Enchanted Execution Page 5

Then sweet little Becca slumps over, eyes open, right on top of Bernard.

  Chapter 6

  I’m in shock. I don’t think I’ve blinked for like thirty seconds. What is going on?

  But while my mind has shut my body down, other people have jumped up.

  Sarah Snow, for instance. She jogged up to the stage and pulled Becca off Bernard the Booby. She grabbed a vial out of her purse. I vaguely recognize the pause potion before she dumps it all over Becca.

  “Wait!” Flowers leaps onto the stage and snatches the vial out of Mrs. Snow’s hand. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s a pause potion,” she explains. “It’ll stop whatever’s going on.”

  Flowers closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. I think he’s pissed at Sarah. “Go sit. Do not leave. Do not speak.”

  “It’s obviously some enchantment.”

  “Do not speak!” The tiger in him becomes obvious as he steps into Sarah’s space until she complies with a huff.

  He turns to the mayor, “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to—”

  Honeycutt nods, agreeing with whatever Flowers is about to say.

  Jackie cuts in, shoving her microphone into Flower’s face. “Sir. What’s going on? Aren’t you with Tres Lunas Police?”

  “Yes,” he replies gruffly. “And you need to turn that thing off. This is now the scene of a murder investigation.”

  Jackie gives a B-reel actress gasp.

  Flowers waves at the cameraman, who complies and sets down the camera. But, I notice, the red blinking light on the back doesn’t go off.

  I trot over, grab the camera, and help him out.

  “This,” I gesture to the power button, “is how you actually turn off the video.”

  The geeky guy wears a name badge with Mason McDonelly, Channel Thirteen, on it. He blushes and shrugs. “My finger must notta pushed hard enough.”

  My eyes narrow as I turn off the video feed. “Yeah. Right.”

  Seena comes over, looking pale and shaken. His eyes leave Becca’s for only a second to meet mine. “They could have a separate sound feed. We need to turn off all the audio equipment too.”

  “Good catch.”

  I get the happy job of stripping Jackie of her lav mic and searching to find the hidden video cameras in her earrings. Sorry girl. I’ve pulled that one before. I tug them off and check the rest of her. She’s jewelry and spy-cam free now, so I head over to Flowers, who’s made the entire City Council and the one odd pixie candidate sit onstage. He’s casting echo spells on them. Pixie’s the last in line. She tests hers out.

  “Hello…lo..lo,” her own voice echoes back to her. Common protocol, I learned it three weeks in. It’s an easy way for us to prevent witnesses from talking to each other. Changing stories. I notice one person is missing from the stage.

  “Where’s the wife?”

  Flowers eyes flit over the people onstage and he realizes Raspberry’s wife isn’t there. “Find her. Nobody else move!”

  Even I would not disobey the threat in that voice. I’ve been on the receiving end of Flower’s glare. Right now, I’m glad I’m on the other side. I trot next to him as we make our way around the room.

  “Did you call for backup?”

  “Yup.”

  “Medics?”

  “Yup.”

  “Takeout?”

  He turns to me and snarls. “This is not a joke! Someone’s dead. Maybe two people.”

  “I know that. But we have over a dozen people to interview. Half of whom are smart enough not to answer anything without an attorney. So that is gonna take hours right there. And we need to get someone up here to take care of Jackie and the paper or we’re gonna have chaos on our hands with the press. We’re gonna be here until tomorrow. We need takeout.”

  I see his lip twist a little. He doesn’t want to admit that I’m right. I fall back a step or two so he doesn’t have to. But after a minute, Flowers grabs his phone and punches a speed-dial number. “Get takeout, too. Twenty people.” He hangs up without another word.

  Should I feel slightly victorious? No. Probably stupid to feel this way, but I do.

  I walk closer. “How do you know it’s a murder?” I ask. Because honestly, I’m still so lost as to what just happened. Raspberry just fell down. “How do you know Bernard—” I resist saying booby, “didn’t just have a heart attack?”

  Flowers checks behind some ornamental curtains. “Becca wouldn’t have passed out too. There has to be a spell involved. And there’s no way that noise before was a coincidence.”

