Paris Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  EPILOGUE

  ALSO BY THE AUTHORS

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Ingrid’s eyes cracked slowly open. Some evil dove was banging on her door, and since she hadn’t preordered breakfast that was an unacceptable state of events. She squinted across her room, it was massive and luxurious but apparently didn’t come with a little elf who jumped out of the wall to tell people to go away.

  “What?” she shouted, pulling her blankets over her head. Maybe if she wrapped her head tightly enough, they would go away.

  Instead the door opened. She could hear Emily say something. As best friends went, Emily was a good one, but she was making a move that could end in murder. Everyone knew it was unacceptable to wake your sleeping friend while vacationing. Everyone knew this. Unless there was wine. Or chocolate. Or, especially, chocolate wine. Ooooh, chocolate wine and chocolate dipped strawberries. And french fries.

  Did the French make french fries? Or was that a weird American name for an American food? And if the French did make french fries, did they call them fries or something else entirely? And, most importantly, how could she get some? Because now that she was awake, she needed strawberries, fries, and…pickles. Sour pickles with hot sauce. Definitely.

  “Sweet goddess above, Em, you better be bringing in food,” Ingrid said without pulling her blankets back. This bed was divine, and it needed to be savored.

  “No food. Just me.” The deep voice brought Ingrid to another level of awake while making her question whether she was still sleeping. Because that voice was on Sage Island, harassing tourist, spending the day bending over in his perfect jeans to leave parking tickets on unsuspecting cars, and probably flirting with Kimmie even though there was no reason for the sheriff to enter the nail salon. So, he would only be going into that house of betrayal to flirt.

  Ingrid stopped pulling the blankets so tightly over her head and tucked the covers back just enough to let out her nose and eyes. Oh my gods, she thought as her gaze met those blue eyes—eyes as blue as the sky and as pretty as anything she had ever seen.

  “Gabe?” Her voice was more like breathing than speaking. He was so tall. And she’d forgotten how wide his shoulders were. But he was there in a brown leather jacket, snug red t-shirt, and her very favorite jeans. Sweet goddess above, she was blessed.

  “Hello,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the tip of her nose. His grungy angel’s face was a miracle—it was a miracle in her hotel room in Paris. Looking at him sent a jab of pain through her, but she realized just how very badly she had missed him. She wanted to leap out of the bed and wrap herself around him, but she was afraid if she did, he’d disappear.

  “Oh my stars!” she said, reaching out a hand to cup his scruffy chin and make sure he wasn’t an apparition. He was so damn pretty, she thought. Pretty as chocolate and wine and almost as perfect. “You’re in Paris?”

  He grinned at her, kicked off his shoes, and nudged her over to wrap her up in his perfect arms. “What do you think?”

  She might have taken him for her own by sheer surprise. He’d been going about his life, and she’d just announced she had wanted him. Maybe it was the shock, maybe there was something about the two of them, maybe it was just karma—though she doubted that last one, but somehow, they’d become a couple. And no matter how many times she’d driven him away with little things like burying bodies in the woods and accidentally setting things on fire, he never quite got sick of her. She didn’t understand it, but she was so very happy that he was here, and that for some gods unknown reason, he loved her back.

  He squeezed her tighter, letting his fingers trail down her spine and back up again as she nuzzled her face into his shoulder, took a deep breath to savor the scent of him, and said, “You smell like old lady.”

  “I spent a very long flight chatting with Viola,” he said, not sounding irritated at all about the woman who had probably been sleepless and told him about her 27 grandchildren.

  Ingrid flinched for him, wishing she’d known he was coming so she could have brushed her teeth. She was pretty sure she had fuzz on her teeth. And maybe her tongue. No, definitely, her tongue. Her long hair had been braided and her eye makeup had been removed. She might not be too bad. She was pretty enough and had a good body. She had amazing skin, so she probably didn’t need to worry too much.

  Especially since he was probably tired and bleary-eyed from his flight. Thinking of that, she guffawed when she imagined his long, long legs squished up in a budget seat while he listened to someone’s grandma blather on. But Gabe cut Ingrid’s cackle off with a kiss that stole the sound and her breath.

