The Detective Wins The Witch (Nocturne Falls Book 10) Page 3
Of course, they would have been extra careful, because they knew she’d be able to sense a heavy magical presence.
She closed her eyes for a moment, putting out her witchy feelers for just that sort of thing.
Okay, there was some magic present here, but it was muted. So basically, that meant nothing. She opened her eyes. In a town like Nocturne Falls, magic lurked around every corner. And Nocturne Falls was right next door to Millersville and in the same county. Lots of people came over here for the auction. She could be picking up on just about anything or anyone.
She glanced around the crowd. No sign of Pandora or Charisma. Unless they were in disguise. But Charisma was supposed to be away at a one-day seminar about reaching your inner child’s potential, and Pandora was far too busy with wedding prep to have time for this.
Or at least, she’d better be. She’d seemed a little flustered by how much she had left to do this afternoon when she’d come into the shop. That hadn’t stopped her from asking Marigold if she’d found a date yet.
Hmm. Pandora had smiled in a strange way when she’d brought up Marigold’s potential plus-one. Had that weird smile been because of stress, or had it been because of whatever this setup was right now?
Then a new thought occurred to Marigold. Could her mother be in on this? Corette Williams wanted her daughters to be happy. In all aspects of life. She was thrilled that Pandora and Cole had found each other, but then, Cole was a human familiar and was the reason that Pandora’s magic was finally functional after years of it not working.
Charisma dated her share of men, but she was basically married to her job. Corette occasionally mentioned that there was more to life than work, but she had never pushed any of them to be involved.
Granted, their mother had always told them that being alone was better than being with Mr. Wrong.
Marigold leaned back to study the guy next to her. What would Mom think of him?
A little gray showed at his temples, breaking up the nearly black and proving he wasn’t a kid. Marigold liked that. She wasn’t a kid either. And her mother would definitely like it. Corette absolutely thought Marigold needed a man who knew who he was. Someone who wasn’t still trying to figure out his life. Or what he was going to do with the rest of it.
Marigold continued her inventory. No wedding ring. Good watch. Nothing flashy, but it looked very functional. And rugged. Like him. Plain, faded red T-shirt with a black cotton jacket. Probably would have been leather if it wasn’t summer. Jeans that fit nicely. Some kind of black leather boots. Not exactly hiking. Not exactly military. Or maybe they were. She wasn’t an expert in men’s boots.
The way he dressed reminded her of some of the sheriff’s deputies when they were off duty. His hands rested lightly on his thighs, and he was scanning the crowd. He looked like he was ready for something. Maybe just for the auction to begin.
She narrowed her eyes. Could he be a cop? Maybe. His hair was almost military short.
The sharp crack of the gavel made her jump. “Oh!”
He glanced at her, his brows raised, but that was all. Just a glance. Then he looked back at the auctioneer.
Okay, if he was in on the setup, he wasn’t acting like it. She would have expected him to start up a conversation.
She rolled her eyes at her own nonsense. Going dateless for so long had clearly started messing with her mind. Maybe she should try the dating app again.
He leaned back and absently tapped his bidding paddle against his knee.
The auctioneer welcomed the crowd, thanked everyone for coming, and got things underway with the first item up for bid.
It was a cuckoo clock.
That gave Marigold time to check her phone to see if there were any messages from Ivy Merrow.
Saffie was at the Merrows’ house. The Merrows were all wolf shifters, and all wonderful people. Sheriff Hank Merrow and his wife, Ivy, had two children. A new baby daughter, Hannah Rose, who was a few months shy of her first birthday, and a son, Charlie, who was almost Saffie’s age of eleven. Charlie was Ivy’s son, but the sheriff had adopted the little boy when he and Ivy had gotten married.
The way the pair got on, however, it was hard to tell Charlie wasn’t Hank’s biological son. The boy clearly worshipped Hank. And his baby sister. He liked Saffie a lot too.
Saffie, on the other hand, adored Charlie.
She didn’t mind Hannah either, especially since the baby fit right into Saffie’s favorite pastime with Charlie. Playing house. The baby fit slightly less into Saffie’s second-favorite pastime with Charlie. Wedding planning.
Mostly, Marigold just shook her head and let her daughter be. If Charlie wasn’t bothered by playing house with Saffron and listening to her plan their wedding, then more power to him.
No messages. Marigold put her phone back in her purse. All must be well at the Merrow house. No doubt Saffie was walking down an imaginary aisle, headed for her werewolf groom.
Marigold snorted again at the thought. A wolf shifter and a witch. There was a pair. Still, there were some far curiouser in this town.
Next item up for bid was a floor lamp. The base was a tree trunk and a little bird sat on one of the branches. It was all metal, but looked pretty realistic. Marigold sat up straighter. She could use a new lamp in the living room. And the tree appealed to her green-witch side.
Maybe it wouldn’t go for too much money.
But five minutes later, it was already over a hundred dollars. She sighed and sat back. Spending all the money Newt was paying her to be here on something she didn’t really need wasn’t going to help with bills.
Being an adult sucked sometimes.
“Bummer,” she muttered.
That earned her another questioning glance from her seatmate.
