Witch Way Box Set

by Jane Hinchey

I did my utmost not to roll my eyes. Gran was telling everyone that I'd started a book club, forgetting entirely that the book club was a cover for our investigation into Whitney's murder. I'd had ten people in the last hour approach me wanting to join. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned to Gloria Wheatley. "That's fantastic, Gloria. I'll add you to the list. I hope Gran told you that I'm still in the planning stages? I want to get The Dusty Attic opened first and then we'll look at scheduling our first meeting."

  "Of course, no rush, but I wanted to say what a wonderful idea."

  "Thank you. If you'll excuse me? I need to refresh my drink." I waved my empty glass and slipped away. The Whitefall Cove Christmas party was in full swing, the town hall packed. On the stage at one end of the big hall stood a massive Christmas tree, and the hall was decorated with bows of holly and rather too much mistletoe for my liking. I suspected Gran had a hand in the decorations. She was a sucker for a stolen kiss beneath the mistletoe. Christmas carols were pumped through the speakers and the atmosphere was very festive.

  "You look lovely this evening," Jackson said, appearing by my side. "Another?" He indicated my empty glass and when I nodded, he took it from me, scooping eggnog into it from the punch bowl on the trestle table laden with food.

  "Thank you." Smiling, I accepted the glass. I'd worn a red lace dress that molded my upper body and flared out into a full skirt at the waist. I felt pretty and feminine in it and I was pleased with his compliment. "You don't look so bad yourself."

  He laughed. "I look the same as always. I came straight from work."

  "Oh? Got a break on the case?" I asked, taking a sip of the eggnog and almost coughing. Someone had added something extra since my last glass, and I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who the culprit was. I'd seen Gran hovering near the eggnog only ten minutes ago and had thought she looked shifty. I bet she'd spiked it. With a mental eye roll, I tuned back into what Jackson was saying.

  "I wish. Just busy this time of year." Someone jostled me from behind and he took my elbow to guide me off to one side. "I hear you're starting a book club?"

  "Oh my god, I can't believe she's telling everyone!"

  "Does that mean you aren't?"

  "I wasn't, no. But Gran has gone and told everyone that I am, and people have been asking to join, which means now I have to start one."

  "Well, you don't have to," he pointed out.

  "How can I not?" I protested. "Seems this town is crying out for one. I had no idea, but maybe it'll help to get customers into the Dusty Attic if a book club goes along with it."

  "Don't fret, you'll have a bunch of people sign up, about half of those will actually turn up and then as time goes on half of them will drop out," he predicted.

  "Leaving me with a nice, manageable book club." I nodded, liking his logic.

  "Exactly." He grinned.

  "There you are!" We were interrupted by Officer Miles. I nearly didn't recognize her. Her hair, usually pulled back in a tight, unforgiving bun, now flowed in silken waves down past her shoulders, her eyes adorned with winged eyeliner, her lips a ruby red, and her dress? It looked stunning on her. A figure-hugging silver sheath that hugged her body all the way to her ankles, with a thigh-high split revealing just enough toned leg.

  "Wow!" Jackson exclaimed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She slid her hand around his arm, her smile content. "You look amazing." His words were for her alone, but I couldn't help but overhear them given I was standing right next to them.

  "Thank you, babe," she breathed, fluttering her eyelashes. Then her gaze slid to me and a shutter came down over her features.

  "Harper. That's a pretty dress," she said.

  "Not as stunning as yours," I replied, giving her a warm smile. "You look absolutely beautiful."

  She looked taken aback so I raised my glass, said, "Merry Christmas," and hurried away, leaving them alone. I spied Jenna who was jerking her head sideways and giving me frantic eye signals. I met her outside the ladies bathroom.

  "You'll never believe it," she whispered, clutching my arm and glancing furtively around to make sure we weren't overheard.

  "What is it?" I whispered back.

  "I got talking with Christina, and once I got a couple of eggnogs into her, well, let's just say her tongue was sufficiently loosened."

  I cocked my head and looked at her suspiciously. "Did you tell Gran to spike the eggnog?"

  She looked as guilty as sin, but denied it anyway. "I did not. But I happened to see her do it, so I used it to my advantage. Just...be mindful that your Gran appears to be continually spiking the eggnog and I fear it will end up tasting like moonshine and strip the enamel from your teeth by the end of the night."

