“Dinner date?” she asked with intrigue, pursing her lips into an O. “Do tell, darling.”
“The doctor,” I said. “We’ve been flirting for a while.”
“And he’s coming here, is he?”
I laughed. “Oh, good heavens, no, I’m not exposing him to more of this, he’s already seen his fair share of weirdness.”
August raced after me, right between my legs. Julian followed, flapping around in the air before landing on my mother’s shoulder.
“You have a date?” August asked, nuzzling his nose at my ankle.
“What? You heard all that from in there?” I asked.
My mother chuckled. “A cat has very sensitive hearing, besides, the way these two have been getting along, I’m sure he doesn’t want you to leave.”
“Aw, baby,” I said, kneeling at August’s side. “Have they been bullying you?”
A scoff left my mother. “He’s been fed like a king,” she said.
“Is that true?” I asked, rubbing beneath August’s chin and belly. “Because I always feed you like a king.”
Julian let out a screech. I cupped my ears as my entire face winced together. “All I get are seeds.”
The decision my mother had made to make a familiar of a parrot continued to dumbfound me. Of all the animals she could’ve chosen, she went for loud-mouthed with brash contrasting feathers, although it made sense; my mother was both loud and she enjoyed being the centre of attention with her attire.
“Who are you going on a date with?” August continued.
“With Oscar,” I replied. I hadn’t yet told August about the smashed windows at the café, I knew he’d only worry about me every time I left the house. “Want to come with me?”
He skittered away at the question.
Seven P.M. clocked by sharply as I pulled at the sleeve of my white blouse to check the time. The last first date I went on was with Peter, and that led to marriage. I paused by the front door, smiling to myself in the mirror by the door. I’d caught a little lipstick on my front teeth, not a good sign at all.
“Nervous?” my mother chuckled, appearing in the living room doorway.
“No, I’ve just—” I rubbed at my tooth with a finger.
“Oh, sweetie. Here.” She presented a paper tissue. “And ask him about Victor, will you?”
Nerves were getting the better of me. Me, a woman who ran her own business, survived a divorce, and solved the murder of a good friend. Yet I was nervous about seeing a man I saw regularly anyway. “No,” I replied without second thought. “I won’t intrude on the evening to ask, but if conversation allows it, then I’ll be sure to see what he knows.”
“You’re the one playing the long game,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “We could have this over and done with by now. Then I’ll be moved in to the new house and I’ll only pop over once a while.”
I didn’t respond before leaving, but it was ideal, thinking of her moving out.
I drove my car to Oscar’s house, although it was only minutes away. All the house lights were on, including a spotlight from the front door over the porch. As I pulled up behind his car in the driveway, I noticed Oscar stood in the doorway wearing a red and white checked apron.
“Gwen,” he called to me, stepping over the threshold outside.
My hand approached the crystal around my neck, soothing the anxiety in my stomach. “You’re here to have a nice meal,” I said, glancing at myself in the rear-view mirror.
I always enjoyed Oscar’s company, he was incredibly nice to me and I didn’t want to abuse that by asking about the ongoing investigation, but I’d have been lying to myself if it wasn’t on my mind, for my mother’s sake and that of the other witches in my coven. We needed answers, and I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to ask him.
“You look beautiful,” he said, welcoming me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I mean, you always do.”
“Aw, thank you, Oscar,” I replied. “I didn’t take you as a man who owned an apron.”
“I’m a dab hand in the kitchen.”
Something my ex-husband wasn’t; he hated cooking. I enjoyed cooking alone, but it was nice to share a common interest with someone.
“It’s smells delicious,” I said, looking around as he walked me into his house. The last time I’d been inside his home the walls were bare and there was barely an inch of furniture.
Oscar had lived in here for over a month now, and in that short period of time, he’d barely converted the shell of a house into a home. Everything was minimal, from the eggshell walls to the cream interior furnishings.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he chuckled, leading me through to the dining room with his arm around my back. “This man has incredible taste.”
“Oh, I—” I stopped myself.
“I’m kidding, I know there’s not much.”
“I guess you’re always at work anyway.”
He snapped his fingers, chuckling to himself. “As funny as it sounds, I am, a doctor’s work is never done. Besides, with this on-going witch hunt.” He paused—we paused, pulling me to a halt. “I’m sorry, the wrong turn of phrase.”
“It’s fine,” I said, resting a hand on his chest. “But you’re right, whatever is going on, this is a witch hunt, and I hate what’s happening in Cowan Bay, between the two of us I don’t believe they want us here much longer.” Us referring to the witches and not Oscar and I.
“But I am sorry. And I wish I could help, but I’m not a pathologist, even though they asked if I could look at the man you’re being interrogated over,” Oscar said, ushering me into a chair at the table.
I was glad he’d broached the topic of the man first, even if it was before dinner. His circular table was covered in a white cloth and at the centre was a three-stick silver candelabra. He lit each candle carefully. “A beautiful setting,” I said.
“Thank you, I had to look on my phone at pictures to decide,” he said. “Want me to turn the lights down?”
