Fried Rice and Fangs (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 10) Page 2

  “I know both,” he said happily, sticking out his hand. I shook it without reservations. I was a witch after all. “In case you are at a loss, I am Basil.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Is that your birth name?’

  He laughed—a wholehearted sound that made me want to like him. “Basileios. Though I haven’t been called that in a while.”

  I released his hand. “Then I’ll stick with Basil.”

  While I tangled with the supernatural population often, I knew when it was better to keep my distance, so I said good-bye to Basil and rushed home to Wyatt. I was usually only foolish with my safety when there was a mystery involved.

  ****

  As soon as Wyatt’s phone rang in the pre-dawn hours, I knew someone was dead. Waresville is lacking in good detectives, and my husband was the best they had; they wouldn’t call him at this hour for any old crime.

  He answered the phone with his hair still mussed from sleep, speaking quietly in an effort not to wake me up. The gesture was appreciated, but I was wide-awake, my body humming with anticipation as I tried to listen in on his call.

  After a few whispered sentences, he took the phone into the walk-in closet, getting dressed and cutting down on the noise he was making at the same time. I’d married a frustratingly efficient man.

  When he walked out of the closet with his suit on, I was already dressed and sitting on the bed. My head was cocked slightly to the side like a bloodhound that had just caught a scent.

  The corner of his mouth twitched, and he pressed a kiss against my forehead. “I’m guessing you want to go.”

  “You never take me anywhere since we got married,” I said, putting on my best pout.

  “So you want me to take you to a crime scene?” His eyebrow popped up.

  “It’ll be extra romantic.”

  A year ago, Wyatt would’ve kept me away from the scene at all costs, but we’d reached an agreement since then. He still worried about my safety while I was chasing after bad guys, but he realized that, like him, I had to do it. Badge or not, I was a detective until the end. I was too nosey to be anything else.

  After leaving a note for Cooper, we drove over in a police cruiser Wyatt was driving for the moment. His personal car was in the shop because I had backed into it two days earlier. Shooting him an apologetic smile, I sat up front. It was always a bit disorienting to sit in the front of a cop car. Too many years spent in cuffs in the back, I suppose.

  To my surprise, we pulled up at one of my favorite places in town: the Chinese buffet. Vic, my best girlfriend, and I could clean out the buffet table at this place and still have room for margaritas at the Funky Wheel. It was strange to think about someone being murdered here. I just hoped it wasn’t in the kitchen; I didn’t know if I could stomach that.

  Wyatt peeled back the crime scene tape for me like some men open doors. He probably would’ve opened the front door too, but it was lying on the ground beside the hostess’ stand, likely where it had fallen after being knocked down.

  The smell of egg rolls and greasy noodles hit me right in the gut, and my stomach rumbled. Even though my appetite was about to be ruined, I let myself breathe in the wondrous aroma.

  I hit trouble before I even saw the body. A portly man with horribly bushy sideburns and a permanent frown approached us. It was a mystery to me how anyone—particularly my best friend, Vic—could like this guy.

  “You brought a date,” Officer Kosher said to Wyatt, glaring at me.

  He was technically a detective now, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even thinking it. The man was the closest thing a real person could have to an arch nemesis.

  Blowing him a kiss, I sidestepped the disagreeable man. “Where’s your other half?”

  Inexplicably, Vic had been seeing Kosher for months. They were even living together with her evil daughter, Hope. It was enough to make me wonder about the woman I’d known for two decades.

  There was a young woman slumped over in a booth, her red hair mixing with whatever sauces and droppings were left on the table. She had crimson lipstick on her, and her skin was so pale I could make out every vein, her body becoming a map of tiny blue lines.

  I recognized her instantly. She was a waitress at my mother-in-law’s restaurant. Swallowing against the emotion in my throat, I tried to separate myself from the death. Wyatt and I went to that restaurant all the time. We had even gone there on our first date. A wealth of shame washed over me because I didn’t even know this woman’s name.

