Whiskey Witches by F.J. Blooding (mobile ebook reader txt) 📕

on the table. “Lieutenant, how are you tied to this case?”

He smiled and blinked, as if buying himself time. “Ashley was my friend.”

She needed him to admit something that would make the chief understand his guilt. Though, smiling at the fact that his “best friend” was dead was a pretty big red flag in her book.

“What’s that?” Jones pointed to her bare arm.

“What?” She raised it so he could see it better. “Oh, you mean this?”

“A protection rune,” he muttered. “Interesting.”

White frowned at it. “Protection against what?”

“Mold.” She watched Jones for any tale-tell reactions. “You see, it only allows the mold in so far, then it gets stopped and pushed back out.”

Jones bit his lip. “I take it the mold is out.”

Paige tipped her head.

White’s jaw ticked as one hand curled into a fist, his gaze falling to the table.

Good. He was following along, but was it enough? They needed a trail to follow. Jones wasn’t the mastermind. He couldn’t be.

Jones gestured toward the sigil. “Did you have this on at the shack?”

Paige shook her head. “It’s new.”

“Permanent?”

“We’ll see how well it works.”

White took in several heavy breaths.

“Am I under arrest?”

“You can leave at any time,” White said.

“Good to know.” She took that to mean he had what he needed. She, however, didn’t. “Jones, where were you when your best friend was murdered?”

Jones snorted. “You’re not asking the questions here.”

“I thought we were just having a conversation.” She opened her arms, palms up. “In the interrogation room.”

Jones chuckled and rubbed his arm. “I was with Malika, my fiancé.”

White’s eyebrows flickered.

Paige rapped her knuckles against her jean-clad knee. “Where?”

“At her house.”

“Is that where you killed your best friend?”

His eyelids lowered minutely, his smile locked in place. “I didn’t kill her.”

“You let Malika do that for you? Was it for a spell of some sort?”

“You have no evidence.”

White’s face lost its pallor. “Detective,” he warned.

She had him. “I think you and I both know I don’t need evidence.”

White cleared his throat. “Detective.”

“Chief.” She mimicked his tone.

Jones studied her arm, rubbing his chin.

Paige ran her finger along the rune. She could stop all this nonsense. She could summon Balnore, have him appear right there in the room, and all this would stop.

Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling as she folded her hands behind her head. Cameras. They were videotaping the entire conversation. As much as she was tempted, she had to be careful what she admitted on tape.

She let out a sigh. Summoning a demon right now was probably not a very good idea. Tempting, though. If things got any worse, Balnore could always destroy the tapes.

“What kind of drugs do you like to take?” White asked, standing up.

“Ibuprofen.” Paige crossed her ankles on the desk, watching White approach. “I don’t like aspirin. It doesn’t seem to work as well.”

“You know what I think?” White placed both hands on the armrests of her chair.

She threw him a complete dead-pan stare. “That I’m guilty and in on this?”

“You have a track record.” He brought his nose close to hers. “Every time you’re called in on a special case, it always remains unsolved. You know what that means?”

“That sometimes unexplainable shit happens that you can’t write in a report. You know why? Because writing that kind of crap makes you look insane.” Careful. Tapes.

“Do you know what the killer’s attempting?”

She blinked long and slow. “That’s why you called me in, right?”

Jones steepled fingers and pressed them against his lips.

“Care to share with the class?”

What did Jones need to hear? White was trying to throw her a line. She simply didn’t know what to do with what he gave her. “The murders were to draw me here. What happened at the shack was a trap for me.”

Letting his hands fall, Jones kept his eyes trained on her.

That’s what he needed, but the damned tapes were recording everything. “Someone thinks I can raise a demon for them.”

“And do what?” White asked.

“Open the Gate to Hell.”

Jones barked with laughter.

“Is that the story you’re going to stick to?” White asked with a chuckle.

“It’s easier to buy into the mold theory, isn’t it?”

“Cut the crap, Whiskey,” White shouted. “I will have you detained for impeding—”

“Bullshit, and you know it!” Paige slammed her feet against the tiled floor. “If you had anything on me, I’d be under arrest. And if you had any evidence, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now. He’d be behind bars.”

“You really have a hard on for me, don’t you?”

“So what is it with the killer?” White asked. “Is your boyfriend into the kinky shit? Does he get off killing people? Is the murderer this new guy, Dexx?”

She needed to talk to White about his interrogation skills. She had nothing to work with. “Come on, Jones, are you into whips and chains? I mean, what do you and Malika do afterwards?”

He laughed. “We’re so vanilla, it’s not—”

“Why do you keep turning this back to Jones?” White demanded.

“I knew a witch was involved.” She stood up. “The first victim was just to see if blood magick was enough. Ms. Fort was killed because she caught on. But then the third victim. He was different.”

Jones leaned his head against the wall and smiled at her, as she walked to him.

She dug into his personal space, whispering into his ear. “How did it feel to torture him? Was it empowering?”

His smile deepened.

She walked away and placed her shoulder against the opposite wall. “His murder was the key, actually. You see, Chief, Mr. Lopez was a generator. In magical circles, they’re the ones that create the power for the ritual. When a generator is tortured, there’s even more pow—”

“Detective Whiskey, Jones is not under suspicion here.” White warned again.

“You have no proof.” Jones narrowed his eyes.

She sauntered toward him, planting her hands on either side of him. “You and I both know that in this world, I don’t need proof. Proof is for the mundanes..”

“How are you feeling? Are you sure you’re alone in there?”

“I think I’d know if I were sharing my meat suit.” She pushed away from him. “Don’t you?”

“Chief,” Jones said, standing. “You see she’s out of her mind. She has no idea what she’s even talking about. You can’t—”

“You don’t tell me what I do and do not believe.” White took his seat, his brown eyes narrowed. “Why did you request her?”

“I knew about her reputation. The Pilmner case was too similar to this one.”

“I’m going to need to check your alibi. Yours and Malika’s.”

“Chief, don’t you think that’s a little unreasonable?”

“No. I don’t.”

Thunder crashed across Jones’ expression. He ripped open the door and stormed out.

White glared at her as the door slammed shut behind his lieutenant.

At least there wasn’t any question as to his guilt anymore, but she had no evidence to hold him, which was frustrating.

“I can’t believe he’d be a part of something like this, but that man—that man was not the one I know.”

Paige’s eyebrows rose.

“I’ll check their alibis, but Detective.”

“Yes, Chief?”

“I want this demon crap out of my parish.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And I want a report on the symbols, something I can actually put in a report.”

“Understood, Chief. I’ll get right on it.”

“I take it you’re well acquainted with writing feasible reports.”

She glanced at the camera in the corner. “I need my Grandmother to look at them. The killer spliced runes together. I think its crap, but she has a better understanding of this.”

“Normally, my answer would be no…”

“But today?”

He headed for the door. “I’m way out of my league on this one, Detective. Way out of my league.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Just make sure no one knows of her involvement. This case has enough problems already without adding a known witch into the legal investigation.”

Paige nodded. “Right, sir.”

“And, Whiskey.”

“Yes?”

“God be with you.”