Chapter Sixteen

Practicing magic seemed like a dangerous thing to do, especially with a wand on the fritz, so I put Big Jo's wand in my back pocket as I headed to the Cove for the afternoon. There were a few cars in the parking lot already, and a couple of broomsticks in the holder, but it was otherwise quiet. Aimee was behind the bar, wiping it with a rag as Jimbo stared at her with his usual vacant expression.

"How's it going?" I asked, sliding onto a stool.

"Not great," she said. "Vinnie came by half an hour ago. He says they've…well, they've moved up the court date."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Apparently, Duke Pinfish has been pressuring the judge in New Orleans," she said with a thin expression. "Wants to get justice for Maria quickly. Especially since he's…uh, been banished from here."

"But…they don't have anything on you, right?" I asked.w "Just that vial, and that's not enough to convict anyone."

"Somehow, I feel like Pinfish is going to make sure the verdict comes back guilty," Aimee said. "He wants someone to blame. I'm an easy target."

"But you're innocent. Surely, he wants the actual culprit found, right?" I paused. "And if he doesn't, then why doesn't he?"

She shrugged. "Suppose that's yet another mystery to be solved."

"Look, why don't you head home?" I said. "I've been around here enough now to remember how it all works. Besides that, it's a Monday. Probably going to be a light crowd tonight. And you could probably use some rest."

"I'm not really supposed to work Mondays, but with Big Jo gone…" She let out a groan. "I can't leave. You can't manage the bar."

"Yes, I can," I said.

"Are you gonna pull out that wand and use it?" She put her hand on her hip. "Because you can't make a Witchwhacker without a little wand magic."

I pulled out Big Jo's wand, surveying it. Maybe Lois was right. The wand and I needed to communicate with each other more. After all, it had made a million Witchwhackers over its lifespan with Big Jo. Maybe it would understand the task.

I whispered a small prayer to the Fates that I didn't end up in Mobile, then tapped my wand against the glass. To my—and Aimee's—surprise, the liquid changed color.

"Well, I'll be." She picked up the drink and downed it. "Look at that. Could've come from Big Jo herself."

I couldn't help the beam of pride.

"Well, if you've got things here," she said. "I would like to pay Daniel a visit before he gets off for the day. Ask him what I should do or…" She shivered. "What I need to prepare myself for in case they manage to convict me."

She hopped on her broom and flew off, and I watched her go with more than a little anger. Something wasn't adding up. Nobody seemed to be looking for the real culprit, but they were real keen to pin this on the first person they could find. That meant either someone had something to hide, or someone was taking advantage of the situation.

Either way, it wasn't fair to Aimee.

I considered all I knew about Maria's last few days so far. The vamps and the werewolves had offered her a large sum of money to sell off a piece of swampland for who knew what purpose. As much as it would've made sense, motive-wise, for another mermaid to kill Maria, they wouldn't have used the potion on their own kind. Which meant it was someone on land.

The vamps, of course, were plausible. Cal Reaves was snapping up property as fast as he could—and if Maria was planning on selling to someone else, maybe he thought he'd have better luck with a different mermaid. But Duke Pinfish seemed to have no love for anyone up here.

The werewolves were still suspicious, too. How far would Big Dog have gone to protect his compound? If he'd caught wind of Maria thinking of selling, maybe he'd wanted to prevent the deal from happening. Maybe after talking with Carver, Big Dog had sent another werewolf to finish the job so his son would have an ironclad alibi.

Or was there some other suspect, some other motive I hadn't yet uncovered?

Five o'clock arrived, and with it, an influx of people eager for their after-work drink before heading home. The Eldred's Hollow ferry had been stopping at the marina dock all day with a smattering of passengers, but the last one was practically overflowing with witches and warlocks getting off from a day at the hotels.

Aimee's daughter Grace was among them. She walked into the bar, her brow furrowing. "Where's my mom?"

"Sent her home," I said. "I can handle things for the evening."

"Are you sure?" She glanced at the wand sitting next to my hand. "Are you able to use that thing?"

I had made no fewer than ten Witchwhackers in the hour since Aimee had left, and the wand hadn't misfired once. I was starting to really lean into the theory that the wand was so used to the spell that it had no trouble remembering how to do it. It certainly didn't make the rest of magical living easier, but if I could do this one thing, then the next week or so would be. At least Aimee wouldn't have to work seven days a week.

