Witch Haunt by Cat Larson

Author:Cat Larson [Larson, Cat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cat Larson

Chapter Eleven

I left the hotel in a funk, but the fresh air helped liven me up. Misty Evans had left this world. Phoebe Green had left Bigfoot Bay. There was nothing I could do about those two at the moment.

But Tommy Duran?

He was still very much around, and knowing him as I did, he’d only be too eager to speak with me.

I headed toward McGuinness Inn, the town’s Irish pub, figuring the odds were in my favor that he’d be hanging out there. The Inn was the goblin gang’s stomping ground, which seemed to be rapidly dwindling in members.

The more steps I took, the more I considered Tommy’s role in all of this. I trusted the guy about as far as I could swallow down a reeking bowl of mushrooms swimming in tea broth, but I didn’t think he was stupid. Why would anyone use their own credit card to book a room at a hotel if they’d played any part in a crime that took place there?

Which brought me back to Phoebe… She could’ve easily entered false information. Or another possibility was that Misty had stolen the card. If Phoebe was in on it, it wasn’t like she was going to ask her for identification. Tommy might not have even been near Bigfoot Bay at the time, he might not have found out about the fraudulent charge until much later.

And when he had found out, what had he done? Notified the authorities? Took things into his own hands? Threatened to expose Phoebe, causing her to flee the town?

Poor Mr. Fairchild—what had he ever done to anybody?

As much as my overworked brain dreamt up all kinds of feasible theories, it could not come up with a motive. Randall had been the only one who would’ve had a stake in his death. Perhaps, he’d hired Misty to scare him, knowing full well his extreme fear of snakes.

So, what… I was back to Randall again? Argh. I had to talk to Tommy, that was all there was to it.

I pushed open the door to the pub and scanned the room. It never ceased to amaze me how busy this place was on a weekday afternoon—didn’t anyone have a job around here? You’re one to talk, Samm. I supposed it was lunchtime and—

“Speak of the devil. Must be nice.”

“Excuse me?”

The woman perched on the bar stool muttered something else that I couldn’t make out then slammed down the remaining contents of her glass. She grinned, revealing a missing eyetooth then brushed past me as she left the bar. Huh?

“Samm! Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.”

I smiled and waved at the bushy-bearded man at the end of the bar. It didn’t matter that it was afternoon; he’d give me the same exuberant greeting whether it was 6:00 a.m. or 6:00 p.m.

“Hi, Niall.”

He neared closer, pulling up a bottle along the way then smacking it down in front of me. “Me own special stash. Care fer a wee nip?”

“No, not today.” Or ever, so far. But that’d never stop him from asking every time he saw me.

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