“I’ll be in touch,” Becca said, and began to leave.
“Nuh-uh.” Owen crowded her into the room. Inside he counted two men and another woman. Strangers all, but since the guys both carried concealed, Owen meant to discover who they were.
He held out his hand to the nearest, a slim, dark-haired, blue-eyed man who’d stepped in front of Raye the instant Owen entered the room. “Owen McAllister.”
The guy didn’t hesitate to shake, which calmed Owen a bit. “Bobby Doucet. I’m Raye’s fiancé.”
The second man, also blue eyed with dark hair, though his held flakes of gray, wore a suit that screamed fed. He confirmed it with, “Agent Nic Franklin, FBI.” He even showed his badge.
“That explains your weapon.” Owen glanced at Bobby. “How about yours?”
“I’m the police chief in New Bergin.”
He might be lying, but why?
Owen’s gaze flicked to the tiny woman with the white streak in her short dark hair.
“My associate, Cassandra,” Agent Franklin said.
“Just Cassandra?”
“There aren’t too many out there, but my last name’s Murphy these days.”
What did that mean? Owen decided to let the question go in favor of a better one. “What’s going on here?”
They all exchanged glances; no one answered.
“I just saw the creepy wolf-hunter guy leaving.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “Did he shoot Pru?”
Raye blinked at the name, cast a quick glance at Becca, whose tiny shake of the head made him both mad and sad. What was she hiding? Why was she hiding it from him?
Owen crossed his arms and leaned against the door. Reggie, ever alert to his moods, left Becca—who’d been scratching his ears in just the right way—to stand at his side.
“Someone better start talking,” he said.
No one did.
There were ways to make people talk. But he probably shouldn’t especially with the FBI and a police chief in the room.
“So, your mom’s the local witch?” the FBI agent asked.
Owen didn’t answer. When he’d said someone should start talking he hadn’t meant they should ask him questions.
“Smooth,” Cassandra murmured.
Franklin shrugged. “We need a lead. Something. Anything.”
“His mom isn’t a witch,” Becca said.
“But she did try to kill someone.”
“Wasn’t the first time,” Owen said.
“That’s right.” The fed glanced at Becca then back at Owen. “You ever figure out why she tried to kill you?”
“No,” Owen said shortly. He hadn’t really tried. Talking to his mom back then had usually yielded gibberish. Not much had changed since.
“I’m sorry—” Becca began, and he shook his head.
“It isn’t a secret.” Though he wished it was. “He could have found that out pretty easily just by asking around town.”
“I told you, Owen’s mom isn’t well,” Becca said.
“She was well enough to escape from a psychiatric facility, then try and kill…” Franklin’s lips pursed. “What was his name?”
“Dr. Jeremy Reitman,” Becca said.
“Pet detective,” Owen muttered, and Cassandra snorted. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about the woman who did kill someone rather than the one who only tried?”
“If at first you don’t succeed,” the fed singsonged.
“You think she’ll try again?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“If my mom wanted to kill a witch, why didn’t she kill Peggy when she had the chance?”
“You’re saying she wanted to kill Dr. Reitman in particular?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Franklin lifted an eyebrow and Owen shrugged. “He’s a pretentious ass.”
“Stop holding back,” Cassandra said. “Tell us how you really feel.”
Owen liked her more by the minute.
“Jeremy didn’t have to drive all the way up here to help us out,” Becca protested.
“He didn’t drive here to help us. He drove here to see you.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“He’s got the hots for you.”
“Takes one to know one,” Cassandra said.
Owen shrugged. He didn’t care who knew it. Not any more.
“That’s cra—” Becca snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry.”
If Owen took offense every time someone used the word crazy he’d spend most of his life pissed off.
“Where would your mom hide?” Franklin asked. “A place where they both could.”
“Both?” Owen repeated.
“Her and Mistress June.”
Owen shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Mistress June killed your mother’s keeper, and now they’re both gone.”
“Mistress June killed Peggy because she thought she was a witch, not to…” He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “Free Mary.”
“She thought she was a witch?” Franklin repeated. “You know there are witches, right?”
“Are we talking broomsticks and warts witches? Or Wicca-practicing women?”
“And men.” Bobby shrugged. “Reitman.”
Owen bit back his opinion of Reitman and his witchery or lack of it. Now wasn’t the time. “I don’t know where my mom would hide, but I do know that she wouldn’t take Mistress June with her.”