How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) Willow Mason (inspiring books for teens .txt) 📖

me awake. Sunlight streamed through the window. Andrew’s face hovered a few inches from mine.

“Have you caught my MURDERER yet? I’m DESPERATE to get my hands on him.”

Annalisa growled, a useless threat seeing her teeth and claws couldn’t do him any damage. With a sigh that my life was getting far too interesting, I plodded downstairs to assign the rest of the job of waking me up to a large cup of coffee.

Chapter Ten

“Oh, yes. I remember him well,” Solomon Armstrong said, leaning back in his chair and resting his clasped hands on his ample belly. “We started around the same time, although that’s so long ago it might as well be the dark ages.”

We were seated in the office of Piermont Training and Human Resource Services—a place that sounded like a large corporate enterprise, but appeared to consist of Solomon, a young woman in reception, and a middle-aged woman named Clarissa whose job involved rolling her eyes every few minutes.

“Andrew and I were up for a promotion at the same time,” Solomon continued, prompting Clarissa to do her thing. “He was a million miles below me in skillset, of course, but he was a plucky enough lad to give me a run for my money.”

Eyeroll. The woman was in danger of doing herself damage.

“We’d heard about the presentation,” I said, turning and scanning the room. It was an open-plan office, with even the staff kitchenette on full display. One corner had a separate room with a closed door, but my eyes weren’t up to the job of reading the name plaque. The boss of the whole shebang, I supposed, but whoever it belonged to wasn’t in residence right now.

“I’m surprised Briarton could support such an organisation.” Patrick pulled at the tie he’d insisted on wearing, uncomfortable now with the choice. “Most of the businesses around here seem to be one-man bands.”

“True, true.” Solomon pushed a finger up his cheek, a thumb holding his jaw while resting it all on his elbow. Judging from the worn patch on the chair arm, it was a pose he held often. “That’s why we’re needed. Small businesses don’t have the staff to warrant a full-time position, but they still need training and support, and that’s where we come in.”

The phone had rung exactly once since our arrival twenty minutes before. Either they were conducting the whole operation via email or their services weren’t quite as much in demand as Solomon was trying to imply.

Still, a three- or four-person business was a better spot than many.

“Morning,” a man called out from the entrance, sweeping through the office, and coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted us. “Always good to meet new clients.” He thrust his hand at Patrick.

Solomon immediately sat up straight, pulling at his collar and sporting a smile made of pure cheese. “Ray. I wasn’t expecting you.”

I guessed this was Raymond Burns, still the overall boss apparently, despite his name not being listed on the website.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not new clients.” When Ray’s arm fell to his side, I stuck mine out. Feminism and all that. He shook it with reluctance, a feeble grip that he detached from far too early.

“I hope you’re not distracting my staff unnecessarily while they’re meant to be at work.”

“Just had a few questions about a man who used to work here,” Patrick said. “Name of Andrew Darby.”

“Sure, I remember Andrew. He’s dead.”

Well spotted. “His fiancé has asked us to examine his death again.” I smiled as Solomon shifted his weight in his chair. “She wasn’t entirely happy with the lack of detail from the police and coroner.”

“S’been a bit long to be dragging all that up again.” Ray flicked a dismissive hand at us. “But Sol can fill you in. He was here. I’m not even working here any longer. Retired. Just pop in from time to time to see if anything needs doing.”

The eyeroll from Clarissa seemed in danger of actually popping out her eyeballs.

“Yes, sir. I’m taking care of it.” As Ray sloped towards his corner office, Solomon jumped to his feet, only sitting again when the door slammed shut.

“Didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers.”

“You’re all right, Patrick. The big boss gets into a mood at the drop of a hat.”

No wonder Andrew, even as a poltergeist, was so intent on impressing the man. Praise that was hard to win was a thousand times more potent than that easily given.

“Can you tell us anything more about Andrew’s habits?” Patrick pulled out his notebook, turning to a blank page even as he mimed reading it. “Was there anything special he liked to do for lunch? Any staff members he was close with?”

“We’re all close here, always have been. And he used to eat at his desk most of the time when he didn’t skip it entirely. He popped antacids like they were tic-tacs, the poor bloke. Made entirely of nerves. Not the most social fellow.”

Solomon clasped his hands together on the blotter, turning them into a steeple. “We only found out he was engaged when his death notice went in the paper. Up till then, we had no idea.”

The fact his last statement contradicted his first went over his head.

“Gosh,” I said when the pause grew expectant. “It must’ve been hard for such a small office to lose someone.”

“Solomon, get in here!”

I turned, startled at the shout. Apparently, Ray had decided to unretire himself and stood in the office doorway with his cheeks burning crimson.

“Uh, sure, sir. Right away.”

He scuttled into the room, closing the door behind him, while I turned away only to catch Clarissa’s eye. “He does this at least twice a week. Retired, my foot.”

Patrick clenched the arms of his chair, appearing torn. “Should we leave?”

“Yes, go. Escape while you still can. Sometimes I think Andrew was the lucky one to get away.” My mouth fell open and Clarissa tilted her head to one side, grimacing. “Too far?” When I nodded, she hunched her shoulders. “It’s