The Halloween Love Spell

by Morgana Best

I was about to ask what he had been doing that made him so busy, but Ruprecht spoke first. “I believe it has been banned for some decades, but as we all know from personal experience, farmers’ sheds are often full of antiquated poisons. For all we know, there could be several old containers of rat poison in Bayberry Creek. Finding out the precise year it was banned would be of help.”

  I abandoned my search for the availability of strychnine, and turned instead to finding out the year it was banned as an ingredient in rat poisons in Australia. “I found a webpage that says it was banned in 2006 in England,” I said, “but I still can’t find anything else about Australia.” I looked up into a sea of blank faces. It seemed everyone was having the same trouble. I shrugged and resumed googling.

  “Got it!” I screeched after an interval. “It was banned as a rat poison in Australia in 1995.”

  Alder patted me on the back. “Well done, Amelia.”

  Ruprecht’s eyebrows shot skyward. “That recently? I’m surprised, given that it’s such a deadly poison.”

  I nodded. “I’m on the website of the Department of Primary Industries. It says that the government started to restrict strychnine in the 1980s.”

  Ruprecht stood up and replaced one of the candles that had gone out. He lit it, and then returned to his seat. “I amend my former statement. I’d be surprised if there is any barn in the whole of Bayberry Creek and its vicinity that doesn’t have at least one container of strychnine-filled rat poison.”

  We all nodded. I had seen inside one such barn, and it was filled with every manner of deadly chemical. Sure, Australia had strict gun laws, but we seemed to be the world leaders for storing deadly, banned chemicals.

  Alder leant over my shoulder. “Does it say if strychnine is currently in use in New South Wales?”

  I kept reading, and found the information only a few paragraphs down. “Yes, it’s still used in New South Wales and Queensland for wild dog baits. Oh look, it says here that symptoms appear ten to thirty minutes after a large dose. If the dose was large, death can occur in minutes.”

  “And he was drinking coffee, you say?” Ruprecht asked me.

  “Yes, but I didn’t see him eating anything.”

  Mint tapped her phone. “It says strychnine has a very bitter taste.”

  Camino stood up and adjusted her onesie. “I just read that coffee masks the taste of strychnine, especially sugary coffee.”

  Ruprecht nodded sagely. “The evidence suggests that the strychnine was in the victim’s coffee. As for who put it there, that is to say, the perpetrator, it would likely be someone who has access to a farm.”

  I was somewhat dismayed. “But that doesn’t help us narrow things down, does it? That could be anyone. Even someone living here in town could have a friend who lives out on a farm.”

  “We need to investigate Carol Hope,” Thyme said. “Wasn’t that her name?”

  I nodded, so she said to the others, “Kristen Woods told us a woman by the name of Carol Hope was sold up by the bank. Well, her house was sold up by Myles Woods. She wanted to postpone the repayments on her home loan, but he refused, and foreclosed on her house.”

  “Was that recent?” Alder asked me.

  Thyme and I exchanged glances, and then we both shrugged. “Kristen didn’t say,” I said, “but she did speak about it in the context of someone wanting to kill Myles, so I assume it couldn’t have been too long ago.”

  Ruprecht beamed. The candlelight shone on the angles of his face, giving him an altogether otherworldly aspect. “Tomorrow, we will investigate Carol Hope.”

  “Surely we could leave that to the police,” Alder said. “I’m sure they know as much as we do, probably more.”

  Just then my phone rang. It was a local number, but not one in my contacts list. I answered it hesitantly. “Hello?”

  The voice was brusque. “Ms Amelia Spelled?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked.

  “This is Detective Barrett. We would like you to come down to the station tomorrow to help us with our enquiries. Would nine in the morning be convenient?”

  “Yes,” I said, realising my voice was trembling. He hung up.

  The conversation had been set to Loud, so everyone heard. Alder’s arm tightened around my shoulders. The candles flickered, and then went out.

