Moonlight Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery Read online

  Emily laughed as she got behind the wheel of the Camaro. “That would be a pretty perfect day. By the way, I’m driving because you’re scary when you are a competent witch. I don’t think you should be behind the wheel in your current state.”

  Ingrid opened the passenger side door and got in. “I’ll cut you, Em. Just like you always threaten. You’ve given me bad ideas.”

  •••

  “Maria?” Emily asked, eyeing Ingrid somewhat askance. There was a part of Ingrid who wanted to laugh at the look of semi-concern and semi-irritation on Emily’s face. The truth was—neither of them were prepared for how Ingrid had actually felt about Gabe. Ingrid felt like she’d been hit on the back of the head by her feelings for him and then how massively she’d screwed up everything.

  Emily opened the door of the Camaro. She was driving since friends didn’t let friends drive with sullen, burning, mind-numbing fury.

  “Yes,” Ingrid said, opening the passenger door of the Camaro. “I object to murders in general. This has ruined my nap schedule at least, and I haven’t eaten anything good since like…possibly ever. You should dump Sam.”

  It came out rather unexpectedly. Also unexpected was the way her dress caught on nothing and slid up while she eased into the car.

  “Hooker,” Emily said as Ingrid yanked her skirt down and then asked, “Are you commando?”

  “Shut up,” Ingrid said, yanking her skirt back down.

  “Why are you commando?”

  “Shut up. Gabe. Panties. Drama. Fire in the shower.”

  “You burned your panties?” Emily’s snort made even Ingrid laugh.

  “Shut up. Dump Sam. Leave me alone.”

  “We are going panty shopping, stat, Ingrid, you splendiferous, commando hooker. Are you wanting me to be lonely and single because you are?”

  Yes, that was what Ingrid wanted. Not Emily single. But the snarky, less careful Emily. The bluntly honest and mean one. The one who quit tip-toeing around fragile Ingrid.

  “No,” Ingrid replied, grinning with an evil smirk. “I want you to dump him because he might be the dumbest person you have ever dated, and I’m including Dickhead in that statement. Ghost, if you lay another disembodied hand on me, I will find a way to remove said hand. Now, color me surprised, but this hunk of classic, sexy car is haunted, my slutty, idiot, fireman-dating dove.”

  “You think so, too?” Emily asked in relief. “I thought I was going a little insane. I mean calling him Ghosty was supposed to be a joke. But then it started to be true. But also, no. I may not keep Fireman Sam forever, but I want him now. If you know what I mean. It’s our only car. We have to deal.”

  “You are a Jezebel, my favorite dove,” Ingrid said, leaning her head against the back of the car seat. “I think that deciding to break into Kevin’s house might have been ill-thought out. That Tia though, she is an evil one. If she didn’t kill Sheldon, she sure would have. Can you imagine cheating on Kevin with Sheldon? I mean, Kevin is pretty hot. I don’t like him, but I’d prefer if you went for him over Sam.”

  “Did you just tell me to go for Deputy Dumbass?”

  “The jerk, evil, horrible, I hate him so much if I haven’t hexed him yet I will, deputy is better than Fireman Dumb as a Rock. “

  “Listen, just because Sheriff Hotpants dumped your dumb ass for being a dumbass does not mean that I have to dump my dumbass.”

  The laugh caught her by utter, perfect surprise. “I hate you.”

  They pulled up in front of Maria’s little bungalow.

  “Probably we’d get arrested if Gabe catches us,” Emily said, looking at the house. “Since you’re not doing the sheriff anymore.”

  Ingrid leaned over and honked the horn. Several long, loud honks. They got out of the car and watched for a second, but there was no reaction at the house. They walked up the path, and Emily knocked.

  “Anyone home? Anyone aiming a gun at my head and/or genitals? Hello? Hello?”

  There was no answer, so Ingrid kicked the door, action movie style. Her shoe flew off, and her barefoot slammed into the door. Nothing happened but her shrieking.

  “You’re not Gabe or Deputy Dumbass. That isn’t going to work.”

  “It might have. I am a witch. A scary power-mad, Gabe-spinning witch of fury.”