  "She's done this before." Blowing out a breath, I pinned Gran with a look across the room. Oh, she knew all right, giving me a cheeky grin and a shrug and then taking a hefty gulp of her eggnog, smacking her lips in appreciation. "What am I going to do with her?" I wondered out loud.

  "She's certainly entertaining," Jenna said. "Anyway, back to Christina. She was more than happy to spill the beans on her fight with Mike—she's still furious with him about it."

  "Why? What happened?"

  "Apparently he gave Whitney a ten thousand-dollar Christmas bonus!"

  "What?" My head jerked back in surprise. That was a lot of money. A serious amount of money. No wonder Christina was pissed.

  "How much did he give Christina?" I asked.

  "That's just it. Nothing. He didn't give out any other Christmas bonuses. It's never been a thing with Palmer Construction. He gives every employee a one-hundred-dollar gift card every year at the holidays, but never a bonus, and never such an astronomical amount."

  "I'd imagine Mike hadn't wanted the others to know, so how did Christina find out?"

  "Whitney told her. Bragged about it and rubbed her nose in it...apparently." Jenna mimed Whitney doing exactly that and I couldn't contain the laugh. She was alarmingly accurate at impersonating the realtor.

  "So, another motive then." My suspect list wasn't getting any smaller. Money was a big motivator and Whitney could have pushed Christina too far with her bragging and showing off, so much that Christina snapped and killed her. She had access to the coffees, had purchased them from Bean Me Up. Motive and opportunity.

  "Also," Jenna continued, "Christina was lamenting that she'd never get a promotion at Palmer Construction while Whitney was office manager, and she showed no signs of ever leaving. Initially when Christina was hired Whitney had told her that she was planning on opening her own realtor office, but last time Christina brought it up, Whitney laughed at her and called her crazy —why would she open her own office and carry all the overhead when she was getting to run her business for free from Palmer Construction?"

  "I did notice when I was in Whitney's office to sign the contracts for The Dusty Attic that it was a real mess. Very disorganized."

  "Which is strange because Whitney always struck me as being very organized," Jenna offered, and I nodded. Me too. At high school, she'd been on a couple of committees organizing various events and had been meticulous in her planning and delivery. She'd had notebooks color coded with tags. Everything in its place. Her office had been at odds with what I remembered of her. My musings were cut short when Jenna nudged me and pointed out Bruce Sims and his dearly departed wife's best friend, Wendy Haley, standing together across the room.

  "They look so sad," Jenna murmured. "I feel bad. We're all caught up in the excitement of finding Whitney's killer and forgetting that a woman died. Bruce's wife died. Wendy's best friend. It must be awful for them."

  "You have a good heart, Jenna Owens." Patting her arm, I added, "I'm going to say hello to them. You coming?"

  "I'll catch up. Gotta use the facilities."

  Leaving her at the bathroom, I weaved my way across the hall, stopping to speak to several people about the newly formed book club. I made a mental note to move on it quickly, while people were excited and interested. Hosting a book club a
t the store could be good for sales and goodness knows I'd need them if I ever wanted to pay off my debt to Gran.

  "Bruce. Wendy," I greeted, "how are you holding up?"

  Wendy looked positively green and I touched her arm in concern. "Are you alright? You don't look so good."

  "I'm fine. It's a little warm in here, that's all."

  "I'll get you a drink. That might help," Bruce offered.

  I stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Steer clear of the eggnog unless you want the mother of all hangovers tomorrow."

  He winked. "Your Gran been at it again?"

  "Oh my god, she's infamous!"

  "She's a character, that's for sure. Relax, I'll get water." He headed toward the buffet table.

  "I just can't believe it," Wendy whispered, bottom lip trembling, eyes filling with tears. I didn't have to ask what she was referring to. She was clearly missing her best friend. Moving in close, I rubbed her back in what I hoped were soothing gestures.

  "I'm sorry for your loss." It seemed trite, but I didn't know what else to say. Wendy and Whitney had been inseparable at high school and it seemed they had remained close into adulthood.

