Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

“In what? His hot dog at the Yankees game?” I found a clean ceramic mug sitting beside the coffeepot and filled it.

“Still as funny as you were five minutes ago. The agreement was—”

“I know, I know. All renovations have to be at your approval. I shut up and show up when necessary, no commentary from the snarky peanut gallery. But I never agreed not to tell you you’re nuts for hiring someone who shows up when the moon is in its seventh sun.”

“In the end, this will all be a memory we’ll laugh over.”

I wondered about this memory we’d laugh over. How long did Win intend to stay on the plane he currently wouldn’t leave, and why? Was the restoration of this house that important to him that he wouldn’t cross over? MZ’s unresolved murder wasn’t the only thing keeping him here.

“So another cryptic message from Madam Zoltar today,” Win said, interrupting my thoughts.

My ears perked and my spine tingled. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Win sighed, suggesting he was frustrated. “She’s been floating about from plane to plane in a complete tizzy, but she keeps saying one thing.
Fish and chips
. I’d have to guess she’s referring to me. I
am
British. It’s one of the things that come to mind when you think about England.”

“Cluck-cluck and fish and chips. Maybe this is some sort of food-related message? Maybe a chef killed her? What does this have to do with her son Dan?”

Win blew out a breath of air. “I don’t know, but there’s an obvious connection.”

I shook my head, stumped. “None of this makes any sense. But I wish she’d cross over. Maybe then she’d find peace.”

“I hope she will when we catch her killer. I’d like this special hell to end for her.”

I leaned against the plywood counter and looked out at the stormy Puget, sipping my coffee. “About the end…gonna ask you one of those sensitive questions you get all uppity about.”

“I don’t get uppity.”

“You do, and you get snappy and curt, but I’m going to ask anyway. Why don’t
you
want to cross over, Win?”

He paused, and I thought surely I’d stepped in it, but then he said, “Because I like the in-between. There’s no commitment here, but I understand what it’s about. I don’t, however, know what’s on the other side. Maybe I won’t like it. And seeing as no one’s ever come back to tell us what it’s like, I’m not willing to risk it.”

Usually people lingered in the eternal waiting room for unfinished business reasons. My instincts said that had more to do with this than making a final commitment to cross.

“You do know you have to make a choice sometime, don’t you?” I kept my tone accusation free, but that didn’t seem to reach Win.

The air around me grew cool when he asked, “Do I? By whose authority?”

My finger shot up in the air. “There’s that uppity thing. I was just asking a question. I suppose you could stay there forever, if that’s what you want. I’ve never heard of anyone doing it, but go you for ignoring trends. You can stay in the in-between for as long as you’d like, Win. It’s no skin off my nose. Now, I’m going to get dressed and then we’ll see if we can’t get Dan or Liza to talk to me.”

I took my coffee and skedaddled out of the kitchen and up the stairs, unsure why it bothered me so much that Win wouldn’t confide in me. He’d been in my life a total of two days now, and I was grateful for all he’d done, but I couldn’t help the feeling in my gut—he was at war with his death.

Maybe he didn’t handle it in the way Madam Z was handling it, but turmoil was present. Maybe it was about the woman who’d owned the house before him? Melinda?

We needed to get some Wi-Fi out here so I could scour the Internet when he wasn’t looking. Until then, I had Dan and Liza to talk to.

I only hoped they’d talk to me, the rumored town murderer.

* * * *

“
You bought me a car?
” I was trying really hard to hold a grudge with Win after our conversation this morning, but he was making it almost impossible.

When I’d opened the front door to grab the paper, also delivered courtesy of Win, I saw the car at the end of what I hoped would turn into a driveway and wondered if Enzo had gone economy. But Win, in his own stiff-upper-lip way, informed me that cute little thing was all mine.

Back in Paris, I’d had a bike—which presented a problem when I’d decided to move across the country. And now I had a car. My own car.

“It was supposed to be here yesterday, but the dealership was delayed, or so that’s what I gathered when I eavesdropped on the salesman reminding the delivery driver it would be fine if it was delivered a day late because there wasn’t much I could do about it, seeing as I was dead. Little does he know what awaits him when he gets home tonight and reads my little message on his bathroom mirror written in the lipstick of his latest conquest.”

