“Hurt her? We all thought it was natural causes,” Audrey said. Her eyebrows shot up in worry.
“Well, the police are looking around for clues or enemies. Maybe they know something they won’t tell us,” I fibbed.
“You think?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I’ve talked to all my staff, and no one did anything to her drink. I mean, if someone had added a bunch of sugar she hadn’t ordered, she’d have tasted it. If they’d used real sugar instead of an artificial sweetener, she’d feel it. But, obviously, that wasn’t the case because she didn’t get ill when she was here. It’d affect her fairly quickly, right? If someone did that?”
She nodded. “In a drink, definitely. But she always has her testing kit and insulin with her, so she’d just dose. She had her garden club later and dinner with her family. It sounds like she made it through all those things, so odds are it was natural causes in the night.”
“Probably. Thanks. I just wanted to be sure she didn’t get sick after she left my place. I didn’t want to ignore a problem if there was one,” I explained.
“You sound like a great boss. But I think you’re good. I should get back to work.” Audrey looked around.
“Of course, sorry. Blame me for asking a million questions. One more. Do you know who she was having lunch with that day?” I couldn’t help but try.
“A friend. Olive?” She frowned. “I think.”
“Thanks.” I waved as I left.
Chapter 12
Walking to the front door of my café, I barely looked at Mr. O’Conner, who didn’t bother trying to protest my going in.
“Please go home or I will call the police. You’re shivering,” I said as I pulled the door behind me against the nasty winter wind.
He didn’t move.
I walked into the busy café and met three people waiting for my attention with issues that had nothing to do with coffee or tea.
Aunt Mandy came up first. “Ryan is over the infection. He wants to help. To work or something. Vinny told him he can’t leave, now. Not with the police around.”
I nodded. “He can do inventory if he wants, but he’s not allowed up here.”
“If we could pass him off as a new hire, we might could move him on quicker,” she said.
“They’ll see him leave but never arrive. You think they won’t notice that? No. Sorry, he stays down there or I’ll lock him up,” I said.
Esme walked up next. “Nothing?”
“Nothing really. But Mrs. O’Conner was fine at the library and through lunch, so there’s no indication whatever it is came from us with any delay. She wasn’t sick. No one saw her dose with insulin or anything.”
“Good. The coven is grumbling about this.” Esme headed to my table, and I followed her.
Margaret came over with my usual hot coffee.
“Thanks,” I said.
Once Margaret was gone, I asked Esme, “What are they complaining about? I’m trying to make sure we’re in the clear.”
We sat, and I took a long drink of warming mocha-flavored coffee.
Esme sighed. “They think Mr. O’Conner is making such a fuss that he’s the one behind the threats. He staged them.”
“Staged them?” I asked, trying to wrap my brain around that motive.
“Before his wife died. Once he knew she was so upset, maybe he thought it’d be good to get us in trouble. So, he had someone leave the messages and write the note. He planned to have it rattle his wife and she’d go to the police. Get us in trouble, and his wife would have something to keep her busy and feel like she was justified.”
“That’s awful. Making up a threat. I don’t see him doing that just for fun.”
Esme gave me a look that said I was naive. “If Mrs. O’Conner is this much trouble for a coffee shop she’s in a few minutes a day, imagine what a headache she is to her husband.”
I opened my mouth, but instead of words, I drank some coffee and mulled over the idea. She didn’t seem to be sweet to anyone.
“But he’s so devoted to her. Why protest us now if he knows we didn’t do anything?”
“He doesn’t want them to find out it was an inside fake threat. Once the medical stuff comes back, he’ll probably stop, and the case will close.” Esme shrugged. “It’s a theory.”
“Well, Mrs. O’Conner’s boss didn’t like her much. Mrs. O’Conner wanted the boss’ job and didn’t get it. But the boss seems like she was stuck with the grouchy part-timer. I could twist that into a motive if I wanted to.” I swirled my coffee cup to mix up the flavor.
