Shake Your Green Thing: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 2) (4 page)

"You can let him in," I said with a sigh. I'd given her that order weeks ago when his annoying, know-it-all personality had still made me want to throttle him instead of bite him all over.

"It's not Mr. Bennett," she said. "There's three officers outside. One of them— Officer Koser— says they've got a warrant to search the place."

Gritting my teeth, I sped over to the front door, opening it and giving Officer Koser my best “drop dead" glare. He tipped an imaginary hat to me, looking more cheerful than anyone investigating a murder had the right to. The three of them slid past me, and I had to stop myself from tripping them.

Fishing around in his pocket, he handed me a beat-up piece of paper. "The warrant."

I held it out away from my body with only two fingers, afraid of some of the unknown stains on it— and that was saying something for me. "Lovely. Knock yourself out, I have nothing to hide here." Except some pizza that was a little old to be up to health department code, but it wasn't for the customers, anyway. People who worked at a disco for a living couldn’t be so choosy.

They spread out, combing through the place. People stopped dancing and skating to watch as the officers tore through the lockers, the office, and the concession stand. I had the overwhelming urge to make them leave, to protect the Funky Wheel, my home. That, unfortunately, would only make things worse, so I stayed where I was, kicking against the purple-carpeted floor.

At his booth, Jeb stood up, a fierce expression on his face. I had to shake my head vigorously at him to keep him from interfering and ending up in jail again. For no reason whatsoever, my heart was pounding, a sheen of sweat covering my body.

Officer Koser emerged from the girl's bathroom with a look of triumph on his face. In his pudgy hands, he held a glass with a noxious liquid that was green and smoking. The glass cup was not one you'd find at the Funky Wheel— we were more of the red solo cup variety. I doubted that would matter to the esteemed officer, though.

"Bag this," Koser told a younger officer, handing over the glass with great care. He strode up to me, almost skipping. "That sure doesn't look good, Miss Beck. Sure you don't want to tell me your side of the story?"

"Hundreds of people have access to that bathroom; it's hardly a smoking gun," I said scathingly, but inside I was shaking. "Not that it matters to the thorough Waresville police department. Are you going to shackle me up in front of all these people or wait until you can get in a few cheap shots away from prying eyes?"

Koser suddenly lost all his friendliness. "I won't be arresting you today, Miss Beck. I'm going to give you just enough rope to hang yourself with. Sit back and enjoy the show."

I shoved him out the door after his fellow cops, looking a look more put together than I felt. "Goodnight, officer. Don't darken my doorstep again."

I showed up at Wyatt’s the next afternoon after I woke up, still a little in shock from last night. Even though he hadn’t been there, I knew he would’ve heard all about it two seconds after it happened. One could rely on Wyatt for that.

I was also hoping I could rely on him to provide a shoulder to cry on— or a punching bag to work out my frustration.

Laughter penetrated through the thick wooden door, and I frowned. Cooper would be at school at this time of day. The idea of Wyatt with loud visitors was a little strange, as I’d assumed the man spent all his time in trees and bushes, spying on the townspeople and writing interesting tidbits in his journal.

Still, maybe a little laughter and fun could go a long way in curing my bad mood. I knocked on the door and waited impatiently for Wyatt to answer.

When the door swung open, I was surprised to see what looked like the entire force sitting in Wyatt’s small living room. They’d ordered pizza from the only place— other than the Funky Wheel— that sold it. Beers graced their hands, and they were still guffawing about something or other.

Wyatt’s icy blue eyes crinkled at the sight of me, making my stomach flip-flop. His smile was bright, but there was reserve in his expression, like he was holding something back.

He didn’t invite me in or open the door an inch more than it already was. “Do you need something, Miss Beck?”

Blinking, I stepped back in surprise. His voice was so cool and professional. You would think he was talking to a neighbor or a door-to-door salesman instead of the woman he’d been hot and heavy with for weeks.

The noise inside died down slightly, waiting for my response.

And, for once in my life, I didn’t have one. Stunned into silence, I stood there a moment more, foolishly looking for the happy crease around his eyes that had been there before.

Turning on my heel, I rushed down the steps and across the yard towards my car. Once I hit the grass, I forced myself to slow down because I was still in view of the living room through the window for another few feet. Those bastards might arrest me, and Wyatt might have turned his back on me, but I wasn’t going to run from anyone.

At least not where they could see me.

