Curses & Cupcakes (A Stella Storm Cozy Witch Mystery Book 1)

by Amy Casey

  And besides. He still wasn’t satisfied he’d got a straight answer from Stella.

  Why was she at his house?

  Why was she asking questions?

  What did any of this have to do with her?

  But there was something other than that. Something that went even deeper. A question that had been niggling at him for a while.

  And that question was… why hadn’t he told the detectives about her?

  He watched her disappear around a corner and he stepped back inside his house. He walked into his kitchen, opened the drawer, pulled out a ready-rolled spliff.

  Then he put it into his mouth and lit it up, taking a deep breath of the relaxing fumes, trying to forget everything that had happened, to transport far, far away from here and from everything that was happening…

  Chapter 17

  Go on. You might as well tell me. What have you gone and done this time?”

  When I heard Mary’s words, I knew right away that she was on to me. Although I was the witch in mine and Mary’s friendship, she was remarkably more inquisitive than I was. I sometimes wondered if she had a power for it; a power that she admittedly let go by the wayside in preference of “the quiet life,” as she dubbed it.

  Of course, “the quiet life” wasn’t that quiet at all. She liked rumours. She liked gossip.

  She just didn’t like it when I got myself involved in things. Except maybe she did. Maybe she got a kick from my inquisitiveness after all, no matter how much she told me otherwise.

  She sat on my sofa, plate of Chinese takeaway on her lap, Rocky glaring at it with wide eyes and his tongue dangling out, and she gave me that expression of total knowledge.

  “What?” I said, knowing my resistance was futile right off the bat.

  “‘What?’” Mary said, imitating me mockingly. “Don’t give me that, Stella. I know when you’re hiding something. What is it? Is it something to do with that rabbit with a collar you claimed you saw? Because that’s become a talk of the town. Seriously, there’s been a murder in Goosridge and talk of a mystical rabbit on the loose actually made the front page today.”

  I shook my head like I knew nothing about how that rumour had started. I walked over to the sofa, sat down with my Chinese. There was some crappy television on. Some quiz show or other that we tended to have on in the background on evenings when Mary came over. Didn’t really follow it. Probably couldn’t give many of the correct answers, in all truth.

  Just tradition.

  Another tradition was Mary grilling me for being secretive about something.

  “Go on,” she said, as I sat by her side. “Tell me. Otherwise I’ll crunch down on these prawn crackers really loud. And I know how much you enjoy that.”

  I tried to resist. Looked Rocky in the eye.

  “Food?” he said.

  I heard Mary crunching down on the cracker.

  “No food,” I said. “Not now.”

  “Right. No food. Mary mad with you. Should probably sort that out.”

  “Mary’s not mad with me,” I said.

  “Wait,” Mary said. “Did Rocky just say I’m mad with you?”

  Rocky’s head turned at the mention of his name. “Rocky? Food?”

  “No,” I said—to Rocky, to Mary, to both of them or whoever was listening. “No,” I said. “I just… Something happened today.”

  Mary went to crunch down on another prawn cracker. Instead, respecting how close I was to opening up, she let it sit there on the tip of her tongue, sizzling away. “Elaborate,” she said—although it came out a bit differently considering her mouth was open wide with a prawn cracker between her teeth.

  “I… I went to visit Peter. Peter Pake.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Peter was one of Krissy’s boyfriends.”

  “One of?”

  “It’s a long story, okay? But anyway. That’s not the point. Peter told me some things. He claimed that Krissy felt like she was being watched by somebody down by that new shopping development a few days before her death.”

  “Stella, she was a good looking girl,” Mary said. “We have to deal with that shit all the time. You aren’t seriously telling me you’ve never had a bloke letch over you before, are you?”

  “That’s not even the most interesting part. Steve showed up.”

  “Steve?”

  “DI Burke,” I said, correcting myself, cheeks flushing.

  Mary’s smile widened. “Ooh. First name terms with Steve now, are we?”

  “Give me a break.”

  “Sorry,” she said, clearly still amused. “You were saying. ‘Steve’ showed up.”

  I shot her a glare before proceeding to tell her what I’d heard. I told her about the poison. About the Hemlock. About the weed and Valerian cocktail laced to kill. And how the police thought Krissy died of poisoning after all, and not by the stabbings.

  “But that doesn’t seem… well, right,” Mary said.

  “Tell me about it. I’m trying to piece everything together but everything seems just so fragmented at the moment. It’s like I’ve got some pieces of a jigsaw but I’m missing a few key pieces to be able to figure out the full picture.”

  “That’s a solid analogy, Poirot,” Mary said.

  “Poi-what?”

  “Poirot. Agatha Christie.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Murder on the… Oh, never mind. Ye of little culture. Anyway. That Valerian thing. I’ve heard of it.”

  I blinked a few times, taken aback. “You have?”

  “Yeah. Collette down at the newsagents sells it. Supposed to calm the nerves. I don’t think she uses actual marijuana. Just the cannabis extract, whatever it’s called. Totally legal. Obviously dodgy in high dosages, and I imagine she won’t be selling much more of it after this, but it’s not exactly the hardest thing to get hold of.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I had to admit I was somewhat in disbelief about all this. I’d never heard of this herb. Neither had I heard of “Poi-whatever”. Maybe Mary was right; I did need to absorb myself in a bit of culture.

