The Witch's Heart (One Part Witch Book 1)

by Iris Kincaid

  When Margo saw the pushing and shoving begin, she had felt her heart begin yet another alarming escalation. It had only been about one year since her doctor had made his frightening prognosis and laid down the law about taking it easy. The thought of stepping closer to intervene only resulted in deathly fight or flight palpitations.

  Why did Russell have to catch her eye as she scurried past? His eyes were filled with fear and anger. Anger at Margo, as well as at his tormentors, for not having the courage to stop and help. She had played that day over and over in her mind so many times. What a useless creature her heart had made her.

  After high school, Russell disappeared. College, no doubt. He had come back two years ago with a girlfriend. He opened up a tapas restaurant, Barcelona, the only one of its kind in town. Apparently, it was a roaring success. Margo was glad for him. Everything seemed to be working out great for him despite a bullied youth.

  She still carried such regrets from that day. And she so wanted to speak to him. Did he resent her? Had he forgiven her? She had never really forgiven herself. If she could just talk to him . . . perhaps she could get some kind of closure, if nothing else.

  As she approached, she could see that Russell had turned into a fine, handsome young man—she was going to go with . . . Ewan McGregor. As she came within ten yards of him, she was startled by a black-and-white police car rushing to his side. Two police officers leapt out, flashed their badges, and proceeded to handcuff him.

  As Margo cautiously crept closer, she could hear Russell being read his rights.

  “Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

  Russell nodded in a daze. Again, he locked eyes with Margo. His face was filled with panic and confusion. They pushed him down into their car and zoomed away. The feeling of helplessness that descended on Margo was so unbearable, she shoved it away with as much force as she could. Russell Knox was in terrible, terrible trouble. This time, she had to do something about it.

  *****

  A man had been murdered in Russell Knox’s restaurant. Poisoned, actually. Margo heard all the details from her business neighbor, Clarissa of The Clam Shack.

  “I know this guy’s brother. Walter, he’s my accountant. Geez, this is unbelievable. I’ve actually eaten at that restaurant. Though I suppose nothing would have happened to me.”

  “You mean, you’ve never gotten food poisoning?” Margo wondered.

  “It wasn’t food poisoning. It was poisoning, poisoning put deliberately into the dead guy’s food. This isn’t negligence. He’s up for first-degree murder.”

  That was insane. Although Margo didn’t know Russell well, she still had such a feel for his general decency, even from a distance. It just didn’t ring true with everything else that she’d heard about him. How could he be a cold-blooded murderer?

  It’s true that he hadn’t had a very good childhood. He was poor. He was bullied. Had he been bullied so many years that he was filled with repressed rage? And oh, dear, could Margo have changed the course of his life by showing more courage on that critical day, so long ago?

  *****

  Two days later, Margo couldn’t sit still any longer. Even though they had no real connection and had never had a friendship, she had to speak to Russell. She went to the police station, which also contained the local jail, and was relieved that they could accommodate her with a visit on the spot. Looking around the station, she spotted a decidedly new face. At a glance, she would say a young Mark Ruffalo. Where’d he come from?

  Margo was seated in a low security visitors’ room, and she waited nervously for Russell to enter. The look on his face was of pleasant bewilderment.

  “Wow! This is a surprise. I mean super, super surprised. Margo Bailey. Hey, you know something? I just heard last week about your new heart. That’s terrific. It really is. I’m so glad for you. I really am.”

  Margo’s eyes filled with tears. This was not the first thing she expected to hear from Russell. He was in such horrible trouble and had all the reason in the world to resent her, hold a grudge. But her good news had momentarily transported him away from his own troubled situation.

  “Russell, please tell me what happened. Maybe I can help.”

  “Four days ago, a man died in my restaurant. It just looked like a tragic allergic reaction, you know—vomiting, seizure, coma. He died soon after he got to the hospital. Of course, everyone suspected food poisoning, but that’s really not how food poisoning works. Anyway, they found traces of arsenic on my coat. And here’s the insane thing . . . a bottle of arsenic in my car. Someone put a freakin’ bottle of arsenic in my car to make it look like I did this.”

