Free Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) by Dakota Cassidy Page B

any number of things. Second, why the fudge don’t you just ask Madam Z what happened yourself? You are in the afterlife with her, aren’t you? She should have arrived by now. What kind of spy are you?”
    “Now, Stevie,” he said with that superior tone of his. “You know full well when a soul passes over after they’ve left your plane in a traumatic incident, they’re confused and disoriented. Madam Zoltar is a wreck of emotions. She’s gobsmacked, and no one can get through to her or understand all her rambling. She’s been drifting around from plane to plane since this afternoon. But because she’s so confused, that means only one thing. You know it and I know it. She was murdered .”
    “Why do you care so much about this woman, Win? What aren’t you telling me?”
    His reply was stiff and very British. “I’ve told you everything you need to know about my relationship with Madam Zoltar.”
    “So why does finding her murderer mean so much to you? You hardly knew her.”
    “Because justice should be served in healthy portions. And I liked her. I liked her a great deal. She reminded me of my grandmother. Not to mention, she helped keep this house and all my extraordinarily hard-earned money from my cousin Sal.”
    Something about the way he spoke, the warmth in his voice, made me cave just a little. Clearly, he’d grown fond of Madam Zoltar. But I also wondered how long he’d known her before she was killed. My impression was it had been a short relationship, yet his tone almost suggested otherwise.
    Which begged the question… “Why did you put Sal’s name on the will if you didn’t want him to have the house?”
    “Because when my lawyer called me to arrange the will, he phoned when I was at the height of a very delicate interrogation. I was pressed to name someone and then I forgot all about it. Sal is my only living relative. He was the first person to come to mind when the word ‘familial’ came into play.”
    “What do you suppose Sal will have to say about this startling turn of events?”
    “He never knew he was named to begin with, so he won’t say a thing.”
    “You don’t have any friends? A BFF?”
    “Spies don’t have BFFs.” His response was curt and screamed this area of his life was none of my business.
    Tucking my chin in my hand, I parsed the deal out in words. “So all I have to do is stay here until the house is done, which could take a hundred years and a hundred backhoes, help you figure out who killed Madam Zoltar, and I can keep the money and the house?”
    “And you must agree to renovating my way.”
    Really, what did I have to lose? If everything checked out, if the money was clean, it was just a house. It wouldn’t eat up even a quarter of the money he’d dumped into my account, and I’d still be in the black. If nothing else, it meant Belfry and I would eventually have somewhere warm and dry to hang our hats.
    “And you’re sure there’s no illegal attachment to this money or this house? Some drug lord from Constantinople won’t come knocking on the door wanting his cash?”
    “The chances of a drug lord from Constantinople are slim to none. Now, Columbia?” he rumbled. “That’s a more distinct possibility.”
    “Winterbottom!”
    “Joking. No drug lords or otherwise.”
    I took a deep breath and looked around at this heaping mess of debris and crumbling walls, rotted wood and graffiti from squatters, and as the light began to rapidly fade, I made a decision.
    My first big, possibly life-changing decision as a human. As much as I longed to go back to my friends in Paris, as much as I missed being a witch, I was no longer welcome in the coven. So it was move on or give up.
    I decided to move on.
    “Okay. It’s a deal. I’d shake on it but, well, you know—ghost and all.”
    “I’m thrilled right now. I wish you could see my face.”
    I wished I could see his face, too. It would be nice to have a face to attach to the whiskey-rough but