Sweet Murder

by Tegan Maher

  "Ugh," she said, turning back to the house. "If I can't hear you, and it's rude to listen to others, then what good is it?"

  "Well, it just saved your bacon, for one. I'm not saying you can't use it—you just have to be judicious. We'll work on it. Did you hear anybody at the hospital, or Cody?"

  "Maybe. It's hard to separate out the voices in the hospital. As far as I know, everybody was talking out loud. As for Cody, his voice had kind of an echo."

  I nodded. "That's because he was just saying what he was thinking. We need to start practicing now or you're going to want to slap half the people you run across and hug the rest. Knowing what people really think isn't what it's cracked up to be—trust me. That can wait a few hours, though. For now, I've got to cook supper and you've got a date with Netflix and a basket of towels."

  While I was cooking, I thought about why a knock to the head could cause her powers to manifest. For people with latent powers, that was a semi-normal phenomenon, but not for witches. Though I was glad she had her power—at least that one—I now knew Camille was right. There was something wrong with my little sister and we needed to find out what.

  I DIDN'T HAVE TO BE to work until eleven the next morning, so I let Shelby sleep in while I made her favorite breakfast—homemade blueberry Belgian waffles with mixed-berry syrup, bacon, and dippy eggs.

  Raeann and Jake had shown up the night before and we'd cooked out before playing a game of darts on the veranda. Shelby and I beat them fair and square—mostly—then we made an early night of it and went to bed.

  I heard Shelby shuffling around upstairs, and just as I was finishing up, she stumbled into the kitchen wearing a tank top, sleep shorts, and Cat Woman slippers. Her hair was standing up in the back and mashed flat to one side of her head and her eyes were ringed in mascara she'd forgotten to take off the night before.

  After rooting around in the fridge for the OJ, she squinted against the sunlight and peered over my shoulder as I poured more mix into the waffle iron.

  Her voice was raspy, but I wasn't surprised; the kid snored like a lumberjack. "Did you make me blueberry Belgian waffles?"

  I reached around and gave her a hug. "I did. As a thank-you for not dying yesterday. I would have bought whipped cream, but you lost some points for breaking the steps and getting the concrete all messy."

  She tried to elbow me, but groaned. "Crap. I feel like I got ran over by a truck."

  "Don't exaggerate. You just got slapped by a thousand-pound slab of concrete. Seriously though, eat some breakfast and you can have something for the pain. The doctor figured you'd be sore, but didn't want you to have anything last evening."

  Addy popped in behind us and gasped. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus! Shelby Kay, your whole shoulder is black and blue! Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry I never got around to replacing that stupid ladder!" She had that anguished look on her face that every mother adopts when she fails to keep her kids safe.

  "Addy, you can't blame yourself. It was an accident. No permanent harm done, and we'll replace them now."

  Shelby tried to crane her head around to see it but winced. "I guess I'll have to take y'all's word for it. My head is pounding and my neck hurts."

  I pulled her hair to the side and checked her stitches while Adelaide hovered beside me. She shrugged away and swatted at my hand. "Stop! I just told you it hurts."

  "I know, but I had to make sure you didn't pop any stitches loose or anything."

  While I fried our eggs and plated our breakfast, I let my mind wander back to the conversation with Hunter. I remembered the look on his face when I projected to him.

  Shelby sat straight up in her chair. "You did what?"

  It took me a minute to realize she'd picked my thoughts out of the ether. "Stop that. And yes, I projected to Hunter. I was with him when you fell, and I had to tell him to get me to the farm, and I called the ambulance on the way, so he was understandably confused."

  I slid her plate in front of her and slumped into my chair. "I had to tell him something, so I decided the truth was the best option. I really like him, and if things are going to move forward, I'd have to tell him eventually, anyway."

  I poured syrup over my waffle, then dragged a slice of bacon through it and popped it into my mouth. Even the divine burst of sweet, salty, and smoky wasn't enough to make me feel better, though it didn't hurt.

  "When I just explained it to him, he got snarky. So, I projected and told him not to be an ass."

