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

about Benedict Kelburn’s inheritance,” the supreme said, shaking her head. “And the money’s all gone offshore, to distant relatives.”

“Apart from—” My aunt clamped her mouth shut as Genevieve glared.

“What?” I poked her in the knee. “Out with it. Forget about your boss and think about my safety.”

“It’s nothing to do with safety and the whole thing is just a rumour,” the supreme answered with a sigh. “After he died, half of Briarton was in financial distress, waiting for confirmation of who would be settling his estate. There were business loans, private mortgages, suspended dividends, you name it. For decades, if there’d been a buck to be made in the area, Benedict had a finger in the pie.”

“How does that affect anything?”

My aunt was the one who took over. “It doesn’t. Not really. The only thing you need to know is that there were rumours at the time—”

“Rumours that persist to this day.”

Aunt Florentine inclined her head to the supreme. “You’re right. To this day people in town believe he had a gigantic fortune hidden somewhere in the town. He loved spending cash and flaunting bling, but when the lawyers divvied up the goods in his house for auction, nothing like that was ever found.”

“Corrupt lawyers?” Patrick said, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “That’s usually the reason.”

“No. Not with a witch. Our old supreme would’ve seen straight through something like that.”

“Benedict Kelburn was a witch?”

“Yes, but never a powerful one.”

My interest deflated as quickly as it had been piqued.

My aunt pressed her lips together until they disappeared. “I think that’s why he became so obsessed with gathering wealth. If he couldn’t assert his power over people one way, he’d do it another.”

<Sounds like great fun at parties.> Annalisa slipped into the room and curled up against my legs. <Paisley is present and accounted for and Wendy is dressing her up like a warrior princess.>

“I’m glad she’s safe.” In all the excitement, the Paisley problem had slipped my mind. “Oh!” I sat bolt upright, making another connection. “Of course. This is nothing to do with Benedict Kelburn.”

“Riiiiiight,” Patrick drawled. “Care to explain that?”

“It’s Pru.” I pressed my palms flat on the table, side by side. “Andrew’s grave was right next to Kelburn’s. That can’t be a coincidence.” My gaze travelled from Genevieve to my aunt to Patrick to Jared, seeking support. “Andrew was the one who turned before everything else. Pru must be the originator of everything that’s going wrong.”

A flurry of knocks hit the front door like a hailstorm, and I ran to answer it. Carson stood on the front porch, cradling Sara in his arms. “You must come. Evie’s gone and there’s a… It’s the same…”

As his words trailed off, Carson’s eyes flicked away from mine, then widened. “You,” he shouted, freeing one hand from supporting his baby’s back to point at the staircase. “This is all your fault. To think I tried to convince Violet you should stay.”

Paisley gave a strangled howl, jumping into the safety of Wendy’s open arms. “She hasn’t done anything,” the girl shouted back. “I’ve been with her the whole time and she never left the house.”

“A familiar doesn’t need to leave the house to cause trouble.” Carson’s whole body shook so much he jolted Sara awake and she began to wail. He grabbed hold of the supreme’s hand and dragged her in front of him, pointing to the cat. “You need to lock her up. She’s a monster!”

Chapter Seventeen

Aunt Florentine and Genevieve joined Annalisa in standing guard over Paisley at the house while Patrick, Jared, and I hightailed it to the other side of town to examine the new crime scene.

Carson refused to re-enter Evelyn’s house and I couldn’t blame him. With two close relatives disappearing in a matter of days, I’d want to steer clear of any possible route to joining them.

The same lettering dripped off the walls, this time a bright yellow stain on the beige expanse of the lounge. Patrick manned up and stuck his finger into the goop, announcing with relief after a breath-holding few seconds that he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but it was probably lemon curd.

“He’s right,” Jared said, sniffing around the house until he located two empty jars in the kitchen. “Whatever else our phantom graffiti artist is, they have a preference for household condiments as a medium.”

Carson might not have wanted to join us, but he gave us full rein to explore the house. With boxes stacked in Evelyn’s bedroom, still waiting to be unpacked, it wasn’t a difficult job to hunt through the place.

I picked up her diary from the side of the bed, ruffling through the pages to see if anything stood out without stooping to read her private thoughts in detail. A small picture caught my eye and I stared at the page. A rude drawing of a Ouija pointer, three small pairs of hands resting on the placard.

“Got something?” Jared asked from the doorway, startling me. “I can always smell when you’re curious.”

The idea that my ex could sniff out what I was doing creeped me out, but I tried not to let the shudder show. “It’s one of the images we saw on the wall, just before Jac disappeared.” I twisted the book around to show him. “I wonder how Evelyn was involved.”

Jared took the diary from my hands and read through the pages, without any of my compunctions. “This doesn’t even mention it,” he complained after a few minutes. “It’s just full of justifications for moving flats before her lease was up. The drawing isn’t connected at all.”

“Any luck?” I called out to Patrick as we joined him back in the lounge.

He’d been waving a microphone over a pile of magazines in the corner and turned, shaking his head. “The whole place is weirdly silent.”

“Or its trip to the graveyard blew out the sensors.” I tapped on the dial watching as the numbers jerked upward at my touch. “Guess not.”

“We should sort through the