by Jane Hinchey
"I’m afraid you'll have to ask her all of that. I've no idea." I narrowed my eyes at him. "But she's innocent in all of this."
"That may well be, but she was growing a highly poisonous plant that someone has now stolen. She's involved, like it or not."
"It's not illegal to grow borrio bud. Is it?"
He shrugged. "I don’t know. I'll have to check into it."
Damn it all to hell, I'd dragged Jenna into this and now there was the potential that she could be in trouble with the law. Because of me. My face must have reflected my thoughts because Jackson laid a hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture and said, "She's not in trouble with the Whitefall Cove Police if that's what has your face all scrunched up."
"Harper!" I was saved from answering by Gran, heading towards us in a skin-tight purple cat suit, leopard print scarf, an umbrella with yellow ducks held above her head despite the fact that it wasn't raining, and on her feet, the beloved Ugg boots, although this pair appeared to have been bedazzled within an inch of their lives.
"I'll talk to you later." Jackson nodded at me, smiled a greeting at Gran, and climbed into his car. I watched as he drove away.
"Hi, Gran, what brings you to Drixworths today?" Turning my attention to Gran, I kept my eyes glued on her face, for the purple fabric of her cat suit left little to the imagination and while I admired Gran's appreciation of her body, I didn't need to see quite so much of it.
"Heard you had a familiar," she puffed, trudging up to us. Archie looked at her with wide orange eyes and when she stroked his head he purred.
"This is Archie." I didn't resist when Gran took him from me and cuddled him to her chest, burying her face in his fur and whispering, "Who’s a gorgeous boy then?"
"And how did you hear that? I only got him a couple of hours ago."
"Witches’ grapevine." She winked. "What's your plans for the rest of the day?"
"I'm going to The Dusty Attic. I need to get it ready to open. It's five days until Christmas and I'm hemorrhaging sales by keeping it closed."
"I'll help," she offered, and I looked at her in surprise.
"You don't have anything else on? Because you seem awfully dressed up for working in a bookstore."
"Oh, this old thing? I had yoga this morning."
I snort-laughed. "You did yoga in that? How? No! On second thought, don't tell me, I don't want to know. Come on then, I'll give you a lift."
The Dusty Attic was exactly that—dusty. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust and cobwebs and I knew I had hours of cleaning ahead of me, let alone taking stock of what books were on hand. I'd need to get my hands on some newer titles if I was going to draw in the Christmas crowd. Gran set Archie on the floor and he immediately began exploring. I made a mental note to buy some pet things for my new familiar and get extra to bring in to the store since I imagined I'd be spending a lot of time here.
"Your thermostat is dodgy." Gran huffed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
"You're hardly dressed for the weather," I pointed out. But she was right—it was cold in the shop, despite Jenna and I turning on the heating. "Let me go check. In the meantime, why don't you conjure up a coat?" I told her.
I opened the storeroom door and stepped inside, my breath appearing in a white cloud in front of my face. My god, it was freezing in here. Crossing to the thermostat, I frowned. It was off. Who had turned my heat off? As far as I knew no one else had a key, and even if they did, why would they come in and turn off the heat? It made no sense. Turning the dial back on, and cranking the temperature up to high, I returned to Gran who was now wrapped in a fur coat, her wrinkled face the only part of her visible.
"Relax, it's not real fur," she chided.
"I didn't say anything," I protested.
"Oh please, you don't have to. Everything you think is written all over your face." She cocked her head, listening to the ailing heating system get to work. "You're going to want to get that looked at."
"I know," I sighed, digging around in my purse and pulling out my notebook. "I'm making a list. There's so much to be done I'm worried I won't be able to open until next Christmas."
"Nonsense." She rubbed her hands together. "You may be hamstrung with no magic at the moment, but I'm here, fully loaded. Point me at what needs doing and I'll get it sorted for ya, hon."
