by Nic Saint
“This harassment has got to stop,” Gran said. “If that woman is going to keep doing this to us, we need to take drastic measures.”
“You’re not going to kill her, are you?” asked Strel nervously.
“Kill her? Of course not. I would never kill her,” she added, “as murder is too gentle a punishment for the likes of Tisha Lockyer. I am, however, going to make sure she never gets near my store again.”
“I thought you already did that?” asked Stien. “With the protective shield you created?”
“I did, but it seems she’s determined to keep challenging me and make my life miserable.” She fingered her chin thoughtfully. “What about… I simply move her store to Alaska? That will make her think twice. Or even the swamps of Louisiana? She can sell her flowers to the alligators.”
“Gran, don’t do anything rash,” I said. “We don’t want to get into trouble with the law here.” Especially since the law was my boyfriend.
“I’m not going to get into trouble,” said Gran, a mischievous smile creeping up her face. “I’m not going to get into any trouble at all. My revenge will be… subtle.” And with a twitch of her fingers, she unleashed her revenge on her nemesis. Oh, dear, I thought. This wasn’t going to end well.
Chapter 28
Fearing the worst, my eyes were drawn to the store across the street and its owner. But instead of seeing Tisha Lockyer storming out of the store with a pig nose and a horse’s ass, I saw Sam Barkley walking into the store!
Uh-oh. Immediately I set foot for Pretty Petals, hoping to ward off more trouble. Why was Sam getting involved? Coming between Gran and Tisha could only end up causing more harm than good for the stalwart copper.
“Sam!” I cried, slamming into the store. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think he’s doing here?” asked Tisha disdainfully. “Buying flowers, of course. Why else would anyone visit a flower shop?”
To my intense relief, she actually looked okay. I studied her closely. No pig’s ears. No dragon tail. No face like a monkey. “Are you feeling all right?” I asked.
“Of course I’m feeling all right,” said Tisha, jerking her chin up. “What a stupid question!” She turned to Sam, plastering her best smile on her face. “And how may I help you, sir?”
Sam, who’d been following the interaction with a puzzled frown, said, “Yeah, my name is Sam Barkley—Detective Sam Barkley. NYPD. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your husband.”
Tisha’s smile faded. “My husband? Why? Did something happen to Sloan?”
“No, your husband is fine, Mrs. Lockyer. It’s just that—I’m conducting a murder investigation, and in the course of my investigation I came upon some news I’m afraid might be of interest to you.”
Tisha clasped a hand to her chest and reeled back. “My Sloan? Involved in a murder investigation? But… why? How? Who?” She darted a quick look at me and her eyes narrowed. “This is all your doing,” she grated out. “You and that horrible grandmother of yours! You did this to me!”
I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I can guarantee you that I had nothing to do with this, Mrs. Lockyer.” Whatever this was.
She turned her ire on Sam. “My husband is innocent. Whatever you’re trying to frame him for, he’s an innocent lamb.”
“I’m not saying your husband is implicated in the murder, ma’am. But he did provide a suspect with an alibi, and I wanted to check it with you. Where was your husband two nights ago?”
Tisha frowned. “A business trip. My husband is a realtor. He had a meeting in Seattle.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t at the civic center?”
Her frown deepened. “Of course not. What would he be doing at the civic center?”
Sam sighed. “Mrs. Lockyer, I’m afraid what I’m about to tell you might come as a shock.”
She gulped slightly, her back now against the wall and her eyes wide. “Tell me what?”
“Your husband told me that he was at the civic center two nights ago, attending a meeting of his local AA chapter, same way he has for the past year and a half.”
“AA?”
“Alcoholics Anonymous, ma’am.”
“But… my husband is not an alcoholic. He never touches the stuff.”
“Well, he has been a regular member. And what’s more…” He hesitated, then decided to trudge on. “Like I said, this may come as a shock to you, ma’am, so perhaps you better take a seat.”
