by Cindy Stark
She agreed with a nod. “So, what’s our plan? Are we going to barge right in and start questioning?”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Of course not, silly. Working for the police department, you should have picked up some investigative techniques.”
Margaret waved away her comment. “Not my area of expertise. Give me logical stuff or ask me to organize, and I’m all over it. I never was much good at creative, on-the-spot things.”
She snorted. “I disagree. Some of those outfits you put together are darned creative.”
Margaret grinned. “They drive Peter crazy.”
She mirrored her expression. “It’s good for him.”
Hazel glanced at her friend as they stepped onto the sidewalk outside the small antique store. “Don’t worry about anything. Just follow my lead.”
The scent of weathered history assaulted Hazel’s senses as she took in the mishmash of trinkets and old furniture. She’d been in some fabulous antique stores in her time, but this one wasn’t half bad.
Since they didn’t immediately spot Sondra or anyone who could assist them, they wandered through the displays, stopping to look at a few pieces of old jewelry. Hazel tapped the glass in a display case. “Look at this brooch. It’s a little flower made from pearls.”
Margaret widened her eyes and made an oval of her mouth. “That is nice. I’ve been working on a nineteenth-century outfit and that would go amazingly well.”
Hazel caught movement from the corner of her eye and turned as Sondra walked out from the backroom. A look of shock passed over Sondra’s face, but she immediately turned it into a smile. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Speaking of cats, Hazel hadn’t seen hide nor fur of Mr. Kitty that morning and very little of him the previous few days. He hadn’t been hounding her about reading Clarabelle’s spell book, either.
She had a sinking feeling the sneaky rascal was up to something.
She pushed him from her mind and refocused on the current task. “Hi, Sondra. I hope that you don’t mind that we dropped by.”
“Yes,” Margaret agreed. “After hearing about your interesting shop at the wedding, we thought it might be fun to stop by while we’re in Salem.”
So much for not knowing what to say.
Hazel tamed a snicker. “Plus, we wanted to see how you’re holding up.”
Sondra paused and then exhaled a deep sigh. “Well, I can’t say it’s been pleasant being the suspect in a murder case, but I’m not too worried since I’m innocent.”
She also wasn’t a crying mess like Peter had said she’d been with him. “That’s good, and this place is fabulous.”
A warm blush spilled over Sondra’s complexion. “Thank you. Not everyone appreciates antiques, but they are my passion. And I do love to share with others.”
Margaret pointed toward the pearl brooch. “If you came down thirty on the price of that brooch, I’ll take it off your hands.”
Sondra strode closer and slipped off the set of keys dangling from her wrist. She unlocked the case, pulled out the brooch, and handed it to Margaret to inspect. “Early nineteenth century. It’s a forget-me-not split pearl brooch. The center is a tiny black garnet. As you can see, it’s been preserved well. I should probably charge more than I am.”
Sondra tilted her head from side to side while looking at it in Margaret’s hand. “I could give it to you for…ten dollars off, but no less.”
Margaret hesitated for a long moment. Hazel could sense her uncertainty and thought she’d hand it back to Sondra. Instead, she closed her fingers around it. “Deal.”
Victory sparked in Sondra’s eyes. “Excellent.”
Hazel walked with them to the counter so Margaret could pay for her purchase.
Hazel studied Sondra as she clipped the string tying the price tag to the brooch. Her demeanor today compared to the wedding was significantly different, much more relaxed. “I’m really glad you’re doing well, Sondra. You seem to have put that unfortunate event behind you.”
Emotion flickered across her face. “I can’t say any of it has been easy. I really loved Arthur, and knowing he left me for Fiona was unbearable for a long time. But, after seeing him at the wedding, I’ve realized he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I’m grateful I’m not spending the rest of my life with him.”
Margaret set her casual denim bag on the counter. “Sometimes it takes hindsight for us to see our blessings.”
“So true. I’m embarrassed to admit that when Gwen suggested we get even with Fiona by playing some pranks, I felt like that might help me move beyond the pain. But now I can see it only made things worse.”
Margaret flicked a nervous glance toward Hazel. “The pranks were Gwen’s idea?”
Sondra nodded as she typed the amount into the cash register. “Something I’m sure she wishes now she hadn’t done, like all of us. I mean, I don’t regret making Fiona suffer some of what we did, but the way the whole thing played out was horrible.”
Sondra paused and glanced between them, and Hazel’s pulsed jumped. “Still, our pranks are a far cry from killing a person. You understand that, right?”
Margaret nodded and handed over her credit card, and Sondra slipped it into the card reader.
Sondra waited for the credit card slip to print and then ripped it from the machine. “There must be someone she hurt worse than us. Someone that she totally destroyed. You know, for someone to take her life.”
Hazel had considered that, but she’d found the best suspects were usually right in the thick of things like the three bridezillas. “Or maybe one of your friends harbored more anger than you realize.”
Margaret signed the credit card receipt with an angry flourish. “Gwen did not kill Fiona.”
“Then maybe Carol,” Hazel added, softening the blow.
