“I’m about to head to school. Are you okay? You look sick.”

  “I’m definitely suffering from something,” I said.

  Marley didn’t say anything. She simply crossed the room and threw her arms around me.

  “Alec and I broke up,” I said.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

  “I know it will.” Eventually.

  She released me and took a step backward. “Maybe I should stay home from school and keep you company.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “I can take care of myself. I’m going to mope around here playing maudlin music and eat ice cream for breakfast like any self-respecting woman after a breakup.”

  “We can watch rom-coms tonight,” Marley suggested. “They always cheer you up.”

  “We’ll see.” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do in five minutes, let alone in five hours.

  Marley put the kettle on. “I’ll make you a drink before I go. Just sit down at the table and don’t worry about anything.”

  I felt like I was moving in slow motion. Eventually I arrived at the table and sat. My head felt too heavy for my neck and I rested my forehead on the cool slab of wood.

  “A new job is exciting,” Marley said. “Try to focus on that. The world’s your oyster now.”

  I turned my head to face her so that my check pressed against the table. “No, the world is your oyster. Once you get to be my age, there’s no oyster. Only an empty shell.”

  “Wow, that’s depressing.” She opened a box of granola and poured some into a bowl. “I bet there are cool jobs in Starry Hollow, though. What about being a guide for the broomstick tour? You love to fly.”

  “I like it as a mode of transport. I’m not sure how I’d feel about it as a job,” I said. It couldn’t pay very much and I had college tuition to consider now that Aunt Hyacinth wouldn’t be footing the bill.

  “What about writing articles for another publication?” she asked. “You’ve really enjoyed working as a reporter.”

  “That would be my first choice, but there aren’t many options. Newspapers are dropping like flies and it’s the investigation I like more than the writing itself.”

  She delivered the bowl of granola to the table along with a spoon. “Can I make you coffee or tea?”

  “No, thanks. You focus on getting yourself ready for school. That’s the priority.”

  “I can help you job hunt when I get home,” she said.

  “Right now, I’m going to focus on Roy Nash. If a job lead comes up, then I’ll pursue it, but I can’t let this case fall between the cracks. It’s bad enough that Bentley dropped the matter to take over my job.”

  She hugged me again. “Won’t that be amazing if you’re able to find the killer? Sheriff Nash would be so happy.”

  “Someone deserves to be,” I mumbled. And no one deserved it more than Granger Nash. The sheriff should be up for sainthood.

  “I’ll come straight home after school.”

  I pulled myself to an upright position. “I’ll be fine, I swear. Don’t worry about me.”

  “If you say so.”

  “How’s everything at school? Are the witches still giving you a hard time?”

  Her expression clouded over. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Marley, I’m an adult who’s having a moment of crisis, but it will pass. If you need my help, I’m here.”

  She rubbed my back. “I know you are and I appreciate it, but I’ll handle this on my own.”

  “Don’t do anything that gets you in trouble. We won’t have Aunt Hyacinth to go to bat for us.”

  “I can make dinner tonight, if you want,” Marley offered.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s my job to keep us fed and watered.” I had to put on a brave front or Marley was going to end up mothering me instead of the other way around.

  “Okay.” She gave me a lingering look before vacating the kitchen.

  I heard the sound of the front door open and close as she left and dropped my head back on the table. The granola was going to get soggy, but I didn’t care. I had no appetite. My stomach gurgled.

  Okay, maybe I had a bit of an appetite, but I wasn’t in the mood to eat. The only thing I wanted to do now was crawl back into bed and stay there. I resisted the urge to succumb to self-pity, though. Marley was counting on me to be a parent. Arnold Palmer was counting on me to find his match. The sheriff was counting on me to solve his father’s murder. I refused to let them down. This was his father’s case. His white whale.

  I dragged myself to the counter where my phone was charging and tapped the screen for my list of contacts. The best way forward was to forget my own troubles and focus on helping others.

  I was determined to give the sheriff the one thing he’d always wanted—closure.

  I was shocked to see Bentley hovering outside the Crooked Star, an art gallery downtown. He opened his arms to hug me, but then seemed to think better of it.

  “We still don’t do that, do we?” he asked.

  “Not unless you want my knee somewhere uncomfortable.”

  “Thought as much.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I only told you my plans out of courtesy, not because I expected you to show up.”

  “I have an appointment a block over in twenty minutes,” he said. “I figured I’d squeeze it in. Help you on your way.”

  I bristled. “What makes you think I need your help?”

  He lifted a hand to touch my shoulder and quickly retracted it. “We know you and Alec broke up.”

  My head snapped to attention. “He told you?”

  “No, but it was obvious when he called out this morning that something was wrong. Tanya spoke to him and put two and two together.”

  “Wow. He didn’t show up for work?” That spoke volumes. Alec used work as a coping mechanism. If he couldn’t manage to get to the office, the vampire was in rough shape. The thought gave me no pleasure.

  “Tanya is going to check on him at home later,” he said. “So don’t worry about Alec. We’ve got eyes on him.”

