Murder & Spice (Nether Edge Witch Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Wendy Meadows

  “I’m all right. I got everything I need.” Cassy downed what was left of the drink, grimaced, then handed the cup to the deputy. “I’d better be going. The girls will be worried.”

  “We’ll speak to you tomorrow Miss Dean.”

  As she left the station Cassy couldn’t help but think something else was going on with Sheriff Noyce. This wasn’t the first unexpected death he’d had to contend with. Only two years ago, there had been a string of killings that he’d all but solved single-handedly. But he seemed unduly agitated this time round. He’d been dismissive when Cassy had suggested that it might have been murder, which only exposed that it was a possibility.

  Before she’d even stepped out into the night air, Cassy decided she would return to Coffee and More the following day. She just couldn’t get the image of that angry face coming at her, then barreling right past. Curiosity had got the better of Cassy in the past, and on more than one occasion she’d regretted poking her nose in where it shouldn’t be. But the sheriff’s office would be overworked with potentially two-hundred witnesses to a possible murder.

  Asking a few questions wouldn’t hurt, would it?

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Cassy turned to the sound of the voice and saw Patty emerging from the dark. She had a woolen hat pulled firmly over her ears, which only made her big eyes seem even larger. She was a skinny thing and shivered against the cool air.

  “Do you think you could do a few extra hours tomorrow?” Cassy asked in lieu of a greeting.

  “I might have spare time. Let me have a look at my schedule.” Patty took out her phone, briefly glanced at the screen without turning it on, then replaced it in her bag. “Looks like I’m free for the rest of my life, so sure, why not? You have plans?”

  “Something’s bothering me, and I need to make sure it’s nothing.”

  “Oh, got ya. Well, we’d better head back. I promised Dot that I’d get you home safely; she had to go to bed.”

  “Safely? Are you my chaperone now?” Cassy laughed. It was simultaneously sweet and a little condescending. She hooked her arm through the younger girl’s, and they made their way back through the town center.

  The idea that Patty and Dot thought that she needed to be walked home at night occupied Cassy’s mind until she went to bed, and anything about the (possibly) suspicious death of Jane Fontaine was put on the back burner.

  It was no coincidence.

  The representative of a large firm buying up property comes to town, then winds up dead shortly after stating as a matter of fact that the corporation will not stop, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Many people had a lot riding on the development, and just as many would suffer if it continued.

  Tea first, then wild theories.

  Cassy’s apartment above the Spicery was filled with all the beautiful aromas that seeped up from below. It was small, only a single bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a living area just big enough for her to stretch her feet out when she had a rare moment to relax on the couch with Herzog on her lap. She loved her little retreat, though, and would have felt lost in anything bigger. Dot used to kid her that if she were to lie down and stretch her arms above her head, she could reach both walls simultaneously. This wasn’t true, but it wasn’t far wrong, either. Besides, with the shop downstairs, she spent most of her time with the public and didn’t have all that much time to herself.

  She took her tea—not the usual Darjeeling and orange, but a bitter yet perky natural mint—on the balcony that overlooked the courtyard at the center of her block. Nether Edge, as it was called, comprised four separate buildings joined together sometime early in the last century and now formed a perfect little yard with a small garden. In the summer, it was often a great place for the residents of the quarter to meet up for barbecues and little gatherings. For her fortieth birthday, Cassy had arranged a little get-together of a few friends and neighbors, but it had somehow turned into a night-long party that had spilled out into the street. The following day everybody had returned to help tidy up. That sense of community ensured Cassy would never look for anywhere else to live. Just about everybody was on speaking terms, and Cassy got to know a few residents well over time. Her immediate neighbors to the right were Mrs. Donnington and her daughter Bella, who suffered from a rare disorder that confined her to the house. Occasionally Cassy would poke her head in to see if she could be of any help, but Mrs. Donnington was what Dot would call ‘a trooper’. Despite everything, the woman was always cheery and didn’t let her circumstances get her down. On the other side there lived a young couple, childhood sweethearts, who a more cynical person might find off-putting for all their displays of public affection, but for Cassy, they embodied the vitality of youthful love. The girl, Maya, was a keen amateur witch and would often come to the Spicery for tips and tricks. It wasn’t yet time for Cassy to reveal the true nature of what it was to be a witch, however. Maya was still too young and had fanciful notions of what it entailed. Maybe one day.