Grace perched at the bar, watching me pour drinks and talk to customers, getting a Witchwhacker for herself and tasting it to make sure it was up to her standards. I didn't take offense—I'd be suspicious myself—but I was somewhat relieved when she stood and nodded at me.

"I'm headed home. Got an early morning." She pulled on her jacket. "You seem to have this handled."

"If I don't, I'll be sure to let you know," I said.

She walked outside, hopped on her broom, and floated down the street.

"Well, goodness me. Aren't you a sight?" Stuart, one of the many who'd departed the ferry, stood in front of the bar with a smile on his face. "If I wasn't wearing my glasses, I'd swear you were your grandmother, slinging drinks and tending bar like a pro."

"Now that's a compliment if ever I've heard one." I leaned on the bar. "Want a drink? Dinner?"

He ordered a beer, but declined food, citing his new rule that he was only eating bar food on Friday nights. "I'm not getting any younger. Need to keep myself fit for the long haul."

"I get you." I handed him the bottle. "You know, if I do decide to stick around, I might try to improve the food offerings. Something not fried might be a refreshing change."

He took a long sip. "Are you considering it?"

I honestly wasn't sure. Before, when I'd assumed I was useless at magic, the thought of staying was ridiculous. But the past hour had felt good, and perhaps it was the salt air messing with my brain, but I'd started to think managing this place might not be so ridiculous after all.

"Who knows?" I said, after a long pause. "My boss in Atlanta sure wants me back."

"You'd be better off going back, if you ask me." He made a face. "Seas have been rough since Duke Pinfish got his tail in a twist. Used to be only a hurricane would give us three- or four-foot waves in the sound. Now it's all I can do to keep the ferry afloat going back and forth."

I'd noticed the whitecaps out in the sound but hadn't connected it to Pinfish. "He's certainly positioned himself as judge, jury, and executioner. Aimee said they were moving up her trial date to next month. They seem to think they have a slam dunk."

"Or the money to make it one," he said.

I gave him a sideways look. "You think something weird's going on, too, don't you?"

"Something weird's always going on, especially where a lot of money's concerned." He finished off his beer, leaving the bottle on the bar. "That's why I think you should leave. This place is a gem, but I'm worried Maria's not the only one who's gonna end up on the wrong side of the water. It would kill me if anything happened to you, Little Jo." His wet eyes crinkled as he smiled. "You're all I got left of your grandmother."

I patted his hand. "Don't worry. I've got a temperamental wand and a bar with a huge mortgage I can barely cover. What could go wrong?"

The night wore on slowly but steadily, with the usuals coming for their after-dinner drink and leaving shortly thereafter. By seven, there were only a few stragglers in the place, and by eight, it was me, my work laptop, and Jimbo, who was perched in his usual spot, staring at me and begging for scraps.

"Sorry, bird," I said, eyeing him as I worked through emails that had come in during my shift. Since, of course, there was no internet here, I had to use my phone as a hotspot. Luckily, there was great service. "No leftovers for you. Kitchen's closed."

He let out a haa and clapped his beak angrily.

"Complain all you want," I replied, reading another email a few times so I understood what they were asking for. "Maybe you could go catch a fish or a crab or something. You know, like a real seagull."

He flapped down to stand beside me and opened his beak wide to let out a loud Ha ha ha in my ear then flew away. I rubbed the side of my head, glaring at his retreating tail feathers, before returning to my laptop.

Even though I'd worked earlier in the day, the number of undone tasks was steadily growing, and there would surely be more tomorrow. A nagging little voice in my mind told me that very soon, I'd need to choose: stay here in Eldred's Hollow and work the Cove until I figured out Big Jo's issues, or leave it all behind and return to the real world of websites, data, and ornery clients.

At eight-thirty, I rose from the stool and stretched. Would the wand help me clean up or would do something insane again?

"Okay." I cracked my neck. "Nice and easy. Let's see about putting all the chairs on top of the table, eh? Just like Big Jo used to ask of you."

I tapped the first chair, and the legs sprang to life, bending as if it were a ballet dancer. Then, with a small whee! the chair flipped onto its head on the table.

"Cool." I wasn't going to take anything for granted. "Now the next one."

