The Halloween Love Spell

by Morgana Best

  Kristen beamed with pride. “Thank you. It’s a lot of work, but I’m delighted with it.”

  I noticed there were no children. “Do your children help you with the garden?” I asked her.

  She snorted. “Hardly! The kids don’t help with anything much. You know, teenagers!” She harrumphed. “They’re off with their grandparents this week. At any rate, they love going to their grandparents in Sydney. They don’t like Bayberry Creek at all. At least that gives me a break from them. School holidays, don’t you hate them!”

  Thyme and I nodded politely.

  “I don’t much like children,” she admitted. “Myles wanted them, but then… well, he’s dead.”

  I was unable to judge the expression on her face, but I could tell it certainly wasn’t one of sorrow or regret.

  “I’d start with that,” she added.

  I had no idea what she was talking about, until I realised she was pointing to the magnificent display of vivid purple wisteria covering, and no doubt strangling, the nearby gum trees.

  Thyme fussed over her camera—I didn’t know if that was for show or whether she needed to do it—and then took some shots. I smiled to myself, realising that Kristen was going to allow us to take photos now, rather than making a time for later.

  “Of course you saw the pittosporums on your way in,” Kristen continued.

  I had no idea what a pittosporum was, but I nodded. Thyme nodded too, but I was sure she had no more idea than I did.

  Kristen waved her hand expansively in front of her. “I’ve planted various grasses, microlaena and lomandras over there, right in front of those white bottlebrush trees. That’s my native garden. Over there on the other side, I planted violets and viola, ornamental pears, and grevilleas. The camellias were already here when we bought the place.”

  Thyme pointed to a tree which we could only partly see behind the house. “That’s a Japanese Maple, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes, it’s magnificent in autumn with all those dazzling shades of reds,” Kristen gushed.

  “I’d like to take photo of it, if I may?” Thyme said.

  I thought I was quite a clever ploy of Thyme’s to get us around the back of the house. So far, there had been no sign of any barn.

  As soon as we were behind the house, I saw a barn. It seemed to be in a good state of repair, which was a surprise given its obvious age and the fact that it appeared to be no longer in use.

  “The large golden elm over there would be a good photographic study, too,” Kristen said. “The hydrangeas came through winter well.” She pointed behind her to a wonderful display of both pink and blue hydrangeas against the brick wall of her back porch. “Every winter they’re just stalks, but they always come back in spring,” she said.

  I was pleased that she clearly had no idea of our agenda, and why would she? Let’s see how she would react when Thyme mentioned the barn. “Do you use this property as a farm?” I asked her.

  Kristen laughed and shook her head. “No, although it’s an orchard, but I share-farm that.”

  “Is that your barn over there?” Thyme asked her.

  Kristen nodded. “Yes, it’s a bit of an eyesore, though.”

  “It would be wonderful to photograph,” Thyme said. “As well as gardens, I want to do a feature on barns in the area.”

  Kristen looked doubtful, but readily agreed. “Let’s go over there now. You can photograph my lavender beds on the way, and there are some lovely crab apple trees behind the barn. They’re in flower right now. It’s a shame they don’t flower long, but then they leave a beautiful carpet of pink and white flowers on the ground.” As we walked, she told us how to care for lavenders. “Too much water is bad for them, but they’ll never get too much water here in Bayberry Creek. Of course, lavenders love the cold, so it’s an ideal climate for them here.”

  I inhaled the heady fragrance of the lavenders. There was nothing quite like the scent of a lavender bush, so fresh and clean.

  We had reached the barn, and Kristen swung the door open. There were some old tractor bodies, some old leather harnesses, I assume for plough horses, and some other equipment that I could not identify. “Is the light good enough to take photographs?” Kristen asked Thyme.

  “Oh yes,” Thyme said. I suspected she was lying, but I hoped we would find some poisons soon enough. Thyme took some photographs of the harness, and then walked over to the shelves. “How quaint,” she exclaimed in what I knew to be a false voice. “Come and look at these, Amelia.”

