A Murder Most Rosy: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 3) (7 page)

He touched the red skin on my neck where Kosher had pressed. "What happened?"

Smiling though I didn't feel like it, I said, "Mad disco accident. You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Try me."

I pulled on his hand, tugging him towards the stairs. "Can't you just wait to be mad at me until tomorrow? I've had kind of a rough night."

I'd meant it to come off flippant, but my words were just tired, a woman pushed a few inches past her breaking point. He pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded, pulling me close and hauling me up the stairs. His heat was the most beautiful thing I'd felt in a long while, and my traitorous eyes got a little misty.

We laid down in bed, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead for the second time that night. "Tomorrow, then."

But when tomorrow came, it came with the loud thudding of Cooper banging on Wyatt’s bedroom door. We both tilted our heads toward it in abject horror.

“Harper, come on! We’re gonna be late for play practice.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
              Despite my words, I pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt I’d left over there. To my amusement, I realized Wyatt had washed and
ironed
them both. I felt like I should be getting an award for the best-dressed slacker.

Cooper shooed me out of the house without even providing breakfast— which was no way to treat a guest. On the other hand, I didn’t really want to eat their chocolate cereal again. My stomach longed for the days of leftover pizza at the Wheel.

“Anna always gets there early.” He told me as I almost ran a red light.

An old woman in a Cadillac shook her fist at me. I resisted the urge to flip her off because there were children present. Instead, I sagely stuck my tongue out at the old bag.

The children were behaving in a manner that I'd thought completely outside the realm of possibility when I walked into the auditorium. Each one was sitting in one of the theater seats, hardly making any noise, and staring straight ahead at the stage.

Norbert rushed over to me from the back, waving widely, but I soon saw the reason for the kid's caution. Janet Wiser came marching up the aisle with her little brat in toe. It was a wonder that her heels didn't puncture the carpet and that the steam blowing out of her ears didn't set something on fire— namely, her flawless hair.

"You're late," she said, stopping in front of me with what I supposed was a sweet smile for a hyena. "If this job is too much responsibility for you, dear−"

"Can I have the opening cast on stage?" I called out. "I'd like to do a rundown of the first half and see if I can get through it without gagging."

I brushed past Janet while she blinked at me in surprise. Then, following close on me heels, she hissed, "They're children. You can't speak to them like that."

"They're hardly toddlers. They can take a little criticism—especially when it's true."

The kids set up the stage, driven to new acts of acting by my words. Now, they were dead set on proving me right and wrong at the same time. It was amusing to watch.

Norbert slid in to sit next to me in the back row while Mrs. Wiser let in a huff. "Watch out. She'll knife you in the back if you make her look stupid."

"I have nothing to do with that woman looking stupid. Love to claim the credit, though."

He studied me for a moment. "You don't really like kids."

"I love Cooper," I corrected him. "And I like most kids as individuals— not just because they're tiny humans."

Chase Wiser got up on stage, though he wasn't supposed to be, and starting messing with some of the props and shooting toothy grins over at his classmates.

"That one, I don't like."

"Me either," Norbert said quietly, shooting me a nervous glance. "Don't tell anybody."

"So I can't quote you on that for the school newspaper?"

He laughed, but I was distracted by something happening on stage. Through narrowed eyes, I watched Chase trail after Anna with a determined expression on his face. With a start, I realized Cooper might have some competition for the girl's heart. This place was better than the soap operas they showed on TV.

"Mrs. Beck?"

I nodded at the kid who'd approached Norbert and me to go ahead. He was a little on the small side and seemed intimidated to be talking to me. Holding out his hand, the kid showed me a huge, gushing cut on his palm.

"Holy crap!" I jumped to my feet, grabbing his hand. His dark skin made it look more minor than it was, and blood spurted all over my shirt.

"Can I go to the nurse?" he asked meekly.

"Man the fort," I told Norbert, rushing the down the hall and into the front office. I sat him down on the cot in the nurse's office while we waited for her to get there.

Eying his gash, I asked, "Play practice is almost over. You couldn't have waited for your first class to get hurt?"

"It got caught in the back door."

"What were you doing by the back door?"

He ducked his head. "Sneaking in late."

"Don't admit that! I would've taken a thousand different excuses."

The nurse replaced me then as guardian before I could give out any more delinquent advice. I couldn't have told him that tardiness was a bad habit or to try to be on time? I hated being such an original.

Realizing I'd left blood all over the auditorium, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaner and headed to wipe it all up. I shuddered to think what some of the little kids might do with it— and all my imaginings were very unsanitary.

The theater was empty now, so I didn't have to dodge around anyone to find the trail of blood. Wrinkling my nose with gratitude that it wasn't some other bodily liquid, I cleaned it up as best as I could and went to return the supplies to the cleaning closet.

When I shoved the items back where they belonged, however, a bunch of burlap rolled off the shelf and hit me in the head. It was the same kind that had incased the gris-gris bags, and I recoiled away from it. I wasn't sure how popular the material was, but I didn't believe in coincidences.

"What are you doing in here?" an angry voice asked from the door, causing me to jump again.

The old, crusty janitor who'd had a crush on Kara grabbed the fabric away from me, shooing me out of the closet. "This is for personnel only."

"Uh… sorry."

And I ran off. It wasn't the most Harper-like return or exit, but I had a lot on my mind and only one woman who might have any answers.

