A family of deer stood off in the distance; they watched her warily but seemed to sense that she didn’t impose any threat to them. She wasn’t going to shoot them so they remained where they were, cautiously nibbling at the ground.
Way down in the middle of the rolling hills she could see her house. From where she sat in her truck, and with the cozy front porch light sending out a welcoming beacon, it didn’t look neglected and forlorn–it looked as regal and solid as the day her great, great grandfather had built it.
For better or worse, she was home.
Chapter Eleven
THERE WAS ONLY one way Liza could be absolutely certain who it was behind the crime. She was going to have to get down and dirty at her altar.
Although she was already pretty sure, she needed to be positive. If it wasn’t Cotton, then it meant she still had an enemy out there.
Still wired and nervy from everything that had been going on lately, she first concentrated on calming herself down with a little meditation.
It didn’t work.
Because she hadn’t eaten since noon, when she tried to clear her mind all she could think of was dancing grilled cheeses and bowls of lobster bisque.
Instead of meditating, she stood and began jogging in place and flapping her arms up and down. Sometimes you just had to get the blood pumping.
Finally, with her wits about her, she sat down by her altar, bowl of water in her lap, and tried to relax again. It worked. Using a little rosemary sprinkled in for sight, she concentrated on the matter at hand.
Nothing happened at first. The heavy, labored sound of her breath filled the room and her own warmth lifted and wrapped itself around her (she always got hot doing spells, a witch’s hot flash, if you will) but the water didn’t move.
Liza was just about to give up when it began to shift at last. The tiny flakes of herbs began to dance in a circle, swirling around and around until they finally moved to one side and revealed a clear center.
And there, in the middle, was Cotton.
He was dead as a doornail, laying on the ground.
And then the vision disappeared.
***
You going on another date?” Mabel Corrado (formerly Mabel Merriweather) pressed.
Liza Jane padded around the kitchen in her bare feet, the peeling linoleum cold on her soft skin. The whole kitchen needed a makeover. She’d have to do something about that.
“’Another’ date Mom?” she laughed and rolled her eyes. “We haven’t even been on a first one yet.”
Liza was still shaken from the vision she’d seen the night before, not to mention everything else. She hadn’t gotten very good sleep and wasn’t particularly in the mood to deal with her mother.
“Oh honey, at your age you can’t be picky about location and activity,” Mabel warned her. “Just because he only took you through Hardees doesn’t mean it wasn’t a real date. You’re a divorced woman. You have to accept what you can get.”
“Mom! He was giving me a ride home and drove through Hardees because he wanted a coffee. He just asked if I wanted anything, too, and since I was hungry…” Liza let her voice trail off as she studied the contents of her refrigerator. It was a sorry sight.
“Well, if he’s single and owns his own place then you’d better jump on this one right away.” Mabel was a dog with a bone.
“I’m not ready to date. And besides, I’m not divorced yet. We’re separated.”
“Oh honey.” Mabel’s accusatory tone was replaced with one of pity, which was worse. “There’s another woman’s thongs in your dresser drawer and pink shaving razors in your bathtub. Trust me, you’re divorced.”
Though Liza Jane knew her mother was right, it still hurt to hear it.
“I’m about to come down there and drag you home myself after your little incident,” Mabel continued. “What if you’d been there? What if you’d been hurt? I’m sure it was drugs.”
“You’re as bad as Bryar,” Liza almost laughed. “What kind of drugs would I keep there?”
“I don’t know,” Mabel snapped. “Maybe people thought you sold the happy smokes or something. Those druggies get desperate. Maybe they thought they could smoke your candles.”
“The candles are made from beeswax.”
“Well, like I said. Druggies are desperate.”
“Have you heard from Bryar? She called last night but I haven’t been able to get back in touch with her.”
Liza desperately wanted to talk to her sister, the only other person in the world who could understand how she felt about the ritual, but she wasn’t picking up the phone. Liza had reached out to her with her thoughts and poked a little, but she didn’t like to be intrusive. Besides, she hadn’t received anything in return.
“Not a word,” her mother sang. “But you know how flighty your sister is. Hey! Is that Colt of yours Whinny Bluevine’s son by any chance?”
Liza headed to the living room. The house was freezing. Was she going to have to get someone to come out and see about the heat? Her grandparents had installed baseboard heaters but they’d all gone on strike at once–every last one of them, which she didn’t think was possible. She needed firewood badly.
With a blanket wrapped around her she curled up on the couch. She knew she shouldn’t, that it would sap her energy, but she couldn’t help it. With steely concentration and a snap of her fingers the wood in the hearth before her jumped to life, the glorious flames immediately sending out waves of heat. Liza settled back into the cushions, tired but warm.
“Yes,” she added at last. “That’s his mother.”
“See! He likes you. He’s already talking about his mother.”
Liza decided there was no point in telling her she’d been the one to bring it up.
“I went to school with her. She was a little odd,” Mabel mused, “but I liked her. I think she was president of the FFA. Or 4-H. One of those clubs with a bunch of letters in it…”
Liza let her mother ramble on for a few more minutes before cutting her off.
