Roller Rink Witchcraft (Extended Edition): Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Late! I’m so late!” I stumbled around my apartment, which consisted of a bed/kitchen area and a bathroom. Looking for my disco outfit amongst the pile of clothes fresh from the dryer, I stubbed my toe against a stool.

The rush of little kids with their parents would come at five, and it was almost four-thirty. It was the most lucrative hour, besides when the middle-aged couples arrived and bought alcohol. The kids would beg for lots of pizza, but end up filling up on candy.

That meant leftovers for the crew and me. We ate like kings on Saturday nights.

Racing down the outside, iron stairwell, I made yipping noises when my bare feet hit the heated metal. Though it was late fall, the sun was still a force to be reckoned with in northern Florida.

I threw open the metal doors, and immediately, my nose was assaulted with a heavy mix of spicy cloves and copper. Gagging, I whipped my hand back and forth in front of my face, trying to dissipate the metallic burning smell.

Leaving my skates by the open front door, I ventured into my roller rink, heart pounding. Burning plants was never innocent in this town, and while I was sure Jeb wouldn’t have forgotten to lock the door, it was unlocked when I’d come in.

“The police are on their way,” I said, bluffing.

My cell was up in my bedroom. Even if I’d had it, I wasn’t sure I would’ve called them. I was still hoping it was a bunch of teenagers.

A few steps closer to the rink brought me right next to the half wall enclosing it. Peering over, my hopes of rowdy teenagers that would run at the sound of my approach were dashed.

There was a body in the middle of the dance floor.

The forty-year-old man with slicked-back hair was tied spread-eagle, with a rope knot on each limb that was secured to the ground by a copious amount of duct tape. Little sacks of smoking cloves were littered around him, and a bloody satanic symbol— one I was unfamiliar with— had been painted on his chest. A single bullet hole graced the center of his forehead, the only non-magical part of the whole scene.

A speck of white glowed blue in the lighting and caught my attention. I picked it up, realizing it was a pill. Tucking it away, I figured I’d keep it safe until the police got here.

Turning on my heel, I walked into the office with deceptively calm, even steps. The old rotary phone in there was still connected only because I was lazy, but it worked well enough to call the police.

After hanging up, I collapsed into the nearest chair, my head falling onto my chest. My mind raced around in circles between wondering how long it would take the police to get here and the realization that I’d just found the body of my accountant, Matt Gibb, tied to my funky floor.

The sirens sounded not long after that, saving me from my thoughts. Pulling myself together, I put on my wig and prepared to shoo away business for the next couple of hours. 

Jeb and the police pulled up at the exact same time, almost competing for parking. While I walked over to Jeb’s old truck to fill him in— a tall man with a military cut, icy blue eyes, and a frown to rival Jeb’s— stepped out of the cruiser, wearing a well-pressed suit. 

Mr. Gibb’s suits were always rumpled,
I thought.

Snapping back to the matter at hand, I said, “So, Jeb, there’s no reason for you to stick around. We won’t be opening tonight, for sure.”

The large man shook his head vehemently. “No can do, Miss Harper. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Barely able to hold back an eye roll, I was interrupted before I could assure Jeb I could take care of myself.

“If you two are done gossiping, I have a few questions for the both of you.” The detective’s eyes were hard, and his jaw said he meant business.

“You’re already done with the body?” I asked incredulously.

A single eyebrow leapt up. “No. Officer Randolph is photographing the scene before we go in.”

“Oh,” I said, noticing how Jeb was studiously silent beside me, his eyes on the ground.

Whipping out a notepad, Detective Bennett, born and raised golden boy of Waresville, said, “Harper Beck. Moved here about seven years ago after your father passed away and left you the Funky Wheel.” There was a sneer at the name of my establishment.

None of that was a question, but I said, “That’s right. But how—“

“I know everyone in town,” he said shortly, turning to my bouncer. “You work here and down the street at the Hardie’s Hardware, Jeb— I’m afraid I don’t know your last name. Or anything else about you.”

“A last name doesn’t tell you much about a person,” Jeb mumbled, backing away towards his truck.

“It does if you have access to a background check,” Detective Bennett. “You can’t leave. I’m not done with the interrogation.”

