“Not yet,” I said. “I’d heard about a fight between the two of you and wanted to ask you about it.”
She laughed—a deep, throaty laugh that would have suggested cigarette smoking if that had existed in Spellbound. “Which day of the week?”
“You fought a lot?”
She crossed the room and began tidying up music books. “Why do you think we ended our engagement?”
“I was told it was because you each refused to move into the other’s house.”
Alison smiled gently. “That was part of it, sure. The other part was that we fought all the time. Fighting with someone day in and day out is exhausting, especially when you’re immortal.” She sighed and stared into space. “Eternity seems mighty long when you’re tied to the wrong person.”
“Did you love him?” I asked.
She rounded on me. “Of course I loved him! He was the kindest, most intelligent…” She stopped, struggling not to cry. “Gareth was wonderful and I still miss him, but I know we made the right call.”
“Has he dated anyone else since you ended your engagement?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“So the fight in the bookstore,” I prompted. “Do you remember what that was about?”
Alison shrugged. “No idea. If I had to guess, I would say it was over the books. We had different taste in reading material, you see. He preferred gothic romance and I like epic adventures with a lot of death and destruction.”
Go figure.
“Thanks for your time,” I said. “If I find anything of yours, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” I made a move for the door when she spoke again.
“So what’s your take on Mumford?” she asked.
I stopped and turned to face her. “What about him?”
“Do you think he’s guilty of stealing those jewels?”
Guilty? Did anyone in town think Mumford was guilty other than the sheriff? “I can’t really discuss it. Confidentiality and all.”
“Gareth used to say that, too,” she said wistfully. “He seemed to have changed his tune about Mumford, though.”
“What makes you say that?” I didn’t see anything in the files that suggested Gareth disbelieved him.
“Nothing specific,” she replied. “It’s just that he’d been anxious to get the trial over and done with so Mumford could get back to his life. Then suddenly, he seemed to be trying to slow things down. I ran into him at the Enchanted Garden not long before he died.” She paused, remembering. “He was looking at azaleas and I bought a tomato plant. Anyway, he seemed upset so I asked him about it. He’d apparently argued with Mumford earlier that day. Whatever they discussed was still bothering him.”
“He didn’t tell you what it was?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. I was always a little bent out of shape when I ran into Gareth unexpectedly. Part of me wanted to drag him home with me and the other part of me wanted to kick him in the shins and run away.”
She sounded so conflicted. My heart ached for her.
“Thanks for the information,” I said. No one else had mentioned an argument between Mumford and Gareth. Maybe it had something to do with the bite on Mumford’s neck.
“If I remember anything more, I’ll contact you,” she said.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Alison,” I said, and left.
Chapter Ten
I was relieved to be dealing with beakers instead of wands today. My wandwork wasn’t faring too well, so I embraced the possibility that potions would eventually be my true calling.
I sat between Laurel and Millie, as Ginger lectured us about the different types of potions.
“There are many more advanced potions, of course, but you won’t be introduced to those anytime soon.” Ginger stepped away from the desk and stood in front of the long table.
“What kind of advanced potions?” I asked. I liked that Ginger didn’t seem to mind my constant questions or failure to raise my hand. She was much more laid back than Lady Weatherby.
Ginger ticked off each one on a finger. “Death potions, clone potions, love potions…”
“Really?” I queried. “Love potions actually work?”
“It’s fairly complicated and there are other factors to consider, but yes,” Ginger replied. She rested her elbows on the table and smiled at me. “But from what I understand, you won’t be needing any help in that department, honey.”
“Demetrius Hunt winked at her,” Begonia complained. “Can you believe it? I’ve been dying for him to notice me.”
“Maybe that’s your problem,” Millie said. “You actually need to be dead to get his attention.”
“But Emma isn’t dead,” Begonia pointed out.
“She’s a novelty,” Ginger said. “All males like novelty once in a while. Trust me on that one. Right now, Emma is shiny and new. Every male in town will want to be first to get his fangs, or whatever, into her.”
I shuddered. It sounded so crude when she said it.
“Isn’t it possible that Demetrius just likes her?” Laurel asked.
Begonia patted her on the head. “You’re adorable.”
Laurel elbowed her in the ribs. “Don’t patronize me.”
Ginger clapped her hands. “All right. Let’s get back to potions before Lady Weatherby wanders in and turns us into eels.” She lined up three beakers in front of us. One with red liquid, one with silver liquid, and one with orange liquid. “In order to mix this potion correctly, the measurements must be precise. Who has the steadiest hand?”
“Begonia,” Sophie, Millie, and Laurel said in unison.
I knew it wasn’t me. My hands grew sweaty and shook from the mere act of thinking about doing something I didn’t want to do.
Begonia took center stage. “For this transformation potion, we need equal parts of each ingredient.” I watched closely as she measured and poured each liquid and placed it into a fresh beaker. It bubbled and fizzed as the liquids merged together.
“Now you need to focus your will and recite the incantation,” Ginger reminded her.
