Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (13 page)

Magda frowned and ate more lasagna. "Well, I'm not," she shot back. "It was a huge mistake."

Wendy laughed, which only made Magda's scowl show deeper. "It was one phone call. If you don't want to talk to him, don't answer."

"I already did answer." To hear her, she might have been admitting to some heinous crime. After a few long seconds, she continued, "That's not all."

"What?" Wendy demanded.

"I went out with him."

Wendy stared, her mouth literally hanging open. "Magda, that is fantastic! Did you have a good time?"

"I should have known better than to talk to you," Magda growled. "You are no help whatsoever."

Wendy wasn't about to let her off that easily. She repeated, "Did you have a good time?"

There was a long pregnant silence. Magda chewed on her bottom lip while Wendy waited, beaming at her over their empty dinner plates.

"Fine, you win," she half shouted. "Yes, I had a good time."

Wendy let out a little yell and clapped her hands. "This keeps getting better and better."

"I hate you." Magda threw her napkin across the table.

Wendy caught the flying cloth before it hit her in the face. "No, you don't. Are you going out with him again?"

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"You should, you know," Wendy drained her wine glass. "It's been ages since you've been out with someone. Live a little."

"You're one to talk," Magda retorted. "When was the last time you went on a date?"

Wendy felt the blush flood her face before she could hide it. She dipped her face to the table, but it was too late.

"I saw that," Magda pointed an accusing finger. "Spill."

Wendy refilled her glass from the bottle. "It's nothing. No date."

Magda looked a bit disappointed, but she rallied quickly. "Maybe there was no date, but it's not nothing. Spill."

Wendy took another long drink from her glass. "I don't know. I guess I met someone. Maybe."

"Maybe you met someone? What does that mean?"

She thought of Ian and weighed her answer. "I'm not sure what it means. He works for my uncle."

Magda waved her hand to show that Wendy should continue. "And? Is he cute?"

Wendy smiled and nodded. "Very."

Magda smirked over her glass. "That's a start."

Wendy had never been so eager for Magda to be gone. Talking about Ian had left her unexpectedly uncomfortable, and Magda had derived far too much pleasure from it. She could still feel the burn in her cheeks as she cleared away the dishes and put away the leftover food.

Just as she was finishing, there was a knock at her door. A quick glance through the peephole made her rear back from the door. She moved in closer again just to make sure. Ian stood on her doorstep, oddly enlarged by the lens of the peephole and staring directly at her as though he could see right through the oak. For a split second, she thought about pretending she wasn't home, but realizing that was completely unfair, not to mention childish, she opened the door.

Ian wasn't smiling. His face was set in a harsh, hard glare. Wendy flinched away from the waves of rage evident in every line of his body.

“What's wrong?”

He took a long shuddering breath, his fists clenching at his sides before he was able to get the words out. "There's been another murder."

Whether it was a reaction to Ian's or a feeling of her own, she couldn't be sure, but suddenly Wendy was overwhelmed by pule, undiluted anger.

"Damn it," she yelled, and she jammed her fist into the nearest wall. She regretted it immediately. She made absolutely no impact on the wall, and her eyes instantly filled with tears. "Ow," she cradled her crushed fingers in her other good hand, "that wasn't nearly as cool as it looks in movies."

With a low chuckle, Ian was by her side, taking her bruised hand in his own. The anger seemed to have drained out of him at the sight of Wendy's pain.

"I think the people who put their fists through walls are usually 200-pound men, even in movies."

"Fair enough." Tentatively, Wendy returned his smile.

Ian lightly brushed her fingers with his lips. "I'm going to get you some ice."

She managed to get out a single word. "Thanks."

He returned with a ratty blue towel wrapped around a couple of ice cubes. He placed them against her fingers, holding her hand and the towel together.

When she felt she could trust her voice again, she asked, "Who?"

Ian shook his head, and Wendy felt a flicker of panic rising in her belly. The name stuck on her lips. "Jennifer?"

"Not Jennifer."

Wendy sighed with relief. "Oh, thank goodness. Then, who?"

"Nathan Braun."

Eight

The roads around City Hall were closed for a block in every direction. Ian parked his car about a quarter of a mile away, so they could proceed on foot.

“I'm willing to bet that your friends in the press are going to be there.”

Wendy stopped in her tracks. “Right, what should I do?”

“If they see you here, it's only going to add fuel to the story. The confusion spell from that pinwheel doesn't last forever. Here,” he pressed something hard and plastic into her hands, “Put these on.”

She held up large, round lime green sunglasses. “Are these supposed to make me less noticeable? Because I think there are better color choices than neon green for blending in. Not to mention the fact that it's dark outside.”

“I never said Gerry had style,” Ian said. “Just put them on.”

With a shrug, Wendy did as he asked.

The crowds outside the mayor's office were even larger than she expected. Wendy grabbed his arm and stumbled in her steps.

“I don't think sunglasses are going to do the trick.”

“Trust me,” he said, and still holding onto her arm, he led her through the crowd.