“You go ahead, Jeb,” I said loudly, deciding in that moment that I didn’t like the detective. “You weren’t here when I discovered the body, and you have the day off, so there’s no reason for you to be here.”

He pursed his lips while Jeb drove away, and then turned his full, suspicious attention to me. “Do you make a habit of employing felons, Miss Beck?”

“Call me Foxxy,” I said. “And I only stoop to hiring honest folk when the criminal population of Waresville runs dry.”

“Charming. How about Harper instead?”

“No.”

Pulling out a pen, he asked, “So, Harper, what time did you close last night?”

I didn’t want to put Jeb in the hot seat, so I fudged the facts a little. “About four.”

“Who was there with you?”

“Jeb, Stoner Stan, and a handful of stragglers.”

“Do any of these stragglers have names?” he asked with false sweetness. “And maybe a couple last names for your employees?”

“I think Stan’s starts with an A or N.”

“Stan Joane, actually.”

My jaw clenched, and I had to stop myself from grinding my teeth.

He grilled me about my entire day yesterday and today, not letting the smallest detail go. As time dragged on, I could tell the dislike I felt for him was mutual, and it continued to deepen as I spent more time talking to the young detective.

Finally, his officer came out and motioned Bennett inside. He nodded the other man back into the roller rink, rounding on me with the last couple of jabs.

“Your grandmother owns a magic shop across the street, correct?”

“Technically,” I said. “But it’s actually just a front for the virgin sacrifices she does in the back.”

He didn’t take the bait, writing only a short sentence in his notebook. “And you had a relationship with the victim.”

“Matt did my taxes.” For free.

“Really? Because—“

Sighing, I said, “We went out on a couple dates when we were both new in town, but he was a little grabby for my tastes, got it?”

“Yet, he still does your taxes.”

I gave him a toothy grin. “A good accountant is a find— even if he is a slime ball.”

Without a thank you or a goodbye, Detective Bennett vanished into my roller rink to look at my murdered accountant. I stood there in my short shorts and wig for a few minutes before I shook myself.

There was no point standing around waiting for them to finish. No way could I open tonight and feel good about myself. Heading upstairs, I fell into bed and thought about who was going to do my taxes now— that was, if this incident didn’t shut me down for good.

When I woke late the next morning, all evidence of the murder had been erased.  The yellow tape was gone, the blood had been cleaned, and Detective Bennett was nowhere in sight. Only the four clean stripes of floor where the duct tape had ripped away some of the Funky Wheel’s protective dirt covering were left.

Without them, it might’ve been possible for me to think that last night was a dream— one I’d just woken up from. I could’ve called my pervert accountant and scheduled an appointment for him to stare down my shirt as he did my financials for free.

A girl’s gotta use every tool she’s got.

After leaving the Funky Wheel again, I walked across the street to Hanes’ Magic Shoppe— my grandma’s shop— for a little solace. She no longer worked there, leaving the running to my best friend, so it was actually possible that I could get a little comfort. Or at the very least, a little gossip on what I’d missed while I’d been passed out.

The glass door swung shut with a bell punctuating my arrival. As no customers were in the store, I didn’t have to worry about holding anyone up, so I went up to the front desk and knocked loudly on it.

“In a minute!” a rich New Orleans accent called from the backroom.

“It’s not polite to keep your boss waiting,” I called back.

Oliver Belafonte, a tall, skinny man with beautifully dark skin, poked his head around the corner, beaming. “The only way you become my boss is if Miss Julia dies.”

“Fingers crossed,” I replied, plunking down in one of two mismatched seats behind the desk. “Hear about last night?”

Oliver emerged completely, wearing his trademark purple cape, which brushed against the hardwood floor like a scratchy sweater against bare skin. Snorting, he said, “Please, I heard about that before it even happened. Too bad about his widow.”

“I guess,” I said, shrugging. “But they’ve only known each other a couple months. Wasn’t she one of those mail order brides?”

“From Russia, yeah.” He shot me a sly look. “Two months might not have been long enough to love him, but it looks like it was long enough to want to kill him.”

“Two seconds is long enough for most women to want to kill Matt,” I said, eyes narrowing. “What do you know?”