  A grumpy old man named Frowd (Cassy had never picked up his first name, though Frowd might have been it) occupied the entire top floor of the building opposite. He was mostly a recluse, and Cassy suspected him to be a writer. When he came out of his hermit-hole, Frowd could be seen feeding the birds then chasing them away when he ran out of seed.

  Cassy called out to Mrs. Mayweather, a silver-haired woman who lived on the ground floor of the opposite building and was performing her daily ritual of watering the plants in the courtyard. Mrs. Mayweather looked up sharply and adjusted her thick glasses. When she saw Cassy, her face brightened and she returned the greeting.

  Murder.

  Cassy shook her head and had a sip of tea. It was too early to have thoughts like that. She wanted to go down to the Spicery and check that everything was okay, even though Patty assured her she could open the shop up all by herself and make do until Dot arrived an hour later.

  If Cassy crossed from the balcony to the other side of the apartment, the view from her front window revealed the main street. From there Cassy could see all the shops as far as the bakery on the end and what had once been the video store.

  Across the street was Coffee and More, a small place with a few tables and chairs outside, which would be full come the start of summer.

  If Cassy couldn’t get rid of the prickly sensation she’d had since waking, she would have to go over there and ask a few questions. She fed Herzog his favorite (tuna and mayo) and went down the fire escape that led to the inner courtyard, bypassing the stairwell that would lead her into her shop. She had confidence in Patty, or at least she didn’t want to know what was going wrong just yet.

  She passed Mrs. Mayweather on the way out. She had just about finished watering the hanging baskets that adorned the walls on the side that caught the most sun. Petunias mostly, though an errant rose had found its way among them.

  “Cassandra, dear,” said the frail but tenacious woman. She always called her Cassandra. “What did I hear about that business up at the town hall last night?”

  “A woman from out of town was found dead in her car.” There was no skirting carefully around the issue, and the old lady wouldn’t have entertained what she called ‘pussyfooting’.

  “Car crash?”

  “No. We don’t know what yet. It might be nothing more than natural causes.” It was anything but, Cassy could tell. Call it witch’s intuition, or even common sense, but something wasn’t right. “If you hear anything else, you let me know, won’t you? I know you always have your ear to the ground.”

  “That I do, that I do.” The old woman returned to her plants, content to fill her morning looking after them.

  Having skipped breakfast so she could plausibly order something more from Coffee and More and not look like she was just snooping, Cassy entered the establishment with questions brewing between her temples. There was no good way to casually drop her concerns into conversation, so she would have to just come right out with it.

 
By the looks of things, Cassy was the first customer of the day, but it was still early. At this hour, it was probably more passing trade as people grabbed a caffeine pick-me-up on the way to work. As she entered, the woman who had served her yesterday and who had so rudely barged past her last night was wiping down the few scattered tables. It was the husband, the poor man she’d last seen being dragged helplessly behind his wife, who took her order at the counter.

  He beamed a great smile as she approached.

  “Good morning,” he said, and then a flicker of recognition crossed his face. “You’re from the herb shop across the road.”

  “The Spicery, yes. It’s my day off, so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself. I’m Cassandra; you can call me Cassy.”

  “Peter. Peter Orange.” He saw the smirk on Cassy’s face and laughed. “It’s Dutch, or used to be a few generations ago.”

  “So, how’s everything going with the new café?” Cassy admired the small, rustic place.

  “Oh, you know how it is. We tried our best to get everything up and running before summer season, and now we’re kinda twiddling our thumbs until business picks up. In fact, I think you’re our only regular.”

