by Cindy Stark
Mr. Kitty sent her a challenging look and curled into his tail.
Hazel turned to Peter. “I guess he can stay there for now. It’s more important to find a place to hide that bottle.”
In the end, Peter decided to place it on the top shelf of the bedroom closet at the very back where a person couldn’t see it without climbing up on something. “I think that should work for now.”
Hazel lifted her brows. “I can sense it from here.”
He sent her an annoyed look. “That’s because you’re a witch. Madeline isn’t, and neither is Tracy, so we should be safe.”
She was more worried about the police than the two ladies. “Either way, I think it might be best if I cast a concealment spell. Just to be safe. I’m pretty sure I brought everything I’ll need.”
Peter immediately agreed with a nod. “Sometimes I forget how handy you are to have around.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, his comment made her smile. “That’s right. I’m very useful, and don’t you forget it.”
Tensions in the room eased. He stepped toward her and placed a warm kiss on her lips. “I won’t. You’re my sweet, smart, witchy wife.”
When she’d relished enough kisses, she slipped from Peter’s embrace and headed toward her suitcase sitting on the bed. She lifted clothes from it, set the container of teas she’d brought for Madeline on a table near the bed, and retrieved the small ornate box hiding at the bottom.
Mr. Kitty opened his eyes to watch and gave her a look of approval. The last time she’d needed something hidden, her familiar had accommodated her. Still, he’d always encouraged her to use her talents, and she’d made sure she knew the correct spell in case she ever found herself in the same position again.
Now, she was hiding evidence instead of stolen spell books. Heaven forgive her.
Peter also studied her with wonder in his eyes, leaving her a little nervous. It wasn’t like he’d never watched her complete a spell, but she’d hidden her magic from him for so long, that the urge to continue to do so was strong.
She knelt on the floor in front of the closet and placed a small red votive candle on the green swirly ceramic plate she carried with her for such things. She struck a match and lit the wick. A tiny flame flickered and danced before her.
After inhaling a cleansing breath, Hazel closed her eyes and took a moment to center herself and visualize the white bottle on the shelf in their closet until she had it clear in her mind.
“That which is before me, no one will see. Unless otherwise bidden, it will remain so, for eternity. I call upon the universe with all its powers to hear my plea. This I ask, so mote it be.”
A fresh rush of energy shot through her and exited from her fingertips.
When she finished, Peter lifted his gaze to the top of the closet and nodded. “Good. That should keep it safe until I decide what to do.”
She challenged him with an arch of her brows. “You mean until we decide. We’re a team now, remember?”
He nodded and pulled her to her feet for another hug. Tension and unbridled fear radiated from him into her. He might have said he didn’t believe Madeline could be guilty, but his energy told Hazel otherwise.
She leaned back and gazed into his eyes. She lifted a hand and drew her finger along his jaw before placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “How about we take a walk along the beach? Being near moving water always refreshes my soul and lifts my spirits.”
He looked concerned. “Are you feeling frazzled after the spell?”
She didn’t want to tell him that he was the one who needed the break, so she nodded. “The fresh air will do us both good.”
Some of his anxiety lessened. “Let’s do it. We can walk the pathway into town. You might like to look in the shops. Then I’ll take you to dinner.”
She frowned. “What about Madeline? She’s expecting us to eat with her.”
Peter shook his head. “I’ll send her a text. I can’t see her right now, Hazel. I need to get my thoughts straight first.”
The haunted look in his eyes broke her heart.
He cleared his throat as though to rid it of emotion. “I’ll talk to Chief Burton first thing tomorrow. Maybe then, I’ll have enough answers to know what to do.”
She worried for her dear, sweet husband. If Madeline ended up guilty, he would lose the only mother he’d known.
Seven
Hazel sat on the bed to change into walking shoes and glanced over at her snoozing kitty. “Hey, if you promise to stay in the house, I’ll bring you something yummy for dinner.”
He opened one eye. How yummy?
She narrowed her gaze. “Yummy enough that you’ll be mad if you miss it.”
Mr. Kitty sighed and closed his eyes. By the time she had her shoes on, he was breathing deeply.
She didn’t believe his antics for a minute. But maybe the temptation of food would buy his compliance.
Peter managed a half smile as they headed out the door.
A cool breeze ruffled Hazel’s hair. She took Peter’s hand and squeezed. “This will be okay. We’ll find the truth, and everything will be all right.”
He gave a half-hearted nod. “Yeah.”
They walked in silence down the lush grass until they reached the end of the property and a paved trail that ran parallel to the ocean. Jagged rocks formed the shoreline and led to the water thirty feet below them. The tide was in, and white-capped waves in the distance rolled in, flattening as they approached and then gently lapped the rocks.
The salty scent of the sea delighted Hazel’s senses and reaffirmed her love of Mother Earth and all she had to offer.
“So much for a honeymoon,” Peter said after several minutes of silence.
She gave a small snort and smiled. “As long as I’m with you, it will always be a honeymoon.”
That brought a smile to his face. “I’m going to remind you of that when you complain that we haven’t taken our trip to Barbados.”