Since Cooper was going to be all caught up in school for the day, I headed over to my grandma's as soon as I was out of the school parking lot. My left foot tapped against the car and my finger picked at the steering wheel. Why did everyone seem to be driving so slowly?

That's when I saw the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. A second later, the siren on a lone police car started up as I pulled nervously to the side of the road. Sweating profusely, I schooled myself not to move, not to give Kosher a reason— and he would need one. It was broad daylight on a busy street. Even in Waresville, he couldn't just off me right here.

Probably.

"License and registration, ma'am."

When I heard that achingly familiar voice, I sank back into the seat and heaved a sigh of relief. Wyatt leaned through my window, giving me a look that said, had I been anyone else, he'd have had me down at the station in the interrogation room.

"Expecting someone else?" he asked mildly.

"You can't just pull over anyone you please, you know— I could sue."

He tipped an imaginary hat. "You just go right ahead, ma'am. I wouldn't want to infringe on your constitutional rights."

I snorted at that. "Can I go now? I'm heading over to grandma's, and I'd rather not be late. You know how she is." It was a little fib in the grand scheme of things, since Gran didn't know I was coming over.

"What a coincidence. I was headed over there to do some yard work myself."

A hard rock formed in my stomach. "Oh?"

"I'll escort you there."

Luckily enough, I was able to part ways with Wyatt in the front yard as he went around back to get the lawn mower and start on the grass. After letting myself in, I eyed his progress through the blinds, keeping a watchful eye on his distance from the house.

"I hope you didn't come here just to stare at your man— though I must admit, he
is
something to look at."

I turned around, and Gran was right behind me in her red robe, bearing down on me like I was a randy teenager who'd just broken her window. But I'd been surprised too many times today to work up a good flinch to her sudden proximity.

"I'm here about the gris-gris you got from my house. You did get it, right?"

Scowling, she said, "You'd do well to remember I'm not a servant, girl."

I guessed I'd just take that as a yes. "Was it meant for me?"

She held up a clump of dark, short hair in her fist, and I instinctively reached for my head. "If this is yours, then I'd say so."

I turned back towards the window, eying Wyatt again and feeling equal parts scared for myself and disgusted with myself. How did I manage to get on everybody's shit list? And in such a short amount of time, too.

"Have you told him?" she asked, diving into my personal troubles in a completely out-of-character move. Then again, she was nosy.

"No."

"Ah."

“Can you tell me who made the bag?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Life doesn’t work that way. Be nice if it did, though.”

I wasn’t in the mood for cryptic.

Throwing open the door, I called, “Wyatt!”

He came bounding up the lawn to the porch a second later, looking wary. “What?” He glanced around in the house for some kind of threat.

“We’re leaving.”

“We are?”

“We are.”

I dragged him toward his car and pushed him into the front seat. Then, I rushed over to my bug and prayed it would start. If I had to explain my plan to Wyatt before we got to the station, he’d never go for it. But once we were inside, he’d be too leery of making a scene to object much.

People with manners were so easily manipulated. I was glad I’d never developed them.

When he parked next to me at the station, he got out of the car with a confused look on his face. I’d never gone to this place without a fight, so I could see where this whole situation could be puzzling.

Wyatt opened his mouth— no doubt to ask questions— but I silenced him with my lips. If he thought anything of my sudden urge to make out in the station’s parking lot, he didn’t communicate them— probably because he was a smart man who knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Unfortunately, in this instance, the gift horse really
did
have soldiers hiding inside, waiting to rampage.

I came up for air and dragged him inside while he was still putting two and two together. Though I knew where his desk was from experience, I had no idea where Kosher’s was. But, as I was lucky enough not to see the man anywhere in sight, I’d overlook this setback.

“Help me rummage through Kosher’s desk,” I whispered to Wyatt once we were in front of his.

“Not a chance.”

I shrugged. “Then I’ll just go through every one till I find what I’m looking for.”

He caught me before I’d gone two steps, swearing softly. I loved it when I could make him swear.

Steering me toward a cluttered desk with McDonald’s wrappers littering the surface, he said lowly, “We’re having a little chat about this when we get home.”

"We have to go to Cooper's dress rehearsal," I reminded him, rummaging through the drawers after finishing with the surface of the desk.

"After, then."

A splinter imbedded itself in one of my fingers, and I swore. "Did we just make a date for you to yell at me?"

"I'm sure you'll get a couple of shots in at me, as well." Grabbing my hand, he inspected the angry, red area around the wood while I kept searching one-handedly.

After yanking out the pointy splinter, he contented himself to sitting in Kosher's chair and watching my fruitless search with a raised eyebrow. If I hadn't been so desperate to find something— anything—I'd have taken the time to wipe that smug look off his face. Finally, I couldn't put off the inevitable any longer, and I turned away from the desk, crossing my arms.

"What?" he asked with false sympathy. "Didn't you find anything?"

"No," I said shortly, debating whether or not to tell him about the scratch marks.

But I didn't have any other concrete proof besides my recollection on a dark night in an alley. It'd be enough for Wyatt—despite my obvious grudge against Kosher— but not for anyone else. If I gave him the information, he'd be honor bound to follow through without any other evidence. That could get him in a lot of trouble.

On the flip side, I was already in a lot of trouble. Once again, I found myself in the crosshairs of a crazy magic practitioner. The only question left was whether or not Wyatt could actually help with that at this juncture, or if I was just running to him because I was scared.