Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (14 page)

The man Crosby was standing away from her, his arms crossed, his body relaxed and swaying. He didn't look like a man in the middle of an argument. If anything, he looked like the whole situation amused him.

“No need for the melodrama, Pam. It isn't the first time, and it certainly won't be the last, that I get a story before you.”

The woman leaned in close, and her voice dropped to a hiss, so that Wendy had to strain to hear her. “Screw me like that again, Crosby, and I'll kill you.” She whirled around on the heel of her red pump and stomped off.

Crosby was left chuckling to himself as Ian and Wendy passed beside him.

“Oh, Miss Lightower, a quick question?” He spoke softly enough that no one else seemed to hear him.

Wendy froze, but Ian gripped her arm and pulled her alongside him.

“Don't stop,” he warned.

Wendy listened for signs of pursuit but heard nothing. When she risked a glance backward, Crosby was watching her, his hands in his pockets, a smirk on his lips. He rocked back on his heels, his eyes never leaving her face, and he waved.

Ian drove to Wendy's house in silence, his eyes riveted on the road ahead. Wendy wondered if he was thinking about the dead body of Mayor Braun and then decided, probably not.

Finally, she couldn't take the quiet any longer. “How did that reporter see me? I wasn't doing anything to draw attention to myself.”

Ian shrugged. “I've never had that happen before.”

“I wonder,” she said, then she stopped.

“What?”

Wendy shook her head. “I don't know. I wonder if that means he's a witch.”

Ian looked sideways at her. “Could be.”

“Could you see me when I was wearing them?”

He smiled despite himself. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she repeated. “Milton said it was like I stepped into focus when I took them off. So either this Crosby has magic, or he's just very observant.”

“He is a reporter,” pointed out Ian.

“So was everyone else there.”

“True,” he acknowledged. Too quickly, he changed topics. “You seemed very friendly with our deputy mayor?”

Wendy swallowed. “Actually I've only met him once. I don't even know him.”

“Seemed like he wanted to remedy that.” It was a statement, but his tone asked for
an answer.

Wendy didn't know how to respond to that, so she stayed quiet.

Ian waited expectantly for her response, then he sighed. “Just be careful.”

Wendy sat up at attention. “Careful? Why?”

“His boss was murdered. Your friend Archer just walked into the big chair in this town. I would say that qualifies as a motive.”

Wendy gaped at him. “You're serious? But what about Benny? What possible motive could Archer have for killing Benny?”

Ian didn't seem all that concerned about motive where Benny was concerned. “I don't know, but we can't ignore a suspect. Could be anything. We don't really know what Benny did in his time off. Neither did his sister.”

She couldn't argue with that. “Okay, so we keep investigating the victims and try to find a link. What about magic? The Last Breath for Braun?”

Ian shook his head. “Can't do it. No hair left.”

Ian agreed to pick her up first thing in the morning to return to City Hall and ask some questions of Braun's staff. After a long day at work and the horrible crime scene, Wendy fell into bed, wanting nothing more than to drift into the blackness of oblivion. Unfortunately, her imagination had other ideas. The image of Braun's charred, flaking skin haunted her whenever she closed her eyes. She stared at the blank expanse of her ceiling until the sun rose outside her window.

Wendy made herself stay in bed until a fairly reasonable hour. Still, she was showered and ready, sipping her second cup of very hot coffee before her clock switched over to 7 a.m. She heard the knock on her door earlier than she would have guessed. She smiled at Ian as she opened the door.

"Couldn't sleep?"

He shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep in, I suppose. Ready?"

"Absolutely."

Based on the parking lot in front of City Hall, nothing of note had happened there. The body had been removed, and the illustrious men and women of the press had apparently followed it. The story led elsewhere. In fact, when Wendy and Ian walked through the entrance, there was nothing in sight to mark that it was anything other than a normal day. A woman with frizzy red curls sat behind the reception desk. Her nameplate read 'Franny Englehorn," and she looked more than a little frazzled.

Wendy stopped short of the desk and whispered to Ian. "How are we going to play this?"

"What do you mean?" he whispered back.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "I mean that she isn't likely to tell us anything."

Low, under his breath, Ian laughed. "Yes, she will." He approached the desk grinning, his brown eyes focuses squarely on the uncomfortable woman behind the desk.

"Hi, Franny. How are you today?"

Franny's eyes flicked side to side like an animal being tracked. "I'm okay," she replied hesitantly. "I'm not supposed to talk to the press." Everything she said sounded like an apology.

Ian smiled, his dimple fully evident, and Franny never had a chance. "I'm not a reporter, Franny."

"Then who are you?" she asked, her voice breathy.

"Listen, Franny," Ian deflected the question, "I was hoping I could ask you a question."

She clearly hadn't meant to say it, but the word burst from her lips. "Anything."

“It seems to me,” he began, leaning over the desk towards her, “that anyone who wanted to see Mr. Braun has to pass by you. Is that right?”

Franny was nodding her head before she even realized it.

“Who came to see him yesterday?”

Franny flinched and ducked her face away, mumbling something under her breath. At first, Wendy thought that Ian had been to blunt with her, but then she realized that Franny was embarrassed.

Ian leaned farther over the desk, narrowing the distance between them. Franny's voice was barely a whisper but in the dead silence of the hallway, Wendy could make out every word.

“Mr. Braun had standing orders for the Wednesday lunch hour.”

“What orders?”

“We were all told to take a long lunch. Every other day of the week, we take lunch in shifts to cover the phones and the entrance. On Wednesdays, everyone leaves.”

