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

Although Patrick was right, it was hard to summon up the energy to sort through a mound of stuff that had little chance of being evidence.

Jared felt the same. “If Evelyn couldn’t be bothered to unpack her stuff, I’m not going to be the one to do it. Shouldn’t you wave your wand over the goop on the walls?”

“I’ve already done that.” The irritation in Patrick’s voice crept into his face. “How about you let the experienced investigators decide what we should spend our time on?”

“Waste our time, you mean.” Jared put his hands on his hips. “Any fool can see there’s not going to be anything important packed away in a box labelled, ‘other stuff for the kitchen.’” He nudged the matching exhibit with his foot.

I walked outside, joining Carson in the back seat of Patrick’s car. “Did your sister ever mention anything about using a Ouija board?”

“No.” His expression was appalled. “She wasn’t into anything like that. Evie was as straight an arrow as they come. D’you know she moved out of her old flat because she didn’t like the vibe of the next-door neighbour? He’d been caught shoplifting twice, using his magic. That’s how opposed she was to anything on the dark side.”

Carson’s gaze lost focus as he disappeared into the memory. “Not that she saw anything wrong with roping me in to help her move. Boy, what a kerfuffle that was. Only my sister would lock herself into a year-long lease, then break it after seven months because she got a bad feeling. And it was on top of all the stuff with Paisley and us moving into Kelburn Manor. That was a doozy of a weekend, I can tell you.”

Far worse things lurked in my chequered past with landlords and rental agreements, but I nodded my head in agreement. “The neighbour was the only reason she moved, then?”

He caught my inference. “Yeah. Evie never caused problems. Everyone loved her.”

“Except your wife.”

Carson sighed, bumping Sara up and down as she wriggled, close to waking. “That was mutual. I don’t understand why. Perhaps their personalities were too alike for them to bond?”

“And neither of them were ever friends with Jac?”

“Look, we’ve been over this. I’d love to be able to tell you something different, but I just can’t. How about you focus on Paisley? That cat never knew when to quit.”

“Paisley was upstairs with Wendy when this happened.” I gestured back towards the house. “I don’t believe she could’ve enacted such a powerful spell without the girl noticing.”

“What you don’t believe doesn’t interest me. Until you can prove otherwise, Paisley is my number one suspect.”

Desperate to change the subject, I asked, “Have you found a new place to stay tonight? I’d offer you a room at mine, but…”

“Guess I’ll stay at the tavern.” Carson sighed and rubbed his daughter’s back. “Hadn’t given it much thought.”

“Why did your wife make you move?”

He frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Paisley told everyone it was because Sara was allergic to her.”

Carson nodded.

“But she didn’t react at all to Annalisa and—”

“My daughter isn’t allergic to cat hair, she’s allergic to Paisley herself. Every time the cat came near her, she woke up and cried. It got so bad…” He wiped away a tear. “And to think I felt sorry for the cat when we decided that she had to go. I guess Violet knew better.”

I ignored the harsh edge in his voice. “Sorry, but I still don’t follow. If Sara wasn’t allergic to the cat hair, why the move? It must’ve been hard to live in a shared house after being in your own space for so long. Especially with a new baby.”

“No, it was the—” Carson’s brow drew together, and his eyes stared into the distance. “We moved because…”

Patrick waved to me from the front door and I excused myself, hustling to join him. “What is it?”

“Look at this.” He shoved a manilla folder into my hands, then took it back as I shuffled through the pages trying to work out what had excited him.

“Guess who built this house, back in the late eighties?”

I stared at the breeze block exterior, painted a gaudy shade of orange. “Someone who dropped too much acid in the sixties?”

“Benedict Kelburn. It’s one of a series of cheap houses he erected in Briarton and the only one that survived. When the rental market collapsed, the landlord bought this and fixed all the damage from the cheap build. The others were knocked down as uneconomical to repair.”

“All three properties were owned by the same man who’s got a bevvy of crows defending his gravestone?”

“He’s the key to the puzzle.”

“Not him. Pru.” I whistled for Jared. “We need to go and ask our client for more details. She must know more about Andrew’s sudden change than she’s letting on.”

Despite Jared’s best efforts to clear away anything with mayhem potential, Pru’s dining room and lounge had been severely redecorated. The walls were spattered with foodstuffs while a long tear in the curtain let a sharp swathe of afternoon light into the rooms.

“Has he hurt you?” Jared asked, opening the curtains fully to reveal the extent of the destruction. The five of us huddled together, Sara fussing even in her sleep. “I wish your fiancé was one of the witches who disappeared.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not Andrew’s fault.”

Watching Pru collapse onto a chair, gripping the sides as though it had been cast into a stormy sea, put a chink into my certainty. Even though the decision to move back home had been hers, I could’ve done more to dissuade her.

“We need to talk to you about Andrew’s grave,” I said, clicking my fingers for Patrick to show her some of the photographs he’d taken earlier in the day, and on the morning we’d first met the poltergeist. “Can you shed light on any of these disturbances?”

“No.” Pru barely glanced at the images before shoving them away. “That’s nothing to do with me.”

“Somebody