Witching in the Moonlight (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 11) Read online

  “Witching in the Moonlight”

  Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery

  Harper "Foxxy" Beck Series Book 11

  Raven Snow

  © 2017

  Raven Snow

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner & are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover images are licensed stock photos, images shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are models.

  Edition v1.0 (2017.04.07)

  http://www.ravensnowauthor.com

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  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Authors Note

  Books by Raven Snow

  Chapter One

  It was possible to love someone dearly and still want to shove your roller skates where the sun doesn’t shine. I glared at my best friend, Vic, across the table while anxiously pulling my short, dark pixie cut out, one hair at a time.

  Vic was the kind of woman that could tussle with a tank and come out victorious. She had a passion for brightly colored spandex and doughnuts. But that didn’t mean she discriminated against other fried food, a point the ex-cheerleader proved as she wolfed down some popcorn shrimp.

  Usually when Vic and I went out, we went to the Chinese place down the street, the service faster than the overpriced, seafood restaurant we currently sat in. But she also didn’t usually invite two of my least favorite men along: her cheating ex-husband and her boyfriend, the awful Detective Kosher.

  The former, a man named Chris who we both went to high school with, had reappeared in her life a couple weeks ago on the pretense of spending more time with their daughter, Hope. The chunky jock had spent more time cozying up to the woman he left for their babysitter, if you asked me.

  From the stiff and furious expression on Kosher’s face, I wasn’t the only one suspicious about Chris’s sudden interest in his family. But that didn’t mean I’d forgive Vic for forcing me into this awkward dinner.

  Chris fed an uncomfortable Vic a piece of steak across the table. Kosher, a large, older cop with horribly bushy sideburns, and I watched the exchange silently.

  Glancing over at my chocolate cake, Chris wiggled his eyebrows. “Your dessert sure looks good, Harper.”

  Picking up my fork, I brandished it at the ex-jock. “Come a little closer. I bet you’d look dashing with an eye patch.”

  The balding man laughed, his breath hitting me right in the face with the force one of his meaty fists could carry. A little bit of spit landed on my face, and I wiped it off with exaggerated restraint.

  Really, he was a charming human being. It wasn’t hard to see why Vic would stay married to him for almost a decade.

  I fidgeted and checked my phone under the table while Chris compared Vic’s beauty to a meatball sub. I was missing work for this little party, and with my bouncer, Jeb, sick, that left Stoner Stan running my disco skate.

  It’d be a miracle if the building was still standing in the morning. Stan was known for getting lost in the glitter of the turning hot dogs and forget the little things. Like leaving the stove on.

  I rose from my seat. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Vic was right behind me, her eyes narrowed. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “It is if I don’t want you to shimmy out the bathroom window.”

  Once inside the one-hole, dingy little space that passed as a women’s bathroom, Vic turned on me, pointing a stubby finger in my face.

  “You agreed to stay and keep Chris under control.”

  “In all fairness, you limited my options when you told me I couldn’t kill him.”

  Vic splashed some water on her face from the dripping sink. Though it smudged her makeup a bit, I didn’t say anything. She had bigger fish to fry.

  “Peter’s going to kill him,” she said grimly, her expression troubled as she thought of her boyfriend’s jealousy.

  “On the plus side,” I said, patting her on the arm. “You two are already divorced; you won’t be a widow.”

  “I want Hope to spend time with her dad,” Vic said, leaning against the sink and dirtying up her dress. “But he’s barely said two words to her since he got here. I don’t know what to think.”

  I wisely kept my mouth shut, because I was pretty certain Vic knew exactly what to think. She just didn’t want to think it. I couldn’t really blame her. I didn’t know what I’d do if an ex like Chris showed up on my doorstep, wanting me back after leaving me for our babysitter.

  No, maybe I did know. The town would be attending his funeral the following morning.

  Like the good best friend I was, I went back to my seat with Vic, sliding in to sit with her ex-husband. He gave my butt an appreciative pinch, and then, like a true gentleman, turned his attention back to the woman he’d thrown away like garbage.

  Never in my life had it been so hard for me to not curse someone. My witchy powers weren’t so realized that I was sure I could do it, but I was sure I wanted to try and turn this jerk into a toad, then perform the dissection they’d taught me in sophomore biology.

  With a start, I realized I was thinking exactly like my grandmother, the most terrifying and inhuman witch I knew. Shifting uncomfortably, I tried to think happy, glowing thoughts about puppies and colorful daisies.

  That preoccupied me for about two more bites of my overpriced salmon.

  Then, luckily and unluckily, I got a text from Stan.

  Do smoke alarms need batteries to do that beep-beep thing?

