Counterfeits and Cauldrons: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 6) Page 8

  “I’m locked in a dressing room at Town Hall.”

  A few minutes later, Wyatt was opening the door. Since I was still leaning against it, I fell backwards, spilling onto his shoes. He stared down at me for a moment, wordless, and then pulled me to my feet.

  “Do I want to know?”

  I shook my head and followed him to the car. As soon as we were on the road, my gaze turned in the direction of the window, people watching with a silent intensity.

  “We’ve been invited over to the Goodfellows’ house for dinner,” he said. “I left some messages about it on your phone.” When I said nothing, he continued. “My parents said they’d watch Cooper for a couple hours.”

  There were a few minutes of stony quiet before he sighed. “I can cancel if you want.”

  “Why would we do that?” I asked coldly. “You know how much I love dinner parties.”

  I didn’t bother changing, and Wyatt was already in a suit from work, so we headed on over as soon as he parked. The wind chimes went crazy on the front porch as I approached, creepily swinging toward me like they were trying to touch me.

  Without ever ringing the bell, Sarah Goodfellow came to answer the door in a sensible evening dress. Her smile was wide and frozen, looking upon the two of us with obvious delight.

  “I’m so happy you could make it.”

  I resisted the urge to point out that we didn’t exactly cross land and sea at our own peril to get here. I was in a bad mood.

  On some unseen signal from Sarah, Ben came down the stairs, wearing an outfit similar to Wyatt’s. I supposed it was what all suit-loving men wore to dinner. Personally, the whole tie thing looked uncomfortable to me—a noose around your neck. Though it probably wasn’t as uncomfortable as the thongs Sarah was wearing (given no panty lines). What was the point of having a party at your house if you couldn’t be comfortable for it?

  Their house was set up just like the Victorian, having been built by the same developers all those years ago. The similarities ended at the structure, though. Where our home was warm and well-worn, theirs seemed to be on display. I almost expected to see a photographer for those home magazines to pop out from behind a corner.

  The pair showed us to the formal dining room, which, in our house, was the living room. Different strokes for different folks. And the Goodfellows were different from us. Upon entering the room, Wyatt holding out the chair for me, I realized we were about to be treated to a four-course dinner, and none of those courses included pizza or chocolate cereal.

  While Ben placed salad in front of us, talking to Wyatt about the stock exchange, Sarah ran to the kitchen and came back with four wine-filled glasses. Ignoring decorum—as I’d done for most of my life—I took a big gulp of mine as soon as it was set in front of me. Rather than looking appalled or disgusted, the other couple seemed pleased.

  I took a couple more gulps, and my head started to feel funny, like all the weight had left it. Glancing at the wine in surprise, I wondered if I was buzzed. Being a witch and a keg stand champion, I had a high tolerance for alcohol. I’d never been drunk on a single glass of wine.

  “So, how did you two meet?” I blurted out, not really feeling the words coming out of my mouth until they were gone.

  I’d interrupted Ben’s golf joke, but he just smiled and answered. “We met at one of Sarah’s book signings. I’m a big fan.”

  She placed a hand over his. “I saw him in the crowd, and I knew.”

  “Even though he’s human?”

  Wyatt shot me a startled look that seemed to say “are you actually trying to be rude?” The room was sort of tilted at an angle now, and I wasn’t sure if I was being rude or politely interested. Probably rude.

  “Some shortcomings,” she said slowly, “can be… overcome.”

  I snorted, about to say that I didn’t see how a lack of magic could be overcome. Sure, it didn’t matter to me that Wyatt wasn’t a warlock, but I barely counted as a real witch. Witches, typically, didn’t live normal lifespans—Gran was probably pushing eight billion. Sarah would stay young and magical, for a while, while Ben withered and died.

  “Would you like some more wine, Harper?” Sarah said, changing the subject, though her face betrayed no signs of discomfort.

  “I think she’s had enough,” Wyatt said gently, keeping a grip on my thigh just in case I decided to do a swan dive.

