Read Online Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) by Emily Rylands - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Rylands
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be?”
In her irritation, Wendy actually stooped so low as to stamp her foot on the ground. “You know which library. My library.”
“Of course,” Gerry chuckled as though his lapse of memory was an amusing trifle. “How terrible.”
Wendy took a steadying breath. “Gerry, stop patronizing me. I need your help.”
The desk chair creaked as Gerry leaned forward and put his elbows on the worn wooden surface. “Why would you need my help? Murder is a job for the police.”
Wendy heard the door open behind her, and she knew that Ian had returned with the coffee. She didn't know who he was or what connection he had to her uncle, but she decided that if he was there he might as well hear everything.
“I don't think it was a normal murder.”
Gerry scratched at his bristly chin. “What would be a normal murder, I wonder?”
Wendy stamped her feet again, not caring how childish she must look. Honestly, her uncle could drive a saint to distraction, never mind a former witch and current head librarian. “You know what I mean,” she half shouted. “I think there was magic involved. That makes it your job.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry, my dear,” he smiled apologetically, “but we are completely swamped. I couldn't possibly get involved in any murders.”
Ian held out a cup of coffee in an obnoxious red mug with the words “The Unexplained is My Business” in white block letters.
“No, thank you,” she said, waving aside the cup. She felt anger boiling up within her, rising from her stomach into the center of her chest. Sometimes her uncle was absolutely infuriating. She stood up to storm out of the room.
Gerry called out to her as she reached the door. “Perhaps you could look into it yourself. You haven't forgotten everything I taught you, I trust.”
When she left, she didn't wait for the door to close softly behind her. She grabbed the handle with both hands and slammed it shut.
Four
Wendy was still fuming as she walked out through the gate, which had opened before she reached it. That only made her want to kick the pretty little gate into kindling. Her uncle's little charms, which did everything from turning on lights to opening doors, were his trademark. Why a witch with his abilities felt the need to show off with what he called “parlor tricks” was beyond her.
By the time she reached the street, she was feeling calmer, and much more charitably inclined, toward her uncle. She was even a bit ashamed about her outbursts or temper. Oh well, she thought, she would make it up to him at breakfast tomorrow. He would still be expecting her.
Wendy had a long time on the walk home to think about the conversation with Gerry, and she dwelled more than she should have on his parting remark. He'd been hurt, cut to the bone, when she had announced that she wasn't going to take over the family business. In his own way, he was still trying to convince her to come back.
Lightower Investigations had been around for almost two centuries. Some great-great ancestor had started it in 1802, and it had been run by Lightowers ever since. Wendy was the last one, and the thought of the business shutting down, or worse being run by someone who wasn't a Lightower, was something Gerry simply couldn't accept.
As she walked through her front door, Wendy came to a decision. She couldn't let Gerry's stubbornness be the reason that Benny's killer walked free. She knew it was exactly what her uncle wanted, but if he wouldn't help, Wendy would have to do it herself.
Instead of putting them away once she walked inside, Wendy selected a second smaller key off her key ring. She hovered outside of the small closet door in her entryway for the briefest moment before turning the key in the lock. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she began pulling items off the shelf. First the book, which she handled with as much care as a relic, and then the cauldron were removed from their places. Little spaces of clean wood were
In her irritation, Wendy actually stooped so low as to stamp her foot on the ground. “You know which library. My library.”
“Of course,” Gerry chuckled as though his lapse of memory was an amusing trifle. “How terrible.”
Wendy took a steadying breath. “Gerry, stop patronizing me. I need your help.”
The desk chair creaked as Gerry leaned forward and put his elbows on the worn wooden surface. “Why would you need my help? Murder is a job for the police.”
Wendy heard the door open behind her, and she knew that Ian had returned with the coffee. She didn't know who he was or what connection he had to her uncle, but she decided that if he was there he might as well hear everything.
“I don't think it was a normal murder.”
Gerry scratched at his bristly chin. “What would be a normal murder, I wonder?”
Wendy stamped her feet again, not caring how childish she must look. Honestly, her uncle could drive a saint to distraction, never mind a former witch and current head librarian. “You know what I mean,” she half shouted. “I think there was magic involved. That makes it your job.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry, my dear,” he smiled apologetically, “but we are completely swamped. I couldn't possibly get involved in any murders.”
Ian held out a cup of coffee in an obnoxious red mug with the words “The Unexplained is My Business” in white block letters.
“No, thank you,” she said, waving aside the cup. She felt anger boiling up within her, rising from her stomach into the center of her chest. Sometimes her uncle was absolutely infuriating. She stood up to storm out of the room.
Gerry called out to her as she reached the door. “Perhaps you could look into it yourself. You haven't forgotten everything I taught you, I trust.”
When she left, she didn't wait for the door to close softly behind her. She grabbed the handle with both hands and slammed it shut.
Four
Wendy was still fuming as she walked out through the gate, which had opened before she reached it. That only made her want to kick the pretty little gate into kindling. Her uncle's little charms, which did everything from turning on lights to opening doors, were his trademark. Why a witch with his abilities felt the need to show off with what he called “parlor tricks” was beyond her.
By the time she reached the street, she was feeling calmer, and much more charitably inclined, toward her uncle. She was even a bit ashamed about her outbursts or temper. Oh well, she thought, she would make it up to him at breakfast tomorrow. He would still be expecting her.
Wendy had a long time on the walk home to think about the conversation with Gerry, and she dwelled more than she should have on his parting remark. He'd been hurt, cut to the bone, when she had announced that she wasn't going to take over the family business. In his own way, he was still trying to convince her to come back.
Lightower Investigations had been around for almost two centuries. Some great-great ancestor had started it in 1802, and it had been run by Lightowers ever since. Wendy was the last one, and the thought of the business shutting down, or worse being run by someone who wasn't a Lightower, was something Gerry simply couldn't accept.
As she walked through her front door, Wendy came to a decision. She couldn't let Gerry's stubbornness be the reason that Benny's killer walked free. She knew it was exactly what her uncle wanted, but if he wouldn't help, Wendy would have to do it herself.
Instead of putting them away once she walked inside, Wendy selected a second smaller key off her key ring. She hovered outside of the small closet door in her entryway for the briefest moment before turning the key in the lock. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she began pulling items off the shelf. First the book, which she handled with as much care as a relic, and then the cauldron were removed from their places. Little spaces of clean wood were
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