Shake Your Green Thing: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 2) (6 page)

And that pissed me off.

I still hadn't said anything by the time we sat down at the same table as last time, and Wyatt was beginning to look nervous. "If this is about taking Cooper to school, I should have asked first, I know. But the station called, and I didn't want to wake you, so—"

"I don't mind taking Cooper to school," I said through gritted teeth. The problem was that I liked it a little too much.

"Oh." It was always a pleasure to see Wyatt lost for words, but I could barely enjoy it at the moment.

I sighed and rested my still-throbbing head in my hands. "What are we doing, Wyatt?"

Taking my hand so that only one of them was holding up my face, he squeezed. "Falling in love?"

"Well, I wish we'd stop."

He laughed, and I wanted to punch him. Seeming to sense that, he stopped. "I think it's a little late for that, Miss Harper Beck."

"It's not fair, Wyatt," I said quietly. "It's not fair to Cooper. If this doesn't work out..."

At the mention of his son, his face fell a little. "He likes you."

Finally, a glimmer of understanding.

"He wants a mother."

Wyatt sat back, not releasing my hand. "I know. He used to ask about his mother all the time— doesn't really remember much about her. That stopped a couple years ago, but sometimes..."

"Maybe we should—"

"No." All of the understanding and sweetness left his face, and he was just a stubborn man who had made up his mind. As much as that frustrated me, I knew that if I looked in the mirror, I'd see the same expression gracing my face.

"What if we break up?"

"We won't."

I let out a choked laugh. "People break up all the time," I pointed out. "And they don't have to deal with the stressors we do. You know— children, murder, and all that jazz. "

"Solution: Why don't you stop poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" He squeezed my hand even tighter and waved the waiter over. "I love that you worry about Cooper— really— but how about we don't for just a little while? Let's just eat."

After I left Wyatt, Melanie texted me to head over to the stage for rehearsal hours. I wasn't sure where I stood— with him or with Melanie. But since she wasn't pressing charges, I guessed that meant she wasn't too mad about me breaking into her house. That, or Wyatt had more of a silver tongue than I realized.

Once I got there, it became apparent that the latter must have been true. Melanie greeted me with such a coldness that I had to check my fingers for frost bite when she went to check on the sound system.

Apparently, we were all supposed to go up on stage tonight and give a little bio about ourselves. I didn't remember that part from previous years, but I likely wouldn't have attended something like that— it was all fluff and no danger.

We were ten minutes behind schedule, and Melanie looked ready to breathe fire. I would've told her that was my trick, but I liked my eyebrows the way they were.

"Where's Cherry— oh there you are, dear." Melanie instantly switched her tone to one that was so sugarcoated, it would've given me diabetes if directed my way.

The red-headed runner-up looked like she'd been crying for days, which, given the way I’d left her in her dressing room, was completely possible. Her perfectly proportioned face was puffy and red, making the almost plum-colored lipstick she was wearing stick out like a sore thumb.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she mumbled to Melanie, her voice little more than a scratch on a chalkboard. “Belinda—“

“—would’ve wanted you to go on,” Melanie purred.

I couldn't quite agree with her, remembering Belinda as a vindictive and petty person in life. Still, Cherry seemed alright, and if she missed the woman this much, there must have been some redeeming qualities to the witch.

The words seemed to comfort Cherry slightly, and she bounced up on stage. "Hello, everyone," she said, pretending to talk to a crowd. "I'm Cherry Blossom—"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" I slapped a hand to my forehead, not listening to the rest of the woman's speech and cursing myself for thinking she was all right. No one who used the name Cherry Blossom of their own free will could be considered "all right" in my book. I wondered idly, while scuffing my shoe against the ground, if that name was on her birth certificate.

A scream made my head snap up, and my eyes bulged out of my head. On stage, Cherry had stopped giving her speech and dropped to the ground, where she writhed and choked. Her skin went from porcelain to grape to amphibian before my very eyes.

All around me, people were making frantic calls to 911, but I just stood there, staring at the fallen Cherry Blossom. I didn't really see the redheaded witch, though, her bright hair replaced with my brown locks. Her eyes became mine, and I watched in horror as a greener me died in my mind's eye.

Was that what it would look like when this magical poison overwhelmed my body? A shudder ran through me, helplessness threatening to take hold. I shook it off, running to my bug and fleeing the scene before Wyatt and the police could show up. If he looked at me with those eyes I loved, I’d just lose it, and I couldn’t afford to lose it right now.

Other than Melanie, I had no suspects, and at this point, I couldn’t even say she was a
good
one. Killing people with magic would make big headlines and bring in the tourists she needed to stay afloat. But killing contestants in a festival she was running would ruin Witch Week and, by proxy, her reputation.

If there was one thing Melanie Gross cared about more than money, it was what people thought of her.

Grandma’s car was in the driveway, but none of the house lights were on. When I knocked— a seldom occurrence— no sounds came from inside. Frowning, I slipped inside with the spare key I’d had to bully out of the old witch.

“What do you need it for?” she’d asked, eyes beady and suspicious.

Exasperated, I’d replied, “In case you’re lying on the ground, dying, and I need the door unlocked to save your ungrateful self.”

She’d given me one after a little more prompting, telling me it was highly unlikely she’d ever need anything from me. Still, I’d won the argument and lived to fight another day.

“Grandma?”

No reply.

I went from room to room, looking for any signs of a batty old lady in a red robe. Ancient magical texts and talismans were strewn all over the attic and bedroom floor. The attic, which served as a library—a bloated one, at that— was always littered with books. The bedroom, on the other hand, had never seen a spell book in its long life.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed the cell she never used. It rang for seemingly an hour before the automated lady told me to leave a message. I didn’t bother, dialing a second number.

