5 Beewitched (18 page)

We arrived at the same time. Hunter and I drew together and kissed beside his passenger door, then I opened it so Ben could give me several warm, wet kisses, too, while I scratched his ears.

“You have to stay here, big guy,” I told him, although Ben most likely already knew that. He’s one smart canine. Ben has a special license, since technically he’s a cop, too, but Hunter leaves him outside as a courtesy when he eats inside Stu’s Bar and Grill, though the K-9 is always welcome in the back of my store.

And I’m here to say that Ben is much cleaner and better behaved than some of the drinkers I’ve encountered at the popular bar.

Stu’s Bar and Grill was almost empty at this time of day, “sandwiched” between the lunch crowd and the late-afternoon drinking bunch that always bellies up around four o’clock and doesn’t leave until they’re thrown out at closing time.

Stu will be a real catch if anyone ever nails him down permanently. He’s had an on-again, off-again relationship with his high school sweetheart that has been seeing more offs than ons, and some woman should swoop in and pluck him out of his sexy little pond once and for all.

If Hunter didn’t exist (which would have been tragic), that woman might even have been me.

As we took a table near the window, several of the construction workers repairing the bridge walked in and headed for the bar.

Lori Spandle was right on their heels.

When she spotted me, we locked glares. Then she turned tail and hustled off down Main Street. What was that all about?

I noticed that the same guy she’d been hanging on when Lucinda and I drove over the bridge was one of those at the bar. And his eyes had followed her cheating backside out the building until she disappeared from sight.

“I think Lori Spandle is making time with that guy over there.” I did a directional eye thing and Hunter followed my sight line, then he glanced back. And shrugged. Guys! They don’t make a big deal of that sort of thing unless it’s happening to them personally. Then it’s a whole ’nother story.

I glanced out the window.

Oh no, was that Johnny Jay’s squad car pulling up? What had I done now?

The chief walked in. First Lori, now Johnny, and all before we’d even placed our order. If this kept up I’d be too nauseous to eat.

“Same as usual?” Hunter asked me, and I nodded. “A diet coke, a lemonade, and chicken wings,” he called to Stu. His eyes narrowed as Johnny Jay approached us.

“Are you absolutely sure you and your team checked every inch of the corn maze?” Hunter began as Johnny Jay sat down without an invitation.

The chief said, “Of course we did, Wallace.”

“Because I ASS-umed”—special emphasis on the first three letters—“you had done so. My team came in after yours and did a cursory sweep based on your supposedly more thorough search. And for the record, you had no right to barge in on our crime scene like that.”

“I smell a setup,” Johnny said. “You needing a scapegoat, Wallace? What’s happened?”

“Potentially, new evidence. But it might be nothing.”

One of the things I’ve noticed by hanging around with cops is how carefully they choose their words. And most of them begin with a P:

• potential
  
• probable
  
• possibly
  
• positive (I.D.)
  
• presumed
  
• process
  
• produce (as in produce an alibi)
  
• procedure (I really hate that one)
  

“I presume you searched the witches and their tents,” I said to both of them, using lingo they’d recognize.

“Are you trying to interrogate me, Fischer?” That from Johnny, of course.

“Settle down, Jay,” Hunter said. “Don’t go all defensive on us.”

“What would I have to be defensive over?”

“Maybe a poor excuse for a search.”

“You better watch it, Wallace. Besides, what does it matter? We have the murder weapon.”

That was just like Johnny to make a bunch of lazy assumptions. These two were going to go at it again if something wasn’t done to stop it.

Stu delivered our drinks and wings. “Take it outside,” he said. “Or I’ll call nine-one-one. I don’t care if both of you are cops. I won’t have my bar busted up.”

Then he winked at me. See? What a heartthrob! I reassured him, “Nothing to worry about, Stu.”

He sort of rolled his eyeballs and went back behind the bar.

Hunter said to me, “With the assistance of the local police department”—I could hear the sneer—“the grounds were searched. That included Claudene’s tent and belongings. And no, the item in question wasn’t located.”

“What item in question?” the chief asked, slow on the uptake. Hunter had already mentioned new evidence. How many clues did the guy need?

Instead of answering, Hunter countered with, “Why are you sitting at my table?”

Johnny’s self-importance was palpable. “I just came from the library. Seems like someone has been stealing books from the romance section. You know, all those pornographic, explicit novels, total trash, but the library director filed a complaint, so I’m investigating.”

“And that involves me how?” Hunter sure was doing a good job of handling the chief. I didn’t even have to help out with my usual sass.

Johnny stood up and towered. “It doesn’t involve you in the least,” he said. “I just thought I’d spend a few friendly minutes shooting the breeze while I waited for the town chairman. We’re going to set up a sting operation over at the library. Cameras and all.”

Just then, Lori Spandle’s husband, Grant Spandle, our town chairman, came in. He and Johnny moved off into another corner out of earshot, which was just as well. I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall, though. “It’s probably just some kid,” Hunter said. “And look at them, acting like it’s some big crime.”

After we ate the wings and wiped the stickies away with those little wet napkins, Hunter produced a sketch pad, a pencil, and a big eraser, and I went to work. We almost ran out of paper (and eraser) before I got it close to right. Which would have happened sooner if I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get it done so I could get myself out of there. It doesn’t pay to rush, that’s for sure.

Eventually, I handed over the final copy. “The crystal in the middle is blue,” I added. “We really need some colored pencils, too.”

Hunter turned the paper sideways. “That’s a crystal?”

“A blue one.”

“A blue crystal and a five-pointed star within a circle.”

I nodded. “She said she wore it for protection.”

“The big question is, who was she afraid of?”