  “Who? Who would have done such a thing? Margo marveled.

  “You don’t believe that—”

  “No, of course not. It just sounds—”

  “I know how it sounds.”

  “The man who was killed . . . who was he? Did you know him?”

  “His name was Julian Meeks, just a summer resident. I had never seen the guy before in my life. First time at the restaurant. His whole family was there. What a horrible thing for them to see, right?”

  ‘Mark Ruffalo’ was at the door. “You have another visitor.”

  Margo pushed her chair back. “I should leave.”

  “Stay. Please.”

  In came Walter Knox, brother and accountant, with a computer tucked under his arm.

  “Oh, I’m not your guest. Grandpa is your guest. I’m going to Skype him in. You just helped push him a few feet closer to his grave, which I’m sure suits you just fine.” Walter turned to Margo. “Junior, here, is the sole beneficiary of my grandpa’s estate. How d’ya like that? Nothing for me. Everything going to him.”

  “That was Grandpa’s decision. He knew you’d gamble it all away, Walter. That’s on you. And you know he’s right.”

  Walter proceeded to set up the Skype. “So the prodigal grandson has been doing everything he can to get our grandpa off life support equipment so that he can get his hands on that money.”

  “That is such garbage! Grandpa is either in a doped up stupor with his meds or he’s in horrible pain.”

  “Here we go. Time for a little karma. Hey, Grandpa. I have Russell here for you.” He turned the computer in Russell’s direction. Margo heard the weak, angry voice of an elderly man.

  “You’ve brought the worst shame to our family, Russell. I never want to lay eyes on you again. I’ve had my lawyer take you out of the will. Everything’s going to Walter. You hear that? You’re not going to be rewarded for murder. I just wish I hadn’t lived long enough to see this day. I need my pills. Where are my pills? I need to sleep. I can’t think about this anymore.”

  “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! Grandpa, you’ve gotta believe me.”

  Walter snapped the computer shut. “I don’t need to see you again either. If you’re waiting for bail, don’t hold your breath.”

  Russell and Margo exchanged an agonized look.

  ‘Mark Ruffalo’ appeared at the door. “Ma’am, it’s time to leave.”

  As Margo rose to her feet, it dawned on her that for over a week now, she’d been floating on air with the joy and promise of new life and new hope. And here was someone whose life was crashing to an end. It was unbearably unfair. With old, ugly feelings of helplessness descending on her, she stumbled away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Back at home, Bette was trying to win Newhart’s favor with some crunchy kitty snacks, which he devoured happily—then he would always wind up back in Margo’s lap.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Bette groused.

  “If you were chopped liver, you would definitely be his favorite,” Margo noted.

  “Hmmph! So, Russell Knox. Bottle of poison in his car? Sounds guilty.”

  “But why? What could possibly be the motive? It’s just bad for business, especially for a food business, for a man to get poisoned by his food. It’s dumb. It’s not a smart way to commit murder. It’s guarante
ed to lose business.”

  “It’s a shame. That tapas place. Yummy tapas. Now I guess we’ll never go.”

  “He says he was framed. I guess everyone says that. But Bette, what if he was?”

  “Like you said, he’s a bullied guy who finally snapped.”

  “I’m no detective, but seriously, where is the motive? A man was deliberately killed by someone who hated him.”

  “Nothing you can do. The police are on it, so stop obsessing. It’s been so nice to see you in a good mood and feeling so healthy. Let’s just be happy about that.”

  “You’re right. Absolutely right. My life is finally great.”

  Newhart flipped over in her lap and waited for his tummy rub. Margo scoffed, but obliged.

  “This is your third tummy rub today. I hope you know this is it.”

  Newhart was no longer scared or hungry. At least Margo had been able to rescue a cat. Russell Knox was beyond her help. A hopeless case.

