The Girl and the Clock Tower Murder: Pandemonium Cozy Mystery #2

Chapter 3

Mahogany checked the time. Her alarm clock beamed seven a.m. at her, its green light steady. A pool of morning sun streamed in through her window. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. While the ciders had helped her fall asleep, she felt anything but rested. She caught her reflection in the mirror hanging on her bedroom door and pulled the satin sleeping cap revealing her faded pink curls. She needed to make an appointment at Gothmother's Salon. Things were getting dire. But first, she needed to get her Vespa from Tony's.

The bone needle compass rattled on her nightstand, grabbing her attention. Mahogany picked it up, the needle spinning wildly. The needle made from the wing bone of a Jersey Devil slowed before stopping. The compass was part of Mahogany's side hustle. Whenever magical Folk passed away, the compass led her to them, where she collected any enchanted objects before they fell into human hands. Mahogany raised her eyes and found herself staring at the corner of her room. The same direction in which Tony's house lay. Perfect. She'd grab her scooter and figure out who died.

She tried to tame her curls in the bathroom and instead settled for confining them to a scarf. With deft precision, Mahogany wrapped her hair with the colorful fabric and headed out the door.

The morning sun raked through the town with a sultry heat. A cool breeze played with the slowly changing leaves and brushed across Mahogany's bare neck.

As she rounded the corner to Tony's, Mahogany expected to find a quiet morning bustle of morning joggers and foot traffic commuters in the town square. Instead, several police cars sat helter-skelter in the street, blocking traffic. A long line of police tape cordoned off the town's square around the clock tower. Near the tower's front door sat an ambulance, its lights off, back doors open, waiting for their grim charge.

Mahogany stopped short. The scent of death tainted the cool morning breeze. Ahead of her on the street, two uniformed police officers made their rounds, moving from house to house, interviewer residents.

"Why, if it isn't Spider-Woman."

Mahogany's gaze shot in the direction of the voice. Before her stood Detective Teresa Sawyer, dressed in a white button-up top tucked into charcoal-gray trousers, and sensible tennis shoes clad her feet. A well-tailored suit jacket revealed a sliver of her holstered sidearm. Her dark, voluminous curls cascaded over her shoulders in winding rivers.

"Well, hello, Detective Sawyer," Mahogany said, eying Sawyer's curls and making a mental note to ask where she got her hair done. She scratched absentmindedly at the scarf, taming her locks. "Who brings you here this morning?" Mahogany nodded to the ambulance attendants loading a gurney with a black body back strapped to it into the vehicle.

"I might ask you the same thing." The detective's harsh gaze traveled over Mahogany, scrutinizing every inch.

"I'm picking up my Vespa." She nodded to the sunshine yellow scooter parked outside Tony's cozy cottage.

Sawyer followed Mahogany's gaze and nodded. "Why did you leave your bike here?"

"I had too much to drink, so I walked home."

The detective pulled a notepad and pen from the inside pocket of her jacket. "What time was that?"

"About ten or so last night."

"And what were you doing here?"

"Evelina, Tony, and I were playing Rabbit Rabbit. Have you played it? It's a card game about superstitions."

Detective Sawyer blinked at Mahogany. "Can't say that I have. What time did you arrive?"

"A little after seven."

"And Mr. Applegate and Miss Moore will corroborate that?"

"I don't see why not," Mahogany said, a frown darkening her face. "What exactly happened?" She peered again at the departing ambulance. Its lights remind dark—the siren silent.