Bonbons and Broomsticks (BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 5)

by H. Y. Hanna

  “Caitlyn—”

  “I just want to live in this cocoon a little while longer,” she pleaded. “That’s why I haven’t been pushing very hard… I sort of… just wanted to take each day as it comes.”

  “Oh, honey… I’m sorry, I totally understand!” Pomona gave her an impulsive hug. Then she stepped back and looked at her. “But you know… you can’t keep running away forever. You have to find out someday.”

  Caitlyn sighed. “I know.”

  Pomona was silent for a moment, then she said: “Listen—I just had an idea. James said I could come in here anytime and snoop around as much as I like.” She grinned in anticipation. “You know, James said his father might even have a real selkie skin somewhere!” She held a hand out. “Why don’t you give me your runestone and I’ll see if it matches anything I dig up?”

  Caitlyn hesitated. “Well, I…”

  Pomona chuckled. “I’m not gonna lose it—promise!”

  Caitlyn untied the ribbon and started to hand the runestone to her cousin. Her neck felt strangely naked and vulnerable without it—suddenly, she jerked her hand back.

  “N-no, I think I’ll keep it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll… I’ll come and have a look around myself when I have a moment free.”

  Pomona shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself. Hey, have you had breakfast yet? I’m starving! C’mon, let’s go down…”

  They made their way down to the Morning Room, where breakfast was normally served, and walked in to find Professor Thrope and Nathan Lewis already sitting at the table. Caitlyn was surprised to see both men looking very sombre—in fact, the professor looked downright haggard, as if he had barely slept all night, and Nathan fidgeted in his seat, seemingly filled with nervous energy.

  “Morning!” said Pomona cheerily. Then her smile faded as she looked at the two men’s faces. “Man, what’s going on? You guys look like someone died or something.”

  Nathan gave her an ironic look. “As a matter of fact, someone has. Sir Henry was found dead this morning.”

  “Dead?” Caitlyn stared at them.

  Professor Thrope sighed. “Yes, one of his staff was heading to the village and found Sir Henry’s body on Dead Man’s Walk.”

  “But… how did he die?”

  Nathan shrugged. “It’s a bit of a mystery. The police have been called—James is with them now, actually.”

  Pomona gasped. “The police? So they think Sir Henry was murdered?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The sound of voices in the hallway outside interrupted them and, a moment later, James Fitzroy walked in, followed by Inspector Walsh of the local CID. Nathan sprang up, his face alert, and Caitlyn was reminded again that in spite of his easy charm and jokey manner, Nathan Lewis was an experienced journalist with a nose for a story. He looked keenly at the detective inspector now and said:

  “So is it true, Inspector? Sir Henry was murdered?”

  Inspector Walsh looked slightly annoyed and said, “Where did you hear that? The police haven’t released any statement to that effect. There’s no need to jump to conclusions, young man.”

  “Ah, but there must be some foul play suspected,” said Nathan shrewdly. “Otherwise, why would you be here? You’re a detective, aren’t you, sir? They wouldn’t call CID unless they thought there was a crime involved.”

  “I happened to be in the area this morning,” said Inspector Walsh noncommittally. “And since this death occurred in the same area as the one last week, it seemed prudent to conduct a more thorough investigation… which is where my experience comes in handy. But that does not necessarily mean that we think the death is suspicious. In fact, as far as I can see, Sir Henry died of natural causes.”

  “What did he die of?” Caitlyn asked.

  “Probably a heart attack,” said Inspector Walsh.

  “Heart attack?” said Nathan in a disbelieving tone. “Didn’t the tramp who was found dead last weekend also die of a heart attack? And he was found on Dead Man’s Walk too, wasn’t he? Inspector, doesn’t it strike you as odd that two men should die of a heart attack in the same place, within the same week?”

  “No, not really,” said Inspector Walsh. “First of all, it is not exactly the ‘same place’. Dead Man’s Walk is a very long path, starting at Tillyhenge, leading past both the Pritchard and the Fitzroy estates, and on through farmland to the next town. The tramp was found at the end of the path, near where it starts by the village; Sir Henry was found on the short section between the Pritchard and Fitzroy estates. There’s at least a ten-minute walk between the two locations. As for the cause of death, it is a bit of a coincidence, yes, but heart attacks are one of the most common causes of death, especially in older men. I’m sure if you looked at any public place—say a restaurant or a city square—you’d find several people having died of heart attacks.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t a busy spot,” Nathan insisted. “This is a lonely country lane, where people rarely go… Surely you can’t just assume—you have to do a post-mortem to find out.”

  Inspector Walsh glowered at him. “I’d thank you not to tell me how to do my job, young man. A post-mortem will be conducted if it is deemed necessary. However, I must remind you that autopsies cost time and money—taxpayers’ money—and we can’t just request them willy-nilly without good reason. Sir Henry was an older man who was overweight and drank heavily. I called and spoke to his doctor this morning: apparently, he had been taking medication for heart issues. Now, without any evidence to suggest foul play, I am inclined to go with the simplest explanation, which is that he had a heart attack while walking back to his estate last night. That does not mean that we won’t investigate thoroughly—” He gave Nathan a pointed look. “—but I am not expecting to find anything of a suspicious nature.”