And incredibly romantic too. His honesty was endearing and somewhat refreshing. I smiled, dipping my chin to my chest. The cool metal from the pendant around my neck vibrated softly.
“I’ll be back in a second, I just popped the salmon in the oven,” he said, turning down the lights slightly.
I nodded, still smiling to myself. “Perfect,” I whispered.
Oscar meandered back into the dining room moments later with two plates. “Salmon and couscous. There’s a little asparagus, tomato, and a little red chilli.” He placed a plate before me and the other opposite. “I have a small pot of sauce too, it’s a blend of lemon, tarragon, and garlic,” he said, smacking his lips at the words.
“It smells delicious,” I remarked, inhaling the aromatic scents on the plate.
“And wine?” he asked.
“I shouldn’t, I drove,” I said.
He grinned. “As you are, I have alcohol-free white zinfandel.”
“Oh, okay.” I nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”
He resumed on his path back to the kitchen and came back moments later with an uncorked bottle and a white sauce pot.
“To many more,” Oscar said after pouring the wine. He lifted his glass.
The idea of more dates was welcoming, but only after this one was over.
After dinner, Oscar served coffee, and usually I didn’t drink coffee so late, but on this occasion I made an exception. I knew I wasn’t going into work tomorrow; there was little I could do other than wait for another window to smash or phone around for repairs.
We settled down on the plush cream settee in his living room.
“No photographs?” I asked, nodding to his bare walls. “Don’t you have family?”
He chuckled. “Of course. They’re still in boxes, at least until I get around to it.”
“And why aren’t you already married?” I asked, jumping into the deep end. I drank the coffee slowly, not breaking eye contact with him. “You don’t have to answer.”
Laughter tickled at the back of my throat. “I’m not laughing at you, but being single feels alien, I tell people I’m a divorcee, or better yet, a widower.”
“I thought—”
“My ex-husband isn’t dead, but I prefer not explaining that I left him because of adultery.”
He raised the cup his lips, masking his gasp. “I think you mentioned, but I can’t believe someone would do that, at least not to someone as kind as you.”
Humming in agreement, I wanted to drive the conversation back to him. I was an open book, but I wanted to know more about Oscar Raymond and his life before Cowan Bay. “And you’ve always been a GP?”
“Yup,” he said, puffing out his cheeks. “Like I said, I was going into pathology, studying dead bodies, I even started my specialism until I decided I’d rather try helping people get better than finding out how someone died.”
“That’s why they’re asking you to look at the body in the morgue then?”
He nodded. “Truth is, I kinda volunteered, but they have someone coming in to take a look, given the suspicious nature, I doubt it’ll stay in Detective Hodge’s hands for long.”
“You think they’ll bring in someone else?”
He chuckled at the notion. “Strange small village deaths, this is the type of stuff some big shot London detective would eat up.”
I hadn’t thought I’d be up against more than Detective Hodge, I hoped I would be, but it wasn’t something I could say for certain. He was mightily certain it was one of us witches, but gladly that notion was nothing but fallacy.
“I guess that’s why he wants to close the case soon then, and maybe stick the finger at someone in my circle.”
“And the matter they found inside the man’s throat wasn’t exactly natural crystal.”
I pursed my lips to sip. “Ooh,” I said, my interests piqued. “What was it then?”
He extended his hand to stroke mine. “I shouldn’t say, I’m a man of science, but I know there’s more than what I think to be real and true.”
“So, you think it was magic?”
He hummed, cocking his head to the side and glancing away. “I never said that, but the official report says it was made mostly from sodium, so salt, basically, and the crystals you have are made of silicon dioxide.”
“Wait, wait, wait.”
“If you’ll excuse my pun, any witch worth her weight in salt, wouldn’t be messing with sodium based crystals.”
I found myself pulling my hand away and grasping the mug tighter. “And the police know this?”
“It’s in the report.”
“But it still doesn’t explain how it got in the man’s throat.”
“It grew.”
Stranger things had happened. I couldn’t believe the police knew this wasn’t done by a witch, and still there was a witch hunt happening. It still didn’t make sense about him being my mother’s ex-husband. “Do you how?”
A smile touched his face. “Chemicals. Maybe this one is actually all about science and less about witchcraft.”
It was a nice maybe, but a man was still dead. It was no accident. “I’m sorry to do this Oscar, but I must go. I have to get home and put my thoughts down on paper.”
“So soon?” he asked, his smile dimming.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but there’s a lot happening, and it’s clear the police are hunting for a witch to fit their narrative now.”
“Well I hope this wasn’t just a visit for you to ask me questions.”
“Absolutely not. I’ve had a lovely time this evening, one of many. I hope.” It was the truth, but I was holding out he’d have information, and thus far he hadn’t let me down. “Thank you for the meal, next time, maybe I can cook for you.”
He stood and approached me. “I’d like that very much.” He placed his hand behind my back and placed a second kiss on my cheek.
Once I was home and reflecting on the evening; Oscar was a true gentleman, and I was glad he wasn’t annoyed I’d left him like that. I telephoned all the women to tell them about what I’d found.