I froze. “Wait. I thought you said you can’t move things?” Oh, this could be bad. Very bad.

“I told you, I can’t move-move things, but his girlfriend, the one he callously dumped, was easily manipulated and highly suggestible…”

Once I heard he couldn’t move anything terribly important yet, I mostly stopped listening to everything Win was saying. I was too busy admiring my new car, my heart clenching in gratitude. I tucked my hair into the hood of my raincoat and gave my cute new red convertible Fiat the once over.

“It’s in my favorite color, Win! How did you know what my favorite color is?”

“The afterlife enjoys a good gabfest. I thought I told you that? Or did you tell me?”

I couldn’t stop grinning. “Who cares? You gave me a
car
, Win. Look, Bel, Win gave us a car! No more taxi rides, no more standing in the rain when the bus shelter is full, waiting for the bus.”

Clicking the key fob, I unlocked it to the tune of a tiny chirp and climbed in, taking a deep sniff of the white and red interior. Then suddenly I was overwhelmed. Win’s attention to detail astounded me, but his generosity blew me away.

Closing my eyes, I fought for composure as I gripped the steering wheel. “Thank you, Win. This was beyond generous. I don’t know what to say other than you’ve thought of everything to make me comfortable, and I appreciate it. Say thank you, Bel.”

“Thank you, Winterbutt. Oh, and thanks for my bed, too. Jolly good show on your part.”

But Win didn’t acknowledge our gratitude. He was all brisk business as usual. “You’ll need transportation if you hope to pick up some of the items I need for the house. There are many trips to Seattle in your future. I couldn’t let you squander your newfound fortune away on cab and bus fare, could I?”

I made a face and started the car, pressing the address I’d managed to find for Dan and Liza Martoni into the GPS system. “You just couldn’t go with the warm-fuzzy, could you?”

“I’m unfamiliar with warm and/or fuzzy. Unless we’re talking a cashmere coat on a Brazilian model. Now let’s review, shall we?”

I pulled away from the curb and nodded, flipping on the heated seats. I had heated seats. Booyah! No way was Win going to spoil that for me. Not after a month in a flea-infested hotel room. I’d do that twenty times over for a cute car like this one.

“Okay, so here’s what we have so far. MZ is dead from strangulation as confirmed by Sandwich. Neither Liza nor Dan is going to willingly talk to me because they probably think I murdered MZ, like everyone else does. We have two clues that make absolutely no sense à la MZ, via the strange and puzzling words cluck-cluck associated with her son Dan, and fish and chips. Forrest said he thought he heard a yelp when he was opening the coffee shop, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the kids on their way to the bus stop just down the road or it actually came from MZ. The tarot cards suggest she was doing a reading for the person who killed her, but we can’t say for sure because they were in a jumbled mess on the floor. Oh, and we still have no official time of death and the Senior Alert necklace is still bothering me. Our list of suspects is virtually nonexistent.”

“Why are we ruling out your boyfriend?”

“My what?”

“Sherwood Forrest. We can’t rule him out. We can’t rule anyone out.”

My eyes rolled. “His name is Forrest Sherwood, and don’t be ridiculous. What’s his motive to kill MZ?”

“Maybe Madam Zoltar gave him a reading he didn’t like. Maybe she told him by the time he was forty he was going to look like Jabba the Hutt. In fact, maybe those tarot cards were for him.”

“I’m going to ignore your petty behavior and move right along. Forrest would no sooner kill someone than I would wear anything Michael Kors.”

“What do you have against Michael Kors?”

“I hated him on
Project Runway
. He was a total turd.”

“Absolutely a valid, sane reason to rule out your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. Now quit interrupting. So, we still need to find a way to figure out if the police have MZ’s Senior Alert necklace in evidence, or if she didn’t wear it the day she was murdered, or if it even matters other than the fact that if she pressed the alert button, she knew she was in trouble. Also, we have that pen. The Montblanc. Why would MZ have an expensive pen like that? Did a customer drop it? Or did her killer? I think I should bring it to the police and demand they test it for fingerprints. The trouble is, how will I explain how I found it and they didn’t? What kind of horse-and-pony show are they running, anyway?”

“It could be a crucial piece of evidence or it could be nothing. Let’s set aside the pen for the moment,” Win suggested.

