by Sofia Belle
“Chief thinks that Clive is involved somehow?”
I shook my head. “Too early to tell anything. But they're going ahead with the wedding, which I think is the best thing to do, considering the situation. We can adjust if anything else pops up. By the way, thanks for being flexible.”
Jo gave me a subtle wink, but when she spoke, it was over my shoulder. “Hi, ladies,” she greeted the bridal party. “You too, Clive. I'm so sorry to hear about what happened. Everyone take a seat and let Mama Jo take care of you. Hailey, my dear, how are you feeling?”
I stepped back and let Jo do what she did best: make people feel special. That was why I paid her well, tipped her better, and appreciated her business as well as her friendship.
I watched for a few moments as the girls and Clive settled around the table. At first conversation was slow and food was slower, but eventually the bread started to be buttered and eaten, the glasses of wine were depleted, and soft conversation followed.
“You really are magic,” I said to Jo as she popped behind the counter to bring out some fresh olive oil as a dip for the fresh-baked bread.
She winked at me. “Some might say the same about yourself.”
We'd continued this banter for years now, neither of us admitting whether or not we had real magic flowing in our veins. Part of the charm about Fairyvale was that anything was possible; outsiders and tourists assumed that this whole town was a tourist ploy with a few weird quirks. Such as my wedding success rate, or the fact that the Forest of Fairies had been said to suck in more than one person who was never seen again. For the tourists, these happenings only added to the lore.
To us natives, however, we knew it was more than a ploy for media attention. There was magic in this town; we just weren't allowed to outright talk about it. The Council of Magic held a list of all magical folks in town, and they were the only people who knew exactly who was a real witch and who was a fraud.
I'd wondered time and time again how Jo made her bread so soft, her drinks so bubbly, and the ambiance in her restaurant so calm. Likewise, she'd poked probing questions around my ability to select only couples whose love was true as my clients. We'd never confirm witchcraft to one another, since that was against the rules.
Rule Number 1: Do not talk about magic outside of the family.
Layla—my other best friend—and Rosie weren't technically family, but we'd been sneaky, and we’d found a way to circumvent this little snag. We'd discovered a loophole to get out of Rule Number 1, which made me lucky because now I had two best friends with whom I could discuss magic. Otherwise, it'd be a lonely existence, knowing about magic and not being able to tell anyone.
It had happened when we were kids. The Council’s rule said not to talk about magic. So we didn't talk. We showed each other. I made two frogs kiss by planning their wedding. Even from a young age, I'd been fascinated by love. Rosie had performed a mind-reading spell of sorts, and then she wrote an article about my deepest, darkest secrets. It took me a good year and a half to forgive her for publishing it in the school paper. Meanwhile, Layla worked on a type of Kool-Aid that allowed the drinker to fit into any piece of clothing they liked, without changing their size.
The plan worked! Once we’d exposed our powers to each other, we were linked as much as any sisters. We did get in trouble once the Council caught on to what we'd done, but it was too late by then. The only thing the Council could do moving forward was to make a new rule, and that rule, I'm proud to say, had a nickname. They called it the Rule of Sisters, named after us. If I never left another legacy in my life, I could die a happy woman.
Rule Number 2 came shortly after: Do not publicly use magic in Fairyvale.
My phone rang as Jo disappeared back to the table full of bridesmaids, jolting me from my reverie. I looked down. “Hello, this is Belinda Bright.”
“Bel,” the chief said. “I have some news.”
“Good news?”
“I'm afraid not.”
I cleared my throat and stepped outside of the bar so as not to upset the bridal party. Clive's eyes followed me, however, and I turned my back so he couldn't see my face. “What is it?”
“We've found signs of foul play. Poison, we suspect,” the chief said. “We'll know better tomorrow after we run some tests back at the lab, but I just wanted you to know.”
“You think someone wanted Linda dead?”
“I don't know anything more on the matter. Be careful.”
I swallowed. “What should I do?”
“Nothing. Just keep your eyes open and your ear to the ground. If you hear anything, let me know.”
I swallowed, looking over my shoulder at Clive. His eyes narrowed, and a chill ran over my spine. “Of course.”
“And stay out of it, Bel,” he said. “Tell Rosie to keep out of it, too. This isn't a parking ticket I'm worried about. If someone wanted Linda dead, that means they're still out there, and we don't know who they are or what they want.”
My breath caught in my throat. “A killer running around in Fairyvale?”
The chief made an appearance then, stepping outside of the bridesmaid dress shop, his eyes leveled on me. We held each other's gaze, our breath traveling across the street through the phone line.