  I was more worried about me, but I didn’t need to share that with Bentley. Alec had lifetimes of experience getting by on his own and a truckload of money in the vault. The vampire would rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

  “So this is where Malcolm Kincaid works now,” Bentley said, glancing at the art gallery. “A far cry from co-owning a business.”

  “It doesn’t seem like he was cut out for being his own boss,” I said. “His judgment was pretty poor.”

  Bentley arched an eyebrow. “Poor enough to include murder?”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  “You should let me take the lead,” Bentley whispered as we headed to the door.

  After last night, I didn’t have the strength to argue. If the elf wanted to do some heavy lifting before he completely abandoned the case, then I was willing to let him.

  The door swung open, revealing Malcolm Kincaid. The security guard stood just inside the entrance of the gallery in a white shirt and black trousers. His security badge was the only sign of his role in the gallery. His hands were clasped behind his back and his eyelids seemed heavy, as though he was either bored out of his mind or tired from an interrupted night. Life didn’t appear to have been kind to him. According to his file, the werewolf was only sixty, but his thinning white hair and deep creases suggested a life hard-lived.

  “Mr. Kincaid?” Bentley inquired.

  The werewolf looked him up and down with suspicion. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Bentley Smith and this is my associate, Ember Rose. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Can’t you see I’m working?” he snarled.

  I regarded the empty gallery. “Yes, but there’s no one here.”

  “I don’t guard the customers,” he said. “I guard the artwork.”

  Bentley snorted. “You call that artwork?”

  I took a closer look at the content on display. Every piece was a different artist’s interpretation of the night sky.

  “I actually think they’re pretty,” I said. Most of them, anyway. One seemed to be the artist’s expression of a black hole sucking everything into its vortex—that one was the stuff of nightmares.

  Bentley pressed on. “We want to talk to you about an old business partner of yours, Roy Nash.”

  Kincaid seemed momentarily startled. Then his wide eyes narrowed. “Why on earth would you dredge all that up now?”

  “His murder’s never been solved,” Bentley said. “As his former friend and business partner, doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Of course it bothers me,” Malcolm said. “Sometimes I still dream about him and, when I wake up, I think he’s still alive.”

  “You think he’s still alive?” Bentley asked.

  Malcolm shook his head. “No, no. I mean, there’s that moment between being asleep and awake where I forget he’s dead. That’s all. Once I’m fully awake and remember…” He exhaled. “It’s never easy to lose a friend, especially someone I spent as much time with as Roy.”

  “We understand you were the last one to see Roy alive at the office,” I said.

  “That’s what the sheriff told me,” Malcolm said.

  “And is it true you had no alibi?” Bentley prodded.

  “Why would I?” Malcolm asked. “Roy and I worked alone. We had no staff. Roy said he was heading home for dinner, but he never made it, so yeah. I guess I was the last one, except whoever killed him, of course.”

  “According to the records, you and Roy were on the outs at the time,” I said.

  Malcolm huffed. “Do I really need to explain myself again? I told the authorities at the time and I told young Nash the same thing when he came sniffing around.”

  “We’d like to hear it from you,” Bentley said. “It’s the reporter in us. We’ve read the file, of course, but much better to get it straight from the source.”

  The door opened and a stylish couple brushed past us to enter the gallery. They looked to be in their forties with ample discretionary income if their clothes and accessories were anything to go by.

  Malcolm shuffled backward a few steps so we weren’t blocking the entrance. “I don’t think now is the time for this conversation,” he said in a gruff voice.

  I turned to see the couple migrate to the far end of the gallery. “They won’t hear a thing, please.”

  Bentley stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re on the clock for a few more hours, Mr. Kincaid, and we’ve got nothing but time.”

  The werewolf’s shoulders sagged as he relented. “Business wasn’t going well then. Roy felt like it was a money pit and he wanted to sell and move on to something else.”

  “But you didn’t?” I asked.

  “No, I didn’t. Truth be told, I was stubborn and, in hindsight, Roy was right.”

  “The business failed?” Bentley asked.

  Malcolm laughed. “Would I be here now if it hadn’t? I should’ve listened. Maybe if I had, he’d still be alive.”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “Just that we’d quarreled that day and I think he probably left work earlier than he needed to,” Malcolm said. “If we hadn’t been arguing, maybe he wouldn’t have encountered whoever killed him.”

  “Why did the sheriff rule you out as a suspect?” I asked.

  Malcolm stood on his tiptoes and yelled, “Don’t touch that, please.”

  I turned to see the woman snap back a hand and lower it to her side.

  The werewolf shook his head ruefully. “Why do they think they can touch the artwork? Nobody needs their oily fingers on a canvas they haven’t purchased.”

  Well, Malcolm clearly took his job very seriously.

  “The sheriff ruled me out because I’m not guilty,” Malcolm said.

  Bentley and I exchanged looks. “That’s not a reason,” the elf said. “There must’ve been evidence that exonerated you.”

  “They couldn’t place me at the scene and a witness said they saw me leave the office at seven, which was well after the time of death.”

  “You could’ve gone and come back without being seen,” I said.

  “Except his body was found in the woods near a thicket of poison oak.” He paused. “I’m severely allergic. Break out in hives and everything. If I had been within a foot of that area, it would’ve been obvious to anyone with eyes.”