Wendy held her breath, waiting for someone to see her, to recognize her from that photo and rush her with questions.

No one noticed her. In fact, no one seemed to be looking at her at all.

“What's going on?” she whispered. A man with a large camera stood directly in her path, but as she approached, he stepped suddenly to one side and cleared the way. He never even glanced in her direction.

“Am I invisible?” she breathed.

Ian chuckled softly under his breath. “No. That would be impossible, even for Gerry. The glasses just encourage people to ignore you. They nudge people to look in the other direction. So yes,” she could hear him grinning, “they make you less noticeable.”

A blond reporter that Wendy recognized from her front porch earlier that day brushed right past her without even pausing. She had been one of her most persistent questioners, and now she didn't even notice her.

Excited now and starting to enjoy herself, Wendy allowed her voice to get a little louder. “How well does this work? Could I do something really crazy without them seeing?”

Ian clutched her more closely to his side. He continued in a whisper. “I wouldn't start streaking through the crowd or screaming your head off. It's just enough to let them ignore you if you don't call attention to yourself,” he hissed.

Chastised, Wendy stayed silent and close to Ian the rest of the way up to the steps of City Hall.

The name City Hall was really too grandiose a term for the building that housed the mayor's office. It was little more than a single-family house divided into a few offices that sat empty most of the time. The city council sat in session in the community center down the road, so calling the small house City Hall was more polite than accurate.

The police cordon consisted of wooden barriers and caution tape, and what was more difficult to bypass, a line of blue uniformed officers. There were three men and one woman stationed outside the building with the clear intent of keeping people from getting in.

“How do we get past?” Wendy whispered in Ian's ear.

She was surprised to hear him laugh in response. “We ask nicely.”

They approached the female police officer standing nearest the stairs that led into the building. Her dark hair was pulled back from a nicely tanned face into a severe bun. Her dark eyes narrowed at them as they approached.

“She sees me,” Wendy said.

“I already told you that you aren't invisible. We've caught her attention.”

Ian stopped in front of the officer and flashed a dazzling smile. The dimple alone would have been enough to make Wendy agree with anything he had to say, but the officer merely frowned at him, her hands on her hips.

“Good afternoon, Officer Lopez,” Ian said brightly. “We are expected.”

“Really? By whom?” her voice was sharp and interrogative.

“Detective Milton. Would you please let him know that Ian Hart and Wendy Lightower are here to see him?” The last part he said to her in a whisper, carefully checking that they weren't overheard by any of the more industrious but less scrupulous members of the press.

Instead of retreating to find Milton, she lifted the caution tape and waved them through. “He left instructions to let you through when you arrived,” she said by way of explanation.

They stepped under the tape and around the barrier before the press noticed what was happening. Officer Lopez, as unresponsive as granite, stepped back into her position just as the mob of reporters started shouting out demands for the identity of the new arrivals.

Milton met them in the front room of the building. “Follow me,” he said, moving swiftly down the short hallway past open office doors. “We don't have much time. Horn will be back any minute.”

Wendy whipped off the sunglasses and shoved them in her pocket. “Where is he, by the way?”

Detective Milton took a step back, his eyes widening as though seeing her for the first time. “Whoa, that was weird. It was like you walked in as grainy '50s television and just transformed into Technicolor. How did you do that?”

“Long story,” Wendy replied, and not only because she didn't know the answer. “I'm guessing Horn won't understand why we're here if he comes back unexpectedly.”

Milton shook his head. “No, he won't. The body is in here.”

Wendy had taken the time to mentally prepare herself, so when she saw the charred and mangled body of the mayor of North Harbor, her only reaction was a hard blink.

“We found him like you see him now. In the chair with his back to the door.”

The office was dominated by a huge, intricately carved desk. It was clearly an antique, and it faced the front door like the focus item it undoubtedly was meant to be. The body of Nathan Braun was seated in the matching antique desk chair and swiveled around so that what remained of his face was towards the back wall.

Wendy swallowed and fought back a rising feeling of sickness. “What makes you think this is the same guy? This looks nothing like Benny's death.”

Milton led them around the desk, closer to the charcoaled remains of Mayor Braun. “It may not be the same method of death, but I would say the M.O. is the same. Death by Ghoul, if I know anything. I only hope it's the same guy. I don't think we could handle two of them out there.”

Wendy shivered at the thought. So far she had avoided looking at the mayor's face, but as the silence drew out, she knew that they were all waiting for her to look. She managed, just barely, to keep from screaming out loud.

She had seen the charring from behind, but she hadn't been prepared for the fleshless face with macabre grinning teeth that now confronted her. What was left of Nathan Braun's skin fluttered away from bone and charred flesh like tiny black snowflakes. The bony fingers were clenched convulsively on the wooden arms of the chair.

“Like I said,” Detective Milton interrupted her forced viewing of the gruesome remains, “we are only guessing at this point that it's Mayor Braun. It's his office, his chair, and he hasn't been heard from for several hours, so we're pretty sure. Dental records will confirm.”

