Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (19 page)

It hadn't taken Wendy long to realize that Sheila Braun either couldn't or wouldn't help her with her investigation. She stood to leave. Before she did, she pulled out a slip of scrap paper from the bottom of her purse. It was crinkled and stained on the edge with something unidentifiable, but it had enough room for her phone number. She handed it to Sheila, who pinched it between two manicured fingernails. “If you think of anything that might help, please call me.”

Without standing, Sheila picked up a crisp white card from the table at her elbow. Her name and a phone number, which would certainly not be answered by Mrs. Braun herself, were embossed on the center of the card. “And if you find out who did it, please call me. I might even contribute to the defense fund.”

Ian was waiting in the car a block from the barricade outside Braun's house. He noted her stunned expression and immediately asked what had happened.

“She is an interesting woman,” Wendy said, and she shared all the details of her short interview with Sheila Braun.

Ian whistled. “Whoa. Was it real, do you think? Or was she putting on a show for you?”

Wendy shook her head. “I honestly don't know. If I was married to someone, I certainly wouldn't be so cavalier about his infidelities,” she began. “Then again, I wouldn't marry someone like Braun.” She lapsed into silence.

“Where to next?” Ian asked when they had reached the edge of the Braun's neighborhood.

Wendy pulled out her list and looked at the names. Most of them were either covered or unknown at this point. There was only one name left unaccounted for.

Wendy pointed a finger at the last name. “Jack Crosby. Our friendly neighborhood reporter and witch.”

Eleven

The offices of the
Examiner
were housed in a small, nondescript office building in a newer industrial part of town. For a long time, Wendy had harbored visions of a newspaper office like something out of a fifties movie, clacking typewriters and a haze of cigarette smoke with men in rolled up shirtsleeves talking way too fast. The reality was somewhat less glamorous.

Wendy entered through the smoked glass doors into a large
one-room office with several small cubicles set up in rows. There was no smoke, no sound except for the unsatisfying tap of a computer keyboard and a distantly ringing phone. She followed the directions of a man near the front to find Jack Crosby hunched over his computer in jeans and a ratty polo shirt.

“What has happened to the profession of journalism?” she sighed.

A brief flash of surprise crossed Jack Crosby's face before being replaced by a smug smirk. “People like me got involved in it, and it all went to hell.”

“I believe that.”

He grinned at her. “Are you here to comment on my story?”

His arrogance was unbelievable.

“No, actually, I'm here to ask you a question.”

“A question for me? How refreshing.”

“Do your co-workers here know you're a witch?”

His smile faltered for a just a split second, but it was enough to confirm what Wendy already knew.

“What gave me away?” he tried to maintain his detached attitude, but Wendy could see the increased tension in his posture. His brown eyes were nearly black from his dilated pupils.

Wendy felt the shift in power, and despite her best intentions, she smiled. “Remember when you saw me at City Hall?”

Jack frowned. “Yes.”

“Well, you shouldn't have.”

He waited for her to explain, and when she didn't, he just shook his head. “All right, what do you want?”

“Like I said, I need to ask you some questions.”

“Supposing I play along,” Jack recovered some of his aplomb, “what's in it for me?”

Wendy gave him her sweetest smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

He waved his hand in invitation. “Fire away.”

“Where were you Friday night around eight?”

His eyes narrowed, and when he answered, his tone was guarded. “I was at home. Why?”

“Just curious,” she said lightly. “How about Wednesday? Did you manage to get inside to see Mayor Braun?”

Jack stood up so quickly his chair wobbled and fell over. “Whoa! I see where this is going. You think I killed those people?”

Wendy raised her hands, palms out, in a calming gesture. “I didn't say that.”

His hands were clenched tightly into fists, and his whole body was tense. “Some things never change. Just because you know I'm a witch, it means I'm a killer.”

Ashamed, Wendy averted her gaze. “No, I didn't mean that.”

“I should think you, of all people, should know better.”

She exhaled heavily, her whole body slumping from her shoulders down to her toes. “Fine. You're right. Look,” she tried to sound apologetic, “can we just sit down?”