  "I saw her that morning. I'd baked more muffins. She used to tell me off, accuse me of sabotaging her diet, but I knew she secretly loved it. So, I kept baking. And I like baking, it takes my mind off"—she paused, swallowed—"things."

  "What things?" I asked. I probably shouldn't have, but I wanted to know.

  "Just stuff. Life. Work. You know."

  "Right." I nodded. When I wanted to escape those things, I read a book. Wendy baked. Each to their own.

  "She was just so—alive," Wendy continued, then laughed. "She was so nervous that you'd moved back."

  "Nervous? What on earth for?" Bruce had said something similar and it had baffled me then, just like it did now.

  "Because she'd always wanted to be like you. You were her measuring stick."

  "I don't get it. She hated me. Hated me." I couldn't stress it enough. Whitney Sims had hated my guts. She'd told me to my face on more than one occasion. When I'd left Whitefall Cove she'd told me it was the best thing that had ever happened to the town and that I wouldn't be missed. Oh, and not to hurry back.

  "She wanted to be you. Or be like you. But whenever she tried, it backfired. She tried to get her hair like yours and instead looked like she'd stuck her finger in an electric socket."

  I put a hand to my hair where it curled down past my shoulders. I'd left it loose tonight. Usually, I pulled it back into a simple ponytail, but I did nothing to my bland, brown tresses, nothing that would make Whitney envious.

  "I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time taking that in,” I admitted. “Bruce said something similar to me and I just can't process it."

  Wendy snorted. "Yeah, hard to believe, right? That was Whitney through and through. She projected this persona that wasn't the real her at all. She couldn't be content with her own life, couldn't be satisfied with what she had. She had a lot of envy. It was stressful for her."

  "When the news hit that you'd had that meltdown in East Dondure, that your fiancé had cheated, and you'd zapped him with your magic, she'd been delighted. She'd been happy at your downfall. But then you got fired from your job and lost your witch’s license. And you were coming home. Then she wasn't happy anymore. And when you put in the offer for The Dusty Attic and became her client? Her stress levels went through the roof." Wendy said.

  I looked at the floor, imagining what that was like for Whitney. "I never knew any of that. I'm sorry if my coming back to Whitefall Cove made life difficult for her. I wish she were here now, so I could tell her that."

  "Ha," Wendy barked, "she wouldn't have listened to you. She would have been snide and rude and, in her head, she'd have twisted it all around so that you were the bad guy. It's what she does. Did."

  I was saved from responding by Bruce's return. He handed Wendy a bottle of water. "You've got more color now, feeling better?"

  She nodded. "Yes, actually I am. Talking with Harper took my mind off it." Twisting the cap off, she took a sip. Bruce shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair.

  "You're going to forget that later," Wendy pointed out.

  "Probably," he agreed, scratching at his arm, "but I'm so darn itchy and the jacket was in the way."

  "Want me to take a look?" Wendy offered, and I remembered that she was a nurse.

  Bruce shook his head. "Nah, it's all good, probably just a bite or something, but man, it sure itches." He was scratching as he talked, and I looked at the sleeve of his white button down.

  "Errrr. Bruce?" I nodded at his arm. "You might want to take her up on that. You're bleeding."

  A red stain was seeping through the cotton. "Shit." He cursed, fiddling with the cuff and rolling up his sleeve while Wendy grabbed his wrist and peered at the angry red rash on the inside of his forearm.

  "Looks like an allergic reaction," she said.

  My mind went straight to the borrio bud plant and what Jenna had told us. If you come into contact with it, it would cause a severe skin reaction. Could Bruce be the one that stole the plant? Did he kill his wife?

  Chapter Nine

  "Everything okay here?" I turned to see Jackson approaching, his eyes intent on Bruce.

  "Yeah, we're fine. Sorry to alarm you." Bruce shrugged, unconcerned.

  "We should probably go," Wendy added, "put something on that to take out the itch. Plus people don't want to be seeing your arm oozing blood."

  "Hang on a second." Jackson stopped them, grabbing Bruce's arm and examining the rash.

  "What are you doing?" Bruce pulled his arm away, affronted.

  Jackson planted his feet and stood with his fists on his hips, every inch the badass cop.

  "What's going on?" Wendy asked, confused.