  “So if Collette sells this stuff, there’s a chance the girl just took too much and topped herself,” Mary said.

  “But then why the stab marks? And… and Krissy’s ghost. She told me something happened to her. She never mentioned anything about suicide. Besides. There had to be a really high level of toxin in her bloodstream for it to kill her right?”

  Mary shook her head, mouthful of Chinese food. “Hemlock’s lethal even in small doses. I dunno whether there’s a tiny bit of Hemlock in what Collette is selling anyway, but I find it hard to believe. And even if there is a little bit… it’ll be absolutely minuscule. Nothing that could do any kind of harm. I mean, why risk it? No. It can’t be poisonous. These things are regulated. Unless Krissy knocked back, like, a bathtub of the stuff.”

  “The kind of level that Collette would remember selling, that’s for sure,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. Although I knew it wasn’t “nothing.” It was anything but “nothing.” Collette sold the concoction that killed Krissy. And regardless of whether the Hemlock was there in the first place, or how it went down afterwards with the stabbing and the way her body ended up, Collette could hold the keys to the identity of the person who had purchased that stuff.

  She’d remember who she sold it to.

  Dodgy old Collette.

  “What time is it?” I said, jumping up from my sofa, glancing at my watch.

  “Um, it’s that precious time of week you spend with your best friend,” Mary said.

  “Walk time?” Rocky asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, maybe it is walk time, Rocky.”

  He started bounding around, unbelieving of his luck as if he’d never even been on a bloody walk before.

  Because I had time to catch the newsagents before Collette locked up.

  I had a chance to figure this w
hole thing out; find the final missing pieces of that jigsaw puzzle.

  “Stella?” Mary said. “Where are you going?”

  I turned around to answer her.

  But I didn’t get the chance.

  Not when I heard the bangs against the front door.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Then silence.

  Chapter 18

  Daryl?”

  “Ladies. We’re going to have to stop bumping into each other like this, aren’t we?”

  I’ll hand it to Daryl. His response was much cooler than I expected. Although a little creepy.

  Which was something considering he was lurking outside my front door, just like he’d been lurking outside Witchy Delights when Mary and I were in there.

  “Well. There’s a solution for that. It involves you not skulking around outside doors that Mary and I happen to be behind.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “Fair point.”

  He was dressed up in what looked to be an expensive leather jacket. His shirt was pressed and ironed. His hair was slicked back, and there was a distinct smell of aftershave about him (too strong for my tastes, but to each their own).

  This time, he wasn’t just holding a measly rose.

  He was holding a cardboard box from Dunkin’ Donuts, half-smile on his face as he looked me in the eye.

  “Donut?” he said.

  I felt my cheeks beginning to flush. Partly because I had no idea why this man was at my door. Partly because I suspected him, especially after all his lurking around, which couldn’t just be mere coincidence.

  But also because there was something there. Dammit, there was something there. Not that I was falling for this man, per se. I mean, he had a thing for Mary, that much was clear.

  But there was something about him. Something alluring. More than met the eye.

  I’d already looked into his thoughts once, and I hadn’t exactly found what I’d expected there.

  Who was to say he didn’t have more secrets hiding in his locker?

  I cleared my throat, regained my composure. “Sorry but that’s not going to be possible,” I said.

  Daryl frowned. “Not going to be possible? Stella, you just lift the donut. You put it in your mouth, take a bite, and you chew down on it.”

  “I’m not talking about the damned donut,” I said. “I’m on about you. You being here. You can’t be here.”

  “Why? Busy talking to shadows?”

  I heard the tone of his voice and I knew what he was implying right then. He’d seen me. He’d seen me talking in that alleyway, just as I’d suspected. And I came to figure out that was the reason he was here after all. He wasn’t here to bond or anything. He wasn’t here to share donuts.

  “You’re going to have to leave,” I said. “Or I’ll call the police.”

  Mary narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little… excessive?”

  I shot her a glare.

  “I’m just saying,” she said, raising her hands. “I mean, he does have donuts.”

  “Did somebody say donuts?”

  Rocky came racing around the corner. And I noticed something, then. I’d come to take his speech for granted. It was something you kind of got used to when you had an animal who could talk human. Something you had to bring yourself to adapt to, that was for sure.

  But it was more with Daryl’s expression.

  The way he looked down from the donuts, wide-eyed.

  The way he looked at Rocky.

  His face went totally pale. The donut box wobbled in his hand.

  “Whoah there,” I said. “The donuts. The…”

  But it was already too late.

  The box of donuts was on the ground.

  Rocky was already upon them.

  Mary grabbed Daryl, who had gone pale. And although I couldn’t figure out what had happened or why he’d gone faint all of a sudden, I had my suspicions.

  Those suspicions were confirmed moments later as I saw Daryl looking over his shoulder as Mary escorted him into my flat.

  “That dog. It… it spoke. It actually spoke.”