The door slammed shut, and I heard his feet pounding down the stairs after me. Moving out of view, I quickened my pace so I could get to my car. A calloused hand landed on the car door, preventing me from opening it.

“Harper, wait—“

“What?” I snapped. “What could you possibly say here that you were afraid to say in there?” Yanking, I almost got past his hold on the door. “Trust me, Detective Bennett, I get it.”

He shook his head soberly. “No, you don’t.”

Releasing the door, I instead put my energy into a very hard shove that rammed Wyatt into the hard metal side of my bug. “You’re ashamed of me! What’s not to get? You don’t want your police buddies knowing you shacked up with me.”

The color blanched from his face, making him look stricken. “No, it’s—“

But I was a little too furious to listen to what he had to say. I was used to people judging me— hell, I could admit I was eccentric and a hard pill for a lot of people to swallow. I was even used to rejection from guys in this town, especially when it came time to meeting their friends or parents.

Those rejections had never felt like this, though.

“What bothers you more, hmm?” I asked, seething. “The fact that I roll around in a green wig? Or maybe it’s that I’m nothing but a mutt from Miami.”

“Neither of those things bother me,” he said, but he’d wavered for a moment too long and allowed me access to my front seat.

“Go back to your cop buddies.” I started the car; it roared to life with comforting familiarity. “Maybe later, you can come arrest me for a murder I didn’t commit. You’re good at that, right?”

For no reason whatsoever, besides keeping the weak tears at bay, I stopped by the stage on my way back to the Funky Wheel. No one was setting up, and the area around it was deserted. Cursing myself, I wondered if anyone would even be around to answer my questions.

I slipped into the office building after jiggling the lock a bit. It’d been broken for years, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like a badass. I puffed out my chest and strolled through the building like I owned it. I suddenly wished there were a hundred more locks I could jiggle, if only to take away the feeling of being kicked in the stomach.

I expected to find Belinda's nauseatingly pink dressing room empty, but as I crept down the hall, I could see the light was on. A slight sniffing sound came from inside. Pausing politely, I knocked on the open door.

A woman with blindingly red hair met me, her eyes puffy and a crumpled, used tissue in her hand. "Yes?" Her voice was thick.

"Harper Beck," I said, stretching out my hand without thinking. She shook it, and I tried not to wince, realizing there was likely snot on it.

"Cherry."

"Are you cleaning up Miss Clearwater's office?"

My tone was casual, but her eyes narrowed. "Did you know Belinda?"

Answering a question with a question. Damn, if she wasn't using my own tricks against me.

"I found her body, actually."

The suspicion flooded from her eyes in the form of big, fat tears, leaving her free of any bad feeling towards me but still filled with a lot of grief in general. Trying to pull herself together, she answered my earlier question. "I was trying to, anyway. She didn't have any family but John— her boyfriend. He's in California, though."

Shifting myself into the room, I picked up one of the half-filled boxes and started to help her. The brown container seemed to be filled exclusively with makeup and almost weighed as much as me. I struggled under the girth, panting slightly.

"California's pretty far," I said, not looking at her and sounding decidedly disinterested.

Like planned, everything came rushing out of her month. "Things haven't been right between them for months. I told her to break things off, but does she listen to me?"

"No?" I guessed.

The moisture that had temporarily left her eyes, and her distaste for John and their relationship, returned tenfold. "And now she never will!"

I patted her awkwardly on the back, making soft cooing sounds like you'd make to an injured animal. I couldn't really fathom why Belinda— someone I'd personally disliked— would elicit this much grief in anyone. But perhaps I'd only known one side of her— the grumpy one, that is.

"Did you know Belinda well?" I asked, still shamelessly trying to weasel more information out of her. There was no chance I could ask her if she knew anyone that would have wanted to hurt the dead contestant. That would've been a step too far, even for someone encased in grief like Cherry.

She nodded shakily. "I'm a contestant too. We've been competing together for years."

This just brought on a fresh wave of hysterics, but thankfully, I was rescued by someone arriving at our door with a small, but pointed, cough. I looked up to see my savior and wished immediately that I hadn't just been thankful for the appearance of Melanie Gross.

The name was very fitting for the blonde leader of the local witch scene. She looked down her large nose at me like usual. We'd never gotten along on account of the fact that I didn't like that she'd do anything for publicity for her shop. She didn't like that I was a stronger witch than her without even trying.

"Harper," she said. "Just the lady I wanted to talk to."

Well, this was clearly a new dynamic in our relationship.