  A long time later, she asked, “Why are you here?”

  “I missed you,” he said simply and made her toes warm.

  She snuggled into him, breathed in the scent of the old woman who smelled of vanilla and roses but underneath that nonsense was the smell of her Gabe. Her beautiful, warm, strong Gabe. She hadn’t realized, she thought again, she hadn’t realized how much she loved him. Not until this moment, right now, with his voice in her ear, his body wrapped around hers, and the comfort that being in his arms provided. The way the pain of him being across the world was fading into a sense of utter rightness. She felt like she had come home.

  “Why?” She hadn’t intended to let the worry out, the self-doubt, the certainty that Gabe would eventually wake up to the mess she was. Gabe was stalwart and loyal, and she was…different.

  “Hey,” Emily said from the doorway ending what would have been yet another round of Gabe assuring Ingrid he loved her while she pretended to believe him.

  Ingrid turned to see her friend peeking into Ingrid’s part of their suite, but Emily’s hand was placed firmly over her eyes. “I don’t want to…well, why lie? I want to interrupt the heck out of your perfect reunion. I’m evil like that. But I’m starving and ordering room service. Do you want some?”

  “Yes,” Ingrid and Gabe said together.

  Gabe ran his finger along her spine one more time and then pulled the sheet out of the bed to wrap it around himself while Ingrid refused to let go of the thick down comforter that she may steal and bring home with her since it was a cloud wrapped in Egyptian cotton.

  “Anything,” Gabe said. “Lots of anything that sounds good, please.” He took the sheet with him and headed towards the bathroom while Ingrid considered.

  As soon as the bathroom door closed, Emily said, “I hate you.”

  “Dean is hot,” Ingrid said.

  “Dean is in who-the-hell-knows and even his text messages are iffy.”

  “But he’s hot.”

  “He’s not, however, in my shower. You stupid smug hooker. Tell me what you want to eat.” Emily’s scowl was forced and Ingrid examined it for a moment to be sure Em didn’t mind too much about Gabe being here.

  Emily’s hair was a wild crowd of curls that looked amazing, her makeup had not been removed but had somehow turned her into a smokey-eyed goddess. She was wearing matching pajamas that made her eyes stand out and drew attention to each and every gorgeous aspect about Emily.

  She was lovely, and she’d said the magic, magic word. Food, Ingrid thought. Thank all the gods for the food. And it was, she realized, moments like these where she could be ineffably grateful for being stupid rich. Stupid rich people could order too much food without guilt and then
eat what they wanted.

  “Fries, strawberries, pickles, hot sauce, eggs, bacon, sausage, and a chocolate milkshake.”

  “Holy mother of the gods,” Emily said. “I can’t remember all of that.”

  “Don’t,” Ingrid threatened, sitting up and holding her comforter to her chest, “make me kill you slowly.”

  She blinked against the brightness of the room, wondered what time it was, and then realized she didn’t really care. Not that she had responsibilities at home, but she definitely didn’t have any here. In Paris, what Ingrid had was this glorious hotel room, the Eiffel Tower outside of the window, and platters of food. She was going to go shopping for shoes and makeup and drag her Gabe to every romantic place while he was there. Drag him and kiss him and make very, very hot memories to yank out of her hat when she was an old crone.

  “You can’t kill me,” Emily said, “You’re a slow jezebel who’s been eating so much her pants don’t fit anymore. I would run away like a jackrabbit, and you’d be left behind in the dust of my awesomeness.”

  “Shut your stupid face or you aren’t going to stay my best dove,” Ingrid said, covering her head again. If she snuggled into her bed deep enough, she could maybe live right in that perfect cocoon of covers and mattress.

  “No one could remember that order,” Emily whined, but there was an edge to that whine that said she was taking notes and would be harassing Ingrid with them later.