Tisha shook her head. “Whatever it is, you better tell me right now, Detective, because I can promise you, it’s that woman’s fault. All of this is her fault.”
“Well, it takes two to tango, ma’am, so it’s as much your husband’s fault as Mrs. Gobbler’s, I’m afraid.”
Tisha’s jaw dropped. “Mrs. Gobbler? Who the hell is Mrs. Gobbler?”
“Lacey Gobbler? The woman who runs the AA chapter? She’s the one your husband’s been having an affair with for the past six months. I talked to him just now, and he told me all about it.”
“An affair!”
“Yes.” Sam shook his head. “I thought you knew—when you referred to the woman whose fault this is, I figured you were referring to Mrs. Gobbler.”
“No, I was referring to Cassandra Beadsmore. She’s behind all this, isn’t she? You’re working for her!”
“I can assure you that Mrs. Beadsmore is not my boss, ma’am,” Sam with a slight grin. “At the most she’s the mother-in-law I ever hope to have.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised, but since Tisha screamed, “I knew it!” I had no time to process Sam’s response. Next thing I knew, Tisha launched herself across the counter at me, and was trying to strangle me!
Good thing Sam was there to remove her hands from my throat, for she kinda took me by surprise. Sam eased the woman up against the counter. “Calm down, Mrs. Lockyer. Edie’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Her grandmother set this up! She’s a witch! Everybody knows they’re all witches. She put a spell on my husband! She made him engage in this affair with that woman!”
“Well, the affair has been going on for some time, ma’am, and both your husband and Mrs. Gobbler are consenting adults and have entered into this thing freely and of their own volition.”
I was still recovering from being attacked. Oddly enough I wasn’t mad at Tisha. If someone walked in and told me my husband was having an affair, I’d freak out too, and lash out at the first person available.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Lockyer,” I said. “But I can assure you that I had nothing to do with this, and neither has my grandmother.” Then again, Gran had just cast a spell, and only seconds later Sam had entered Tisha’s store to inform her that her husband was having an affair. Coincidence? Maybe not.
“Look, the thing is that your husband and Lacey Gobbler finally came clean, which is a good thing. It provides Mrs. Gobbler with an alibi for the night Johnson Junqueras was killed,” said Sam.
So that’s why Lacey couldn’t provide us with an alibi before. She was protecting Sloan. The man must have decided to admit to the affair, to the detriment of his marriage, to protect Lacey.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” said Tisha. “First my store is brutally vandalized, and now my husband is cheating on me? This is the worst day of my life!” Then she turned on me again. “And it’s all your fault. You and that horrible family of yours.”
“I can promise you…” I began, but she cut me off.
“I want you out of my store. Out! Right now! I don’t want to see you ever again!”
Well, that would be hard, as I was right across the street. But I complied and left the store. I could hear Sam tell her to ‘Calm the hell down, ma’am,’ and then I closed the door behind me and stalked across the street.
“Gran,” I said, entering Floret & Bloom, “did you set up this affair between Sloan Lockyer and his AA chapter leader?”
Gran looked perfectly innocent. She snipped the stem of a daffo
dil. “An affair? Between Sloan and who now?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” I said. “I saw you cast a spell on Tisha. This is what you did, isn’t it?”
“Honey, that affair has been going on for ages. Everybody knew about it except Tisha. And trust me, I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you made Sloan spill the beans to Sam, didn’t you? And made him come over to tell Tisha.”
Gran shook her head. “No. I did cast a spell, but it has got nothing to do with Sloan or Lacey.”
“So what did you wish for?”
She smiled an enigmatic smile. “You’ll see.” And snipped another daffodil.
