Shannon Curtis - Witch Hunter

Dave pulled his motorbike into a spot on Main Street, and slid his helmet off his head. He looked around. So this was Serenity Cove, huh? The town was picture-postcard quaint. Victorian cottages, cute little boutiques and stores, and lots of white picket fences and ornate trim. Lots and lots. This place looked so damned sweet, he could feel a toothache coming on.

There were a few people wandering around. Admittedly, he thought there’d be more. It was summer and Serenity Cove had a fishing marina, nice little beaches—if his online searches could be trusted—but for some reason there wasn’t the usual vacationers drifting around with beet-red sunburns and sarongs. A local bar also seemed to be missing from the scene. He eyed the diner across the street. In lieu of a bar to visit and source information, this place would have to do. Maybe someone in there could tell him where the bar was—after he got some intel on Sullivan Timmerman.

He swung his leg over the bike and placed his helmet over the dash and ignition, uttering a simple security spell. It never paid to mess with a witch’s stuff.

It had been surprisingly easy to track down the witch. The guy had a website, for crying out loud. It was obviously a front, though. A cutler? He’d never heard of the trade. Most people just went to the store and bought their cutlery. Who would have a set made?

He crossed the street and entered the diner, the tinkling of the bell over the door causing the patrons to look up. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, but then he didn’t have a problem seeing inside. An older man, an even older lady and—oh, good. A sheriff. Dave sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was the bike leathers, or the tattoos, but the law always seemed to want to chat with him.

He strolled down to the opposite end of the diner counter and slid onto a stool. The solitary waitress bustled over to him, a smile on her face. Dave smiled back. He read her name tag. Cheryl.

“Hey, stranger, can I get you something?” She leaned a hand on the counter and gave him a wink.

He grinned as he removed his gloves. “That depends, Cheryl.” Her smile broadened at his use of her name. “What can you recommend?” He kept his tone light and flirtatious, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the sheriff lift his gaze from his phone.

She folded her arms on the counter and leaned forward. “Well,” she said, drawing the word out slowly. “I’ve just put a fresh pot of coffee on, so I haven’t had a chance to burn it, yet, and the peach pie is pretty good.”

He nodded. “I’ll take that. For starters,” He winked back at her. She was pretty, she was nice and liked to flirt. Serenity Cove might be all right, after all.

“What brings you to Serenity Cove?” The sheriff put his phone away and directed his full attention to him. His tone was casual, conversational, but the look in the man’s eyes was anything but.

“I’m looking for someone,” Dave replied as Cheryl placed a plate in front of him. She reached for the coffee carafe and poured him a cup, and he took care not to touch anything until she was finished. He waved away the cream and sugar she offered.

“Who?” the sheriff asked. This time his tone wasn’t so casual or conversational.

“Tyler,” Cheryl chided. “Be nice to our visitor.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dave said. If there had been a murder, this officer would know about it—had to, in a place as small as Serenity Cove. He needed information from the man, and he didn’t want to seem threatening or dangerous, because that would lead to an entirely different conversation.

“I’m looking for a friend,” Dave said, flashing a smile at the sheriff in an effort to appear friendly. “I was in the area, so I thought I’d catch up.”

“You have a friend?” the older man sitting at a booth near the door piped up. “Here?”

Dave kept his face impassive. Was the guy surprised at the idea of him having a friend in Serenity Cove or having a friend at all? “Yeah.”

“Who?” Cheryl asked as she leaned against the counter. She didn’t bother to hide her curiosity.

“Sullivan Timmerman.”

Cheryl’s eyes widened. “You know Sully?” her expression was incredulous as she looked him up and down.

“How do you know Sully?” the sheriff asked, his brow dipping.

Sully, huh? Dave took a moment to slip a bit of the peach pie into his mouth as he thought about his response. He always had an explanation ready for barflies, but talking with law enforcement required finesse and strategy. He swallowed the mouthful of pie—and Cheryl was right, it was pretty good.

“Are you an old boyfriend?” the older guy in the booth asked.

Dave coughed into the coffee mug he held to his lips. Boyfriend? Sullivan Timmerman had boyfriends?

“We went to school together,” he responded cautiously once he’d cleared his throat. He hoped to hell Timmerman hadn’t gone to school around here, although the information he’d found online suggested probably not. Timmerman had set up his business four years ago, but he hadn’t been able to find any mention of the guy in the local schools’ hall of fame lists for athletics or other clubs.

“Did you date?” Cheryl asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“Uh...” He ate some more pie as he thought of an appropriate response.

“What’s that about Sully?” the old lady called out, cupping her hand to her ear.

“This guy used to date Sully,” the guy in the booth yelled back.

“Why do you hate Sully?” the woman asked, horrified.

Dave blinked as Cheryl leaned over the counter. “Date, Mrs. Peterson. Date .”

“Oh.” The old woman looked him up and down, then raised her eyebrows. “You don’t say.”

“You just missed her,” Cheryl told him, then waved toward the door. “She left about five minutes ago.”

Her. Her . He dipped his head for a moment. Phew. Then he frowned. He’d somehow felt a masculine energy in his vision and had assumed he was looking for a man. In his line of work, he couldn’t rest on assumptions. The radio on the sheriff’s hip squawked, and the man sighed as he levered himself off the chair.

“Gotta go.” He grabbed his hat off the seat next to him and put it on his head. “How long are you intending to stay in Serenity Cove?” he asked Dave.

Dave waved a hand. “Oh, I’m only passing through.” This kind of job never took long.

The sheriff nodded, satisfied, then turned to walk out the door.

“Bye, Tyler,” Cheryl called. The sheriff didn’t turn back, but lifted his hand in a casual wave of farewell. Dave caught the fleeting look of disappointment on her face before she masked it with a smile. “So, you used to date Sully, huh?”

Wow. These people were good. He bet that by the time he got back to his bike, he and this Sully would be in a serious, angst-ridden relationship. Which could work for him, really.

“Yeah,” he said, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward conspiratorially. “I want to surprise her, though. Uh, do you know where I can find her?” He sent a compulsion spell in Cheryl’s direction.

“She lives out at Crescent Head, north end, overlooking Driftwood Beach,” Cheryl responded automatically, then blinked.

“Thanks.” Dave scooped up the last of his pie, and nodded farewell as he rose from his seat. He donned his gloves and waved politely to the older patrons as he passed them.

He halted outside the diner. Two youths were checking out his bike. One of them even had the audacity to reach for the handlebars and pretend to steer. He frowned. His security spell should have knocked the kid off his feet. He flicked his fingers at him, but encountered...nothing. He frowned and tried to again.