A Witch Axe to Grind Read online

  “This is a fantastic store. I really love the way the colors denote the different sections.” He took a seat at one of the little-used computer desks. “I’ve ordered books from Greenpoint in the past. I thought you were in Brooklyn.”

  “We were. I was. They decided to make the old building into a new one. A really expensive one. I inherited a house from my Great-Aunt Nancy, and decided to move the store here.”

  Nick’s expression turned speculative. “This town seems very... quiet.”

  “It is. But don’t worry. I’m putting ads in the paper for the event.”

  He nodded. Nann nodded. They nodded at each other for a little too long. Luckily, just as Nann felt a flush rising from her neck, the bell over the door rang.

  “Sorry, didn’t expect you to have a customer.” Deputy Keith Schwenk strode in. He caught himself. “A customer this early in the morning, I meant.”

  Nann felt herself frown. “Uh-huh.”

  Schwenk gave Nick O’Broin the up-and-down.

  “Oh, sorry. Deputy Keith Schwenk, this is Professor Nicholas O’Broin. He’s signing books here on Friday. You should definitely come.”

  O’Broin lifted his chin. “Deputy.”

  “Mr. O’Broin.” Keith stood silently for a moment. “Yes. I think I definitely should come. Listen, I came to take your statement about the pet adoption thing. I’ll come back when you’re less busy.”

  She watched Keith go without staring at his butt.

  “A statement?” The author looked at her intently.

  “Oh. Yeah. A man died at the pet adoption event.” Nann decided to leave out the part about the puncture marks.

  Nick leaned closer. “Interesting. Did you know the man?”

  “No. His name is, was, Arthur Perkins. I never met him.”

  O’Broin’s eyes went unfocused. Did Nick know the dead man? His eyes sharpened on her. “If the deputy wanted a statement, do you think foul play was involved?”

  Nann knew foul play was involved. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

  “So a murder investigation. Can you tell me what happened?”

  For a moment, Nann felt the oddest sensation. It was like his stormy eyes tugged at her. She’d never felt anything like it before. She took a breath. The feeling disappeared. “I guess I can. There isn’t much to tell. I was adopting a cat for a friend. A shut-in. My other friend, Tink, decided to adopt a dog. We were filling out the paperwork when a door opened and the man fell out of the doorway. The shelter employees seemed to know him well.”

  A quick look of confusion crossed Nick’s face. He covered quickly with a smile. “Well, a man who’s a friend of the animal shelter is probably a good person.”

  “Probably.” Nann agreed, but something about Nick made her suspicious. “Do you know Arthur Perkins?”

  He blinked at the question. “Arthur Perkins seems a fairly common name.”

  Nann waited for him to go on. Instead, he stood up.

  “I really should be going. Pleasure to meet you, Ms Szymanski.”

  She gave him a light back-hand to the shoulder. “You gave me free books. You can call me Nann.”

  “Nann it is. Call me Nick.” He dropped his shades back in place. They were pink-tinted, in aviator frames, and looked like something out of an old movie. Nann realized that his whole entire look seemed to come from the 1980s. The man wore it well, though. No doubt about that. “See you Friday night.”

  “I thought your book was great.” She stood up and walked him to the door. “Let’s hope for a good turn-out.”

  “I’m not worried in the slightest. Until then.”

  Nann watched him walk up the hill. She saw the mail truck heading in the opposite direction. Grabbing the packages off the table, she stepped outside. Nick O’Broin was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was a fast walker. When Ricky the mailman pulled up, she handed him the packages.

  “Anything for me?”

  “I got a box for you in back,” Ricky said. “You want me to bring it in? Kinda heavy.”

  “Nah, I’ll take it in. Thanks.”

  The mailman stepped out of the truck to the back, opened the sliding door, and handed her a box from the university press. “Thanks,” she grunted. As she staggered back inside, she remembered how much digging a grave had strained her back. “I really need to get some exercise,” she said to herself.

  Chapter 6

  “I need you to return this cat.” Charlotte sat in her living room holding Toast. The cat’s eyes bulged at Nann. One tooth jutted out from his lower jaw. “Exchange him. He is defective.”

