by Morgana Best
I sat on the sofa and opened my laptop, with Thyme sitting next to me. I saved the image from the email she had just sent, and then brought up the Search by Image page. “Bummer, not a single match.”
“Here, give it to me,” Thyme said. “I’ll see if I can find anything.” She punched away at the keys for a while and then groaned. “What’s going on? There are no matches at all.”
“It could be because she’s a witch,” I said. “Perhaps she has done something to keep her identity a secret.”
“Of course!” Thyme exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She handed the laptop back to me, and I put it on the coffee table, the image of the woman taking up the entire screen.
All at once, the house shook violently. “Is that the house or an earthquake?” Thyme asked me.
I jumped my feet, alarmed. “I think it’s the house.”
The cats’ tails fluffed out like toilet brushes as they ran from the room. The TV blared and then turned off. The lights switched on and off in quick succession.
Thyme and I clutched each other in fear.
Chapter 15
Thyme and I were sitting on a hard pew right up the back of the church. The church was cold and uninviting. The atmosphere was sombre, and not because it was hosting a funeral. It reminded me of the old English churches I had seen when I had visited England, but while those churches were quaint and fascinating, this church was musty and impersonal.
Thyme leant across to me. “I still can’t believe the house had such a bad reaction to that woman’s photo,” she said.
I nodded. “I wonder why? Do you think the woman tried to break in, and the house got rid of her?”
Thyme shrugged. “Maybe. I just haven’t known the house to act like that before.”
“Me either. I look, there’s Kristen Woods. Her kids aren’t with her. I know they were visiting their grandparents, but I’m surprised they haven’t come back for their father’s funeral.”
“Perhaps they didn’t want to,” I said. “They’re probably old enough to make their own decisions. Still, it does seem rather strange they wouldn’t attend their own father’s funeral.”
“It will be interesting to see if that mysterious woman turns up,” Thyme said. “If she does come, it shows that she knew the victim.”
“I doubt she’ll show, even if she did know him,” I said, “not with all the police here.”
Several police officers sat in the pew opposite us. Detective Barrett and Detective Bowes were sitting next to several men and women, all of whom were no doubt plain clothed police officers. When I stole a look, Bowes winked at me.
Thyme elbowed me in my ribs. “Did you see that?”
“Yes, and I felt it, too,” I said, elbowing her back.
She giggled. “I told you he likes you. Alder will be jealous.”
“No he won’t, because he hasn’t been around lately,” I told her.
The minister walked to the pulpit, and the room fell silent. It was quite a turnout for someone who had been so disliked, but I assumed that many of those present were his colleagues from the bank. “Keep an eye out for that woman and for Carol Hope,” I whispered to Thyme.
She replied, but her words were drowned by a Scottish man in a kilt walking down the aisle and playing Amazing Grace on his bagpipes. I didn’t know that Myles was Scottish.
The Scottish man did a lap, or whatever it’s called in funeral terms, and promptly left. The minister then invited a girl whom he identified as Myles Woods’ niece to sing another hymn. I knew the hymn, but obviously the girl didn’t. After the first verse, she made up the words as she went along. I must say, she did a good job, and only those familiar with the hymn would know that she had invented most of the content. At least she had a lovely singing voice.
The minister then made a long speech about how God punishes the wicked. I wondered if it was his subtle way of saying that Myles Woods was headed straight for hell. After twenty or so minutes, I was beginning to fall asleep, so I forced myself awake by looking around the room, trying to guess which people were from the bank. I thought I recognised the woman who had made the appointment for me with Myles, so I figured the people in her row were from the bank. I studied the backs of their heads carefully so I could identify them later and ask them about Myles’ coffee habits.
Finally, the minister invited Kristen to give the eulogy. I wondered what she would say. I would be a loss if I were in her position. In the end, I thought she did rather well. She spoke dispassionately, and simply gave a list of Myles’ career accomplishments.
The minister asked if anyone else wanted to speak about Myles, and one man stood up. “Myles Woods was a long-term employee of the bank,” he said. “The bank and I wish to extend our sympathies to his family and friends.” With that, he returned to his seat.
I leant over to Thyme. “Aren’t funerals supposed to be where everyone lies and says what a wonderful person the deceased was?” I whispered. “This guy must’ve been a real scumbag. No one’s even able to lie about him and say he was nice.”
“That’s no surprise,” she whispered back. “I hope it’s almost over.” She looked down at the order of service, which was a photocopied sheet of paper.
“See that blonde woman there, in the fifth row?” I asked her. “She’s five people in from the aisle on the left.” Thyme nodded. “I’m pretty sure she’s from the bank, so those people sitting with her must be from the bank, too. Hopefully, they won’t race off, and we can ask them about his coffee.”
I was afraid that the people from the bank would not stay around for the tea and coffee that the minister offered, given that it was a working day, but half of them did file into the side room at the end of service.
Thyme grabbed my arm. “Oh no! What if Kristen asks us why we’re here?”
I thought for a moment. “Um, how about we say that I was one of the last people to see him alive, so I thought it was the right thing to do?”