A little miffed at losing out on the cool lamp, she gave him the same look right back. So His Hotness didn’t approve of her taste in lamps, so what? He could suck it. She was a green witch and proud of it. Also, trees were very cool.
“Next up, we have this very interesting pair of candlesticks.”
Every fiber of Marigold’s being went on alert. She forgot about Hot and Cranky and arrowed in on the auctioneer. Sure enough, the world’s most hideous candleholders were up for bid.
She clenched her numbered paddle tighter, her fingers wrapped around the balsa wood handle with enormous sincerity. She was going to win these ugly things for Newt if it was the last thing she did.
That would fix them all for trying to set her up with someone. If that’s what this was all about. If not, and Newt really did want those candlesticks, then he’d end up happy.
Could this really be about those ugly things on the auction stand? Maybe.
The thought caused her heart to start thumping in her chest like she was about to stroke out. This was an auction. Nothing that serious. And yet the excitement of it all, the uncertainty of what was about to happen next, was an unmistakable force.
“Let’s open the bidding at fifty dollars.”
Fifty? That was a steal. Her hand shot up, waving the paddle.
The auctioneer gave her a nod and kept on going with his speedy cadence, the words coming out of his mouth almost like a song.
No one bid anything else until the auctioneer started talking the candlesticks up, mentioning that they were antiques. In what felt like half a second, they rocketed to two thousand dollars.
Marigold was so stunned she just sat there as more bids flew by.
“Do I hear twenty-two fifty?”
She needed to bid. After all, what was the point of being able to go as high as ten thousand if she didn’t at least attempt to win the candlesticks? But before she could get her paddle up, someone else jumped in.
Her seatmate.
Wyatt smiled a little, thankful that the pretty blonde’s interest in the candlesticks had just been a whim. After she’d missed out on the funky tree lamp, she’d probably hoped not to go home empty-handed, then realized how ugly the candlesticks were.
And maybe she’d still win something else, but she wasn’t going home with these.
He stuck his paddle into the air, catching the auctioneer’s gaze and buying in at a fraction of what he was ready to spend. He might yet need that excess, however, with the way the bidding was going.
Made no sense. The candlesticks looked worthless to him, but he knew his taste in art wasn’t exactly top shelf.
The bidding climbed.
At thirty-five hundred, one of the other bidders dropped out. Then the hot blonde next to him jumped back in.
He stared at her, openmouthed and disbelieving before he caught himself and focused on the battle that he’d yet to win. It cost him four grand to regain his lead. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
She moved to the edge of her seat as if being a few inches closer to the auctioneer might help her win. “You’re not getting them.”
Her hand shot up again. Forty-five hundred.
“You wanna bet?” He put his paddle in the air and kept it there. Forty-seven fifty instantly became five grand.
She wiggled her paddle back and forth, sending the bid up another two hundred and fifty. “No bets. Just me winning. And you losing.”
Her sassy response almost made him laugh, but he wasn’t about to let his emotions get the best of him while she was the temporary enemy. When this was all said and done, maybe they’d discuss his victory over coffee.
He thrust his hand up higher and took the lead with a solid six grand. That was his max, but he was confident she’d back down. Six thousand dollars was a lot of cheddar for a lousy pair of candlesticks, and nothing about her said she was rolling in disposable income. Not that she looked destitute. Just not like Mrs. Gotrocks, either.
Speaking of…he checked her hand. No ring. Not that he cared if she was married or not. Just his general sense of observation kicking in.
Somehow, her other hand remained raised—and stayed there until the bid hit sixty-five hundred.
His paddle was the one that came down.
There were no other bidders at that outrageous price, and after a quick countdown, the auctioneer banged the gavel and finalized the sale. “Paddle 1541 has the winning bid.”
She gasped and grinned. “Holy holly, I won. I won.”
He frowned. Suzanne was not going to be happy. But she’d capped his bidding at six thousand, so the loss wasn’t his fault. He pulled out his phone to text his client and give her the bad news, but the blonde next to him got up.
She gave him a little smile. Clearly, she wanted out now that she’d gotten what she’d come for. “Sorry.”
He stood as well and moved into the aisle. “No problem. I was about to leave too.”
She joined him in the aisle. “I meant about you not winning.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. I wasn’t bidding on them for myself. I was here as a proxy.”
“Huh. Me, too. I guess those ugly things are really worth something after all.” Her smile broadened. “Well, I should go pay and collect the candlesticks. Have a nice night.”
“You, too.” He watched her go to the auction house desk and get in line to pay. One person ahead of her. Interesting that she hadn’t been buying those for herself. Could she be the reason Newt hadn’t shown up? If she was his agent, that was a pretty sly move on the old man’s part.
Pretty being the key word.
He’d never anticipated his competition adding another player to the game, which bothered him. A year off the force and he was already losing his touch? That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.
Had a shapely figure and a stunning face distracted him that much?
With a grunt of disgust, he went back to his phone. He shot the text to Suzanne, then started to put the phone away, but she sent a response right back. She must have been waiting.
He read it. As he’d suspected, she wasn’t happy, but it was game over now.
