by Cindy Stark
They wound their way through the café and out the front door where they both claimed spots on a nearby bench. The scent of fresh dirt and petunias encircled Hazel, and she inhaled until her lungs were full. A few cars drove by and a couple of tourists walked the cobblestone sidewalks, but not enough to disturb their privacy.
Cora bent her knee and slid it onto the bench between them as she turned to Hazel. “I’ll be honest. Lucy is a tough lady. She’s had to be. The pond scum she married, a deck hand on one of the commercial fishing boats, was a mean son of a gun. He drank too much, and when he did, he got physical.”
Hazel’s heart cracked. “Oh, no.” She’d endured her fair share of emotional abuse in her lifetime, but nothing physical.
A dismal look blanched Cora’s features. “Yeah, it got ugly. I think the only thing that allowed her to hold on that long was that he’d be gone for weeks. She’d threatened to kick him out numerous times, but he’d always convince her to keep him.”
“Poor Lucy. And now this after she finally found peace.”
Cora’s gaze followed a car as it drove past. “I thought about putting a curse on him a few times, but Karma can be a beast when she wants. So, I steered clear and tried to be as much support as I could.”
Hazel nodded. “Sometimes, that’s all you can do.”
Cora’s focus grew distant. “The day he broke her arm, though, that was the day he broke her. He pleaded and pleaded to be forgiven, even promised to go to counseling. She finally agreed.”
Hazel closed her eyes as a wave of disgust rolled over her. “And Father Christopher was who they sought for help.”
“Yep,” Cora said with finality. “Week after week they went to see him. At first, Lucy seemed very hopeful. She said Ed was trying, but that didn’t last long. Then he was back to hitting her. Still, Father Christopher convinced her that if she left her husband without giving her marriage everything she had, which apparently included her life, then she’d go to hell.”
“And she believed it?”
“Repeated brainwashing can do that to a person. To this day, I believe the only thing that saved her was that her husband left. One day. Out of the blue. Told her he was headed out to sea, but never reported for duty, and she never saw him again. Someone said they thought they saw him with a blonde a few days before, but no one knows for sure.”
She snorted. “Just like that?”
Cora snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
“Maybe the Karma bus ran him over.” Which would be nature’s perfect justice.
“Probably. We might get away with stuff for a while, but she eventually comes around.”
The door opened behind them, and Bertie stepped out carrying a brown paper bag. “Hazel? Your order is ready.”
Hazel stood and took her and Peter’s lunch. “Thanks, Bertie.”
Cora joined her by the front of the door. “Enjoy your meal, and good luck. You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”
“I will. Thanks for the luck. I think I might need it.”
Twelve
When Hazel stepped into Peter’s office, the bags emitting delicious scents of burgers and fries, she experienced his resulting smile. She knew she’d paved the way to their sticky conversation well. He might want to be angry or annoyed with what she’d tell him, but he couldn’t be too mean.
“Hi there.” She gifted him with a bright smile as she entered his office. “You should round us up some colas and let the office picnic commence.”
He nodded appreciatively. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”
He stood, gave her a kiss on the cheek on his way out the door and returned in less than a minute. “This is a nice surprise. Any special reason?”
She hated that he could read her so well. She lifted burgers from the bag and set one in front of each of them. “I missed you and wanted to see you.”
“Uh-huh.” He unscrewed the cap on his soda, and it hissed in response. “You missed me.”
She sent him a wounded look. “Of course, I missed you. And I brought you food, so you should be happy.”
“I am happy, but you’re rarely this spontaneous unless something has happened.”
He shouldn’t know her this well. “Fine. A couple of things did happen.”
She contemplated starting with Victor’s arrival and then using her conversation with Rosalinda as a distraction. But maybe the opposite would work out better.
She hated that she had to talk about Victor at all, but Peter would find out.
She grimaced. “Do you want the bad news first or the only-related-to bad news, but not actually bad first?”
He snorted and shook his head. “You’re not making sense.”
Here goes nothing. “My ever-loving mother was worried about me, so she sent my ex-boyfriend to town to check on me.”
She held her breath and waited.
Peter regarded her for several moments before he spoke. His silence ratcheted up her anxiety. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything after all.
“Well?” she finally prompted.
“I guess my answer depends on how you feel about it. Are you happy to see him? Do you still have feelings?”
She scoffed. “No and not in the least.”
He shrugged. “Then what difference does it make?” He bit into his burger.
She squeezed her eyes tightly before she sighed and opened them. “He’s not in any hurry to leave. He’s already flirting with Cora, and I’m afraid he’ll try to cause trouble between us.”
Peter swallowed. “I’d say that’s up to us. If we don’t let him, if we ignore him, what can he really do?”
Hazel didn’t want to tell him all the things Victor might do, but maybe she needed to trust Peter and their feelings for each other. “Okay. Well, I just wanted you to be aware.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Does he drive a Harley?”
She groaned inside. “Yes.”
His expression turned surprised, almost disappointed. “You dated him?”
