The Fifth Curse_A Cozy Mystery

by Cindy Stark

  She was in no mood to engage in polite chitchat. “Chief Parrish.”

  The woman’s lips parted in what Hazel would be hard-pressed to call a smile. “Not available.”

  Hazel glanced toward his open door.

  “Not available,” she repeated.

  She huffed her frustration. “Do you know when he might be?”

  She shrugged and gave her a sugary smile. “No clue.”

  If Hazel could, she’d jump over the desk and give her a clue.

  “Hazel?” a woman called from Peter’s office.

  She turned to find Margaret in the doorway, and she motioned Hazel over.

  Polly’s snide expression dropped to annoyance.

  “I’ll just wait for Peter in his office.” Hazel offered her own version of a saccharin smile and strode off.

  When she reached Margaret, she didn’t hesitate to wrap her in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  Margaret lifted her brows in question, and Hazel nodded. “I know.”

  Her friend’s expression broke, and Hazel closed the door behind them for privacy.

  She tugged Margaret toward a visitor chair and helped her sit. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  She shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s not okay. They’re going to arrest her. The place I’ve dedicated my life to will arrest my own sister. I can’t bear it.”

  Hazel grabbed a couple of tissues and shoved them in her hands. “Now, wait a minute. I know what Peter thinks, and I don’t know what Gwen will tell him, but I have a couple of things that suggest someone else may have killed her.”

  Margaret sniffed and blinked wet lashes. “Tell me.”

  Hazel dragged a chair from against the wall and sat next to Margaret. “First, one of the things leading Peter to believe it might be Gwen is her fingerprints on the shoe.”

  Margaret nodded, and she figured Peter must have filled her in on that much.

  “Carol came to visit me the day I moved into my house. I haven’t mentioned what we talked about because it didn’t cast Gwen in the best light, and, well, with the crazy bees and everything, life happened.”

  She grasped Margaret’s hand. “Carol told me that when Gwen put itching powder in Fiona’s dress, she also took Fiona’s veil and shoes for the other two to hide.”

  Margaret’s slow nods grew faster. “So, of course, her prints would be there.”

  “Exactly, and Carol can testify to that. Second, I discovered where Arthur has been staying and paid him a visit just a little while ago.”

  Hazel pinned her with a sharp gaze. “Margaret, I saw a black negligee on the floor of his room. He said it was Fiona’s and made a big show that it’s the last he has of her.”

  “You don’t believe him.”

  She lifted another tissue for her friend. “At first, I was sucked in to his story, but then I realized I couldn’t sense any anguish. For a man who’d just lost his new wife that way, he should have been more devastated.”

  Margaret’s breaths came a little easier. “We have to tell Peter.”

  “We will as soon as he finishes with Gwen.”

  “I called her the day we came back from Sondra’s shop and confronted her about masterminding the stupid payback stunts. Hazel, she denied every bit of it. I know my sister, and I know when she’s lying. And she wasn’t.”

  Hazel nodded in agreement. “I believe you. Now, we have to prove it.”

  They waited for nearly an hour before Peter returned to his office.

  He walked in and then widened his eyes when he spotted her. “Hazel. What are you doing here?”

  She gave him a sad smile and tilted her head toward Margaret. “Offering my support.”

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah. I’m so sorry, Margaret. We’re not going to press formal charges this afternoon, though. My guys really put her through the ringer, but she stayed strong, and her story remained consistent. I’m going to let you take her home while we regroup.”

  Margaret’s relief flooded the room. “Thank you, Peter.” She turned to Hazel. “You’ll tell him everything.”

  She sent her a warm nod. “I will. You go take care of your sister.”

  Peter waited until Margaret left and then closed the door behind her. He dropped into the seat next to her instead of claiming his office chair on the other side of the desk.

  Frustration pulsed from him. “I knew this would be tough, but…man.”

  “Peter, listen to me. I tried to call you back after we’d hung up earlier because I remembered something Carol had said to me.”

  She spilled everything that she’d just told Margaret and ended with discovering the negligee on the floor. “Seriously, who would do that? If Arthur wanted to remember her, I can think of a million other ways, and if that’s truly the belonging that meant the most to him, why would he toss it carelessly on the floor?”

  Peter nodded thoughtfully and locked his gaze with hers.

  She loved those moments when their brains were intimately connected and working together.

  “We’ll definitely call Carol back in to have her corroborate what you’ve said. If nothing else, that will buy Gwen a little more time. But I’m not sure about Arthur. You’re going on gut instinct, but we can’t arrest a man for that.”

  She really hated technicalities. “Okay, fine. I say it belongs to another woman, and you’re doubtful. So, we need to prove it. The best way I can think to do that is a stakeout.”

  He snorted. “A stakeout?”

  “Yes, exactly. You and me huddled in a car watching the motel tonight.”

  “I like the ‘you and me huddled in a car’ part.”

  She scolded him with a gaze. “Be serious. Gwen’s future is at stake. We must watch him and see what happens. It could change everything.”

  He kept his gaze locked with hers and rubbed the scruff on his chin. Then he glanced at his watch. “Okay. One condition. You’re bringing dinner.”