“It's been ten years since someone was killed inside Fairyvale,” Chief Sparks said. “If Linda was murdered, there is only one explanation. Somebody is after something, and they're dangerous. We have to assume they'd kill again.”
I swallowed. “We’re going through with the wedding.”
“We’ll see, Bel. We’ll see.”
Chapter 3
** **
I pulled into the small cul-de-sac I called home some time later. After hearing the bad news from the chief, I’d rejoined the bridal party at the table, doing my best to smile and keep everyone’s spirits as high as possible. It wasn’t my place to be the bearer of bad news, not when the news involved a squad of police and the potential for murder.
Instead, I followed the chief’s advice, and I waited for the girls to finish off the third loaf of bread Jo set on the table, along with two or three bottles of wine. Near the end of the meal, I wrangled a few of my favorite cab drivers to pick up the bridesmaids and drop them off at the town hotel.
As one might imagine, I had good relationships with most of the cabbies. I brought them as much as eighty percent of their business in any given month; postwedding reception-goers were rarely in a state to drive themselves home, and I made it a policy to make sure everyone got home safely. Hence, the drivers. So when I called in a little favor and left a big tip, the taxis showed up in full force.
Everyone took cabs except for Hailey and Clive. Those two lovebirds I drove home myself. During the car ride to the estate at the far end of Fairyvale, I kept mostly quiet, trying to gauge the tone of the whispered conversation in the back of the vehicle. However, after a few quiet exchanges and a shake of Clive’s head, they lapsed into silence, and I couldn’t do much except drive and wait.
“The police will have a patrol car canvassing the neighborhood, and we’re leaving one cop outside of the hotel to keep an eye on things,” I said, nearing Angel Wing Lane. “The girls will be safe.”
“I thought there wasn’t any reason to suspect foul play,” Clive said. “What happened to the heart attack theory?”
“We can never be too careful,” I said. “I insisted the chief ensure the girls’ safety. That’s all. Better safe than sorry. Hailey, I recommend you lie low tonight. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow for the walk-through of the reception hall, if you’d like.”
She nodded. “Daddy’s got his own security here. We’ll be fine.”
The Monroe estate rose in the distance before me, just up the aptly named Heaven Court. The house sat atop the tallest hill in Fairyvale, ringed by exquisite landscaping, exotic trees ripe with fruit, heavy with flower blossoms. Privacy hedges surrounded the outermost lawn, though they didn’t stop the house from standing above the town for all
folks to see.
It was a legend, the estate. The closest I’d come to the front door was the gate outside. All meetings between myself and the bride had been held off site at her request.
“Thanks for all you’ve done today.” Hailey climbed from the car, nodding at Clive to walk toward the front door. Her fiancé took a few steps away from the two of us and waited, his eyes never leaving my face. “I know this has been a shock, and I...well, I appreciate you sticking around. Seeing it through.”
“Of course.” I reached out and clasped her hands in mine. “And I didn’t do it because it’s part of my job. I care about you, Hailey. If you need anything at all, let me know. I’m sorry this happened to you and your family, especially during a time that is supposed to be the most exciting in your life.”
“We’re going through with the wedding.”
“I support any decision you make,” I said. “I would understand if you wanted to push it back, but I should warn you—”
“I know, nonrefundable deposits, yada yada,” she said. “Mostly, I don’t want to wait any longer to marry my fiancé. I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long.”
I pulled her in for a hug. “Then I’ll be there to make sure the day goes smoothly. You’ll look like a princess, Hailey. The gown you chose is beautiful.”
I started to let up on the hug, but she held me tight. Her lips barely moved as she spoke into my hair. “Do they really think it’s murder?”
I whispered back. “I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to the police.”
“But surely you have an idea?”
“I’m really not at liberty to say.”
“But why would someone want Linda dead?” Hailey frowned. “And why now, when we should be focused on my wedding?”
“Well, if foul play is involved, then we’ll have to find the answers to those questions.”
“You’ll help?”
“Help with what?” I asked. “It’s not my place to be involved in an investigation. And we don’t even know if there is an investigation.”
“It wasn’t a heart attack,” she said. “I just can’t believe she died of natural causes.”
“If you think so, you should have told the chief.”
“I don’t trust him. Daddy says not to trust anyone, but I trust you.” She blinked. “Will you look into it, Bel?”
