Cupcakes, Crystals, and Chaos

by Jessica Lancaster

  “Stop tapping,” August grumbled.

  “I would if I could think.”

  “Try and retrace his steps,” he answered. “I watch enough TV when you’re out.”

  “That’s the thing,” I replied. “There are no steps.”

  Poking his head out from beneath, he glanced at me. “There’s always steps. Where did he come from?”

  “Nowhere.” I continued tapping.

  With a single clawed paw, August swiped at my leg. “Ask yourself, was he here when he was killed, or was he somewhere else and dumped here?”

  “I can imagine he came because of my mother, but then, how would he know she was here?”

  “Very rich men have friends in high places.”

  “And they’re rarely found washed up on the cobbles of the harbour docks.”

  My mother walked into the conservatory with a cackle to her laugh. “Darling you sound crazy,” she said.

  “Please, mother, not now, I’m trying to figure all this out,” I said. “Do you know if he’d followed you before?”

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “You worry far too much, besides the lovely village folk are already fundraising for your window, and—and you’re in perfect health, oh, and that doctor has taken a fancy to you, hasn’t he?”

  Again, something else I wasn’t about to discuss with my mother, like she wanted to treat me as her teenage daughter once again. “If you’re going to stick around, help me.”

  “What do you need help with?”

  “If Victor was following you, he’d have been here in the village. The next question is, where was he staying?”

  “That’s the thing, we’ve checked the local bed and breakfast, that’s the only place.”

  She shrugged. “Then he was there.”

  “You sound like you know something I don’t.”

  “I mean, I knew he was following me five years ago,” she chuckled. “I didn’t think he’d be silly enough to keep it up.”

  The pen finally touched the paper as I wrote ‘fisherman’s inn’. “Then that’s where I’ll start, but Eva has already been there.”

  “Hmm. Was she one of them who accused me?” she asked, glancing from the side of her eyes. “If she was, I think it was her.”

  I wasn’t going to engage this time. I collected the paper and pen in a hand and stood. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” I said.

  Before driving, I made sure to tell the other women of my plans, although Eva wasn’t incredibly pleased I hadn’t believed her that the Cook’s had no connection with the deceased.

  Fisherman’s Inn was as the name suggested, an inn for fishermen. Throughout the years, many men had been into the café asking for places to stay for the evening, and Fisherman’s Inn was the place I’d point them in, otherwise they’d be looking to stay in Belsy, the town just across the river.

  Fisherman’s Inn was on the same road of buildings as the St. James Pub, another haunt for the fishermen docked in Cowan Bay, but I wasn’t so quick to recommend the pub, it could get awfully rowdy.

  Entering, the faint whiff of mould offended by nose. “Hello?” I called out, stepping toward a desk with a receptionist plaque and a tiny silver bell. “Mary? John?”

  “Ahh, Gwendolyn,” John’s voice called out as he approached me from a lounge area right of the reception desk. “What brings you here?” he asked, gesturing with the hand free from the sling.

  “I’m a little curious,” I said with a wide smile on my face.

  “Well, we heard about what happened to your mother. If she’s as nice as you, I doubt she’ll have anything to do with it,” John said, moving around the desk.

  I placed my handbag down and sighed. “I was trying to get to sleep last night, and I had a thought, this mystery man, if he has any connection with my mother, well, he may have been staying here before he was found dead.”

  Pressing his lips, he puffed his cheeks. “I wish we could help, Gwen.”

  “Do you have a log of people staying here over the past week or so?”

  “Oh.” He gasped. “That’s private, you know people come here to get away from their partners, that’s how we stay afloat.” He offered the information with a chuckle. “But, the police and Detective Hodge have already been around and we’ve been as helpful as we possibly could be.”

  “But, could I get a sneaky look?”

  John snapped the logbook shut with a bang. “I’m sorry, it’s policy.”

  “You’d tell me though if you had information on him, right?”