  She pretended to be insulted. “This is a serious police investigation, Chief Parrish. You can’t put bribes on it.”

  He shook his head and grinned. “This is not an official investigation. This is me humoring you because occasionally your instincts are spot on.”

  “Occasionally?” she teased. “With that remark, it’s doubtful I’ll feed you ever again.”

  “A roast beef sandwich from Cora’s with all the trimmings in return for you experiencing a stakeout. That’s the deal.”

  Why did she bother to argue with the man? “Fine. It’s a deal.”

  His lips turned into one of those sexy smiles that drove her crazy. “You grab food, and I’ll pick you up in an hour. And don’t get stung on the way home, or you’ll ruin our whole evening.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Funny.”

  Before she could come up with a good comeback, he tugged her toward him and placed a heated, possessive kiss on her lips.

  She broke away when she needed oxygen. “Be careful, Chief Parrish, or I’ll tell your assistant what you do behind closed doors.”

  He grinned. “Like she hasn’t already seen it. But go right ahead. It might be good for her.”

  They both laughed.

  Nineteen

  Hazel pulled into the driveway at her house. Her house. She still couldn’t quite believe it. She gathered the boxed dinners Cora had prepared for them and headed toward the front door.

  When she opened it, a flash of black fur dashed from the living room and into the kitchen. She widened her eyes. Mr. Kitty remained in the spot where the black cat had been and looked at her with an innocent expression.

  She narrowed her gaze. “Do you have a woman in here?”

  Geez. She sounded like a mom who’d just found her teenage son with a girl in his room.

  Mr. Kitty lost his haughty posture and ran after the black feline.

  She chuckled and then stopped suddenly. Did this mean she was about to adopt another cat?

  She headed into the kitchen to put her and Peter’s san
dwiches in the fridge and saw no sign of either kitty. Didn’t surprise her. That guy could pull a disappearing act better than anyone.

  At least she knew why he’d been absent so much lately. She’d thought he would have been happy to live in the house with his current and previous kitty-mommas, but apparently, he had other things on his mind.

  Anticipation of the evening’s activities left her jittery. Peter might not believe her, but her senses, which were rarely wrong, told her Arthur Wainswright was not an innocent man.

  She looked forward to proving that to Peter.

  In the meantime, she had to wait. And she hated waiting.

  She retrieved Clarabelle’s spell book and sank into her favorite chair, determined to learn more about this bee curse. If a witch could cast a spell, then most times, another could break it.

  Maybe if she looked long and hard enough, she might find a clue within the pages.

  She made it to the middle of the book when she discovered tiny handwriting in the margin next to one of Clarabelle’s spells. It was different enough from the other to draw her attention downward from the titles she’d been skimming.

  A shoelace can be used in place of twine.

  Those words were followed by the initials S. P.

  S. P.?

  She rolled the letters over her tongue a few times, and then paused. Sarah Parrish?

  Then that would mean Clarabelle’s tome hadn’t been hidden all these years waiting for Hazel. It also meant that Sarah had no doubts that she was a witch. Especially if she was noting adjustments to spells.

  She had to be more than a novice.

  Hazel studied the writing again.

  Yes, the style of handwriting looked modern. Definitely not something from Clarabelle’s time.

  She wished she could compare it to something Sarah had written. Perhaps when Peter arrived, she could ask him for confirmation.

  If it wouldn’t upset him.

  Which it might because he was never happy whenever she’d brought up Sarah’s deception.

  She may need to ponder the idea a little longer.

  The title of this particular spell, Fated Forever, didn’t exactly tell her its purpose.

  She scanned the content list, which included several personal items such as a lock of hair from two people and blood from both. Of course. Clarabelle did love her blood spells.

  It seemed odd that it would require the blood from two, though.

  A strand of twine to bind them. Or a shoelace it seemed.

  Two rose petals.

  Patchouli and yarrow. “This is…”

  She frowned as she continued reading. “This is a love spell.”

  A love spell.

  Her brain exploded with various notions, but they all led back to one thing.

  It seemed dear, sweet Sarah had cast a love spell on Peter.

  The implications of it and the extent of suffering Peter must have endured when her death ripped them apart blew her mind.

  This spell would have made Peter fall deeply in love with Sarah, but it wouldn’t have been of his choosing.

  Peter might never have loved Sarah otherwise. She might have tricked him into giving his heart to her, making it the ultimate betrayal.

  Then she reminded herself that she’d proven nothing yet, and to fling accusations at Peter’s dead wife was a very bad idea.

  She would like to think Peter could love only her, but that was selfish and unreasonable. Still, she couldn’t help it.

  If Sarah’s betrayal was true, Peter had a right to know. It might even help with any residual grief he harbored.

  And if he really had loved Sarah, this whole thing would be moot. No problem. No worries.

  The sound of a vehicle door slamming startled her from her thoughts. She marked her spot and closed Clarabelle’s book.