  I shot a glance at Kristen, but she did not look overly concerned. There were several jars of nails, and next to those I saw a bottle of Mortein Plus, which was a fly killer from mid last century, as well as several faded red tins with the words, Hart’s Immunol Super Sheep Dip Arsenical emblazoned across the front, various containers labelled Coopers Sheep Dip, some containers of a flea killer, the label boasting it contained DDT, but no sign of any rat poison, not even the banned Thall-rat, which I knew from experience contained the deadly Thallium.

  “Let’s go,” Kristen said. “You’re losing light, and the snakes have been starting to come out lately, what with the weather warming up. My next door neighbour, Barbara, shot a six foot brown snake only last week.” Her face scrunched in a gesture of dislike. “Would you like to come back next weekend? Maybe early afternoon?”

  Thyme agreed. I cast a last look around the barn.

  “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” Kristen asked us.

  It was the done thing to ask in the country, and on farms it would be impolite to refuse. However, people in town often asked that as a way of getting rid of guests. I had no idea of the motive behind Kristen’s question, but I hurriedly said, “Yes, thank you. That would be lovely.” If she was the murderer, then I wanted to probe for more information. It was only after I accepted, that I realised it might not be such a good idea to accept a cup of tea from a poisoner.

  Thyme and I followed Kristen into her house. The French doors at the side of the house opened onto a little sitting room. Kristen indicated we should sit. “Tea or coffee?” she asked us.

  Remembering that the taste of strychnine was masked by sugary coffee, I said, “Thyme and I will have tea, please. Black.”

  As soon as Kristen left the room, Thyme put her finger to her lips and handed me her camera. I looked at the photo on the screen, but it was simply a dusty shelf. I looked Thyme and shrugged.

  Thyme jabbed her finger at the photo. I looked again, but I had no idea what I was looking at. “What is it?” I whispered.

  Thyme held up her hands in a gesture of exasperation. “The shelves were dusty, and there was a missing container. See that mark there?”

  “Oh yes!” I said. “You’re right!”

  Kristen came back into the room, so I swiftly handed the camera back to Thyme. “We were admiring my photos,” Thyme said.

  Kristen simply smiled and placed a teapot on the large round coffee table between us. There was a large plate of Tim Tams on her tray. She offered me one. “No thank you. Thyme and I are on diets.”

  I shot a look at Thyme, but she did not look surprised. I figured she was thinking the same thing that I was, that Kristen could have injected strychnine into the Tim Tams. If sugary coffee could mask the taste of strychnine, then no doubt delicious chocolate could, too. I gingerly picked up my teacup and took a tentative sip. It did not taste bitter in the least. I heaved a sigh of relief and placed my cup down.

  “Too hot?” Kristen asked me.

  I nodded. “That’s a beautiful stained glass window you have there,” I said, indicating a massive window behind Thyme. Blue bottles in various shapes and sizes were placed close to each other along the entire length of the windowsill. The light shone through them, making beautiful blue patterns on the wall opposite.

  “I collect blue bottles,” she told us. “Of course, I collect Victorian antiques as well, mainly silverware, but I’m partial to blue bottles. My father collects all sorts of old bottles, but
I only like the blue ones.”

  She crossed to the window and returned with two bottles. She handed one to Thyme and one to me.

  “This is beautiful,” I said with genuine surprise. There was a raised pattern of a galah, and some writing which I could not quite make out.

  “Why does this one have raised lines down the sides?” Thyme asked her.

  “Oh, it’s a poison bottle,” Kristen said cheerily. “It was made with ridges so blind people or people with poor eyesight wouldn’t mistake that bottle for anything else. All the deadly poisons came in those blue bottles with the ridges along them. It was a safety precaution, you see, as one sip would have been deadly.” She narrowed her eyes.

  Thyme and I exchanged glances. Was Kristen threatening us? Was this her idea of a subtle threat? I had no idea. One thing was for certain—those bottles used to contain poison and Kristen collected them. Maybe she had collected some bottles with the poisons still intact.

