A Wedding to Die For- Wedding Bells and Magic Spells

by A. R. Winters

  Mister? It seemed my Southern accent had also made my pitch head south.

  “That’s Miss Whitmore, bless your heart,” I said, trying to sound angry, which was easy because it was genuine.

  “I do apologize,” she said, actually sounding contrite. “We’ll look forward to seeing you shortly.”

  I grinned to myself. “Yes. See y’all in a minute.”

  It was with a smile and a hint of cockiness to my step that I re-entered.

  “Good morning!” I said.

  “Oh. Hello again, I just tol—”

  “I have an appointment with the mayor at 9:15. About some property. The name’s Whitmore.” I said, in my normal voice. “Y’all should be expecting me,” I finished in Southern.

  The secretary gave me a glare which lasted a solid ten seconds—an achingly long time in this kind of situation—before finally admitting defeat.

  “You can go through,” she announced, not hiding the irritation in her voice.

  “Thank you kindly!” I said as I breezed past her.

  Feeling really rather pleased with myself I marched into Donovan Charlston’s office. He was sitting in a large, high-backed chair, behind a massive antique desk.

  “Oh,” he said when I walked in.

  “Hello, Donovan,” I said.

  “I was expecting someone else,” he said, and I saw him reaching toward the intercom.

  “Oh? I told your secretary exactly who I was over the phone. She must have got the wrong end of the stick,” I said with a charming smile.

  The mayor frowned down at his desk before looking at me again. He took off the glasses that I knew he wore to appear more intelligent (thanks, Mom!) and looked at me for several seconds before speaking again.

  “You’re here to talk about property?” Donovan’s tone was incredibly skeptical.

  I nodded. “Yes. I heard that the Cypress Estate was going to be auctioned off. Is that right?”

  The mayor’s eyebrows slowly rose and he gave me a curious look. “Yes, that’s right. I didn’t know you were interested in property though. Your mother never mentioned it.”

  “No? Well, I’m sure she will,” I said smiling at Donovan.

  “Well then, have a seat, have a seat,” he said, motioning toward a pair of large padded chairs that sat in front of his important-person desk.

  I made my way over and sat in one of the large, comfy seats. It almost made me feel important too, sitting in the fancy chair in the mayor’s office.

  “Let’s try this again,” I told him. “I heard the Cypress Estate was going to be auctioned off. Is that right?”

  “It certainly is,” said Donovan with a confirming nod. “In two weeks it’ll be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

  “It’s moving very quickly, isn’t it? He only just died.”

  “It may seem quick, but it’s actually not. In fact, his death put a bit of a wrench in the works. The property was going to be auctioned off anyway. Davenport hadn’t been paying his taxes and we were going to have to seize it to recoup what he owes.”

  “I see. Do you know what’s going to happen to his belongings? His furniture, personal items, wedding dress—”

  “Wedding dress?” said the mayor with a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice.

  “Not his,” I said. “He had an old wedding dress that he was going to give me. It was his wife’s.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know about that. But since he had no heirs or dependents, the contents are going to be auctioned off or given to charity. Are you thinking of bidding at the auction, then?”

  I could see his devious mind working, his brow wrinkling and his hands rubbing together. The more people who bid on the house, the more likely it was to sell for a higher price and earn the city more money.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps,” I said thoughtfully as if I was mentally tallying up my massive investment portfolio which of course didn’t exist. “I guess the city is going to make a lot of money from his death, right?”

  Donovan frowned. People who are obsessed with money are often embarrassed when attention is drawn to it.

  “There will be a small windfall, yes. Of course the most important thing is that property taxes will be paid again. Despite being grandfathered into a ridiculously low property tax, Davenport hadn’t paid it in years. In fact, I must warn you, you’re not the only person interested. There’s a builder from San Francisco who’s interested in developing it. Not just buying the house, but demolishing it and building a large resort. It’s a great bit of land that’ll really bring in a lot of money for the city in the future if it all goes through.”

  “It might be hard to compete with a developer at the auction,” I said with a frown.

  He nodded at me. “Yes, I imagine it will be. Sequoia Bay has a lot of potential, and if the resort goes through… well, who knows! The sky’s the limit. Perhaps it’ll be the first of many. We could become a real tourism hub. Goodbye, Sleepy Sequoia Bay and hello, Super Sequoia Bay.”

  I was taken aback by the mayor’s enthusiasm.

  It seemed I’d tapped into what was driving him these days. The little spiel he’d just given me sounded like one he’d give to investors—or developers.

  “I think the small-town charm of Sequoia Bay is part of its, well, its appeal,” I said. “Don’t you think adding a resort will ruin the community we have here?”

  He shook his head. “Nonsense! We’re a dormant volcano ready to explode! With a bit more investment, we’ll start attracting a few big companies too. Imagine our downtown with a Starbucks, a McDonalds, and a Subway. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Turn us into a real thriving city.”

  The mayor had a manic glint in his eye now.

  Did he really think bringing in all those franchises would improve the town, I wondered, or was he just saying that because of all the potential tax revenue? What else did he want? A discount bridal chain to put me out of business too?