  Chapter 11

  I found myself in the police station once again. This time, I was sitting in a different interview room, wringing my hands and hoping the police would hurry up and question me. The suspense was killing me. Did they really suspect me? I supposed I would soon find out.

  The interview room had no windows. That made sense—the police didn’t want criminals throwing themselves through panes of glass in an attempt to escape, but surely some bars across the windows would at least let in some fresh air. It was stifling, and smelled of stale cigarette smoke, even though I was sure smoking in the room was banned.

  The floor was hideous dark blue linoleum that looked at least seventy years old, and the walls were a faded grey colour. I rocked back on my black plastic chair and looked at the big mirror on the wall, and fought the urge to wave. I was sure that the detectives were looking in at me. It was obvious it was a two-way mirror, and I was concerned about this, given that the first room in which I was interviewed didn’t have one. Had they escalated me on their suspects’ list?

  The door opened, and Detective Bowes walked in, followed by Detective Barrett. Their expressions were grim. Whatever happened to Good Cop, Bad Cop?

  Barrett informed me that the interview would be recorded and videotaped. Bowes wasted no time in setting up a video camera on a tripod. My mouth went dry. What if they arrested me?

  After attending to all the formalities, Barrett asked, “Did Myles Woods refuse your loan?”

  That was it? That was their excuse for evidence? They thought he had knocked back my loan and so I killed him? “No, he didn’t,” I said, probably more firmly than I should have.

  “Did he grant you the loan?” Barrett continued.

  “It was in process,” I said. “He said the computer approved it, but it had to go to someone higher up. He gave me a lot of documentation that I had to fill in and take back.”

  “And did you?” Barrett asked me.

  “Take the documentation back? I filled it in, but I haven’t taken it back yet. Obviously, there will need to be a new loans officer.”

  “What is your relationship to Myles Woods?” Bowes said. His tone was far friendlier than Barrett’s.

  “I don’t have one,” I said with a frown. “I told you, the day I went in for my loan was the first time I had met him. I don’t even remember him being a customer in my shop.”

  “Had you spoken to him on the phone or had any communication prior to that date?” Bowes asked.

  Irritation replaced my earlier fear. We had already been through this. “I told you already that I made my appointment with someone at the front desk at the bank, and I had absolutely no contact with Myles Woods until I went into his office that day to apply for the loan.”

  “What is your relationship with Kristen Woods?” Barrett asked me.

  “Kristen? I met her for the first time at the bake sale.” I suspected what they would ask next, so I pre-empted them. “I had never exchanged phone calls, texts, or emails with her before that date. In fact, I still haven’t. The only occasion I have ever spoken to Kristen Woods was at the bake sale. I’m sure she’s bought cupcakes from time to time in my shop, but we’ve never chatted as such.”

  The detectives exchanged glances. “You told us that a woman came into Myles Woods’ office as you were leaving.” Barrett’s look was penetrating.

  “That’s right.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  I had already described her; I supposed they were trying to see if I had my story straight. “She was about my height, with dark hair and bright red lipstick. She was good-looking and slim. She was wearing a floral dress with little flowers on it, purple-pink flowers and
green leaves on a cream background, with a large tight belt, and she was wearing white gloves and a white hat with pink sort of netting like a large bow or something behind the hat and on top of it.” I stopped to draw breath.

  “In your own words, tell us what happened when she entered the office.” This time, Bowes did not look up from his notepad as he spoke.

  I resisted the urge to tell him that we had already been through this, too. “I was just about to leave Myles Woods’ office, when the woman burst through the door. She said she had questions to ask and she had seen him, or seen me—I have no idea which one of us it was—through the glass walls of his office. Myles told her she wasn’t allowed to smoke, and they argued about it, so I took the opportunity to leave.”

  “Do you know the identity of this woman?”

  I shook my head, and then said, “No. I saw her for the first time that morning in my shop. She said she knew my Aunt Angelica. I also saw her at the bake sale. She was wearing the same clothes that she was wearing that day in Myles Woods’ office.”