She lifted challenging brows. “We’re still going to Barbados.”
He smiled and gazed past her, out to sea. “I know. I know. Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Happy with his answer, she turned her attention to the vast amounts of green bushes and trees that flanked the trail, sometimes blocking her view of the ocean.
They slowly made their way downward and closer to sea level. In the distance, white-washed inns and beach cottages came into view. Eventually, the path turned inward, away from the sea and toward the colorful buildings painted yellow, red, or white.
The walk to Sandpiper Bay’s shopping district and the center of town took them a little more than fifteen minutes. Immediately, Hazel sensed something magical about this quaint village that let her know it would always be a place she loved to visit.
In Hazel’s eyes, it reminded her of a town frozen in time from the colonial days. If not for the cars and poles that carried electricity through Sandpiper Bay, it might well have been.
Hazel glanced up at her husband. “It’s charming.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Draws a lot of tourists and artists from around the world.”
“I believe it. The landscape likely draws them in, and the fresh, vibrant energy would call them back like a siren’s song.”
“I know it did with me. Coming here was always an escape.”
She worried for her husband. He carried on polite conversation, but she knew where his thoughts were. “Why wait until tomorrow to see the chief? Why not right now?”
Peter met her gaze, but his eyes hadn’t lit up like she’d expected. “He doesn’t work weekends. At least, he never did when I was around. Not a lot of crime in the village, and weekends were for the deputies.”
She shrugged, not letting that deter her. “Well, he lives in town, doesn’t he? We could pop by for a friendly visit.”
He tilted his head, and a hint of a smile crossed his lips. He glanced at his watch. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. But I doubt we’d find him at h
is house. Chief Burton spends a lot of his free time fishing at Barrel Bridge. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was there right now.”
Hazel grinned, loving it when she could make her man smile. “Can we walk there?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It’s at the other end of town. Are you sure you don’t mind giving up shopping?”
She snorted. “And spend time investigating instead? You don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”
He slipped an arm about her shoulders and squeezed her to him. “Yeah. I should have guessed.”
“We both know we’re not going to have peace until we clear your aunt. Not to mention, having that bottle of poison in the closet makes me anxious.”
“Same.”
After that, they covered the distance at a brisk pace. She would have loved to meander through the quaint shops and enticing bakery, but that could wait until another day.
They followed Main Street for several blocks, walking parallel to the river that separated the village from the barrier beach and the ocean beyond. Gulls squawked overhead, and Hazel tipped back her head to watch the birds. A salty breeze drifted in from the ocean beyond and brought calm to her crazy day.
If Madeline’s issues weren’t looming like storm clouds, Sandpiper Bay would be the perfect honeymoon spot. That, and if there wasn’t a murderer on the loose.
Barrel Bridge came into view, a charming footbridge built from planks and painted white. Sailboats with lowered sails along with a multitude of other vessels bobbed lazily in the water.
Peter nudged her with his elbow. “When the tide is out, the river will be much lower, leaving these boats stranded on flats of mud until the ocean returns.”
She nodded, appreciating the tidbit of info. “That’s interesting. I hope residents plan well and don’t expect to leave by boat whenever they want.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure they do. Most of them have lived here all their lives.”
They stepped on the bridge where several men stood with fishing poles in hand. Hazel wondered which would be Sandpiper Bay’s chief.
Peter approached a man, likely in his early sixties. He wore jeans and an old flannel shirt. His belly protruded from a khaki fishing vest. “Gerald?”
The chief turned. His bright blue eyes lit first on her and then traveled to Peter. A thick white mustache above his top lip reminded her of an albino caterpillar, and it twitched when he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t Peter Parrish. Out to visit your aunt?” he asked in a voice several octaves lower than Hazel had expected.
Peter extended a hand, and the chief shook it. “Yeah, she offered us a stay in her bungalow as a wedding gift. A belated honeymoon.”
Gerald’s smile grew, pushing his chubby cheeks upward. “Honeymoon? Well, congratulations. Your aunt hadn’t mentioned a wedding.”
Her husband smiled sheepishly. “It was a small ceremony, and we didn’t invite many. Kind of a spur of the moment thing, too. This is my wife, Hazel.”
The chief glanced at Hazel and smiled. His gaze slid to her abdomen, and she grinned. He was looking for signs of a shotgun wedding.
That didn’t apply to them, but she supposed they had been in a hurry for other reasons.
She stuck out her hand toward the older man, and he shook it. “Nice to meet you, Chief Burton.”
“Oh,” he chortled. “You already know my name.”
Peter placed a possessive hand on her back. “Your name came up in conversation today when we had lunch at my aunt’s.”
The cheerfulness on his face dimmed. “Oh. Yes. I expect that unfortunate situation would come up.”
Peter lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “So, what’s the story? My aunt says she’s a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“She is.”
“You and I both know she’s not capable of that.”
Gerald’s cheeks pinkened, and he gazed out over the water. “Yeah. I can’t picture her doing it either, but Mayor Haberfield is pressuring me to keep Madeline on the suspect list. Her fingerprints were all over the coffee cup.”