  She whistled. "Well, probably not the best communication to start with, but at least he knows. How did he take it?"

  "Not so great. As a matter of fact, after he realized what I did, he didn't say another word all the way to the hospital. He did say he'd call me later, but his tail’s still in a knot about the file thing."

  "Aww. He'll come around; you're obviously the best sister ever, and you're smokin' hot, too. If he doesn't get his head out of his butt, then he's an idiot and doesn't deserve you."

  Sometimes I wanted to wring her neck, but then she’d go and say something like that.

  "Shelby's right, sugar. I have a good feeling about that boy. You haven't seen the last of him; he seems to be level-headed, and he's sweet on you. That won't hurt matters none."

  "Thank you both. But for now, it's just a waiting game. What can't wait, however, is teaching Shelby how to block the free flow of others' thoughts into her brain. Seriously, sister, it'll make you crazy if you don't learn.”

  We practiced while we ate, then some more while I got ready for work. Thankfully, one of our boarders took care of the horses and cleaned the stalls on the weekends in exchange for her board, so we didn't have to worry about that.

  By the time I left, she had a pretty decent handle on blocking me out as long as she concentrated, which was impressive. It would take some serious practice to turn it into an automatic response, but she was on the right track.

  My thoughts turned again to Camille, and I checked my phone for any missed voicemails. Still nothing. It might be time to call the council.

  Chapter 27

  I

  didn't even get a chance to get my purse stashed behind the coffee filters in the waitress station before Bobbie Sue was bee-lining it toward me. Her red hair was tied up in its usual messy knot and she had a pencil sticking out of it. She tilted and bobbed her head as she talked and I wondered how it stayed put.

  "What, you can't pick up to phone long enough to tell me Shelby had to go to the hospital?"

  I sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right, but in all the hubbub, I never even thought."

  She huffed. "Just don't do it again. You know I worry about you girls. I heard she rung her bell pretty good. You sure you don't need the day off to take care of her? Me and Sarah can run things today."

  "Nah, I'm good. She's at the house taking it easy. Raeann's gonna stop and check on her later and she promised to call if she starts feeling weird."

  I thought she was going to argue, but after a few seconds, she said, "Alrighty, then. If she calls, let me know, then hightail it out of here. Nobody's gonna die because it takes me an extra minute to refill their tea in case I need to cover for you. Family first."

  "And that right there is why I'll probably work here forever, even if I win the lottery," I told her.

  She snorted. "You win the lotto and me, you, Shelby, Raeann, and Sarah are gonna be loungin' on a beach somewhere where it never snows, sipping drinks out of coconuts while somebody else runs this dump!"

  She wasn't wrong.

  The door swung open, ushering in a rush of hot air along with Gary Wilkenson, the real estate investor. He smiled at me as I led him to a booth.

  "I'm going to eat, naturally, but I just wanted to tell you I saw the man who told me about your farm day before yesterday. I’m afraid I lost the slip of paper with your number. He was coming out of the coffee shop right down the street."

  "What? Are you sure it was him?" I craned my neck toward the window facing Brew like he was going to be standing th
ere, waiting to be pointed out.

  "Quite sure, Ms. Flynn. I even tried to approach him, but he was in such a hurry that by the time I managed to cross the street, he was gone. He disappeared around the corner and that was the last I saw of him. I wish I would have caught him; my time isn't cheap, and if I hadn't already been on vacation here, I would've made a trip to the backwoods of Georgia for nothing. No offense."

  I waved him off. "None taken. Trust me, I've called it much worse myself. Recently, even. Do you remember what he was wearing?"

  "Yeah, though it's not going to help much. He was wearing a tropical shirt and khaki shorts."

  Of course he was. Because he couldn't wear something different than every other tourist and half the residents in town.

  "Well, thanks for the effort, at any rate."

  "No problem. I wish I could have done more. My offer stands on your land, by the way. Next week or next decade. If you decide you want to develop it, I'll make you a rich woman."