  "Whitney was poisoned with a very rare toxic plant. One that was stolen from a greenhouse here in Whitefall Cove recently. Sadly, for the thief, they left behind a couple of leaves. Enough for us to be able to trace—and identify—the plant."

  "And I'm guessing you're going to tell me that you think my rash is associated with this plant?" Bruce asked, voice resigned.

  "I am," Jackson said. "The berries of this plant will kill you if ingested. But if you come into contact with the plant with your bare skin, you get a severe reaction. One that I'd imagine would look just like that." He nodded at Bruce's arm.

  Bruce's face darkened, a flush of angry color in his cheeks, and his eyes narrowed as he glared at Jackson. "I did not kill my wife. I did not steal some toxic plant. I'm innocent."

  "Then explain to me why you have this rash?" Jackson pressed.

  "I don't know why," Bruce grumbled.

  "It's an allergic reaction," Wendy cut in, face deathly pale. "I'm a nurse," she added.

  "What are you allergic to?" Jackson directed all of his attention to Bruce who was now shifting from one foot to the other. I could practically see the cogs turning in Bruce's head. He knew this looked bad. He knew he was in trouble. He knew Jackson thought he was responsible for Whitney's death.

  "Nothing." It was a quiet admission.

  "Nothing that you know of," Wendy interrupted, clutching at Bruce's free arm. "It doesn't mean he hasn't developed one, or come into contact with something new. A washing powder or soap can cause a reaction like this."

  I looked at her, surprised by her level of anguish. Seemed Bruce was too, for he muttered to her, "Don't you say anything."

  Jackson pounced on it, not missing a thing. "Say anything about what?" he demanded.

  Wendy's eyes filled with tears and overflowed, running down her cheeks.

  "Wendy. Don't," Bruce warned. She sniffed, trembling, her face so pale I feared she was about to pass out.

  "I have to," she whispered. "People are going to find out soon enough anyway."

  "Damn it," Bruce swore. Wrapping his arms around her he pulled her to his chest where she clung to him. I watched with wide
eyes. Were they?

  "I'm pregnant," she sniffed, her voice barely above a whisper, "with Bruce's baby."

  My jaw hit the floor and from the sudden stillness of Jackson, I'm guessing it took him by surprise too.

  "We're in love," she added, face buried in his chest. He looked at us over her head, a gentleness I'd never seen in him before apparent.

  "It's true. Wendy and I have been having an affair," he growled.

  "How long has this been going on?" I cut in before Jackson had a chance to open his mouth. He cut me an angry glare. Oops. I'd temporarily forgotten this was his investigation, but hey, look, I wanted to say, we've got our man.

  "Just over a year," Bruce said, wiping the tears from Wendy's cheeks with his thumbs and looking at her with such utter love and devotion on his face that my heart ached. Simon had never looked at me the way Bruce was looking at Wendy right now.

  "But..." I looked from Bruce to Wendy and back again. "You're Wendy's best friend."

  "I know!" she cried, distraught. "And I hated it. I hated that I was doing this to her, but I just couldn't stop myself. I've always loved Bruce. Even when he married Whitney, I loved him. But I never acted on it. Never."

  "Until a year ago," I pointed out and she blushed.

  "When he came to me, he was so desperately unhappy and we got to talking and we just...clicked...and one thing led to another."

  "When he came to you?" I asked. "What did he come to you for?"

  Bruce opened his mouth to warn her to shut up, but Wendy was on a roll and the words poured out. "Whitney knew her marriage was in trouble and decided that having a baby would fix it. Bruce came to me for help."

  "Help, how?"

  "He knows I’m a witch as well as a nurse. He wanted herbs or a spell to prevent Whitney from conceiving."

  "Why didn't you just leave her?" I asked, stunned he'd go to such lengths. "If you were that unhappy? Why all the subterfuge? And then to have an affair on top of it?"

  "I asked for a divorce before all of this." The pain etched in his voice was unmistakable. "But Whitney wouldn't hear of it. And she had a safety net. Maybe she knew this was coming before I did, maybe realized our marriage had died before I did—or before I finally did something about it. When I told her I wanted out, that our marriage was over, she revealed that she'd moved all of our assets into her name and that she'd take everything if I left her. Not only the house we lived in but my investment portfolio as well. I'd be left with nothing."