  Nann folded her arms. “What?”

  “I prefer a fully functioning animal.”

  “Well, I know he’s kinda ugly,” Nann said.

  “This cat, he does not miaou. He grunts. He goes ‘Rrr.’” The vampire gave her leg a jiggle.

  “Rrr,” the cat grunted.

  Nann gave Charlotte the eye. “Is that really important?”

  “And the name, Toast. It is ridiculous. Find me a cat with a proper name.”

  “Just name him something else,” Nann said. “It’s not like he’s gonna come when you call.”

  “Really?” Charlotte put the cat on the floor. Toast looked around and flopped on his side. “Call him.”

  “What?”

  Her red lips became a line. “Call him.”

  Nann threw up her hands. “Toast. Here, boy. Toast.”

  To her chagrin, the cat got to his feet and walked over to her. He rubbed his head against her ankles. “Rrr.”

  Charlotte extended her palms to the sky. “You see?”

  “Listen, Charlotte. I went out of my way to get you a cat. Hell, I even buried your late cat. That probably wasn’t even legal. Do you really expect me to try and return a cat to the shelter?”

  The vampire held up her index finger. “Exchange.”

  “Whatevs.” Nann felt her blood pressure rise.

  Charlotte put her elbow on the arm rest of her chair. She cupped her chin. Brows went up. “Do you really think this is a normal cat?”

  Nann looked down at the homely beast. And then jumped out of her seat. Toast had grown to ten times his size. It made him look all the more unpleasant.

  “Rrr.”

  This time, it sounded less a grunt and more a growl. Nann could hear a wet sound as the giant cat extended the claws on his right front paw. She backed up until she was pressed against the wall. The paw came up, swiping at her with a blur of speed.

  “Uh!”

  Nann sat up in bed. Perspiration dried clammily over her skin. “What the what was that?”

  She heard a grunt.

  Pokey lay on the bed beside her. Nann saw muddy prints all over the sheets. When he grunted again, she reached over to turn on the bedside radio.

  “Rough night?” Pokey asked through the speaker.

  “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in your pig bed?” Nann pulled the sheets up and dropped them. “What a freakin mess!”

  “I came up here to tell you something.”

  Nann scowled at her familiar. “What?”

  He wiggled a little closer to her. His tiny piggy eyes fixed on hers. “I think it’s time I told you where I poop.”

  Nann sat up in bed. Wan light streamed through the window. Pokey lay in his pig bed near the closet. The sheets were clean. A dream within a dream, she thought. But when she lay back down again, she couldn’t return to sleep.

  EVEN BEFORE SHE OPENED up for the day, Nann drained the coffee from her thermos. She still felt bleary-eyed and sluggish. There were only a couple orders to pack for shipping. Unlocking the front door early, she paced around her shelves.

  She knew her anger at Charlotte and Pokey was misplaced. Silly. Childish, even. Still, she was irrationally pissed off at the both of them. “Get a frickin grip, Nann.”

  When the bell above the door dinged, she whirled around.

  Ricky the mailman held a package. He gave her a look. “This a bad time?”

>   She let out a sigh, trying to let the tension out of her body. “Sorry. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well. I guess I’m in a mood.”

  “Wow. I’ve never seen you in a mood. Well, maybe this will cheer you up. Have a better day, okay?”

  Ricky took her two parcels and hurried out. She looked at the box he delivered. Nann wasn’t expecting any orders. She didn’t recognize the company on the shipping label. The box felt heavy as she carried it over to her mailing table. Slicing it open with a dull letter opener (because she’d learned the hard way not to open packages of books with a sharp tool), she unwrapped the contents.

  Inside was a statue of a cat. The cat had angel wings. On the base of the statue, it simply read, Sparky. A cat gravestone. Although the sentiment was sweet, especially since it came from a vampire, the object didn’t make her feel cheerier at all. She sighed and left it on the table.

  An hour or so later, Keith Schwenk arrived. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “Who?”

  “The tall guy with the slick clothes.”

