Chapter 6

My familiar whipped his head around at the sound of approaching footsteps made by his favorite pair of boots. He sprang out of my arms toward Travis and flanked his legs like they'd known each other forever.

"Traitor," I grumbled.

Travis bent to scratch him between the ears. "Quite a day, huh?"

"Yeah."

He sank down next to me, his broad shoulder touching mine. I was too deflated to pull away, or to scold Studmuffin for flopping lazily over Travis's left boot, belly up and paws in the air.

"I went to school with Jake," I said. "Real nice guy. I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill him."

"He was my best employee. He was always on time and worked hard." Sighing, Travis stroked Studmuffin's belly. "He did sometimes talk about a crazy girlfriend though."

I nodded, my mind already spinning about who could've done it. "The lady with the great eyeliner behind the counter... Where did she go?"

"In my office bawling her eyes out. She was getting ready to mop and didn't hear a thing over the water filling the bucket."

"Mopping an already clean floor?"

Travis shrugged. "I have her do it three times a day between greeting customers."

"Greeting might be an exaggeration," I muttered, but I wasn't sure he heard me.

He glanced up from melting my familiar further over his boot. "You don't approve of mopping?"

"Three times a day is excessive when I'm sure she can help in other ways." I sighed, suddenly exhausted. "You said yourself my shop is filthy. That's because Boxy and I don't spend all our time cleaning. We fix the cars, Studmuffin feeds the customers, and they go home happy."

Travis stopped his rubbing and slowly turned to look at me, his mouth slightly open. "I get what you're saying, but on the other hand I don't have a clue what you're saying. Studmuffin feeds your customers? Your cat?"

Oops. I hadn't spilled that secret to anyone before, but Detective Palmer had put me in a nothing-but-the-truth mood. Customers just assumed I made the cakes, spiced the teas, brewed the coffee, and fixed the cars. It was easier to let them think that. Much easier than explaining why my cat did magic, and I did not.

Travis was blinking at me expectantly. Too late to gobble back my words now. Besides, lying to him after I'd become suspect number one in a murder case probably would only make me look like I had something to hide.

"He's my familiar," I admitted. "And I'm - "

"A witch." He whistled low, which made Studmuffin knead the air in his sleep for some reason. Travis stared at me but not like I'd grown a wart on my nose. More like he wasn't quite sure if he should run away from the big, bad witch or not. Actually, it was the exact same expression either way.

"Relax," I told him. "I don't use my magic for evil." Or for good. Or for any reason.

"I see..." He gazed out across the parking lot to the crime scene tape flapping in a light breeze. "Which coven are you in?"

"I'm...between covens at the moment." Sure, that sounded legit. The truth was I never had a coven. It would've been great to have that magical support group growing up to help me read the spells from my grimoire correctly. Keyword - correctly. A single misread word, and I'd destroyed half a city block and nearly took down Sunray's with it. That happened in high school, seventeen years ago. I never admitted to Dad what happened. Afterward, I never cracked open my grimoire again.

I glanced at the deep frown on Travis's face and slumped my shoulders farther. "Now that you know my secret, you think I killed Jake with my witchy powers, don't you?"

"The thought crossed my mind," he admitted.

Awesome. Let this day live in history as the absolute worst.

"But why would you point out that the hydraulic valve was missing if you killed him? Why would you admit to me of all people that you're a witch right after?" He bumped my shoulder with his gently. "You're not stupid, Victoria. You're not a murderer, either."

Unexpected warmth blossomed up my neck to my cheeks. "Yes," I cried. "Finally someone who's making sense."

"Careful," he said with a chuckle. "That sounded an awful lot like a compliment."

"Don't get your hopes up."

"Come meet my grandma tomorrow night," he said, his voice softer. "She knows all about witches and that kind of thing. She might be able to recommend a coven for you."

I heaved a lengthy sigh. "I'm not going as your fiancée."

"I'll tell her the truth. Promise." He smiled down at Studmuffin's toe beans sticking up in the air. "You're just a long-time friend of the Black family who likes peach cobbler, and nothing more. She'll be delighted to see you again, I'm sure."

I wasn't a friend, though, was I? Of Travis Black, son of Marcus Black who'd nearly made Sunray's nonexistent? Then again, I'd also nearly made the shop nonexistent because of my dyslexia when I blew up half the city block. If Grandma Black could help somehow, I had to go. Besides, if I was seen with Travis, maybe it would help clear my name of Jake's murder and prove I didn't want to harm Speedy Zone. That could just as easily backfire, but still, peach cobbler. That pretty much settled it.

"Eight o'clock?" I asked.

"Eight o'clock." Travis grinned. "Can I see your phone? I'll give you my number in case you get lost."

I snorted. "I don't get lost."

"In case I get lost, then.

That didn't even make sense, but I handed over my phone anyway.

Once he'd put his number into my cell, he said, "So on a scale of one to ten, one being never and ten as definitely, what did you think the chances were of getting questioned for murder today?"

"With you in the picture?" Taking back my phone, I rose and dusted off my backside. "At least an eight."