  *****

  Margo had gotten in the habit of taking Newhart to work. After the last shows began, she would let him run around the lobby. Not much choice, really. He couldn’t be left at home alone. She tried it once, and boy, did he go crazy. He threw pillows all over the place and got into the hall closet and started ripping things up. The vet had warned her about this behavior. Apparently, animals generally hate being left alone.

  For the past few years, Margo had taken a cab home, partially to save herself from overexertion but also because nighttime is when all the scary, bad things happened, wasn’t it? In Oyster Cove, the crime rate ran to extremes. It was murder or nothing. Still, the long walk home had felt so ominous that she could never attempt it.

  But tonight, the darkness, the moon, and the cool breeze were irresistible.

  “You sure?” The cab driver asked. “Someone gonna pick you up?”

  “I’m walking. I’m fine.”

  “That’s an awful long walk.”

  Margo was getting impatient. “I’m never going to need a cab again. Never. Ever. Not even in the pouring rain.” She nodded emphatically.

  The driver shrugged. Oh, well. The steady fare had been good while it lasted. But it sure was nice to see her so energetic.

  Lilith nodded approvingly. “Rightfully so. There’s nothing like the night.” Her own powers had always been at their peak in the dead of night. It was likely the same would be true for Margo. But where was that Delphine? Shirking her orders. Lilith was getting very impatient for Margo’s education to begin.

  The beach looked so lovely and different at night. Margo stopped to see the moonlight sparkle across the waves. Filled with euphoria, she was so happy that she could . . . she could do a cartwheel. Not that she had ever been able to do a cartwheel, but that was her old life. Today, she refused to be daunted by simple ordinary things.

  And so she gave it a try. How hard could it be? She landed on her butt. Ouch! She laughed at what a ridiculous sight she must have made. Yes, she could feel the pain. But pain didn’t scare her anymore. She was willing to go for another try. Followed by another rough landing. Thank goodness for the sand.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Can I help you?”

  Margo swirled around, startled. It was ‘Mark Ruffalo’ from the police station. She looked at him skeptically.

  “I don’t know. Can you do a cartwheel?”

  “Umm. I can’t say that is in my area of expertise.”

  “Then no, you can’t help me.”

  “I can do . . . other things. I can wrestle a man twice my size to the ground. I can hit the carotid artery with just the right amount of force to disable someone without killing them.”

  “Impressive. Have you thought about hiring yourself out for children’s parties?”

  “Well, it’s just all part of my practical training.”

  “Listen, Mr. Lethal Weapon. Clearly, we are not on the same page. I was in a cartwheel kind of mood and having a lovely evening.”

  “It was just so dark . . . and late. Probably not a good idea for young ladies to be walking around late at night.”

  Margo bristled. She had been trying so hard to shake off all of those old fears and paranoias. The last thing she needed was someone telling her that she couldn’t walk home alone at night. Margo never allowed herself to get this annoyed. She’d always been worried that getting mad would stress her old heart. Now, she had to admit, it felt good to let it fly without censoring herself.

  “I know the police like to send someone to patrol the beach at night. But that’s to make the tourists feel better. I’ve lived in this town my whole life. It’s perfectly safe. Except the occasional murder. Which never happens on the beach. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Finn Cochran is the name. Yeah, I just took an early retirement from federal service after failing to dodge one too many bullets. Thought I’d try something a little quiet and uneventful, which Oyster Cove is, except for the poisoning murder.” He cleared his throat. “I take it that Russell Knox is a friend of yours? I was there when you stopped by for a visit.”

  “Not a good friend. Just old acquaintances. Sort of. Not really. I don’t think we ever even spoke to one to one another before that day at the jail. By the way, how’s that whole case going?”

  “Date for trial should be set by the end of the week.”

  “No, I mean, how are things progressing with locating other suspects?”

  “Well, there aren’t any.”

  “What if someone else did it?”

  “It seems we have pretty conclusive evidence.”

  “He says someone is framing him.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  Margo glared at him and grabbed Newhart’s cage.