  “Amelia Nosley,” Kosher said behind us. “Know her?”

  “She works for my mother,” Wyatt said quietly, crouching down to inspect the body without touching it or damaging any of the evidence. He shot Kosher a sharp glance. “I’ll follow up with my mother.”

  Wyatt actually liked Kosher and wished we’d get along, but there was no denying that the man didn’t have a way with people. He was just as likely to break down the victim as he was the perpetrator. Not that Nancy couldn’t handle Kosher. She was a formidable woman.

  A bit of the victim’s hair fell from her shoulder, and I got a good look at the probable cause of death as well as the cause of the extreme paleness. Right there on Amelia’s neck was a bruised, blue-ish bite mark. There were two distinct holes that went deeper than regular teeth marks. Fangs.

  “That changes things,” Wyatt said.

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling a little exhilarated. “That makes it mine.”

  That sentiment was too much for Kosher to handle, so Wyatt showed me to the door. Just before leaving the body, I caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong at the buffet. Coconut. It wasn’t real coconut, either, but the coconut you’d smell at a perfume store. It made me want a daiquiri.

  I didn’t waste time moping on the street outside the restaurant—the game was afoot. Charlotte’s, my mother-in-law’s restaurant, would be the first stop for Wyatt or whoever was assigned the case. Since the victim had a connection to my husband, he may have been out of luck.

  If I hurried, I could beat the police to Charlotte’s, but I preferred to take the road less traveled. If I wanted dirt on the dead girl, I had my own source of information to see first. He’d likely know more about Amelia than any of her co-workers.

  I just hoped he wasn’t still incapacitated from his date with my brother-in-law.

  Oliver usually got to my grandmother’s magic shop long before it opened to restock the fresh herbs, straighten his cape, and have a quieting cup of tea before the tourists poured in. I found him in the back, leaning over a steaming tea pot.

  My best friend had a decisive glow about him that I recognized all too well. Frowning, I tried to recall if Liam had come home last night. After wracking my brain, I knew he had. He had been late, but not that late.

  “Tell me you didn’t do him on a park bench or something.”

  He smiled at me, fanning his face and looking dreamy. “We didn’t do anything. He was the perfect gentleman.”

  “How much longer is that going to last?”

  “Hopefully not that much longer.” Oliver handed me a mug filled to the brim. “I want to rip his clothes off with my teeth.”

  Shuddering, I said, “Enough traumatizing details. I’ve got dirt.”

  I immediately had his whole, undivided attention, and he pulled me over to a pair of mismatched chairs behind the counter. Trying on Liam’s gentleman-like qualities, he let me have a sip of tea before starting in on me. I filled him in on Amelia and the bite mark on her neck.

  Whistling, he sat back and said, “Amelia Nosley is dead.” He blew on the contents of his cup. “Not exactly a surprise. She was a fang banger.”

  I choked on the hot liquid, spraying it all over Oliver’s front. “A what?”

  His expression was un-amused as he wiped a combination of spit and tea from his face. “A fang banger. A vampire groupie.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly that I just had to take a moment of silence. Was it possible there were still sides to Waresville that I hadn’t seen? I’d been here for ten years. You’d think I’d know all the little secrets by now.

  Ten years…. It hit me right then that it was September. I had actually been in Waresville ten years to the day. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I forced myself back to the case.

  “So she slept with vampires?”

  He nodded. “There’s just three in Waresville. Not sure where they hole up for the day, but you can usually find at least one at that sleazy bar on the main drag.”

  “The Dirty Bottle?” I asked drily. He knew full well I’d had a drink there a time or two.

  He grinned at me. “That’s the one.”

  Oliver hadn’t known her well, and she’d flown below the radar, so he didn’t have any juicy gossip for me. That was a rarity. I thanked him for the tea and headed over to the Funky Wheel to make a call to my other source.

  “Are you the reason my boyfriend was called out of bed before the sun even rose?” Vic demanded. “You could have at least included me in your mischief.”