“Haberfield? Freida Haberfield?” Peter asked with concern.
The chief nodded. “Yeah, you remember Freida.”
Peter snorted. “I remember her all right. She and my aunt have clashed since they were teenagers. You can’t trust her to have an impartial view.”
Gerald reeled in his line, checked his lure, and turned to Peter. “Mayor Haberfield isn’t handling the investigation. My team is. She might be able to exert pressure on how we handle the situation, but I can guarantee you everything is above board and by the book. You ought to know that about me, Peter.”
Defeat dimmed his features. “I do, Gerald. I apologize if I came across otherwise.”
Gerald gave a long sniff and then nodded. “Besides, I hear you’ve made chief in a small Massachusetts village. You should know how these things go.”
Peter chuckled. “I sure do. Investigating would be much easier if everyone else butted out.”
Gerald laughed and cast his line back into the water. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Hazel caught Peter’s gaze and lifted her brows. He stared back without changing his expression. If he wasn’t ready to butt in any further, she was. “Chief Burton?”
He shifted his gaze to her. “Call me, Gerald, please.”
She gave him her prettiest smile. “Gerald, then. Do you have any idea how Olive died?”
He smiled in return, and she sensed the warm energy he sent her way. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out confidential information.”
Hazel wasn’t about to be dissuaded by his answer. “Madeline said she was poisoned. Can you at least tell me if that’s true?”
Gerald clenched his jaw, and he pressed his lips tight. “Ahh.”
His expression of frustration spewed like pressure releasing from a boiler. “Who in the Sam Hell leaked that information?”
Hazel put a hand over her mouth to cover a smile. She caught another smile tugging at the corner of Peter’s mouth.
Color dissipated from Gerald’s face, and he dipped his head toward her. “I apologize for that, ma’am. I don’t usually let things get the best of me, but I’ve got a rat on the force, and I can’t figure out who.”
Peter slid his arm around Hazel. “Boy, can I understand that frustration.”
Hazel capitalized on the men’s comradery. “So, it was poison?”
Gerald shook his head. “I’m not going to comment.”
Peter nodded and then widened his eyes as he pointed toward the water. “Looks like you’ve got a fish on.”
The chief turned to find his pole arching. “Hot dang!”
Excitement replaced his anger over the leak by someone in his department. “It feels like a big one.”
Peter grinned. “We’ll leave you to your fishing. Just…is there anything you can give us to go on? I’d like to help my aunt, if possible.”
Gerald glanced back and forth between Peter and his catch as it jumped from the river. He shook his head several times, and then narrowed his gaze. “I hear the lobster rolls are good at Alberto’s Bistro.”
Peter drew his brows together. “Alberto’s Bistro?”
Gerald cranked the handle on his reel. “Yeah,” he said without looking at them. “You might want to check it out.”
Peter continued to stare, looking as though he was puzzling out the chief’s words.
Hazel tugged her husband’s hand. She gestured with her head that they should go. “Very nice to meet you, Gerald. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he mumbled and leaned over to grip the fish by the mouth, letting out a loud hoot. “Check out this beauty!”
She and Peter congratulated him before they left him to his victory and headed back across the footbridge toward Main Street.
When they were out of earshot, Peter nudged her. “You think we might find something at Alberto’s Bistro, don’t you?”
Hazel nodded excitedly. “Th
at had to be a hint from Gerald, without him actually telling us something. Do you know Alberto?”
“No. I’ve heard a few things but have never met the guy.”
“I say we go there for dinner and see if we learn anything.”
Peter nodded thoughtfully. “I’m in. If nothing else, I’ve heard the food is good, and it’ll give me time to decide what to do about my aunt.”
She sent him a heartfelt look. “Madeline didn’t do it, Peter.”
He released a long, defeated sigh. “Yeah, I know. I just wish I knew how to clear her name.”
“We find the killer,” Hazel said matter-of-factly. “We’re good at that.”
That brought a small smile to his face. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “That we are.”
Eight
A chilly wind picked up as Hazel and Peter strode toward Alberto’s Bistro. Energy in the air tightened, and sails on the boats in the nearby river snapped in the breeze.
Hazel tilted her face toward the sky. “Feels like a storm is moving in.”
Peter glanced around. “Yeah. I think we have a couple of hours yet before it hits.”
She didn’t want to argue with him, but if the building energy was any indication, they’d be lucky to have that long.
Alberto’s Bistro sat along the bank of the Sandpiper River, a white-washed structure with a red roof. A hand-painted sign with the restaurant’s logo that included a red lobster, hung over a massive wooden door and welcomed hungry guests inside.
Peter pulled on the large handle, opening the door for her. A boisterous atmosphere greeted them. Most of the wood-hewn tables were full of families and couples, young and old. People laughed and talked as they ate, and happiness vibrated in the air.
Fishing and seaside regalia covered the wood-paneled walls, giving the place a casual, cozy feel. The smell of cooking hamburgers and fried fish hovered in the air, and Hazel’s stomach gave a cry of appreciation. She turned to Peter with a smile. “I have a feeling we’ll visit this restaurant more than once while we’re here.”