  Nann, still in a mood, rolled her eyes. “He’s an author. Nick O’Broin. He’s signing his book here on Friday. He’s not my boyfriend.”

  He studied her for a moment. Finally, his features softened. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick. I just had a tough time sleeping. Anyway, I’m here on official business. Finally.”

  “The guy at the pet shelter.”

  Keith nodded.

  “Is it a homicide investigation?”

  “Without a doubt. Arthur Perkins was, to use the veterinary euphemism, put to sleep.”

  “Put to sleep?”

  “According to the tox report, by two fatal injections of pentobarbital. It’s a common drug for putting animals down.”

  “Shuck. My. Corn. Do you have any suspects? Please don’t tell me Dr. Coombs is one of them. She takes care of my pig, Pokey.”

  “What I’m here about. Can we sit?”

  Nann led the way to the check out counter and pulled out the extra chair. Keith laid a photo containing six images in front of her. She looked it over. “Am I supposed to pick out one of them?”

  “Do you recognize any of them?”

  In fact, Nann did. “I recognize all of them. They were all at the shelter when I—adopted a cat. For a friend. A shut-in.”

  Keith sighed. “That’s what I figured.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Me neither,” the deputy said.

  Nann felt a stab of irritation. She quelled it, waiting for Keith to go on. He tapped the photo lineup.

  “All six of these women confessed to murdering Arthur Perkins with lethal injections of pentobarbital.”

  Holy schmoly. “All six? I did see two puncture wounds on the guy’s neck. Were there four more?”

  “Nope,” Keith shook his head. “Just the two. All of the suspects confessed to the crime, all of them said that they did it on their own.”

  “Did they have a motive?” Nann said.

  “Yes. They said they suspected that Arthur Perkins was a very evil man.” Keith picked up the photo. “But none of them could elaborate.”

  Chapter 7

  For the rest of the morning, Nann rolled the information around in her brain. What a weird case. Still, there didn’t seem any magic element to it. Maybe this was one she should leave for the cops. She was a practicing Druid, after all, not a detective.

  She closed up just before noon and headed over to Zinnia’s gallery. When she pushed through the door, she didn’t see her friend in the wide space. “Hey, Zinnia, you wanna get lunch?”

  After a moment, Zinnia stalked through the doorway that separated the gallery from her teaching space. “Figures you’d show up.”

  Nann didn’t know where this was going. “Well, yeah, noonish, usually the time we eat lunch, so...”

  The tiny blonde’s eyes were hot, her mouth cinched. Finally, she let out a sigh, her arms and shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry, Nann. This is so stupid!”

  “What is?”

  “I’ve been...” Zinnia gazed out the tall windows. “I’ve been having bad dreams. I keep dreaming that Brenden is cheating on me.”

  “Cheating on you?” It took a moment for the nickel to drop. “Cheating on you—with me?”

  “Yeah, with you.” A flush returned to her cheeks. “Why, whatsamatter with Brenden?”

  Nann, a little flabbergasted, made meaningless gestures with her hands. “Nothing. He’s kinda cute for a tall skinny guy. But he’s your sort-of boyfriend. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  Fury deflated into a wrinkly misery. “Oh, for crimany’s sake, Nann, I know that! I feel like such a dork. But the dreams are so real. He’s been out every night since that guy dropped dead at the animal shelter. The VHS think a vampire did him in.”

  So word had gotten out about the puncture wounds, Nann thought. It might be in Keith’s best interest to let the MO slip to the papers. That might shake the vampire hunters loose. Of course, those guys were terriers if they thought they had a vampire in their teeth. As it were. Still...

  “That happened on Sunday, Zinnia. It’s only Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve been... seeing a lot of each other. And then nada. Vampire, vampire vampire all the time. But the dreams, they made it seem like the vampire business was just a cover story so he could—”

  Nann held up a hand. “I get the picture. But you know it’s not real, right?”

  “My brain knows. My emotions, though, they’re all tangled up.” Zinnia faced away.