Begonia inhaled deeply and rubbed her hands together in an effort to focus. She waved a hand around the top of the container and muttered the relevant rhyme.
“Voila,” Begonia said, once she’d finished. “How do we test it?”
Ginger propped her butt cheek on the edge of the table. “We need a volunteer, of course.”
“Does it need to be one of us?” Millie asked. “Can’t we bring in a dwarf or something?”
Ginger flashed her a look of disapproval. “You know perfectly well that we’re not allowed to test our magic on outsiders.”
“I don’t want to be a frog,” Laurel complained. “I don’t even like frogs.”
“Maybe she didn’t choose a frog,” I said. “Maybe this potion will turn you into a fluffy bunny.”
Laurel looked askance at Ginger. “Would I be a fluffy bunny?”
“Only one way to find out,” Ginger replied.
Laurel snatched the container from in front of Begonia. “Fine. I’ll be the test case today.” She drank every drop of the resulting brownish liquid. It looked far less appealing all mixed together.
We backed away from Laurel, watching for signs of transformation. It happened fairly quickly. Her arms and legs shriveled and shrunk and her head turned green before doing the same.
My hands covered my mouth. On the stool sat an adorable green frog. Her tongue darted out and snatched in a fly.
“Ooh,” Begonia said, and wrinkled her nose. “Let’s not tell her about the fly.”
“Won’t she remember being in her frog state?” I asked.
“Actually, she will remember, but she’s acting on instinct now,” Ginger said. “So we’ll just not rub her nose in it, okay?” She looked pointedly at the other three witches and they nodded in agreement.
“So how do we get her back?” I asked. “Does the frog need to drink a potion?” That seemed a difficult task.
“No,” Ginger said. “Basic transformation spells are limited in time and scope. Begonia mixed this one to only last for two minutes and thirty seconds.”
“It’s that exact?” I queried.
Ginger glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wait and see.”
Sure enough, Laurel returned to us in her human form at the allotted time. She rubbed her mouth furiously and made gagging noises.
“Drink,” she demanded. “I need to wash away the taste of fly.”
I stifled a laugh.
Ginger summoned a glass of water with her wand and handed it to Laurel. “If you need something stronger, just ask.”
“Something to get rid of the germs would be nice,” Laurel said. “I don’t care how bad it tastes. The thought of a fly pooping in my mouth is too disgusting for words.”
The other girls burst into laughter and I couldn’t resist joining in.
“So when would you use a potion like this?” I asked. And how? Did witches walk around with a string of vials attached to their belts?
“You wouldn’t use it in your daily life, obviously,” Ginger said. “You can’t go around using magic willy nilly in Spellbound.”
“What about in self-defense?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” Ginger said. “Although your wand is always your best defense. Potions aren’t as efficient, for obvious reasons.” Ginger stopped talking and glanced over our heads. “Speaking of regulations, here’s our lovely sheriff now.” Her lips formed a tight smile and I got the impression that she wasn’t a fan of Sheriff Hugo.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the sheriff said. “May I please have a word with Miss Hart?”
Ginger’s brow lifted. “Something the coven can help you with, Sheriff?”
“No, this is a matter between Miss Hart and me.”
That didn’t sound good. I rose from my stool and met the sheriff at the back of the classroom. He crooked a finger at me and I followed him into the hallway.
“How can I help you, Sheriff?” I asked.
“You can’t help me,” he said. “So please stop trying.” He sounded as irritated as he looked.
“It’s my job to help Mumford…” I began.
“I’m not talking about Mumford,” he spat. “I’m talking about your interrogation of Spellbound citizens. You went to see Darcy Minor about the calendar.”
“She’s my neighbor,” I said. “I figured it was a good opportunity to meet her and ask a few questions.”
“It’s not your job to ask questions,” he said firmly. “I also have it on good authority that you went to the church to speak with Myra. Why?”
I ground the tip of my shoe into the floor. “I was interested in seeing the inside of a church in Spellbound. Is that a crime?”
Sheriff Hugo bent over so that we were nearly nose-to-nose. “Don’t push me, Miss Hart. I am telling you right now to keep your wand out of my investigation.”
“My wand?” I echoed. I’d only just gotten my wand.
He heaved an exasperated sigh. “It’s an expression, Miss Hart.”
Oh.
“Promise me you will cease and desist all activities related to the murder investigation.”
Bite me. I held up two fingers and crossed my heart. “I promise.”
“You’re not doing your client any favors by spending so much time researching something that has nothing to do with you. If I were Mumford, I’d be complaining to the council.”
“I didn’t ask for that job,” I said, a little more irately than I intended.
“It’s yours nonetheless, so you may as well give it your best.” He tipped his hat at me. “Have a nice day, Miss Hart.”
He turned and galloped out of the building.
When I turned to go back inside the classroom, I nearly walked smack into Ginger. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t let him give you a hard time,” she said. “He’s just trying to intimidate you to keep you under his thumb.”
I looked into her hazel eyes. “You don’t think I should mind my own business?”
She placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “Honey, witches never mind their own business. It’s why we need to learn so many curses.”