  “You can remove fine lines and make good coffee.”

  “And,” Ingrid paused dramatically, “start things on fire. So don’t mess with me.”

  “Or what, you’ll burn down my apartment building?”

  “Maybe,” Ingrid said, taking hold of the handle and willing it opened. To both of their surprise, it worked. “I have been burning a lot of things in my shower lately.”

  “You know, panties and such.” Emily opened the door and stepped inside, calling, “Maria?”

  The door swung wide.

  “This house feels more haunted than our car.”

  “Now that Gabe has dumped you, you can have a romantic relationship with my dead uncle.”

  Ingrid slapped the back of Emily’s head—not lightly.

  “Ow!”

  They looked around. Closets were opened, the garbage was full. Fruit flies had invaded in a take-over-the-planet sort of way.

  “Gross,” Ingrid said, kicking aside a pile of shoes at the door.

  “Not everyone inherited a fortune from their first husband and then hired a sweet old lady to clean up.”

  “I think you mean clean up after you, you lazy mooch BFF.”

  “True.” Emily’s nose wrinkled. “I think we can confirm that it was Maria who killed Sheldon. After a lifetime of being treated terribly by that sorry excuse for humanity, she went mad and took care of business.”

  “I can certainly understand her motive.” Ingrid opened the cupboards hoping for wine. “But I have to say, the gunshot wounds to the genital area were…disturbing in that context.”

  “Did you just say context? What’s next? Engenders? Are you channeling Harrison?”

  “Well, a ghost did just flip up my skirt, so maybe.”

  They dug through Maria’s closet. She had an entire box full of journals. Ingrid stole several from random timeframes since who the hell knew when a motive would appear. Emily found a desk full of credit card bills.

  “Dude,” Emily said, “this looks like the type of shit Dickhead used to pull. Man…Maria has a shopping problem.”

  “He was single. She’s probably the person who will inherit.” Ingrid sighed. “I like Maria. I want Tia to be the killer, not Maria. Maria has nice nails, and she was fun to gossip with, and Tia is a super cow dove.”

  “Do we tell Gabe?”

  “Please, he’s a cop. He can figure this shit out for himself. I have a killer to catch.”

  Emily snorted again and said, “We have a ghost to get rid of, a killer to catch, a sheriff to forgive.”

  Ingrid shook her head, but Emily didn’t stop. She added, “After he crawls begging for forgiveness and we make him say, via truth serum, that he’ll never be over you and that he hates what happened, and he loves you even though we buried a body because you are completely irreplaceable and bring light, joy, happiness, and cash to his life.”

  “Deal. Also, this house is gross and I want food and then a nap. Or possibly a nap and then food.”

  “Well, as the person who has seen too much of your butt lately, what you’re getting is underwear.”

  Chapter 6

  A Shot of Truth

  Emily and Ingrid sat in Ingrid’s apartment, quietly watching the sailboats bob up and down on the waters at the marina. Emily had insisted that they stop at the boutique next door and buy underwear for Ingrid. Now that she was assured that her friend was no longer going to flash her nether-regions, she could relax. The sight of Ingrid’s woo-hoo was more than she could bare. They were both much more docile than usual. They sipped wine and ate cheese.

  “This feels too normal, too cultured for us. There is drama swirling around our personal lives, and we are sipping wine like we are at an art exhibit,” Ingrid complained. “I feel like we should be doing something. But I don’t want to leave the house.”

  “Ooh, an art exhibit. That would be lovely,” Emily said in her best, still-not-very-good British accent. Then she slipped back into her normal voice. “Seriously though, I have not been inside an art gallery in forever. After we solve this murder, I want to see something useful and important. Our trip to St. Maarten's was great, and the wine,” she said as she held up her glass, “is obviously amaze-balls, but I need culture. I mean, listen, I just said amaze-balls. I’m a cave man. Please, after these murders are solved and you and Gabe work out your soap opera drama, say we can go somewhere amazing. Like Paris or Rome or Moscow. Oh, or Prague. Yeah, let’s go to Prague.”

  Ingrid laughed. “Okay, Prague it is. Or Paris or Moscow. But I haven’t decided if I’m getting back together with Sheriff Mean yet. He might be more drama than I can deal with.”