He indicated a folding chair across from his cheap metal desk. She sat down with a grimace.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding more like his usual sardonic self, “we're on a budget.”

Wendy replied stiffly, “I'm fine.”

Jack Crosby studied her from across the desk. “Wendy,” he began, “can I call you Wendy?” The question was an insincere afterthought, and he didn't wait for her reply. “Wendy, I'm going to level with you.”

“Wow, I feel special.” There was something about him that brought out Wendy's usually dormant sarcastic side.

“You should.” He was in earnest. “I don't do it a lot. I wrote that story about you because I saw you with that Detective, and I know who your uncle is. I would never have written it if I thought I was actually right.”

“You wouldn't?”

Jack shook his head. “No. I take our privacy pretty seriously. I don't want to be outed anymore than you do.” He could see that she still wasn't convinced. “Look, there was no reason why I would want to kill Braun. We had a deal going.”

That had Wendy sitting up and leaning forward across the desk. “What sort of deal?”

“Let's just say that Nathan Braun slept through the 'be faithful only unto you' part of his marriage vows. I kept it quiet in exchange for the inside scoop on City Hall.”

“That doesn't seem like an even trade. Breaking this story would have been huge.”

Jack grinned, baring his teeth. “That's the best part. Since I had no proof, it would have been a waste to print it. We already don't have the most credible reputation.”

Wendy remembered what her uncle said about the
Examiner
. Everybody read it, but it never amounted to anything since no one would admit to reading it. “Devious.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn't a compliment.” Wendy considered what Jack had told her. For all his bluster and ego, he really didn't seem like the killing type. Plus, it seemed that he was better off with Braun alive. A cunning look crossed her features, and Jack Crosby suddenly became very nervous.

When she hadn't spoken for several minutes the silence finally became too much for him. “What?”

“I was just wondering,” Wendy trailed a finger along the cold, unyielding surface of the desk, “whether a dedicated journalist like you keeps notes. Dates, times... Names.”

Jack slouched in his chair. “I'll get you a list.”

Wendy leaned back and steepled her fingers. “Thank you.”

There was an extra spring in her step as Wendy walked away from the
Examiner
offices, a piece of paper clutched in her hand. It was possible that none of the women on the list were
the
woman, but at least it was a place to start. Two interviews completed entirely on her own, Wendy was feeling quite pleased with herself.

“Did you get anything from him?” Ian asked when she stepped back in the car. He had a file of papers open across his lap that he made no move to close.

Wendy whipped out the list and floated it under his nose. “A list of Nathan Braun's conquest, as discovered by Jack Crosby.”

“Nicely done. I guess you were right to go in alone.”

Ian hadn't felt that way when she first suggested it, and she appreciated that he was able to admit that she had been right. “Besides,” she had pointed out, “no reason for him to know we're both witches. My cover is already blown.”

Heady with her own success, it took several moments for Wendy to realize that Ian hadn't started the car. Curious, she looked at the still open file. “What are you looking at?”

Ian didn't answer right away. He simply looked at her, and dread crept up her spine.

“What is it?” she repeated.

“You aren't going to like it,” he warned.

She could tell by his tone that he meant what he said. “Was that supposed to discourage me from asking any more questions? Because all it did was make me curious.”

While he hadn't hidden the file at all, he suddenly seemed reluctant to talk to her, as though he regretted what he was about to say. “It's about Richard Blackly.”

She couldn't stop herself. “Archer?”

Ian flinched at the nickname, but then he shrugged it off. “If that's what you call our deputy mayor, then yes.”

“Where did you get a file on him?”

“After you went to his place, to charm his phone,” he added too quickly, “I started digging around with my own contacts.”

Her voice was a little too breathy when she asked, “And?”

Very slowly, he shook his head back and forth. “And I'm not sure. Something seems off about this guy. Look at this.” He put a piece of white copy paper with lines and lines of tiny typing on her lap. “His call records from the week before the murder.”

“You have contacts that will give you someone's phone records?” She didn't know whether to be impressed or appalled.