Sondra shook her head. “I can’t believe she’d do it. Either one of them, really. I mean, Fiona’s antics have caused a lot of contention in Carol’s life. She and her husband had to move in with her mother, and he’s now moved out because he can’t stand her.”
That was a new bit of interesting information. “Is that so?”
Sondra lifted her chin in affirmation. “Carol refuses to live with him at his mom’s where they’d have to share a twin bed and have zero privacy. Still, I don’t believe that’s enough to make a person commit murder. Do you?”
Margaret shook her head. Hazel did the same, though she’d found people had different tipping points. Some people could handle just about anything and not flip, while others lost their mind over words alone.
Sondra wrapped Margaret’s purchase in tissue paper, stuck the small package inside a plain brown bag, and handed it to Margaret.
Margaret smiled, though Hazel could tell it was superficial. “I’m so glad we stopped in here today. It was nice to see you again, and I love my new brooch.”
Hazel nodded her agreement. “You have a terrific shop.”
A pleasant vibe emanated from Sondra. “Thanks. Come back any time.”
Hazel refrained from saying anything until they were out the door and halfway across the parking lot. “What did you think of her? She seemed nervous to me, but that might be from everything that’s happened. I’m sure she never expected to find us in her shop.”
Margaret blew out a breath. “Well, first, I’m concerned that the pranks were Gwen’s idea. That bothers me more than a little. As far as Sondra’s demeanor, I didn’t get a nervous vibe from her at all. Maybe a little reserved.”
Or maybe Hazel had picked up on more because of her sensitive tendencies, which was often the case. “But not a murderer, right?”
Margaret stopped at the car door and waited for Hazel to unlock the car. “Honestly, Hazel. I don’t think it was any of them. All three seem like decent people, if a tad stupid for their antics. I only came today to help you so Peter can mark all three off his list and get on with discovering who it really was.”
“Yeah,” Hazel said and sighed. That would be th
e best for all of them.
Eight
Hazel walked into the police station later that afternoon and found Polly McGillicutty seated at Margaret’s desk. Polly’s straight brown hair, no-nonsense button-up tan blouse and bland smile reminded Hazel just how much Margaret brought to this office. A woman in her late twenties like Polly shouldn’t have the faded aura of someone on her deathbed.
Margaret might have said she annoyed Peter with her colorful flair, but Hazel would bet he’d prefer that light and energy over Polly’s any day.
She stepped up to the reception desk. “Is Peter in?”
“Chief Parrish?”
The way she rephrased his name grated on Hazel’s nerves like the scratch of a tree branch against her old house when the breeze stirred.
Hazel exhaled her frustration. “Yes. Is Chief Parrish in?”
Polly gave her a dull stare. “He’s busy.”
She could see that his door was open. “Busy?”
“Did you have an appointment?”
Hazel had no idea what she’d done to this woman, in this lifetime or a previous one, to make Polly dislike her. “I don’t have an appointment, but he’s expecting me.”
Er…at least expecting her to give him an update on Margaret’s and her interaction with Sondra at some point.
“I’m sorry. If you don’t have an appointment—”
“She’s fine, Polly.” Peter spoke from the doorway to his office. “Unless I specifically say otherwise or I’m occupied with a serious matter, Hazel is always welcome in my office.”
Hazel couldn’t resist giving Polly a snarky look as she passed her desk.
Peter let her pass through the doorway before he firmly closed the door behind them, locking out the snooty-snoot.
Instead of sitting, Hazel turned to the man who’d stolen her heart. “We need to solve this case fast. If I have to see her every time I come here, you won’t see me much.”
“Come here, my little witch Hazel.” He chuckled. “See what I did there?”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I didn’t hear that a million times growing up.”
He held out a hand. “Come here.”
She stepped forward, and he folded her in his embrace.
She peered up at him. “Really, though. We need to solve it for Margaret’s sake, if nothing else. She’s ready to snap if one more person insinuates her sister might be guilty.”
Peter dropped his lips to hers for a long, warm kiss before he released her and strode to his side of the desk. “Problem is I haven’t discovered anything that makes me think it couldn’t be Gwen.”
Hazel dropped into her chair with a frown. “But nothing that definitively points to her either besides the pranks, right?”
“From what others have told me, Gwen publicly swore to get her due vengeance. She’s told everyone she’s certain Fiona purposely sabotaged her wedding, and her humiliation over what happened is strong.”
Hazel placed an elbow on the desk and dropped her hand into her palm. She regarded Peter with a defeated expression. “Sondra told us today that Gwen was the mastermind behind the pranks. Before that, none of them really knew each other, but they’ve since bonded over the tragedy.”
He tapped his pen on the yellow notepad on the desk and stared at her. She loved it when their gazes connected while they processed information. She liked to think it was some sort of magic at work, when really, it was probably only their attraction to each other.
Which, in a way, was magic.
So, she was correct in her thoughts, which pleased her.
Finally, he dropped the pen. “I did receive preliminary information from the medical examiner.”
She widened her eyes as her pulse increased. “And?”
He grinned, and she knew he loved the interest she had in his line of work. “She didn’t die from strangulation.”
Now, that was interesting. “What killed her then?”
“A blunt object to the back of the head.”