  “What noise?”

  He shakes his head. “Not now.” He spots the wife. She’s half-hidden behind another ornamental curtain about twenty feet away. She’s too large to be completely hidden. Even if she could have fit behind the curtain, the sobs would have given her away.

  “Mrs. Bell?” Flower’s voice walks the line between authoritarian and comforting. I wish I could do that. I’d probably just sound like a jackass.

  She sniffles but tries to calm herself. She wipes her face on her sleeve and nods. Like she knows exactly what he wants.

  She holds out her arms, wrists limp. “Go ahead and arrest me, Officer. But know that I didn’t mean to do it!”

  Whoa. What? Is this woman confessing to murder?

  Chapter 7

  Of course, I don’t get answers.

  Because who always walks in at the most inconvenient moments?

  That’s right. Bennett.

  This time he walks in with the D.A., some other investigators, and a group of medics in tow.

  I don’t even have time to appreciate his freshly-showered smell. Or time to notice how green the shitty lighting makes his eyes look. Or how his uniform clutches his biceps when he bends his arm.

  I do have time to notice him ordering me to go sit down in a chair as if I was some freakin’ citizen instead of law enforcement. I do have time to notice him getting chummy with the D.A. and the mayor and issuing orders to Flowers like he’s a whipping boy.

  Eventually, I realize Seena’s sat down beside me. I feel like an idiot. I’ve been focused on pettiness toward Bennett. But Seena’s eyes are still plastered on Becca. And his worries are way more serious.

  “Hey, you don’t have to tell me, but were you two—”

  “Friends with benefits,” He sighs. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you. She didn’t want to date … yet.” He sounds so lost.

  I put an arm on his shoulder. I gesture vaguely at the medics on stage, who are trying to examine the bodies without touching them, since we don’t know exactly what happened. All they’ve been able to declare for certain is that Becca’s alive. They can see her breathing.

  A pretty elf medic tries a spell, but a shimmer of purple sparks just ricochets back at her. It is not reassuring. “I’m sure those guys’ll figure it out.” Even I don’t know if I believe myself.

  “No talking,” Flowers barks at me. “Not until everyone’s given their statements.”

  We’re all divided up, like elementary school. We’re given paper and pens and thirty minutes to write down everything we heard or saw. Then we have to interview. Like written and oral exams. At least, that’s what it feels like. Should I be nervous I’ll say the wrong thing? I mean, the wife already confessed. I can see her over in the corner, wiping her blue nose with a wad of toilet paper someone handed her. The D.A. already spoke with her. So did Bennett and Flowers.

  My testimony isn’t that important, right?

  But, then I worry that Flowers and Bennett are gonna look at it. That they might judge how much I observed and how many details I remembered. Investigators are supposed to notice things, right?

  I try to be as objective as possible. As detailed as possible. Maybe they don’t need to know about the notch in Tabby’s ear or what Jackie was wearing. But heck, who knows? Maybe something I saw was a clue. But shouldn’t I recognize it? Would it be bad if I wrote down something that was a clue and didn’t realize it?

&
nbsp; And what about what Flowers said about a noise? I didn’t hear a noise. Do I need to get my hearing checked?

  I sink my head into my fist. Damn. I didn’t need all this drama. I need a nap. My eyelids flutter.

  “Fox,” Bennett’s voice breaks me out of half-sleep.

  “Wh-what?” I try to discreetly slide my hand to my lap and wipe off a tiny trail of drool on my thigh.

  Seena’s over by Flowers. I didn’t even notice him leave.

  Bennett rolls his eyes and tosses me a tablet. “Peppy Perk. Take it. You’re gonna need to keep a stash of that on-hand from now on if you really want this job.”

  “Yes sir.” I down the tablet and ignore the fizzy citrus flavor. Immediately, my heart rate picks up. “Are you ready to take my statement?”

  Ben rolls his eyes. “Technically, yes. That’s what I’m here for. But I’ve also managed to talk to the D.A. I reminded him how you helped with the high-profile Georgina Knight case. He said he’ll let you observe the other interviews.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Really?”

