The Deadly Jellybean Affair

by Carrie Marsh

  “Why?”

  “She’s got a gold bracelet on. I’d think they’d have taken that if they were after valuables.” Mary lowered the binoculars and sat in the tree. “Well, this isn’t a good sign. Not a good sign at all.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock. You figure that out on your own?” Grace rubbed her arms.

  “I’m getting freaked out. Let’s get out of here and call the cops from town.”

  “We can’t do that. Call Andrew. Tell him we’ll wait for him.”

  Grace’s eyes popped open.

  “Are you sure you want me to tell him we’ll wait?”

  “I’m not afraid of my own son. Even if he is a captain at the Morhollow Police Department.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.” Grace shifted from one foot to another as she pulled her phone from her pocket again. “I’m saying I don’t really like the idea of loitering around a dead body.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mary chuckled while she shifted over an inch at a time back the way she had come along the thick branch. Without much difficulty, she positioned herself back in the nook of the tree, pointed her right toe as far to the ground as she could, and managed to hop down. “You spent half last night at Hank Jewels funeral.”

  “Hello? Andrew Tuttle, please. It’s Grace Deitz. I’m with his mother. She’s fine but the dead body we found isn’t.” Grace arched her right drawn-on eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Hank Jewel is totally different. He died peacefully in his sleep.”

  Mary extended her hand as she stomped back to the walking path to take the phone from Grace so she could speak directly to her son.

  “But they’re both dead?” she asked as she took the phone and held it up to her ear.

  “Yes, but the Hank Jewel kind of death is over and done.” Mary waved her hand in the pale body’s direction. “The Summer Moran kind leads to hauntings. You don’t think we’ll be able to walk this route anymore, do you? Who knows what kind of bad mojo we’ve picked up already?”

  “Mojo?” Mary squinted at her friend.

  “Bad luck. You know. Mojo.” Grace rolled her eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, Mary looked in the direction of the body and a shadow fell over her face.

  “You might actually be right,” Mary sighed.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I had actually hired Summer to come and work at the store. She was supposed to start tomorrow.”

  Grace raised her right hand to her lips. “What? My gosh. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Mary shrugged. “She came in about two weeks ago while I was counting inventory and waiting for the finishing touches to be added by the carpenters and stuff.”

  “You knew who she was, though?” Grace placed her hand on her friend’s arm. “You knew her reputation.”

  Mary nodded. “The tacky tattoo. The bleached hair. All of it. Yeah, I knew. But Ward would have given her a chance. You know how he was. And since it was because of him I could have my dream, I thought maybe I could help someone else while helping myself.”

  “Mary. I’m sorry.” Grace patted her friend’s back and stood close by her.

  “Hi, honey.” Mary said into the phone. “No, Grace hasn’t been drinking again. Look. We’ve got a situation here in Piltcher Park just past Poe’s Hill. You need to get up here.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  FAMILIAR FACES

  FAMILIAR FACES

  “Mom. Can you please talk to Officer Higgs? You remember Tom Higgs, right?” Andrew pointed to a stout officer in blue jeans and a brown shirt with a holster hanging from his belt. At the moment, Officer Higgs was getting Grace’s statement, which looked to be more like a confession than a statement of what happened.

  “Of course, I’ll talk to him, honey. I’m here to help. I’m just asking, that’s all.”

  Mary gently touched her son’s strong arm. He towered over her by a foot. He had gotten his height from his father. “Do you think it’s a serial killer?”

  “You’re being nosey is what you meant to say.” Andrew watched as Katie Philips tenderly pushed aside the brush and foliage all around the body with plastic gloved hands. “Did you or Grace touch the body?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at his mother as if he were ready to not believe her.

  “Ew, gross. No. Certainly not.” Mary shook her head. “I climbed up in that tree to get a better look. See?” She pointed to the branch hanging over the body. “Birds’ eye view.”

  “Mom, you could have fallen and broken your neck.” Andrew looked wide-eyed at his mother.