“Seems strange. Did he ever give a reason?”

Franny had reached a point where she couldn't look Ian in the eye. “He said we should use the time to relax as a 'team.'” Her next words were spoken even lower; Wendy had to strain to hear them. “We all knew the real reason.”

“What was the real reason, Franny?”

“Mr. Braun used the Wednesday lunch hour for appointments. Appointments he didn't want going on the books,” she hesitated,
and then apparently deciding Ian might not have understood, she added, “With women.” Franny looked into his eyes for the first time in the conversation. “That's all I know,” she almost pleaded.

Ian patted her hand. “You've been a big help, Franny.”

As they walked away, Wendy glanced at Ian out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” he demanded, but he was smiling when he said it.

“You did something to her.”

His smirk was confirmation enough. “What makes you say that?”

“You're cute, but you're not that cute. What did you do?”

Ian stopped just outside the door, turning so suddenly that Wendy ran into him, a solid barrier blocking the door. In reaction, her hands flew out in front of her, landing on his chest. He was looking down at her, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You think I'm cute?” he asked.

Flustered by his smile and his strong hands on her back, Wendy pushed away from him. “You didn't answer my question.”

“A little harmless magic.” He pulled out a heart-shaped locket made of cheap, tarnished metal. “Say someone's name and rub the locket. It encourages certain amorous feelings.”

Wendy took the outstretched locket. “One of Gerry's? Not a tool I would have guessed he would want.”

“Actually, that's one of mine.”

“Really?” Wendy looked more closely at the locket. A mischievous thought entered her mind, and she was speaking before she had thought it all the way through. “Poor Franny. What if I tried it on you?” She poised thumb and forefinger close to the hanging locket.

Ian's face was unreadable when he replied, “No need.”

Ian drove her home after the City Hall visit and parked in her empty driveway.

“I guess the press hasn't remembered me yet.”

Ian followed her inside. “They just don't care about you anymore. Braun is the story now, and he is much more interesting than whether or not you think a witch killed a lowly janitor.”

“I wonder if I could get their attention by saying that I thought the same witch killed Nathan Braun.” Wendy hung up her cardigan on the coatrack that stood just outside her entry closet.

“You have a coatrack outside a closet,” Ian pointed to the arrangement. “Why?”

“This closet isn't for coats,” she smiled. She delayed only for a moment before opening the closet as wide as it could go.

“What the hell is that?”

Wendy spun around, her horror writ on her face even before she spotted Magda standing in her kitchen. It was too late to shut the door and the opening was too broad to be blocked by her body. Aside from that, Magda's expression told Wendy that she had already seen what was inside.

Having no way to explain away the contents of the closet, Wendy went on the offensive. “What are you doing here?”

“Derek said you called in sick today. I came by to see you,” Magda was still staring at the odd collection in the closet. “I came in to drop off some soup.”

Wendy could smell it now, an appetizing scent wafted in from the kitchen, making her mouth water. There were also lights on all through the house, another clue had she needed one that someone else was there.

“That was nice of you. How did you get in?”

“You showed me the key you keep on the doorframe, remember? Real safe hiding place, by the way. A thief would never think to look there,” she said, her sarcasm lending an air of normalcy to the exchange.

For a second, Wendy thought she had succeeded in distracting Magda from the closet. She was fooling herself.

“Seriously, what the hell is all that stuff?”

Wendy glanced at Ian, who only shrugged. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked pleadingly at Magda. “You really don't want to know.”

Magda put one hand on her hip and thrust it out to the side. The posture was typically Magda, both self-assured and combative. “Yes, I really do.”

With a sigh of resignation, Wendy stepped aside and let Magda get a closer look. Her perusal of the contents was punctuated by the little squeaks and gasps of alarm. Then she turned to Wendy, her eyes wide with alarm.

“What is all this stuff?” As if she noticed him for the first time, she looked at Ian. “And who is this guy?”

At her tone, a blending of admiration and disbelief, Wendy laughed out loud. “This is Ian. He works at my uncle's P.I. Firm.”

Magda leaned closer, as though the two inches she put between them would make her inaudible to Ian. “The cute one? You didn't do him justice.”

Ian smiled at her. “I'll just go make coffee. The food smells great.”

“It will be.” Magda waited for him to leave. “Seriously, this is some freaky stuff. What is going on?”

The fact that she hadn't run screaming from the house or conveniently forgotten everything she'd seen both seemed like good signs to Wendy.

Wendy shut and locked the closet, mostly out of habit now that the damage was done. “I guess I'm going to tell you about it over lunch.”

Magda had brought along a pot of steaming hot minestrone, and luckily, she had brought enough for seven extra mouths, which meant they had just enough. Wendy ate three helpings herself, and Ian finished most of the rest.

“Delicious,” he leaned back with a groan.

Magda pushed aside her own half-eaten third bowl and propped her elbows on the table. “Okay, enough of the cheerfully domestic bit. I want to know what all that stuff was and what you've been up to, Wendy. Now.”

Wendy glanced at Ian, but he was clearly no help. He was contentedly reclined in his chair, watching her from beneath lidded eyes. She would get no assistance from that corner.

“I don't really know how to begin,” Wendy said. She stopped then, honestly unsure as to what to say next. There didn't seem to be an easy, let alone a believable way to tell Magda what she wanted to know.

“Let's try just saying it outright. See how that goes.”

There was something to be said for the direct approach. Either Magda might believe her, or she'd think Wendy had gone completely nuts. Either way, at least this conversation would be over. Wendy took a deep breath. “I'm a witch.”