“They found Irina’s red hair all over his pants. And they figured out the rope and duct tape is from Hardie’s, but the police aren’t sure if that’ll lead them anywhere.”

Leaning forward, I asked, “How do you— ow!”

Something small poked me in the hip with all the force my tight shorts could muster— which was a lot. I pulled a small, white capsule from my pocket, eyes widening upon recognizing it.

“What’s that?” Oliver asked.

“A pill I found on the floor last night,” I said, biting my lip. “I was going to give it to the police, but I forgot. Guess I better head over and hand it over.”

As I went to stand, he pulled me back into my seat with bone jarring force. “Are you crazy?”

“That’s the popular opinion,” I said slowly.

“If you give that to them now, they’ll get you for withholding evidence!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” But I sat back, not making any moves to leave. Something told me Detective Bennett would be all too happy to see me in lockup.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Like that matters. Besides, it’s probably Stoner Stan’s or something— not even pertinent to the case.”

Putting the pill back into my pocket for now, I asked, “How did you know all that about the hair and the rope, anyway?”

“Banging the secretary at the police station.”

“For information?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “No, for recreation. The juicy tidbits were just a bonus.”

I rose, shaking my head and grinning. “I gotta go open, Romeo. Come by for some pizza later.”

Putting on the disco lights and starting up the concession stand machines was more comforting than any talk from my best friend could be. I didn’t have to think, my body going on autopilot from thousands of pre-game moments just like this. It was very relaxing.

Or maybe the relaxing part was the shot of tequila I did before opening the doors for a couple of early birds.

They tried to pester me about Matt, but I smiled and retreated just as quickly as I could, claiming I had to check the fuse box— as if I’d actually know how to do that. When more people started showing up, I realized that Mr. Gibb’s murder might not have the adverse effect on business I’d originally thought.

Cheered up completely now, I waved merrily at Jeb in the parking lot. He didn’t return my enthusiasm, but gave me a weak smile. As soon as he got to me through the crowd of people renting skates, he pulled me aside into one of the many dark corners that made up the Funky Wheel.

“I wasn’t sure I should come tonight, Miss Foxxy,” Jeb said in a low voice.

“Why the hell’s that?” I asked, not bothering to lower my own. “This is your job— you’re part of the Funky Wheel family.”

That brought about a real smile. “But I don’t want to get you in any trouble. If the cops find out you pay me under the table—“

“Let me worry about that.”

When I would’ve headed over to the DJ’s corner to start the music, Jeb held me back. “You’ve never asked about my past, Miss Foxxy, and I’m grateful, but I haven’t always been the most lawful individual.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And my past is full of flowers and teddy bears. I’ve never asked about your past because it didn’t matter to me then, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“Harper,” a voice said from the door a few feet away.

“Detective Bennett,” I said, skating over to him, arms crossed over my chest. “Something I can help you with? A pair of skates, perhaps?”

“Afraid not.” The handsome cop held up a piece of paper. “I have a warrant to search your storage lockers.”

With that, he was off, somehow already holding the master key in his hand. Likely he’d grabbed it from Amber on the way in.

It was almost against my will that I turned to look at Jeb, the question in my eyes clear. He shook his head, indicating he didn’t have anything incriminating in his locker. That, or he had water in his ears.

Across the room, I saw Bennett pull something out of Jeb’s personal locker with a look of triumph. He handed it off to the officer, crossing right in front of me and giving me a good look at the length of rope and mess of cloves he’d found.

“Circumstantial,” I told him, my jaw hurting from how hard my teeth were pressing against each other.

“For now.”

The next afternoon, I awoke with the same sense of awe I’d gone to bed with that morning. They hadn’t arrested Jeb.

The glint in Bennett’s eyes had been almost hungry when he’d finally called it a night in the wee hours of morning. His hand had even twitched towards his handcuffs, but he’d left with the rest of the police force, not looking back.

Rising from bed, I went over to the counter and picked up the plastic bag I’d put the pill from the murder scene in. It wasn’t a medication I recognized, but it would’ve been oh so easy to find out, being on a first name basis with the town’s pharmacist.