“Sorry Mom, but I’ve got to get back over to the business. I’ve got to go get dressed.”
“Okay honey, take care. And call people for that kind of thing, for Christ’s sake. You’re a lady! You don’t need to be moving heavy things around by yourself.”
“Yes Mommy,” Liza replied and then belched loudly for effect.
“Well that was disgusting. Oh, and Liza! When it comes to your young man, don’t be doing any of that hocus pocus around him. No shooting fire from your fingers or reading his mind or conjuring up the devil or anything,” her mother sang with one last warning.
Liza hung up the phone shaking her head.
She’d never shot fire from her fingers, not once.
Chapter Twelve
NOW, Liza was lining up her essential oils for the tenth time and changing the music on her CD player, opting for something Irish instead of the sounds of the relaxing waterfall she’d previously tried. It might have been peaceful, but it was putting her to sleep.
She hadn’t slept much, thanks to nerves.
Since bringing in the new orders, and using her own sheets until the good ones arrived from Macy’s, she was at least able to re-open, though it was on a more low-key basis than she would’ve liked.
Luckily, Colt’s cousin Corn had been able to fix the things she couldn’t. He’d done it all at cost.
She’d almost cried from his generosity.
In fact, everyone had been supportive and kind to her since the break-in. Even people she didn’t know had gone out of their way, calling her with condolences, stopping in with casseroles and pies, and sending cards.
And yet, everyone in town still assumed she’d put a whammy on Cotton and killed him.
She hadn’t killed him, she knew it. His body had been found in the woods, on the opposite side of the county. Time of death was estimated at a time when she’d been tucked in at home, making her fire roar (but not with her fingertips). She hadn’t gone bac
k out at all that night. She’d talked to her mother, emailed her sister, and vegged out in front of her fire, feeling sorry for herself.
But then there was the spell. She had seen his dead body. Had she killed him by mere thought? Had her words done it? Had she done something she wasn’t aware of?
She wasn’t sure.
When the tiny bell above her door jingled, Liza looked up, excitement coursing through her. Someone was there!
She was back in business.
“Please buy crap, please buy crap,” she chanted softly as she left the treatment room and all but skipped to the front of the building.
Liza stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Colt Bluevine standing in the middle of her floor, looking lost with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a steaming Styrofoam cup of something in the other.
“You in the market for a foot rub?” she asked hopefully.
Colt grinned and stepped towards her, awkwardly holding out the bouquet. “These are for you. First day back and all. I thought they might be lucky.”
Feeling nerves of another kind flooding through her, Liza brought the yellow bouquet to her face and sniffed them in appreciation.
For a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and see him at the flower shop. She watched him mull through all of the pre-made flower arrangements, growing more and more overwhelmed and impatient at the choices.
“Would these be okay for a lady on her first day back at work after someone tried to sabotage her?” he asked the cashier helplessly, pointing at an arrangement of lilies.
“Probably not,” the elderly woman smiled. “Those are for a funeral.”
“Oh shit!” Colt blushed and snatched his hand back from the velvety leaves. “Then I’m gonna need some help.”
Liza laughed and little and clutched the flowers to her chest more protectively.
“Did they say something funny?” Colt asked, scratching his head and nervously tugging on his cap.
“No,” Liza replied. “I was just thinking of something that made me happy. Want to come in and sit down?”
She gestured to the settee but he looked down at it dubiously, like he was scared of the flowery pastel fabric and intricate cherry carvings. “Ummm…”
“It won’t bite,” she promised. “Almost all of the workers got past it unscathed.”
“Almost?”
“Well, it stuck out and tripped Reggie but the stitches are coming out any day now.”
Colt sent her a withering glance. “It’s kind of girly.”
“I am a girl.”
“I might tear something on it,” he warned her. “These are my work jeans.”
“Oh here,” she said, placing the roses down on the coffee table in front of the object in question. “I’ll sit here and you take the chair over there. It’s brown and has manly leather on it.”
Looking much more comfortable, Colt lowered himself to the seat and then took in the rest of the room. “Looks nice,” he offered. “Smells good in here, too. Heard the people in here before made a mess of it.”
“Well,” Liza responded, trying to remain diplomatic. “It did need a lot of work. And then there was the other mess, of course.”
“I actually came today with an ulterior motive,” Colt said, leaning forward and cracking his knuckles. He appeared to be full of nervous energy that morning and Liza found it endearing.
She was also once again struck by his good looks and the easy, confident way he carried himself. His fingernails were caked with grime and there were grease stains on his “work jeans.” His baseball cap, advertising the hardware store in Kudzu Valley, looked as though it had never been washed.
And he smelled like a Christmas tree.
“What’s your motive? Will it cost me money or get me arrested?” Liza teased him, feeling comfortable around him regardless of the fact she didn’t really know him. Of course, so far he was her only friend in town if you didn’t count her clients.