Thyme pulled a face. “It doesn’t sound believable to me, but I suppose it will do.”
“Can you think of anything better?”
Thyme scratched her forehead, and then said, “No.”
I looked askance at the instant coffee, and selected a caramel Tim Tam. “Ms Spelled,” a deep voice said behind me.
I swung around to see Detective Barrett. I could scarcely look at him without laughing. I wondered what was embroidered on his underpants today.
“What are you doing at this funeral? You said you didn’t know the man.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I thought it was the right thing to do, considering I was the second last person to see him alive. That’s the way we do things in small country towns,” I lied.
Bowes walked over and smiled at me. “That’s so nice of you, Amelia. It’s lovely to see people with community spirit.”
I almost felt guilty. Thyme tugged on my arm. “Let’s go and mingle.”
I nodded to the detectives and then walked away as fast as I could. “I really don’t like that Barrett,” I hissed.
“He’s only doing his job,” Thyme said.
“So is Detective Bowes, but he’s much nicer.”
Thyme laughed. “I told you, Detective Bowes has a little crush on you.”
I pulled a face. “Now, how are we going to do this? I’m a bit nervous about asking these people about Myles Woods’ coffee.”
“Watch me and learn,” Thyme said smugly. She stepped in front of a young man. He had been sitting next to the woman from the bank I had pointed out to Thyme earlier. “You used to work with Myles, didn’t you?” she asked him.
He nodded and gave her a wide-eyed stare. “Dreadful business,” she said. The young man merely nodded again. “It’s lucky no one else from the bank died,” Thyme added.
The man finally found his tongue. “What do you mean?” he asked in alarm.
“Well obviously, if the communal coffeepot was poisoned with strychnine, then it’s a wonder more people didn’t die.
I assume there is a communal coffeepot?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, “but Myles didn’t like brewed coffee. He always brought his coffee to work with him.”
“What do you mean, in a thermos?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “No, he only liked instant coffee.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Instant coffee?” I asked in disbelief.
“It wasn’t any instant coffee,” he explained. “It was Swiss chocolate flavoured coffee. Apparently he developed a taste for it when he was in France a few years ago.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any coffee like that,” Thyme said.
The man shrugged. “I don’t think you can buy it in Australia. Myles said he had to have it sent over from France.”
I wanted to jump up and down and clap my hands, but I restrained myself. So that’s how it was done! Someone slipped the poison into his jar of coffee. I just had to check one more thing. “Was it nice coffee?” I asked him.
The man grunted. “As if Myles would ever share anything! No, he treated that coffee like gold. We used to tease him about it, although he always snapped our heads off.”
That was interesting. No one else was in danger of being poisoned, only Myles. Someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned around to see Detective Bowes. “I hope you’re not doing some sleuthing on your own, Amelia.” His tone held no hint of recrimination, but I felt uneasy, nonetheless.
“No, of course not,” I lied. “Still, I discovered something interesting by accident. Did you know that Myles Woods only drank an imported brand of instant coffee? That means it didn’t have to be someone at the bank who put the poison in his coffee. They could have put it into his coffee jar at his house, or even in his office at any time, assuming he kept a jar of that coffee in his office, that is.”
“Yes, we found that out already,” Bowes said, still smiling. “Otherwise Detective Barrett would have locked you up by now.”
I must have looked shocked, because Bowes winked at me. “Just kidding.”
I wasn’t sure that he was, but I could see why that would lower my suspect rating in their eyes. If the poison had been put into Myles’ coffee after he had made it, then that would surely have narrowed it down to either the mysterious woman or to me.
Detectives Bowes’ face turned serious. “Amelia, I hope you meant it when you said you weren’t sleuthing. The murderer is still on the loose, and anyone who asks questions could be in danger.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I simply nodded.
Chapter 16
I had just turned into the main street of town on our way back from the funeral when my Bluetooth signalled an incoming call from Ruprecht. I switched on the call. Without waiting for me to speak, he said, “Amelia, are you still at the funeral?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Why? Is something wrong?”
He hurried to reassure me. “No, no, no. I’m hoping to pre-empt any such eventuality. We all know your house is quite safe, but that woman vanished from your shop. She is a powerful witch, and we don’t know her intentions. It is remiss of me not to have mentioned this sooner, but we need to do a protective spell on your shop immediately.”
“We left the funeral a few minutes ago. We’ll be there in a minute.”
“Why didn’t we think of that before?” Thyme asked me.
I shrugged. “I suppose we’ve been up to our ears in this investigation.” I parked the car, and we both hurried to the shop. I flipped the sign to Closed. The whole gang was there; Ruprecht, Camino, and Mint. Ruprecht was holding a big bag, I assume of witch supplies. “Let’s go into the back room,” he said.
“Did anything bring on this urgency?” I asked him, wondering if he knew something that I didn’t.
Ruprecht shook his head. “Not at all. It simply occurred to me that this would make good sense.”
I nodded. Maybe I was going paranoid, after all.
Ruprecht placed his bag on the table and brought out several items. First was a big container of black salt, otherwise known as witches’ salt, which consisted of sea salt mixed with ash from a fire. Next was a container of red brick dust. He brought out a bunch of other herbs and resins which I recognised as rue, caraway seeds, bay leaves, asafoetida, and various oils such as angelica, frankincense, and black cohosh.