  Ingrid wasn’t sure why she had a best friend who could only remember taco orders. She rolled onto her back and sighed dramatically before she said, “Fine. Remember what you can, but I need the fries, hot sauce, and chocolate. And probably, I will steal and lose your credit card if you don’t remember it all. And we’re supposed to be getting shoes soon. I am going to buy something strappy and some amazing black boots that are made by shoe elves. Because I have elves on the brain, I might also buy some cookies made by elves but you won’t be buying anything since you won’t have your credit card.”

  Ingrid finally sat up, stretching slowly. The comforter fell and Emily slapped her hand back over her eyes.

  “You are an evil stripper hooker,” Emily said, “And I would face punch you for stealing my credit card. Since you’ve confessed in advance, I would also steal your credit card and then neither of us could pay for food and where would we be? But since you’re naked, I am unable to punch you. Watch out. It’s coming. Also you’re gross. Gross and nasty and you were supposed to be suffering on this trip without sex too. Not having your true love show up at the door all hot and in perfect jeans.”

  Ingrid cackled because she knew it would irritate Emily and then said, “Suck it up, jezebel. Besides, they probably have purchasable company here. And keep your hooker eyes off of my pretty man’s jeans.”

  Emily gasped and disappeared for a second to turn and throw her shoe at Ingrid. It was more reflex than ability that had Ingrid lifting her hand, channeling her magic, to rocket the shoe away from her. But since she was terrible at magic, she embedded the heel into the wall of the room.

  “You’re gonna pay for that,” Emily said, hands on her hips as she examined the damage that Ingrid had done.

  “Shut your stupid face, wench,” Ingrid said. “Go away and order me food.”

  Emily took a picture of the shoe, quivering in the wall as she asked, “What did you say you wanted? Spinach and escargot?”

  Ingrid whimpered, “You know I love you. I need that food. I need it. Besides, I’ll eat yours if you don’t order me my stuff.”

  “Which is the only reason,” Emily replied as she crossed what seemed like an acre of bedroom to the door, “that I’ll be ordering you the mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.”

  Ingrid opened her mouth to whine, saw Emily’s waiting face, and flicked a finger at Em. Ingrid didn’t mean to send so many sparks of fire at Emily, but thankfully the skills Ingrid possessed were so minuscule that the fire fluttered out before it burned the carpet. Mostly.

  * * * * *

  “Have you not eaten for a week?” Gabe asked Emily as he entered the sitting area where a table had been set with fine china and steel carts were holding covered platters with silver domes.

  “Oh this isn’t for me,” Emily said, lifting the lids on her food looking for the lone meal she had ordered for herself. There was one large meal for Gabe. The rest of these two stainless steel carts was random crap she’d ordered Ingrid. “This is for that heifer, your girlfriend.”

  Gabe turned to look at Ingrid, but she had her eyes closed, trying to ignore both of them while she breathed in the perfect fumes of perfect coffee. She hadn’t even made it and it was downright delightful.

  “How do they do it?” Ingrid asked as she took long slow breaths. “They don’t even use magic, and it’s perfect. Can you smell that? It’s like angels made it using pixie dust.”

  She took a sip, enjoying the way the cream and sugar had melded into perfection in the cup with those roasted beans that had surely been roasted with magic. Nothing else could explain this miracle.

  “Is there something wrong with you?” Gabe asked as he dug around the food carts looking for what Emily had ordered him.

  “What are you talking about? Don’t eat my strawberries or pickles or I’ll kill you slowly. And then I’ll be forced to have you stuffed to keep your perfect butt in my life.”

  “Ew,” Emily said. “I’m eating. Save your sexy talk for later.”

  “That’s morbid and weird,” Gabe said, pulling the crepes and eggs that Emily had ordered him. It was a large order which was good because, Ingrid thought, he was a large man and ate a lot. And she didn’t want to share her food.

  “You knew what I was when you boarded that flight,” Ingrid told him, snagging a berry from his tray. She was letting the coffee roll around her mouth like it was fine wine. “I can only imagine how perfect the french fries are going to be.”

  “They came with steak,” Emily said. “I was just going to order them on the side…”

  “Oooh, steak? Please say you ordered it?”