She wouldn’t embarrass herself further by admitting she not only dated him, but she’d been madly in love with him. “I was younger then, more naïve.”
She’d been angry at her mom for a long time for not protecting her from Victor. Who was she kidding? Her mother was still thrusting Victor in her face. All her mother could see was his power, his potential. Not the jerk beneath.
Hazel understood that she wanted her daughter to marry well, but she’d like a decent person for a husband, too. Her mother would likely not approve of Peter as a match because of his lack of magical abilities. And she really didn’t care.
Peter dipped a fry in ketchup. “Don’t worry about him. He can’t do anything to us. If he misbehaves, he’s out of here. Might want to give Cora a heads-up though.”
“Already did.”
Enough of this line of conversation. “I started making deliveries to Rosalinda at the church this morning.”
He laughed and shook his head. “That’s convenient. I thought you were avoiding sleuthing from now on.”
Her irritation woke, yawned and stretched. “Rosalinda came to me. I didn’t go anywhere near the church or your investigations until then. Even when I was there, I didn’t ask her about anything. I did happen to see a curious list of names on her desk that included Lucy that she promptly hid from me. But she’s the one who started talking about Father Christopher first.”
He grinned. “I knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”
She opened her mouth to say something snarky, but he lifted a hand.
“And I’ve missed you, too. There’s nothing like dissecting a case with you.”
She shook her head in amazement but smiled. The man could go from annoying to sweet so fast that she couldn’t keep up with him. She opened her soda and drank, giving her brain a chance to catch up with her emotions.
Peter dragged a yellow legal pad closer to him. “Who was on this curious list, and what makes you think it has anyth
ing to do with the case?”
In that moment, she realized how much she’d missed discussing cases and bouncing ideas off each other, too. She leaned forward in her chair. “A few things. First was the fact that she hid it from me. Second, she started talking about the case right after she moved the list.”
She paused for a sip of soda. “I saw Lucy’s name, and Dan Cullpepper.”
Peter nodded as he wrote down Lucy and Dan. “Interesting. When we questioned Rosalinda, she said she didn’t think anyone from the church had murdered Father Christopher. She mentioned the May Day Curse again, but I don’t think traces of peanut end up in a strawberry tart by accident.”
“It sounds like most people in town knew of his peanut allergy, unlike me.”
He nodded and swallowed. “I’d never heard it before, but I didn’t know the Father well. But Rosalinda said his severe peanut allergy was well-known. When I questioned Lucy about it, she said she was aware of it, but that she hadn’t used any in her recipe.”
Hmm… “Did you check any of her other tarts to see what was in them?”
He pointed a fry at her. “This is why I love you.”
Her heart jolted as he shoved the French fry into his mouth. Had he meant the love kind of love, or just the I-love-that-we’re-compatible kind of love?
“And?” she prompted.
“Yes, we checked. She had leftover tarts that were made in the same batch, and we tested them. No traces. In fact, we found no traces of peanuts in her kitchen at all.”
She worked to clear her mind of his most recent amorous declaration. “Does that mean you’re leaning toward someone else having used her strawberry tart as a means to kill him?”
“It’s not out of the realm of possibilities.”
She really hoped that was true and that Lucy was innocent. “Who would have had access?”
“Anyone who could get into the church’s kitchen, so basically anyone that day. Lobster Lucy brought her tarts earlier that morning and put them in the fridge. Then right before the festivities began, she whipped the cream and topped them all.”
Hazel put a hand around her throat. “I tried one of them, too. They were delicious. Hard to believe something so sweet could be deadly.”
“Deadly to only a select few with that type of allergy. Most anyone else could eat it and be just fine.”
Hazel bit into her burger, enjoying the extra pickles Bertie had added for her. She and Peter ate in silence for a few minutes. She stared into his eyes as she pondered the case, mulling over what she knew.
That was until his gaze penetrated her mind and moved into her soul. Then she blinked and looked away, not needing the distraction of her body reacting to his presence.
She removed the soda lid and drank. “Is Dan Cullpepper a suspect? Was I right about Rosalinda’s list?”
He flipped back to the previous page on the yellow notepad. “Apparently, Dan’s daughter had sought counseling from Father Christopher a couple of years ago when she was pregnant by her teenage boyfriend. I don’t know what the Father said to her, but she was very upset when she left. The following Sunday, he gave a passionate sermon about the benefits of remaining chaste and the damning consequences if one did not.”
More evidence of Father Christopher’s cruelty.
“Late that Sunday afternoon, the poor girl committed suicide. This happened not long after my wife died, so the details are a little fuzzy, but I do remember her funeral and being unable to speak with the devastated family. A little too close to home, you know?”
Hazel’s heart bled for that poor family and for Peter. “That is so terrible. What kind of person would do that to a child?”
He picked up a pen and tapped it on the pad. “My question exactly. The more I dig, the more I’m discovering his propensity for brutality.”
“Rosalinda didn’t like him. That’s for sure.” Hazel pondered for a moment and then met Peter’s gaze. “You don’t think she could have killed him, do you? I mean she hated the priest she worked for, and then he fired her.”