It might've been faster to do it manually, but I wanted the practice. Needed it, almost. Wanted to prove to myself that the drink-making wasn't a fluke, that I could ease my way into the business of the bar. Even if I planned to leave it all behind again, some part of my inner child needed to know they still belonged.

As the chairs did their flips, I walked to the rolled-up walls that came down to secure the place and protect it from the elements. With a nervous breath, I tapped the first roll, and it came tumbling down, as expected. Then, like a cascade, the rest followed suit, until the entire room was enclosed by firm, see-through walls.

"Well, thank you," I said to the wand. "That certainly made everything a lot easier."

The last time I'd tried to take out the trash magically, I'd ended up at the crime scene again. I decided to do it manually. There weren't that many, as it had been a quiet night, and the task was completed within minutes.

I stood at the bar and scanned, looking for anything amiss or any tasks I'd forgotten. Everything looked locked up and ready for tomorrow's fun. The only thing left to do was count the money and check receipts, which Big Jo always left for last.

I opened the register and pulled the cash drawer, taking it with me into the office. Jimbo cried as he followed me into the office, sitting on his perch to watch me.

"Still don't have any food for you," I said, counting the bills, starting with the largest. "Did you wrestle up dinner?"

Ha.

"I don't know if that's a yes or a no," I said, grabbing the next stack and counting them quickly. "But if you want to come with me, I haven't eaten, so I was going to head into the regular part of town and get some drive-thru."

Ha!

"That's right, you don't leave here." I paused and looked at him. "Fine, I'll swing by on my way home. French fries?"

Ha! Ha! Ha!

"Aren't familiars supposed to communicate with words?" I muttered, grabbing the ones and working my way through them first. When I finished, I tallied up the numbers I'd scribbled down. It didn't seem like a lot. And when I flipped back to last week's numbers for the same day, I frowned. We'd made double last week what we had today. One day could've been an aberration, but between this weekend's receipts and today, I was sensing a downward trend that was certainly going to run afoul of our large mortgage payment due at the end of the month. For the millionth time, I checked in file cabinets and under folders and everywhere I could think of in search of some hint about this money and where it might've gone to, since the bank managers weren't being very helpful.

"You weren't going senile, were you, Big Jo?" I muttered, hoping she hadn't become the victim of an internet scam of some kind. That was the last thing I needed.

"Hello?"

I grabbed Big Jo's wand and I walked out into the front room, relaxing when I found Karen standing by the front door.

"Hey!" I said. "Sorry, I closed up for the night. But I could probably get you a beer if you wanted?"

"I have kids, remember?" She laughed. "I got them to bed and wanted to stop by to tell you I'd found your potion-maker."

I jolted, having almost completely forgotten I'd asked her to look into that for me. "You did?"

She reached into her pocket and handed me a scrap of paper with a name on it. "I asked around about where one might find a mermaid-stunning potion. You'd have thought I was asking people to give up their firstborn child."

"It is frowned upon," I said.

"Frowned upon and widely used," she said. "But finally, I got a name. Nobody local. It's a witch out of Charleston. The vamps commissioned her to make the potion, and they get it shipped in. Tell the tourists and the mermaids it keeps barnacles off. But really, they've got it plastered all over their charter boats going into the Gulf."

"If the vamps are the ones who keep handing this stuff out, how did a vial end up here?" I asked. "And more importantly, why are we being blamed for it?"

"That I can't answer," she said. "This wasn't super easy information to find, I will say. They aren't broadcasting that they've got this stuff on every boat they're renting out."

"If they aren't broadcasting it, how do the renters know what it is?" I asked.

"Well, that's the sneaky part," Karen said. "The potion they've concocted isn't like a regular one. It's oil-based. So they coat the hulls of their rental boats with it and when it dries, it still maintains its properties. The boat can sail through the water, no problem. But if a mermaid touches the hull—boom!"

That certainly explained Duke Pinfish showing up irate the other day. "How long does the effect last?"

"Who knows? The only thing my friend at the rental dock would tell me was what I told you—and he told me I couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone with fins, or he'd be out of a job."

"Not as if we're having a lot of conversations with finned folk at the moment," I said with a sigh. "Guess that means I'm headed to the beach in the morning."

"Good luck," she said with a smile. "Let me know if I can do anything else."