by Ami Diane
After taking a shaky breath, she decided to lay her cards on the table. “I guess I was, in a way. But I was after a particular potion. I didn’t really know about the book. Arlene and I had been corresponding over email and message boards, as you know.”
Marge nodded, glancing up from near the ground. “You were helping her with her soil, yeah?”
“Yes. And in exchange… it started as an offhand comment. I was battling a deep depression. I was angry.” Libby’s fists clenched at the memory, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “So angry. She saw me through the worst of it.”
“Why were you so angry?”
Libby unfolded her hands and pressed her palms into her legs. “My mother was murdered about six months ago, and the police haven’t done a damn thing to catch the killer. No leads. No witnesses. Nothing.”
A single tear that had been threatening to escape finally broke free. Marge stood as still as an oak, her eyes never wavering from Libby.
Swallowing, Libby continued, “When I mentioned this to Arlene, not only did she comfort me, was angry for me, but she let slip that she could help.”
“Help how?”
“She asked if there’d been any witnesses to the murder. I’d said none, but then she pressed and asked if my mother had had any pets.”
Marge set aside the containers of samples and sank to a log. “Orchid?”
“Yeah. At first, I thought it was a strange question and that she was just some cooky woman on a computer. But she insinuated that there may be a way to find out what the cat had seen. It was crazy. Nuts. But I was desperate.”
“Arlene could be rather convincing.”
Libby dropped to the log beside Marge, a gulf of wood and moss between them. “I know she worked hard on it for months. Then one day, she gave me the great news. Said she’d done it. We set up a time to meet a week later. But before we could, she died of a heart attack.”
Marge swiped a finger beneath her eye. “She was always thinking of others.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m not the only one hurting. And it’s selfish of me to think I am.”
Marge reached over and patted Libby’s knee. “Not selfish. Human.”
They stared out at the moonlit landscape, at the tops of the trees limned in silver.
Marge broke the stillness. “Arlene mentioned she’d been working on a very important potion, had called it a ‘breakthrough in the field’. Perhaps that’s what she’d been referring to. Although, I can’t say that’s really groundbreaking, no offense.” Her voice came out strained as if she held something back.
After a few more minutes, they climbed to their feet. Marge brushed the dirt off of her rhinestone-encrusted backside. “I’ll help you with the potion.”
“I thought potionists didn’t share recipes?” Libby had meant it as a wry, sardonic question, but Marge didn’t crack a smile.
“You don’t have to share it. Just come to me with whatever part you’re struggling with, and we’ll work through it together. You’re not alone, Red. You’re going to find your mother’s killer, and I’m going to help you do it.”
“Thank you,” Libby whispered around her tight throat. “And my hair’s auburn.”
CHAPTER 8
LIBBY PULLED UP in front of Mother Nature’s Apothecary around ten o’clock the next day. Tired from a late night foraging for salamanders followed by several hours of tossing and turning in her bed, she grabbed her thermos filled with piping hot coffee and stepped out into the cool ocean breeze.
Overhead, scant, fluffy clouds drifted across a rare blue sky, teasing of an aging spring despite the temperature. She huddled into her jacket and stepped into the natural apothecary.
Before Marge had dropped her off at home around one o’clock in the morning, she’d asked Libby to come in and help organize her office. When Libby had asked why she didn’t have Julie do it, the woman had laughed nervously and said she’d learned her lesson the first time she’d asked for the assistant’s organizing help. Whatever that meant.
Inside the shop, the young employee was in her usual reclined posture, feet on the cashier desk, magazine in hand. Her teeth gleamed with a wide grin as she greeted Libby.
Across the shop, the spiky-haired apothecary was currently occupied with a customer, discussing the merits of capsules of St. John’s wort for depression. She motioned for Libby to go on back.
As she moved towards the hallway, Libby’s eyes snagged on a bright red puddle beside the desk, looking very much like a scene from a horror movie. Her heart leaped to her throat before she spotted a tipped bottle of nail polish on top of the counter.
“Uh, Julie. I don’t suppose you were painting your nails recently?”
“How did you know?” Julie’s eyes grew as big as sand dollars.
“Because it’s all over the floor.”
After helping her mop up the mess with tissues, Libby slipped back to Marge’s office to wait for her. She dropped her purse on a chair and took stock of the room, this time with a scrutinizing gaze. Without knowing what kind of organizing Marge wanted help with, she couldn’t really dig in.
As she stared at a collection of apothecary jars—holding either cotton balls or tongue suppressors—her mind drifted to the two unsolved murders in her life as it did anytime her mind wasn’t occupied.
There was no way to know for certain if Orchid had been nearby when her mother had been killed. All of this might be pointless if the feline hadn’t witnessed anything.
She inclined her head. Well, not pointless, necessarily. Whatever came of her impending questioning of the Norwegian Forest cat, she had at least made a new friend and been exposed to a thrilling secret world.
As it turned out, potion making was fun and exhilarating—infernos included. Well, maybe the fires weren’t fun so much as exciting in an I-don’t-want-to-die kind of way.
Her thoughts turned to the more recent murder of the real estate agent. Had Arlene’s secret life gotten Mr. Waters killed?