“We could say your need to investigate is a way of throwing suspicion off of you.” Esme shook her head.
“If they didn’t know me, maybe. I’m trying to help people. I used all the money my parents left me to open this café so we had a place for the coven to meet and a way to tap into human conversations. I want to keep the peace and help everyone.” I took another swig of my coffee.
“Well, the coven wants to believe you put the paranormal beings first. You have a soft spot for humans.”
“We’re witches. We’re humans with powers. My aunt and uncle have no powers. My cousins think they might have some, but none have shown up, and they’re eighteen,” I said softly.
“We all know that. You and your mother were the powerful line. You really should be thinking about finding a powerful wizard and continuing that line,” Esme said with a grin.
I frowned and slowly set my cup down to avoid dropping it. “You want to talk about me having kids? Why don’t you have some first?”
“I can’t. I can’t spend half of my time as a cat and be pregnant. The baby wouldn’t shift so I’d be stuck as a human and lose my nine lives.”
“Or have a litter of kittens. Would they have your shifting power?” I asked.
“No, and I’m not having kittens,” she whispered through her teeth.
We were at the back table near the kitchen. All the good tables were on the other side, and the nearest one was five feet away. The only ones who might overhear anything were staff, and the loudness of the machines and the TV piping in a witch movie made sure they couldn’t overhear us.
“That sucks. Do you want kids?” I asked.
She shook her head. “My dad took off on my mom. I like men, but children are a burden,” Esme said.
I bit my lip. I’d always felt like a burden to my aunt and uncle, and I wasn’t even their kid. They hadn’t chosen to have me the way they’d tried to have the twins. My aunt hadn’t been able to become pregnant again after Violent and Iris.
“You okay?” Esme asked.
“Yeah. My aunt and uncle never made me feel like burden, even though I certainly was.”
“No, that’s different. That’s stepping up and taking care of your family. If something happened to them, I would’ve taken care of you and the twins. I’m only a distant cousin of your mother and aunt, but that’s what family does.” She patted my hand.
“I’m only twenty-five—I’m not in a rush to have a bunch of magical kids to deal with. I mean, there isn’t a Hogwarts to ship them off to.” That would really be nice.
She laughed. “True. You were always moving things with your mind, just because you could.”
“What brought on this baby talk?” I asked.
Esme shrugged. “I think of the future of the coven. Of the paranormal people. We need powerful people to step up like you have. And consolidating power would only help you.”
“So, the paranormal world is as sexist as the rest of humanity?” I asked.
Esme glared at me. “No and yes. Wicca and many pagan religions elevate women and the Goddess. Mother Earth. But, face it, power wins. A vampire king. A pack of strong male werewolves. Those aren’t things to be discounted. If you had a husband who was as strong as you, there would be less grumbling and questioning. You’d have a united front.”
“I don’t mind being questioned. I’m not all-knowing. I can take the input and doubt and learn from it. But if I r
un into any super-hot wizards worth procreating with, I’ll let you know,” I said.
“I have a couple in mind,” Esme said.
“Then, you have some fun with them,” I said.
“I have my share of fun. I’m thinking of the future, long term, and so should you,” she said.
“I’m not going to live as long as you will. I’m just thinking about Mrs. O’Conner and that hunter in my basement.” The twins walked in. “Oh, I need to talk to the twins. Nag me later, okay?”
Esme sighed and walked to the basement stairs. I caught her shifting out of the corner of my eye. She’d pout for a bit and get over it. I was too young to get married. There was no way I’d get married just to produce ultra-powerful little witches. Kids were a lot of work, and I wasn’t in a rush.
The twins sat and removed their gloves and scarves. “Hi,” they said in unison.
“Hey, sorry to drag you back here. How’s classes?” I asked.
“Fine,” they said, again together.
“We’re done for today,” Iris said.
