A pounding on my bedroom door made me groan. I’d come home late, full of pasta and wine. The LARPers were still at it, but I’d slipped upstairs and gone to bed.
“Claudia, you’ll want to see this,” Brad said.
“What time is it?” I asked. I refused to open my eyes. There was no light radiating through my blinds.
“Seven. It’s really cloudy today. But you’ll want to see this. I have coffee,” he cajoled.
I crawled out of bed and found my old fluffy green robe. There was a damp chill in the air. Wrapped in my robe, I opened the door to my apartment.
He handed over the coffee quickly. “That door is open, again. I took a look.”
I took a long drink of coffee as his words sank in. “The spell.”
I ran downstairs in my bare feet and shoved the door open. The books were back.
All of them. In the nice pile that I’d left them in before.
“How could someone break in to return them with all the protections you put in place?” Brad asked.
“I did a retrieval spell.” I closed the doors so no one would see inside. “Don’t let anyone up here. I have to get dressed and get some things. But thanks.” I took another slug of coffee. “Wait. How was your night? Picking up on Bran’s cousin, Charlie,” I teased.
He blushed slightly. “I didn’t blow off work, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I hope you wouldn’t do that, but I saw flirting. I thought he and Derrick might hit it off, but he had eyes for you,” I said.
“I didn’t do anything. I mean, he hit on me,” Brad said a tad defensively.
“It’s fine. Derrick probably made a killing last night.” I drank the rest of my coffee and handed him the empty cup. “I’ll get dressed and check on things here.”
“Another one?” He held up the cup.
“Probably. Meet you back here in half an hour.”
I showered, dressed, and texted Bran that the spell worked. Part of me was a bit annoyed that I didn’t add any punishment to the spell or tagging someone, but that could backfire. I had my stuff back.
I headed down the stairs, and Brad met me with another coffee. “Thanks. I’m going to check these books to be sure nothing was ripped out. If Bran shows up, send him up here,” I said.
“You got it, boss,” he said.
I had my phone, my coffee, and a stack of sticky notes to mark anything that looked out of place. I did a quick spell to reveal any changes or damages, but nothing appeared. I flipped through the books, one by one.
My phone chimed with a text. Bran was on his way. Then another text from Ellen, my barista.
Ellen: Come down. Police are here.
I reread the text. Police?
I put the books away and locked up the private room. I brought my phone and coffee down with me. It wasn’t either of the same detectives who had investigated Mrs. O’Conner’s death. Was it the LARPing? Had they been up and noisy all night? Brad hadn’t mentioned anything.
“Ms. Crestwood, I’m Detective Grant.” A tall good-looking black man flashed a badge at me.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked.
“You’re the Ms. Crestwood who runs the coven that meets here?” he asked.
“I am. Is there a problem with our group?” I asked.
“No, not with the group. Can we speak privately?” He looked around at the group of kids still wandering in Harry Potter robes.
“Sure. We’re having a themed event this weekend. Normally, we’re more your typical café. Can I get you something to drink?” I offered.
“A coffee regular would be good, thank you.” He nodded.
“Ellen, two regular coffees to the office, please,” I said.
I led the way and sat behind the desk I rarely used. “What’s going on?”
He held up a hand.
Ellen walked in and dropped off the coffees.
“Thanks, Ellen. Please close the door,” I said.
She closed the door behind her.
“Now?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to cause panic or upset those kids. They seem focused on their play,” he said.
“Yeah, shocking that they’re in college and adults. Did someone complain about the coven? This happens every year or two.” I shrugged.
“No. Do you know this woman?” He showed me a copy of the picture on Trela’s driver’s license.
“Yes. She came to one meeting. I met her at a party over a week ago. She’s new to town, and we invite all new witches to come to a meeting and see if they want to join. She didn’t seem interested,” I said.
“You haven’t seen her since?” he asked.
“Since the coven meeting, no. Did something happen?” I asked.
“She was found dead by her neighbor yesterday morning. Do you know of anyone who had an issue with her?” he asked.
“No. Wait, you’re saying she was murdered? No, she was new to town. I’d only met her on three occasions,” I said.
“The party, the meeting and?” he prompted while he scribbled notes.
“The day I went to her apartment with Esme to invite her to the coven meeting. Sort of a Wiccan Welcome Wagon. We stopped by and gave her the information.” I sipped my coffee. Poor Trela. I contained my emotions. I didn’t know the woman well, at all. Maybe she’d moved because she was running from something in her past.
“Did she tell you anything that might help us? Enemies? Exes? Why she moved?”
“I’m trying to remember. She was a solo practicing witch. Her shop wasn’t doing as well as her online sales. I don’t know why she moved exactly. Maybe there was too much competition for the shop wherever she came from. She mentioned she was looking for a location for a shop here but wasn’t into covens. I was surprised she turned up to that one meeting, at all,” I said.
