Wicked Ways: Death at the DuMond (A Cozy Witch Mystery Book 1) (18 page)

After a few moments, we were greeted by the club manager, Tessa. A stern looking woman in a business suit. She didn’t smile. Perhaps too much botox and lip fillers. Or, maybe, she just didn’t like us.

“Good afternoon. I’m Tessa, how may I help you?” 

Gibbs flashed his badge again for good measure. “It’s important that I take a look around the locker room.”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” she said. “This is a private club, and we value our members privacy.”

“I don’t think your member is going to care about his privacy. He’s dead,” Gibbs said.

The news didn’t seem to phase Tessa. “Nonetheless, it’s against club policy,” she said. “Return with a warrant, and I’ll be happy to assist you.” She tried to hide her contempt for us, but she wasn’t doing a very good job.

“This is a matter of life and death,” I blurted.

“Good day, Detectives.” She spun around and sauntered away.

I was devastated.

“Sorry, kid,” Gibbs said. “We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

We started to leave just as Lou Falco was strolling in through the main doors. He was accompanied by two massive bodyguards.

Gibbs gritted his teeth and muttered, “I guess they let anybody become a member here.”

Falco heard him. “Ah, Detective Gibbs. So nice to see you. I didn’t realize you were a member here.” Falco smiled.

“You couldn’t pay me to associate with this crowd,” Gibbs said. 

Falco eyed me. “And if it isn’t my little killer. You really should choose the company you keep a little better.”

“Let’s go, Hannah,” Gibbs said. He stomped toward the door.

“Mr. Falco, I have a business proposition for you,” I said.

“Hannah, what are you doing?” Gibbs snapped.

“I’d like to hear the little lady’s proposal,” Falco said.

“I don’t care what you’d like.” Gibbs’s face was turning red. Soon his veins would be bulging and his blood pressure would rise. “Hannah, making a deal with this guy is like making a deal with the devil.”

“Gibbs, give me a second here,” I said. “I can handle the heat.”

Falco grinned.
 

Gibbs threw his hands up in disgust and walked away. He stood in the corner by the door, pouting with his arms folded, tapping his foot.

“I like your spunk, killer,” said Falco. He had a sparkle in his eyes and a bright smile. He was a ruthless mafia boss, but he had undeniable charm. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private?”

I walked with Falco and the bodyguards down the hallway to a private conference room. I looked back at Gibbs. He was furious, motioning for me not to go.

Falco and I stepped into the conference room. One of the bodyguards frisked me before we entered the room. He gave Falco the all clear. 

“Let’s hear about this business proposition,” Falco said. 

“Do you know Flaming Freddy Stryker?”

“Like I told Detective Gibbs, I run a pizza parlor.” He smiled. “Just a wholesome, family owned business.” Falco was a smart man. He knew better than to put certain things into words.

“Right. Then it wouldn’t concern you that Stryker made audio recordings of his dealings with family owned businesses?”

Falco’s eyes widened for an instant. 

“I got the impression that Stryker was a freelancer,” I said. “He said he worked for a lot of people.”

“He may have delivered a few pizza’s for me, from time to time.”

“I know where the audio recordings are,” I said.

Concern registered in Falco’s eyes. Now I had his full attention.
 

“I need your help to get them,” I said. 

“Why would I help you?”

“Besides my charming personality? Let’s say, if there were anything on those recordings that might be unfavorable to your pizza parlor… those segments could be… lost.”

“And what of the segments that implicate other family owned businesses?” Falco asked.

“My mom has been kidnapped by the Giovanni family.”

“Savages,” Falco said. He thought about this for a moment. “So, you’re going to trade the recordings for your mom?”

I nodded.

“Let me guess. Stryker’s dead?” Falco said. He wasn’t really asking a question. Falco was putting all of the pieces together. His eyes narrowed at me. “The recordings are in this building. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Tessa, Lou Falco. I’m going to need access to Fred Stryker’s personal locker. Thank you.”

“Thank you so much! I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” I said.

“I’m sorry, kid. But this opportunity is too good to pass up.”

“What opportunity?”

“If what you say is true, there is enough evidence on those recordings to dismantle one of my major competitors in the pizza business.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Tessa is going to open Stryker’s locker. I’m going to take the recordings and make sure the District Attorney gets a copy. Minus anything incriminating toward myself, of course. It’s my civic duty.”

“Mr. Falco, they will kill my mom.” Tears streamed down my cheek. 

“You’re a smart kid. I hate to say it, but you know she’s dead anyway. Do you really think that you could just hand over the recordings and they’d let you and your mom walk away?” He shook his head. “Not going to happen. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t speak. The lump in my throat felt as big as Texas. My body jerked with sobs. 

“Kid, you’re killing me. We don’t cry in this business, okay?”

I sniffled and cried harder.

“If you’re doing that little girl thing, trying to appeal to my emotional side… I don’t have one.” Falco called for his guards. He told them to escort me from the building. 

Gibbs was waiting for me on the sidewalk. I was a wreck. I told him what happened. 

“These people are slime. You didn’t really expect him to help, did you?”

I shrugged. 

Falco’s bodyguard eyed us. He was standing in front of the entrance to Pivot.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Gibbs said, glaring back at the bodyguard.

 We drove to the DuMond. Gibbs eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror.

“What is it?” I asked.

“We’ve got a tail. Silver sedan, three cars back.”

I spun around to look. “How long have they been following us?”

“Since we left Pivot.”

 The sedan stayed behind us until we pulled into the parking lot of the DuMond. When we turned in, the sedan kept going.

