Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) by Dakota Cassidy

only served to frustrate Sandwich. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow.
    “The preliminary reports say she was strangled.” Then he blanched. “I’m not supposed to tell you this! Stop talking so fast.”
    I gasped. “She was strangled ? But what about the hole in her foot?” Instantly, I regretted my reaction, wanting nothing more than to stuff my fist in my big mouth as the lunch crowd turned to stare at me.
    The charred skin on the ball of her foot screamed electrocution. But then I remembered the scarf around her neck. Maybe I’d missed any signs of strangulation because I’d been so hung up on a different cause of death.
    However, why in seven hells was the ball of her foot burned? Did she step on something? I had to get into that store and at least take a look around.
    And another thing, how good had Spy Guy been as a spy if he didn’t have any theories yet?
    I gripped Sandwich’s arm, looking up at him. “Are you sure she was strangled? Are the papers right? Are they really now calling Madam Zoltar’s death murder ?”
    He bounced from foot to foot with nervous energy, running his index finger along the collar of his stiff shirt. “Stop asking me questions, Stevie. You know I can’t answer them.”
    Crossing my arms over my chest, coffee cup against my chin, I eyed him. “Then that makes us even, because I can’t answer yours either.”
    “Aw, c’mon,” he pleaded under his breath. “Don’t make a big deal of this, just come to the station, talk to the lead detective and you’re done.”
    “They’ve definitely involved detectives?” I hadn’t been sure if who I saw yesterday was a genuine detective going into MZ’s. But this meant an official investigation was underway, didn’t it? Human laws and witch laws were so different, I wasn’t sure.
    Sandwich sort of pouted. “I can’t tell you that. Please, just take a ride to the station with me.”
    “And if I refuse? Am I then under arrest, Officer Paddington?”
    Now he looked uncomfortable. “Shoot no, Stevie. We just want to ask you more questions is all.”
    Win breezed into my ear then. “Might I remind you, Stevie Like-Nicks-the-Singer, you don’t have to answer anything without a lawyer present unless they’re arresting you. A lawyer you can well afford now.”
    I turned away from a confused Sandwich, putting my hand to the Bluetooth piece in my ear, and muttered, “Won’t that cut into our house budget and that fancy claw-foot tub you were babbling about this morning?”
    I wasn’t used to having bags of money, let alone the amount now sitting in my bank account. It’s why I bought all of my clothes in thrift stores and consignment shops. Because I loved designer duds, I just couldn’t afford them.
    “Hardly,” Win drawled.
    Then that settled that. I turned back to my former classmate and gave him the haughtiest look I had in my arsenal, condescending raised eyebrow and everything.
    “Sandwich? You go right back to your captain and tell him Stevie Cartwright won’t be questioned without her lawyer present, and if they want me to come in any other way, they’ll have to arrest me!”
    “Stevieee,” Sandwich groaned. “They sent me because I know you—”
    “And they thought they’d use that familiarity to abuse my good nature, didn’t they?”
    Sandwich scratched his head, his shoulders slumping. “I think so. Er, no. I don’t know…”
    I dropped my coffee cup on a nearby table and turned, putting my hands behind my back in a submissive gesture. “Well? Either you cuff me or I’m walking out that door, Sandwich.” And for the benefit of the crowd of people staring at me as though I had two heads and three breasts, I said, “Because I am not, I repeat, I am not a murderer!”
    As everyone’s eyes widened, I stomped to the door, forgetting my coffee, forgetting everything except for my pride. I still had that.
    Well, mostly.
    When I stomped back and scooped up my coffee with shaky hands, I somehow managed to