  “Please, Andrew. I’ve been climbing trees for a lot longer than you’ve been wearing that badge, there.” She tapped the shiny medallion on his left shirt pocket. “And I didn’t disturb the crime scene at all.” She smiled up at her son proudly.

  “Thanks.” Andrew shifted from one Timberland boot to the other. “Now, if you could let us finish up here. Give your statement to Tom and go on home.”

  “When is Edgar going to get here?”

  Edgar Lomont was the crime scene photographer and also the only professional photographer in Morhollow. He owned a lovely little studio that was a block down the street from what after tomorrow would be Mary’s new store. He had photographed just about everyone in town for baptisms, weddings, graduations as well as the mug shots for the routine drunk and disorderly.

  Being drunk and noisy after twelve o’clock at night was the most serious offense recorded in Morhollow up until now.

  “Edgar has been called. He’ll be here when he gets here.” Andrew sighed. “Hey, Katie. Bag that cigarette butt by the back right leg, too.”

  “Yes, sir,” Katie replied, shaking another clear baggie from her pocket She delicately picked up the white cylinder and dropped it in, sealing it tight.

  “Well, I just thought that since Grace has her cell phone that you could save yourself a little time and have her take a couple pictures. You know, to help out.” Mary looked hopefully up at her son.

  “Mom, your morbid curiosity has me worried.”

  “Son, don’t be silly.” She waved her hand as if she were shooing a fly.

  “Captain!” Edgar waved, panting and sweating terribly. “Sorry I’m late. Family portrait. Four kids under the age of five. It was a nightmare.”

  “Hi, Edgar. Was that the Leeman family?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Tuttle. Yes, it was.” Edgar puffed as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Such a beautiful family. Sweet, sweet people.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Edgar smiled then looked at Andrew, who was looking at them both through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry, Captain. Where’s the body?”

  Andrew pointed to the form still lying partially hidden underneath the brush. Edgar and Katie exchanged a few pleasantries before Edgar followed behind her, snapping pictures only after she had removed any foreign debris that might be a clue.

  “You know, I had hired Summer to work at my store. She was going to start tomorrow,” Mary stated.

  “What? Why would you do that?” Andrew watched his team with his hands on his hips. “She wasn’t exactly known as a nine-to-five kind of girl, Mom.”

  “Maybe no one had given her a chance.” Mary watched with fascination as Katie peeked under leaves and placed markers where things of interest had been found. “Maybe someone else out there wants to open a shop like mine and this is a subtle hint that I should back off.”

  “Mom, you watch too many true crime shows. Now, please. Go give your statement to Tom and let me do my job. Please.” Andrew rubbed his hand over his short, black hair.

  “You look more and more like your father every day.” She smiled up her son. “You want to come by for supper tonight?”

  “I have a feeling this might keep me busy. But I’ll be by tomorrow for your grand opening. I promise.” Andrew leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek.

  “Okay, honey. You be careful.” She patted his arm again and walked over to where Grace was standing with Tom. Giving Tom a statement w
as not going to be quick as Mary began the tale with having coffee and toast before heading out with Grace and what transpired with every single step they took. All the while, Mary watched her son and the other officers doing their job. It was all so exciting.

  Yet, she couldn’t be distracted from the hard truth of the situation. A young woman had died. Whether it was by her own hand, by accident, or at the hand of another, no one knew yet. Or at least they weren’t telling her. But Mary whispered a tiny prayer for Summer Moran. This was no way to go.

  Just as she was about to wrap things up with Tom, the paramedics arrived. No siren, no flashing lights, just the big orange and white van with the word AMBULANCE written backward across the front hood.

  Several joggers and bike riders had stopped their morning routine to gawk and rubberneck around the scene but a bright stretch of neon yellow tape kept them a good distance from all the excitement.