My phone rang. It was an unknown caller. “Bring the recordings down to the abandoned Dead Hook Grain Silo. Come alone.” 

I swallowed hard. My body was shaking.

“You still got the recordings, right?” the gruff voice asked.

“Yes. Of course,” I stammered.

“You didn’t make any copies, did you?”

“No.”

“Good. Loose the cop,” the voice said. “If you don’t get here within the hour, your mom dies.”  The line went dead.

CHAPTER 29

NEWPORT LOOKED LIKE he had taken six shots of tequila. He was stumbling around in circles, falling down. But Newport doesn’t drink. At least I don’t think he does.

I raced into my bedroom and confirmed my suspicions. The drawer to my nightstand was open. One of the cupcakes was missing. The trail of crumbs led into the living room. The frosting on Newport’s whiskers was a dead giveaway.

I was mortified. Newport needed immediate medical attention. And I needed to get across town to meet with the mob—and hand over recordings that I didn’t have.

“Do you believe me now that there is something in those cupcakes?” I said.

“It’s probably all the sugar,” Gibbs said. “He’s got a tummy ache. That’s all.”

“It’s more than a tummy ache. Trust me. I need you to take him to the vet.”

 “I think you’re overreacting. You’re clearly displacing your anxiety, and focusing it on something more manageable. Like a sick cat.”

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. I was furious.

Newport barfed on Gibbs’s shoes.

“I’m not displacing anything. Newport needs help,” I said.

I wrote the address of Newport’s vet on a piece of paper and gave it to Gibbs. “Promise me you will take care of him like he was your own child.”

“I’m really more of a dog person,” Gibbs said.

“Gibbs!” I shouted.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take him to the vet. I just want you to know that I’m allergic to cats, so this is a huge deal for me.”

Gibbs picked up Newport, cradling him like a baby. Gibbs’s eyes were already red and puffy, and his nose was getting stuffy. “You’re not really going to go meet with these savages alone, are you?”

“What choice do I have?”

“They’re going to kill you. You know that,” Gibbs said. “The minute they find out that you don’t have what they want, you’re both dead. At least let me go with you.”

“No. Take care of Newport.”

Gibbs frowned, but agreed. The room fell silent. 

“If something should happen… promise me that you’ll look after Newport,” I said.

Gibbs’s eyes grew misty. He tried to blame it on the allergies, but I think he was getting emotional. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a fine detective some day.”

I smiled. “Now go,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. I didn’t know if this was the last time that I’d ever see Gibbs, or Newport.

Time was running out. I had less than an hour to get across the harbor to Dead Hook. I had a plan. Not a very good one, mind you. But it was something. My plan was going to take some luck. Something I hadn’t had a lot of lately. The odds weren’t good and I needed to shift them in my favor. The only hope I had was to create a good luck charm. But that was going to be either hit or miss. If I didn’t cast the spell right, the charm would bring bad luck.

The fact that I was rushed, and running out of time, only increased the chances that I would make a mistake. But perhaps bad luck would be better than no luck at all. If I was going to be a witch—a real witch—I was going to have to own my power. I was going to have to start believing in myself.

I drew a circle on the ground with chalk. I’ve never been very good with circle magic. Then I placed four candles at each infinite corner. Yes, circles have corners, but only witches can see them. I placed a gemstone in the center of the circle and lit the candles. 

As with every other spell, I scribbled an incantation on a piece of paper. Each spell must be unique in order for it to work. It’s a private contract between the witch and the universe. Therefore, I can’t divulge the specifics of my spell. I will say that I sprinkled some herbs around the circle and blew on the stone for luck.

Clearing the mind before casting a spell is essential. But this time, I found it extremely difficult. I couldn’t get the thought of Mom being held hostage out of my mind. I worried desperately about her situation. I shuddered to think of the possibility that she had already been harmed. If she was still alive, she’d have been without her medication for days.

Finally, I pushed all of those worries out of my brain. I began chanting the incantation and burned the paper spell in the candle flame. Ideally, you should chant the incantation until the candles burn out. The longer the burn, the more powerful the charm. But I didn’t have that kind of time.

I pocketed the stone and searched the DuMond for Bancroft. I hadn’t seen him in days, which was highly unusual. If Bancroft went with me to the meeting, at least I’d have an invisible ally. 

Bancroft wasn’t in any of his usual haunts. The guest apartment was empty. I couldn’t find him in the lobby or any of the hallways. He wasn’t in the parking garage. When he haunts a resident’s apartment, he’s usually in and out pretty quick. He’ll flicker the lights and tilt a few pictures on the wall, but he gets bored and moves on.

 I finally found Bancroft in an abandoned service elevator. It hadn’t been in use since the 1950’s.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

“I thought you’d never find me,” Bancroft said. “It’s positively dreadful in here. I never really thought I was claustrophobic, but I’ve been stuck in here for days.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t leave.” Bancroft tried to walk through the doorway, but he couldn’t.

“Has something like this ever happened before?”

“No,” Bancroft said. He thought about this for a moment. “Well, ever since the exorcism, there are places where I can’t go. But I’ve never been trapped in a location before.”

It didn’t make any sense. I wracked my brain thinking about it.

“You didn’t, by any chance, bungle some spell, did you?” Bancroft asked.

“Bungle some spell?”

“No offense, but your track record with magic leaves something to be desired.”

I glared at him. “Are you trying to say I suck at being a witch?” 

“I’m just saying you could use a little practice.” Bancroft shrugged, innocently.