  Sarah and Ben launched into another boring story about their tame courtship, while Wyatt frowned at me. He’d never seen me drunk before and not for lack of trying. But this didn’t feel like being drunk, exactly. It was getting so hard to put words together.

  My cell phone rang loudly, and all eyes zeroed in on me. Excusing myself, I stumbled away from the table, finding something to lean against in the hall. I wasn’t sure what.

  It took a few tries to answer the phone correctly, and then a burst of native Spanish met me on the other line.

  “Wrong number,” I said to whoever was listening.

  “Is this Harper Beck?” an accented voice that I was sure I’d heard before asked.

  “Maybe.” That was about all I could manage.

  “Justina said you were the best,” Don Patron said hopelessly. “The porky man said this was my one phone call. You have to help me.”

  No need to ask who the porky man was. “You’re in lock-up?”

  “Si,” he said. “He said the material in my dressing room is evidence, but Justina just found that at one of our crafty stores. It’s for a costume. Why would I want to forge pictures of George Wash?”

  “Washington.” I sighed. “Don, do you know who’s on the five dollar bill?”

  “The man with the key and the kite, yes?”

  Of course, I thought wearily, it was really too easy that it would’ve been Don. The material in the dressing room, the lack of ties to Waresville, and the motive to stay here. Even Kosher had fallen into the trap of wanting him to be the culprit.

  I hung up and called for Wyatt, explaining the situation. Knowing he couldn’t get Don out, I figured the next best thing was to run a care package down to the station and get a chance to interrogate him in person. By the end of the explanation, I was leaning heavily against Wyatt.

  Sarah joined us in the hall. “Harper, you really don’t look well. Perhaps you should lie down upstairs while Wyatt runs your errand?”

  The eager look in her eyes went cold when I shook my head. I didn’t want to stay in this house a moment longer, no matter that the room was spinning and I that really wanted to do what Sarah asked—only because she was asking me to do it.

  Wyatt all but carried me to the car, arguing with me that I should stay at home, because I was clearly incapacitated. I latched onto his shirt and wouldn’t let go, repeating over and over that he couldn’t leave me alone.

  He gently pried me loose, settling me in the passenger seat. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You only had a glass of wine.”

  Getting in on his side, he turned on the inside lights, grabbing my chin and making me look up at him. I couldn’t focus long enough to look him in the eye, but he didn’t seem to need me to.

  “Your pupils are the size of gulf balls,” he breathed. “Did you take something?”

  “Besides that hit of opium, you mean?” The words came out shaky and with less bite than I’d intended, because I was shivering.

  Wyatt pulled his key out of the ignition. “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  The strange thing was, I didn’t want to argue. I couldn’t remember now why getting down to the station was important. Limply, I let Wyatt shepherd me inside and up the stairs to bed.

  Once I was lying flat, the world stopped spinning so hard, and then other thoughts occurred to me. I moved to kiss Wyatt, but he pushed me back into my prone position, frowning.

  “You’re angry with me, remember?” He didn’t sound like he was trying to start a fight, but like he actually needed me to remember we were fighting.

  “Doesn’t matte
r,” I said, my hands roaming.

  He held them in place. “You want to know what I was doing with Oliver.”

  Vaguely, I remembered that. “And are you going to tell me?”

  “It would just make you madder than your suspicions, actually. But I wasn’t interfering in your feud. I promise.”

  Though everything else was all shifty in my world, Wyatt’s promises were ones you could take to the bank.

  Suddenly, I didn’t feel so good. Wyatt must have seen it on my face, because he swung me up into his arms and raced to the bathroom. As soon as I was presented with the toilet, I lost my dinner in the most spectacular way and kept losing it.

  By the end, I was dry heaving, barely aware of Wyatt’s soothing words and cool hands pulling my hair away from my face. My body was damp with sweat and shaking like I was naked in the middle of Antarctica.

  Then, maybe because I was at my weakest, I said the thing that had been on my mind for weeks. “You’ll regret it.” I practically wailed the words.

  “I’ll regret what, sweetheart?” He murmured, more consoling me than really listening.