Ian didn't answer her question. He pointed to a number near the top, then the same number a few spaces down, again halfway down the page, and once more at the bottom. “He called this number four times last week.”

“So?” Wendy asked. “I charmed his phone, remember? He's on it constantly.”

“This is Jack Crosby's personal cell phone.”

“What?” she yelped. “I was just in there!” She wasn't sure why she was so angry. It could have been Jack's concealment of some truths or the idea that Archer was less honorable than she hoped, but her indignation felt very real, whatever the source. “I can't believe that little rat didn't say anything. I'm going back in.” She reached for the handle on the car door, but Ian stopped her.

“There's more. Look at this one.”

Archer had called the number only once, the day before the murder.

“Whose is it?” she asked, though she didn't especially want the answer.

“Jennifer Jacobi.”

The air rushed from her lungs. “Why would Archer call Benny's sister?”

“I can only think of one reason.”

Remembering the way that Jennifer had cowered at the mere mention of Braun's name, Wendy decided they were thinking the same thing. “You think he was trying to protect his boss somehow? Keep the story quiet? It might offer some additional explanation for why Crosby hasn't published any of this yet.”

Ian shrugged. “It's possible. He may have struck some kind of deal with Crosby and called Jennifer to keep her quiet.”

Nausea bubbled up from her stomach and into her throat. She fought the feeling that she was about to be sick all over Ian's car. “I don't know. He didn't seem like this kind of person when I met him.”

“Can you ever really tell?”

He had a point, but Wendy didn't tell him that. She hesitated for a minute before voicing the thought that had just entered her mind. She hadn't made anything of it at the time, but with the evidence mounting against Archer, she decided she should mention it. “There's something else you should know.”

Ian looked expectantly at her.

“There was a call I did overhear on Archer's phone.” Wendy thought she saw Ian flinch again at the nickname, but it was so small a movement that she was sure she had imagined it. “He was talking to a woman,” she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper, “about me. The woman told him to use his magic on me.”

Ian rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, drawing her attention to the thin layer of dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. It made him look a little bit rugged, she decided. “What were her exact words?” he finally asked.

Wendy considered for a moment. “He said something about getting me. And she said, 'Work your magic.' Then she laughed.”

As did Ian, to Wendy's consternation. “What?” she demanded.

Ian glanced at her, with a pained smile and a shake of his head. “You really don't know?”

Confused, Wendy shook her head. “No.”

Ian settled back in his seat, tossing the file over his shoulder into the back. The look he allowed to linger on her face unnerved her. When he spoke, his voice was soft, “Then I certainly won't be the one to tell you.”

Try as she might, she could get no more out of him, and he successfully avoided the topic all the way back to the library.

When they pulled up at the museum, rather than parking and leaving, Ian followed her inside. When he rushed ahead of her and opened the door for her, she hovered at the doorway, smirking at him.

"Whatcha doin'?" she inquired, her tone hovering between actual inquiry and irritation.

"Coming inside," he replied calmly.

Wendy still didn't walk past his outstretched arm. "I'm here to actually work, you know."

He smiled. "Me too."

As they came through the door together, Magda came striding towards them.

"There you are," she called. "I've been waiting for you."

Wendy's eyes darted from Magda to Ian and back. "Which one of us are you talking to, Magda?"

She shrugged. "Both. I have some information about the case."

Wendy wanted to stomp her foot, but that would have been childish. She did it anyway. "Magda! You have to stop."

Magda thrust out a hip, balancing on the heel of one shoe and the toe of the other. "Why? You aren't."

"That's different."

Magda repeated her demand, "Why? Because of your ability." She waved her hands in the air in front of her face. "Then you can protect me. Now are you going to listen to what I learned, or not?"

Wendy knew that there was no way she was going to talk Magda out of the idea of investigating now that she had gotten attached to it. "Fine. Let's go to my office."

On the way back to her office, Magda cast a sideway glance in Ian's directions. "It's nice to see you again, Ian. Isn't it, Wendy?"

Wendy restrained herself from smacking her best friend upside the head.

Ian and Magda settled themselves in the two spindly wooden chairs across from Wendy's oversized desk.