  “It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” I said to him.

  “Oh yes, years and years. That’s why I became mayor. You know, there’s so much potential here. But instead, this town wastes it all with its old-fashioned downtown and silly little no-name shops and businesses. We don’t even have traffic jams here! The biggest building is four stories tall, and that’s a house!”

  His face had become quite red and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “Will making the town bigger and busier make us happier?” I asked him.

  “Make us… what?” he asked in confusion. My question had come from an angle he didn’t expect.

  “Happier. Will bringing in all these new businesses and people make us all happier?”

  “Money, Aria, money. It makes the world go around!”

  Tapping my fingers against my chin, I frowned. While what he said was somewhat true, us witches know that balance is also very important. In life, just like in magic, if you focus too much on one area at the cost of neglecting others, you throw everything out of whack.

  It doesn’t matter if you’re a person or a community, without balance, unhappiness will ensue.

  “Was Fletcher Davenport killed for money, Donovan?” I asked him.

  Our eyes met and locked. His expression turned stern.

  “What are you insinuating?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. “It just seems the town may end up with a lot of money, thanks to the death of Fletcher.”

  “Coincidence! A silver lining on a black cloud!”

  I rose quickly to my feet, the chair sliding back with a loud grating sound, and slapped my two palms on the desk and leaned in.

  “Donovan. Did you kill Fletcher to get money for the city?”

  His eyes boggled and for a moment he opened and closed his mouth like a confused fish. He stood up and placed his head right in front of mine.

  “What did you ask me?” His voice was low, hard and cold with anger.

  “You heard me. F
letcher is dead and all your focus is on how the town is going to profit from it!”

  “Unbelievable! This is an outrageous accusation!”

  “It was a question, not an accusation,” I said softly.

  “I know exactly what it was and I’ve had just about enough. From what I’ve heard, you’re the suspect around here, not me. Get out of here at once!”

  We stared at each other for a few more seconds before I pulled myself up straight and turned to leave.

  “Just wait until your mother hears about this!”

  Oh boy, that's all I needed.

  He was going to tell Mom and she was going to... well, it wouldn’t be pretty, that was for certain.

  “Good going, Aria,” I said to myself on the way out. “Great job.”

  Chapter 21

  When I got back to the shop, Kiwi was sitting on the counter like he really was guarding the place.

  “Did he confess?” he asked me with a little hop of excitement.

  I shook my head. “Don’t ask.”

  “I’m asking.”

  After closing the door behind me, I walked over to the counter and leaned on it with my elbows.

  “I kind of asked him whether he killed Fletcher.”

  “What did he say?” asked Kiwi, now walking in small circles atop the counter with excitement.

  “Umm. Well, he didn’t take too kindly to that question.”

  “No?” Kiwi stopped pacing and turned his head to the side.

  “Yeah. It turns out people don’t like it when you ask if they’re a murderer. I guess I should have been a bit more subtle.”

  “Oh well. Who cares?” said Kiwi, followed by a chitter of encouragement.

  I laughed. “Who cares indeed. It’s only the mayor, the most important man in—”

  Ding!

  The front door swung open violently and hit the back stopper with a thud. Lately it felt like I was working in a Wild West saloon instead of what should have been a genteel bridal shop.

  Even though I knew exactly who it was going to be, I had hope that it wouldn’t actually be her.

  I squeezed my eyes tight shut. As I turned toward the door, I was wishing hard that it would be someone else there when I opened them.

  “Aria!”

  I opened them.

  Didn’t work.

  “Hi, Mom!” I said in mock enthusiasm.

  “Don’t ‘hi, Mom’ me, Aria Whitmore.”

  “How are you today?” I asked her with an innocent look on my face.

  “And don’t give me that either. You’ve got some explaining to do, missy.”

  “Oh?”

  Mom did not look happy. Her eyes were narrowed and her face tight, and it wasn’t just from all the surgery.

  “Donovan—that’s Mayor Charlston to you—tells me that you’ve been to his office today.”

  I nodded. “I did drop by, yes,”

  “He says you accused him of murdering Fletcher Davenport.”

  I gulped. “Would you like some tea Mom?”

  She didn’t answer that question. She was still stuck on the mayor for some reason.

  “Why would you go and do something like that?”

  “It just... came out. It seems like the police are no closer to solving who killed Fletcher, Mom. My business is suffering. So I’m just talking to a few people. And you’ve got to admit, the mayor stands to gain a lot from the death, doesn’t he?”

  Mother stood with her hands on her hips, her head shaking.

  “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?” she said with a sigh, seemingly talking to herself now.

  “What is?” I asked her. I was growing suspicious. Mom usually had a way to make anything happening about herself, and it didn’t seem that this time was any different.

  “The reason you’re doing this,” she said.

  I muttered something under my breath. I hated it when mother was coy.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well,” she said and I knew that finally she was going to explain. “You’re jealous.”

  Now that came out of left field.

  “I... am...?”

  “You are.”

  “Of...?”