  With wide eyes and a braced smile, he nodded vehemently. “Of course. You know, I’ll go fetch Mary, I’m sure she’d like to know how you’re doing, especially after that second window.”

  “It’s been a tough week.”

  John gave me a once over, a judgment in his eyes. “Takes its toll on the best of us.” He flapped his arm in the sling.

  Once John left, to the right through the lounge, I shimmied behind the desk. “Okay, show me,” I said, hovering my hands over the book. I didn’t want to touch it; finger printing could still be enough to imprison a witch.

  I read from the top of the page; Bernard Hope, Johnathan Shales, David Priors, Glynn F., Celine Harrison. Her name. My mother’s name, or at least her previously married name. A cross drawn through it. I followed the line to see a room number. Room 10.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” Mary called through, her voice echoing.

  I dropped my hands and the book shut. I forced my body back out from behind the desk and collected my handbag on my elbow. My mother was here. I turned on my heel, walking directly into Mary. “Oh, I must go, I have to—” I stopped, lost for words as I began waving my arms frantically.

  Mary patted my arm. “Anytime you’re free to catch up. I think the reading really did it,” she said. “I can already feel the solution coming to fruition.”

  “Oh, oh, absolutely.” I made a bee-line direct for the entrance and stormed out, once I was in the face of fresh air, I gasped. “Mother, mother. I know you’re listening. I’m getting in my car, you better be there.” I pulled the door handle and hauled myself into the driver seat.

  “Darling, you called,” my mother said, appearing beside me. “I mean, there are less vulgar ways to call a person.”

  “Explain yourself,” I said. “I saw your name in there.”

  “Well, that must be an error because I’ve never seen this—” she leaned forward to see the building through the front window. “—this hovel.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled deeply. “Then why was Celine Harrison scribbled in their book?”

  She scoffed and brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Well, that’s absurd, I’ve not used Celine Harrison in years. I’ve had no reason to.”

  “Then there’s only one person who would,” I said. “Victor, but why would use your name?”

  “He was always a strange man,” she moaned, “and that was before the love potion.”

  I had to agree with her, albeit he was hexed to love her, and love did incredibly crazy things to the mind and body. At least now I knew where he’d been staying, even if it was based on a reservation under my mother’s name. “Okay, well I’m going to tell the other w—” and before I could finish she was gone. I didn’t expect anything else from her.

  I drove back to the café where the other witches and Rosie knew to wait. Given the information we’d acquired from Doctor Raymond and the new piece of information from the Fisherman’s Inn logbook, we had a lot to discuss.

  Armed with tea and an assortment of leftover cake, the women gathered around a table.

  “Glad we’re meeting,” Tana said, “I’m still ousted from the school, and I don’t even know when I’ll be going back. It’ll drive me to insanity.”

  “I think you’ve got it all wrong,” Allegra said, slamming a hand on the table. “Mary and John couldn’t possibly know about your mother’s coloured past.”

  I forced a smile on my face. It was one
thing for me to say something ill about my mother, but another when other people began doing the same. “I don’t know when she’d have the time, given she arrived and let herself into my house. She’d have no need to stay elsewhere, and John and Mary didn’t recognise her at the chapel the other night.”

  “You have a point,” Allegra said calmly.

  If the police didn’t point the finger at someone soon, the entire coven would break.

  “Gwen, I went in there myself,” Eva said. “Sure, the energy balance was off in the place, but it’s just the way those old buildings are made. And you know I’m all for my gut instinct.”

  Before long everyone had said their piece. It was followed with discussion on what could have happened to Victor Harrison and how a sodium-based crystal grew in his throat. The more we beat the subject, the more it sounded like witchcraft, and still my mother was the only witch with a connection.

  “Fine,” I said, taking a stand and pushing the chair out from beneath me. “I also found out the room he was staying in, so if anyone wants to join me, I’ll be going back tonight to see if there’s anything left in the room.”

  Rosie stood and raised a hand. “Me, I’ll come.”