  Emily nodded and Ingrid set down her coffee to start digging through her trays. “You’re the bestest dove in the world. So what are we doing today? Cause I want to go somewhere with paintings or chocolate.”

  “I ordered you chocolate,” Emily said, eyes shifting to the side.

  Ingrid’s gaze narrowed on her best friend. That sounded shifty.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Emily said innocently.

  Yes, Ingrid thought, definitely shifty.

  “What?”

  “Eat your food before it gets cold.” Emily’s gaze was still on the horizon and then she leaned down to adjust the buckle on her sandal. They were fantastic sandals, Ingrid should steal them.

  Instead, she took a bite of her steak, paused, grabbed the hot sauce, and showered it over her entire plate. She used a heavy hand because clearly each and every bite should make her nose burn. When she looked up, Gabe and Emily were staring.

  “Look,” Ingrid said, “Leave me and my breakfast alone and tell me why you’re avoiding the subject of where we are going.”

  “We have a tour in the catacombs. I heard about it through a friend of a friend. Should be…interesting.”

  “Is that old and cool?” Ingrid asked not really paying attention. She’d found the platter with fruit and it also had éclairs. The gods were good and kind. Her stomach was far too small for so much magical food. Maybe she’d dump out her bag and put the fries and éclairs in it for later. She could shove her credit card in her bra, and she’d be good to go. Yes. A plan.

  “Um. Yeah.” Emily said, her gaze was fixed on Ingrid’s plate, but Ingrid wasn’t going to pay one second of attention to the harassment she was getting just because she was having a slightly weird craving. How many times had she had tacos with Emily for breakfast? Too many to count and too many to justify this judgment.

  “Kay. No need to be so cagey. I want to get shoes too. Do we have time for that?”


  “We’re definitely working in shoes,” Emily said too quickly. But Ingrid didn’t care. There had to be a witch in the kitchen and that blessed body had made these perfect fries. She took her fork, stabbed it into the steak, placed a fry on top, added extra hot sauce and a pickle. It tasted like magic.

  Chapter 2

  Emily eyed Ingrid and Gabe and then looked back at the group gathering with Abel. He was a little man with dark hair, dark eyes, and Emily was second guessing joining his group. He’d had a pentacle tattoo on his wrist, so she’d thought it was a sign. Plus that chick Daniella had said that she’d heard her cousin’s neighbor, Marcella, had gone on one of Abel’s tours, and it was amazing. But the way he was eyeing Ingrid’s boobs with Gabe standing right there was making Emily feel down-right violent.

  She might have been jealous if she didn’t have Dean and if she didn’t love Ingrid to pieces. But Emily’s text relationship with Dean was getting better and better, and she wanted very much to see him again. He was off on some Presidium job, and it was making her slightly crazy. Ok, violent crazy. She might have to join in with Ingrid and her food overdosing.

  The guide gestured everyone together and then started speaking just a little too low. The group crowded in closer and closer. She’d have been worried about pickpockets if she hadn’t followed Ingrid’s lead and put all three of her cards in her bra. All she had in her bag was her bottle of water, some truth serum, and a guide for Paris.

  “…offering you something incredibly special.”

  Emily couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but she didn’t really care. She’d promised Hazel they’d see some witch stuff and that her magic exercises would happen. Beyond that—Emily was going to shop, eat, and shop some more. And nap. She wanted to see some cool paintings maybe.

  “…off grid…of interest…something for your snapchat, yes?” The guide, Abel, was continuing to blather on. Ingrid was smuggling something out of her bag and popping it into her mouth. Emily’s eyes narrowed on her friend and she wondered just what was in that bag. Ingrid had been acting down-right off for the last few days which was saying something. Emily was starting to wonder if Ingrid needed to go home. When they’d gone to St. Maarten’s, they’d slept on the beach a lot and indulged in far too many fruity drinks. This European adventure was a lot of tours, and Ingrid was acting as if she were 10 more steps from curling up in the corner of wherever they were for a good, long nap.