  “More love, you mean. You hate that you are serious about him, don't you?”

  Ingrid took a gulp of wine. “Yes. I mean I like it and I hate it all at the same time. Plus, I’m just mad at him.”

  “Sip, Ingrid, don’t gulp. Like this.” Emily demonstrated by taking a short, slow sip of her sweet red cabernet from St. Maarten’s.

  “Today is a gulping sort of day, Em. You should be glad I’m not doing shots of wine.”

  “Okay, true enough. We’ll save our attempts to be cultured for Europe. Even though we are totally going to stand out as brazen American hussies.”

  Ingrid shrugged. “That’s okay. I think European men like hussies, especially American hussies. I’ll make sure not to get back together with Gabe before we go to Prague so I can have a fling with some hot dude who only speaks the language of love
.”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. “You expecting anyone, Ingrid?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  Emily got up to get the door, seeing as Ingrid made no move to get off the couch. “Don't worry, I got it. You just keep chugging your wine. I'm pretty sure that fixes everything. Except maybe liver problems, but maybe we can witch those away.” Emily looked through the peephole and groaned. “Oh great. It’s Idiot #1 and #2.”

  She opened the door anyway. “Boys,” she said, making a sweeping gesture with her hand, “welcome. Come in, have a seat, pretend we don't think you are both imbeciles.”

  Gabe and Kevin sat down at Ingrid’s monstrous kitchen table, and then Gabe launched into his reasons for being here, completely ignoring Emily’s insult.

  “We don’t officially suspect that either one of you had anything to do with Sheldon Peter’s murder,” he began.

  Ingrid interrupted, saying snidely, “Well, isn’t that something?”

  He continued, ignoring her dig. “However, we are hoping that you saw something either in the woods or in the car that might help us figure out what happened to him.”

  “Oh, were you now?” asked Emily. “Hoping that we could help you? How incredibly naive of you, Gabe.”

  Ingrid chimed in. “You should be at Deputy Dumbass’s house, given that his wife is likely the murderer. Arrest her cheating self. And get out of my house. And out of my building. Or I’ll put you out. There is no help for you here.”

  Emily saw the shot glasses in the cabinet and a moment of genius struck her. “I have an idea.”

  She stood up and took four shot glass out and set them on the table in front of the boys.

  “No,” Ingrid said. “We are not doing wine shots with these jackholes. I don’t want them in my house.”

  Emily reassured her. “It's fine, Ingrid, trust me. We aren’t doing shots of wine. We are doing shots of truth serum. And it's not your house. It’s my building, and I say they stay.”

  “It may be our building, but I paid for the renovations and the decorations with Harrison’s money.”

  “Yeah, whatever. It’s ours. I'm just playing. But really, let them stay. You don’t have to answer any question you don’t want to. But they must answer all of ours.” She raised her eyebrow at Emily. “All of them.”

  “Oh,” Ingrid said, catching on to Emily’s intentions.

  Ingrid quick-brewed some coffee, added some Bailey’s Irish Cream for good measure and then a few drops of serum. Emily smiled her approval at the addition of Bailey’s and the amount of truth serum. More than necessary for this many people. She was getting really good at eyeballing the right dosage of truth serum and was afraid that said too much about her and Em’s life style.

  She handed the pot to Emily, who then poured coffee shots for all four of them and instructed them on the proceedings. “Now, jerks, this is how it’s going to work. You will do a shot, and then answer one of our questions. For every two questions you answer, we’ll answer one. That’s the only deal you are gonna get from us and be glad that I don’t let Ingrid throw you out of here on your behinds, literally. With magic.” Emily slid the glasses in front of them. “Now, then. Drink.”

  Gabe sighed, knowing he’d lost this battle before he'd walked in the front door and downed his coffee. He choked. It’s possible Ingrid had overdone the Bailey’s in her current state of wine-drenched anger. Well, good. The alcohol would help the truth-telling along.

  “Ingrid, love, do you have any questions for our dear sheriff?”

  “No. Make your deputy drink. I want to ask him a question.”