  Rocky looked up from the donuts. “Thanks, man. Thanks for the food. I love you. You can be my new owner.”

  Daryl went a little more wobbly, a little paler.

  I figured there was no way he was leaving my home anytime soon.

  We sat him down on the sofa with a hot tea in hand. I could see him glaring over at Beatrice, my cat, wide-eyed.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “She’s not so much of a chatterbox.”

  It was intended as humour, but Daryl didn’t look all that amused.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to handle any of this either. I think I was going through some kind of delayed shock reaction. Because something had happened. Something unprecedented in the history of me.

  Someone else had heard Rocky speak.

  This man, Daryl—this mysterious newcomer who had a thing for Mary—he’d heard Rocky speak.

  “Do you want to explain to me how you’ve got a talking dog?” he asked.

  I scratched the back of my head, looked over at Mary for support. I’d heard rumours that sometimes, just sometimes, the animal speech spell could end up being audible to other people. But… Daryl. Daryl, of all damned people.

  Mary just shrugged. Half a donut in her mouth. Salvaged from the ground.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I said.

  “Um, yeah. Yeah I do. I just came to your door with a box of donuts and a dog ran up to me and started speaking.”

  “Is that dipshit still on about me talking?”

  “Argh!” Daryl said.

  He leaped up onto the sofa. The way he stood there, arms wrapped around himself, cowering, it’d totally broken any illusion or misconception that he was some kind of macho man.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  Rocky looked at me. “I’m sitting.”

  “Not you. Daryl. Sit down. Please. Get your filthy paws off my sofa right now.”

  “Paws?” Rocky said. “Man doesn’t have—”

  “I’m talking to Daryl, okay?”

  Rocky slumped down, head on the floor. “Stupid human. ‘Paws.’ What an idiot.”

  Eventually, Mary and I managed to get Daryl down onto the sofa. And as he sat there, totally pale, not quite making eye contact with Rocky, I figured it was time to at least attempt to figure out what was happening, why he was here.

  “I’m sorry for the shock,” I said. “Really. But I did warn you that you couldn’t come in.”

  “Does it always speak?” Daryl said, clearly transfixed by my dog. “I mean, does it chat a lot? To everyone?”

  “My name’s Rocky,” he said. “I don’t take too kindly to being called an ‘it’, wise-guy. And no. I only ever speak to her over there. Until you came along and decided you could hear our conversations. Kinda creepy. But if you’ve got more food I’ll let it go.”

  “How is it possible?” Mary asked. “I mean… I’ve always wanted to hear Rocky talk. I’ve known you for years, Stella. Why can’t I hear him talk?”

  “Trust me, dummy,” Rocky said. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.”

  Daryl let out a bemused snort. Like he was just so caught up in the ridiculousness of the situation that he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  I found myself curtailing a laugh, too.

  Mary glared at me. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t say nothing. There’s obviously something.”

  “Just… Okay. Daryl. You can hear my dog. And I’ve no idea how that is happening but it is. Somehow it is.”

  “I knew you were weird,” he said.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “I mean… I knew there was something amiss about you. About this whole town, actually. That’s what I came here to tell you about.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bundle of paper, which was filled with all kinds of
photocopies, that kind of thing.

  “What is this, Daryl?” I asked.

  He looked up at me. Fear in his eyes.

  “Okay so… so I figured you were interested in this murder case.”

  “This murder case?” I said, attempting to brush it off. “Which one?”

  “This murder. Krissy’s murder. Something’s wrong. And I think I know exactly what it is.”

  When he spoke those words, I started to wonder whether Daryl might actually be an asset after all.

  “What is it, Daryl? What do you know?”

  But then he put the papers down by his side, looked at Rocky and back up at me.

  “Before we start. This wild rabbit with a collar that’s on the loose. Can you speak to that, too?”

  Chapter 19

  So I think I know why Krissy’s body was covered with those marks,” Daryl said. “Those stab marks.”

  I felt my stomach turning as soon as Daryl spoke those words. “How did you know about the stab marks?”

  He frowned. Narrowed his eyes. He looked a little more comfortable with the fact that there was a talking dog beside him—a dog that nobody other than me could hear before this point. “Um, do you even read the papers?”

  “No.”

  “Well. That’d explain it. But anyway. The reasons for the stab marks… have you ever heard of the Ritual of Bathala?”

  I glanced over at Mary, who shrugged. “Oh yeah. The Ritual of Bathala. That old chestnut.”

  “So you know about it?”

  “Why the hell would I know a thing about the Ritual of ‘Bathala’ or whatever it’s called?”

  “Because you’re a witch, right?”

  I felt my face tighten up. Felt my whole body seize. Like I’d been stopped in time. And I knew that the best thing I could possibly do would be to keep it cool. Any kind of weird reaction and I was only digging myself into a greater hole.

  But still. First, this man had shown the ability of speaking to my dog. Now he was accusing me, very directly and openly, of being a witch—as if he knew for a fact that I was one.

  “How dare you,” I said, mulling over the best possible thing to say to get myself out of this situation. “I mean, that’s not how you go around talking to people. That’s not how you make friends.”