  Both Andrew and Katie began to remove the branches and leaves that had partially covered Summer’s body. The paramedics pointed and spoke in hushed voices with Andrew. It was obvious they knew Summer, if not personally then definitely by reputation.

  “Mary, I can smell the smoke burning.” Grace sidled up to her friend and slipped her arm though the crook of Mary’s elbow. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Mary replied in a low voice. “But I am afraid my son is going to be in for some long nights.”

  A stretcher was pulled from the back of the ambulance. With no effort at all, the legs extended to the ground and made it a sturdy table that blocked most of the view of what the entire police team was doing. Mary stretched her own neck just like the gawkers but her son was a clever man and it was impossible to get a glimpse of anything.

  “He sure does look like Ward.” Grace watched the scene, too, but from a completely different perspective than Mary. “No girl catch his eye lately?”

  “None that he’s told me about.” Mary chuckled. “She’d have to be something pretty special to mention to dear old mom.”

  As if he heard her talking from where he was by the body, Andrew looked up. “Mom! Go home!” He shook his head and stepped back as Summer’s body was gently picked up and then lowered onto the stretcher. Before she could see anything, the corpse was covered up completely with a white sheet.

  Mary waved to her son and turned to Grace. “Well, I guess that’s it.” She gestured to Grace like she was wiping crumbs from her hands. “You ready to go back?”

  “I’ve been ready. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk this route anymore.” Grace clung to Mary’s jacket.

  “Did you call Henry?” Mary asked.

  Grace gasped with wide eyes and mouth agape. “My God in heaven. I forgot all about him. Forgot I had a husband waiting at home. Jeez.” Grace pulled out her phone and quickly dialed her husband. In the chirpy way Grace could tell a story without taking a gulp of air or waiting for a response, she told her husband Henry what had happened.

  “No, we’re fine. We’re on our way back. That’s a good idea.” Grace pulled the phone away from her face for a second. “Henry says come by the house for some tea and he’ll make us lunch.”

  “I’d love to, Grace. Tell him thanks but I’ve got a few errands to run,” Mary declined. “There are still a few last-minute things I need to get for tomorrow.”

  Grace and Henry spoke for a few more moments, Grace’s words accentuated with wild hand gestures and facial expressions that made her look like a raving lunatic from a distance.

  As they came around the corner of Tree Top Lane, Mary kept walking straight to the only yellow Cape-Cod-style house on the block. Grace, still talking to her husband on the phone, veered to the left, making her way to a rustic-looking farm-style house with an antique tractor in the front yard.

  “I’ll call you later!” Grace shouted. Mary waved her hand and saw Henry appear on the front porch with his cell phone still to his ear. He waved as well, until both Deitzs were standing on the porch, yammering away like two long lost friends before stepping into the house, the screen door slamming with a familiar bang.

  When Mary unlocked the front door and stepped inside her home, she was greeted by the glare of two very annoyed bright green eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CURIOSITY AND THE CAT

  CURIOSITY AND THE CAT

  You’re late.

  “Oh, my poor darling. Yes, I’m late but I have a very good excuse,” Mary said, stepping into her foyer then closing the door behind her. She set her keys on the side table, instantly spotting the cell phone and wallet she had absent-mindedly placed there when she left. Shaking her head, she sighed and looked again at the bright green eyes staring at her.

  “Alabaster, you’re not going to give me attitude, are you?” Mary stooped over to look at the beautiful, short-haired gray cat currently licking his paw as if that had suddenly become the most important task at hand.

  Well? the feline asked telepathically. What happened? I’m all ears. Alabaster began to purr as Mary scooped him up in her arms. With a few furry head butts and some scratches behind the ears, Alabaster had forgotten about his mistress’s tardiness and stretched out on the counter where Mary had set him while she poured herself a glass of ice tea and him a saucer of milk.

  “A dead body.” Mary blurted it out as if those three little words were all that Alabaster needed to know.

  What about a dead body? I left you a dead body in the garage last week and that didn’t make you late.

