Page 26 of The Accidental Detectives

Wanda blew out a deep breath of relief when we finally sat our tired asses down in the murder basement to dissect the situation. “So, ladies, what the heck was that? Let’s talk about it before we let Brenda know we’re home.”

I shook my head.What was that? I reached down and pulled Doug off my leg as he climbed up my calf, looking for attention. I draped him across my chest, stroking the top of his head.

“I have no frickin’ idea, but it smelled like witch magic to me, too. It smelled just like Robbie’s.”

Wanda bobbed her mussed head, smoothing her hair from her face. “You’re right. It smelled a lot like Robbie’s magic. So then, any thoughts on why Brenda has witch magic in her house? And why was it attached to a picture that blew up in our faces?”

“And who is this guy who looks a whole lot like Owen?”

Marty, looking ragged from our encounter but healing quickly, narrowed her eyes. “You know, when we first interviewed Brenda, she said he reminded her of someone, but she didn’t go into detail. Bet this is the guy Owen reminded her of. So it makes sense she’d be drawn to him. Tack onthat they allegedly had so much in common, and voila—instant attraction.”

Doug curled into me, tucking himself close while I wondered out loud, “But how is that connected to Owen’s murder, and why were we attacked by furniture possessed by frickin’ Martha Stewart?”

Marty rubbed her head, the bruise under her eye still a little purple. “Before we go any further, what happened to me?”

I snorted a laugh. “You got clocked by some of that décor you love so much, that’s what. It was like a scene straight outta when good furniture goes bad. I carried your ass outta there. We made it back to the car by the skin of our teeth before the cops came.”

She blew me a kiss. “Thanks for that, pal. Now, we need to get Brenda down here pronto, and I need to update my whiteboard.”

I texted Arch and asked him to send Brenda down to the basement.

As she floated down the spiral staircase, Linus and Peppermint Patty in tow, I fought to keep my shit together. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know anything about the picture under her mantel, but I’d bet she knew who wasinthe photo.

My gut told me someone was screwin’ with her, but why, and would she have any idea—or was this going to be a big old nothing burger again?

When she approached us, her face filled with concern, she took one look at Marty and gasped. “Oh, Marty! Are you all right? Archibald and Tottington told me you texted them saying you had some trouble at my house.”

I pointed to the chair in the middle of our desks. “Trouble is an interesting word, Brenda. Have a seat and we’ll discuss thetrouble.”

Peppermint Patty hopped into her lap, but Linus opted for Wanda and the big fluffy blanket she had draped over her legs.

Clinging to her dog, she had that worried look that had graced her mug since we’d met her. “Tell me what happened. What did you find?”

We gave her the rundown on what happened at her place, leaving out the part about Owen 2.0.

“Any idea why we smelled witch magic in your house?” I asked, making sure she heard my tone was filled with suspicion.

Brenda’s stare was blank, her eyes wide. “I have no idea. I swear to you all. I don’t know any witches. I couldn’t even tell you what witch magic smells like, let alone why it’s in my house…”

I held up my phone to show her the picture of the guy who looked like Owen. “Whois this?”

Brenda blinked as though she’d seen a ghost—and I know what that looks like, because I’ve literally seen a ghost. So have Marty and Wanda. They had that same damn expression on their faces when they saw one, too.

Her hand flew to her mouth, her gray-blue eyes wide. “Where in the name of Nosferatu did you get that?”

“It was taped under your mantel in the living room, Brenda.” Marty’s tone was gentle.

“What?That’s crazy. I never had a picture of him… I don’t…I don’t understand what’s going on?”

Wanda’s gaze wasn’t as gentle as Marty’s tone. “Neither do we. So can you explain it? Let’s start by telling us who that is, and why he looks so much like Owen Barker?”

She looked at us all, her eyes bleak. “That’s…that’s Winston. Winston Blackheart.” The sob that followed was raw, the scent of her emotion fight-or-flight.

But the minute she opened her mouth, I started googling his name. “And? How do you know him?”

Pressing a fist to her mouth, her pale face revealing obvious sorrow, she said, “He…he was the love of my life…”

Huh. That’s not what Google said. “Google says the love of your life was Jeremiah Bronkowski. You were married to the dude for thirty-five years until he died of scarlet fever.”

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