  “So there was no injury at all?” Nathan persisted.

  The inspector hesitated, and James answered for him.

  “This is to be kept strictly confidential, Nathan… but there were some bruises on his arm which were slightly odd.”

  “Odd in what way?” asked Nathan quickly.

  James glanced at the inspector for approval, then said, “They look like they could be bite marks.”

  Nathan whistled.

  “Omigod! Sir Henry was attacked by the Black Shuck!” Pomona gasped. “That’s why he had a heart attack—he died of fright!”

  The inspector frowned. “What’s this?”

  “There’s a lot of talk in the village about sightings of a big black dog in the countryside around Tillyhenge,” James explained. “The locals think it’s the Black Shuck—”

  Inspector Walsh made an irritable sound. “I don’t have time for this superstitious nonsense! There was a girl attacked last night, you know, on another country path not far from Dead Man’s Walk. She was jumped on by a gang of men wearing masks. They took her money but she managed to get away. That’s the fourth attack in the last few months by this gang and we still haven’t been able to get a lead on them.”

  “Was the girl all right?” Professor Thrope spoke up for the first time. “Was she hurt?”

  “No, she’s fine. Nothing other than a few scratches and bruises,” said the inspector. “She was lucky. I dread to think what else they might have done to her, if they hadn’t been scared off.”

  “What scared them off?” asked Nathan.

  The inspector shrugged. “Who knows? Some noise, perhaps… the girl wasn’t very clear when I spoke to her this morning. She was rambling, in fact—talking about glowing red eyes. But before you jump on that as evidence of a supernatural creature—” He gave Pomona a stern look. “—let me tell you that it is hardly surprising and means absolutely nothing. Given that she must have been very traumatised, it is very likely that she thinks she saw something, which she didn’t. Especially if her imagination was already over-stimulated by gossip and superstitions that she heard in the village. Anyway, the point is…” He paused for emphasis. “The reason I mention this is to show that I have enough
to deal with from real-life criminals, without worrying about beasties from folklore.”

  “But the strange bruises—” Pomona protested.

  “Those bruises can’t have been caused by the Black Shuck,” said Inspector Walsh impatiently. “If a so-called demon hound attacked Sir Henry, wouldn’t you expect it to leave him with serious wounds? Those marks never even broke the skin.”

  “Maybe ghostly doggies have really soft teeth,” suggested Nathan, grinning.

  Inspector Walsh did not look amused. James gave his friend an exasperated look, then cleared his throat and asked the inspector if he would like a cup of tea.

  “No, thank you. I have to get back to the station. However, I’d just like a quick word with Ms Le Fey—” He turned towards Caitlyn. “Lord Fitzroy tells me that you walked back to the Manor through the woods last night?”

  “Yes, my car broke down in the parklands on my way out and we had to come back here—me and Evie,” Caitlyn explained. “We actually walked along Dead Man’s Walk.”

  Inspector Walsh looked at her thoughtfully. “Did you, now? And did you happen to see anyone?”

  Only my vampire uncle. Caitlyn decided it was easier not to mention Viktor. “No, we saw nobody.”

  “Did you hear anything or notice anything unusual?”

  “Well, I thought I saw…” Caitlyn hesitated, glancing around the group.

  “Yes?”

  “Er… nothing… It was probably just my imagination,” said Caitlyn.

  The inspector seemed satisfied with that, although Caitlyn saw Nathan look at her sharply. She was relieved when he followed James and the police out to the foyer, obviously keen to pump the inspector for more information. Silently, she helped herself to a simple Continental breakfast from the sideboard, then sat toying with her food and listening half-heartedly as Pomona chattered excitedly about the morning’s events. Professor Thrope seemed preoccupied too, making polite responses to Pomona’s remarks but not really participating in her enthusiastic discussion of whether Sir Henry could have been killed by a ghostly black hound.

  Caitlyn finished her breakfast and excused herself, heading back upstairs to rouse Evie. On the way, she met Mosley and discovered that the efficient butler had already organised for a car breakdown service to come and tow her vehicle.

  “That’s great,” said Caitlyn. “Can they get it repaired right away?”

  “I’m afraid they will need a bit of time to order the part that needs to be replaced,” said Mosley. “So you will be without a vehicle for a day or two. Would you like me to call you a taxi to take you back to the village?”

  “I can run Miss Le Fey back to Tillyhenge,” said a deep voice behind them.

  Caitlyn turned to see James approaching, obviously having overheard their conversation. Her heart lurched slightly at the thought of having to sit in the quiet confines of a car with him. She knew it was silly, but ever since that disastrous day when he had rejected her confession, she had been nervous of being alone with James. So much still hung unresolved in the air between them. Then she remembered with relief that Evie would also be there, and flushed when she looked up and saw that James had read her mind.

  ***

  An hour later, as they drove into Tillyhenge, Caitlyn was surprised to see a large crowd gathered on the village green. From the agitated expressions on people’s faces and the amount of hand-waving and shouting, they were obviously upset about something.

  “Oh my Goddess, what’s going on?” asked Evie from the back seat.