“You’re telling me they held me in that cold cell for a day, and they knew it wasn’t me,” my mother scoffed, running her fingers through the gold chain on her neck. “I cannot say I’m surprised, they seemed incompetent.”
“Mother, please don’t do anything to jeopardise this. If they’re trying to point their finger at a witch, we need to find the person who did this before they find one of us guilty by admission of reacting negatively, and you’d look even more guilty given that he was spelled to love you.”
She waved a hand at my commentary. “Unless you spill that specific detail, I doubt they’ll ever find out.”
“All I’m saying is, stay out of this one.”
Celine Waterhouse was going to do whatever she pleased anyway, no matter how much I would ask her not to, I knew she would try and interfere. During my marriage with Peter she vocally sighed how much she disapproved of it.
CHAPTER 9
I woke at 9:13 A.M. to August pawing at my nose. I didn’t sleep until after midnight, scouring my mind for information on who could’ve committed murder on a relative stranger to everyone but my mother.
“Come on,” August said, hitting my nose once again. “I’m not going downstairs while that flappy rodent is out of his cage.”
“Right,” I said, pushing back at August’s face.
“Your mother’s going to cast opposable thumbs on me.”
“You’re being a tad dramatic, aren’t you?” I said, pulling myself up against the backboard.
“No, Julian said so himself, or worse put me outside like a normal cat.”
“Aw.” I stroked him behind the ears. “You’re not a normal cat, don’t listen to him, or her.”
In a breath, my mother appeared at the foot of my bed. “Come on, sleepyhead.”
“Mother? Please knock.”
“Why? It’s not like you’re entertaining guests in here.”
I scoffed at her commentary. “That’s none of your business, besides, when do you move?”
“When do I move?” she pressed a hand to her chest as her jaw fell slack. “Don’t you like having me here?”
“Like a hole in the head.”
“I’ll be moving once Noelia has left, and she can’t move, not while there’s a murder investigation.”
Another reason I had to solve this, not only to keep my mother from jail, but also to get my space back. Baring the thought of my mother in jail, she wouldn’t cope; she wouldn’t stay put, but if she was prosecuted she’d be stripped of her power by the Witches Council, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience.
“I’ll be down once I’m dressed, so if you could please put some hot water on to boil.”
She looked away, glancing at the basket of clothes in the corner of the room. “Fine.”
Recovering from the shock of my mother and her lack in self-control, August shuddered, pulling his claws from the duvet. “I don’t like the sound of her sticking around,” he said. “And how come she blinks in and out of places, why don’t you do that?”
I hummed to think of an appropriate response. “She has a lot of expendable energy. She farms crystals, some witches do, but most witches rely on what can get them by on a day-to-day basis.”
“You should farm crystals,” he replied. “You could get to and from work a lot faster, then I could call you and you’d be here.”
“It takes it out of a witch to keep it up, I’ve tried, and don’t talk to me about work. I’m think I’m getting physically sick from not baking.” I bit my teeth, remember I hadn’t told him yet.
“You can just go in, you don’t need to stay here because of your mother.”
I pulled him to
my arms. “Someone threw a rock to the window, so I’ve shut the café until repairs are done.”
“What?”
“I didn’t want to say anything,” I replied, pushing my fingers through his thick fur. “I know how you get. It should be sorted by the end of the week.”
“Well you can fix it with magic.”
I wished I could, I had the abilities, but I’d never shown any grand gestures of magic around the people in the village. They were all well versed in my parlour tricks, stirring spoons in mugs and levitating slices of cakes to customers when the café got busy, but they were prepared for a full-blown show.
Walking into the kitchen, my mother prepared two cups on the counter and teapot boiled on the stovetop. Julian perched on my mother’s shoulder, an eyesore of colour, too bright to be seen in the morning.
“What are you in for today?” she asked.
“Something to clear my mind.”
“Oh, you have a little fog?”
I scrunched my brows. “No, my mind is busy and I need to make sure it stays clear.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to personalise something for you.”
Groaning, I wasn’t going to get into it today with her. She’d already barged into my room like I was some teenage girl with no privacy. I wouldn’t have minded but even as a teenage girl, I had more privacy and less interaction from her.
“I’ll make you a peppermint tea,” she said.
“Peppermint tea, delicious,” Julian sounded off in his squawk.
August jolted behind my legs, squeezing his head between my ankles as I paired my legs together. “Ouch, August.”
“Poor boy, don’t worry, I’ve already fed him this morning,” my mother said. “I even offered him seconds.”
“He didn’t want seconds,” Julian laughed. “But he wants thumbs.”
“Zip it,” I said, snapping my fingers and closing Julian’s beak shut.
I sat in the conservatory with my tea, notepad and pen, tipping the end of the pen against my chin. August continued to hide beneath me, curling under the chair.
There wasn’t anyone in the village I could point a finger to. I’d love to point it at Detective Hodge, but there was no motive, other than his growing feud with the witches, even then I knew he was using a private detective agency. He was just as stumped as us.
Cupcakes, Crystals, and Chaos Page 6