  “I know it must be hard to think about a friend doing something like that,” Finn conceded.

  “He’s not my friend. Which I just told you. If you can’t pay attention to something like that, how can you possibly be conducting a careful investigation? Russell’s life is at stake. He hasn’t been proven guilty, and you’re not even looking for other suspects.”

  “Perhaps we could discuss this matter over a latte.”

  Margo scoffed and stormed away, clutching Newhart’s case. Finn flinched. No wonder he was still single.

  *****

  The big question Margo had was, did Julian Meeks have any enemies? Only his family would know for sure. Apparently, they owned a huge six-bedroom house, and the multi-generational clan spent much of every summer there, with a few excursions back to Boston for business.

  Margo needed to talk to them. But not as Russell’s friend. That, she would have to keep under wraps. She pulled her normally loose hair into a tight bun and pulled out a navy linen suit normally relegated for small business conferences and meetings with her banker. This was going to be sad, no doubt. The family would still be shocked and grieving. But this was for their benefit as well. They would want the rightful person to be behind bars.

  The man who opened the door bore a strong resemblance to John Goodman.

  “Yeah?” he said gruffly.

  “Hi. I’m Margo Bailey. I’m so sorry to disturb you at such a difficult time. I was hoping you could provide a little information about Julian Meeks. It’s so important that his rightful killer be punished.”

  “You from the police?”

  “No, no. I’m not. I’m just trying to get the facts straight.”

  “Reporter, huh? What paper you with?”

  As it so happened, Margo did actually have an online rag called Margo’s Movie House Gazette. It alerted people about coming attractions, film reviews, and discounts and provided a little movie trivia.

  “The Gazette. Could I just have a few moments of your time?”

  He let Margo into the spacious house. It was a decidedly old-fashioned place, with orange, brown, and yellow flowery wallpaper, macramé wall hangings, and crocheted granny square throws—very 1970s. No doubt, its designer was matriarch Trudy Quinn, sixty-two, who sat
in the living room and was either bursting into frequent sobs or dabbing her eyes dry.

  “My nephew! My nephew!”

  The rest of the family included Julian’s brother, Carson Meeks, their cousin, Lester Quinn, who had answered the door, and his wife, Rowena Quinn, nine months pregnant. All four had been present the horrible night in question, when they saw their loved one get poisoned.

  “Hey, listen up. This lady is doing a story on Jules. Just tell her what she needs to know.”

  “I really do apologize to all of you,” Margo said sincerely. “A lot of people in Oyster Cove didn’t have the chance to know Julian Meeks and it would be wonderful to see his life through his family’s eyes.”

  “So what do you want to know?” Carson asked warily. “Favorite color? Red. Favorite team? Patriots. Height—six foot two. Blood type—B positive. Sisters—two. Brothers—one. And I’m down from one brother to none.” He stopped, distraught.

  “My sister’s boy,” Trudy agonized. “Such a sweet, sweet guy.”

  “Why don’t we start with the basics? What was his profession?”

  “We’ve got a big family business, the Quinns and the Meekses—we got a lot going on,” Lester Quinn bragged. “We got a company that imports lumber over the border and we get it ready for builders.”

  “Ah, Julian worked in lumber?”

  “No, I handle most of that,” Lester said.

  “Jules was the money guy,” his brother Carson said proudly. “He was wicked smart with money.”

  “That’s right,” Lester chimed in. “He was going to be godfather to our baby because we knew if anything happened, he’d be a good provider. He knew about interest rates and all that kind of stuff.”

  “He was an investor?” Margo asked.

  “No, well, I don’t think so. He loaned money,” Carson explained. “That’s the biggest thing we do. Not just in Boston, but all up and down the Cape. We are the family everyone turns to. And if someone’s not having any luck with the banks, they turn to us. We’ll work out a good deal. Julian was the one who wrote up contracts. Had a good head for that. Lester and I were more responsible for collecting the money and straightening out the troublemakers.”