  “Well, here’s the deal. There were marks on the victim’s neck, but they weren’t a vampire bite. They were injections. That guy was put to sleep like a suffering animal.”

  “Huh. Maybe someone should tell the VHS that.”

  Nann’s thought exactly. The news didn’t seem to help much. “So no lunch, then.”

  “I don’t even think I could eat.” Zinnia still faced away.

  Nann quietly stepped out. Zinnia must be really messed up. Normally, she ate more than even Pokey the pig.

  WHEN THE PAPER E-MAILED her the ad proof, it looked a lot better than she had imagined. Apparently, whoever built the ads also thought Nick was a hottie. His photo featured prominently. There was also a message from the editorial side of the paper that promised a small feature on the upcoming event.

  Satisfied that she had actually accomplished something, Nann headed for home. At the halfway point between Calamity Corners and Port Argent, Cricket, her bright yellow-green Jimny, braked and signaled on her own. The car drove herself up Main Street and into the Tops market. Oh, right. Veggies for Pokey. “Thanks, Cricket.”

  Cricket chirped her alarm.

  Loaded down with produce, a rotisserie chicken and Little Debbie snacks, Nann parked in the garage and set about making dinner. Since Pokey had come into her life, Nann had become adept at chopping vegetables. She hacked through a variety, carrots, celery root, yams (Pokey could tell the difference between yams and sweet potatoes—he preferred the former), turnips. She dumped a good-sized pile in his bowl and went to work on her own dinner.

  Tonight would be the chicken, along with microwave mac-n-cheese. The rest of the chicken would be cut up for chicken salad. With Zinnia miffed at her (legitimately or no), she figured she’d better bring some sandwiches to work tomorrow.

  As she slapped the mac-n-cheese tray in the oven, she noticed Pokey not eating. Nann paused. She’d never seen this before. “You feeling okay, Pokey?”

  Pokey gave her the eye over his shoulder, then dropped his head. Nann crouched down. She looked over the dark little pig, giving his bristly back a rub. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Head still facing away, Pokey didn’t respond. Nann got up and moved to the dining room. To her surprise, the old radio was turned on. She fiddled with the volume knob. “Pokey?” she called. Nann received nothing but static.

  Holy schmoly.

  “C’mon, Pokey.” She picked up the pig. Pokey went limp in her ar
ms. Nann groaned as her lower back reacted. Pokey was a real runt as far as potbellied pigs went, but he still weighed nearly fifty pounds. Teetering under his weight, Nann managed to get him in the back of Cricket. She awkwardly buckled him in. Seat belts were not designed for porcine safety.

  Nann fiddled with the car stereo, finding an empty channel. “I’m taking you to Dr. Coombs.”

  She looked at him in the rearview mirror. Pokey rested his head on his front hooves.

  “The vet.” She tried to provoke a response. “Veterinarian. Pokey?”

  When the pig said nothing, Nann clutched into reverse. Cricket took over, spinning a one-eighty in the driveway and speeding back toward Calamity Corners. Well, speeding was an overstatement. Suzuki Jimnys didn’t go very fast.

  DESPITE THE HOUR, THE veterinary hospital was standing room only. Cats in carriers hissed at curious dogs on leashes. Other dogs barked and howled from behind closed doors. Pet owners sat, or stood, grim-faced and muttering. Nann had Pokey on a lead. No way was she picking him up again. He followed along behind, head down.

  No one sat behind the reception desk.

  A woman with a sad-looking Jack Russel terrier gave Pokey a scowl. Her eyes trailed up to Nann’s. “You gotta sign in. There’s no staff here today. Just the doctor.”

  What the what?

  “Thanks. Can you hold my pig?” She put the leash in the terrier owner’s hand and hurried over to the desk. The page was filled with names. Only a few were crossed off. Yikes. She signed at the bottom and hurried back.

  The terrier looked at Pokey without interest, not even getting up to sniff his butt. Nann took the leash back from the dog’s owner. She gave the Jack Russell a sympathetic look. “She seems really sick. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” the owner said, irritation flashing across her face like lightning. “We’re just here for a flea treatment appointment.”