  “Marrying me.”

  He stiffened behind me, and I somehow, through the haze, knew I had his full attention. The cooing and comforting hands didn’t stop, though, giving me the peace of mind to continue.

  “I’m a good time girl,” I said miserably. “And good times end.”

  Everything about me had always been temporary: jobs, lifestyles, even magic. Then, I’d met Wyatt, and he’d expected me to be permanent. It’d been like a dream up until the marrying business, but if I accepted and one day woke up my temporary self, I’d hurt him worse than his ex-wife ever did.

  He shushed me then, not saying any of the hundred things that had to be on his mind. Wyatt was patient like that, formulating his thoughts and finding the best way to talk me out of this standoff. He’d dissolve my fears, if he could. I fell asleep thinking about that, tears leaking through closed eyelids.

  Chapter Eight

  When I woke up, Wyatt wasn't in the bed next to me. I rolled over and closed my eyes again, the events of last night coming crashing back to me. I couldn't believe all those things had come out of my mouth—the words and the puke.

  Wyatt wasn't at work, I discovered when I came downstairs to see him sipping coffee at the kitchen table. Leaning against the doorframe, I watched him for a moment, luxuriating in the silence of the house. It was peaceful like this, though I kind of missed Cooper being under foot.

  "Cooper's still at his grandparents’," Wyatt said in between sips, reading me like a picture book. "I thought that would give us time to talk."

  He nodded at the seat across from him, and my brain blanked for a second. Once that was over, my palms started to sweat, and I wiped them on my pants before joining Wyatt. He kept on drinking his morning cup, but I could tell his focus was elsewhere.

  "About last night−"

  He held up a hand. "We're not going to talk about it."

  "We're not?"

  Smiling at the incredulity in my voice, he said, "Not yet, anyway. I wanted to talk about your case."

  "Oh." I didn't quite know what to make of that. Wyatt was never one to put anything off, so I couldn't help but feel a little nauseous at the notion. "I think I've ruled out Don, if that's what you wanted to talk about. Too little knowledge about US currency."

  "I agree," he said, but his words were absent. "I don't think these people have templates, so it's probably done by hand. That's not what I wanted to talk about, though."

  I raised an eyebrow, waiting. He evaluated me for a moment, his mouth set in a grim line that scared me. Was this it? Was this the moment when he'd leave me?

  "Hardy's closing his shop; he called after you went to sleep last night, figuring you'd want to know."

  I was out of my seat before the words fully hit me. "And what about Jeb? I have to see him."

  "Harper..." His cautious tone stopped me. "I know you're going to want to talk him out of leaving, but maybe it would be best if he did."

  Stopping dead, I whirled on him. "How can you say that? Jeb's like family to me, to Cooper!"

  He tried to catch my hand, but I pulled away. "With Hardy's shop closing like this, there isn't a soul in Waresville who would hire him. You know it as well as I do."

  My stomach hit the floor with a splat. "The counterfeiting isn't his fault." It sounded lame even to my ears.

  "That won't matter," Wyatt said gently. "He's got a record, and everyone knows it. No one's so well-off around here that they can risk that kind of trouble. I don't even think my word would do Jeb any good right now."

  Fresh tears streaking down my already tear-stained face, I ran from the kitchen, getting in the car even though I wasn't sure where I was going. My vision was so obstructed, it was hard to find the keys, let alone hold onto them. After a couple of failed attempts, I let my head fall onto the steering wheel, ignoring the loud blast of the horn that was probably waking up the whole neighborhood.

  That's how Wyatt found me a few minutes later. Without a word, we switched spots, and he drove me to Jeb's place just outside of town. The house was modest and broken down, but it sat on a lot of beautiful land that just screamed Jeb. There was even one of those charming porch swings.

  When we pulled up, Jeb was already piling boxes into the back of his pickup—not that he had much. I didn't even hesitate, running up behind him and beginning to take the boxes he'd piled up out. I set them on the ground, working furiously as Jeb and Wyatt looked on.