She kept her gaze pinned to his as she processed. “Any idea what the object might have been?”
“Looks like one of the bride’s shoes.”
Her gut twisted. “One of the shoes that Carol took and hid? The same shoes she was looking for when we found her in the kitchen?”
“More than likely. We found both shoes near the body. So, either Carol brought them back to the dressing room and bludgeoned her with one of them, or someone figured out where the bridezillas had hidden the shoes and veil and snuck them back to the dressing room, whilst also luring Fiona there, so she or he could kill her.”
“That doesn’t look good for at least one of the three ladies, does it?”
“Nope. And the fact that someone would also take the time to wrap the veil around Fiona’s neck and strangle her after she was dead, also suggests an extreme amount of rage.”
Hazel slipped a strand of hair from behind her ear and twirled it about her finger. “Maybe the killer didn’t think the shoe had done the job and wanted to be certain.”
Peter tilted his head from side to side, weighing her suggestion. “Maybe. Though you’d think if someone took enough time to wrap the veil, she would have been able to tell Fiona was dead. And checking for a pulse instead of strangling would take much less time.”
He blinked several times. “I think the strangling was an afterthought. Like the killing hadn’t been enough. He or she wanted to do more harm.”
“That sounds like a seriously disturbed person.”
“Agreed.”
She stared at Peter for a long moment, trying to keep the small rip in her heart from growing bigger. “Margaret would know if her sister was that far gone, wouldn’t she?”
He pressed his lips together, and she sensed the same worry inside him. “I would think so. But we’ll have to wait and let the evidence play out.”
She gave a soft snort. “I hate waiting.”
He chuckled, and she was grateful the mood lightened. “I know.”
She growled and then wondered what Peter would think of her next bit of information. “A strange thing happened today.”
He tilted his head with interest. “Strange?”
“As I was headed into Cora’s to meet Margaret there, I heard a kid hollering. I turned to see him barreling a million miles an hour on a skateboard down the sidewalk near the hardware store.”
Peter shook his head in disappointment. “One of these days, one of them is going to get seriously hurt.”
“No, that’s not the point of the story. Just listen. When he reached the library, he didn’t slow down, but jumped off and rolled to the ground. Within a second, he was back on his feet and raced inside.”
“Was he goofing off?”
“At first, I didn’t know what to think of it, but then this huge swarm of angry bees rushed by and attacked his skateboard.”
Worry crept into his expression, and he scrubbed his jaw with his hand. “Oh, boy.”
“Is that normal for around here? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He shook his head. “Not normal, but it has happened before. We had crazy swarms a few years ago. Lasted several weeks, and then they disappeared. I haven’t seen them since. Some think we encountered a swarm of migrating killer bees.”
Her heart sank further. “Is that what you believe they were?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. We asked the state to send an apiarist to study them, but the bees had gone before they could get anyone out here.”
He absentmindedly rubbed his forearm. “I had a nasty run-in with them myself. If you do encounter a swarm, run, do whatever you need to protect yourself.”
She hated knowing her family was the cause of the torment. “Margaret told me about you saving a little girl, and that they’d stung you pretty bad.”
“If, by pretty bad, you mean I ended up in the emergency room, then yes. It was bad. I had over fifty stings.”
She gasped. “Fifty?”
She couldn’t imagin
e how painful that must have been.
A dark expression rolled over his face. “I’ll just say I wasn’t a happy man.”
Empathy for his pain overwhelmed her. “Where did they get you?”
He snorted. “The question is, where didn’t they? I was a swollen mess. Doc advised me to avoid bees. As if I’d gone looking for them. Only crazy people would antagonize the critters.”
She considered telling him the truth. Witch-related topics seemed safer since she’d practiced a spell for him, unless it had anything to do with his wife. Still, she didn’t feel she could withhold this information, either.
“Do you want me to tell you the theories I’ve heard?”
He lifted a brow and shot her an unhappy look. “Probably not, but go ahead.”
“Apparently, the witches…my grandmother and her friends cast another spell on the town. Any time a witch is murdered, the town will feel their stinging wrath. If it’s winter, the frozen temperatures will be cold enough to burn. Otherwise, the sun will scorch the earth and the people upon it. Oh, and they’ll also feel the sting of the Blessed Mother’s bees as an added bonus.”
He rolled his eyes. “Or they’re a swarm of African killer bees.”
She bit her bottom lip, certain she didn’t want to continue, but unable to not finish what she had to say. “When did this happen the last time?”
He stared at her for a long, hard moment, making her squirm in her chair. She recognized when he finally understood that she alluded to the correlation between his wife’s death and the arrival of the bees.
“No.”
She gave him an innocent shrug. “It makes sense.”
“No. I don’t want to think about it or consider it at all.”
The mixture of pain and sadness on his face undid her. The fact that Sarah had withheld such important information from him must feel like a horrendous betrayal, made worse because he would never be able to confront her with it.
“Okay,” she whispered.
She stood and made her way around to his side of the desk. Leaning over the back of his chair, she slid her arms around his shoulders and her hands across his chest. He was warm and strong, and she could tell he needed her so very much.