“Can’t rule anyone out at this point, but no, I don’t think that sweet, little lady murdered Father Christopher.”
A relieved grin spread across her face. “And you’ve ruled me out.”
He blew out a breath. “Thank God for that.”
“Or the Blessed Mother,” she added.
He snorted. “Or the Blessed Mother. Cora says that, too, you know?”
She pasted on an innocent smile. “Really? That’s interesting.”
“I’ve actually heard several people in Stonebridge use it occasionally. Right after I moved back here with Sarah, the town went through a phase where some folks actually embraced the town’s sordid past and became very interested in the original four witches. Ladies would make elaborate witch hats in a crafting class and parade around town on Saturdays saying things like Blessed Mother and pretending to cast spells to invoke weather changes. Even my wife made a hat.”
Hazel widened her eyes as she listened. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It sure would be today. If I remember correctly, Father Christopher came down hard on his followers, telling them they were taunting the devil and inviting evil into their lives. The witchy fun and games died pretty quickly after that.”
Hazel had left her own traditional hat at her mother’s house. “What happened to Sarah’s hat?”
He shrugged and crumpled the empty wrapper from his hamburger. “I’m sure it’s with her other things in my attic.”
That concerned her a little. “You still have all her things?”
“I haven’t wanted to clean out her stuff, up until recently. Hard memories, you know?”
She could only imagine. “I guess it all takes time. When you’re ready, you’ll do it.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’m ready.”
And, once again, they’d entered uncomfortable territory for her. It wasn’t that she wanted Peter to pretend that Sarah and the tragedy that resulted in her death hadn’t existed. It was just that she didn’t quite know what to say when it all came up.
“Does that mean Lucy is still at the top of your list?” she asked.
“For now. But we’re looking at others.”
That left her feeling a little better. “I also saw the mayor’s name on Rosalinda’s list of suspects, if that’s what that was.”
He tilted his head from side to side as though pondering. “She didn’t mention his name to me, but maybe she had her reasons. Also, investigating my boss without endangering my job could be tricky.”
Understandable. “Maybe one of your guys could poke around. Then you’d be the buffer to protect him in case the mayor fires back.”
He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Perfect. I know exactly who to choose. John Bartles wants to redeem himself, so let’s see how he does with this assignment. I won’t hang him out to dry, but if he hangs himself, that might be better for all involved.”
Hazel hated to mess with Karma like that, but if John followed protocol and used common sense, he’d be fine.
Although, she wasn’t certain he could.
Thirteen
Hazel sat with one leg curled under her, Clarabelle’s spell book in one hand, and Glenys’ tome open on her lap. “Eye of newt,” she mumbled and then lifted her gaze to where Mr. Kitty sat on the edge of the armchair reading with her.
“Who the heck uses eye of newt, and where would I ever find it?”
Mr. Kitty gave her a sassy blink and then looked back at the book in her lap.
She shook her head, frustrated and annoyed. Learning to cast spells using instructions and ingredients three hundred years old was impossible.
Not impossible.
She huffed at her cat, and he huffed back.
Annoyed, she flipped back a few pages in Clarabelle’s book, looking for the section on protective spells. After the disaster with Glenys, that was one area she knew she needed to improve upon if she intended to stay in Stone
bridge.
Although only some of the protective spells involved blood magic, they still made her a lot more nervous than the earlier ones. She turned back even more pages. Maybe she should try to make it rain. That could always come in handy during a drought, or maybe she could use it to deluge an enemy so that she could get away.
Though she’d have to learn to focus it on one person for that to be effective.
Loud pounding on her front door startled her and sent Mr. Kitty running for cover beneath the couch. She quickly closed both books, glanced about the room for a good hiding place, and decided to set them on the floor and cover them with a quilt.
She hurried to her front door and peeked out the hole, surprised to find Peter on the other side.
He pounded again before she could open it. When she did unlock it and twisted the knob, he pushed through, forcing her backward.
He slammed the door hard behind him seconds before something squishy hit it. His breaths came faster than usual, and water dripped from his hair and shirt.
She gasped. “What on earth?”
“I’m being attacked.” He pushed her aside and peered out the peephole. He flinched, and something else hit her door.
She stepped to the window and caught sight of several teenage boys who’d taken cover behind the neighbor’s shrubs. “By kids?”
She chuckled, and Peter shot her an irritated look. “With water balloons. I’m the police chief. How dare they?”
“Apparently, they dare.”
Peter pushed the mike on the radio on his shoulder. “I need a unit to patrol around Hazel’s house. We have some hoodlums ransacking the neighborhood.”
Hazel controlled her laughter while he finished his call. Then she cracked up again. “Hoodlums ransacking the neighborhood?”
He looked affronted. “I could get them for assaulting a police officer.”
She tucked in her lips and nodded. “They should be very afraid.”
He turned to her with a fuming look. “How would you like to get ambushed by a bunch of kids while walking up to my doorstep?”
