You've Got To Be Kitten: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Cozy Mystery Page 4

  “Oh, um…I supposed we can do the statement here…after you put something on, of course.”

  “Statement?” Ruby scowled. “One of my friends from New York is friends with a detective. A statement means there’s been a crime that you think I know something about, yes?”

  “Close. A statement is also taken from suspects of crimes.”

  Ruby waited for the reappearance of his friendly smile, but the moments ticked on and he remained tight-lipped and grim.

  “Am I being accused of a crime?”

  John sighed, deflating a bit. “I think you should put something on, and then we’ll talk about it.”

  Ruby cocked an eyebrow, but then stepped aside and allowed him in. “Find a place to sit if you want. I’ll be right back.”

  “Who is it, Ruby?” Rumpus stuck his head around the hole in the ceiling where the stairwell disappeared. “Do you need me to snap his neck?”

  Ruby shook her head in exasperation and raced up the steps. She was keenly aware John was keenly aware of her legs flashing by at eye level. She was just as keenly aware that John steadfastly refused to look.

  “It’s the Chief of Police.”

  “Oh, that John guy? The one you’re all hot and heavy for?”

  Ruby gaped at Rumpus. “I am so not hot and heavy for him.”

  “Methinks thou maiden doth protest too much,” Rumpus said. “Don’t worry. Me and Rufus can go hang out near the lighthouse lens. I’m going to tell him staring right into the light will make his headache better.”

  “You’ll do no such thing—wait, Rufus, do you have a headache?”

  “I did yesterday, but it seems better now.”

  Ruby picked up the cat and petted him gently before getting dressed. “If it comes back, you tell me. I have things that can help.”

  Ruby slipped into a pair of leggings and a blousy top before returning to the ground floor. Chief John stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, having refused to sit.

  “Can I get you anything, Chief?” Ruby asked politely. “Coffee, tea?”

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate under the circumstances.”

  Ruby put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Will you just come out and tell me what’s going on? Why did you come all the way out here for a statement?”

  John’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He whipped out a small notebook and clicked an ink pen into working mode.

  “State your name for the record.”

  “John…”

  “Alright, fine, I know your name.” John scribbled on his notebook. “Where were you between the hours of eight PM and nine thirty?”

  “Here, at home.”

  John looked mildly upset. “Anyone who can corroborate that story?”

  “Just my two cats.”

  John cocked an eyebrow. “Your cats?”

  “I’m joking.”

  “I see.” John’s eyes narrowed with cunning, and Ruby wondered how much he knew about her family legacy. A moment later, it was gone, replaced with his dispassionate stare. “Did you have a physical altercation with one Roger Moore Abernathy earlier today?”

  Ruby gasped. “So that’s why you’re here! That disgusting creep is pressing charges! I suppose the whole town will applaud him for getting me thrown in jail, the same way they applauded when he dumped me at the altar.”

  John froze, then fixed her with an inscrutable blue-eyed gaze.

  “I wasn’t applauding.”

  “Oh,” Ruby said, oddly disarmed by his reply. “Um, okay…but I barely touched him.”

  “His secretary said he was balled up on the floor, holding his crotch and crying.”

  “Okay, so I touched him…a little.” Ruby sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “My point is, he was very much alive when I left him squirming on the floor. His secretary can tell you that, too.”

  “She did,” John replied, scribbling on his notebook. “What was your altercation about?”

  “Really?” Ruby put her hands on her hips and glared until John’s eyes widened with the knowledge of how foolish he had been to ask.

  “Right. We’ll say ‘prior grudge’…” John wrote more in his notebook. “Did you, at any time, go back to his office after you left around four pm?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been in possession of, or plan to be in possession of, a firearm?”

  “I never had a gun.”

  “Really?” John’s lips twisted into a frown. “Single woman, living alone in New York, and you didn’t have a gun?”

  “Not all New Yorkers walk around strapped, Chief John.” Ruby rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Besides, something tells me you know full well I don’t need a gun to protect myself.”

  John stopped writing. Their gazes met in a staring contest for the ages. Ruby looked back, meeting him spark for spark. At length John dropped his gaze and chuckled.