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?” Barrett asked me.

  “No, not really. It was about her smoking, that was all. She was smoking in my shop, too. I told her she wasn’t allowed to smoke, but she just kept smoking. I didn’t stick around to hear what they were arguing about, but it definitely started with him telling her she couldn’t smoke.”

  Barrett shut his folder with a snap. “That will be all for now, Ms Spelled. We still have further inquiries to make, so we will need to speak again at some point.”

  I jumped to my feet. “I can go now?”

  Barrett narrowed his eyes. “Yes, unless you have something else to tell us?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  Detective Barrett escorted me down the corridor and back to the waiting room.

  It wasn’t until I was back in my car that I allowed myself a big sigh of relief. Thank goodness that was over. I at once rang Alder to tell him what had happened, but it went straight to message bank. Was he with Paulette? I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. Alder might be mysterious, but he certainly wasn’t two-timing. That became my mantra as I drove back to my shop.

  “How did it go?” Thyme asked me as I hurried through the door.

  “Nowhere near as bad as I thought,” I said. “It wasn’t too bad, actually. Hi, Ruprecht.” Ruprecht was there to mind the shop while Thyme and I popped out to investigate Carol Hope.

  Ruprecht smiled at me, while Camino peered over the top of her coffee machine. “Coffee, Amelia?”

  “I’d love one, thanks. How has business been this morning?”

  “We had a big influx of customers as soon as we opened,” Thyme told me, “and it kept going until a few minutes before you got here.”

  “I’m glad to see you don’t appear distraught after your police interview,” Ruprecht said.

  “It wasn’t too bad. They basically asked the same questions they asked me the other day. I think it certainly helps me that the system showed that my loan would probably be approved, otherwise I might be higher on their list of suspects. They asked me how well I knew Kristen Woods, and they asked me about that strange woman. Has she shown up this morning?”

  Ruprecht and Thyme shook their heads. “Did they ask you about Carol Hope?” Ruprecht asked me.

  “No, but I’m sure she’s on their radar. I hope so, anyway.”

  Ruprecht nodded. “Alder popped in this morning and said he checked into Myles’ disgruntled customers, and that Carol Hope was the one Myles had treated the worst. He said she’s an accountant, and that she works out of her rented house.”

  I frowned. Why had Alder come to the shop when he knew I wouldn’t be there? Was he avoiding me now? Or was I just being a little paranoid?

  After I drank my coffee, Thyme and I headed off to the other side of town, to Carol Hope’s rented house. My cover story was to be that I wanted to change accountants. Thyme and I were going to show up without an appointment. If she didn’t have time to see us, at least we could make an appointment for the earliest possible date.

  I stopped my car outside a brick house with an untidy yard. The lawn was overgrown and the weeds were growing taller than the flowers in the garden. Several cardboard boxes were piled up on the front porch. At some point, the double garage had been converted to a room, judging by the sliding glass doors.

  “Is this it?” I asked Thyme, checking the address.

  “Sure is.” She frowned. “It doesn’t really make a good impression on clients.”

  I had to agree. I knocked on the sliding glass door, and then waited. And then I waited some more. There was a beat up old car directly outside, so I figured Carol was home. I knocked once more.

  “Are you sure Alder said she was an accountant?” I asked Thyme.

  She nodded. “Knock one more time, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll go to the front door.”

  When a further knock elicited no response, we both walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell, and a woman immediately answered the door. She opened it a little, a scowl on her face. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry to come without an appointment,” I said in the most conciliatory tone I could muster, “so I understand if you don’t have time to see me now. I wanted a new accountant, because my old one hasn’t been much help to me.”

  The woman’s demeanour changed immediately. She opened the door widely. “Come in! Come into my office.” She stepped back, and then stepped forward again and offered her hand. “I’m Carol Hope.”