  “Same at the Spicery. Although things are picking up.”

  “That’s what I keep saying. ‘Things will pick up.’”

  The conversation had come to a natural pause that was almost impossible to get out of without a great deal of effort. Cassy could order some food, but then the conversation really would be over. There was no getting around it, she would have to be tactless. She had only one chance to leave a bad impression. Fortunately, Peter broached the subject of the town meeting without prompting.

  “We saw you last night. I guess you thought we were extremely rude.”

  Cassy cast a glance over at Mrs. Orange, who was trying to both eavesdrop and concentrate on her work. “Never mind. I know how it is,” said Cassy dismissively, but she pressed on anyway. “What was going on there? You looked in quite the rush.”

  “We spent a lot of time, effort and money on this place, and did you know that this whole building is owned by Newmark? So we’re pretty invested with them. If they pull out of town, we’ll have to renegotiate the lease. It’s more than we can handle right now.”

  Of all the people who had gone to the town hall last night, the Oranges were possibly the only ones who welcomed the new developments. It was not what Cassy had expected. She chewed her bottom lip.

  “Did you hear what happened afterward?”

  Peter bowed his head. “I’m glad we left before all that. Only found out this morning; I don’t think either one of us would have slept after that disaster. Not to sound selfish—I mean it’s a tragedy that the poor woman died, but it really puts our future in doubt.”

  “How so?”

  Peter stole a look over to his wife, then leaned forward to Cassy. “Don’t you think it sends a message to Newmark that they’re not wanted?”

  It was something that Cassy had entertained. If Jane Fontaine’s death was deliberate, even if it couldn’t be proved, it would sour any deals going on.

  “But wait a minute,” Cassy stepped back from the counter and looked around. The posters so vehemently opposed to the redevelopment were gone. Why had they even put them up in the first place? “Where did Mrs. Hamswell’s posters go?”

  “Oh her?” Mrs. Orange said behind Cassy. She came into view dusting down her hands. “She came in here like a force of nature and pretty much forced those things on us. We didn’t want to seem ungrateful—we don’t want to lose customers before we even have any. So I said we’d put them up, and we did. Walking through town this morning, they were like a plague covering every available surface. She sure gets around.”

  “But you took them down once she was gone?” If anyone wanted to send a message to Newmark it was Mrs. Hamswell. Cassy realized that perhaps she’d been looking in the wrong place. There were people on either side of the debate; even she was still on the fence. It was the people who had entrenched themselves firmly on one side that she had to look out for.

  Cassy ordered a pumpkin spiced latte to go and bid the Oranges good day.

  Chapter Seven

  When Cassy returned to the sidewalk she saw Deputy James Jones leaving the Spicery and almost got hit by a car crossing the street to catch up with him. Her immediate plan to pay Mrs. Hamswell a little visit must be put on hold. With one hand holding the lid on her coffee, Cassy jogged up behind the deputy. She’d forgotten to get something to eat from the café, and her stomach protested as she bounded up to him.

  “James, isn’t it?” she questioned, before tapping him on the shoulder.

  He looked to see who was creeping up on him and smiled when he saw Cassy.

  “Miss Dean. They told me it was your day off, but here you are.”

  “I live above the shop, so a day off rarely takes me far. Say, any news on the—” She wanted to say ‘murder’ but had to correct herself. “Any news on Jane Fontaine?”

  “Well, they’re just about to perform an autopsy. In fact, that’s where I’m going now. Noyce has asked me to take charge of the paperwork.”

  “Well, I did advise him to delegate. That man looks overworked.”

  He laughed. “That’s not what I’d call it.”

  In the stark morning sun Cassy found it hard to read the deputy’s expression. Was he trying to imply something about his superior? “What do you mean? Is he shirking his responsibilities?”