  "I'll give you more hours at the Wheel," I told him. "You can stay for free above it and watch 24/7."

  He took a box from my arms, placing it gently back in the truck. "I already work all the hours it's open, Miss Harper, and I don't take charity."

  Wyatt's hands on my shoulders were the only things keeping me from losing it. I'd lost a lot of family over the years, but somehow, I'd convinced myself I'd never be parted from my funny, lug of a bouncer. Now, it felt like my mother's death and leaving everything I'd ever known in Miami all over again. Hadn't the point of Waresville been to never say goodbye to another family?

  I wanted to beg him to stay. With everything in me, I searched for the words that would make him bring his stuff back inside and accept my offer. The worst part of it was, I knew those words. Hell, there were hundreds I could've used, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Because Wyatt, damn him, was right. Until I could prove Jeb innocent, there was nothing here for him.

  "Stay a couple more days," I said desperately. "I'm so close to cracking this case."

  "I have bills, Miss Harper," he said. "You know that."

  "I'll loan you the money."

  A firm shake of the head was his only answer, and it almost made me break out into tears again.

  "Damn it, Jeb," I said, my voice watery. "Where am I gonna find another bouncer to work for crap?"

  "Maybe Officer Kosher would like to moonlight." A small smile tugged at his mouth.

  I laughed. "Now, that's just mean." I sobered up almost immediately. "You have to promise to come back. When I solve the case and open Hardy's back up, you have to promise you'll come back."

  His smile turned sad. "Of course, Miss Harper. There's no place else I'd rather be than right here in Waresville."

  "I pity you that, then."

  Wyatt and I left after that. I didn't allow myself a goodbye hug, because it would've been too painful. Plus, it wasn't goodbye. With a new determination, I focused on the matter at hand, telling Wyatt to drop me off at Melanie Gross's magic shop. He did so without a word, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth before pulling away.

  That little bit from last night about Justina finding the material in a craft shop had been nipping at the edge of my mind since I heard it. Despite Waresville being a crafty place—knitting and stake whittling, mostly—there weren't very many shops to reflect this. Mostly, people drove to the nearby city to find what they needed. But there was one magic s
hop in particular that sold craft supplies.

  Melanie was sitting behind the counter when I came in, picking at her nails. The look she gave me could've peeled the paint off a house, but I kept my expression blank.

  Still, I wasn't hard to read at the moment.

  "Been crying your eyes out over my bad scores?" she asked, eyeing the puffy eyes and red splotches on my face.

  "I've been meaning to ask," I said. "Is your nose so abnormally large because you frequently lie with score cards, or is it just all bent out of shape from sticking your nose into other peoples' business?"

  "Go piss up a rope, Harper," she seethed. "I have the right to deny service to anyone."

  I pulled out the money fabric from my purse, shoving it at her. "Justina says she found this here."

  Looking it over for a moment, she shrugged. "I remember selling it to her. Out of the scrap pile. People bring in their scraps and exchange them for different ones."

  "So, you didn't order it?"

  "Isn't that what I just said?" She went back to picking her nails.

  Physically keeping myself from replying, I went over to the scraps cart, digging through it with abandon. A folded piece of sequined fabric fell behind the crate, and I had to bend over backwards trying to fish it out. My fingers closed around something a lot bigger than the scrap of sequins.

  I pulled out yards and yards of folded money blind fabric, and there was even more back there from what I could see. As far as hiding places went, it was pretty ingenious. Who would look for counterfeit materials behind scraps?

  Now, the question was who had stashed them here.

  I flashed Melanie the finger on my way out, and she threw a bolt of magic at me. It harmlessly hit the door after I dodged just in time. Once outside the store, I couldn’t help the feeling that someone was watching me. Wrapping my jacket more tightly around my body with a shudder, I headed over to Wyatt’s parents’ house.

  Cooper saw me coming from almost a block away and came running, shooting me accusing glares the whole way. "It wasn't supposed to be an overnight visit; I didn't have my toothbrush or anything." He made a face. "Grandma made us eat those awful diet cookies."