  I smiled at her, while surreptitiously taking in her appearance. Her hair was an unruly mass of split ends. Her dress had seen better days, but she was wearing an overabundance of gold jewellery. I wondered why she hadn’t sold it to save her house. I finally found my voice. “I’m Amelia Spelled, and this is Thyme who works for me.”

  If Carol thought it strange that a shop owner would bring her assistant along to an accountant’s appointment, she showed no sign. She beckoned to us, and then walked down her hallway. The doors were open and afforded a good view of the bedrooms. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help but look. They were all dreadfully messy, with clothes thrown all over the floor. I figured she must have teenagers.

  The hallway continued past all the bedrooms and then a rather dirty bathroom, and into a door that led to the converted office. This was a much cleaner room.

  Carol indicated that we should sit behind her desk. Just as I did so, a mouse ran under my feet. I let out an exclamation. “Is it a mouse?” she asked me.

  I nodded. “It ran through there.” I pointed to a crack on that in the skirting boards.

  Carol appeared unperturbed, and opened her notepad. “I’ve had a lot of trouble with mice since I moved here.” I noticed she was using one of the free pens from the bank. In fact, she had a whole stack of bank pens on her desk.

  “You don’t have a cat?” Thyme asked her.

  Carol made a strange strangling sound at the back of her throat. She gave me a wide-eyed look that I could only describe as manic. “I hate cats! I hate pets. Filthy animals. Plus their food costs money. A penny saved is a penny earned!”

  I took an instant dislike to the woman. Who doesn’t like animals? I decided then and there that she was the murderer.

  “Do you have a specific accounting problem?” Carol asked me.

  I took a deep breath and prepared to lie. “I own the cupcake shop in town. I think I’ve seen you in there.” I remembered her as a rather angry woman who took offence at the drop of a hat. I would have to tread carefully.

  She nodded. “Yes, I do drop in now and then.”

  I smiled at her. “Anyway, I found the shop had old termite damage in the roof, and it had compromised some of the beams. I needed a loan, so I went to the bank and asked for one, but they refused me. I couldn’t understand why, because I own the shop and my house outright. I couldn’t understand why the bank wouldn’t give me a loan. I think it must’ve
been something my accountant said when they called him, so I thought I should change accountants before I tried to get a loan from another bank.”

  Carol’s expression had changed from one of polite interest to anger. “Who did you deal with at the bank?”

  “It was Myles Woods actually, the man who died,” I said. “I’m sorry if I don’t sound too upset about his passing, but he was so rude to me. He kept telling me that it was problematic that I didn’t have a mortgage, but surely that’s a good thing?” I shook my head in disgust, only some of which was feigned.

  “There’s your problem right there!” she spat. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, because I want your business, but I doubt it was your accountant’s fault. That Myles Woods was a despicable man, and I’d be lying if I said I was sorry he’s dead. If I find out who murdered him, I’ll send them a box of chocolates!”

  I was shocked at her outright admission. I recovered my composure, and then said, “Yes, the way he spoke to me, I figured the police must have a very long list of suspects. He didn’t seem professional at all. I felt like he was out to get me.”

  Carol appeared to take the bait. “My husband died after a long illness. He wasn’t a pleasant man, but I felt duty bound to care for him. After all, I didn’t have the money to put him in a private hospital, so what was I going to do with him? If he lived, I planned to divorce him. His medical bills added up, and although my business was ticking along, I just couldn’t afford the mortgage after he died, because I wouldn’t be getting his invalid pension anymore. I went to Myles Woods and asked him to delay the mortgage for six months, and he outright refused. I even rang the bank’s head office and complained about him, and I thought they would assign someone else to me, but they didn’t. He foreclosed on my farm and sold it out from under me. I had to move to this horrid little house, and take in boarders to pave the way.”

  That explained the bedrooms. I figured the boarders must be students.

  “I don’t have any boarders at the moment,” she continued, at once dispelling my assumptions, “but I’m advertising for them.”