It was my turn to shrug. “Evil spirits?”

“Or evil humans?”

“She’d have done better with a whistle around her neck,” I said.

After creating my masterpiece, I told Hunter about my conversation with one of Rosina’s classmates. “Iris mentioned a man Claudene had been involved with by the name of Buddy Marciniak.”

“Do you want to follow up on it?”

I grinned. “You bet I do.”

If Hunter ever left his job, we could open a private investigation business. We would call it Fischer and Wallace.

Eighteen

Next, Hunter dropped what could have been a real
bombshell, except I saw it coming. “I’m going to have to restrict access to the corn maze,” he said. “I’m calling my team back in for another search of the entire property. Thanks to you.”

I can’t read Hunter when he snaps into professional mode, so I wasn’t sure whether he was actually grateful or meant that in a sarcastic way, like thanks for totally complicating this case.

He saw my confusion. “Thanks. I really mean that.”

“It’s the right decision,” I said, wanting to support him all the way.

“It’ll take me an hour or so to assemble the team,” Hunter said, checking the time. “And I need to get on the phone for that warrant. Until now I didn’t have enough to conduct a thorough search—the weapon was left at the scene, nothing in her tent appeared out of place, her purse was there with enough money inside that robbery wasn’t a motive. Now we have a pentacle to find. Good work, Fischer. You might be detective material after all.”

I really liked that, a compliment for a change, but had more pressing issues on my mind. “Al’s going to be upset.”

“When would he usually close up for the evening?”

“Around five,” I said after thinking back to last year. “The maze isn’t lit up. Al doesn’t want anybody lost in there after dark.”

“If we’re lucky and find what we’re looking for, it’ll be business as usual for him tomorrow.”

I really hoped so, for Al’s sake and for all the families looking forward to what had become a tradition. But would I want to take my family to a place where a murder had occurred? Probably not. I sent a silent message into the sky. Please keep this contained as much as possible.

“I could kick myself for letting personal feelings interfere with my professional duty,” Hunter said. “I should never have agreed to let Al open up, and I shouldn’t have taken Johnny at his word when he said they’d searched the maze. This was my responsibility and I blew it.”

“It’s fixable,” I said, trying to be as comforting as possible.

“We’re going to tear apart every inch of the place, and if it’s there, we’ll find that pentacle. Unless some customer already has. If that happens let’s hope they’re honest and turn it in. In light of this new evidence, I’m sure I can get a search warrant for the entire farm.”

I nodded, still thrilled to be a contributing member. “Rosina could have lost it during the assault. She must have struggled. Maybe it was ripped from her neck.”

“Or it could have been what the killer was after in the first place.”

“Was Ben around during the initial search?” I asked. Hunter’s K-9 partner was one fine tracer.

“He was there,” Hunter told me. “Ben got her scent and we did a sweep, and we came up with nothing. But I’m thinking he might not have been able to detect something like that. Metal isn’t porous the way clothing is. Although if it had blood on it, he would have found it.”

I’ve seen Ben in action. He’s amazing. My bet was that the pentacle wasn’t in the maze or he would have found it. But police work isn’t decided on bets and hunches.

The construction workers were long gone from the bar by the time Hunter had made his phone calls and we rose to leave. We walked past Johnny Jay and Grant Spandle’s table on our way out, but they were still immersed in their sting operation plans and didn’t notice us. At least the chief had something to keep him out of Hunter’s hair. And the town chairman would be preoccupied with stolen library books while his skanky wife slithered through the weeds under the bridge.

An idea began growing in my head. It was a terribly awful, wonderful idea:

What if I could get Lori and her latest target to put on a show for the hidden cameras in the romance section at the library?

You wouldn’t do that!
said Good Me.

Sure I would,
replied Not-So-Good Me, thinking of all the mean-spirited things Lori had done to me over the years.

Don’t even think it. Shame on you.

I dumped the other me (the fun evil twin) out of my head and kissed my man good-bye.

It was only after Hunter and Ben drove off that I realized tonight’s ceremony wasn’t going to happen. With investigators all over the place, Lucinda would have to put her ritual on hold again. What rotten luck for her. First it rained cats and dogs, then it poured cops.

I felt a huge relief. No dancing, no getting naked, no having to convince Holly, no black magic. I hadn’t even been aware of how much stress and tension I was carrying until it disappeared.

Most days, I know exactly what I’ll be doing—taking care of my bees and customers. But Hunter’s professional life is prone to lots of stops, starts, and U-turns. Realizing in a flash of insight how flexible and prepared Hunter has to be twenty-four/seven was a revelation for me.

As I pulled away in my truck, I realized just how much I valued my steady, predictable little world. Stepping outside of it once in a while was exciting, but I knew I could always return anytime I wanted to. Not so with Hunter. It was what it was.

I loved and appreciated him more than ever. I couldn’t imagine life without that hot guy. And Ben, of course.

I was one lucky woman.

• • •

Since the witch’s ceremony was a no-go, I went home
and called Holly. She didn’t answer my call, so I sent her a short text.
Plans cancelled. Talk to you tomorrow.

I spotted Dy leaving her house a little while later, probably on her way to the farm since she didn’t know that the ritual was about to be cancelled. I had been indecisive up until then. I debated informing her of the turn of events but figured she really ought to be there with the other witches when their little circle of fire was surrounded by law enforcers asking more questions and taking careful inventory. Why not? Dy hadn’t managed to come up with an alibi. Therefore she was just as suspect as anybody else.

I walked down to the store and slipped into the back room without anyone noticing. Carrie Ann was up front, turning the reins over to the twins, and the back door was unlocked. That’s a small town for you. We don’t sweat the small stuff.