“Relieved to hear it.” His grin faded into a slight frown of disapproval. “You never came in to give a statement.”
“I know…” I shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t think it was necessary, I suppose.”
“Graves says you don’t remember much?”
I nodded, feeling nervous butterflies burst to life in my gut. It was one thing to fib to Graham about what had happened. It was quite another to lie to an officer of the law.
Cade’s eyes narrowed a shade. They were alarmingly blue. Dizzyingly blue. “Can we maybe take a walk? I know you’re wrapping up for the night, but there are a few things I need to discuss with you. In private.”
“Um.” I swallowed hard, trying to banish the butterflies back from whence they came. “We close in about fifteen minutes. Do you mind waiting until then?”
“Not at all.”
“Thanks.”
I finished up with my final customer, making idle smalltalk as I bundled her crystals and candles into black tissue paper and placed them inside one of our custom gift bags — black paper, silver ribbon handles, white font, trademark noose replacing the letter ‘o’ in the shop name. I was entirely too conscious of Detective Hightower’s eyes on me as I worked.
Once the customer left, I locked the cash register, then bustled into the storeroom to grab my purse and flip off the lights. My typical end-of-night checklist sat on my desk, a reminder of the many tasks I still needed to tackle before we reopened on Tuesday. I didn’t like to leave things unfinished, but with a handsome detective waiting on me, it couldn’t be helped. I hurried to the espresso bar and said goodbye to Hetti.
“I’ll come back to straighten up the shelves and tackle the bathroom later tonight,” I assured her. “Don’t forget to update next week’s purchase order. It’s on my desk. Lord knows we don’t want to run out of oat milk again… the hipsters will revolt.”
“You got it, boss,” she said, not even looking up at me.
“Thanks, Hetti. I’ll see you Tuesday, okay? Don’t forget to lock up when you leave. And enjoy your day off!”
She merely grunted in acknowledgement, cranking up the stereo to blast the angry alternative music she’d switched on as soon as the door closed behind the final customer of the day. My acoustic indie playlist was not to her liking, a point she’d made clear on more than one occasion.
Detective Hightower followed me out onto the street, discarding his cappuccino cup in the bin on the way. His long legs easily matched my pace as we strolled down the brick-laid pedestrian walk.
“Your alleyway is clear for use again, by the way,” he informed me. “The forensics guys are finished and the carcass—” He winced. “—is gone. Feel free to use your dumpsters.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
“How are you holding up? I know the past few days have been… a lot.”
I glanced over at him. “Checking up on me?”
“Occupational hazard.” He shrugged unapologetically. “I hope you know I’m here if you ever need to talk about the case. Or anything, really. Night or day.”
Was the sexy, silver fox cop hitting on me? I tripped over my own feet at the thought. Cade reached out instantly to steady me, his strong grip warm even through the fabric of my dress.
“Whoa there,” he murmured. “You okay?”
“Historic cobblestones and high heels — not always a great mix. If I was a practical girl, I’d donate them all to Goodwill and buy some flats.”
“Now that would be a shame.”
Yep, the sexy, silver fox cop wasdefinitelyhitting on me. I sucked in a breath. “Hey, you’re a hotshot detective — you have pull! Think you could make a few calls, get the city to lay some level sidewalks? Something designed for the modern gal-on-the-go instead of, say, a seventeenth-century Pilgrim?”
His blue eyes glittered with amusement. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. As a tax-paying citizen, it’s good to know my hard earned dollars are going to support my interests in a concrete manner.”
We took a left down a side street, walking without any particular destination in mind. It was a glorious October evening, blustery and warm despite the sun’s early descent. We passed by Witch Trials Memorial, where clusters of tourists were snapping photos, and meandered by The Burying Point, a historic cemetery smack dab at the center of town, where the judges who’d condemned the witches were buried in mossy tombs. Graham’s great-great-great grandfather among them. There was a line of people waiting outside the Wax Museum, eager to see creepy life-sized models of historical figures — for what reason, I could not fathom.
“I have to admit, I’m still not used to all this,” Cade confessed, eyeing the droves of witch-crazed customers.
“Have you lived here long?”