“Cool. I just wanted to ask out about who Mrs. O’Conner might’ve had lunch with the day of her death. All I could get was where and the name Olive,” I said.
“I got this. Get me some tea?” Violet asked her twin.
Iris headed for the counter.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Violet nodded. “Dating as a twin is tricky. Guys don’t get it. And when they can’t tell us apart, it’s really weird.”
“Yikes, another reason I’m glad I wasn’t a twin,” I said.
“You a twin? That’d be awesome. Double the powers.” She smiled and pulled out her tablet. “I remember someone named Olive on her friend list in Facebook. Old people.”
“Facebook is old, now?” I didn’t really do social media. The café had a page that we made sure was updated, quirky, and fun, but I didn’t feel the need to share.
She laughed. “When grandparents are doing it, yes. Get Snapchat.”
“Isn’t that for sexting?” I asked.
“It’s grown beyond that,” she replied.
“I’m good. Do you have info on Olive?” I asked.
“Olive Reynolds. Widowed. Lives not far from here. Why do people put so much info out there?” She sighed.
I pulled out my phone and Googled the name. Her address popped up. “Got her. Thanks! I’d have spent all afternoon on Mrs. O’Conner’s Facebook to find that. And you guys did all the work already.”
Iris returned with two big cups of tea. “Good?”
“I got what I need. Thanks. You two stay warm. Do your homework,” I said.
“You’re such a mom. Be more of a sister,” Iris said.
I shuddered at being called a mom. “Fine. Hit a party and drink until you puke. But don’t blame me when your dad tracks you down and raises hell. He never let me have too much fun as a teenager.”
“You didn’t go to college,” Violet said.
“Vi,” Iris said.
“It’s okay. I didn’t. Esme thought it was more important for me to work on powers, and I did. But I also worked part-time in coffee shops. So, I was sort of training on how to run this. Not everyone is college material, but you two are super smart, so don’t blow it. There is plenty of time for guys when you’ve got a degree,” I said.
“Such a mom,” they said in unison.
“Thanks, I needed that.” I pulled my gloves out of my pocket and suited up for the blustery outside. “I need to go bug Olive Reynolds.”
* * *
Part of me wanted to use a truth potion on these women, but if I did, they’d remember all of the questions. If I used a memory spell on them, it might work. But they might get suspicious if they couldn’t remember what we talked about. Magic worked for some, but for now, I had to try it the human way. The house was pleasant-looking on the outside. It had a cottage feel, and the street was quiet. A murderer couldn’t live here. At least, that’s how it felt.
I knocked on the door, and a stern woman opened it.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m sorry to just show up. My name is Claudia Crestwood. I own the Witch’s Brew coffee shop. Mrs. O’Conner was a regular customer. And I understand that she was a friend of yours,” I said.
I extended my hand, but she just looked at it.
“What about her?” she asked.
“As you might know, her husband is blaming my café for her death. I was hoping to find a friend of his to talk some sense into him. He’s standing out in front of my café, freezing. He’s risking his health for nothing,” I said.
“You know it’s nothing?” she asked.
I nodded. “I checked with the library. Mrs. O’Conner was fine there. If we’d done anything, she’s have been sick.”
“Really. There are slow-acting poisons, I’m sure.” She eyed me coldly.
“We’ll have to wait for the tox screen for that proof, but I don’t know anything about poison,” I said.
“Just potions. Why don’t you come in? For some tea. Warm up,” she said.
“Thanks.” I felt like I was walking into something I wasn’t ready for, but at least it was warm.
I stomped the snow off my boots. I was pointed to a proper living room for entertaining with no TV and uncomfortable furniture. I chose an armchair on one side of a cute little wooden table.
I cast a warming spell on my hands and feet while waiting for Mrs. Reynolds to bring out the tea. I hadn’t expected to be on the porch for so long.
