Roller Rink Witchcraft (Extended Edition): Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 1) by Raven Snow Page B
Authors: Raven Snow
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was, Miss Thelma. Not that she appreciates it.”
Mrs. Gibb grinned and beckoned me inside. “Oh, Julia’s always been a moody thing, ever since I’ve known her. And I’ve known her for at least sixty years!” She turned thoughtful. “Though, I do find the age making me a little testy some days— that and the fibromyalgia.”
I followed her inside and was assaulted by the mouthwatering smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies. “She’s a little more than moody these days.”
“Oh, forget about her,” Thelma said with a smile. “Come have a cookie— or four.”
Only someone truly inhuman would have been able to turn that offer down, so I sat down in Thelma’s lovely, bright kitchen and ate as many cookies as my stomach could hold. Despite the laughs and the present company, a black cloud formed above me, leaching some of the joy out of the morning. I couldn’t shake the feeling something bad was coming.
Great, now you’re becoming just as paranoid as your grandma.
Leaving Thelma with a bunch of thank yous and a promise to visit again soon, I headed to my loft above the disco skate, hoping to get a couple hours of sleep before I had to reopen. Unfortunately, every time my eyes closed, visions of witches and voodoo dolls danced behind my lids.
Chapter Two
“Late! I’m so late!” I stumbled around my apartment, which consisted of a bed/kitchen area and a bathroom. Looking for my disco outfit amongst the pile of clothes fresh from the dryer, I stubbed my toe against a stool.
The rush of little kids with their parents would come at five, and it was almost four-thirty. It was the most lucrative hour, besides when the middle-aged couples arrived and bought alcohol. The kids would beg for lots of pizza, but end up filling up on candy.
That meant leftovers for the crew and me. We ate like kings on Saturday nights.
Racing down the outside, iron stairwell, I made yipping noises when my bare feet hit the heated metal. Though it was late fall, the sun was still a force to be reckoned with in northern Florida.
I threw open the metal doors, and immediately, my nose was assaulted with a heavy mix of spicy cloves and copper. Gagging, I whipped my hand back and forth in front of my face, trying to dissipate the metallic burning smell.
Leaving my skates by the open front door, I ventured into my roller rink, heart pounding. Burning plants was never innocent in this town, and while I was sure Jeb wouldn’t have forgotten to lock the door, it was unlocked when I’d come in.
“The police are on their way,” I said, bluffing.
My cell was up in my bedroom. Even if I’d had it, I wasn’t sure I would’ve called them. I was still hoping it was a bunch of teenagers.
A few steps closer to the rink brought me right next to the half wall enclosing it. Peering over, my hopes of rowdy teenagers that would run at the sound of my approach were dashed.
There was a body in the middle of the dance floor.
The forty-year-old man with slicked-back hair was tied spread-eagle, with a rope knot on each limb that was secured to the ground by a copious amount of duct tape. Little sacks of smoking cloves were littered around him, and a bloody satanic symbol— one I was unfamiliar with— had been painted on his chest. A single bullet hole graced the center of his forehead, the only non-magical part of the whole scene.
A speck of white glowed blue in the lighting and caught my attention. I picked it up, realizing it was a pill. Tucking it away, I figured I’d keep it safe until the police got here.
Turning on my heel, I walked into the office with deceptively calm, even steps. The old rotary phone in there was still connected only because I was lazy, but it worked well enough to call the police.
After hanging up, I collapsed into the nearest chair, my head falling onto my chest. My mind raced around in circles between wondering how long it would take the police to get here and the realization that I’d just found the body of
Mrs. Gibb grinned and beckoned me inside. “Oh, Julia’s always been a moody thing, ever since I’ve known her. And I’ve known her for at least sixty years!” She turned thoughtful. “Though, I do find the age making me a little testy some days— that and the fibromyalgia.”
I followed her inside and was assaulted by the mouthwatering smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies. “She’s a little more than moody these days.”
“Oh, forget about her,” Thelma said with a smile. “Come have a cookie— or four.”
Only someone truly inhuman would have been able to turn that offer down, so I sat down in Thelma’s lovely, bright kitchen and ate as many cookies as my stomach could hold. Despite the laughs and the present company, a black cloud formed above me, leaching some of the joy out of the morning. I couldn’t shake the feeling something bad was coming.
Great, now you’re becoming just as paranoid as your grandma.
Leaving Thelma with a bunch of thank yous and a promise to visit again soon, I headed to my loft above the disco skate, hoping to get a couple hours of sleep before I had to reopen. Unfortunately, every time my eyes closed, visions of witches and voodoo dolls danced behind my lids.
Chapter Two
“Late! I’m so late!” I stumbled around my apartment, which consisted of a bed/kitchen area and a bathroom. Looking for my disco outfit amongst the pile of clothes fresh from the dryer, I stubbed my toe against a stool.
The rush of little kids with their parents would come at five, and it was almost four-thirty. It was the most lucrative hour, besides when the middle-aged couples arrived and bought alcohol. The kids would beg for lots of pizza, but end up filling up on candy.
That meant leftovers for the crew and me. We ate like kings on Saturday nights.
Racing down the outside, iron stairwell, I made yipping noises when my bare feet hit the heated metal. Though it was late fall, the sun was still a force to be reckoned with in northern Florida.
I threw open the metal doors, and immediately, my nose was assaulted with a heavy mix of spicy cloves and copper. Gagging, I whipped my hand back and forth in front of my face, trying to dissipate the metallic burning smell.
Leaving my skates by the open front door, I ventured into my roller rink, heart pounding. Burning plants was never innocent in this town, and while I was sure Jeb wouldn’t have forgotten to lock the door, it was unlocked when I’d come in.
“The police are on their way,” I said, bluffing.
My cell was up in my bedroom. Even if I’d had it, I wasn’t sure I would’ve called them. I was still hoping it was a bunch of teenagers.
A few steps closer to the rink brought me right next to the half wall enclosing it. Peering over, my hopes of rowdy teenagers that would run at the sound of my approach were dashed.
There was a body in the middle of the dance floor.
The forty-year-old man with slicked-back hair was tied spread-eagle, with a rope knot on each limb that was secured to the ground by a copious amount of duct tape. Little sacks of smoking cloves were littered around him, and a bloody satanic symbol— one I was unfamiliar with— had been painted on his chest. A single bullet hole graced the center of his forehead, the only non-magical part of the whole scene.
A speck of white glowed blue in the lighting and caught my attention. I picked it up, realizing it was a pill. Tucking it away, I figured I’d keep it safe until the police got here.
Turning on my heel, I walked into the office with deceptively calm, even steps. The old rotary phone in there was still connected only because I was lazy, but it worked well enough to call the police.
After hanging up, I collapsed into the nearest chair, my head falling onto my chest. My mind raced around in circles between wondering how long it would take the police to get here and the realization that I’d just found the body of
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