Ain't Love a Witch? (Witchless in Seattle Mysteries Book 6) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Ain’t Love a Witch?

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Preview another book by this author

  Note from Dakota

  eBooks by Dakota Cassidy

  Dakota Cassidy recommends … Renee George

  Excerpt

  Back at the house, we still hadn’t heard from Arkady, and Stevie had begun to fret. Hardy was off with Carmella for the evening so he could play with her grandchildren, and we pored over the Internet for more information on Inga and the alleged accident.

  “No sign of him yet?” she asked from the kitchen table.

  It was our favorite time of the day. We usually watched the boats from the windows as the sky turned a bruised purple and orange, while Stevie, Whiskey and Bel had their dinner. But tonight, she nibbled at a lone Twinkie, her eyes glued to her laptop screen.

  “No, Dove. Nothing.” Even I was beginning to worry about him. However, he was a spy. If he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be found.

  “I really mucked that up, didn’t I, Spy Guy?”

  “Nay, Dove. He’s simply coming to grips with his worry for you and the child. He’ll be back. Of this I’m sure.”

  She sighed and looked to Whiskey, who’d taken to pacing by the entrance to our kitchen. “Whiskey, bud. The baby will be back. Promise. It’s okay. Now c’mere. Mommy’s got a big, juicy bone with your name on it.”

  She rose to bring Whiskey the bone she’d grabbed at the pet shop, but his look of disdain and the turn upward of his wet nose said it all. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Hardy was home where he thought he belonged.

  “Buuuddy! What up?” Bel asked from above, landing on Whiskey’s back. “Are you feelin’ sad because the little dude’s on a play date without you? Wanna go play ball or somethin’?”

  But Whiskey flopped down on the floor, giving both Belfry, who’d hopped to his nose, and the bone a forlorn gaze. As Belfry whispered soothing words to Whiskey, Strike clucked and pecked at his corn on a newspaper on the kitchen floor.

  Stevie and I sighed in sorrowful unison before she suddenly threw her hands up in the air after another scour of the Internet.

  “I don’t know where to go next, Win. We have virtually no clues. Nothing. I can’t find zip about Inga online other than the same pic I found the other day, and some very rare photos of her walking behind her father on an undisclosed beach when she was ten. There was one minute—and I do mean minute—article about her marriage to Gerhard three years ago. But that’s it. I can’t even figure out where she actually lives. So Von Krause is certainly a crafty guy about keeping their Internet footprint virtually nonexistent. What do we do now?”

  “We do what spies do more often than not. We wait. Bide our time.”

  “Wait? Are you kidding me?” she squealed at the ceiling. “How can we just wait around, Win? There has to be something, anything that can help us find—”

  The doorbell rang just then, stopping her tirade momentarily. Believe me, I understood her frustration, but sometimes there truly are no leads and your mission goes cold. So you wait.

  As she made her way to the door, a Twinkie in her hand, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood, she said, “I’m telling you, Win, I’ll go out of my mind if I have to wait around for something to happen. Inga can’t be dead. I refuse to believe she’s dead.”

  Peeking at the security system’s video screen, she cocked her head. “It’s Sandwich,” she whispered, before she threw open the door with a wide smile.

  Ah, Sardine. I do so enjoy him. He’s a big loveable bear who goes the extra mile every time. He fights so hard for everyone to take him seriously, but his demeanor is that of a cuddly teddy bear, from his rounded, ruddy cheeks to his shortly cropped hair and wide body, he’s just smoosh-worthy, as Stevie says. And reliable. Sandwich is very reliable.

  “Sandwich! What’s up?” Stevie asked, peeking around him to look outside. Even at eight in the evening it was still quite light out, and as the sun readied itself to set, Sandwich stood in front of the glare of the colorful sky, blocking it out.

  But Officer Lynne Paddington (his real name, in case you weren’t aware), obviously wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

  He plopped his hands on his belt and affected an irritated stance. “How many times do I have to tell you not to park down by the docks, Stevie?”

  Jamming her hand inside the pocket of her denim shorts, she cocked her head at him, a frown appearing on her forehead. “What?” she squeaked in outrage. “I didn’t park—”

  Sandwich whipped his phone from his pocket and held up a picture, thwarting Stevie’s protest. “Are you gonna tell me this isn’t your car? Who else has a license plate that reads MDMZ2.0?”

  She blinked her eyes and stared at the phone, quite speechless.

  “Listen here, Stevie. I know I’m still just the guy who ate a sardine, pickle, and mayo sandwich back in school, but I’m a little tired of your refusal to accept my authority as a police officer, and this time, I’m gonna put my foot down. You’re parked in a tow-away zone. I’ve caught you parking there more than once, and you know I have. I’m gonna give you a big fat ticket. The next time, I’m going to slap the Barbie car in impound. Got it?”

  With flourish, he scrawled something on a pad with a pink slip of paper and held it up for Stevie to see.

