where a large hole had been left by the handle slamming into the plaster.

“Super cool,” he said, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He pulled off his gun belt and left it on the table. He toed off his shoes and joined her in front of the fire she’d built to mask burnt herbs. It wasn’t working.

“What did you set on fire?”

“Sage. I was trying to cleanse my aura since the whole dead person, murder, thinking of hiring the evil coven, setting douchebag on fire thing, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t work.”

He pushed back her hair, and said, “I think you’ll be all right.”

He leaned slowly closer, nuzzling his nose against hers before placing a light kiss on her lips. He kissed her again, a little heavier. And then again heavier still.

Minutes later, they were laying near the fire, and she was laughing up at him.

He cleared his throat before he said, “I came for your statement.”

“My what?” She ran her toe over his leg and reached up to play with the badge on his chest.

“About the murder.”

“Do I have one?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against the long length of his, enjoying the feel of him laying on her and the way he made her feel small and beautiful.

He leaned down and ran his teeth along her jaw, nipping at her chin before standing up and pulling her to her feet. Once she was leaning against him, he replied, “Yes, you have a statement. Also, feed me.”

They crossed to the kitchen where she pulled out a stack of menus. “I have these. And random food items. But I don’t cook.”

Gabe kissed her brow before opening her fridge to find steaks, wine, and asparagus. She watched as he cooked them dinner, enjoying the way the caramelizing steak made the smell of sage fade, the way his butt in those jeans made her eyes linger, and the way that he walked around her kitchen, laughing at her random kitchen items. She didn’t have steak knives, but she did have a fondue pot. She didn’t have cheese, but she did have goat milk. She didn’t have steak sauce, but she did have fish sauce.

When he found the sifter, he laughed again, a great rolling laugh of relief that let her know how much the murder had been bothering him and how glad he was to have it over with.

“St. Maartens?” he asked as he cut their steaks into bite-sized pieces with a bread knife.

“For sure,” Ingrid said. “I need a tan, a margarita, and to float in warm waves. Also Emily needs a minute or some days or whatever.”

“You gonna find a hot, young island boy while you’re there?” He took a bite of the steak before feeding her another.

She mmm’d before she said, “You going to find a lonely housewife while I’m gone?”

He shook his head and set their plates on the bar, taking a seat next to her.

“Well, that’s a no, then. Probably I’ll just sleep and shop and get too much sun. Also drink slushy things, which I will then sleep off.”

Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up to read a text from Emily.

“Oh, hey, Emily says I can have her new Camaro! Sweet.”

“What’s wrong with the Escalade?”

“It had dead people gook in it. It has to go. Plus I traded it to Hazel to avoid hexes and get some truth serum.”

He laughed again, another great rolling laugh that made her feel happy. And when the food was gone, the fire had burned out, and the moon had set, the warmth of him around her body kept her deliciously cozy even with all the windows open.

Click here to read Moonlight Murder the second book in the Inept Witches Mystery Series.

If you enjoyed this Inept Witches cozy mystery, please review Inconvenient Murder on
Amazon
and
Goodreads
.

Look for the next book in Fall 2015!

Thanks for the many brave souls who helped us put this project together.

Beta Readers: Heidi Martin, Jessica Samuelsen, Gretchen Grey-Hatton, Summer Gillas.

Editor: C. Jane Reid

Moonlight Murder

Available for Pre-Order Now!

Emily and Ingrid are determined to master only enough magic to get by, but a moonlight ritual goes terribly wrong and they find themselves at the center of yet another murder on Sage Island. Caught in the crosshairs of Sheriff Gabe's investigation, Ingrid must discover if she can prove her innocence and still hang on to his affection. Meanwhile, Emily's relationship with Fireman Sam heats up, but she must focus on helping Ingrid clear her name and decide whether to murder the cute, but irritatingly dedicated Sheriff Hotpants with their burgeoning magical ability.

Amanda A. Allen is the author of These Lying Eyes, Song of Sorrow, Compelled by Love, and Bewildered by Love. She is part of the author groups behind Kendawyn Paranormal Regency and The Paradisi Chronicles.

Amanda A. Allen has been telling herself stories since she was a small child. Some of these stories are now in book form. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her three children, two dogs, and mounds of novels. She can be found at:

amandaaallen.com

Check out Amanda’s
author page
at Amazon for links to all of her titles. Her audio titles are available at
Audible.

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