She bit her lip, chewing over the question she’d asked herself multiple times. Without knowing his personal life, it was the only plausible motive.
The door opened, and Marge walked in, a silver shawl swirling around her like a phantom. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
“Just thinking.” Libby rubbed the bags under her eyes.
“Didn’t get much sleep, huh?” Marge’s chair groaned as she sat and leaned back, regarding Libby. She certainly had that eagle-eyed, maternal gaze down pat.
“Not really. I tried your… medicine you gave me, but it didn’t work.”
Marge seemed nonplussed by this. “I do have to dilute my medicines some,” she said, emphasizing the word the way Libby had. “Otherwise, if they were too effective, people might start asking questions.”
Leaning forward, she folded her hands on the desk. “But that’s not why it didn’t work for you. Tell me, have you always had trouble sleeping?”
Libby shook her head.
“When did it start?”
Taking her time to respond, Libby searched through the annals of her memory and said slowly, “About late October or early November last year.”
“Around the time your mother died?”
Libby didn’t have to confirm this. She pressed a thin smile. “Are you a counselor now, too?”
“Lord, no. Just a concerned friend. That Sleeping Beauty potion only works on natural causes for sleep disruption. It’s useless if the cause is emotional or psychological.”
“Then I guess there’s no hope of sleeping well until I catch my mother’s killer.”
The older woman shot her a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to wait so long. Broken hearts can mend if we let them.”
Libby thought the wise sentiment a bit hypocritical coming from a woman who’d just stink bombed her ex-husband’s house, but before she had a chance to respond, Marge let out a loud breath, brooking no further discussion of the subject.
“Alright, so I need
help mostly organizing these order forms.” She motioned towards the surface of her desk.
Libby stared at the Mt. Everest-sized stack of papers.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Marge said, her tone defensive, then all levity left. “It wasn’t so bad when Arlene worked here. She did most of the inventory and paperwork. I was more of the face of the shop.” She adjusted her shawl.
“Arlene worked here?”
“We started the apothecary together. It’s the best guise for using our skill set to help others.”
Libby understood. As a bonus, the duo had managed to find a way to get paid doing what they loved, which was also admirable. She didn’t have a potion-making skill set—yet. But sooner or later, her mother’s money would run out, and she would have to start searching for work.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” Marge’s voice wavered. “Considering the business side of our friendship alone… sure, I could hire someone to help, but our inventory, we supplied most of the stock from our greenhouses. And the potions we made ourselves. Quite a few of our more popular items were potions prepared by Arlene.
“Some of it, I buy from other society members. I’d never tell Gladys this, but her Earwax Dissolution is much better than mine. ” She looked up hopefully. “If you take over making Arlene’s potions, I’ll pay.”
Libby practically leaped at the prospect before reality set in. “I have to get better first. I’ll put in double time, training, learning, and memorizing recipes. But I don’t think I should help until I can go a full week in the lab without setting something on fire.”
Marge puffed out her cheeks with a breath. “Good luck with that. I don’t know a potionist who does. Not if they want to innovate or hone their craft.”
“Well, that’s encouraging.” Libby made a mental note to make sure her fire extinguisher tag was current, then she added, buy a second extinguisher, to the list.
Roughly five minutes into organizing the forms by date, her ennui had lifted, due in large part by drinking the rest of her coffee. While they were attacking a teetering pile of receipts, Julie sauntered in and asked if they wanted anything before she left.
Marge straightened, stretching her back. “Are you making a coffee run?”
The young clerk’s face scrunched in confusion. “No, I’m going home.”
“Are you feeling ill?”
“No… it’s five o’ clock.”
Both Marge and Libby looked down at their watches.
“It’s not even lunchtime,” Libby said.
“Is it really?” Julie’s already round eyes grew larger still, threatening to pop out of her skull.
Marge released a long-suffering sigh. “What time does your phone say, dear?”
Julie’s hand retrieved the device from her back pocket. “How about that? Do you mind if I take an early lunch, then?”
“Sure. It’s usually dead Thursdays, anyway.” Marge waved the gal out but stopped her in the doorway. “When you get back, maybe change out the battery in the clock out front. I have a feeling it’s dead.”
“What makes you think that?”
Marge didn’t blink for several seconds. “No reason.”
Once the sound of Julie’s heels clicking over the floor faded, Libby said in a low voice, “She’s okay, right? I mean, upstairs. She’s all there?” She pointed to her head in case it wasn’t clear what she meant.
“She’s smart. Got straight A’s all through school, but she’s just always had her head in the clouds.” She shrugged. “Once you get used to it, it’s kind of endearing.”
“Sure. In a she-accidentally-put-poison-in-our-elixirs kind of way.”
Marge didn’t argue.
Nearly a pain-staking hour later, with the apothecary ducking out every ten minutes to help customers, nearly all of the paperwork had been filed. The sound of the front door opening echoed down the hallway.
“Hello?” a voice called out.
“On my way,” Marge called out before climbing out of her chair, grimacing slightly from the effort. “Julie should be back by now.”
“I’ll finish up here,” Libby said as the older potionist slipped out of the room.