I laughed and she guided me back into the classroom. It was comforting to know that I had the support of the coven. Maybe they would turn out to be the family I never had. I dashed the thought as quickly as it came. In my experience, no good ever came from hoping for more than I had.
“What was your argument with Gareth about?” I asked. I was in my office with Mumford after class for another pre-trial meeting.
Mumford gave me a sidelong glance. “What argument?”
“Someone said you and Gareth had argued a couple days before he died. Can you tell me anything about that?”
Mumford examined his fingernails, which caused me to catch a glimpse of them. Long and twisted with a greenish tint, it was fair to say my stomach turned over several times in the span of twenty seconds.
“We weren’t arguing,” he said. “He was in a foul mood and I asked him why. He didn’t like sharing personal information and he snapped at me.” Mumford looked me in the eye. “Are we going to focus on my case? I believe the sheriff is investigating Gareth’s death, so I would appreciate it if you’d give my defense your full attention.”
I immediately felt guilty. He was right. I’d been spending a lot of time researching Gareth’s murder—time that should have been spent developing a defense for Mumford’s trial, which was imminent.
“Maybe we should postpone your trial until your neck heals,” I suggested, gesturing to his bandage. It didn’t even look as though he’d changed the dressing since the last time I saw him. Disgusting.
“Why would we do that?” he asked.
I hesitated. How did I explain to him that his wounded neck was off-putting? Simply because justice was supposed to be blind didn’t make it true.
“What if you become ill?” I lied. “We haven’t gotten the test results yet. The infection could have spread to your bloodstream.”
“Didn’t Boyd send an owl?” he asked. “My infection is limited to the wound itself.”
Oh. Thanks for the update, Boyd.
“The trial has already been postponed because of Gareth,” Mumford complained. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Yes, it was terribly inconsiderate of him to get murdered before he could have you acquitted.”
Although Mumford’s expression didn’t change, I sensed his displeasure. “I mean no disrespect to Gareth, but our lives here must go on. I have no intention of spending decades in prison because of bad timing.”
“Surely it wouldn’t be decades for jewelry theft,” I said, which reminded me that I really needed to bone up on Spellbound sentencing guidelines.
“All crimes here result in lengthy sentences,” Mumford said. “Because we’re immortals, more or less, and no one can leave town, examples must be made. I’m fortunate not to be facing a death sentence.”
Yikes. Would I be defending clients to save them from the electric chair, or whatever the magical equivalent was? That was far above my pay grade.
I pushed away thoughts of Gareth and the death penalty. Mumford deserved my full attention. “All right, Mumford. Let’s go through the questions again. This time, when you answer, try not to sound surly.”
“I don’t sound surly,” he objected, sounding mighty surly.
“Where were you on the morning of the third?” I asked.
“I was at home. Alone.”
No alibi. “And what were you doing there?”
“What I always do in the morning. Sleep.”
Must be nice. “And what time did you leave your house?”
“My home is not a house,” he said. “It’s an abandoned mine beneath Donder Mountain.”
That sounded depressing. Made me glad I didn’t have to pay him any home visits. “And what time did you leave your abandoned mine…er, your home?”
He shifted in
his seat. “I believe it was around eleven. I was hungry and decided to walk into town.”
“How far do you live from town?”
“About ten miles.”
“Ten miles?” I sputtered. “You walk twenty miles round-trip when you come to town?”
“When I choose to walk, yes. It’s quite pleasant, actually.” He held up an elongated foot. “Goblin feet are different from human feet. We’re designed for rough terrain.”
“So you chose to walk that day. Why?”
“The sun was shining and I was in a rather good mood.”
“Why were you in a good mood?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, uncertain.
“I’d like to know.”
He studied me. “Because you’re a gossip like your harpy neighbors or because it’s relevant?”
I stared right back at him, goiter or no goiter. “I ask the questions here, Mumford. You would do well to remember that.”
He gave a tiny smile. “Will you be this feisty in the courtroom?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “If I need to be.”
“Good. Gareth wasn’t feisty enough for my taste. He tended to let things go.”
“No one ever accused me of being someone to let things go.” I believe the expression my boss often used was ‘like a dog with a bone.’ I briefly wondered who had taken over my caseload. Were they working as hard as I had to help their clients? I guess it didn’t matter anymore. Not to me.
“Who do you think stole the jewelry?” I asked.
Mumford looked taken aback. “How should I know?”
“Everyone in this town seems to have opinions about the residents. The only reason you’re on trial is because you were unlucky enough to find a diamond. If you hadn’t, who would the sheriff be investigating?”
Mumford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Probably Underkoffler. Or I wouldn’t put it past Deacon to stage the whole thing just to gain the town’s sympathy.”
“Okay, who’s Underkoffler?” The name sounded familiar.
“Piotr Underkoffler. He’s a vampire who runs the main funeral home.”
Oh, right. Best avoided, according to Begonia and Sophie.
“The town undertaker has a bad reputation?” I asked.
Spellbinding Starters Page 83