  Chapter 14

  The conversation had become strained after that, and as soon as Thyme and I had finished our tea, we left. We didn’t say a word until we were safely in the car and driving away from Kristen’s house.

  “That went better than I thought it would,” Thyme said to me.

  I agreed. “I find that dust spot interesting. Of course, the police could have moved something in their search.”

  Thyme nodded. “I thought that, too.”

  “Would you like to come back to my place for dinner?” I asked her. “I mean, I realise you’ll be going over to Dawson’s at some point this evening.”

  “Sure,” Thyme said. “That would be great. So long as you don’t mind me eating and running.” I laughed. She pushed on. “But what about Alder? Is he coming over for dinner?”

  I realised I was gripping the steering wheel again. I took a deep breath and then said, “Thyme, I don’t know what’s going on with him. Twice now I’ve heard back that he’s had coffee with Paulette Pinkerton, and he hasn’t even mentioned it to me.”

  “He hasn’t really had a chance,” Thyme said.

  “I suppose so,” I said doubtfully, “but he was supposed to stay over last night and he said he was too busy. That’s never happened before. Plus, he’s been acting strangely. It’s nothing I can quite put my finger on, but I get the definite sensation that he’s keeping something from me. It’s not that I don’t trust him…” My voice trailed away. “Maybe I don’t trust him just a tiny little bit,” I said regretfully.

  Thyme shook her head. “I know there’s a logical explanation, Amelia. You’ll sort it out with him sooner or later. Let’s go to town so we can buy something for dinner.”

  I laughed, realising that was Thyme’s way of escaping my cooking. And who could blame her?

  Soon we were sitting in my living room, eating nachos and drinking red wine. “It could be worse,” Thyme said, pointing to the television. “Remember when the house watched Mixed Martial Arts and made you wrestle with a murderer?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t give the house any ideas.”

  Thyme sipped her wine before speaking again. “Do you think of the house as, well, the house, or as your grandmother?”

  I shrugged. “A bit of both. It’s hard to explain. It makes it harder because my grandmother can make the house do stuff, so it’s not as if she’s haunting it as such. Still, I lived here for some time before I knew that my grandmother and grandfather were here, on the property.”

  “It’s good the house was on her best behaviour when the police searched the place. Tell me again about Camino falling on top of that detective?”

  I recounted the story again, and Thyme and I fell into helpless peals of laughter. The cats glowered at us as if we were out of our minds. After all, we were disturbing their sleep.

  When we finished our nachos, I fetched some of the leftover cupcakes from the Halloween party. “You know, something occurred to me,” I said. “I thought about it in the middle of last night when I woke up, but then I went back to sleep and forgot it until now.”

  Thyme looked up. “What is it?” she said through a mouthful of cupcake.

  “How did the murderer get the poison into Myles Woods’ coffee?” I asked her. “It’s not as if he was in a public place. He was in his own office at the bank. The strychnine was in his coffee, so who would have had the opportunity to put it in his cup?”

  “Now it all makes sense,” Thyme said.

  “How so?”

  “I mean, why the police suspected you when you don’t have a motive,” Thyme explained. “I assume there is a communal coffeepot or something at the bank, so obviously no one else at the bank died, which means someone had to put the poison into Myles’ cup. On the face of it, only you and that mysterious woman had the opportunity to poison his cup.”

  I nodded. “Yes, someone had to put the poison in his individual cup. When he came out to meet me, he had the cup in his hand then. Either someone put the strychnine in his cup before that, or it was that woman.”

  “And you think he would have made the coffee just before he went out to meet you, so it wouldn’t get cold,” Thyme said. “If it was someone at the bank, they had to act awfully fast to slip the poison in.”

  “Well, it’s pointing to that mysterious woman,” I said to Thyme. “I wish I knew who she was.”

  “Maybe you should put Ruprecht on the payroll.”

  I looked Thyme, surprised. “What do you mean?” That comment had come out of left field.

  Thyme laughed. “I meant, Myles Woods’ funeral is tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I echoed. “Isn’t that a bit soon?”