“This is a simple protection incense which I’m sure you all use in your own homes,” Ruprecht said. “Fiery Wall of Protection. It consists of frankincense, myrrh, and dragon’s blood, all resins, that is, sap from trees.”
I smiled to myself. I knew dragon’s blood was a red resin that grew in Indonesia, but I always found the term evocative.
Ruprecht placed a small cauldron in the middle of the table and lit a charcoal tablet. We all watched it until it was sufficiently hot, and then Ruprecht threw in a handful of frankincense, myrrh, and dragon’s blood resins.
The incense sparkled for a while and then settled down, sending Fiery Wall of Protection smoke throughout the room.
Ruprecht handed me a bag of crushed egg shells, or Cascarilla, to give it its other name. “Amelia, put this across the door and across every windowsill.” He handed Thyme the bag of red brick dust. “Thyme, you do the same with this. Oh, and both of you put it under the front and back doormats, as well.”
I went around, doing as he asked. I knew that cascarilla and red brick dust were both powerful protective measures in hoodoo. I suppose I should have been concentrating on what I was doing, but my mind kept wandering to Alder. Why wasn’t he here? As soon as I finished, I addressed that question to Ruprecht who had walked into the showroom with the small cauldron of Fiery Wall of Protection incense.
“I invited him, of course, and he said he would come, but that he would be late.”
“Did he say why he’d be late?” I asked him.
Ruprecht gave me a strange look, but simply said, “No. He said he would be here as soon as he could.”
I thought that over for a moment, and then thought of something else. “Should we do a divination or something to discover who this woman is?”
“I was thinking of that,” Ruprecht said, tapping his chin, “but we know she doesn’t intend you any good. After all, she has not been to your house, and Kayleen saw her at your front fence. That suggests that she knows the house would evict her. Anyone who is afraid of your house must intend you harm in some way.”
I nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”
“And we would need to have some idea of her identity before we can do a divination,” Ruprecht continued. “Yet many of these questions can be answered by natural means. We know she’s a very powerful witch, so there’s no point doing a divination for that. We could do a divination to ask if she was from out of town, but we already know the answer to that, too. No, Amelia, our time is better spent protecting ourselves from her. She will make a move sooner or later, and we need to be prepared when she does so.”
I shuddered. What could the woman possibly want? I remembered her previous words to me. “Ruprecht, she said she wanted to live in Bayberry Creek, and she wanted me to help her. I can’t see how I could possibly help her?”
The others had stopped what they were doing and had come over to join the conversation. “What were her exact words again?” Thyme asked me.
I thought for a moment, and then said, “She said she wanted to stay here permanently. Wasn’t that what she said?”
Thyme bit her bottom lip. “Yes, I think so.”
“And that means she wants you to help her magically,” Ruprecht said, “although why you would need to help her magically stay here permanently, I have no idea.” He tapped his head. “You know, this should be quite obvious to me. I know I’m missing something that is staring at me plainly.”
“Maybe I can help you there,” a woman’s voice said behind me.
We all swung around to see the mysterious woman.
“You fools don’t know who I am, do you?”
“No?” I squeaked. Apparently, the woman
had overcome her earlier fear of Ruprecht, as she was standing right next to him. And clearly, our protection had no effect on her. “How did you get in?” I asked her. “That door was definitely locked.”
She shook her head in obvious disgust. “What a sad state of affairs this is. Your grandmother was a most irritating woman, to say the least, but she had more common sense than the lot of you put together. Call yourself witches? What a joke!” Her tone held menace as well as derision.
Camino grabbed Thyme’s arm. “Thyme and I aren’t witches,” she said, her voice trembling.
The woman pointed to Camino’s broom onesie. “Then why are you dressed as a broom?” She cackled. “Since I don’t have all day to wait around for you to figure out who I am, I’ll have to tell you. I am Jasmine Walters.” Her voice ended on a note of triumph,
Ruprecht gasped, but I was none the wiser. The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place it.
The woman shot me an angry look. “Surely you know my name?”
And then it dawned on me. Jasmine Walters was the one who had imprisoned the spirit of my grandmother, Thelma, in the house, and the spirit of my grandfather, Wolff, in the yard. Jasmine Walters was the sole reason that my aunt, and now I, had to do the Halloween spell every year, in return for Marina’s grandmother, Nama, breaking Jasmine’s spell, at least in part, allowing my grandparents to be together. If Jasmine had her way, my grandparents would be apart for eternity. I was dealing with a most malicious woman. “I know who you are,” I said. “Are you a ghost?”
Jasmine made a dismissive sound. “For a Dark Witch, you’re awfully black and white about matters. You summoned my spirit.”
My hand flew to my throat. “I summoned your spirit? When?”
She sighed with exasperation. “Do the words, ‘Jasmine, grow and be healthy. I raise you up now to come back to life. Jasmine, revive,’ sound familiar?”
“But I was trying to bring my jasmine plant back to life,” I protested.