  I recalled Kincaid’s healer’s record in the file and the mention of the allergy.

  “One last question, Mr. Kincaid, and then we’ll leave you to get back to work,” I said.

  “Go on then,” he urged.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, who do you think killed Roy Nash?”

  A breath of surprise escaped him. “No one’s ever asked me that,” Malcolm said. “I honestly have no clue. I wish I knew, though. Roy was the best of us. He deserved better, may the gods rest his soul. His family deserved better. For someone to do that to Roy…” He closed his eyes as though willing the memory away. “They must’ve had a lot of anger in their heart to do a thing like that.”

  I was inclined to agree. Nothing had been taken from Roy, not even his wallet.

  Bentley glanced at the clock on his phone. “Ooh, I need to go or I’m going to be late.”

  “I thought you had nothing but time,” Kincaid said.

  “I had twenty minutes.” The elf clapped me on the back. “This one has an eternity, though. Hey, maybe you could get a job here. Is the gallery hiring?”

  I elbowed Bentley in the ribs and he doubled over. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Kincaid,” I said.

  Kincaid chuckled. “We could certainly use someone like you in security. Plenty of customers get handsy with the artwork and sometimes even with other customers.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, escaping the art gallery.

  In the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind.

  I sat on a bench near the Phoenix Club and studied the map from Roy Nash’s file. According to the markings, Roy’s body was found in the woods not very far from the heart of town. Investigators never figured out what prompted Roy to enter the woods instead of heading straight home from work. The theories ranged from ‘wanted to relieve the stress associated with work by shifting’ to ‘meeting a secret lover’ to ‘killed elsewhere and dumped there.’

  I scanned the notes for what seemed to be the fiftieth time. Accidental death had been ruled out because of the type of injury to his neck. According to the report, if Roy had simply tripped and fallen, the break would have had a different appearance.

  I closed the file and rose to my feet. It was a sunny day and I needed the fresh air, so I decided to retrace Roy’s steps from his former office to the spot in the woods where his body was discovered. Although I knew there’d be no physical evidence all these years later, I figured the trail might trigger a few new ideas. My father used to say he did his best thinking during a walk in the woods and how much he missed having a forest nearby in New Jersey. He’d told me that sitting against a live oak in Starry Hollow was one of his favorite pastimes.

  I walked to the address of Roy’s former business. The building now housed a healing supply company. I didn’t bother going inside; there was nothing to learn there. I lingered in front of the entrance and tried to channel Roy. He’d left the office feeling disgruntled with his business partner and knew his wife was waiting to serve dinner until he came home. Knowing what I did about Roy’s character, would he have decided to take a quick run through the woods to alleviate stress, knowing his wife and sons were waiting for him?

  No. He wouldn’t have.

  I took a moment to survey the surrounding area. There were two neighboring buildings, both with windows and doors that faced Roy’s office. The records showed they were here at the time of his death and the witness who’d seen Kincaid at seven had worked in one of them. If someone had killed Roy in the parking lot and carted his body off to the woods, chances are there would’ve been at least one witness to that event, yet the acting sheriff had canvassed the area with no results.

  Could Roy have been meeting a lover and their tryst interrupted by the lover’s jealous husband? Betty Hickok was the only potential paramour and even Marianne didn’t believe the rumor. Still, it was worth a conversation with Betty. If Barnaby had been the one to murder Roy, then Betty likely knew the truth. Maybe she’d be willing to tell her side of the story after all these years—now that Barnaby was beyond the long arm of the law.

  I followed the map and walked along the sidewalk to the nearest entrance to the woods. It was a well-worn path favored by hikers, although maybe it hadn’t been so popular then. Along the way, I passed a couple pushing an off-road stroller, a few joggers, and two cyclists. Plenty of traffic.

  The light dimmed the further I ventured, the canopy of trees blocking out the sun. It would’ve appeared much the same on the evening Roy walked this same path.

  I glanced at the map again to remind myself where to diverge from the path. I located the narrow trail, nearly obscured by bushes, and followed it until I arrived at a small clearing lined with live oaks and the thicket of poison oak. I tucked the map into my tote bag and sighed. So this was the scene of the crime.

  A breeze blew past, rustling the leaves, and I hugged myself to stave off the chill. I wasn’t sure whether it was the temperature of the air or knowing that the sheriff’s beloved father had died here. I wondered whether he, Marianne, or Wyatt ever visited this spot. It was likely too painful for them.

  The appealing smell of live oaks invaded my nostrils and I let the scent simmer. It would’ve smelled just the same for Roy. In fact, it would’ve been stronger due to his heightened werewolf senses.

  I walked along the perimeter of the clearing and considered whether there was any magic that might help me. The trees were alive at the time. Did they have memories and, if so, could I use magic to access them? It seemed unlikely or the sheriff’s office would’ve hired a competent witch for the task years ago.

  I leaned my back against one of the live oaks and slid to sit on the ground, emulating my father. I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to wander. Maybe an idea would come to me if I didn’t force my thoughts in a certain direction.

 

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