  Thyme shook her head. “Dawson says since the police have already concluded it was strychnine, they can release his body. And I meant that you should ask Ruprecht to mind the shop, so we can both go to the funeral and scope it out.”

  “Oh I see.” I laughed. “I already offered to pay him, but he refused point blank. I don’t like to take him away from his own shop, but he said he’s moving more to appointment only with his shop these days.” I ate half a bat cupcake—thankfully not one I had made—before continuing. “Is there any point scoping out the funeral, though? Haven’t we decided it must be that woman, whoever she is?”

  Thyme drained the last of her wine, and then poured herself another. She offered me more, but I shook my head. I still had half a glass left. “You know, it would surely have to be that woman, since we know it wasn’t you, if the poison was put into his cup after he poured in the coffee, but there is always the possibility that it was in his coffee cup to start with.”

  I was puzzled, and said so. “Surely he’d notice if there was some substance in the bottom of his cup?”

  Thyme shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. I meant there could be another possibility. What if he brought a thermos of his own coffee to work?”

  “Who does that?” I asked her.

  She shrugged. “No idea, but until we find out, we really can’t jump to any conclusions.”

  I agreed. “That’s wise, but how on earth could we find out what his coffee habits were?”

  Thyme beamed at me. “Easy. We’ll go to the funeral tomorrow, and we can ask the other bank people. It’s a small bank in a small country town. Everyone will know everyone else’s coffee habits. I bet you anything that by the time the funeral is over, we’ll know all there is to know about Myles Woods and his coffee.”

  I had to admit that she was right. “Good work, Thyme.”

  She shook her finger at me. “You’re the one who thought of it. Maybe you should abandon your cake shop and work for Alder as a private detective.”

  I laughed, but then felt a bit sad. Thyme noticed at once. “Oh come on, Amelia, you’re seriously not worried about him having coffee with that supermodel.”

  I winced. “Logically, I’m not worried, but part of me is. After all, he’s had coffee with her twice and hasn’t told me about it on either occasion.”

  “Probably because it’s so insi
gnificant that he doesn’t see the need to tell you,” Thyme said.

  I let out a long sigh. “I suppose. It’s just that he’s been a little distant lately.”

  “He’s probably stressed about Marina asking you to do the Halloween spell,” Thyme said. “Especially after what happened last year.”

  I leant forward and put my head in my hands. “And now there’s been another murder this year, too.”

  “Bayberry Creek is turning into quite the Causton,” Thyme said.

  “The what?”

  Thyme held up her hands in exasperation. “You know, Midsomer Murders, the TV show? They’re based in the little town of Causton. Hundreds of people have been murdered there now, so it’s a wonder anyone is left. I was thinking the same about Bayberry Creek.”

  “Oh.” I pulled a face. “Well, I hope there’s not going to be a murder every Halloween.”

  Thyme sat bolt upright. “You know, I just remembered something.”

  “Out with it!”

  “Remember you were suspicious of Alder last Halloween?”

  I smiled at the memory. “That’s right! He flew to Melbourne on a case, then he was suddenly out of touch. He wouldn’t answer his phone or return any texts, and when he finally did call, there was a woman’s voice in the background and he hung up.”

  “And poor Alder was in a hospital bed all that time, and the woman you thought was his lover was actually his nurse,” Thyme said with a laugh. “You sure misjudged him then, and I tell you, you’re misjudging him now.”

  I laughed, too. “Perhaps, even if we don’t have a murder every Halloween, I’ll be suspicious of Alder every Halloween.”

  Thyme slammed her hand over her mouth. “I almost forgot! I took a photo of the mysterious woman when she was in the shop earlier. I thought we could put her into the laptop and see if we can match her image.”

  “Brilliant!” I said.

  Thyme finished the last of her wine. “I’ll send the photo to your email and you can get it up on your laptop.”

  I went into my bedroom to fetch my laptop. The champagne had already gone to my head, presumably as I hadn’t had time to eat much that day.