  “Fair enough. I can’t exactly take statements from your familiars, though, can I? Most of the government offices in Fiddler Cove are still run by mundanes.”

  “I knew it! Are you a warlock?”

  John chuckled. “What I am is Chief of Police. And I’m taking your statement.”

  “Right, because you think I, what, went back and beat up my ex fiancé? Believe me, I’ve thought about it often enough, but I would never actually do it.”

  John sighed, and tucked his notepad carefully into his breast pocket. Ruby noted the grim set of his jaw. Her heart thudded in her chest. “John, what’s wrong? What’s happened to Roger?”

  John’s lips twitched as he considered how to answer. “Roger Abernathy is dead.”

  Ruby’s knees went weak. “Dead?” She sank down into a chair and shook her head. “No…dead? I just talked to him…”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come and just dump this on you, but I have to do my job.” John sighed. “For what it’s worth, I personally believe you. If you’d wanted to kill Roger, you’d have thrown him off the ledge…or turned him into a toad or something.”

  “Transmutation magic is hard to pull off,” Ruby said, finding her smile again. “Which a warlock would know.”

  “Meaning, I’m not a warlock?”

  “Meaning, you could be trying to throw me off by pretending ignorance.”

  John chuckled. “You really think I’m so Machiavellian as that?”

  “No,” Ruby said. Her smile faded away. “Look, I really am sorry Roger is dead, alright? I hope you catch his killer.”

  John nodded curtly, his formal law enforcement demeanor returning. “If you remember anything at all, please give the station a call.”

  He turned to leave, trotting down the rampway. Ruby watched him go with a sigh. Lord, I hate to see him go, but I love watching him leave…

  “Oh, Ruby?” He turned about, startling her.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not planning on leaving town any time soon, are you?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Good. Don’t.”

  Ruby shook her head as Rumpus came to stand beside her. “So you’re a murder suspect now? What are we going to do?”

  “Simple,” Ruby said. “We’re going to solve the case, ourselves, and clear my name.”

  “And then you can date the hot police chief?”

  “Shut up, Rumpus.”

  Six

  Chief Miller’s visit left Ruby too wound up to consider a return to sleep. She had to admit, he’d gotten to her in more ways than one. What happened to that shy loner who read Sylvia Plath and seemed simultaneously too dorky and too cool to be part of the ‘in’ crowd?

  “Maybe he evolved like a Pokémon?” Rumpus suggested when he picked up on her thoughts. “He hadn’t reached his ultimate form until after high school.”

  “Pokémon?” Rufus asked.

  “It kind of peaked before you were born, sweetie,” Ruby said. “I once saw a woman rip a manager’s ear off at a Burger King because he wouldn’t sell her the Pokémon toy
without an accompanying kid’s meal.”

  “She ripped someone’s ear off for a toy?” Gasped an aghast Rufus.

  “More likely for the trading card that came with it,” Rumpus said.

  “Look, John is not a Pokémon. He just…grew up.”

  “And out. Jeez, he looks like The Rock, only not quite as goofy.”

  “Did you notice he was as beefy as the Rock, Ruby?”

  “Of course, she noticed. Why do you think she’s calling him ‘John’ now instead of Chief Miller? She’s so hot and bothered she can’t even sleep.”

  “I’m not hot and bothered, Rumpus. Besides, I’ve called him John before.”

  “I think not,” Rumpus leaped up on the mantle and stared her down, fluffy tail twitching. “You’ve called him Johnny Mumbles, Chief Miller, maybe even Johnny once…but never John. The name of his fully evolved Pokémon form.”

  “I’m making tea,” Ruby said, not having a good comeback or rebuttal.

  She sat in front of the fireplace and sipped warm tea as the cats dozed on the polar bear rug splayed out beneath her feet.

  So, Roger is dead. I wonder how I should feel about that?

  Oddly, she’d never really wished death on Roger. Ruby often wished the people of Fiddler’s Cove would realize Roger was not, in fact, her victim. Never for Roger’s death, though.