  “Great, I need someone to distract Mary and John while I go to the room.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better if one of us joined?” Noelia asked. “I mean, I’m not volunteering, I’d like to stay a million miles away from whatever this is that’s going on, but surely a witch would be better fit for distraction.”

  Rosie scoffed at the comment. “I’ve known the Cook family for years, plus, it will be a well-deserved catch up for all involved.”

  It reminded me how quick John had been to get me to have a cup of tea with Mary. I was sure they’d do the same for Rosie.

  CHAPTER 10

  My mother was quick to object at the idea of me going to the Fisherman’s Inn so late in the evening. August jittered at my ankles, pestering me to stay., but I knew what I needed to do to find out more information. I had to get into room 10.

  Opening the front door, my eyes darted to Oscar at the entrance of the driveway. The porch lights beamed across the drive, lighting a pathway for him.

  “Gwen,” he said, waving a hand and revealing a box of chocolates tucked beneath an arm. “I tried to swing by the café, hopefully you’ll be up and running by next week.”

  “Oscar, hello.” I welcomed him with a slight hug and a kiss to the cheek.

  “These are for you,” he said, presenting the chocolates.

  I accepted his gift. “Thank you. I hope they’ll have the windows fixed. Ralph has been an absolute angel, he’s helping get the contractors in to replace the window. I’m grateful I won’t have to claim on the insurance.”

  He chuckled. “That’s always a positive. I was talking with Rosie earlier,” he said. “You’re doing some sleuthing.” His soft laughter and smile were endearing, but also slightly dismissive.

  “Someone has to,” I said. “Especially when the police cannot do their job, and you said it yourself, they’re completely bypassing all the evidence in favour for clutching at straws.” Stepping backward to look at Oscar blushing and shuffling on the spot, I smiled.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. I find what you’re doing great, you’re looking out for your family, anyone in your shoes would do the same.”

  Once Oscar left, I remained in the driveway a moment longer, stressing myself about the decision to sneak into Fisherman’s Inn with Rosie. I knew what I was doing could help me find truth about to Victor Harrison, but my internal nagging made me question whether it was wise to suspect people I’d known for years.

  My phone buzzed in my handbag. Rosie was calling.

  “Come on, I’m cold out here waiting for you. You said nine-fifteen,” her voice came loudly through the speaker.

  “Yes, yes,” I replied. “Are you waiting outside the café?”

  “Like we said.”

  “Let yourself in and make coffee, I’m on my way now.”

  As my closest friend, Rosie naturally had a spare key. She was also always there to help around the café and baking studio whenever I needed it.

  I slipped my leather gloves over my hands and wrapped a scarf around my neck before setting off. It was almost winter and once darkness hit the village, temperatures dropped to zero. Reaching the café, I spotted Rosie stood in the café doorway, wrapped in thick quilted burgundy coat with faux fur on the collar.

  “I got you one,” Rosie said, holding out a coffee as I approached her. “I wasn’t sure, but it’ll keep you warm.”

  “Oh, I will,” I replied, accepting the take-away cup. It would be another night of not getting to sleep until after midnight for me.

  “What do you hope to get from this?” she asked. “They’ve probably cleaned the room since then.”

  “I need to see,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I might be able to get a feel when I’m in the room.”

  “What if it’s occupied?”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead, although Mary had been vocal about the struggles the bed and breakfast was facing, and there weren’t any fishermen docked in Cowan Bay since the investigation started. “Housekeeping?” I snickered. “I can always check around.”

  “I can charm Mary and John, give you as much time as you need.”

  “And perhaps someone staying at the hotel will have seen Victor,” I said in hope. It was unlikely, the police had been all over the village, if they’d found anything, everyone would know. “I can be persuasive.” Or more factually, it was easier to find information with my abilities.

  Fisherman’s Inn was a short walk from the café, but we kept ourselves warm with brisk strides and coffee. The chilly autumn wind nipped at our faces as we walked in opposition to the wind.