  He gives a half grin that makes my heart trip. Tha-thump. Is he feeling guilty about breaking up with me? Is he trying to be overly nice?

  He should feel guilty. But … “What about Seena?”

  Bennett looks surprised. “What about him?”

  “Does he get to sit in?”

  Bennett turns to look at him. I can already see the answer in his face. He didn’t even ask for Seena.

  “No special treatment!”

  He grabs his hair in frustration. “Dammit, Ly. Work with me. You want experience. I’m trying to give you experience. You want a chance to prove yourself. I’m trying to give you that.”

  “But I want to earn it. I want to rise up because I’m good.”

  “You are good.”

  “Then let me prove it. Put us both on to observe and let me see if I can contribute more.”

  He closes his eyes and breathes through his teeth.

  “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

  “Fair is difficult?”

  “Fine,” he snaps. “Mostafavipour. Over here.” Seena trots over. “You get to observe the interviews.” Bennett levels a glare at me. “You will not participate.”

  I nod solemnly. So does Seena.

  “Okay then,” Bennett nods toward the wife. “We’re gonna go over to her.”

  I cock my head. “I thought she already gave a statement.”

  “She did. But we have our recorder here. So everyone gets to give a statement again.” Bennett gestures over to a golem with a big keyboard stamped into its stomach. It stomps stiffly over to stand by Bennett. If you ignore the glowing eyes, it’s actually kind of friendly-looking.

  “Seena, Lyon, meet ABC.”

  The golem nods and a little trickle of dust falls from its neck. I wonder how old the animated hunk of clay is. I decide to call him a boy. Because, it’s easier and I can. Considering the D.A.’s office is too cheap to buy electronic recorders, I’m guessing this guy doesn’t get many patch jobs.

  We all turn and follow Bennett.

  "Mrs. Bell," Bennett shakes her hand. "Now that we have an official recorder here, I'm going to need you to repeat your story. So that we have everything on the record."

  Mrs. Bell nods and blows her nose.

  "I just wanted Bernard to retire. I didn't think it was so bad. He worked and traveled all our lives. He never slowed down! That business. It was too much. If he had gotten this appointment, he would've been gone day and night."

  ABC's fingers fly over his belly like he's playing the piano.

  Bennett asks, "What did you do to try and ensure that your husband would retire?"

  The question sets Mrs. Bell off again. She gives a huge sob blows her nose like a trumpet. "I ... I went to a witch doctor. I got a fainting spell put into my handkerchief. I tried it on myself first. I swear I didn't think it was that strong. I just didn’t want them calling his name. I would never hurt Bernard."

  Oh, yeah. I believe that. I wouldn’t hurt my husband. Just publicly humiliate him on camera. This lady’s a wreck.

  I exchange a glance with Seena. He seems skeptical too.

  “Name of the doc you saw?” Bennett shows no emotion. I immediately try to get my ‘neutral’ face on. Because, yeah, who’s gonna confess to someone judgey? Dang. Five seconds in and I’m already making mistakes.

  “Robert Dove.”

  “Ah, yeah. I know him,” he replies. “You go with anyone? Get a receipt?”

  “No. No. I paid gold. I—he did have me type my name on some kind of online contract. On the computer.”

  Seena’s eyes light up a bit for the first time since we’ve been here. Great. That kind of boring crap is right up his alley. Dammit. I stare at the wife harder, as if that will make her confess something that’s in my wheelhouse.

  “Remember what day you went?”

  “Last Tuesday. I’d just gone to the Baths.” (Translation: she just went to the local gossip joint for lady bird-shifters. It advertises as a health club, but really it’s a pool for them to splash in and a high ropes course where they perch and shoot the shit.)

  Bennett tosses me a look that lets me know exactly what I’m gonna be doing tomorrow night. Dodging bird crap. “Okay, we’ll follow up on that. Anything else you can think of? Bernard have any health issues?”

  Mrs. Bell shakes her head no.

  “And the handkerchief?”

  “I gave it to him,” she nods her head toward Flowers, who is approaching us with an embroidered hanky in a plastic evidence bag.

  “Photo team’s here,” he tells us.

  “Good. Want to take her and book her while I finish up here?” Bennett’s question is not really a question. Flowers nods.