Ian asked the next question. “What made you think magic was involved?”

“Whatever fire was used in this room, whether it killed him or just took care of the body, wasn't natural. Look at the chair.”

Wendy did as he directed. “It's not burned. Not even singed.”

Milton was nodding, “Right. It only burned the body. Then the M.E. says the way it burned is all wrong. Like it burned everywhere on his body at once. Like he burst into flames.”

“I'll give you the chair, but it's possible the body was burned and put there later, isn't it? And an accelerant could have made the fire spread as quickly as you're suggesting?”

Wendy was impressed with how much Ian knew. He was, once again, asking all the right questions. The sight of the body, and what was worse, the smell, was making her queasy. She found herself hoping this case was not connected to Benny's at all.

Then Milton callously dashed her hopes. “We tried to move him once. The damage is too extensive. He couldn't have been moved. It doesn't matter, anyway. We know he was killed here.”

“How?” asked Wendy.

“The fire set off the smoke detector. That's how they found him.”

Without another word, Ian whipped out the Magic Detector, and the cursed thing started clicking like an alien from a bad sci-fi movie.

“Fine,” Wendy grumbled. “It's a Ghoul.”

Detective Milton's eyes went wide. “What's that?”

Ian smirked, clearly proud of the device. “It lets us know when magic has been used in the vicinity. There was definitely something paranormal happening in here.”

“Great. Listen, you two have got about two minutes to get what you need and get out before Horn comes back. I'll call you if anything comes up in the autopsy, but I doubt it.”

“Thanks, Detective,” Wendy said. She was already heading towards the door with Ian at her heels.

“What do you think?” she was asking him as they made their way to the exit at the front of the building.

Ian shrugged. “We have to assume we're looking for one killer at this point, or we'll go crazy.”

“Two bodies in less than a week, and we're no closer to this Ghoul then we were when I first found Benny.” Wendy pressed her fingers to her temples.

Ian placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I can practically smell your guilt, Wendy. You couldn't have prevented this.”

Wendy felt a welling of tears gather in her eyes. A member of Braun's fan club, she was not, but she couldn't help but feel sorry for the horrible way he had died.

“What should we do next?”

Ian gently extracted the sunglasses from her gripped fingers. “Let's focus on getting out of here, and then we can decide back at your place.”

Just as Ian was about to place the sunglasses on her face, a voice called out her name.

“Wendy?” Archer looked from Wendy to Ian and back, a frown deeply etched on his face. “What are you doing here?”

Caught off guard, Wendy hesitated and mumbled a few incoherent “uhms.”

“I saw your picture in the paper,” he pressed, “but I didn't think it could possibly be true.” There was suspicion and something less easy to identify, like disappointment perhaps, in his tone.

Wendy found that she was speechless. Archer's piercing grey eyes stared at her, which only served to fluster her more.

“She came with me,” Ian interjected. “I'm a private detective.”

Archer riveted his attention on Ian. “And what business do you have here, Mr...”

“Hart. The police had some questions for me, seeing as how I had been investigating the mayor right before his death.”

Archer sucked in a breath, and his eyes narrowed. “Investigating him for what reason?”

Ian hesitated as though considering how much to reveal about his fictitious investigation. “I can't tell you much,” he finally said with the air of sharing a confidence, “but since you'll be stepping into his position, at least temporarily, I will tell you that my investigation had nothing to do with his duties as mayor. It was a,” he paused meaningfully, “personal matter.”

Archer's brow cleared, and it was obvious that he knew, or at least thought he knew, exactly what Ian was referencing.

“Understood.” Having cleared up that matter, he turned back to Wendy. He allowed a smile to warm his features. “That still doesn't explain what you are doing here.”

“Ian works at my uncle's investigation firm,” she piped up before Ian could answer for her, “and my uncle is a bit under the weather. I just came to help. You know, take notes, that sort of thing.”

It was a weak excuse, but Archer didn't seem to notice.

“I enjoyed meeting you at the party the other night.” There was intimate quality to his words that seemed unjustified by their brief encounter, and it brought a blush to Wendy's cheeks.

She felt Ian staring at her, which only made her face flush darker.

“I've been wanting to call you,” continued Archer. “I never did get your number,” he ended it like a question, full of hope.

“You can always call the library,” Wendy mumbled, the red in her cheeks now painfully obvious. “I'm usually there.”

Archer smiled, a slow, slightly wicked smile. “I'll do that.”

“We should be going,” Ian thrust out the sunglasses to Wendy and practically pulled her down the hall. “Put on the glasses,” he instructed.

Wendy fumbled with the glasses, only just getting them situated before the door opened.

The crowd on the other side of the police cordon spared them barely a glance before deciding that Ian wasn't anyone worth talking to. They went back to whatever conversations had engrossed them before. The blond reporter and a tall, gangly man faced off at the bottom of the stairs. Their voices carried above the general hum of the crowd.

“Don't get in my way, Crosby!” the blond shrieked.