  Standing for the second time that night, I nodded begrudgingly at Kosher and sent an apologetic look Vic’s way. My dress had inched up a little from the sudden movement, and I could feel Chris’s slimy eyes all over me.

  “Thank you for a…riveting evening,” I said quickly, “but I’ve
got to go put out my business before Stan reenacts Burning Man.”

  Speeding over to the Funky Wheel, I ran past Nancy Bennett, my mother-in-law. The smiling, overly nice woman waved at me as I sped by her. My excuses were barely understandable.

  “Can’t talk—Funky—gotta go.”

  She frowned, and I knew I was going to pay for this later, possibly at the next family function I was forced to attend. Wyatt, my detective husband, was lucky I loved him so much. Piling around food with his parents and siblings was not my cup of tea.

  People in bell-bottom pants were piling out of the Funky Wheel, peace sign necklaces bouncing on their chests as they hauled butt to their cars. Smoke billowed out of the ex-church, seeming to follow my paying customers.

  In a typical Harper move, I charged into the fray, swatting aside middle-aged couples on their date nights, coughing up a lung as I breathed in the smoke. Oh, well. Surely one lung was enough. I didn’t want to be greedy.

  There was a lot of smoke coming from the bar area, but when I arrived on the scene, there were luckily very few flames. Grabbing the fire extinguisher from Stan’s hands, I put out the stove relatively quickly while my useless employee watched.

  “Far out, man,” he said. “Are you like a fireman or something?” A pause. “Sorry, dude. Firewoman.”

  “Actually, I’m your boss of the last ten years,” I said dryly, waving the smoke away from my face.

  Stoner Stan was a relic from the days in the early 90s when my father had owned the Funky Wheel. Though he smoked weed in the men’s bathroom, never did any real work, and almost set the place on fire a few times before this, I couldn’t fire him. He was family.

  He held out a detached smoke detector to me, looking sheepish. “This—uh—fell from the bathroom ceiling a while ago.”

  Translation: he removed it, so the fire department would stop making trips out there every time he lit up. It was considerate, in a way. As considerate as Stan got, anyway.

  I took the ruined device from him, shoving it in a drawer somewhere in the smoky kitchen. When it became clear he was just going to stand there, I shooed him off, telling him to call 911 just in case the fire wasn’t out for good.

  While Stan struggled with the concept of a cell phone, I took a lap around the smoky disco skate, making sure everyone got out okay. Every window I happened upon, I opened, hoping to clear away some of the fumes.

  A couple of minutes later, I heard sirens in the distance, and Stan came to find me. He was looking more subdued than usual, which was saying something.

  “Sorry about the fire, boss-woman. I got distracted.”

  Hard to imagine.

  Before I could say anything I’d regret, I sent Stan home for the night. He shuffled around for a moment, wanting to help clean up, but eventually, the slacker that loved to leave work early reared his head, and Stan was out the door.

  A couple of firemen came through the front entrance right after Stan left, pulling me out into the parking lot. I got a real stern lecture on staying in burning buildings from one of the firefighters.

  I opened my mouth to tell him that the fire hadn’t been that bad, but my sentiment was interrupted by a series of long, painful coughing fits.

  Another siren pierced the night air, and before I knew it, my husband was stepping out of his police car, looking highly harassed. He ran over to me, taking in my sooty state and the smoke coming out of the Funky Wheel.

  Whatever emotions played out on his face, he looked good for a man supremely ticked off with his wife. Though Wyatt had been out of the military for years, he still wore his brown hair short, keeping it out of his icy blue eyes.

  His jawline was something to marvel at, and his body, hard from playing basketball and chasing after bad guys, wasn’t too shabby either. I allowed myself a moment to drool.

  “I heard about the fire on my scanner,” Wyatt said. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “One supreme pizza perished in the flames,” I told him, pretending to wipe a tear away from my eye. “Let’s have a moment of silence.”

  “Hilarious,” he said dryly.

  “I thought so.”

  There wasn't any significant damage, so I left the professionals to make a report I could give to my insurance guy. Wyatt and I drove home separately, him in his cruiser and me in my crappy, orange bug. As soon as I was out of the car and in our driveway, I was wrapped around him like a barnacle again. We'd only been married for a few months, and I was wondering if there'd ever come a day when my breath didn't catch at the sight of him.

  Probably not.

  While I had lived above the Wheel in a sparse loft before meeting Wyatt, we were both now situated in his two-story, cozy, Victorian-style home. When I walked through the front door, breathing in the clean scent that was thanks to Wyatt's obsessive need for order, a large, mangy dog plowed into me on his way to Wyatt.