Mrs. Reynolds brought out a tray with a fussy ceramic tea set that looked older than I was. She was being polite when I felt like she didn’t want me there. She poured the tea and handed me a cup.
“Thank you. So, you don’t like our potions?” I asked.
“My niece is a Wiccan. Pagan. Or whatever. She lives in New York City. Don’t think I’m prejudiced. Martha O’Conner criticized everyone and everything. Her husband, her daughter, and her grandson.” She sipped her tea with pursed lips.
“And her friends?” I asked.
She nodded. “Her friends, too. But she never was nasty enough to make anyone want to kill. She took care of herself. I suspect her husband is just so shocked. No one thought she could ever die. The woman would have a setback and recover. She’d come back stronger. We never thought she’d die before any of us. It’s a shame.”
“So, you don’t know anyone who really wanted to hurt her?” I asked.
“No. Her husband is upset and lost, honestly. She wore the pants in that family. I’ve invited him over for dinner, if that helps. I can try to help him forge a new routine. See his grandson, his daughter, and so on. He’ll need a cleaning lady. I can help him find one. And take him to the grocery store. Help him with those habits.” She sipped her tea.
“That’s very nice of you. Maybe you can help him see we didn’t do anything to hurt her. She had a bad day, but we’re not out to hurt our customers.” I enjoyed the hot drink.
“He told me about the threats. That someone left messages. I’m sure it wasn’t you. You’re a businesswoman. I understand that. I respect that. I worked in the office at my late husband’s dental practice. I know what it’s like when patients aren’t happy. Customers are the same. But someone in your little witch group got out of hand. You need to take control. Be the boss if that’s what you are.”
“I’m not the boss of all the witches in Hartford. If someone was offended by her comments, that doesn’t mean I’m responsible for their actions. Mr. O’Conner wants a scapegoat. I’m not going to be it. The police will get the results soon, but my business could be ruined before then. We’re seeing fewer customers. If you can convince Mr. O’Conner to stop protesting, that’d be wonderful,” I said.
“I’m not sure I have that sort of influence,” she lied with a sweet smile.
A shiver ran down my back. She was moving in on the widower a bit fast.
“I think if you compare it to your late husband’s business,
I think he might. Some people must’ve lost a tooth or had a bad time. Things can’t always go perfectly. If those patients had protested outside of the office, that seriously could’ve ruined his reputation. Is it fair to do that to others without real proof?” I asked.
She shook her head and stiffened her spine. “Your shop has a good reputation. Martha hated seeing chains all over the city. She’d be upset if your place went under because of her husband’s grief. I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” Things had taken a turn, but if she could help and was willing to, I could use it.
Did she have a motive? She seemed to have a big interest in Mr. O’Conner, but was that motive for murder?
“How long were you friends with Mrs. O’Conner?” I asked.
“Oh, forever. High school. She and I competed over everything.”
“Did you always win?”
“It was usually a tie. I got head cheerleader, and she got homecoming queen. That sort of thing. We both married men with good careers. I was a little more set than she was, but my husband died. I didn’t want to win this way.” She poured more tea.
I checked out her jewelry. It looked like she’d won. But she didn’t seem the type of woman to kill for it. She probably wanted to win with a clear conscience. I’d gone to school with girls like that. “I never had a chance of winning in high school. The popular girls made fun of my hair and my aunt’s hippie ways. They asked what happened to my parents. They were normal, and that made them win. I never wanted to be a cheerleader. Homecoming queen? Maybe for a few seconds, but you can’t expect votes when you don’t participate.”
“No Wiccan club?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I was already in a real coven. I had two educations going on. But I’m happy, so that stuff didn’t matter in the end.”
“No? What happened to your parents?” she asked.
“They died when I was young. But I had my aunt and uncle, plus two cousins. My mom and aunt were both sort of the odd ones in the family,” I admitted.
“And you lost her. No wonder you didn’t want to join in in high school. Probably no close friends?” she asked.
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 223