  Bennett takes the hanky-in-a-bag and Flowers leads the murdering widow away.

  I turn to my ex. “Well, that seems too easy.”

  He shrugs. “Eighty-five percent of murders …”

  “Yeah, yeah. Who’s next?”

  “Well, we need to take a break for photographs. I need to give the team some instructions. Just shadow me.”

  Seena and I trail behind Bennett. Our photo ‘team’ is one guy. Clearly, they spare no expense at the office. Ben stops near the photographer unloading his rig. He’s a scrawny beta-looking dude in his fifties. Shorter than me.

  "We need all angles. Might even ask you to go up and take some from the balcony looking down. It's probably nothing. But there's something wonky about this spell his wife bought. It makes touching his skin dangerous from what we can tell. So, I want to see what you might pick up on film."

  Bennett moves on to the evidence-tagging team. But he’s only a few feet away, so I stay put. I'd rather watch this photographer attach his lens than listen to Bennett tell some brownies what to bag up.

  I admit, I geek out a little bit looking at the camera. It's a Nikon D5 XQD, and the guy puts a pretty sweet lens on it. I watch him pop off a few shots, then go to adjust the settings. My guess is he paid for that thing himself. No way the office ponied up the money.

  Crap. Bennett's moving on.

  I sigh and start to follow, but then the photographer lets out a curse.

  "Shit!"

  I turn to the photographer who’s shaking the camera. I'm guessing mediocre wizard who had no choice but to turn to tech. Because if he was a real technophile, he’d never handle his precious princess like that. "Everything okay?"

  "Think I've got a bad sensor," the guy replies.

  "Really? That's a pretty new camera you have."

  "I know. Like a brand-new." He tries a couple more shots and then sighs in frustration. "Shit on a stick. Now I've got to go all the way out to the car to get my second camera."

  He sets down the expensive hunk of junk and stomps away.

  I can't help myself. I mean it's a dream camera, even if this one is a lemon. I pick it up. I take some test shots of Bernard. I don't mess with the settings, because that's askin
g for a finger breaking in the photography world. But I totally see what the guy means. Every couple is shots there's a black spot on Bernard’s neck. He's right. Must be a sensor on the fritz. Sorry girl, I pat the sleek camera body as I set it back down. That little girl’s going back to the factory.

  Oh damn! Bennett and Seena are talking to Max the Cat.

  I hurry over.

  Max’s in the middle of speaking. “—don’t see how you could think she was responsible. I've never seen such an idiot."

  Bennett shoots me a little glare before turning back to Max. "Councilor I respect your opinion, but at this time I simply need your statement."

  Max licks his paw and then cleans his ear haughtily. "You do know that I was on the board of Neuro-Magic? Back in the eighties, when they interviewed and investigated murderers. I have a pretty good idea of what makes up a murderer's psychology. And Mrs. Bell doesn't have it."

  Bennett has a little more trouble keeping his neutral face at this point. "Just a statement please, Councilor."

  Max gives an angry flick of his tail. "Fine. I was on stage. I was interviewed about potential candidates by that news bimbo. I watched the potentials while everyone else chatted. That pixie, the one with the strange pink fur. She’s got a vicious streak in her. Most pixies do.”

  I completely agree with him, though Seena and Ben look annoyed. They, obviously, have never been dive-bombed by a pixie. You don’t have to be a cat to get the hate on. Dive-bombing sucks.

  Max continues, “Anyway, I could see her sizing up her competition. Speaking with Clo. They’re related, you know. Clo is her great-great aunt or something.”

  “Yes, but what did you observe?”

  “I’m telling you what I observed. Suspicious activity from the pixie.”

  Bennett grits his teeth. “Will you excuse me? I need a drink of water.”

  I grab Bennett’s elbow before he can walk away. “Sir, there is one thing I was curious about.”

  That’s it. He’s totally gonna take me outside and strangle me after this. He specifically said no participation. When I’m dead, I want a giant jellybean gravestone, okay? Like huge. Twelve feet. Okay. I take a deep calming breath. If these are gonna be my last moments, better make them count.