“I see. So, you were in her apartment? Did you touch anything?” he asked.
“Doorknobs. A glass. I don’t know. I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt her. We could use a shop like that around.”
“But not everyone would like it. Some people always protest that stuff,” he said.
“Sure, but we also have a rich history of witch trials that bring in some tourists. Besides, those people protest. Murder is a bit extreme,” I said.
“You were involved in a case not too long ago. The death of a customer,” he said.
“Well, she’d been here earlier the day she passed, but it was natural causes. Mrs. O’Conner was a brittle diabetic.”
“Yes. Just odd, another body connected to you,” he said darkly.
“Really? Was Mrs. O’Conner’s body ‘connected’ with everyone else who’d seen her that day?” The detective raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. “But was this one murder or you don’t know?” I asked.
“There will be an autopsy. A hose was found from the tailpipe to the driver’s side window open just a crack. It looked like a suicide,” he said.
“Looked like. Why do you think it wasn’t?” I asked.
“I’m asking the questions. Did Trela seem depressed or down about anything?” he asked.
“No, she seemed happy. Unsure if she wanted to join a coven. I got the feeling she liked her privacy and solitude.” I shrugged.
“She didn’t have a problem going to a party or coming here to a public place?” he asked.
“She didn’t seem afraid or looking over her shoulder. Do you think someone was after her from where she used to live?” I asked.
“We’re not ruling anything out, right now. Did you receive any communications from her after the coven meeting? Phone or text?” he asked.
“Nope. I didn’t expect to hear from her.” I sat back and sipped my coffee. She wouldn’t kill herself. I tried to get my mind to stop spinning. It made no sense.
“Did you report some books from your private collection missing to your coven?” he asked.
“I mentioned that my private room here had been broken into. My mother’s old journals were taken. The items were returned,” I said.
“Who took them?” he asked.
“I don’t know. They were returned anonymously this morning. They really have no value, except to me. My mother died when I was five. It might’ve been a prank or someone testing my security. We have a system, but we’re a twenty-four-hours-a-day business. I don’t think her death and the break-in are related,” I said.
“You didn’t report the theft to the police,” he said.
“No, I didn’t. They were just sentimental. No value. I’ll get a better lock.”
“And your cameras here?” he asked.
“They avoided the cameras. We’re looking into changing the angles, too. But it had nothing to do with Trela. She didn’t seem interested in power or learning from others. Besides, they disappeared before she was in the café. She’d never know where I kept things.” I smiled.
“I see. We’re just trying to cover all the angles. It’s odd for someone to move, go through all of that and then kill themselves,” he said.
“I understand. It doesn’t sound like the woman I met, at all. But, with only a few brief meetings, I don’t really have much to go on. I think she may have mentioned an ex-boyfriend. Maybe he didn’t want to be an ex?” I suggested.
He nodded. “We’re looking into that, as well as previously competition, friends, and neighbors.”
“Anything else I can do?” I offered. I silently hoped he didn’t want me to come down and identify the body. That sounded creepy.
“No, we’re good. The neighbor is coming back in to talk today. She was distraught after finding the body. I guess she tapped on the window to say good evening and realized something was wrong. Hopefully, she’s calmed down, now. Neighbors notice things, like who comes and goes, patterns and such that might help.”
“If a crazy ex was ever pounding on her door,” I added.
“Precisely. If I need anything else, I’ll call.” He grabbed one of my business cards off the desk.
“I’ll help if I can.” I took the card he offered in return.
“Thank you.” He picked up his coffee and left my office.
I exited the office and nearly ran into Bran.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.
I watched the detective leave and pulled Bran upstairs.
“One of the new witches was murdered,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
I sat on the couch. “I guess someone tried to make it look like a suicide, but I don’t think the cops believed it.”
“Why was he questioning you?” Bran asked.
“I guess she doesn’t know many people. Odds are he’ll bug you, too, because she went to the ball,” I said.
“I suggest you stay out of it,” he said.
I frowned. “I’m not in it. They came to me with questions and I answered. That’s all. Just so odd. Three new witches, and one is dead.” I shook it off. “But my stuff was returned. I just wish we knew who did it.”
“We’ll reinstate the protection spells on your room. I’d say someone was harassing witches, but a murder staged like a suicide has nothing in common with some stolen books. Let the police handle Trela,” he said.
“Of course. I’m not looking for murderers,” I said.
“Good.” He nodded.
“But, if it’s something magical or with the paranormal stuff, the police won’t solve it,” I began.
“Stay out of it,” he warned, again.
“I am.” I shrugged.