  “There aren’t any spaces here…” said James, scanning the nearby area. “Why don’t you and Evie jump out and see what it’s all about? I’ll go and park on the other side of the green and come back to join you.”

  They did as he suggested, and the two girls approached the crowd eagerly. Caitlyn’s curiosity turned to concern, however, as she realised that it was the Widow Mags’s name being shouted by many of the villagers.

  “…knew she was a witch! Didn’t I always say? Hiding in that cottage with those sinful chocolates of hers… I always said no good would come of letting her stay in this village!”

  “Me too… I warned everyone about her but no one would listen!”

  “She’s put a hex on Tillyhenge—called up this beast to haunt us all!”

  “Yes! And we have proof—my boy saw it with his own eyes!” cried a dark-haired, middle-aged woman. She grabbed the arm of a teenage boy standing next to her and raised his hand in hers, in a triumphant gesture. “Go on, Fred—tell them what you saw!”

  Looking slightly embarrassed, the boy mumbled: “Was out walking in the woods behind the village late last night and passed the chocolate shop… saw this light in the kitchen window and… er… thought I’d take a look… just in case, you know… not that I was snooping or anything…” He flushed. “Anyway, I saw her… the Widow Mags… she was waving her arms around and chanting something… and there was this big black shape on the table in front of her, with a head and four legs—”

  “It was the Black Shuck!” his mother cut in shrilly. “The Widow Mags was using her witch powers to call him!”

  There were gasps and cries of fear from the crowd.

  “Yes! And that’s what killed Sir Henry,” cried Mrs Gibbs, nodding vehemently. “I told him not to go on Dead Man’s Walk but he wouldn’t listen to me. Oh, I knew something terrible would happen to him—I knew it! And then this morning, when I heard that he was dead, I just knew that the Black Shuck had got him.” She leaned forwards and waved a finger. “The Widow Mags as good as murdered him!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “THAT’S RUBBISH!” Caitlyn burst out.

  Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at her. Caitlyn suddenly found herself facing a circle of hostile faces. Evie drew closer, eyeing the crowd nervously.

  “Caitlyn… don’t…” she whimpered.

  Caitlyn ignored her and said in a loud voice: “The Widow Mags has nothing to do with Sir Henry’s murder… and anyway, the police aren’t even sure it’s murder. They still think he could have died from natural causes—”

  “There was nothing natural about Sir Henry’s death,” said Mrs Gibbs grimly. “Just as there was nothing natural about the death last weekend. I don’t care what the police say—we know the truth: they were both killed by the Black Shuck!” She turned and pointed to the teenage boy. “And we have a witness here who saw the Widow Mags conjuring the demon hound.”

  “You don’t know if that’s what he saw,” said Caitlyn. “It might have been something else completely—”

  “Are you saying my boy is a liar?” demanded the dark-haired woman.

  “No! Of course not… just… well, maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he got confused—”

  “I know what I saw,” insisted the boy. “I saw that evil witch doing black magic.”

  “She’s not an evil witch!” Caitlyn said hotly.

  “What is she then?” said Mrs Gibbs. She gave a contemptuous sniff. “Are you going to tell us that she’s a ‘good witch’?”

  “She’s… she’s…” Caitlyn faltered, not knowing what to say. Her grandmother and Bertha had always made it clear that they had no wish to “come out” to the rest of the village. Sure, there were gossip and rumours—and even the occasional “magical incident” that got a bit out of hand—but they had always avoided openly acknowledging their witch heritage. To the world at large, Bertha was still just a herbalist and the Widow Mags was just a—rather eccentric—chocolatier. Caitlyn didn’t feel that it was her place to reveal their true identities. But she couldn’t bring herself to deny it either; to do so seemed like a betrayal of her grandmother’s integrity and her own heritage—as if the truth was something to be ashamed of.

  “Why are you defending the Widow Mags anyway?” asked the dark-haired woman. “What’s she to you? You’re not even from here—you only came a few months ago. We don’t need outsiders meddling in our business.”

  “She’s the Widow Mags’
s granddaughter!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd. “Her long-lost granddaughter from America.”

  There were loud whispers and murmurs going around the crowd now and Caitlyn felt even more hostile gazes trained on her.

  The dark-haired woman narrowed her eyes. “Is that true?”

  Caitlyn raised her chin. “Yes, it’s true. The Widow Mags is my grandmother.”

  “So that’s why you’re defending her!” Mrs Gibbs hissed. “Because you’re a witch too!”

  Caitlyn took a step back. “I—”

  “I beg your pardon?” came an icy voice.

  They turned to see the tall figure of James Fitzroy at the back of the crowd. The villagers parted respectfully as he strode into the circle, and a sense of calm slowly replaced the previous atmosphere of hysteria. Mrs Gibbs looked at him eagerly and said:

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Lord Fitzroy! This girl is—”

  “I’m well aware of Miss Le Fey’s relationship with the Widow Mags,” said James, his voice cold with anger. “I also heard what you said to her and I find it reprehensible that you should treat her in such a hostile manner.”

  Mrs Gibbs looked taken aback. “But… if she’s a witch—”