Chapter 29
Since Gran had assured us she was well in charge of the store, we decided to do some more flyering for our big meeting that night. I hoped that the whole neighborhood would show up, and give us a much-needed boost to get the neighborhood watch off the ground. We walked past the house where Moriah Mockford lived with her family when Moriah’s mother came out with a cardboard box filled with bottles. She nodded a greeting at us and disappeared inside the house again. And because human nature is what it is, I couldn’t resist taking a gander at the contents of that box. To my amusement it was filled with liquor bottles.
“Looks like the Mockfords should have a chat with Lacey Gobbler,” said Stien.
“Yeah, looks like,” I agreed, though I couldn’t imagine Moriah being the drinker in that family. We walked on and soon arrived on our own street. Lucy Peanut was working in her front yard, a scarf wrapped around her head, digging holes in the turf and dumping in seeds.
“Hey, Lucy,” I said. “Wanna come to our meeting tonight?”
She wiped her hands on her overalls and took a flyer. Slight and pale-faced, Lucy is a raw foodie. Which means she only eats raw food and no meat. I have no idea how she does it, but she’s still alive so she must be doing something right. She studied the flyer, then looked up and said, “I’ll be there.”
“Great,” I said with a cheerful smile. “And if you want to invite other friends and neighbors, you can give them a flyer, too.” And I handed her a small stack.
She gave me a mournful look. “I don’t have any friends,” she announced, and returned the flyers. “And my last neighbor got killed.” She glanced over to the house of her next-door neighbor, which had been empty ever since its owner, Leann Peach, had died.
“Any news on who’s bought the place?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I haven’t heard a thing. I just hope they’re nice. Mrs. Peach wasn’t very nice. She hated my kitchen garden.”
“Well, she hated everything and everybody,” said Stien.
“Except her cat,” said Strel. “She loved her cat.”
Lucy displayed a rare smile. “How is Snoozles?”
“He’s with Sam’s mother now,” I said. “He’s fine.”
Lucy nodded. “How nice.”
Just at that moment, Auntie Leigh walked out of Safflower House and carefully closed the door behind her. When she saw us, she came over. “Oh, hi, Lucy,” she said. “What are you planting?”
“Marigold. They’re supposed to have powerful medicinal qualities.”
“Not just medicinal. They will also provide you with a lot of positive energy. Cheer you up.”
“Is that a fact?” asked Lucy, very cheerlessly.
“Oh, yes. My guru—Master Dam—says we should all have some marigold in our garden.”
“Right,” said Lucy in the same cheerless voice. “I could use some positive energy. My neighbor was killed recently. And before that she had a bunch of beetles destroy my harvest. And before that, her cat peed in my kitchen garden. She was not a great neighbor.”
Auntie Leigh laughed. “My dear! You could use some cheering up, couldn’t you?”
We left Leigh and Lucy to it and moved on.
“At least Lucy has great pores,” I said, trying to find something positive to take away from this experience.
“Must be all that raw food,” said Stien, pretty much the picture of gloom herself.
“I think this meeting is going to be a big hit,” said Strel, stapling another flyer to a pole.
“I think you’re right,” said Stien. “Though I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Why would it be a bad thing?” I asked. “We want the neighborhood to support us, don’t we?”
She shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’m really cut out for this thing, Edie. I’m not a big crime fighter. I mean, I can’t even get Glenn Kerb to walk me down the red carpet.”
Both me and Strel groaned. Not again with this Glenn Kerb business.
“No, it’s true. I mean, look at me. I’m a glorified accountant. I’m not exactly Batman in a skirt.”
“You don’t have to be Batman in a skirt to run a neighborhood watch,” I said. “You just have to use your God-given talents to do some good.”
“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t have any God-given talents,” she said morosely, kicking a perfectly innocent pebble. “Gran took them away from me. I’m just a big, fat loser, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not,” I said adamantly. “You’re a Flummox. You’re the heir to one of the greatest witches that ever lived. All you need to do is pull yourself together and learn how to harness that power without making a total mess of things. We all do.”
“I think we didn’t do too badly the last time,” said Strel. “We caught the killer and we didn’t even blow up anything.”
