Hex Type Thing Page 8

  There was so much information wrapped in that statement I didn’t even know where to begin when starting to unpack it. “Um ... .”

  “Just a thought.” Bronwen’s smile was kind as she grabbed the handles on two of the suitcases. “You don’t have to help with the luggage. I’ve got it from here.”

  “Are you sure?” I felt like a bit of a villain for leaving her to wrangle that many suitcases on her own, but I was desperate to escape.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, well ... bye.”

  I hopped behind the wheel of the cart and turned the key. Bronwen was already at the front door when she called out once more.

  “Tell Galen I said hello. I look forward to seeing more of him, too.”

  “I’ll do that.” Or not. Seriously, could she be any weirder?

  GALEN WAS BACK AT HIS OFFICE when I passed by so, on a whim, I parked next to his truck and sauntered through the front door as if I had a clear purpose. His secretary was the nosy sort — she was also bossy and mildly terrifying — and I didn’t want her to question me too hard about what I was doing bothering the sheriff in the middle of the afternoon. There were certain rules I was supposed to follow — all created by her — and she melted down when I broke from the schedule.

  Thankfully today she was on the phone and could only pin me with a dark look as I waved and slipped behind the counter, heading directly for his office.

  Galen looked to be going through a file when I pushed open his door. Irritation flashed across his face ... and then he realized it was me. The annoyance was quickly replaced by a smile.

  “I said you should text, not stop in. But I’m not going to complain about the visit.”

  That was only one of the things I liked about him. He was always happy to see me. Legitimately so. He did wonders for my ego.

  “I didn’t actually come to visit. I came for some information.”

  “Oh, geez.” He made a face. “I know that expression. You’re up to something. How is that even possible? I saw you just fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I’m not up to anything ... and that’s a horrible thing to say about your significant other. I got up and cooked you breakfast this morning despite the fact that we only got a few hours sleep. You should be worshipping me for that alone.”

  His face lit with amusement. “Fair enough. What sort of information are you looking for? Be forewarned, if I don’t like where this conversation is going I’ll refuse to answer your question. I just want to make you aware of that.”

  It was difficult to refrain from rolling my eyes, but I managed it ... barely. “Is June a witch?”

  Whatever question he was expecting, that wasn’t it. He leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. “That’s what you want to know?”

  “Yeah. What did you think I was going to ask?”

  “I thought we were playing a dirty game after the image you shoved in Bronwen’s head. I’ll have to readjust my expectations. Give me a second.”

  The look I shot him was withering. “Not every conversation we share needs to revolve around sex. I’m serious.”

  “As am I.” His eyes twinkled and he sighed. “Apparently your sense of humor disappeared with the new witch. I don’t know what to tell you. I believe June has some witch in her lineage, but if it was ever prominent it’s not any longer. I’ve never seen her perform magic.”

  “See, that’s what I thought, but that Bronwen chick said she was looking forward to performing rituals with June and it confused me. She also invited us to said rituals, but insisted you stay dressed until after the spells were completed because you would serve as too much of a distraction.”

  He smirked. “I am quite distracting.”

  “You are.” I was silent for a beat and then remembered he had work to do. “Anything new on Salma’s death?”

  “No, but her three best friends are due any second. I’m supposed to interview them.”

  “Do you think they’ll have information?”

  “Probably not. They’re all idiots, as far as I can tell. In fact ... .” He trailed off at the sound of someone — a female someone — clearing her throat by the door.

  I turned to see who was joining us and frowned when I found three overly-dressed women, all looking to be in their early twenties. They glared at Galen with overt hostility.

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one prone to sticking a foot in a mouth.

  “Sheriff Blackwood,” the brunette at the front of the group drawled, disdain practically dripping from her tongue. “We’re here as requested.”

  Yup. Galen was in for a battle.

  “Hello, Cissy,” Galen replied calmly. “It’s good to see you.”

  “That’s not what you were saying a second ago.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about Salma’s other friends, the ones who aren’t as smart as you.”

  Cissy brightened considerably. “Oh, well, that’s cool.”

  “Great.” Galen’s smile was calm, but I could tell he was on edge. “Why don’t you ladies have a seat?”

  “Is she going to be here for the interview?” Cissy asked, inclining her head in my direction. She didn’t look excited by the possibility.

  “She is,” he replied, taking me by surprise. I thought he would shoo me out now that he had actual work to do, but he obviously felt otherwise. “Hadley Hunter, this is Cissy Hilton, Lindsey Murphy and Bette Durham. They were friends with Salma.”

  “Best friends,” Bette stressed. She had short-cropped hair that was perfectly styled and a set of fake fingernails long enough to gouge eyes out if so inclined. She carried a Prada purse and wore Louis Vuitton pumps that were impractical given the uneven sidewalks in town.

  “Best friends,” Galen agreed. “Salma was obviously close with all of you. That’s why I asked you to come in. Given what happened to her, I obviously have questions.”

