How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) by Willow Mason (great novels txt) 📕

something can’t be proven in court doesn’t mean that man isn’t the reason my Andrew is dead.”

She opened the door and tumbled onto the footpath. “He needs to know that I know what he did, even if nobody else ever cares. Andrew deserves that much.”

Patrick and I caught up to her just as Pru lifted her hand to knock. Although I could see my partner was still struggling with the decision, he shut his mouth and stood behind her in a show of solidarity.

“This better be good. The masked singer is just about to—” Solomon broke off as he recognised Pru, his face collapsing into confusion as he nodded to me and Patrick. “What’d you want?”

“You killed Andrew.” Pru stepped forward, poking a finger straight into the man’s face. “We know you swapped out his medication for laxatives in some childish joke. Well, that prank was the reason he undid his belt, swerved off the road, and crashed his car.”

“Hey… I…” Solomon held up his hands and took a step backward, which Pru immediately took advantage of, pushing him farther inside. “I never meant—”

“I don’t care what you meant! Andrew died and it’s all your fault.”

“No. I…” His eyes pleaded with me for help, then turned to Patrick. Neither of us gave him anything and his lips curled. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke.”

“It was murder.” Pru’s finger darted out again, stabbing Solomon on the bridge of his nose. “You killed him as surely as if you’d shot him dead. And for what?”

“It was a laugh, that’s all. Nothing was ever meant to happen.” The man put a hand to his face, warding away the next jab from Pru. “Nothing did happen. You don’t know the car crash was related. The police never found anything.”

“Did you tell them what you’d done?” Patrick’s voice was soft but laced with an edge of steel.

“Nobody asked.”

“A colleague of yours died and you didn’t think it was important enough information to tell the police? Were they just meant to guess?”

Solomon’s expression hardened and I was afraid he was about to push Pru out of his house and slam the door. Then his shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor. “I was too afraid.”

I reached past Pru to put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard to take responsibility for what you’ve done.”

“But I guess I should.” He sighed, sounding like his entire body was deflating. “It was just a silly prank.” Solomon looked at Pru with pleading eyes. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Although her hands were still clenched, she nodded. “I believe you. But I want you to tell the police.”

Fear spread over his features like a dark shadow, but Solomon slowly inclined his head. “I will. I promise, just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “In the morning, yeah. I need to think about what to say.”

Pru’s mouth pinched in, but she agreed. “That’s fine.” She took a step back from his entranceway, her sensible heels clomping on the welcome mat. “You should ask for Sergeant Grosvenor.” She waggled a finger. “And we’ll be checking.”

We might have done what we set out to do, but the ride home felt sadly lacking. I’d wanted to browbeat Solomon into a confession that would somehow put the world back to rights. His limp defence and damp admission gave me none of that.

“I suppose we cleared everything up,” Patrick said with a forced smile as he pulled alongside our house. “Let’s hope Andrew agrees with the verdict.”

“A calm ghost in the morning would be fantastic.”

As Pru got out of the vehicle, I put a hand on her arm. “We’ll drop you home in the morning and make sure everything’s with you and Andrew before we leave, okay?”

She inclined her head before plodding upstairs, closing her bedroom door with a soft thump.

“I might turn in, too.”

<For fearless crime fighters, you don’t seem in good spirits.> Annalisa rubbed against my legs and led me into the kitchen where Aunt Florentine was standing at the sink, rubbing her forehead. <Wasn’t your suspect home?>

“Solomon was there. He admitted he swapped out Andrew’s medication as a joke and agreed to tell the police in the morning.”

“Case closed.” My aunt gave me a wan smile.

<No, no. Hold off on the champagne. I couldn’t possibly.>

I slumped into a chair, resting my head on my crossed arms. “You can talk. This place feels like a mausoleum.”

<Like you have any experience.>

“I’m a bit worried.”

The tight note in my aunt’s voice made Annalisa’s ears twitch and I jerked upright. “About?”

She walked over to the door and checked the hallway before pulling it closed. “Paisley’s upstairs, right?”

Annalisa nodded, her eyes glowing. <Wendy is dressing her up or tucking her into bed or something.>

Aunt Florentine pushed a notepad towards me. “I inventoried the box of ingredients and these are the items missing.” I glanced at the pad but was helpless—not knowing what any of them were for. “There are a few potions you could concoct with that lot. One for bonding. Another for summoning a woodland fae.”

“You think someone stole items to bond to a fae?”

“Lord, no. That would be a disastrous relationship for anyone.” Aunt Florentine sat in the chair next to mine, grasping my hands between her own. “The last potion you could make is one that would send a witch into the afterlife.”

My stomach turned queasy and the skin on my face dropped several degrees. “You mean…?”

I couldn’t finish the sentence, but my aunt did it for me. “It would make them disappear. Just like Violet.”

Chapter Twelve

My night’s sleep was a bust. Suspicions twisted and turned in my head until they felt like a full-time occupation. Paisley was scornful, standoffish, and wounded by Violet’s actions. But to send her old mistress into a void she couldn’t return from without help? It didn’t seem possible.

<Ingredients also don’t use themselves,> Annalisa said, snuggling on the bed beside me. She took up a good three-quarters of the room available while