“Yeah, remember that, Stien?” I asked.
“We got lucky,” said Stien in a low voice. “Gran did most of the heavy lifting. I’m sure of it. She’s the real witch in this family, not us.”
“This Glenn Kerb did a real number on you, didn’t he?” asked Strel.
“Glenn didn’t do anything,” I said. “She did a real number on herself.” I shook her. “Snap out of it already.”
“Easier said than done. Glenn is the greatest guy I ever met.”
“No, he’s not!” said Strel. “He’s just a member of the lucky pore pool.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the lucky gene pool,” said Stien.
“So what? The guy’s got great pores. I would kill for those pores.”
I laughed, and even Stien displayed a smile.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll survive.” She then picked up a flyer and studied it. “You know, maybe I should focus on this for a while, at least until I’ve managed to get Glenn out of my system.”
I patted her back. “That’s the spirit. You go and focus on catching the bad guys.”
“And the good guys,” Strel added.
“And the good guys,” I agreed.
Stien rolled her eyes. “Why don’t I just catch all the guys? Good and bad?”
“As long as you leave some for me,” said Strel. “Good and bad.” When we stared at her she added, “What? I like me a good bad guy from time to time. And he doesn’t even have to have great pores.”
Chapter 30
That evening, the long-awaited meeting of the neighborhood watch finally took place. Strel’s current boyfriend Dunlop Bard had kindly offered Puppy Power to function as the venue, and Strel, Stien and I had high hopes that the turnout would be massive. I mean, who doesn’t want to keep his neighborhood safe? And who wouldn’t be interested in three young ladies launching the first-ever neighborhood watch in the Haymill area?
Not all that many, as it turned out.
The meeting was scheduled to start at eight on the dot, but when the clock struck nine, only a handful of people had shown up: Gran, Renée, Sam, Dunlop Ward himself, which was hardly a surprise as this was his bar and he was hoping to make good money serving drinks. Lucy Peanut was there, and so were Flavio and Erick Moleskin. Paloma Peach had also shown up—it was her sister’s murder we’d recently solved—and so had Brandi Bluff, a fairly famous writer who lived nearby and whom we met in the course of the Peach investiga
tion. Finally, Auntie Leigh came tottering in, and that was it. Not even Glenn had shown up. Probably because he was still busy at the film festival. And since we were familiar with all these people, we didn’t exactly feel like holding a formal meeting. So we simply sat around and chatted about safety in the neighborhood for a while. I was slightly disappointed, Stien was slightly relieved, and Strel? She didn’t give a damn. She was ensconced behind the bar and was having a ball with Dunlop showing her how to create his fabled Puppy Power Gadzooks Cocktail.
“I think you should take a field trip to China,” Paloma Peach said decidedly. She was a pint-sized elderly lady, her hair pulled back in a bun so tight it blocked the blood supply to her face.
“Oh? And why is that?” asked Sam, interested.
“Because In China they know how to fight crime,” said the old lady. “You so much as spit on the sidewalk, and it’s off with your head.”
Sam seemed taken aback by this. “The death penalty for spitting on the sidewalk? Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“Not harsh. Effective,” Paloma insisted. “I never spit on the sidewalk. Do you?”
“Not if I can help it,” Sam confessed.
“Well, then. Why should spitters be rewarded by lackadaisical law enforcement and non-spitters punished with dirty sidewalks? Chop off their heads, and next time they’ll think twice before aiming their horrible phlegm where more civilized folks place their well-shod feet!”
“Yeah, I can see it would be pretty tough to spit without a head,” Sam agreed with a wink at me.
“Oh, don’t talk nonsense,” said Flavio. “You’ll never get that kind of thing past the politicians.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” said Paloma. “If politicians don’t want to do what’s right? Off with their heads! Bring back the guillotine. It worked for the French, didn’t it? Let them eat lead!”