Grabbing me by the wrist, she towed me away from the still-sobbing Cherry, saying, "You don't mind if I borrow Miss Beck for a moment, do you, dear? Of course not."

Once the door was shut between us and the distressed contestant, I realized that Melanie wasn't alone. Penny Helbrim, the woman who'd been kind enough to tell me about the broken toilet the other day, stood in her usual spot in Melanie's shadow. She was an unremarkable woman with a plain face and a heavy-set body. Her messy brown hair fell in front of her face, hiding most of her expressions, though I'd always assumed they perfectly matched her master's.

"We're down a contestant for the competition," Melanie told me, like I hadn't been the one to find the body.

"Really?" I blinked for effect. "I hadn't heard that."

Her lips thinned, and I was sure she was going to snap at me—that was how our conversations usually went. When she held her tongue, I became very interested in what she had to say. The woman must have wanted something from me badly to exercise that kind of restraint.

"We need a replacement," she said, "especially if Cherry is too distraught tomorrow to put on a good show."

I searched my brain but came up empty— an occurrence that wasn’t uncommon. "And tomorrow would be...?"

"The talent portion of the contest," she said with exasperation. "I'm sure you could come up with some magic babble you could impress the crowd with."

"You want me in the contest?" My laughter stopped the moment I realized she was serious. Shaking my head vigorously, I said, "I don't practice."

"I'm aware. But the audience wouldn't have to know that."

Obviously, she wasn't aware of anything if she thought I was going to go up on that stage and shoot flames from my fingers. For one thing, I'd never hear the end of it from Grandma. For another, I'd never hear the end of it from
anyone.

"Listen, Melanie—"

A sour expression twisted up her whole face. "I would consider it... a personal favor."

Wasn't there a rule that you had to accept when someone said that? I wasn't big on rules, but I could live with the thought of Melanie owing me something. Maybe I could trade the favor for her shutting up for a whole year— no, a decade! The possibilities were endless.

Melanie sensed my weakness like a true predator, and a smug look came over her face. "Tomorrow night. Don't be late."

With that, the head witch and her lackey disappeared, leaving me wondering what I'd gotten myself into.

The next night came faster than I would've believed because I spent most of it working and trying not to think about Wyatt. He'd undoubtedly be at the talent show tonight, and I didn't want to face him. That alone told me that I needed to go. Harper Beck didn't back down from anyone— much less a stupid guy who couldn't see how good he had it.

The whole thing had me wishing I could leave Waresville. I wasn't the kind of person to stay in one place for a long time, yet I'd been in that town since I was nineteen. That was practically my whole adulthood. My thoughts wandered to visions of far off places, but I knew in my heart that I wasn't going anywhere.

My place was with the Funky Wheel, and until I figured out a way to travel with her, I was stuck in Waresville.

They'd given me my own dressing room, which I felt was unnecessary because I was just going to wear my work uniform. I'd be nervous enough in front of all those people. I wasn't even going to entertain the thought of taking off my disco garb— it was like protective armor.

Deliberately walking past Cherry's silent room, I made my way out onto the stage. Trust Melanie to make me the opening act. She was just hoping I'd make a fool out of myself in front of all those people. Her hopes probably weren't in vain.

The crowd swarmed around the small stage, eating fried food from the vendors and speaking loudly with their neighbors. Lots of people were in capes— not just Oliver— and magic themed clothes dotted the spectrum, but there were also quite a few soccer moms and slack-jawed teenagers.

A cold sweat broke out all over me at the sight of that many people. If they had all been in a conga line, I'd have joined right in without a hitch. But these spectators wanted to watch me do magic— something I'd sworn off a long time ago.

Chanting quietly to myself about having Melanie in my pocket, I marched up onto the stage and stared the town down as they fell silent, one by one. Wyatt's eyes stood out immediately from the rest of the crowd, a cool color that I couldn't help but still associate with warmth and happiness.

I didn't say anything— a rarity for me. Instead, I whipped my hands towards the sky in a move that I knew looked very fast to the audience. They caught flame almost without any push from me, the one trick I'd done a million times.

A few gasps sounded, the fire's blue light reflecting in hundreds of eyes, glimmering in the dim surroundings. Smiling, the rest of my arms caught fire. Then, my body, face, legs. Before the crowd knew what hit them, I was completely encased in flames.

People screamed in delight as I twirled around, giving a good show of dancing flames. It was a simple trick, one I'd perfected as a child. But to the audience, I was a master magician, facing down the possibility of a fiery death. Only Grandma would know better.