“Is Grandma at the shop with you?” I asked Oliver, without any niceties attached.

“Hold on.” His voice became muffled, probably from pressing the phone against his shirt. “Lady, if you don’t like the service, then just get out.”

I contained my snort. Even without meaning to, Oliver could always make me feel better— even when a cold, hard lump was forming in my belly.

“I’m back, “ he said. “What’s this about Miss Hanes?”

Kicking aside one of the texts in frustration, I said, “I’m at the house right now, and she’s not here. Is she at the magic shop?”

A pause. “I didn’t think she left the house much anymore, but she’s definitely not here.”

“She doesn’t.” I sighed. “At least, I didn’t think she did.”

“Did you try calling her?”

“No, I sent up smoke signals.” My tone was a little sharper than I’d meant it to be. “Hope she gets them because the fire’s dying down, and I’m out of wood.”

“Wow,” he said. “Want me to give you a good smack with all that sass?”

Sinking down into the tiny, purple chair in the corner, I closed my eyes in an attempt to banish the headache that had suddenly sprung up. I almost wished this poison would just do its job already and stop toying with me.

“Sorry. It’s just— Cherry’s dead. Turned green and dropped like a stone on the stage just a couple moments ago.”

“I guess dying slowly is a good excuse for forgetting your manners,” he said a second later, his tone taking on a forced brightness. “If Julia is really missing, maybe a… magical solution could be used to find her.”

I clicked the end button without another word, excusing myself for the rudeness almost immediately. I’d made a promise to myself about magic and, if I was going to die, I wanted it to be keeping that promise.

Besides, even if I did know of a way to summon my grandmother— which I didn’t— there was no guarantee it would work. Actually, it probably
wouldn’t.
Gran always used to tell me that you couldn’t rely on magic against another witch, especially when she was more powerful than you. There was no one more powerful than my grandma, so I had to assume I couldn’t do a darn thing, magically, about her disappearance.

Non-magically, on the other hand….

I called a third number, and Wyatt, his voice equal parts annoyed and relieved, answered on the first ring. “Harper? Where are you? Another contestant has been—“

“Poisoned. I know.”

He paused, taking that in. “I’m going to assume you know because someone told you, not because you were there and ran from the police.”

“Nope, it’s the second.”

“Harper!” He dragged in a short breath. “I should arrest you.”

“Great,” I said. “Why don’t you come on over to my grandma’s and do that? While you’re at it, maybe you can find out why she’s missing.”

Wyatt digested that for a moment, and I let him stew. To give the man credit, there was a lot of stuff being piled onto his plate at the moment, and I knew for a fact that he was burning the candle at both ends.

Swearing, he said, “I’ll be right there.”

I stayed where I was, massaging my temples while I waited for him. Faster than I would’ve thought possible, Wyatt came bursting through the front door a few minutes later, calling my name at noise levels that did nothing good for my head. I answered him weakly, not moving from my spot.

He was right next to me before I could open my eyes, pressing his fingers gently against my forehead. “You’re a little warm.”

“Funny. I like to think of myself as smoking hot.”

Wyatt didn’t laugh at my joke, a line forming between his eyebrows as he frowned at me. “You need to rest; you’ve been on your feet too long.”

“I’ve had all the rest I can take, thank you,” I said, though just then, I felt like I could’ve gone into that eternal slumber without regrets.

Pursing his lips like he wanted to say more, he switched gears reluctantly. “Do you have any clue as to where your grandma’s gone?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective.” I pinched my nose, which brought on a fresh wave of pain. At least it woke me up, though. “Her car’s here, but she’s not. I called Oliver; she’s not at the shop either.”

“I’ll make some calls,” he said, rising from his knees and making to step outside.

“Wyatt?” He stopped to look at me. “We need to find her.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Miss Hanes is a tough lady; she’ll turn up.”

I shook my head. “Not what I meant. She’s supposed to be finding the type of poison that was used. And since we don’t have a clue who the killer is…”

There was no need to say that, without one or the other, I was in trouble. He nodded stiffly, stepping outside to likely call everyone he knew— which was a considerable bulk of people. A surge of relief went through me. For the moment, I could relax. With Wyatt on the case, I’d be safe.

My phone rang, and it was like a shot to the base of my skull. Scrambling to answer it, I bit out a harsh hello.

“Harper,” Melanie said through the line. “Is that how you
greet
people?”

“Oh,” I said lamely. “It’s you.”

“Yes, well, in light of Cherry’s... accident, we’ve decided to switch the bios with something that’ll take each contestant a little longer to complete— so we can stretch it to be the same length without her.”

“Tactful,” I said.

She ignored me. “We’re having a non-magical talent contest. Very short, just a couple minutes of demonstration of something you do well. The call time’s still at seven.”

I glanced at the antique clock on the wall in horror. “That’s in an hour! I don’t have time to come up with a talent by then.”

A voice said something that I couldn’t make out, calling her attention away. “Perhaps you could break into a tax-paying citizen’s home. You’re good at that,” she said coolly, disconnecting the call with a decisive click.

              Wincing, I wondered when that little stunt was going to come back to bite me. Just as soon as she didn’t need me, probably.

I got up, my body aching beneath me. Wyatt had just paused in between calls out in the hall and raised an eyebrow at me. Weighing the pros and cons about lying to him about where I was going, I twisted my face into an unflattering expression.

He probably wouldn't buy it.