  I felt out of place hovering next to his desk so I sat in the chair in the corner. I was largely removed from the conversation but could hear without straining, which was good enough for me. I was invested in finding Salma’s killer, if only to put my mind at ease that no one else was in danger.

  “We have questions, too,” Lindsey shot back. Her hair was a soft flaxen, but her eyebrows were dark brown. “We want to know what you’re going to do to the animal who killed our friend. We want swift justice.”

  “I think we would all like swift justice,” Galen supplied. “I need clues to track down the guilty party. That’s why I called you here. Was Salma seeing anyone?”

  “No one serious,” Cissy replied. “She was dating here and there, but I don’t think she’d gone out with anyone in the past three weeks. She was too wrapped up in this festival to worry about anything else.”

  Since they’d given him the opening, Galen took it. “I noticed her social media feeds were completely taken up with this festival. Was she looking forward to going?”

  Bette made a ridiculous face. “Oh, she wasn’t going.”

  “And yet she talked about the festival nonstop on social media,” Galen noted.

  “Yeah, but that was her job.”

  “I didn’t realize she had a job.”

  “Of course she had a job.” Bette rolled her eyes so dramatically I was surprised she didn’t fall over. “Her job was to promote things on the internet. It’s a real thing. We all do it.” She gestured toward the other women, who all bobbed their heads.

  “We’re good at it, too,” Cissy enthused.

  “This is that influencer thing you were talking about, right?” he asked me, clearly confused.

  “I believe so,” I replied. “I don’t know that they use that word, though.”

  “We most definitely don’t,” Lindsey sniffed, her eyes dark when they locked with mine. “That’s an extremely rude term, and we don’t like it.”

  She’d directed the statement toward me, so I felt the need to respond. “Hey. I was just repeating what I read on the internet.”
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  “Well, you should be careful what you read on the internet. Everything out there is fake.”

  “Including what Salma wrote about the festival?” Galen asked, dragging the conversation back on track. “Was anything she wrote truthful?”

  The women exchanged quick looks, and then Cissy cleared her throat, as if she was going to say something important.

  “Here’s the thing,” she started, her eyes darting back and forth. I had the distinct impression she was searching for the right words, something that would make Salma look good. “This job isn’t without its quirks. To get a foothold in this business, you have to have three things going for you.”

  “Looks, brains and boobs,” Bette volunteered with a smile.

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at the expression on Galen’s face. He looked as if he was about to pull his hair out in frustration.

  “I’m not making it up,” Bette reassured him when Galen didn’t immediately respond. “You need other things, like fast fingers and an ability to pretend you like stuff you really don’t, but those are the three biggies. Very few people are qualified to do what we do.”

  “Yes, well ... how fabulous for you,” Galen drawled, his incredulous eyes briefly locking with mine before he asked the obvious question. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why would she promote the festival if she wasn’t planning on going?”

  “Because it didn’t matter if she was there,” Cissy replied simply. “She just needed people to believe it was important for them to be there. She never had any intention of going.”

  “She hated sand,” Bette volunteered.

  “And bugs,” Lindsey added. “She hated bugs, too. She was never going.”

  “I see. Do you know how much she was paid to promote the festival?”

  “I don’t, but I know it was a lot, because she was practically squealing when she told us about it,” Cissy answered. “I think you’ll have to talk to Alastair Herne. He hired her.”

  “Yeah.” Galen rubbed his chin, obviously annoyed. “I think I’m going to have to talk to Alastair, too. And I’m not looking forward to it.”

  9

  Nine

  “How can you live on an island and hate sand?”

  That was the thing bothering me most once the empty-headed trio left Galen’s office an hour later. He took them round and round, asking them a multitude of questions about Salma and her “job,” but they really didn’t expand on anything. He got frustrated and basically kicked them out once he deemed they were of no further use.

  It had been quiet in the office for a good ten minutes before I asked the question. I thought maybe there was a chance he’d forgotten I was there, still sitting in the corner, and wanted to remind him of my presence.

  He sighed as he shifted his eyes from his computer to me. He looked tired.

  “I don’t know,” he replied after a beat. “I happen to love sand.”

  “Because you like to make sandcastles, right? You look like the type.”

  His grin was wide enough it practically swallowed his entire face. “More like I enjoy rolling around in it. If you play your cards right, we can take a walk on the beach by the lighthouse tonight and I’ll show you.”

  That seemed like a bad idea. “We can’t do that.”

  “Even if I promise to stop talking about sex so much? I know it’s driving you crazy.”

  “I don’t mind the sex talk. I was just feeling vulnerable earlier when I said that because of what happened with Bronwen. That’s not why we can’t go for a walk.”

  He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers on his washboard stomach and arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  “We can’t play in the surf because of the festival.”

  “They’re on a completely different section of the beach.”

  “Yeah, but when have you known drunken people to pay attention to boundaries?”