  I shot Biscuit, our pet werewolf who spent most of his time as a wolf, a dirty look. He could at least have the decency of pretending Wyatt wasn't his favorite. I'd saved the man's life, for goodness sakes.

  Whale, my bright, orange cat, was sitting on the table, so I shooed him off, fur flying everywhere. He looked at me with highly intelligent and annoyed eyes. Since he was also my familiar, a being of significant magical power, it probably would've been best if I'd let him stay on the table.

  Just when I was feeling like I was dog food to everyone in the house, Cooper, Wyatt's son, came bounding down the stairs. He had a smarty-pants' text book in one hand and a big smile on his face as he gave me a one-armed hug.

  Cooper, while not biologically my son, was one of my favorite people. He was a miniature Wyatt with the same hair and eyes and a penchant for following the rules. Pushing him towards the kitchen table, I poured him a bowl of chocolate cereal as our remaining houseguest slunk into the room.

  Unlike the rest of Wyatt's brothers, who were as straight-laced as him, Liam had purple hair, was dating my best friend Oliver, and was in a band. We got along quite well when he wasn't encroaching on my space and trying my patience.

  "Hello, Harper," Liam said a little cautiously. "Mind getting me a bowl?"

  "Get it yourself."

  Wyatt, making his way into the kitchen, thumped his younger brother on the back of the head. "Play nicely, children."

  Liam and I stuck our tongues out at each other when Wyatt's back turned. Cooper watched the show, shoveling sugary cereal into his mouth, with mild amusement.

  "How was your dinner with Vic?" Wyatt asked, putting a frozen pizza into the oven.

  I'd barely gotten anything to eat at the restaurant, so I swooned internally as the red, hot light went on behind the metal door. It was a sight for sore eyes.

  "Great," I said, stealing a bite of Cooper's cereal. "You could cut the tension with a knife, but I like an ambiance with my food."

  "Peter did mention something about shoving his boot down Chris's throat if he made eyes at Vic one more time."

  I'd pay to watch that.

  Cooper, having just turned 12, was still trying to figure out the strange ways of grown-ups. "Why would Hope's dad want to get back together if he was the one that left?"

  My lips twitched unhappily. "I'm betting his little girlfriend dumped him, and he's hard up for...dates."

  Sometimes it was hard keeping it PG-13 around Cooper. Most of the time I didn't try, but Wyatt always gave me a dazzling and bemused smile when I managed it. Just like he was right now.

  After sharing a pizza, three of us went to bed while Liam snuck out to see Oliver, pretending he was going to watch TV for a little while longer. He had no need to be secretive, but I suspected he was bored of sitting on the couch all day while his band was on break.

  While Wyatt fell instantly asleep at my side, I tossed and turned a while more, thinking of Chris. It had taken Vic a good while to get over what he’d done to her and move on. Admittedly, she’d moved on with a man I despised, but that was beside the point. Chris coming to town was setting
her back, and I didn’t like it.

  When I finally drifted off, I was thinking about how much easier Vic’s life would be if Kosher just went ahead and killed the jerk.

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt shook me awake the next morning, his expression grim in the pale light of the newly rising sun. My final thoughts before sleeping were fresh on my mind, and I groaned.

  “Couldn’t he have killed him at a decent hour?”

  Shaking his head, Wyatt said, “Don’t joke. They found Chris Prandon’s body floating in the lake this morning.”

  I flipped over onto my stomach. While I was surprised Chris was actually dead, I didn’t get up at this hour for someone falling off their fishing boat in the middle of the night.

  “Not interested,” I mumbled into the pillow.

  More than once my friends had compared me to a bloodhound. Once I had the scent on a mystery, I couldn’t let it go. Luckily, a mystery had to be pretty outlandish to pique my interest. It was a supernatural death or no dice.

  “Something munched on him a little in the water.”

  I opened a single eye to glance at my husband. “Gator?”

  “Nope,” he said, popping the “p” like I always did. “The bite marks are way too big for a gator.”

  I was out of bed and dressed in two seconds flat. Before rushing out the door, we left a note for Liam to get Cooper to school. He could be relied on to do that once in a while, if he didn’t get caught up looking at his own reflection.

  The morning air bit at my exposed skin before I could jump in Wyatt’s car and put the heater on full blast. Northern Florida doesn’t get very cold, but I’d grown up in Miami. Seeing the temperatures drop below 60 was practically an ice storm.

  The only lake in Waresville was just inside city limits and a couple hundred yards away from the highway. We were far enough from the ocean that this was the main source of fishing entertainment around. Though that was using the term “entertainment” lightly, in my opinion.