Opening a file drawer, she worked the last, thick stack of receipts into the folder for 2019. A hysteric voice rose from the front of the shop. Whoever had walked in was having a bad day.
Marge’s voice, her tone soothing, drifted down the hallway. “Why don’t you come back here, Caroline?”
A moment later, both Marge and another lady stepped into the cramped office.
“Here, dear. Sit down.” Marge escorted the lady to a chair, and Libby hurriedly cleared it of legal pads, pens, and cat figurines they’d set there while cleaning.
The woman Libby assumed was named Caroline dropped into the vacated seat and sniffled, a tissue held at the ready in front of her eyes. “I-I’m just so scared.”
Libby recognized her as the potionist Stacy had been conversing with at the PMS meeting the day before.
“I’ll have to start all over,” Caroline blubbered. “What little they left behind isn’t salvageable. My dried stair-step moss is crushed to powder. Powder! And the preserved salmon eggs are as shriveled as prunes. Do you realize how long it took me to amass my collection? Years.” The last word was choked out in a wail.
Marge patted a comforting hand on the woman’s back. Libby was just about to edge for the door, not wanting to intrude on the personal matter, when the apothecary looked over Caroline’s head and explained, “Her ingredient pantry was broken into and ransacked.”
Caroline glanced up between sobs, seeming to notice Libby for the first time. Recognition flickered behind her eyes before she buried her face in her tissue once again.
“That’s awful,” Libby said. “I’m so sorry. Who would do something like that?”
“Who else?” Caroline spat. “The AWC. They’ve really crossed the line this time.”
“We don’t know for sure it was them.” Despite her words, however, Marge’s expression said she held her own doubts.
Putting herself in Caroline’s shoes, Libby imagined how she’d feel if her lab had been broken into—a secret that was only a few days old for her and had really belonged to another. She’d feel violated and exposed. “How would the AWC even know where you stored your ingredients?”
Marge shoved another tissue into the sobbing woman’s hands. “Remember how I told you they stalk our members? I wasn’t exaggerating. We can’t confirm this for sure, but based on anecdotal evidence, each coalition member is assigned to a potionist in PMS to keep tabs on, all in hopes of gathering evidence and catching us in the act.”
“Are you saying each society member has our very own stalker?”
Marge’s head bobbed.
Libby’s stomach clenched at the thought. Slowly, she lowered herself to the chair beside Caroline, right on top of a pile of pens she’d planned on sorting through. She ignored them. “Did they take anything?”
The woman’s hysterical sobs had subsided to shudders and the occasional sniffle. She blew her nose, the noise wet, causing Libby to look away to hide her disgust.
“Sure. Some herbs. Powders. A few preserved specimens.”
Libby looked to Marge for help and saw the woman’s eyes narrow in concentration. They hadn’t known each other longer than a week, but she knew the apothecary was wondering the same thing she was.
Extending a yellow legal pad, Marge said in the gentlest of tones, “Would you mind making a list of what they took, Caroline?”
“What for? It’s not like I can tell the police.”
“Because it might give us more information.”
“Maybe it’s a random act of violence from the AWC,” Libby supplied, “but sometimes there’s knowledge to be gained in the details.”
Caroline’s lids lowered slowly in a resigned manner as she took the pad. “What could it hurt?”
“That’s the spirit.” Libby shot Caroline a
finger gun before promptly dropping her hand at the glare from Marge. “I mean, can I get you a pen?” Reaching beneath her, she fished out one of the ones she’d sat on and offered it up. Caroline took it from her, but not without hesitation.
Soon, the ensuing silence was filled with the scratching of a ballpoint pen over paper and sniffles.
After Caroline left, Julie returned, sporting a different outfit than the one she’d had on before. Her presence in the shop gave Libby and Marge time to look over Caroline’s list without interruption.
They settled at the apothecary’s desk, heads close together as they scanned Caroline’s chicken scratch.
Marge was the more experienced potionist, a fact Libby readily admitted.
“Is there a rhyme or reason to these ingredients to you?”
A crease formed between the woman’s brows. “Not really. It’s similar to what’s called for in a recipe I have for invisibility, but that doesn’t mean much. Sometimes, the slightest change of ingredient can result in a vastly different outcome, especially if the ingredient is in the top notes.”
“Could it be—hold up. There’s a potion for invisibility? More importantly, what do I have to bribe you with to get a bottle?” Libby’s mind went ballistic with the myriad of applications for this potion. Namely Halloween. She rubbed her hands together, smiling with what she was sure was a maniacal grin. “Hello, candy corn.”
One of Marge’s eyebrows rose in an expression that said she was questioning Libby’s sanity.
Libby dropped her hands back to her sides. “So, it’s probable that this was just a random act of sabotage by the coalition.”
“It’s possible. But….” Marge shook her head.
“What is it?”
“Last week, someone broke-in here. The front door was jimmied open. Whoever it was didn’t touch anything except my potion cabinet.”
Libby frowned. “Did they take anything?”
“No, that’s what’s strange. Everything was out of sorts like they’d been looking for something, and the cabinet was left unlocked, but nothing was taken.”
“How do you know it wasn’t Julie?”
“Because I asked.”