  Gabe nodded at Kevin, who picked up his shot glass and downed it.

  “Well?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t believe in witchcraft.”

  Ingrid didn’t hesitate. “Oh really?”

  Ingrid and Emily grinned at each other.

  “That’s right.”

  “Is the sky blue?”

  Yes,” Kevin said grudgingly and rolled his eyes. Gabe just leaned back and waited.

  “Tell me it’s green.”

  The eyeroll was so dramatic that Ingrid thought he could have challenged any middle school girl.

  “The sky is gr…blue.”

  “What color is it?” Emily asked, smirking.

  “It’s gr…blue.”

  “Blue, huh.” Ingrid mocked. “Do you hate me?’

  “N.. “ He tried again, “N..”

  He had to stop and actually think before he could say, “I don’t hate you. But I don’t like you, and I think Gabe can and should do better than you.”

  “That’s funny,” Ingrid said, narrowing her gaze. “I can see we’re not going to be friends. “Did your wife kill Sheldon?”

  “No, that is ridiculous and I resent the accusation. Tia couldn't do that. She’s not that type of person. And she has an alibi.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Please. You seem to make a lot of assumptions about the types of people that women are.”

  Ingrid poured another shot in Kevin’s glass. “Drink again.”

  “Wait, doesn’t Gabe have to answer anything?”

  Ingrid responded, ice in her voice. “I’ll get to him soon enough.” She sounded very final and very, very angry. Still. Emily would definitely not want to be Gabe right now.

  Kevin drank as instructed and then Ingrid charged again. “Did you know your wife was having an affair with Sheldon?”

  He opened his mouth to speak and Emily held up a hand. “Wait. Drink again before you talk. I want to make sure you are good and saturated with truth before you speak. You almost evaded my last question.”

  He drank and then spoke. “You can’t prove Tia was with Sheldon.”

  Ingrid spoke this time. “I don't have to prove anything. I’m not the police.”

  “That was the first I’d heard of it until Emily told me this afternoon. I have doubts.”

  Ingrid looked at Emily. “You told him? But you told Tia you would tell him if she didn’t—”

  Emily smiled wickedly at Ingrid. “Yup. I lied. He already knew. Not that he believed me.”

  Kevin's face turned red. “Wait. When did you talk to my wife? She tried to get you to not tell me?”

  Kevin was clearly starting to realize that his wife had probably cheated on him when Gabe pushed a shot glass toward Emily, avoiding Ingrid’s wrath for the moment. “Drink, Emily. We answered two questions. It's only fair.”

  Emily drank, not that she needed it to tell the truth. “We broke into your house this afternoon. By the way, your kitchen is a horrible color. And so is your car. You should stop letting Tia make any decisions. She clearly makes bad choices. Like murdering her lover.”

  Kevin’s face turned redder and he started blustering, but Gabe put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder and said, “Relax, man. She’s goading you. It’s what they do.”

  “Yep,” Ingrid said. “And we are good at it. Really good. In fact, drink, Sheriff. Time for your question.”

  He obeyed, and she went for the jugular. “Do you love me?”

  His eyes bulged and he turned nearly purple with embarrassment. Emily laughed out loud. Ingrid tapped her hands on the table, expecting an answer.

  “Well, you want us to help you with your case, you’ll help me by giving me your truth. I’m not going to shed any tears for a jerkhole with no feelings. Or someone who is stupid.”

  Emily watched Gabe gulp under pressure of Ingrid’s steely gaze.

  He nodded.

  “What was that, Sheriff,” Ingrid pushed. “I couldn't hear you.”

  “Yes, okay? Satisfied?” His confession was like a dam bursting. “Of course I love you. You make me crazy, but you make every day a beautiful adventure and I can’t get enough of you and—”

  “That's enough. Save some of your heartfelt confessions for when we are alone together. That’s all I need from you for now. Emily, do you have more questions for this lump?”

  Emily nodded, impressed with how Ingrid hadn’t even batted an eyelash of Gabe’s confession. Good thing Gabe wasn’t without redeeming qualities.

  “Drink, Kevin.” Ingrid poured him another shot.

  He swallowed. “I'm gonna need to piss soon.”