The flame went out all at once, revealing me to the audience. A roar of applause went out as they saw my body and clothes were completely unsinged. I gave a simple bow and then retreated from the stage.

A glass of water was on the table next to the other contestants who were waiting for their turn. I took a sip, watching as Penny Helbrim went up. To be fair, she did have to follow my performance— but the crowd was thoroughly unimpressed with whatever trick she did. It was so unmemorable, even I don't remember what it was.

Turning away from the stage, I decided to collect my things from the dressing rooms. Maybe I could open the Funky Wheel and catch some of the traffic that wasn't here. This was complete bullshit, of course, because everyone was here— but there was also a chance that if I left immediately, I wouldn't run into Wyatt.

"Harper."

Drat.

Wyatt hooked a finger through the belt loop on the back of my shorts, yanking me backwards. His heat against me was like a drug, and I had to fight myself not to settle back, to feel every inch of him snuggled against me.

"Let go of me, Detective."

"That's not my name, and you know it," he said against my ear. "You're mad, so just say that instead of passive-aggressively trying to put distance between us."

"You want just plain aggressive?" Turning around, I placed a single hand on his chest and pushed real hard. "There. Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

To my surprise, he actually stumbled back like he'd been shot. Usually, I couldn't budge the man.

His blue eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them, with a fear I couldn't begin to explain shining in their depths. A second later, and he was paler than the crescent moon hanging above us. Wyatt's mouth opened, but no sounds came out.

A shiver went through me at this inexplicable behavior, but I wasn't about to give up winning the fight. "What, no words? That's a first. You—"

He was at my side in the next second, a death grip on my forearm, with a cell phone I hadn't seen him reach for pressed against his ear. "Detective Bennett. We need an ambulance at the stage stat—poison victim, still conscious."

Frowning, I opened my mouth to demand to know what the hell he was talking about. No one had been poisoned, for god's sake.

A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness overcame me, sapping the strength right from my bones. Sirens sounded in the distance, and I sunk to my knees on the ground. It was a controlled descent— mostly because of Wyatt's steel grip on both of my upper arms.

Looking quickly away from my now light green fingers, I stared into Wyatt's face instead. This turned out to be a mistake because I found a wild, sick kind of fear there, and it wasn't reassuring.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I said. The words may not have come out in the right order, but I was sure I got the message across.

He shook his head while I was lifted onto the gurney and into the ambulance. "Don't try to talk."

The bus jostled me as it sped down the road. Wyatt kept his iron grip on me, not letting the bumps disturb me too much. As my color darkened, becoming more like fresh grass without any of the implications of vitality, his got lighter and lighter. Usually a reasonably tan man, my detective looked like he'd never seen the sun.

Though I wanted to stay mad at him, my heart was racing too hard, fear and adrenaline surging in my veins. I couldn't manage to hold onto my temper— a better sign than my green skin that something was wrong. I brushed his cheek with my fingers tentatively. His hand caught mine and held it there, and my caress became rougher.

"There wasn't much of the poison left in the cup they found at your disco skate," he said. "It's evaporating at a startling rate, but the lab is rushing it over now so we can make an antidote. You're going to be fine." The last part seemed more for his ears than mine.

Shaking my head made me feel like I was going to be sick, so I stopped almost immediately after I started. "If you use that for an antidote, you'll lose the only hard evidence you have to find the killer."

"That doesn't matter right now."

I wanted to argue that it mattered a great deal, but the world was going a little fuzzy, and I lost track of it. While I floated around the edges of this plane, I heard Wyatt's coarse voice calling my name—and not very nicely. I could barely make out what he was saying, but he seemed to be insulting me, the doctors, and everyone else in the room.

It would've made me smile if my insides weren't burning.

My eyes flickered open after what seemed like only a few seconds. Wyatt was right there by my side, circles under his eyes and a five o'clock shadow covering his chin.

"How long have I been out?" My words were slurred, and I couldn't quite connect with my body to make it move. The thought of being paralyzed made me tense— only Wyatt's hand running over my hair kept me from screaming.

"Just about all night."

He must've pressed some button to alert the nurses, because just then, my doctor walked in— the same one who'd patched me up after the car accident a couple of weeks ago. He smiled, but he looked tired and stressed, just like Wyatt.

"I'm glad to see you with your eyes open, Miss Beck," he said. "You gave us all a scare."

"Antidote?" I couldn't be more verbose than that at the moment.