  I looked over at Bobbie Sue and thought of Raeann and Shelby, then smiled at him. "I'm already rich in all the ways that count, Mr. Wilkenson, but thank you for your generous offer."

  A half-hour before I was due to leave, Coralee came in with Marge, who appeared to have been crying. I told them to sit wherever they wanted, then grabbed a couple of teas along with some extra napkins and headed their way.

  When I approached, Marge was sobbing and Coralee was comforting her.

  I bent down next to her and placed my hand on her back. "Marge, are you okay? Is it Will or Bob? Is somebody hurt?"

  "Of course she's not okay," Coralee snapped, grabbing the stack of napkins and handing a couple of them to Marge.

  The poor soul did her best to pull herself together, dabbing the corners of her eyes in an attempt to save her makeup. Coralee brushed her hand away from her face and handed her a menu.

  "Oh, honey, that ship done sailed. Your mascara is halfway to your cheeks; it's not going anywhere. Let's grab a bite to eat then we'll go over to the shop and I'll do your hair and makeup for you."

  I sat the teas on the table. "What's going on, Marge? You never get rattled."

  Coralee answered for her. "That danged black book has this entire town turned upside down. Apparently, Hank was blackmailing or railroading dozens of folks, and Will happened to be one of them."

  "Okay, but what does that have to do with anything, really? Like you said, there were dozens of people in that book."

  "That's what we thought too," Marge said. "Then he started asking Will how close he and Peggy Sue are." Peggy Sue, the clerk at the courthouse, was Marge's sister, and had doted on Will since the day he was born. "Now she's done gone and lost her job because of us!"

  She devolved into near-wails again, and Coralee attempted to comfort her.

  "She didn't lose her job. Everything's going to be just fine." I gave her the WTH look and she said, "Peggy Sue's been suspended because she won the pie contest at the Fourth of July celebration.”

  I must have looked as confused as I felt because Coralee glowered at me then looked at me like I was an idiot. “It proves she can bake, and Hank stopped at the office right before he met Anna Mae at Bobbie Sue’s. Apparently knowing how to bake and hatin’ Hank are all it takes to go to jail for murder around here.”

  “That job's all the money she's got. She'll lose her house for sure, and now people are gonna be whisperin' about her behind her back, all because that nitwit city slicker can't find his butt with his hands in his back pockets!"

  I had no idea how to deal with them other than to offer the traditional but generic, there, there.

  Bobbie Sue had heard the commotion but wasn't the type of woman who was comfortable around tears. Instead, she waited to ambush me at the waitress station.

  "What in blue blazes is wrong with her? The last time I saw her like that was the night before her weddin’, when that catty sister of hers told her Bob had been over at Tassels for his bachelor party and had got himself a lap dance."

  I explained the problem and she pursed her lips. "What a crock. Hell, just about every woman in this town bakes pies and every man in that book knows at least one woman who'd consider baking a poison one for him if she knew it was for Hank. If he's trying to get to the bottom of this by going that route, the killer will die of natural causes before your boy catches her."

  I agreed, ignoring the fact that—once again—she’d referred to him as my boy. Adelaide chose that moment to pop in near the soda machine beside us and Bobbie Sue about jumped out of her skin.

  "Holy hoecakes, Adelaide! It's good to see you, but you about gave me a heart attack. No offense, but I'd rather not be joinin' ya anytime soon, so give a girl some notice!"

  Adelaide had the grace to blush. "Sorry Bobbie Sue. How ya been? No wait—time to chat later, now that I figured out how to leave the house. Noelle, I just popped in over at the coffee shop to let Raeann know Shelby baked some chocolate tarts for her. While I was there, I overheard some crazy stuff about that boy of yours."

  "Oh my god!" Why did everybody insist we were a thing? It was enough to make me snap. "Will both of you please stop calling him my boy? We haven’t even been on an official date and he's not even speaking to me because he thinks I'm a freak. And besides that, he's turning out to be kind of a douche. Adelaide, what's he doing now?"