“Oh and BTW, I got a voice mail from the Ebenezer Falls Police today. I have to have my lawyer meet me at the station at three sharp for more questioning. It’s eight now. That gives us seven hours to grab coffee and question Dan and Liza. But I wouldn’t count on lasting even seven minutes, with me as the interviewer. Because—presumed guilty before I’ve even been arrested. Oh, and last but not least, now that everyone in town suspects I’m a murderer, even my tragic love affair, Tito, make a note that tacos are off the menu for lunch.”

“And Stevie has a date with Forrest tonight at seven, for dinner in town,” Belfry added, settling on the heated seat with a happy sigh.

I blanched. I wasn’t going to mention that. My personal life was mine. I think that was like rule number eighty-one in our handbook under the chapter What Stevie Will Do for Some Cash and What She Won’t.

“Do you then?” Win said in that brisk manner he had when something was troubling him.

“I do.” And that was all I was saying. Win didn’t appear to like Forrest much, and that was fine. I did.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with our investigation, I hope you enjoy your meal. I’m sure Ebenezer Falls makes a delicious cheeseburger and fries.”

Well, okay then. Someone was still angry with me, and a food snob to boot. Fine. Cold shoulder or not, I was determined to make today as pleasant as possible.

Because—convertible! Ain’t nothin’ gonna bring me down.

I pulled up to the Strange Brew, ignoring the sly glances and nudges people were giving each other when I hopped out with my head held high and entered the coffee shop.

There was the hushed ripple of awareness I seemed to bring with me wherever I went before the people in line and the surrounding tables turned their backs on me, dismissing my existence with chilly rejection.

Which was just fine. I didn’t need Ebenezer Falls to love me, but boy would they be sorry when I caught the real murderer. I saw some apology casseroles in my future.

As I passed a table, the local newspaper was strewn across the surface with the headline:
Local Medium Strangled—Killer Still At Large
.

Closing my eyes, I took deep breaths before opening them and skimming the first paragraph of the story, which was all I needed to know. This was now officially a murder investigation—which meant that harmless questioning this afternoon was likely going to be more of an interrogation.

Squaring my shoulders, I went to the back of the line and squeezed in. I’d wait my turn for coffee and I’d do it with no guilt. I was not a murderer. Not, not, not.

“Well, if it ain’t Ebenezer Falls’s newest reason to gossip,” Chester Sherwood chirped when he sidled up to me and nudged my shoulder with a wink.

I wiggled a finger at him and gave him a playfully admonishing look. “You know you had a hand in that, mister. In fact, as I recall, you were the first one to call me a murderer. Something about elephants and fandangos, right?”

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a sheepish grin. “Aw, I was just lookin’ out for my Tina. I overreacted. Lemme make it up to ya.”

Tilting my head, I gave him a narrow-eyed gaze of skepticism. “What brought this on? Yesterday you were all ‘Book ’em, Danno’ and today you’re singing ‘We Are The World’?”

“The boy. He told me I should mind my manners, and he’s right. Says he’s takin’ ya out tonight and he won’t have his gramps callin’ his date a killer. So whaddya want? It’s on me.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, giving his arm a squeeze at the mention of Forrest. “It’s okay, Mr. Sherwood. I’ve got this. But thanks for the offer.”

Chester clucked his tongue, his eyes dancing as he jammed his thumbs under his red suspenders. “Heard you bought that dump at the edge of town. Gonna have your hands full fixin’ that up, I bet. Could have some nice gardens though, if someone were to take the time.”

I wondered if I should tell anyone I didn’t buy the house but rather I’d hit the afterlife lottery. I hadn’t asked Win his feelings on it yet. “You garden?”

“You bet. Not so much nowadays, seein’ as I live in an apartment above the store here, but I used to have a garden out back at my old place that was the talk of the town.”

Gardening was my second passion after thrift store bargain hunting. If there was dirt, I wanted to be deep into it with a spade and some fertilizer. From there, an idea sprang forth.

“Do you think when we get closer to spring you might come out and consult with me? I’m an avid gardener, too, but I’ve never owned something so big with so much space to fill. I’d be so honored if you’d offer your opinion on landscaping.”

Chester’s cheeks went red. “You like hydrangeas?”