  “Getting arrested probably wouldn’t endear you to your boss.”

  After Vic and I had reconnected at our high school reunion in Miami, she’d moved up here and graduated from the police academy. I tried not to hold her cop status against her. It helped that she was frequently assigned to work with my straight-laced husband. That was always a laugh in a half.

  “Didn’t your boyfriend tell you about the murder?” I sneered at the word boyfriend, because I physically couldn’t help it.

  “Not sure,” she said. “That was way before caffeine.”

  Wyatt pulled up in the squad car, and I ended my conversation by asking if Vic wanted to accompany me to the Dirty Bottle tonight. Sure, she was a cop, but she was also cap
able of great shenanigans. I had a feeling I might need both sides of my friend tonight.

  "Your son wants me to join the PTA," I told Wyatt as I slipped into the passenger seat.

  If he was confused that I wasn't grilling him about the case, his expression didn't let anything on. "Why is he only my son when he wants something?"

  "This is serious." I picked at the cheap dashboard. "There could be bake sales involved."

  "Sweet Jesus."

  My lips twitched, and I had to kiss him, even if he wasn't being very sympathetic to my cause. Could he really see me with those women? I'd never baked anything in my whole life. I'd never worn a pencil skirt or tied a cashmere sweater around my neck. I wouldn't have anything in common with these women.

  Of course, I was probably being a little hard on them and myself.

  "He really wants me to, Wyatt," I said as we were pulling out of the parking lot. "What do I say?"

  "Say you'll do it or you won't." He shrugged. "Either way, Cooper won't hold it against you. He's too crazy about you."

  I banged my head against his arm. "That just makes me feel worse. I don't want to disappoint him. Especially not in my first month as his stepmother."

  He kissed the top of my head, grinning. "You're kind of a softy, you know that?"

  "Don't tell anyone."

  Wyatt dropped me off at the house and went to work, leaving me alone with the kid. Luckily, I didn't have to face Cooper for long, because he had to go to school. All these years I'd been a little miffed to pay the education tax, because I didn't have or plan on having kids. Now, I would've forked over a few thousand at once just to have a place to drop Cooper off for the day. I needed time to think.

  Cooper was determined I not have that time, though, and he insisted I walk him to his class, as his father always used to. It did no good to point out that I wasn't nearly as paranoid as my husband and didn't expect Cooper to get kidnapped in the few yards to the front door. Cooper just gave me one of Wyatt's looks, and I was putty in his hands.

  Everything was fine going in, and I got Cooper to his classroom without trouble. On the way out of the war zone, however, I ran into Janet Wiser, a tall, well-dressed woman. She radiated class, and she had a horrible, snobby attitude.

  Her kid was a little jerk, too.

  "Harper," she said, smiling in a way that made her face look uncomfortably stretched. "Mrs. Langstein just told me you're thinking of joining the PTA. How...quaint."

  I wasn't sure she knew what that word meant. Looking around for an escape route, I came to the conclusion that she had me pinned. There were mothers and teachers everywhere, and I couldn't see an exit anywhere.

  "I'm a little surprised you didn't call me," she said, backing me up against the lockers while retaining that pained smile. "You must know I'm president of the PTA. The announcement was in the last school newsletter."

  "Must've just skimmed over that part."

  I'd never read a school newsletter in my life. Not even when I was in school. It just didn't seem necessary. My kid got straight As, didn't do drugs, and rarely tried seriously to kill me in my sleep. What did I have to worry about?

  "Well," she said, "not that we wouldn't just adore having you, but the PTA might be a little much with your schedule. I can't imagine running my own business and being active in my son's life."

  "I'm sure you can't," I said smoothly, enjoying the thunderous look that overtook her delicate features.

  A hole formed in the crowd of people, and I went for it, saying quick excuses to Janet. She let me go, looking satisfied that I wouldn't be darkening this little club's doorstep. It miffed me a little, but I wasn't going to join just to torture Janet. That was too much like cutting off my nose to spite my face.