  “Grrr. Our Sandwich is feisty this eve, is he not, Stephania?” I chuckled the words as she flapped her hand at her ear as though I were an annoying gnat. “Now, my advice. Do choose your words wisely from here on out, Dove. Should you tell our good Sardine the car was stolen, they’ll want to investigate, and while I wholeheartedly approve of such, I don’t think you want your second car of the year, not to mention a feasible explanation for why you were in that rattrap of a pub last night, tied up with official red tape. Just a thought from me to you.”

  So, Stevie held up her hand in white-flag fashion. “I’m sorry, Sand…er, Officer Paddington. Here. Give it to me. I’ll go into town tomorrow and pay it right away.”

  His lips became a thin line as he put his pad away in his shirt pocket and looked down at her with a grave expression. “And why the heck is your car there if you’re here anyway, Stevie? What’s going on?”

  “Yes, Stephania. Why the heck is that?” I taunted her. I loved nothing more than these on-the-spot tales Stevie had to create when there was explaining to do. She was so innovative and alert at times like this.

  She scratched her head and looked down at her bare feet, wiggling her painted toes. “Well…I…um…”

  This is where the wheels begin to turn, folks. This is where it all sinks or swims.

  Sandwich’s eyebrow rose as he cocked a glance at her, folding his arms over his cuddly teddy-bear chest. “You what?”

  “Well… I had a lot of coffee today. I mean, a lot. So much, my eyeballs were literally sloshing around in my head. Tons of readings being the reason, and I had to do something to get me through, right? So I was a little shaky by day’s end and figured I’d better not drive. That’s all. No big deal. I don’t know what I was thinking, parking down by the docks. Never mind—I wasn
’t thinking, was I? I was too jittery and edgy. But I was breaking the law. My apologies. Swear to you, it’ll never happen again.”

  “Hashtag worst cover story ever,” I teased, fighting my laughter.

  “So you drove over a mile to the docks by the library, in the opposite direction of your house?”

  “Think fast, Stephania!” I poked, thoroughly enjoying her predicament.

  I know. Shame on me, but this will strengthen her skills for future use. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself right now.

  I heard her growl under her breath at me before she bounced back and said, “Well, duh, Sandwich. I already told you, I was jittery. I went the wrong way. That’s when I realized I was driving under the influence and stopped right then and there and called an Uber. Who knows where I could have ended up if I didn’t come to my senses? Guatemala, for all I know. I was only trying to do the right thing.”

  Sandwich squinted down at her. “Coffee, you say?”

  “Yes, sir. Coffee. A boatload of coffee. Makes me a little hinky on an empty stomach.”

  “That’s not going to get you out of a ticket, you know.”

  Stevie sighed and looked up at him, her eyes apologetic as she reached out a hand and squeezed his bulky forearm. “I know, and I don’t want it to. I’m happy to pay the ticket because it’s the right thing to do, and you made the right call. But Sandwich? I’m sorry if I made you feel anything less than the awesome officer of the law you are. Because you are awesome. Honest.”

  His face softened a little, and the typical gleam in his eye returned. “Just don’t let it happen again,” he said before he turned to leave. With a final warning of, “And I mean it!” called over his shoulder.

  She raised a hand to her head and saluted him with a teasing smile. “Sir, yes, sir!”

  “Well, that was certainly interesting, eh, Dove?”

  Stevie shut the door and blew out a breath that ruffled her hair. “Why the heck is my car at the docks? Whoever moved it, and I’m suspecting it’s the bald guy, moved it to draw me out. Do you think it’s Von Krause?”

  “Well, without a shadow of a doubt, I can tell you the man you tangled with last night was not Von Krause. Was he an associate? I wouldn’t be shocked, which is why I’m going to insist you take extra care. Maybe we’ve made a mistake in not telling the police about this, Stephania.”

  Ain’t Love a Witch?

  Witchless in Seattle Mysteries, Book 6

  Dakota Cassidy

  Published 2017 by Book Boutiques.

  ISBN: 978-1-946363-48-0

  Copyright © 2017, Dakota Cassidy.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.

  Manufactured in the USA.

  Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.

  Blurb

  My name is Crispin Alistair Winterbottom, and I’m a British Spy.

  Or I was until my untimely, dare I say suspicious, demise. Now, I’m a ghost, living my afterlife on what I fondly call Plane Limbo. But I’m determined to return to the land of the living and while I try and figure out exactly how to do that, I spend my days with the ever-delightful ex-witch, Stevie Cartwright, the only person in the world who can hear me, and her charming bat familiar, Belfry.

  We’ve seen some dark days, Stevie and I. Including: an unexpected family member attempting to steal all my worldly goods, a vengeful warlock, and plenty of murder. Yet through it all, we’ve become great friends and adopted several new friends (alive and dead) along the way.

  So when a surprise shows up on our doorstep and claims to belong to me, our safe happy world is bloody well turned upside down and threatens the most important relationship to date in my life!

  Acknowledgements

  Cover: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design

  Editor: Kelli Collins

  Author’s Note

  Dear Fabulous, Amazing, Awesome readers,

  Please note, the Witchless in Seattle series is truly best read in order, to understand the full backstory and history of each character as they develop with every connecting book.

  Especially in the case of the mystery surrounding Winterbottom (I know it drives some of you crazy. Sorrysorrysorry!). His story is ever-evolving and will contain some mini-cliffhangers from book to book. But I promise not to make you wait too long until I answer each set of questions I dredge up.