"Oh, Gran, thank you!" I beamed. "That's brilliant! I have a vision." Leaning my elbows on the counter, I told Gran how I pictured the store to be. A fantasy fairytale corner for the children's books, with a place for story time. Magical bookcases that would know the perfect books for my customers and fill the shelves with them. Lots of comfy old chairs and sofas for reading. The ceiling, oh, the ceiling would be magnificent, changing upon the weather: glorious blue skies with puffy white clouds, sparkling stars in the night sky, spooky, heavy thunderclouds rolling across. And the interior of my bookstore would be like a cozy country cottage, depicting an attic filled with treasures.
"I can do all of that for you, child." She grinned, then held up a hand. "Except for the thermostat. You're on your own with that."
"That's fine, Gran, I'll make some calls and get someone in to check it."
"Tell you what, pop across the road and get me a double shot macadamia-almond milk latte, and by the time you get back this place will be tickety-boo."
Snatching up my purse, I did as instructed. It was the least I could do. After all, Gran was saving me hours of backbreaking labor, and if she could recreate my vision for the store? It would be epic, for that particular plan had been put on hold thanks to my lack of magic. I'd been intending to give the store a thorough scrub and open as is. Any renovations had been placed on the back burner until my witch’s license was restored.
Standing in line at Bean Me Up, I watched out the window as a circle of magical stardust swirled over the roof of the Dusty Attic—the process itself was quite amazing.
"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"
"Oh, sorry!" I'd been so entranced by what was happening across the street I hadn't noticed it was my turn to order. I smiled at the barista, the same young woman who'd served Jackson and me the other day. Her name badge said, Lexi.
She smiled warmly. "Not a problem. You're the new owner of The Dusty Attic?" She nodded her head toward the window.
"Yes. Harper Jones." I stuck out my hand and she shook it, her grip firm, a little too firm. I winced.
"Lexi Sawyer," she replied. "I've seen you in here a few times now."
"Yes, well, my friend introduced me to your hot chocolates and I have to say, they are slightly addictive." I grinned.
"So, one hot chocolate?" she asked, grabbing a take-out cup and writing my name on it.
"And one double shot macadamia-almond milk latte, and one cup of warm milk, no froth, no additives." When she raised an eyebrow, I explained, "It's for my cat."
"Gotcha." She nodded, lining up the three cups, ringing up my order, then swiping my card. "Won't be long."
She got busy with the coffee machine and, true to her word, mere minutes later she slid a cardboard tray toward me with three cups wedged in the allotted spaces.
"I'm guessing the macadamia-almond milk latte is for your Gran," she said conversationally. "She's the only one who orders it. Well, the only one who double-shots it."
"Yeah, Gran has eccentric tastes," I replied, not paying a whole lot of attention. I was keen to get back to my store and see what Gran had created for me. "So, you sell a lot of them then? Non double-shot ones, that is?"
"Oh no. Only one other customer used to order it. She died," she added, wiping down the counter.
I narrowed my eyes, then glanced over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't holding up the line. I wasn't; I was the only one at the counter. "She died?"
"Yeah, Whitney Sims. It was her drink of choice. Not that she came in often, it was usually her assistant, Christina."
"And you're the one who usually makes her order?"
Lexi shrugged.
"Most days. Christina usually came in sometime between eight thirty and nine. My shift starts at eight, so yeah, unless I’m on a day off I tend to get the Palmer Construction orders. And I only remember it because of Whitney's order. So pretentious." Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry—I don't mean to imply that your Gran is pretentious."
I chuckled. "She isn't. That's why hers is a double shot."
Lexi's lips curled into a smirk and she tucked a strand of her shoulder-length golden blonde hair behind one ear and leaned forward. "The gossip is, Whitney was murdered—well, I guess you know all about that since she was found in your bookstore and all." She rested her elbows on the counter and dropped her voice. "But I'm not surprised someone knocked her off. It was bound to happen eventually."
"Oh?" Up close, Lexi's eyes were a mesmerizing shade of green, flecked with gold, and slanted slightly at the corners.
"She was rude to pretty much everyone in town. And when she bragged to everyone that she got a Christmas bonus and her assistant Christina—who let's face it, probably did most of the work anyway—didn't, well, the yelling match between Christina and their boss could be heard all across town."
