Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“No,” I soothed her, reaching out to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “The chief and Pete wanted to know if I heard anything.”
“Over all the thunder and rain last night?” She made a face. “Really?”
“Don’t be you right now,” I cautioned her.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped, rounding on me.
I groaned and headed to the stove. “Do you want some tea?”
She opened her mouth to give me hell, because really, when had she ever visited and not wanted tea?
“How did you know a body was dumped out here, Mrs. Sterling?” Chief MacBain asked her.
Scowling, she said, “I know everything that happens in this town, Chief MacBain, and would most certainly be informed if someone was killed. Do you have an ID on the victim yet? Is she from Osprey?”
“We—”
“I understand the poor lamb had her throat cut from ear to ear. Do you have any suspects who go about killing in a similar manner?” Her tone was sharp, not quite attacking him but close. I shot her a look.
“What now?” she groused at me.
“You’re using the same voice Ms. Coleman would use on us in homeroom when she knew good and well we were both hungover.”
She gasped. “I am?”
“You are.”
She looked at Pete, who nodded in confirmation. We’d all been in the same class, so he knew I was right.
Taking a breath to calm herself, she said, “I’m just frightened, Chief MacBain. Do we have a murderer on the loose? Was the girl, and whoever killed her, traveling through, or is there something even darker out there we need to concern ourselves with?”
“Darker?”
“Yes. Like a cult or something. Satanists, that sort of thing.”
He glanced at me, and I nodded. Then he looked at Pete, who mirrored my movement.
“You all think there could be a cult of Satanists running around?”
“Technically,” Pete said, “weirder shit has happened in this town.”
“Really?”
“Well…” I chimed in, “the killings in 1701 had more to do with hysteria about would-be vampires than anything else.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Vampire witches,” Amanda corrected me.
“No, no. There were no witches involved, just that cannibalistic family that lived down near Parker’s Ferry.”
“I think you’re getting your stories mixed up,” Pete apprised me. “The vampires and the cannibals are two separate things.”
“What?” Chief MacBain asked, clearly lost.
“They were cannibals?” she asked me. “Not witches?”
I glared at her.
Amanda rephrased, “Well, I didn’t mean a witch like you. I meant scary ones.”
“I’m sorry,” MacBain interrupted, “who’s a witch?”
“You know,” she went on, “the kind who eat kids and grind up their bones.”
“Amanda,” I began, affronted, “there have never been witches who—”
“Those are fairy tales,” Pete said dismissively. “Real witches don’t—”
“Who’s a witch?” Chief MacBain repeated.
“Xander is,” Amanda replied flatly.
“You’re a witch?” Chief MacBain asked me.
“Yes, but he’s a good one,” Pete said, vouching for me. “He’s a kitchen witch and a green witch, but also a hearth witch, and that makes sense because this place is awesome, but he’s a solitary practitioner as well, so he doesn’t have a coven.”
“Why do we care about this?” Amanda sounded excited. “The important part is, they were cannibals? That’s awesome.”
“Why is that awesome?” I asked, though I really didn’t want to know.
“Is there a book or something?” she pressed me. “Like anything in journal format? Any firsthand accounting of the affair?”
“I believe so. Would you like me to look in the library for you?”
“I would love for you to get me whatever there is,” she gushed. “I’m dying to read it and get it to my friend who works at Netflix.”
“Why?” I groaned.
“Because people love this kind of shit.”
“I thought only women could be witches,” Chief MacBain said, putting his mug of tea down like it was poison.
“That’s ridiculous,” Pete told him. “Men can be witches too. Everybody knows that.”
“So what,” Amanda snapped at him, crossing her arms for good measure, “now the tea’s no good because Xander’s a witch? Really? Are we living in 1692?”
“I—what?”
“This isn’t Salem, Chief,” Amanda told him, her tone sharp and cutting. “Passing judgment about the way someone believes or practices their craft is honestly not the best look for a law-enforcement officer.”
“No, I—”
“Perhaps you should get on the horn to the Westfield Police Department, like I did, and figure out who the dead girl is. She had no ID, no purse, and no phone.”
He wanted to slug her; I could tell. Most people did after a couple of minutes in her company. But he breathed in through his nose, thanked me for the tea, took the muffin with him—I’d wrapped it in a cloth napkin—and he and Pete were out the door, with Pete reminding me he needed three Yule garlands. The fact that the chief took the muffin meant he didn’t think my being a witch equaled trying to poison him. At least, that was my best guess.