  "Well you know how Bonnie and Jim who run the lakeside cottages there have been having some financial problems and we all thought it was because Jim had a gamblin' problem? Well, it turns out Jim's name musta been in that book, because Hunter was out there questionin' them. Bonnie's just beside herself and the rumor mills are grindin’ her and hers to a fine meal!"

  "Oh, lord love a duck, Noelle, you gotta go muzzle that boy before he turns this whole town upside down. Poor Bonnie hasn't been well since her mama died and she don't need this hassle. They're barely scrapin' by as it is and if their business dries up ..."

  I pulled my phone from my apron and dialed Hunter's number. It rang twice, then he swiped me, so I texted him and asked him to call me immediately. While I waited, I took Coralee and Marge their lunch and refilled their teas.

  Marge had calmed down marginally, but the more I thought about it, the madder I got. I called him again and he still didn't answer, so I pulled up the number for the sheriff's office. It rang forever before somebody finally answered. Of course it did—because Peggy Sue wasn't there.

  I asked to speak to the sheriff and was placed on hold.

  A minute later, the man who'd answered asked for my name and I gave it.

  "Uh, Ms. Flynn ... the sheriff's in a meeting and can't take your call right now."

  "But he's in?"

  "Yes, ma'am, but like I said, he's in a meeting."

  I thanked him and hung up. Meeting my ass. I yanked off my apron and handed Bobbie Sue my check presenter.

  "I'm going to the sheriff's office. He's got it in his head I'll go away if he avoids my calls. I need to go set him straight." I shot all three of them a dirty look and added, "I hope one of y’all picked never in that pool because I may just kill him before this day's out and I'd hate for all of you to lose your money."

  Bobbie Sue waved me toward the door. "That's my girl. Take him to the woodshed!"

  BY THE TIME I PULLED in front of the courthouse and made my way to the sheriff's office, I had a full head of steam going. Obviously, there was nobody at Peggy Sue's desk, so I just headed straight to his office. The door was ajar and Hunter was sitting at his desk looking through a file. I didn't bother to knock before walking right in.

  He looked up from the folder and his eyes turned stormy. "What are you doing here? This is my office and I'm the sheriff. If you want to see me, make an appointment. Unless, of course, you'd rather just control my mind and make me see you."

  The barb was meant to be hurtful but was so outlandish it just pushed me over the edge. "Trust me—I have no desire to crawl around inside your empty head looking for the controls, though lord kno
ws somebody needs to. And as you can see, I don't need superpowers to make you see me. What do you think you're doing, chasing down the people in that stupid book and questioning them publicly?"

  He looked baffled. "I'm not questioning anybody publicly."

  "You don't have to, you big idiot. This is Keyhole Lake, not Indianapolis. People here aren't anonymous. They have neighbors who have nothing better to do than look out the windows and watch who comes and goes, then call the other neighbors and speculate. Before you know it, they're running a grow house, or having an affair, or sacrificing virgins.

  "Everybody in town knows you have that book, so when you show up on somebody's doorstep, you may just as well scream it from the rooftops that their name is in there. You're messing with peoples' lives!"

  He looked back down at the file in front of him and started shuffling papers, trying to dismiss me. "That's not true."

  "Really? Then how is it that I've been stuck at work all day, but know you've suspended Peggy Sue and questioned Marge because Will's name was in that book? And that you went out and questioned Bonnie and Jim at the lake?

  "Bonnie's mama just died after being sick for a long time and they're swamped in medical bills,” I continued. “Now people are wondering what Jim was doing that landed him in that book. That lake is their livelihood and if they land on the wrong side of the gossip mill, they'll lose everything. You've placed them in a position where they either have to keep quiet and let folks speculate—and believe me, people can come up with some pretty horrible scenarios—or they have to admit why their name is in there."

  Hunter closed the file and met my eyes, his face pale. "I didn't realize. I thought I was being discreet."

  I put my hands in my pockets so I wouldn't reach out and choke him. "I've tried to tell you—this isn't like the big city. There is no discretion here. It's a freakin' fishbowl. How do you think Hank had the leverage to squeeze those poor folks to begin with? Fear!”