  Chapter Two

  That night, just after dark, I had to fight with Cooper to be allowed out of the house. Wyatt was still at work, and when I’d told my stepson I was going to a bar, he’d gone all pale and locked the door.

  “You should wait for my dad,” he said, still in my way. “He’ll take you.”

  I cocked my head at him. Was he suddenly afraid to be alone in the house? Wyatt and I left him alone for a couple hours all the time. All he ever did was sit in the living room and do his homework anyway.

  Then, under the weight of my stare, Cooper came clean about why he didn’t want me to go. Apparently, it involved a movie he’d been forced to watch in health class last week to scare kids out of drinking and doing drugs.

  “If you go, someone’s going to hurt you,” he said seriously. “Or you’ll become an alcoholic. My teacher said so.”

  “An alcoholic in one night? That would be my best work yet.”

  He didn’t look amused, so I ruffled his hair. “Cooper….”

  I went to tell him that his school was full of it, and they were just trying to scare him straight, but I stopped. It was one of those rare moments that I wished Wyatt was here, so I could follow his lead. It was his call on how we raised Cooper, after all.

  The thought made me a little angry for no reason, and I skipped over the topic altogether.

  Moving him aside, I said, “Besides, Vic’s coming with me. Anyone who wants to get to me would have to go through her.”

  That seemed to comfort the kid quite a bit. Vic was a formidable figure and was built like a brick house. She was the kind of woman that you let have the last doughnut. Not because you didn’t want it, but because you didn’t want to lose a finger.

  I coaxed my old bug into starting and picked Vic up at her house a couple streets away. She came out the front door dressed completely in luminous spandex. Through the window, I saw Kosher watching us and shaking his head.

  “Are we gonna do shots?” she asked as soon as she got in the car.

  I made a face. “Pass. We both have kids to drive to school in the morning.”

  “Kids suck all the fun out of life.”

  “At least yours didn’t stop you at the door and accuse you of being an alcoholic.”

  “You can put away a bottle of tequila.”

  “Thank you.”

  When we pulled up to the Dirty Bottle, Vic whistled through her teeth. It was even grosser than I remembered, the smell of mold hitting me as soon as I stepped out of the car.

  The bar had taken some water damage before I even moved to town, and they still hadn’t fixed it. The structure leaned somewhat to the side, and there was peeling paint and shingles covering the ground around the place.

  The people that frequented the bar were even nastier than the building. While Waresville was pretty tame with its white picket fences and tourists, a main highway did run through the town. And every sketchy character that drove that highway ended up at the Dirty Bottle.

  “If we’re not here to get wasted,” Vic said, eyeing a man with a naked lady tattooed on his chest, “what are we here for?”

  “Vampire hunting.”

  “Oh.” She digested that for a moment. “I need nachos.”

  We sat at the bar, and the hot female bartender delivered a basket of greasy nachos to us. We stuffed our faces and kept an eye on the door, waiting for one of the bloodsuckers to arrive.

  “Peter told me about that waitress,” Vic said, referring to Officer Kosher.

  “I’d hope so. You are sleeping with him, after all.”

  She nodded. “Sex should get you information and free meals at the least.”

  “You get free meals with yours?”

  Normally, Vic would have access to information about the case without Kosher. Unfortunately, she was new on the force, and her boss had assigned her to traffic violations. If I wanted to know how many tickets Amelia had gotten within city limits, Vic was my girl.

  “Did he tell you anything else about Amelia?”

  Vic grabbed a loaded chip and swallowed it whole. I was beginning to see the attraction on Kosher’s side.

  “No,” she said. “He didn’t seem to know much about her yet, either.”

  Just when I thought Vic was tapped out on information, she dropped an unpleasant bit in my lap.

  “But if you want to know more about her, just go to the next PTA meeting.”

  “Come again?” I felt as if I was being punked, and I looked around for the camera.

  Vic took another chip. “She wasn’t in it, but her cousin was. And I think she used to hang out with them.”