  “Yes, you did and I told how much I loved it. But that was a mouse. I’m talking about a human dead body left in Piltcher Park just over Poe’s Hill.” Mary placed the saucer down and took a seat on one of the stools next to counter.

  Her kitchen was a cozy room with a yellow and white color scheme. The counter space was full of the normal kitchen gadgets. The coffee pot that ran almost continually, toaster oven, microwave, cookie jar always stocked with Andrew’s favorite Windmill cookies as well as a library of cookbooks.

  However, had anyone taken a closer look at any of the cookbooks that had been quaintly arranged around the kitchen, they would have been shocked to read some of their titles. Reaching up, she grabbed an olive-green colored tome that had gold gilded pages and opened it up.

  “Crepuscular Caim,” Mary muttered. “I saw some strange spectral residue hanging from the trees and all along the ground where poor Summer Moran was laying.” She flipped through her book, delicately pinching the old pages between her fingers. “I wanted to see if there was anything about it in the family notes.”

  Who is Summer Moran? Alabaster stopped licking his milk to look at Mary.

  “Well, I guess that depends on who you ask,” Mary mused while her eyes skimmed the entries of her family spell and remedy book.

  With the exception of Ward, a few family members, and Alabaster, who swore he’d never tell, no one, including her own son, knew Mary was a witch. She was a little rusty and hadn’t used many of her witchy skills for some time. With the exception of her gift of talking with felines, she kept her knack for sorcery very low key. But still she was a witch.

  Of course, the term witch comes with many negative assumptions. Some of them were true. In the dark ages, many did steal children for bizarre dark rituals and many actually were responsible for crop failures. Quite a few of them were ugly, too. But that wasn’t the case for all.

  As she flipped through the old pages, she could smell the worn paper with hints of sage, lavender, leather, and half a dozen more aromas that brought images of her family into crisp focus.

  Her great-great-great-grandma Edna was a witch who specialized in botany and grew dozens, if not hundreds, of healing herbs and flowers at her home in South Flobbets, Scotland. People from the small town would visit Edna on the sly to get cures for everything from gout to pimples to broken hearts. They knew what she was but seemed more thankful for her presence than fearful of it.

  Great-great-aunt Collins studied the path o
f the moon and stars in Opmeer, Netherlands, helping to bring hearts together and sometimes push them apart, depending on the circumstances.

  Great-great-uncle Monrow was a warlock who had a knack for reading tea leaves. However, his sister, great-great-aunt Shilly claimed to also have the gift of prophecy.

  “Salem, Massachusetts!” She was quoted as ordering her family to relocate there in the mid-1600’s. “A new life! A new land! Prosperity will be waiting for us! I see it as clear as day!”

  Needless to say, great-great-aunt Shilly was not accurate or even close in any of her predictions. Mary often wondered why anyone would have listened to her in the first place or why Uncle Monrow never looked into the future to see her predictions were completely wrong. But when the first witch was set ablaze in Salem, it didn’t take but the mere smell of smoke to get the whole clan to up and move 183 miles away to Montpellier.

  Over the years, Mary’s relatives scattered to the four corners. Some went back to Europe or tried their luck in Canada but Mary’s parents had stayed in Vermont. Feeling the tug of strong roots, she never even thought to leave.

  “Yes!” Mary clicked her tongue, pointing to a description in her book. “I think this is exactly what I saw.” She squinted at the page and read the definition for a Forced Hemorrhage of the Aura.

  “Listen to this.” She ran her hand quickly over Alabaster’s head. He stretched out his paw to touch hers as she read aloud.

  “The metaphysical mirror that accompanies each living thing can suffer trauma in a similar fashion as a physical body. Sudden injury or impairment can cause the aura of that physical body and the surrounding living entities to bleed out a spectral life-blood, leaving a negative, destructive, or even deadly residue in its place.”

  Gross. Alabaster removed his paw. You really think that is what you saw? There couldn’t have been another explanation?