  Sometimes, in her weaker moments, she imagined him meeting some abysmal failure and being embarrassed. Kneeing him in the crotch had garnered her a measure of closure. His death had yet to make her feel much of anything at all, other than worried about being a possible suspect.

  Now, I just have to clear my name by finding the real killer. No big deal. Sleuthing can’t be that hard if a baby like Blair Barrows can do it.

  Roger ran a pyramid scheme, or chain referral, as he called it. That profession seemed conducive for making enemies. Ruby sighed, realizing she would have to speak to her old acquaintances now. It was too valuable a method of gathering information to allow her pride to get in the way.

  Ruby got up and stoked the fire, then remembered Uncle Ruckus used to stow away good brandy under the cushion of his chair. She checked and found a half-finished fifth right where she expected it to be.

  “Here’s to you, Uncle Ruckus,” she said, pouring herself a small shot in his favorite New England Patriots glass. The brandy went down like fire, searing its way to her belly. She missed her aunt and uncle. Roger…she just didn’t feel much of anything at all about his death. Except pity, that his secretary had to find his dead body.

  I wonder if John’s looking at the secretary as a suspect. Didn’t I read somewhere that the person who finds the body is always a suspect? Or did Blair say that?

  Ruby poured herself another shot. Then another and drifted off for a nap. When she stirred some time later, Ruby found herself staring at the apparition she thought she had banished before.

  “You’re not real,” she mumbled. “I exorcised you already, so I must have drunk too much of Ruckus’ brandy.”

  “I am real enough, witch,” the apparition seethed. “Though I have shed my fleshly prison, that does not mean I cannot hurt you. All witches must burn!”

  “My dreams usually aren’t this cliché,” Ruby said, stifling a yawn. “You know, all this showy manifestation is draining your power levels fast. You’ve got maybe two minutes of keeping this up, and then you’ll have to go back to the nether realm to recharge.”

  “Oh no, the ghost is back!” Rufus darted under Ruby’s chair, his tail brushing against her bare calf.

  “Didn’t we exorcise this dude already?” Rumpus asked, stifling a yawn.

  “How can you two be so calm?” Rufus asked in a quivering voice.

  “Because this is hardly our first apparition,” Ruby flashed a grin at Rumpus. “Right, Rumpus? Remember that old lady who possessed the radiator at my first apartment?”

  “Yeah, she kept filling up the place with steam. I remember that broad.”

  “Dost thou seek to mock me? Speaking of me as if I were not present?”

  “Oh, sorry, old timey guy,” Ruby said with a shrug. “You’re not my first entity. I’ll banish you in a minute, okay?”

  “You think me harmless?” The apparition’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll show you that Cotton Mather’s wrath reaches from beyond the grave.”

  The fire in the hearth flared out and set the polar bear rug aflame. Mather laughed uproariously as the doors banged shut.

  “I have sealed thee in,” Mather boasted. “Thou shalt burn as all witches.”

  “We’re doomed!” Rufus wailed.

  “Oh no, a fire,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “You’re a dick, Mather. That rug’s been in my family for three generations.”

  Ruby drew on her Talent of hydromancy. She gathered the water molecules from the air itself and combined them with a stream from the tap which came snaking in like a living serpent. The fire hissed and smoked into oblivion.

  Ruby chanted a minor spell to guide the smoke up and out the chimney. Mather bellowed in rage, fading away as his strength flagged.

  “Is…is he gone for good?” Rufus asked.

  “He’s retreated to the nether realm to regenerate,” Rumpus said. “Looks like he’s going to be a stubborn one. Why didn’t the exorcism work?”

  “I don’t know.” Ruby stroked her chin and surveyed Mather’s handiwork. “Mitigation magic was never my bag. I’m more of an illusion school type of witch. I might need a little more firepower.”

  “I would think the last thing we need right now is more fire anything.” Rufus ventured out from under the chair and sniffed at the charred polar bear rug.

  “I didn’t mean that literally, Rufus. I mean I need to perform a stronger exorcism ritual.”

  “How do we do that?”