  “What if it all goes to pot?” Rosie asked, pulling me to a stop at the footpath leading to the bed and breakfast. Rosie was my dawning down-to-earth force, and she was right, everything thus far had been propelled forward on chance and optimism.

  “Oh, what if, what if,” I mumbled back. “If everything goes belly up, I’ll join you, say how I was at the café and you’d called or texted.”

  Rosie nodded back, smiling at me. “Good idea.”

  “Great.”

  Rosie went ahead while I stood back behind, waiting on her text to tell me the reception was empty and where in the building they were.

  Several minutes passed as I paced, checking my watch with every passing moment before Rosie’s text buzzed on my phone. John and Mary are with me. We’re in the kitchen. They have a lot of questions about you and the doctor. Be quick.

  I didn’t bother myself with idle gossip, especially when it was about me. Although idle gossip was in Rosie’s nature, I could expect her to go against instinct when it was about me. Okay. I replied. I’ll text you once I’m done.

  Letting myself in, closing the front door with gentle ease behind me. I headed to the right into the lounge. Inside, a large glass door to a conservatory reflected me, the annexed room was empty, sitting in stark darkness as it overlooked the back garden.

  Slowly stepping around the chairs dotted around the lounge, I noticed two men toward the front of the room facing the fireplace and television. Paying the slightest attention to the film, I knew it well, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Before getting distracted, I rummaged quietly through my bag to find the picture of Victor.

  “Hello,” I whispered, tapping an elderly man on the shoulder.

  He turned and squinted behind his thick lens glasses. “Whatchu lookin’ fo’?” he asked.

  Presenting the picture of Victor, I held back with bated breath. “Have you seen this man?” He craned his neck and cockeyed the image. “Is he cheatin’?” he chuckled before a growling cough broke from his throat. “I might’ve seen ‘im.”

  “When?”

  “Couple days,” he replied. “My ship docked fo’ one night but we’ve been ‘ere a while. Somethin’
bout a murda.”

  Okay. I said, barely moving my lips. The second man sat closer to the TV, his head back resting on the chair with a rumbling snore escaping his mouth.

  I turned on my heel to snap forward to the stairs, but a cool air tickled the back of my throat. My eyes crossed a door on the back wall with two deadbolts locking it shut; one at the top and a second at the bottom, each in place with steel padlocks.

  “Come here, silly,” a voice chuckled.

  I twisted in place again to see two white apparitions; a boy and a girl danced around the lounge together.

  “No, Celia, we’ll get in trouble,” he said, pulling away from the girl.

  “Our friends are down here. Mother won’t be mad.” The girl paused and glanced in my direction, her gaze crawled my body until they met my eyes. “You won’t tell mother, will you?” she asked. “Our friends are lonely down there.”

  “Who?” I asked, speaking softly.

  “Speakin’ to me darlin’?” the old man called, getting louder.

  Moving slowly in their direction. “Where did you go?” I continued.

  The girl stood at my side, looking up at me. She held my hand. Her cold touch took my breath away. “Come with us.” She pointed to the locked door.

  “Oh, Gwendolyn, I didn’t hear you come in,” Mary said with a chuckle in her voice as she entered the lounge.

  I was startled at the sight of Mary, her blonde curls in an afro, a change from the tight scrunch she wore them in on her head. “Oh, Mary,” I said. “I was ju—”

  “Rosie’s in the kitchen, chatting up a storm about you and Doctor Raymond.”

  I returned the chuckle, glancing around for the little girl. Mary stood with her arms planted firmly on her hips. “Yeah, she sent me a text, I was at the café and figured I’d pop by. I mean, given I didn’t stop earlier for tea.”

  Mary led me into the kitchen from the dining room, left of the reception. John and Rosie greeted me, Rosie mainly with shock; this hadn’t been in the plan, but I was more focused and concerned with the appearance of ghosts.