Roller Rink Witchcraft (Extended Edition): Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 1) (5 page)

Wyatt’s jaw tensed, but his eyes remained kind. “You can’t go back there, Harper. Someone’s just made a threat on your life.”

              Needless to say, I didn’t get any sleep that night. Wyatt insisted that I couldn’t go back to the Funky Wheel until they’d boarded up the windows, and I refused to go to my grandma’s. If the night had taken that deadly turn, I might not have made it out psychologically intact.

Instead, we walked around the town all night, stopping every few feet when Wyatt remembered a funny story from his past that pertained to a certain building. If he couldn’t come up with anything, he’d just tell me the history of it— the entire history.

              “How do you remember all this shit?” I asked him after a humorous anecdote about the pizzeria that had served sliced rat instead of pepperoni until the 1960s.

              He shrugged. “Waresville’s my home. Knowing everything about it helps with my job.” Running his fingers over the old brick, he said, “And it makes me feel closer to the town, like I have my finger in every pie.”

              Stumbling out of bed, I wiped the hour’s worth of sleep I’d gotten out of my eyes and stopped reliving the previous night. Normal hours wouldn’t start for a long time, but a couple of weeks ago, I’d agreed to open for lunch for a bunch of school kids on a field trip.

So instead of going back to bed like I wanted to, I pulled on my disco garb and deeply regretted the decision to be a helpful, responsible adult.

              The windows were all boarded up, taking care of the light problem, but they made the place look like a giant barn. The Funky Wheel was
not
a barn, because that would’ve made me a farmer, and lord knows I didn’t look good in plaid.

              A strained-looking teacher in her late fifties pulled up with a school bus filled with children. Though they were behind glass and steel, I could hear their hollering like it was right in my ear, and I almost turned around and went back to my loft.

              “Thanks for doing this,” Mrs. June said, stepping down from the bus to let the kids off. She directed them like a herding dog into the roller rink. “We were fresh out of ideas for field trips.”

              While the kids skated around the rink like they had rockets attached to their shoes, I got the teacher a stiff drink. At first, she protested, saying she couldn’t drink while on duty, but then the screaming started to get louder and she caved.

              “Who are you?” a short kid with braces asked, leaning against the half wall and into the dining area.

              “Foxxy,” I said, pulling out one of the pizzas I’d had cooking. “I own this place.”

              “That’s not your real name.”

              “Oh, yeah, says who?”

              “My daddy.”

              Containing my snort, I said, “Well, your daddy doesn’t know everything, because Foxxy happens to be on my birth certificate.”

It was my middle name, but the kid didn’t need to know that. His eyes scrunched up, and I couldn’t help but feel there was something starkly familiar about him. Then, without saying another word, he skated off, disappearing into a cloud of children.

              “Exhibit A of why I’m never having kids.”

              Putting the pizzas down on a couple of spaced out tables, I watched with morbid curiosity as the tiny humans descended upon the food, tearing into it with a vengeance rarely seen outside of the animal channel.  Each one of them had the potential to put away more pizza than Stoner Stan and I combined. It was almost inspiring.

              “My daddy’s always right.”

              I jumped out of my skin a little as the kid from earlier appeared behind me like a demon summoned. “Maybe I’ll believe that if he ever told you not to sneak up on people.”

              He scuffed his dirty tennis shoe against the patched, purple carpet. “Yeah, he told me that.”

              I walked back behind the concession stand to get some drinks ready, and the boy followed me. “What’s your name?” I called over my shoulder.

              “Cooper.”

              Snorting, I hauled a large cooler onto the counter and filled it up with carbonated sugar water. “And you’re making fun of my name?”

He frowned so deeply I was afraid his face would get stuck like that. It’d be hard to explain that to his drunken teacher. “My mom named me.”

              Though I wanted to, I resisted taking a jab at his mother for her lack in naming skills, because I was a mature adult. Just ask anyone.

              “Shouldn’t you be feeding with your friends?” I asked. “Or playing, maybe?”

              “Not interested.”

              I poured him a glass and added in a crazy straw for good measure. “You’re kind of a weird kid, aren’t you?”

              I could relate to that. Even from the time I was small, I’d loved shiny outfits that set off blinding sparks of color in the sunlight. It’d made me kind of a pariah in a small, suburban school system. That and our lack of money meant Mom and I were always on the outside.

Still, I doubted any of my classmates were running their own disco skate at the ripe age of twenty-six. On the flip side, I doubted any of them had found a body or a threatening message at their place of employment, either. Life was full of give and take.

              “What was this field trip supposed to teach you, anyway?” I asked Cooper after a long moment.

              Heaving out a put-upon sigh, he rested his head in his hands.               “Stuff about local business, I think.”

              I made a humming noise in the back of my throat, studying the boy for a moment. “Wanna learn about cleaning bathrooms?”

              “Okay.”

              Hopping down from his seat, he followed me like a duckling after its mother. We waddled along in silence, grabbing the cleaning bucket from my office and heading into the men’s bathroom.

              “It smells kinda funny in here,” he said, taking the mop from me and starting in the corner like I suggested.

              “That’s genuine 70s stink, kid. Can’t find that in just any establishment.”

              I took the toilets, since he wasn’t getting paid for the pleasure, and we shared the responsibility of the sink area. There wasn’t much talking on my end, but Cooper erupted like the sink in the girl’s bathroom did every other week.