  “Of Donovan. And me. You’re jealous I’m spending so much time with him. You’re jealous I’m paying him attention, instead of you. Isn’t that right?”

  Ugh. Nope. That was not right in the slightest.

  If anything, I was pleased that Mom was spending her time with Donovan. When she’s single, and decides to spend more time with me, things don’t always go smoothly. I can deal with her in small doses—just about—but when she’s in full-time mothering mode? That’s too much.

  “I’m not jealous, Mom. I’m worried about my business, and we need to know what happened to poor old Fletcher!”

  “You see,” said Mom, completely ignoring what I’d just told her, “at your age, you should be starting to focus on your own love life. I know it’s hard being single, but—”

  “Mom! It’s not that!” I slapped my hand down on the counter, making Kiwi jump with a squawk. He hopped away and flew on top of the bookcase to watch the action from above.

  “Shh. Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to you. When you get to be your age, you should be with a man of your own. You shouldn’t be getting upset and start interfering with your mother’s love life.”

  “Look, Mom,” I told her, “it’s not that. Honestly. I couldn’t be happier for you and Donovan. Really! In fact, I think it’s good for you to be with someone!” Because it stops you from bothering me quite so much is what I should have added. “That’s not why I was at his office. Not at all.”

  I paused to make sure she was listening to me. Surprisingly, she was.

  “But don’t you think it’s odd, Mom, that Donovan is the one who has the most to gain from the death of Fletcher Davenport, but no one seems to even consider him as a suspect?”

  Mom blew out a blast of frustrated air from between pursed lips.

  “No, Aria! He’s the mayor. He’s an upstanding citizen. He’s a good man! He’s not under suspicion because he’s above suspicion. What in magic’s name do you think he would have to gain from the death of Fletcher?”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “What would he have to gain? How about property taxes from the Cypress Estate for the first time in years? How about a developer building a large resort and bringing a ton more money into the town? How about his chance to put Sequoia Bay ‘on the map,’ despite what us residents might wish?”

  Mother shook her head at me. “You’ve got him all wrong, Aria. He only wants what’s best for the town—”

  “—Because it’s best for him,” I said, interrupting.

  “That’s as may be. But that’s how the world works, Aria. He may be acting in the town’s interests because it also works for his interests, but you’ve got to understand, that’s how people are, dear. They need motivation to do good things. And that’s what he’s trying to do, with this possible resort development—help Sequoia Bay. Sure, it helps him too, but that’s not why he’s doing it!”

  I muttered something. Maybe she was right.

  Donovan was a little self-obsessed, quite arrogant, and had big visions. Maybe he really did just want what was best for the town, and this whole murder thing was just a coincidence.

  “Do you really trust him, Mom?”

  She shrugged.

  I couldn’t stop myself. I laughed. “That’s not very convincing...”

  “I trust that he’s not a murderer, Aria. But you asked whether I trust him, that’s a slightly different question.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, he is a man after all.”

  We both giggled.

  Mom had had a rather disastrous relationship history that left her with a somewhat jaded view of approximately half the population of the planet. Actually, she had a somewhat jaded view of pretty much the entire population of the planet, but ‘men’ were by far the largest group she si
ngled out as targets for her cynicism.

  Mom glanced toward the counter of the shop. “What you need is some lavender tea to stop you worrying. Or maybe chamomile. Or—”

  “Or that mix we put together, remember?” I said with a laugh.

  Mom laughed too. A few months ago we’d dried and mixed together some lavender and chamomile flowers and just a little touch of magic to make an incredibly calming tea blend. I normally only broke that out when a regular cup of lavender or chamomile wasn’t enough—this was for heavy duty situations.

  “Why don’t you make us both some? What with you and Donovan both causing trouble, I’m feeling quite flustered myself.”

  I set some water to boil using an electric kettle that I kept in the shop just for this purpose. I didn’t want to set up a whole stove in there, but I did find I needed water for tea or other purposes somewhat frequently.

  Ding!

  The bell rang again while I was opening the herbal tea mix container. Thankfully, it was a quiet-opener this time.

  “Oh, hello!” my mother said.

  “Hello!”

  I looked up to see mother eyeing up Margaret Honeywell. Great. Just what I needed, another troublemaker.

  “Actually, Aria,” Mother said, “I just remembered something. I’ll come back for the tea later.”

  Mother quickly exited the shop, leaving me alone with Margaret Honeywell.

  While I hadn’t been actively avoiding her, I hadn’t been keen to see her. Not after Priscilla had told me that Mrs. Honeywell was going around telling people that I was under suspicion of murder.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Honeywell,” I said with my regular level of politeness but a lot cooler than usual.

  There was a loud screeching from Kiwi up on the bookcase. “Witch! Witch!”

  I frowned up at him.

  “Yes, I am,” I said to him. “Why don’t you go amuse yourself somewhere else?” I made a waving motion to shoo him away.

  I had told him before about using witch as a pejorative, but he didn’t seem to get it, even after I repeatedly pointed out to him that I was a witch, and he liked me. And he was a witch’s familiar.

  But despite my best efforts, he still occasionally took it upon himself to screech out witch at women who annoyed him.