"Oh wow, that hardly sounds fair." I leaned in, our heads almost touching, eager to hear more.
Lexi obliged. "I also heard that Whitney had something on her boss. Maybe she was sleeping with him or something, I don't know, but there was something other than employer/employee relationship."
"You think Whitney was having an affair with Mike Palmer?" I tried, and failed, to keep the excitement out of my voice.
Lexi shrugged. "Can't say for sure. Just stuff I overheard here and there."
The bell above the door rang and a young man ambled up to the counter, standing in line behind me. I straightened and picked up my order. "Thanks for the chat, Lexi, it's been enlightening."
"Anytime, Harper." She smiled, then turned her attention to her next customer.
Hurrying out of the shop, I returned to The Dusty Attic, my mind a whirl. If Whitney was having an affair with her boss, and her husband found out? That gave him motive. It also gave her boss, Mike Palmer, motive—what if things had turned sour? Or what if Whitney had promised to leave her husband and then reneged?
Opening the door to The Dusty Attic, I stopped on the threshold, my mouth dropping open. It was...amazing.
"I tweaked your vision a little," Gran said, standing in the middle of the store with her hands on her hips and a smug look on her face. "You like it?"
"I love it!" I beamed. It was better than my vision. She'd created a mezzanine level with gilded railings, and towering bookcases, complete with a ladder on a rail to reach the higher shelves. The walls were red brick with a dark mahogany bottom panel. My counter was now an ancient desk with a green banker’s lamp and ornate till, a red upholstered chair behind it. Wall sconces matched the massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the candlelight flickering from it, amazingly real. The once tiled floors were now a dark hardwood, with a round rug in front of my desk. In the middle of the store, an old dresser with a coffee pot, a mug with pens stacked inside, and at the back, two elegant wing-back armchairs and a Chesterfield sofa facing an open fireplace where a fire crackled. The door to the storeroom had been hidden by a red velvet curtain. Antique stained-glass windows dominated the storefront, and books with wings were suspended from the rafters.
"Gran, this is amazing!" In a daze I stepped forward and placed the cardboard takeout tray on the dresser, looking around, trying to take it all in.
Gran slung her arm around my shoulders. "I'm pretty pleased with it myself." Grabbing her drink, she took a mouthful and sighed, "Lexi made this, huh? Only she can make it this good."
"Yeah." I was distracted by my store, overwhelmed with how wonderful it looked. Then I spotted Archie, sitting on a rug in front of the fireplace. "Gran. What is he wearing?"
"Hmmm?" She glanced at Archie who sat dressed in what looked like a Sherlock Holmes outfit, his tail flicking in what could only be annoyance. "Oh that. Cute, isn't he?"
"No, no costumes for my cat," I said, taking Archie's cup of warm milk and kneeling by his side. "Sorry, boy." I quickly removed his outfit and he head bumped me. I like to think it was in thanks. "Here you go, Archie. I got you some milk." I flipped the plastic lid from the cup and sat it on the floor before returning to Gran's side.
"Gran, I had a world map on the wall over there." I pointed to a wall that now sported heavy wooden bookshelves. "Any chance of getting it back?"
"Oh, you don't want that old map." She waved her hand in dismissal.
"I want what was behind it," I muttered, thinking of my crime board with the timeline and suspects for Whitney's murder.
"Oh, your murder board? I kept that. Here." With a snap of her fingers, the big heavy bookcase glided effortlessly to the side, revealing the crime board behind it.
"Thank you," I said, "but, Gran? I don't have magic. I can't move the bookcase on my own. And I'm not calling you each time I want to move it."
"Relax, sugar plum, I thought of that. I spelled it. All you have to do is say reveal and it will move. When you're done, say hide, and it will move back. It'll only respond to your voice."
"Hide," I said, and sure enough, the bookcase slid effortlessly back into place, the crime board once more hidden. "And it's not a murder board," I muttered, "it's a crime board."