  “Hardly. I’d say he’s taken on more than he can handle. If you know what I mean.” Cassy didn’t. Sensing the confusion, the deputy spelled it out for her. “He’s got a new woman, quite a bit younger than him. I get the impression that he’s—how can I say?—not getting enough sleep for a man of his age.”

  “Oh my,” she muttered into her coffee, keen to change the subject. It did however clear up the sheriff’s coyness about who he was baking a cake for. “Did you want to speak to me? Is that why you came by?”

  “Just a little follow-up. I thought I might be able to ask you a few questions before setting off to the medical center. It’ll have to wait now. If I could ask you to come to the station this afternoon, I could get what I need.”

  “Why don’t I come with you now? Like I said, I’m free.”

  “I don’t want to impose on you. It’s really not necessary.”

  “You wouldn’t be imposing. Besides, I’d like to get to know you.”

  He mulled it over for a second and decided. “Sure. Why don’t you ride along with me? If you don’t mind stopping at the morgue on the way. I have a few things to do there.”

  “Absolutely, no problem,” Cassy smiled. It was a date. A ride with the new deputy and an autopsy in one day? Cassy couldn’t believe her good luck.

  Knowing they didn’t have far to drive to the morgue, Cassy tried to strike up a conversation. “So, I’m having a drink with some friends later tonight; if you’d like to tag along, we’d love your company,” Cassie said.

  “Sounds like fun! Where are you guys going?” the deputy asked.

  Cassy had to scramble to think of a place she could later establish as the meeting place and pretend it had always been her plan. “Dempsey’s,” she said, hoping the sports bar was still open. It had been too long since she’d gone out socially.

  “Noyce mentioned that place. Said they made good cocktails.”

  Cassy furrowed her brow. “I never had the sheriff pegged as a cocktail kind of guy.”

  “Well, I think he was recommending it as somewhere to take a date. Sports and cocktails. You have all bases covered.”

  “Of course, the mysterious new woman in his life,” Cassy said. “Did you know he made a cake for her?”

  The cruiser pulled right into Maybury Hill, two blocks down from the morgue. Without taking his eyes off the road, Jones replied.

  “Had some this morning. It was all right. I reckon he brought it in for the boys because he had a lot left over. Gotta guess s
he wasn’t into it. I don’t know Sheriff Noyce that well, but I’d say he’s acting like a high school kid out on his first date. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a competent guy. I just think his mind’s elsewhere at the moment.”

  “How so?”

  The newly appointed deputy had started something he was now regretting, but he was too much of a gentleman to flat out cut the conversation short.

  “Well, take this murder—”

  “Murder?”

  “I mean fatality,” he said wryly. “We were on the scene immediately, as you know, but a perimeter was not set up as soon as I would have liked.”

  “Do you think someone could have got to the body before it could be examined?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “But it’s a possibility?”

  “Look, I guess we’ll find out soon enough if there’s anything worth worrying about.” The deputy indicated they were at their destination already.

  The morgue was part of Havenholm’s modest medical center where the town’s only doctor held his practice. Dr. Nathaniel Bloom was as much a landmark in Havenholm as the town hall. He had seemingly always been a part of the daily life of the town. Cassy had noticed him right at the front of the meeting the night before, and he’d been on hand to see to Ms. Fontaine before the ambulance arrived.

  Now it was up to him to perform the autopsy.

  A wave of prickly ice crept over Cassy’s skin as they entered the morgue. She’d always been sensitive to auras and sometimes could tell if a place was good or bad before even setting foot in it. The morgue was neither of those; instead she was getting sensations of loneliness and regret. She tried her best to put it out of her mind and behave like anyone else would. But then again, who wouldn’t be a little freaked out by visiting the morgue?

  “Well, hi-dee-ho there! Is that little Cassandra Dean?”

  The short man with the eccentric gray hair who popped out of a doorway to greet them was Dr. Bloom. Cassy was surprised that he even recognized her. It had been a long time since she’d broken her arm as a kid, and she hadn’t been back to see him since that day.