  Rumpus walked around the polar bear rug with a look of regret on his whiskered face. “We can draw on the ley line, but Ruby can only channel so much power safely.”

  “Getting another witch to back me up on the exorcism ritual is a safer bet.” Ruby sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t know any witches in town.”

  “Did your aunt know any?”

  “Maybe…if she did, she never introduced me.”

  “Can we go look on the internet?” Rufus asked. “Like, maybe there’s one who advertises or something.”

  “Any witch who’s worth knowing wouldn’t advertise,” Rumpus scoffed. “Hey, Ruby, what about that little lighting-tossing powerhouse? Blair something?”

  “Blair Barrows.” Ruby pursed her lips. “Well, she’s enough of a do-gooder busybody to help, that’s for sure.”

  “It sounds like you don’t like her very much,” Rufus said.

  “Blair’s a good kid,” Ruby said with a sigh. “She’s also half my age, not to mention a Madwand. Asking for her help is going to be…embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing?” Rumpus looked at the polar bear rug, which was missing most of its center. “This is embarrassing. A low-level phantasm destroying a perfectly good place for a cat to nap.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask Blair for help.” Ruby sighed. “She’s a sweet girl, actually. She’ll probably be a total dear about it. Rats. She’s young and pretty and I want to hate her. You understand, right?”

  “I do,” Rumpus said.

  “I don’t,” Rufus looked between the two of them. “What am I missing?”

  “Nothing at all.” Ruby smiled. “As far as the rug goes…a minor transmutative mending spell should do the trick.”

  “Really?” Rufus gaped. “What about the parts that got burned off?”

  “Well, they’re still about in the form of smoke, ash, and cinder. Excuse me while I teach the laws of physics to roll over and play dead.” Ruby cleared her throat and chanted the complex spell, weaving her fingers through the air as if conducting a symphony.

  Black smoke drifted toward the rug, coalescing into tendrils which faded to white. Bit by bit, the polar bear skin rug knitted itself back together
. Rufus laid down on top of it and sighed.

  “Thank you, Ruby. It’s so soft…”

  “You’re welcome.” Ruby stifled a yawn. “Well, I’m off to bed. Mather won’t be able to manifest for at least twenty-four hours, so don’t worry.”

  Despite what she said, Ruby wound up with a cat sleeping on the pillow beside her.

  Seven

  Archer’s Boardwalk undulated along more than half of Fiddler’s Cove’s coastline. The boardwalk followed the topography of Long Island Sound like a serpent. From inception, it had been an extraordinarily controversial addition to Fiddler’s Cove.

  When Ruby had been a teen, the town board voted in a bitter, split decision to build the Boardwalk. The idea being to connect the existing smaller boardwalks into one cohesive system, thereby easing the flow of tourism traffic to the many shops, restaurants, and bars.

  Archer’s Boardwalk had indeed dragged in the tourism dollars, exceeding even the most hopeful projections. The downside of the crowds and money was an uptick in crime. Now Archer’s Boardwalk remained a topic of fierce debate among the denizens of Fiddler’s Cove, whether it had been good or ,ultimately, bad for the city.

  Ruby strolled along Archer’s Boardwalk, her mind adrift in memories. The wrinkled Sound crawled toward shore, lapping at the stout, barnacle-encrusted timbers holding the boardwalk aloft. A pelican, startled by her approach, bunched up its legs in a crouch and pushed off into flight.

  Roger brought me here on our second date. When the timbers were eerily smooth and new. She couldn’t help but feel as worn as the boards beneath her feet. Did I waste my best years on shallow pursuits? Would I be happier now if I’d raised a family like my aunt hoped I would?

  Ruby remained mired in thought so deep she walked past her intended first stop. The Happy Hooker bait shop. She retraced her steps and entered the shop, glancing about as her eyes adjusted to the interior lighting.

  She’d gone through a tomboy phase in her adolescence, and that included accompanying Ruckus on his many fishing trips. The Happy Hooker had been one of their favorite bait shops, mostly because of the name. That and the fifteen-for-a-dollar nightcrawlers…