  I also promise the central mystery featured in each addition to the series will always be wrapped up with a big bow by book’s end!

  That said, I hope you’ll join me for an as-yet-untitled Halloween addition, also known as Book 7 in the series, in 2017, and Witch Lash!, Book 8, coming in 2018!

  No matter how you arrived here, thanks so much for joining Stevie and company on their journey to solve afterlife mysteries, and on her search to regain her witchy powers.

  From myself, Stevie, Belfry, Winterbottom, Whiskey, and all the Ebenezer Falls gang (living and dead), here’s to a fabulous summer, filled with fun and friends, and maybe a little vacation, too!

  Love to all,

  Dakota XXOO

  Chapter 1

  “Oh, Dove, really? I’d rather face a firing squad deep in the jungles of Gondwana than be forced to watch this,” I complained to Stevie.

  Yes, of course I know that sounds dire to you lot—a firing squad—maybe even melodramatic. But truly, gun to my head (and it was literally pointed at my head at the time), I would. Those hedonistic guerillas would be far easier to escape in my estimation, and certainly the colors and sounds coming from them wouldn’t be quite as abrasive.

  And as much as I love to indulge the most important woman in my life with her every whim, can you blame a man if he doesn’t want to watch My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding?

  Stevie threw a piece of popcorn up in the air and charmingly caught it with her mouth before she said, “I can’t help it. I can’t look away. It’s Saturday night and I’ve been Madam Zoltaring until my head spins with the tourist season in full swing. I need some mindless down time, and this provides. Plus, those dresses, right? They’re almost unreal. Besides, don’t you have women to chase on Plane Limbo to keep you entertained? No one’s forcing you to watch my shame, you know.”

  I do not, in fact, have women to chase on Plane Limbo—the in between I’m stuck in until I can find a way to get back to the plane of the living. Actually, for accuracy’s sake, there are plenty of female souls waiting to cross for various reasons, wandering the surface of the place I now call home. Some quite attractive souls, I might add.

  However, they all pale in comparison to a soul who does not share the same space I do, and never will. Well, not for a terribly long time, I’d hope, or for as long as I can keep her safe, anyway. With her penchant for throwing herself into one murder investigation after another, keeping her safe has become dicey at best.

  Anyway, since I died, I find chasing women is no longer what puts the lumps of sugar in my tea it once was. Bollocks. As a PS: I miss tea. Proper tea, mind you, not the sort they serve here in America. I certainly mean no offense by that statement, but tea differs greatly over the pond.

  Suddenly, Stevie sat upright, her blue eyes squinting, and looked to the ceiling, where she frequently does when talking to me because she can’t seem to break the habit, even though I think she knows I’m right next to her. As an FYI, I don’t hover about the ceiling as one would think a ghost does. I sit next to her on the couch where it’s comfortable, and where I can occasionally catch the delightful scent of her perfume or see the dent in
the right side of her cheek when she smiles with impish delight.

  “Wait, you faced a firing squad in Gondwana? Holy-schmoly, Secret Agent Man. That’s a big ol’ word. Plus, you lived to tell the tale?” She paused and gave a sheepish glance upward. “Well, at least you lived that one time, anyway.”

  Indeed, I had lived that one time. If only I’d lived the most important time. Alas, had I lived, I wouldn’t be here right now, with this woman and my new band of friends.

  I’ve decided there’s a give and take, and sometimes, the take is bigger than the give.

  Though, had I lived, I’d be off pursuing some other evil villain for MI6, instead of watching the telly and unheard by almost everyone around me save for Stevie. Of this you can be sure—I regret nothing.

  “He did live, my little tiger lily of summer. Arkady see with his own eyes this man take on five thugs with guns to his head. He is quick like gazelle. Ah, you should have seen his dropkick somersault in air. Like matrix poetry!”

  We all chuckled at Arkady’s analogy. They are as bright and colorful as he.

  Ah, my chap Arkady Bagrov—a good Russian bloke indeed. Of course, you all know we haven’t always been friends, but in the afterlife, everything changes. Once lifelong enemies as agents from opposing countries, now Plane Limbo ghost brethren.

  We both have the same goal in mind, protecting Stevie from harm, earthly or otherwise.

  He’s been quite a solid addition to our patched-together family of misfits. Two dead spies, a talking bat familiar, a handsome if not goofball St. Bernard named Whiskey, a turkey (yes, a turkey. He’s actually a right sweet chap) named Strike we acquired during what shall forever be known as the Christmas From Hell of 2016 and, of course, Stevie, my near powerless witch. I use the adverb “near” because, despite the hateful act that took her powers, she’s somehow managed to regain a very small, very limited amount of her witchness.

  We’d found one another when each of our lives were in a state of rapid, very difficult transitions. I’d just died—or should I say, my ex-lover and former fellow spy had recently murdered me (more on that later). Stevie’d had her witch powers slapped out of her by a vengeful warlock and had recently returned to her hometown of Ebenezer Falls, WA, to lick her wounds with my man Belfry, her bat familiar, in tow.