Unfortunately, if Bennett found out I was trying to figure out what a strange pill was, he’d put two and two together, and I would definitely be going to jail. The guy was an ass, but he wasn’t an idiot.

I was still tempted, though, especially now that Jeb was obviously a prime suspect— no matter how much that angered me. Had the police completely forgotten Irina’s hair on Matt’s pants?

Not to mention the satanic elements. Were they even talking to Melanie Gross, the local witch occult leader? Murdering someone at my place seemed like something the unpleasant woman would do, especially if she thought it would hurt my grandma’s business, making her shop the premiere magic shop in town.

After coming downstairs, I realized that old saying about speaking about the devil was false. Apparently, all you had to do was
think
Melanie’s name, and there she was on your doorstep.

“Melanie,” I said in greeting, fixing my Afro. “What are you doing in this part of town? Come to shop at Hanes’ for some
real
magical supplies?”

The greedy smile froze right under her big nose. “Just come to pay my respects to it, actually. Without the extra income from this… establishment, your poor grandmother probably won’t be able to keep it open, will she?”

My lips thinned in an unfriendly way. “My grandmother would do just fine. And the Funky Wheel isn’t going anywhere.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” She flicked a choppy piece of blonde hair out of her face.

I’d had enough of the dancing around, and I let it show in my voice. “You won’t
live
to see it if you don’t get off my property, Miss Gross.”

She left without saying anything more, but her eyes burned with hatred as she drove away.

I let out a long breath. “You had to move to a town with old family rivalries. And magic.”

Going through the usual motions, I opened up shop and got through the first session without issue. Jeb manned the door, Amber sold tickets, and Stan lit up in the bathroom. It was nice to get back to basics.

It couldn’t last though, and as I was rolling by the office, I heard Amber whisper in a petrified voice that she couldn’t let him in, because I’d told her not to. Grinning, I skated over to the front door and to her rescue.

“Detective Bennett,” I said. “You’re a little late for couple’s dance— everyone’s already taken. But if you promise to feel me up, I’ll bite the bullet and skate with you.”

“Don’t you mean promise
not
to feel you up?”

Placing my hand on the doorframe, I blocked the entrance with my arm. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Any residual amusement was wiped from his face, leaving only a professional mask. There wasn’t even any of the smug asshole I’d grown used to these past couple of days.

“Please step aside, Miss Beck.”

“No,” I said, cursing myself when a slight tremor of fear leaked into my voice.

As though the Funky Wheel were an extension of my body, I could feel Jeb sitting in the far booth taking his dinner break. He’d be eating a slice of pizza with only one pepperoni on it— just like always. His plate would be full of the discarded fatty meats that didn’t make the cut, and he’d be reading the same 90s teen magazine that had been in the office forever.

Surprisingly, Bennett’s face softened a fraction. “You can’t stop this, Harper. The rope matches the one from Hardie’s that the victim was tied down with. That’s enough to arrest, even without the cloves.”

“He didn’t do this,” I said, wishing I could tell Jeb to run.

Grabbing me gently by the arms, Bennett rolled me out of the way, straightening his tie before heading toward the dining section. I stood there, watching, thinking it was a minor miracle my twenty-foot legs didn’t slide out from under me.

Jeb stood when he saw the detective coming, towering over him, but he didn’t run. As if the Funky Wheel were cognizant of what was happening, the music cut out, and people all over the place started looking around. Their eyes fell almost immediately on the large figure of my bouncer.

Disco lights flashed off the metal of the handcuffs as Bennett pulled them out and slapped them around Jeb’s wrists. You could have heard a pin drop in the place that was never quiet, and it felt wrong.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Matt Gibb, Jeb,” Bennett said quietly.

Before, everything had gone in slow motion. Now, the clock sped up to an unbelievable pace. Bennett was leading Jeb across the roller rink— no, he was putting him in the cruiser— no, they were driving— gone.

Stoner Stan walked up to me a few minutes after everyone had reluctantly gone back to skating. “Hey, dude, where’s Jeb?”

“Gone,” I said shortly.

“Bummer. He better be back soon— sink’s broken in the men’s.”

“He will be back,” I muttered, rolling towards the DJ’s corner. “Very soon.”