Maudlin's Mayhem (Bewitching Bedlam #2)(13)

“Here we go. Yes, this morning at three a.m. we logged a transaction to transfer fifty-four thousand dollars. It was automatically logged as suspicious. Normally, someone should have contacted you, but…oh dear. Oh dear.”

That didn’t sound good. “Oh dear what?”

The bridge of Emily’s nose suddenly furrowed as she ran her fingers along a line on the screen. “Well, for heaven’s sake, it looks like the alert was canceled by—some program that I don’t recognize. The transaction was approved and put through.”

I rubbed my forehead. “You can transfer it back, right? No problems?” I knew I was being wildly optimistic, but sometimes grasping at straws seemed the thing to do.

“I’m sorry.” Emily flashed me a patient smile. “We’ll return the money to your account, of course, but this is going to involve alerting the police and the FBI. This appears to be an international incident. I have to talk to my supervisor in the main branch of the credit union about how we’re going to go about this. I estimate a ten-day lag before we’ll be able to take the hold off your account. In the meantime, we’ll waive any NSF fees that come in because of this.” She beamed, as if the problem were solved.

“You have to be joking. Ten days? I had fifty-five thousand dollars in there—” I jumped up, leaning on the desk. “I want access to my money. This is the credit union’s fault—”

“Yes, I know, and I’m so sorry about this. But there’s nothing I can do to rush this through. But we will fix the matter, I guarantee you that. Meanwhile, I’ll raise the limit on your credit card for the next month, to give you leeway.”

Emily Chambers quickly grabbed my hand, shook it, and took off.





BY THE TIME I left the bank, I wanted to punch somebody hard. Or kick something. Or throw a few bottles. Or slam a fireball into the side of some building. Preferably my ex’s house. Not that he had anything to do with this, but the way the credit union had jacked me around felt exactly like all the ways he had tried to deal with me.

I contemplated going somewhere out in the woods and blowing off some steam, but somehow I doubted that the wood nymphs—who were legion in our area—would appreciate my version of target shooting. Neither would the dryads, come to think of it.

So I once again found myself pulling into the drive-thru at Bouncing Goats Espresso Shack. Gillymack was nowhere in sight, for which I was relieved. I was too pissed to laugh at his jokes or humor him. I ordered a quad-shot white chocolate cherry mocha.

On the way home, I called the sheriff. My cell was plugged into the VOXware unit I had bought for my CR-V and I was wearing my headset. The phone rang twice and then a calm, level-headed voice answered.

“Delia Walters here. What’s going on, Maddy?”

“You have caller ID, I see.”

“Yeah, I do.” Delia sounded busy, but friendly. We knew and liked each other. “So what’s up?”

“I have a problem. My credit union should be contacting you today at some point, but I’m lighting a fire now. Somebody in Dubai hijacked my checking account and stole fifty-four thousand dollars from me. The credit union okayed the transaction rather than contacting me.”

“Holy fuck. I’ll be over later. I’m the only one manning the fort right now, but I can come over at five, when the night shift comes on watch.”

“Thanks. I want to find these scum suckers and smash them flat.”

“I don’t blame you.”

As the call disconnected, it occurred to me that I’d better run a virus check on the computer. Maybe a trojan had gotten through, or something equally as dangerous. Whatever the case, I was out a buttload of money and even though the bank promised to reimburse me, it sounded suspiciously like I wouldn’t be seeing a penny for some time.

I pulled into my driveway and slammed out of my car, taking care not to spill my mocha. My mood had gone south about as far as it could go. As I headed into the house, through the kitchen, I found Sandy sitting there, a traumatized look on her face. Snow White and her retinue of burly men were nowhere to be seen.

Sandy glanced at me as I slumped into a chair. “Do you know what your newest guests do for a living?”

I rolled my eyes. “I have a pretty good guess. I really don’t want to know, do I?”

She let out a strangled laugh. “It seems that Ralph Greyhoof and his brothers are running a sideline. They make bargain-basement porn flicks and sell them on the net.”

The thought of the Greyhoof boys at the helm of a seedy porn industry didn’t faze me at all. It seemed all too fitting. “Lovely. Which means that Snow and her boys…”

“Are porn stars in his latest flick, Snow White and the Seven Whorves.”

I blinked. “That’s a horrible name. It doesn’t even…oh, never mind. So, did you find out who Snow really is? I don’t think she’s human.”

Sandy rubbed her forehead. “I really wish I had some brain bleach. There are things that—once you know about them, cannot be unknown.”

“That bad?”

She nodded. “I have no idea how he did it, but it seems that Ralph decided having the real thing would be better than hiring actors. Snow says he considers himself to be the next Alfred Hitchcock, only of the porn brigade. Anyway, he did something that brought Snow White and the dwarves out of the book. Before he’ll let them return, he’s making them act in his movie.”