A Murder Most Rosy: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 3) (2 page)

It always surprised me how fast the police responded to my calls. I'd never had cause to call them before I'd found the body of my accountant late this fall, but my friends around town had always complained about their slow action. Me, I could call for a cat stuck in a tree, and the whole force would be there in under two minutes.

But then again, I had quite a few more body finds under my belt than the rest of Waresville.

Cooper and I waited outside the front of the building— far from the back building— with the rest of the students and faculty. It was, frankly speaking, a mad house. Parents were pulling up and trying to take their kids home, a frazzled principal kept explaining to anyone in earshot that none of the students could leave yet, and the kids themselves were running around with their friends in the street.

In all that mess, it was a miracle that Wyatt found us. Clearly, the need to yell at me for finding another one drove him to new lengths as a detective. Really, he should have thanked me for furthering his career skills.

I didn't think that was how it was going to go down.

Cooper, for one, was happy to see his dad. He latched his arms around Wyatt's neck, ignoring the thunderous look he was giving me. "Dad!"

"Hey, squirt," he said, ruffling the boy's messy brown hair. "Guess you're out of school for the day."

"Yeah," I said, physically unable to keep my mouth shut. "Maybe I should find dead teachers more often."

I smiled under Wyatt's death glare, and he eventually sighed and released his son. I could tell the kiss was supposed to be a simple peck, but I opened my mouth, deepening the connection. A couple of "ews" rang out around us.

Making a sound in the back of his throat, Wyatt pulled away with difficulty, a twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before. I figured that meant I was forgiven.

"Was it murder?"

There went the twinkle. "No. Suicide." A look at Cooper and the kids around us made him lower his voice even further. "The fall wouldn't have killed her, but she dived— like a swimmer. Cracked her head and broke her neck."

"It wasn't a suicide." The words left my mouth before I even had time to think about them, but they were right. They had the ring of truth, and I was suddenly sure Ms. Nittlemen had been murdered.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow at me, but didn't comment. "Come on, you two. Let's go get breakfast at Charlotte's."

I didn't point out that the two of them had probably already had one unhealthy breakfast of chocolate cereal that morning, but I did shift uncomfortably at the thought of going to his mother's restaurant. We'd gone there on our first date and a couple times since and had been lucky enough not to run into her— it was more of a hobby for the woman, anyway. But at any moment, like Russian roulette, my luck could change.

Mothers typically didn't like me.

Cooper tried to call shotgun, but I was having none of that. There's only so many indignities I can suffer for one twerp and riding in the itty-bitty backseat of Wyatt's car was where I drew the line. It was a firm line.

"Are we almost there?" I grumbled from the back, trying to find a position for my extra-long legs that didn't make me feel like one of those clowns.

Charlotte's was squeezed between a couple of shops on Main Street and looked more like a retail store than a restaurant. Still, the food was excellent, and I didn't see Wyatt's mother anywhere in sight, so I was happy.

We took our usual tiny table, squeezing in another chair for Cooper. The waitress didn't even bother looking at me, used to Wyatt saying what the entire table would be eating. I wasn't particularly picky— unless there was a chance for pizza, and then pizza it would be— so I didn't throw too much of a fit.

About halfway through my chocolate waffle, my luck ran out. A curvy woman with Wyatt's hair and none of his height pranced over to us with a big, southern grin on her face. Cooper jumped up to hug her, for which I was grateful, because it gave me a chance to run to the bathroom.

A chance that was shot out of the sky when Wyatt introduced me while I was halfway out of my seat.

"Mom, I've told you about Harper, right?"

I could only imagine what he could have told her about me, and it made my stomach do routines barely seen off a gymnastics floor.

She turned her smile directly to me. It was friendly enough, but more reserved than it'd been for Cooper or Wyatt— she was contemplating and evaluating me. I tried not to shift under it, but that was next to impossible, so I settled for meeting her gaze head on.

After a moment, she stuck out her hand, and I shook it. "Lovely to finally meet you, honey."

"Lovely," I said, numbly. Wyatt seemed to be waiting for me to go on and run my mouth, and he gave me a puzzled look when I fell silent after a single word.

"You just have to come over for dinner at the house, dear," she said to me.

The silence waiting for my answer seemed to stretch on into eternity, and finally, Wyatt answered for me.

"That'd be great, Mom."

She left us to our meal not long after that. Staring at me with open interest, Cooper and Wyatt shoveled food into their mouths without even looking at it. I was done, however, pushing away my still-full plate with an uneasy feeling in my gut.

"That may be the first time I've seen you turn down food," Wyatt said.

Cooper echoed him. "You're always hungry." Then, he looked at his dad. "Is she sick or something?"

Grinning with a mischievous glint in his eye, he said, "Nah, just chicken."

______

A couple of hours later and back in my own car, I was still steaming about that chicken remark. See if I went running to Wyatt's bed for the next week, I thought savagely. I'd faced down death more times than I could even count, and he had the gall to call me a coward?

I'd probably still go running to his bed, if I was being honest.

After a short drive, I found myself back at the mostly deserted school. The front yard was a mess— students who'd been sent home had left empty juice boxes, crumpled homework, and all manner of trash lying about. I accidentally stepped on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a flood of gooey matter splattered all over my one pair of non-groovy shoes.

I cursed, and then tensed, waiting for a teacher to take a ruler to my knuckles or put me in detention. When neither of those things happened, I reminded myself that I was an adult and no one could punish me for my potty mouth anymore. But I held my tongue the whole rest of the trip down the trashed hallway.

Hoping to find a teacher still on the grounds that could answer a few nosey questions for me, I glanced in each classroom thoroughly before moving on. I struck gold about halfway down the fifth grade hallway. Mrs. June, Cooper's teacher, was blowing her nose loudly as she circled around, trying to pick up about a thousand crushed crayons.