  Twenty

  Hazel did her best to put on a warm smile to hide the crazy thoughts churning in her mind before she opened the door to Peter. She didn’t want to blast him with her news and wait for the fallout. She needed time to process and maybe question Cora about the spell.

  She exhaled and turned the knob.

  He greeted her with a beautiful smile that charmed her to the core. “Hey, beautiful.”

  She grinned and allowed the happiness he generated to take over. “Hey, handsome. Are you ready for our stakeout?”

  He tugged her to him and studied her eyes, a hint of teasing hiding behind his. “I think you just want to say you’ve done one. Like something to check off your bucket list.”

  He had her there. “What’s wrong with that? Most people would jump at the chance.”

  “Not most people. But definitely you.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Ready to go?”

  “I’m so ready. Let me grab our dinner.”

  Removing boxed sandwiches from the fridge reminded her of another date, their first real one…that hadn’t ended so well when she’d discovered a dead body.

  Hopefully, this one would go much better.

  The blues and purples of the evening fought the fading light to take command of the sky as they headed toward the edge of town. Every mile they drove stimulated her excitement.

  Peter must have sensed it because he snorted a laugh. “You do realize that nothing happens during most stakeouts, right?”

  Maybe so, but she didn’t care. “Something is going to happen.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  She shrugged. “I sense it. I sense the energy.”

  “That energy is all coming from inside you.”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “Don’t give me that. I sense it from you, too.”

  He dipped his head in concession. “Maybe so, or maybe I’m just excited to spend time with you.”

  She smiled but didn’t respond. He might not want to admit the depth of her sensitivities, but she knew what she knew.

  Peter slowed as they neared the Double Pines Motel. “Might be getting here too late. He might be settled in for the night.”

  Many more cars filled the small lot, making it easier to blend in. He pulled between a white pickup and dark blue sedan and rolled down the windows before he killed the engine. “It’s hot enough to roast a fire pepper out here.”

  “Better than the middle of the day,” she countered. “Besides, the bees should all be sleeping.”

  She removed her seatbelt and shifted in her seat to face him. “Have you seen the ridiculous things people are wearing to protect themselves from attack?”

  He groaned. “All the ball caps over netting? Reminds me of a zombie wedding nightmare.”

  She laughed. “Better safe than sorry I guess. I had a ton of people show up asking for my healing salve.”

  He lifted a brow. “And?”

  “And I couldn’t say no and not help them. But, Peter, there is magic in this blend. I tried adding some after you questioned me about it last time.”

  “Wait.” He chuckled. “You’re selling this to the town?”

  She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “What else could I do? People are hurting, and customers are begging.”

  “I guess that’s all you can do. I don’t like the deception, but it is kind of funny.”

  She frowned. “I don’t particularly like it, either. If this darned town could get its head on straight, then it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  He conceded with a nodded. “How about we eat sandwiches instead of worrying about them?”

  She pulled out their dinners and then pointed toward the motel. “His room is the second one from the end on the bottom, right side.”

  Peter shifted his gaze in that direction and then unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite.

  ****

  She and Peter had long since finished their dinner, when Hazel released a heavy sigh. “Maybe you’re right. It doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary is going to happen, and I’ve had it with this heat.”

  “Yeah,” Peter said with disappointment lingering i
n his voice. “Unfortunately, that is the way of most stakeouts. They usually occur over a period of days, even weeks, before anything is discovered.”

  She was also tired of finding conversation that would distract her from thinking about the love spell she’d found in Clarabelle’s book. She’d go crazy if she wasn’t able to ask him about it soon.

  She straightened in her seat and clicked her seatbelt in place.

  Glare from someone’s headlights washed across the dash, and Peter looked over his shoulder. “Hang on.”

  Hazel’s pulse jumped to action. “Someone turned in.”

  “Yes,” he whispered even though whoever was in the other car wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Stay low.”

  They both scrunched in their seats as a red sedan parked a few spaces from them. A car door shut, and Hazel dared a peek through the passenger side window.

  She sucked in a quick breath. “It’s Sondra.”

  “Uh-huh,” Peter mumbled. “That’s a mighty short dress for someone going to console a widower. Especially one she used to be engaged to.”

  Arthur opened the door to his motel room, and Sondra slipped inside.

  Hazel glanced to Peter. “Now what?”

  “We wait.”

  She released an impatient sigh. “Again?”

  “Just because Sondra knocked on his door doesn’t mean either of them murdered Fiona. Maybe she’s stopping to give condolences.”

  Hazel snorted. “Right.”

  He chuckled. “Look, you’re probably correct in that there’s something going on, but if we go knocking on his door right now, we’re not going to learn anything.”

  She supposed he was right.

  After thirty minutes longer, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed open the passenger door.

  “Where are you going?” His whisper was harsh, which was why she hadn’t asked for his permission.

  “I’m just going to take a peek. See if I can see or hear anything.”

  “Hazel.”

  She shut the door and strode across the parking lot. A few seconds later, she heard Peter’s door close, too.

  He caught up with her as she stepped from the pavement onto the sidewalk. His fingers gripped her elbow, but she refused to be dissuaded. She jerked her head toward Arthur’s room.