"Tomato potato," Gran replied. "Now tell me, what's got you all riled up? You came back from Bean Me Up vibrating with energy. And you want your crime board." She overexaggerated the word, letting me know she thought the distinction between crime board and murder board was negligible. "You've got a clue, haven't you?"
Chapter Eight
"I now call the Whitefall Cove book club to order." Gran conjured a gavel and banged it on the coffee table, making us all jump.
"Gran," I protested, "this isn't a book club."
"It isn't a bad idea though," Monica said. "I'd join. What books shall we read Mrs. B?"
"Fifty Shades of Eat, Pray, Love," Gran replied, "and then Alice and Elvis's Adventures in Wonderland."
We laughed so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Trust Gran to mix and match book titles, much like she mixed and matched everything in life.
"Okay fine," she huffed. "The Whitefall Cove murder club then."
Monica screeched with laughter, holding her sides and rocking back and forth. The sound startled Archie who'd been dozing in front of the fireplace but was now wide awake, his hackles raised.
"Gran." I shook my head at her and she shot me a cheeky grin. "Okay, okay, it's not such a bad idea." I relented. "A book club that is. But, Gran, I am not reading Fifty Shades of Grey with you."
"Why on earth not?"
Jenna cleared her throat. "So, um, getting back to our discoveries?"
"Yes, you’re right, let's focus. Reveal," I commanded, and the bookcase moved as instructed. I'd already added the clues I'd discovered today, along with Jenna's missing borrio bud plant.
"Lexi is the barista that made the coffees?" Jenna squinted at the board.
"Yes, she told me herself that she makes the usual takeout order for Palmer Construction. That Christina comes in every morning to collect it."
"That would mean anyone could watch the place for a while and pick up the routine." Monica said. "Intercept the coffee before it reached its destination."
"But how would you intercept—and add the poison—without being noticed?" I wondered.
"Wouldn’t be easy," Jenna agreed.
We went through the rest of the clues I'd gathered. "Lexi insinuated something was going on between Whitney and Mike," I said.
"An affair?" Gran rubbed her hands together. "Now we're getting somewhere."
"Not necessarily," I cautioned. "She didn't say an affair, just that something was going on. Maybe it wasn't romantic."
"A love triangle," Monica drawled, crossing a long leg over her knee. "How delightful."
"We need to find
out for sure." Tapping my lip with my finger, I frowned at the board. I could ask Mike outright, but would I get the truth?
"The Whitefall Cove Christmas Party is tomorrow night," Jenna said. "What if we got each of them alone, did some digging? You've got a Post-it up there about Whitney's Christmas bonus, and what Lexi told you is true, I do remember Christina and Mike having an awful row last week, right out front of the office. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but there was a lot of arm action and they looked like they were shouting. Well, Christina did. Mike was shaking his head and rubbing his face like he was fed up with the whole thing."
"Interesting. Yes, all right. Jenna, you see if you can get Christina to open up about what the fight was about. I'm going to talk to Mike. See if I can get a sense if he had romantic feelings toward Whitney," I said.
"I'll talk to Bruce," Monica volunteered. "Maybe he knew his wife was having an affair. Or at least suspected."
"What about me?" Gran asked, sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation. "Who shall I talk to?"
"Ummm." I thought hard for a minute. "How about Wendy, Whitney's best friend?" I suggested. "But remember, do not breathe a word of what we're doing here, okay? It's secret."
"Pft, what do you take me for?" Gran grumbled. "I'm not an idiot." There was silence for a moment, then she piped up with, "Why don't we want them to know?"
I chuckled. "Because we don't want to tip the murderer off that we're on to them."
Monica sniggered. "That's because we're not. We're throwing darts at a map."
"What map?" Gran looked around, confused.
"It's just a saying, Gran," I explained, "like throwing spaghetti at the wall, seeing what sticks."
"Oh, like how long is a piece of cake?"
I bit back another laugh. "Yes, exactly. So, remember, the book club is a secret."
"Gotcha." She winked with a nod.
"Harper, I'd like to join your book club if that's okay?"