"Mrs. June?"

She flinched noticeably, looking up at me with red eyes that quickly recognized me. "Miss Beck— owner of the Funky Wheel, correct?"

"Right." She'd been the teacher who took Cooper's class on a field trip to my disco skate months ago. That'd been when I first met Cooper, when I hadn't known to whom he belonged.

"The school is supposed to be evacuated," she said, giving me a disapproving look that seemed a little hypocritical, given the situation.

Instead of calling her on it, I ignored the comment altogether. "Did you know Ms. Nittleman well?"

A wave of sadness came over her. "She was a lovely girl. So young and such a gifted teacher. This is really a tragedy."

I waited for the sympathy that didn't manifest itself in the way I'd thought it would. All my life, I'd been a sympathetic crier, and now with a suffering woman in front of me, I couldn't even work up a good bout of empathy. Maybe all these murder investigations were making me jaded.

Shaking off that troubling thought, I asked, "Were there any signs that she was depressed?"

She pursed her lips. "You're not poking your nose about, are you, Harper? The girl committed suicide. It's as simple as that."

"How can you be so sure?"
How can you be so wrong?

After a brief hesitation, she sighed, sinking into her desk chair. "Ms. Nittleman had always been a cheerful young woman, but lately she'd been a little... Well, I think she was stretched too thin. She was jumpy, always had circles under her eyes, and just last week, I caught her muttering to herself."

"What did she say?"

Shaking her head, she said, "I don't remember— only that it didn't make a lick of sense."

I allowed a doubtful expression to cross my face. “Is that it?”

A rare flash of anger colored the older woman’s face. “Young lady, the woman was paranoid! She told Joel that someone was breaking into her house and following her around, for goodness sake.”

Bingo.

“Thanks for your time, Mrs. June,” I called over my shoulder, heading out of the building. I found it was helpful not to force more information out of people than was strictly necessary. Then, if you needed to come back to them, you wouldn’t find them bitter and unwilling to talk. 

Not paying enough attention to where I was going, I charged head-first into a scraggly, middle-aged man with angry eyes and a blue denim jumpsuit. The label above the breast pocket read “Head Janitor,” so I assumed he was the head janitor. I could be crafty—almost detective-like— sometimes.

He grumbled at me, pulling his cleaning cart behind him as he walked slowly down the destroyed hallway, not stopping once to clean up any of the mess.

“My tax dollars at work,” I mused.

Truth be told, he reminded me a little of Stoner Stan— my very own druggy/slacker back at the Funky Wheel. Hired on by my dad in the early nineties, he was the main reason the bathroom smelled like Woodstock and the hot dogs in the concession stand were always overdone. I’d come to associate crunchy dogs with the Wheel, though, so I guess he was there to stay.

My bug was waiting for me— parked illegally, but luckily, there was no ticket on my windshield. I spent the drive over to Wyatt's in quiet contemplation, thinking over everything Mrs. June had told me.

If it was possible, I was surer than when I'd seen the body, that this wasn't a suicide. Normal people didn't just randomly have a psychotic break— which is what we'd be looking at if what Mrs. June said about Ms. Nittleman being fine a month or so ago was true. That left only the possibility that she wasn't just paranoid, someone had been following her and had likely killed her.

The only question now was who.

Cooper was waiting for me in the foyer, his arms crossed over his chest in a very matronly manor. "My dad wanted you to watch me, not leave me alone to go sleuthing."

I raised an eyebrow, walking past him into the cozy, Victorian home. Between the kitchen and the living room were stairs that led to the second level. I left those abandoned and headed to the left, sitting down at the brightly-lit breakfast nook.

Apart from the hideous microwave on the tan counter, the kitchen was a beautiful, and not at all overpoweringly masculine—surprising for a house with only boys in it. Still, I couldn't work up too much shock over the stylish but comfortable state of their house; Wyatt's good at everything. Even decorating, it would seem.

"You're almost eleven," I said, answering his implied earlier question. "I figured you could last half an hour without burning down the house." I brought my arms up, motioning around me with wonder. "Lo and behold, not even a single singe mark."

He grabbed a bowl of cereal, and I got a good look at the inside of the cupboards. Though it wasn't my first time seeing it, my mind was always boggled at the sheer number of bowls the family possessed. Chocolate cereal was more than the food they ate at every meal, it was a way of life.

"Didn't you just eat?"

He shoved a spoonful of sugar into his mouth with open defiance. "Now you're my babysitter?"

Stealing a few pieces, I kicked my feet up onto the chair on my other side, the one Cooper didn't occupy. "Not getting paid enough to be your babysitter."

"My dad says I can't put my feet up on the furniture."

"That must make sleeping difficult."

He bit back a smile. "So, where'd you go?" A little bit of chocolate milk dribbled down his chin, and I resisted the urge to wipe it off.

Frankly, the need came from out of nowhere. I didn't really touch others before I'd been inducted into Wyatt's family, with a few notable and brief exceptions. And I certainly had never been the motherly type.

Quick as a whip, my hand flashed out and captured the little bit of milk before it stained Cooper's shirt. Fast as it'd started, it was over, and I went back to acting nonchalant. Cooper didn't comment—because he's a smart boy— but he did give me an uncharacteristically shy smile.

"School," I told him truthfully. Lying to friends or children was not one of my many faults. "I talked to your teacher, Mrs. June."

He looked suddenly wary. "What'd she say?"

"That your father and I should probably send you off to military school," I said. "It was all that extra credit work you've done for nothing at all. Almost un-American, if you ask me. But not to worry, the military will beat that Commie-spirit out of you."