A cloud passed over his face. "I'm afraid there wasn't enough of the poison for us to make one." Wyatt squeezed my hand. "But you seemed to have ingested a small amount, which is why you're alive and your color is starting to return to normal."

I glanced down at my forearms which were exposed under my hospital gown. The color was indeed a light green like it'd been when I first noticed the change— almost as if I were extremely nauseous.

"Does this mean she's in the clear?" Wyatt asked before I could.

The doctor shook his head. "Until I give her an antidote— due to the magical nature of this poison— I won't know anything. My colleagues and I have hypothesized, based on the study of the poison and the previous victim, that your body— possibly by magic— is fighting off this poison, which is why the color is receding. We don't believe it will be able to do so completely, however. It's just a matter of time."

"But I can leave, right?"

Wyatt shot me a warning glance that said I'd be getting out of this bed over his dead body. If I'd felt up to my normal level of sass, I'd have retorted something clever or stuck out my tongue at him. Instead, I just ignored him.

"You would be leaving against my advice," the doctor said slowly, skating around the edges of forbidding me.

I forced a smile, something that felt alien on my too tight face. "Understood.”

Wyatt stewed in silent fury as he drove me away from the hospital. The man had pitched a royal fit to try and get me to stay, but when I'd gone to call a taxi, he'd caved. His parents had apparently dropped off his car when they came to pick up Cooper from my bedside.

I'd frowned at that. "You shouldn't have let him see me like that— he'll have nightmares."

"Couldn't keep him away," he'd grumbled back at me.

We passed by the street he needed to turn on to get to the Funky Wheel, and I lifted my heavy head up from the window sill. "Missed."

"I'm a cop," he said, his voice forced into a lightness that seemed unnatural. "I always hit what I aim for. You're staying with Cooper and me— Mom'll drop him off in a couple hours."

He had to help me out of the car. My muscles felt like someone had sucked the vitality out of them with a syringe. "My place is fine for sleeping, which is all I'm looking to do."

It was a pointed reminder that I was still peeved with him, and he laughed bleakly. "I'm not looking for play time, Harper, just an assurance that you won't go gallivanting off into danger the moment you wake up."

The trip up the stairs stole my breath and any coherent thought. It wasn't until I laid down on his dark blue sheets and watched as he tucked the comforter protectively around me, that I had something to say.

"I need to find the poison," I said, my eyes trying to close of their own accord. "Won't be safe until I do."

Slipping his hand under the back of my neck, Wyatt lifted my head up so I was very close to his face. I'd never seem him so serious, his face drawn in heavy lines that made him look older.

"I'll hunt down the poison, and the person who did this to you," he said quietly. "That, you don't have to worry about."

The next time I rolled out of bed, I found the house free of Wyatt. A note awaited me on the kitchen fridge, telling me that there was leftover pizza inside and to stay put— on penalty of death. I felt like death just then, my head foggy and my body aching. The pain was an intimate reminder that, while I might not be green, I wouldn't be out of the woods until I got an antidote.

Besides the boyfriend, I didn't have any hard suspects. The public nature of the crime meant that really anyone could have done it; everyone had opportunity. A splash of noise startled me, and I turned around to see that Cooper had turned on the tiny, portable TV that sat on the kitchen counter.

There were circles under his eyes, and he was still in his pajamas— Batman, like his sheets. I smiled at him, and he returned it, grabbing a bowl of chocolate cereal from a cabinet.

"Dad went to work," he mumbled through his sugary breakfast. "Said to watch you."

The words would've earned a huge eye roll if my attention hadn't been fixed on the national news on the TV. An attractive anchor, full of smiles and Botox, was talking about the magical murders in Waresville. It was probably the first time in recorded history that this little town had made the news. And with the magical nature of the crime, tourist traps were about to do booming business around here.

"Melanie!"

Cooper coughed, a bit of cereal getting caught in his throat at my outburst. I slapped him on the back, but he waved me away, the piece already dislodged.

Yelling a hasty goodbye on my way out the door, I ran all the way to the driveway before I realized I didn't have a car. I kicked the trash can in frustration and made a few calls. Minutes later, Oliver pulled up in his Taurus like a knight on a steed.

"We gotta get to the stage," I told him, and he peeled off.

"I'm glad to see you with your normal color." His words were breezy, but he seemed as upset as I'd ever seen him. "You looked horrible yesterday."

"Thanks. You visited me in the hospital?"