Wickham looked at me as if to sayI told you so.“We suspect it was accidental.”
“Really?” Officer Herrera rolled his eyes. “Come on, that’s not accidental. I don’t need forensics to confirmthat.” He circled the scene, the faint blue shimmer of his aura brushing against Alex’s lifeless form. “People don’t accidentally pour a bucket of water on the floor, take off their shoes, and step into the puddle with a live wire. Someone murdered him.”
“Our being here is coincidental, but somehow everything that happens gets pinned on me.” Wickham’s fists tightened, and a low pulse of his green aura throbbed with tension. A pit formed in my stomach. This didn’t look good for either of us. As Mrs. Bennet’s daughter—since she was recently questioned in a murder investigation—I wasn’t exactly a credible witness.
Within minutes, several more officers arrived. Wickham and I waited as faint swirls of energy passed over the floorboards, stirred by the officers’ presence, before Officer Herrera finally debriefed us.
“Okay, Wickham, you’re coming to the station with me for questioning. Ms. Bennet, Officer Franklin is going to drive you home.”
I gulped and threw my arms around Wickham, whispering in his ear, “I’m so sorry. It’s going to be allright. I promise.”
He stepped back, delicately brushing a lock of hair from my face. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His aura dimmed slightly,a quiet acknowledgment of my fear.
At eight a.m. the day after New Year’s, I received a call from Wickham.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing your face again. Breakfast?”
“Wouldn’t mind? Or want to?” I teased, playing hard to get, even though we both knew my answer. A traumatic experience wasn’t ideal romantic groundwork, but it had created a sense of solidarity between us.
He stifled a laugh. “You cheer me up.”
“Good enough for me.”
An hour later, we sat in the Hearthstone Café, sharing an omelet and a stack of gluten-free pancakes. Wickham could handle a bit of traditional food as long as his hemoglobin intake stayed balanced. The scent of strawberries, cinnamon, and fresh coffee mingled with a subtle, lingering aura of magic only I could sense.
He tipped his chin to the side, studying me. "I've been wondering how your knee's doing? Any lingering pain?"
"Oh, I used a healing salve. It works wonders. You'd never even know I fell." I chased an errant blueberry across the plate with my fork. “The police let you go after questioning you. That’s good, right?”
“I’m still a person of interest.” Broody Wickham wasn’t as entertaining as Flirty Wickham.
My attempt at bringing out the latter failed. “Something else will come up. I’m sure.”
“I knew in my gut it was murder.” He poked at his food and stared past the red-and-white gingham curtains to the busy sidewalks outside. Dark, negative ripples tainted his steady green aura.
“It’s not that bad, Wickham. The police haven’t outright accused you.” I wanted to be supportive, and my own aura tingled faintly with optimism.
He looked back at me, eyes particularly vulnerable. For a vampire rock star, he was more human than I’d realized before. He fiddled with a ring on the chain around his neck. A subtle shimmer of magic pulsed along it, and I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before.
He rubbed his forehead. “They’re hinting that since I owed Alex a lot of money, I may have killed him. They haven’t even talked to the rest of the band.”
“I guess they don’t think being with me is a legitimate alibi?”
“Something about girlfriends defending me,” he admitted. “Not that I’m assuming you're my girlfriend. Just what they said.”
My instinct told me to encourage him to assume all he wanted. But self-respect won out.
“We can figure out who killed him so you don’t keep getting pulled into everything. Could anyone in the band have done it?” I raised my voice above the café bustle.
He shook his head. “No one else owed him money. None of us were under the illusion he was amazing, but logically, firing him would’ve made far more sense than killing him.”
“Except since you owed him money, that might not work. Police are suggesting you had a motive.”
“Spot on,” Wickham said. “I promise I had nothing to do with his death.”
“I know.” My aura pulsed lavender, affirming my trust.
An elegantly clad older woman with a royal-plum and magenta aura entered the café just as I popped a strawberry into my mouth. Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