  “That’s a fair point, but there are signs warning them off your property. I made sure my deputies put them up this afternoon.”

  That was news to me. “You did?” I couldn’t shutter my surprise. “I didn’t know that. Why?”

  “Because, like you, I sense trouble coming from this festival. I think some very bad things are going to happen, and I don’t want them happening on your property.”

  “Aw, that’s kind of sweet.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s practical is what it is. We like sitting out on your back patio and ... playing games. I don’t want anyone spying from the bushes when you make the water dance because you’re excited.”

  My mouth dropped open. “That happened one time!”

  “That’s happened one time that I pointed out to you,” he corrected. “It happened another time before we even started dating, and for an entirely different reason, that still managed to be sensuous. It has happened a few more times. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would freak out.”

  Well, that was humbling ... and maybe a little frightening. “That’s why you always want to drink wine on the back patio, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “There are multiple reasons why I like to drink wine on the patio. The first is that you look ridiculously hot under the moonlight. I also happen to love the smell of the ocean. I think you do, too, because it makes you frisky. That’s another reason I love the patio. The water thing you do is just an added bonus.”

  I pursed my lips. “I think I should be angry that you’ve been holding out on me.”

  “And I think that’s a waste of effort. Besides, I have an idea I’d like to broach with you.”

  “Does it have something to do with making the water dance?”

  He shook his head, somber. “No. It has to do with Salma.”

  “Oh. I ... this is a serious conversation. I’m sorry. I got used to us spending every hour of the day for two straight weeks flirting because nothing was breaking on the island and that seemed to be what both of us wanted. It’s going to take me a bit to return to reality.”

  “I don’t want you to return to reality,” he countered. “I don’t want either of us to ever return to reality. But we have to deal with Salma’s death.

  “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to go down to the beach and infiltrate all the witches and warlocks down there to see if anyone had a motive? Oh, I know! I can use my new power. That will allow me to practice while helping you at the same time.”

  “Most of those people didn’t arrive until today, so I think that would be a waste of your talent.”

  I was starting to grow suspicious. “You want a favor from me. I can tell, so just spit it out.”

  “Did you read my mind to figure that out?”

  “I don’t need to read your mind. I know you.”

  “You do.” His smile was mischievous. “The thing is, I’ve been trying to sort through all these social media posts, but they all look alike to me. On top of that, they’re all bleeding together, to the point I can’t even remember what I read on what account.”

  That’s when things started to make sense. “You want me to wade through the social media posts.”

  “I do.”

  “Because you don’t want to or you think I would be good at it?”

  “Are you going to be angry if I say both? Honestly, I don’t know what I’m reading and I hate being on the computer like this. I would prefer being out in the field or going over reports, doing anything but reading this stuff. You’re good at it. You can do it in a quarter of the time. Also, we’ll be working together, which will bring us closer and make our love grow.”

  I choked on a snort. “You could’ve stopped before the last bit. That was a step too far.”

  “I sensed that as I was saying it, but it was too late.”

  “I’ll help you with the posts,” I volunteered. “I actually find it fascinating. We can work together instead of fighting about me finding trouble for a change.”

  “There you go.” He blew me an air kiss. “I
think this is going to work out fabulously.”

  He was being naive, but who was I to burst his bubble?

  TWO HOURS LATER, I WAS BEGINNING TO seriously regret my decision. Following the thread of Tweets on the festival was like falling down a rabbit hole and talking to a mushroom with a face. In other words, it was making me doubt my sanity.

  “This is ridiculous,” I practically exploded when I found yet another clump of Tweets. “Do you have any idea how many Tweets have been issued over this festival?”

  Galen, who had been working quietly at his desk the entire time I’d descended into the bowels of Twitter hell, glanced up. “No, but I’m legitimately curious.”

  So was I. That’s why I tried to add them up. “More than a million.”

  “No way.” He shifted in his chair. “How is that even possible? We’re talking about a small festival. Sure, it’s big by Moonstone Bay standards, but we’re still talking a few thousand people. I think the limit was five-thousand, and supposedly all those slots were sold.”

  “True. But there are millions of Tweets. For example, one of the earliest Tweets I can find is from Salma. She mentioned the idea of having a cool beach party, how she always thought it was a grand idea, and then links to an article in the Moonstone Bay newsletter announcing the festival. The Tweet just happened to go out the day after the article was written.”

  “Do you know who wrote the article?”

  “Um ... someone named Donna Hanover.”

  Galen scowled. “That figures. She’s my least favorite person on that staff. She can be bought to give out free publicity. Everybody knows it, but no one ever calls her on it.”

  “I don’t think her participation in this farce is what we should be worried about,” I countered. “It’s the trail of retweets that matters.”

  “What’s a retweet?”

  “Oh, you need to join the technology age, baby,” I teased. “A retweet is what happens when one person Tweets something and another basically hits a button to copy that exact Tweet onto their page. By doing that, it expands the number of eyes that see it.”