Another text came in from her, threatening not to pay him. Fortunately, he had their agreement in writing. An old private detective friend of Wyatt’s had suggested he use a simple contract with clients. Now he was glad he had followed the man’s advice. Still, Wyatt frowned as he answered. I did what you asked. You capped the spend, not me.
You should have bid higher.
He rolled his eyes. Not without authorization.
Did Newton buy them?
No.
A brief pause. Ask the buyer if they’ll sell to you. I’ll go as high as 10K.
He let out another sigh. If she’d have gone that high to begin with, this probably wouldn’t be an issue. Will do.
He put the phone away and looked up to see where the blonde was. She was heading through the door with a box in her arms. The candlesticks, no doubt.
He went after her, pushing through the crowd that was milling about, nearly getting swatted with a bidding paddle on his way.
The parking lot was packed with cars, but no people. They were all inside. And her blonde head of curls wasn’t hard to see. She disappeared around the corner of the building, juggling the box on one hand and using the other to pull out a key fob.
He followed, and when he came around the building, he spotted her. She was opening the back of a black SUV, much like the one he’d rented, but she was still a few yards away from the vehicle. She must have done it with the remote.
He was about to call out to her when two men came out of nowhere and rushed her. He reached for the gun that was no longer there, a habit that refused to die when his adrenaline kicked in. One man grabbed her while the other wrestled the box out of her grasp.
Wyatt charged. “Hey, get away from her.”
Startled, the men shoved Marigold down and bolted. The candlesticks fell out of the box, smashing to the ground. The man who’d been holding the box glanced at the shattered pieces, then tossed the box and took off after his friend.
Wyatt let them go and helped her up. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
He gave her a quick once-over. Her elbow and forearm were scratched and bleeding from where she’d hit the pavement. He gently took hold of her hand, turning her arm so she could see the damage. “You’re not okay. You’re hurt.”
She swallowed. “I-I didn’t even feel that. Until now. Ow.”
“Adrenaline,” he said. “Dulls the pain receptors so you can keep fighting.”
“But I didn’t fight. I didn’t do anything.” She was trembling.
“That’s okay. Sometimes fighting back can get you hurt worse.” He helped her over to the back of the open SUV. “Why don’t you sit here for a second? Catch your breath.”
She nodded and sat. Definitely in a little bit of shock.
“Did you know those men?”
“Not at all.” She squinted a little. “I’m not sure I even got a good look at them.”
“Then you probably don’t recognize them from anywhere, huh?”
“No.”
She wasn’t crying. Yet. “I guess they were after the candlesticks.”
“I guess. Oh!” She sucked in a breath. “They’re completely ruined, aren’t they?”
“Don’t worry about that. Listen, I’m going to call the cops.”
“I don’t think they can fix them.”
His brows went up. “This has nothing to do with fixing the candlesticks. You were just assaulted and the victim of an attempted robbery.”
She nodded. “Right. Of course. I’m just a little shaken up.”
“Completely natural. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” His phone buzzed as he took it out. Suzanne again.
Did you get the candlesticks?
No. And you don’t want them. They got broken.
He tapped the button to bring up the phone, but she responded again. Completely?
Yes. Many pieces. Honestly, what was the point of this?
Did you see them get broken? Was there anything else that happened?
He made a face at all her question
s. But then, he supposed a repaired family heirloom might still be valuable for the memories it held. He took a picture of the remains of the candlesticks and sent it to her. There were still some large pieces left, but repairing them would only make the candlesticks uglier. You can see what’s left for yourself. Do you want me to try to get the pieces for you?
More seconds ticked by. Like she was thinking. Then finally, Yes.
Marigold’s arm and hand hurt, but her pride was a bit bruised, too. Those men had come after her and she’d done nothing. And it wasn’t like she was defenseless. She was a witch, for crying out loud.
She could have stopped them in their tracks with a simple spell. One word. Stagnacio. And they would have been paralyzed where they stood.
But it had all happened so fast, she’d been the one to freeze up.
She sighed. Worse than her lack of action, she was going to have to explain to Newt that his $6,500 candlesticks were rubble.
At least her seatmate at the auction had been in the right place at the right time and come to her assistance.
That very handsome man walked over to her. He’d been giving a statement to Deputy Cruz, who’d shown up to handle the incident. “How’s your arm?”
“Still hurts. And my palm stings.” She looked at him, trying to figure him out a little. She wasn’t sure why he’d been in the parking lot at the same time she was, but it was nice of him to have called the cops for her. And because he’d yelled at the men and charged after them, they’d run away. No doubt saving her from worse injury. “I’m Marigold, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Wyatt.” He was studying her hand. “You should let me take you to the hospital, just to be sure.”
“That’s kind of you, but it’s just a flesh wound.” Wyatt was a nice name. Sort of cowboy adjacent. “And I can drive myself.”
“Can you?” His brows lifted. “With your hand like that?”
“Driving with one hand isn’t hard.”
“Not under normal circumstances, but you’re also in pain and possibly a little shock. Plus, I don’t mind. I don’t have anywhere else to be or anything else to do.” He grimaced slightly. “And I feel a little responsible.”