Chapter 10
Librarians Dewey it better.
The Wompler place isn’t far from town, so the ride over is short. I manage to choke down my shitty coffee on the way, but I carry my cup with me when we get out of the car. Dad’s truck is already near the front porch on the circle drive, and there’s a newer dark blue sedan parked in front of it.
Dad steps out of the front door like the man of the house and watches our approach. “You ain’t all coming in here.” I hadn’t even thought about the fact that they all got out when I did.
“Why don’t we meet up later? I’m sure you guys have things to do,” I tell them, looking between Felix and Remy, since they seem to be the more reasonable of the three. Plus, I still want to punch Grayson in the throat for flirting with the girl right in front of me.
“We all cleared our schedules,” Felix replies. His lip is curled up in the slightest of smiles.
“Yeah, at your beck and call,” Grayson mumbles, not looking in my direction.
I can actually feel the muscles along my back and shoulders tighten. “No, really, I insist. You can meet me at Pop’s this evening.” I work hard to make my jaw move so I’m not just clenching my teeth and snarling at him.
“Take your time, Frankie. We’ll be here when you’re ready.” Remy lifts his handsome as sin face up to the sun and closes his eyes as if he’s enjoying being outside.
“Come on, kiddo, leave them to it.” Dad gestures for me to join him on the porch with a wave of his hand. I take a moment to look around. The old place has had a recent coat of paint, and the flowers all look freshly planted. The wooden boards groan under my weight when I climb up and meet Dad near the open front door.
“Let’s keep this business for now, okay, Frances? We can talk about the other stuff later.” Dad keeps his voice soft but firm.
I give him a warning glare, but I know it’s the best course of action. “Don’t think you’re getting out of talking to me.”
He lets out a huff and pulls open the screen for me to enter ahead of him. “You’re my kid, I know you’re not going to drop it.”
A pleasant aroma hits me when I enter the house. It smells like baked goods or some of those fancy candles you can get from the spell shop. The tension in my shoulders eases, and I know it’s the latter of the two. The charm is subtle and light, not enough to shift perspective or alter perception, but just enough to relax you and make you comfortable. I glance over at Dad quickly to see if he’s reacting to the spell and notice his features are more relaxed.
“It’s for her benefit, not to influence us,” he answers before I can even voice the question.
“Is that an everyday thing or…” Calming spells can become nearly as addictive as alcohol to a drunk if you rely on them too heavily.
“She’s not a charm junkie, Frankie,” Dad hisses. “She’s had a hard couple of days.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands after placing my empty cup on a small side table near the entryway. “Defensive much?” Dad doesn’t answer me, but he does guide me into a comfy sitting room. The walls are lined with old books, and the thrum of the candle pushes on my shielding jewelry hard enough to let me know the spell is a strong one. If she stirred this herself, she’s a powerful caster.
In the corner, I find a petite woman with delicate features sitting in an oversized chair with her back ramrod straight. Her hair is coiled up into a messy bun with soft tendrils teasing her jaw and cheeks, and the shade is a rich caramel color that usually only comes with a hefty price tag and frequent highlights. Her full lips are turned down in a slight frown that is mirrored in her eyes as she gazes at me.
“Ms. Miller, Agent Frankie Bishop, sorry about the circumstances.” I take in her fitted blouse and dark slacks as I lower myself into the chair across from her. Dad moves to stand at her side, placing a hand on the high back of her chair.
“You may call me Belinda,” she says softly. Her dark brown eyes meet mine, and I feel a swirl of magic in the air. It’s faint, yet familiar. Her magic was used in the library near the body.Damnit. I wanted to come here and rule her out, but unfortunately, I can’t do that now.
“Do you mind going over what happened yesterday?”
Belinda looks up at Dad pleadingly, but he gives her a reassuring nod. “If you need me to,” she finally answers.
“Chief, do you mind recording the interview?” Dad blinks a few times, then drags his phone out of his pocket and hands it over to me. The scowl on his face is enough to tell me he’s not happy, but he doesn’t argue either. I tap a few buttons, hit record on the voice memo, and place the phone on a low table between us.
“Whenever you’re ready.” I nod, purposely being vague with my instructions about what to discuss. I find if you give someone a rope, they will usually hang themselves.
Belinda looks up at Dad again, then clears her throat. “Shortly after returning from lunch yesterday, I made my way upstairs and found it—him,” she amends.
I give her a second to see if she’s going to add anything else before questioning, “What did you do then?”
“I ran back downstairs and called Marty,” she tells me, and Dad’s already nodding and placing his hand on her shoulder.
“I told her to exit the building and find someplace safe to wait for me,” Dad informs me.
I ignore him. “How did he obtain entry into the library?”