              He talked about his mom, who’d left when he was little. There was mention (a lot of it, actually) of his super awesome dad who put his life on the line every day and was a real-life hero. The corner of my mouth twitched as I thought about what a fine wingman the kid would be for his old man.

              About an hour later, the parents started showing up to take home their little darlings. Most of the kids, however, didn’t want to leave the rink. Unfortunately, since I have a no shoe policy, this meant I had to drag them out, kicking and screaming.

              And the kids weren’t too happy about it either.

              Cooper skated after me the whole time, like a little shadow. It was cute, but it made me wonder if he really had no friends in the entire class. Sure, he was a little goofy-looking, but I could say that about any of the little urchins.

              Finally, only Cooper was left. I’d even sent home Mrs. June in a cab after assuring her I could watch the boy and keep the bus safe until morning. Sitting across a booth from each other, our eyes were locked in an intense staring contest as we both sucked down our third extra large soda.

              “So, I’m dying to meet the best dad in the world that you’ve been talking about all day,” I said slowly. “Any idea when he’ll be showing up?”

              “Why? You got something better to do?”

              “Fair point.” 

              I heard the metal clang of the door opening, and then someone called, “Cooper!”

              Grinning, the kid bounded towards the door, but stopped halfway to turn back and look at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

              Without giving me a chance to respond, he was gone, leaving me in his dust with little choice but to follow. Jumping down from the platform, I rolled after him, catching up with him just as we stopped in front of his dad.

              “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, not even bothering to mutter it under my breath.

              Wyatt grinned, his suit as clean-pressed and appropriate as ever. “Who’s your friend, Cooper?”

              “This is Foxxy,” he said in rapid-fire fashion. “She owns this place, and she knows how to skate, and she makes pizza, and she told me I was weird, and we cleaned the bathroom together.”

              “Glad my tax dollars are getting you a good education.” Wyatt ruffled his son’s hair. “Why don’t you go wait for me in the car?”

              Cooper bade me goodbye, then ran to the car like he was still in skates, the sugar high in action. This left his father and me standing alone in the Funky Wheel.

              “You took my son into the pot bathroom?”

              He didn’t look too mad, so I figured it was fine to tease. “We use it for other things, too: cock fighting, bootlegging. Sometimes it even doubles as a meth lab… You didn’t tell me you had a kid.”

              “You didn’t ask.”

              “It was implied.” I grabbed his arm so I could pull of my skates. “He’s not so bad, though. As far as urchins go, anyway. Why doesn’t he have friends?”

              Wyatt bristled. “He has friends.”

              “Not a single one.”

              Without communicating it, he was walking me to my car. The rusty orange door opened, and the detective heaved a sigh. “I really don’t want to talk about Cooper’s social life with you right now.”

              Grinning, I said, “Another time, then.”

              I was halfway down the street when I realized Wyatt was still standing there, staring after me. That only served to brighten my smile, but it didn’t last. As soon as I was out of sight, a definitive frown crossed my face, and I drove towards the police station/ jailhouse.

              They checked me at the door, scanning me, patting me down, and no one even laughed when I asked if I was going to get dinner out of this. They just kept eying my disco garb like they’d never seen an amazon in short shorts, groovy tie-dye, and a neon green Afro wig. It was baffling, quite frankly.

              A half hour later, I was stationed on one side of bulletproof glass with an old-fashioned telephone in my hands. Jeb walked in, picking up the matching phone on his side of the glass and sat down.

              “Hey, white boy.”

              That got me a smile. “Hey, Miss Harper. How’s the Funky Wheel holding up?”

              “Well, kind of like the wheel in the sky, she just keeps on turning. Not the same there without you, though.”

              Leaning forward, I lowered my voice. “Listen, Jeb, I don’t want you to worry about anything.” Ignoring his dubious expression, I continued. “I’m gonna get you a good lawyer. Besides, I’m real close to cracking this case and proving you didn’t do this— that Irina did.”

              He shook his head vehemently. “Rina couldn’t do something like this to Mr. Gibb.”

              “Jeb, I know you love her and everything, but loving someone doesn’t automatically make them innocent.”

              “She
is
innocent, Miss Harper.”

              “Jeb—“

              An officer interrupted us, telling me visiting hours were over. I told my bouncer once again not to worry, and then said goodbye.

              I’d always thought Jeb a good judge of character, but he was clearly being blinded by his affection. His lover stood to inherit millions, her hair and nails had been all over the victim, and as far as I knew, she didn’t have an alibi. Then, there was my gut feeling, which sprouted from Irina’s attitude and her lack of grieving for someone she’d pledged to love and cherish.

              The woman was guilty, and hopefully the pharmacist would be calling soon to prove it. If that pill belonged to her, she was as good as gone.

              I hopped into my bug and started the engine, pulling out of the parking space. My head was so in the clouds, I didn’t realize for a couple of seconds that my foot was on the brake, but the car was moving.

              As if my realization fueled it, the bug lurched forward, gaining speed and heading right towards a parked squad car. I slammed my foot on the brake, but I may as well have been stomping at the car floor for all the good it did. My car got faster, and the space between the cruiser and I disappeared.

              With a loud crunch and a moan, I smashed into the other car, screaming all the way. The seatbelt crushed me against my seat with bruising force, but my head flipped this way and that like a limp noodle. A searing pain started in my neck, then was muffled by the sharp crack of my skull hitting the driver’s side window.

              People started screaming as soon as the car was finally still. There was a whole flood of movement from both sides of my peripheral vision. Random citizens and police officers rushed towards my car, pulling me out and moving me as far away from the wreck as they could.