“Well,” he scratched the back of his neck again and grinned. “Won’t cost you any money but I can’t guarantee the jail time. When you meet my sisters you’ll understand.”
“Huh?”
“My mama wants you to come over for dinner,” he said, blushing. “Not just Mama. My sisters want you to come, too. They’re just, you know, dying of curiosity and I haven’t been giving them enough Intel, apparently.”
Liza sat back, heart thudding. Did they think she and Colt were…?
“It’s just that we don’t get many new people moving in here,” he explained. “You’re the first in, oh I don’t know, a couple of years I guess. We don’t have a lot of entertainment, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed already. And you’re already providing more than most.”
Oh, so that was it, Liza thought, feeling a trifle disappointed. It was because she was new, because she’d brought drama–not because they thought he might be interested in her and they wanted to check her out.
“Well okay,” she replied at last. “I would like to get out of the house. It’s been a little lonely up there.”
Liza could feel the relief radiating from him as he stood up and straightened his hat. “Well, how about Friday night then? About seven? Give you time to go home and do anything before coming out to the house?”
“That’s fine,” she agreed. “Where should I go?”
“My house is fine,” he called over his shoulders as he headed to the door.
From her vantage point, Liza had the opportunity to study his backside. Damn, it was fine.
“You know where it is,” he threw out over his shoulder. She could hear the grin in his voice. “We met when you were trespassing.”
***
Morning business had been steady, thank goodness, and Liza was taking a much needed break when the door flew open. She looked up from her computer with a smile, expecting to see someone gratefully stepping in from the cold.
Instead, it was the sour-faced Detective Kroner.
Liza mentally applied a thick suit of protective armor around her exterior, something that would keep her emotions in check, and smiled politely at him. “Are you in the market for some relaxing foot scrub?” she asked brightly.
The Detective’s face darkened and he scowled, taking in her business with a deep frown. “You sure got back in order fast,” he declared, without a hint of kindness.
“I had a lot of help,” Liza replied. “So what can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure you realize it, but the very man you accused of targeting you died the day after you accused him. And the day after you threatened to kill him.”
“Yes, I know,” she said evenly.
His eyebrows rose and a self-satisfied leer replaced the scowl. “You do know he’s dead? And just how would you happen to have that information?”
“I imagine I have it the same way you know I threatened him in the gas station–by town gossip.”
The leer faded.
“Besides, I didn’t just randomly threaten to kill him,” Liza pointed out. “I threatened to kill him if he did it again. Since he didn’t do it again, I had no reason to cause his death.”
“Be that as it may, care to tell me where you were the night of his death?”
“I was at home.”
“Alone?”
Liza crossed her arms. “I live alone.”
“Anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”
“I called my mother and talked to her and then emailed my sister a very long message. And then I conked out in front of my fireplace. That was my evening.”
Detective Kroner snapped his notepad shut and stuffed it in his pocket. He would’ve looked much more commanding had he not had a mustard stain on his moustache. Liza could not take her eyes away from it. “Well ma’am, we don’t take kindly to threats around here.”
“And I don’t take kindly to people breaking in and ruining my things,” she snapped. “So I guess we’re even.”
“We will be talking again,” he informed her as he marched to
her door.
And then, just for the fun of it, she temporarily moved her door a few inches to the left as he reached it, causing him to ram into one of her windows.
She’d have to wash the mustard stain off the glass, but it had been totally worth it.
***
“Hellooooo!” a cheerful, female voice called from downstairs, her voice lifting through the floor and hitting Liza’s ears just as she was leaning over to pick up a heavy box of aromatherapy candles. “Hello!?”
“Up here!” Liza called back. She stood, studied the box of candles, and considered the stairs. Take them now and not make it a wasted trip or come back for them later?
“I’m sorry but is anyone here?”
“Oh for….,” Liza muttered as she picked up the heavy box, balanced it on her hip, and started down the narrow staircase.
The woman who stood at the bottom of the stairs was wearing a long blue jean skirt that nearly hit her ankles, appallingly yellow socks in sandals, a white buttoned-up top, and a deep blue cardigan that looked hand-knitted. Her long, deep brown hair swung down below her waist and from the split and uneven ends, didn’t appear as though it had ever been cut.
She could’ve been thirty or sixty; her unlined, un-painted face made it hard to tell.
“Hi,” Liza said, gently sitting the box on the floor. “I’m still kind of putting things together from where I just re-opened but I can probably still help you. Is there something you were looking for?”
The woman smiled courteously and folded her hands in front of her as though in prayer. “My, you do look just like your mama. And your granny, too. She was a good woman. You know, I was the one who let myself in her house after I got the call from the hospital and covered all the mirrors.”
Liza nodded, trying to keep a respectful and interested expression on her face. She was still feeling tender and reminders of Nana Bud might just send her over the edge.
“Oh, I don’t mean to get in your way,” the other woman apologized. “There’s just something I have to ask you about, something I hoped you could help me with. I’m Lola Ellen Pearson, by the way.”
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