“It’s not my—”
“We both know that if there is a killer running around, he could come back,” Hailey said, giving me a penetrating stare. “If he ruins any more of this wedding, your name will go down the drain. It’s for both of us, Bel. Please help. I want my bridal party to feel safe. I want you to keep your business. Most importantly, I want to marry Clive. Is that understood?”
I nodded. “Crystal clear.”
“So you’ll help?”
“I’ll do what I can to make sure you and Clive are standing on that altar this weekend, surrounded by your family and friends.”
She pursed her lips. “Work your magic, Bel.”
My mouth hung open as Hailey turned around, bouncing up the driveway to join her fiancé. She looped her arm through his then turned and gave me a wink over her shoulder before disappearing beyond the privacy hedges to the estate.
I climbed back in the car and pointed it toward home, wondering the whole while if Hailey had coincidentally used the saying, or if she did, in fact, know more about magic than I’d expected.
Chapter 4
** **
The sunset turned burnt orange on my drive home, the shining light casting rays of pinks and purples and deep blues across the earth as I pulled next to the small cul-de-sac just on the outskirts of the city center that I called home. I parked the car in the small lot on the next street over and walked half a block to my cottage, which was sandwiched between the homes of my two dearest friends—Rosie and Layla.
Only three houses lined the cul-de-sac, though the word “house” was a bit of an overstatement. In true Fairyvale style, the three homes looked more like enchanted cottages than modern houses, the cul-de-sac itself held together by years of work, a lot of love, and a twist of magic.
In fact, instead of the normal cement found in the center of most residential cul-de-sacs, we’d opted to make ours a shared garden. Weeping willows took the place of privacy hedges, and a small, babbling brook wound its way through the three properties.
Bridges spanned clear blue water, the surface reflecting hundreds of colorful pebbles lining the bottom. The stream connected one yard to the next, and huge goldfish and koi spent their days journeying their way up and down the connected ponds between our properties.
The three of us grew most of our own food—with the help of Layla’s green thumb and a few carefully whispered words from ancient spell books. Every few days I sprinkled a potion on my apple tree, dashed a pinch of enhanced water onto the raspberry patch out back, and tossed a handful of special pollen onto the flowers blossoming in the garden all year round.
Every now and again, we’d even have to chase a tourist out of the garden, mostly a boy and a girl who’d snuck away for a romantic evening, discovering the cozy bench over the koi pond and under the lilac trees. Let me tell you, it wasn’t all that romantic for me to look out the window and see a pair of kissing kids while I was trying to order Chinese food for one on a Friday night.
I headed to the middle cottage and let myself in, sighing as I shut the door behind me, relieved to be home. It had been a long day.
“Finally.” The voice from behind made me nearly jump out of my skin.
I whirled around. “Must you scare me like that?”
Rosie shrugged. “Why are you surprised? I have a key. And it’s Tuesday night. I always come over for pasta night.”
I clasped a hand to my rapidly beating heart. “Yeah, but it’s been a stressful day. You don’t have to talk all creepy like that.”
“All creepy like what? Are you calling me creepy?”
“You’re sitting at my kitchen table in the dark. Yes, that’s creepy.” Though she did have a point. Rosie, Layla, and I all had keys to the other cottages, and we came and went as we pleased.
Just last week I’d come home to find Layla with her shoes kicked off, nibbling on a bag of my chips and watching The Bachelorette on TV. All because she’d “run out of toilet paper” and didn’t feel like going to the store.
She’d spent the night, and the next three nights afterward. Finally, I bought her a pack of thirty rolls and stocked her bathroom. I loved her company, but man oh man, could Layla eat chips. She’d make me broke at the rate she plowed through those bags, day after day. It was cheaper to just buy the dang toilet paper and send her on her way.
“Do you have news for me?” Rosie tapped a finger against the kitchen counter. “Do I get an exclusive yet?”
“Nothing’s been decided...or figured out,” I said. I grabbed two wine glasses and set them on the kitchen table. I popped open a bottle of red and poured us each half a glass. “We still don’t know the exact cause of death.”
“Foul play is involved.” Rosie nodded. “Just give me a quote. One little tidbit.”
“You can focus on the positive.” I’d had years of experience dealing with Rosie when she begged for a scoop. “Just say that despite a tragic event, the wedding will go on. Focus on how much Clive and Hailey love each other.”
“You want to go right ahead and admit the tragedy?” Rosie raised her eyebrows.
“Everyone’s going to find out about it anyway,” I said. “No point in lying about it or leaving it out. Probably the only person who doesn’t know already is Mrs. Sampson, and that’s just because she watches Jeopardy so loud she can’t hear the phone or the door.”
“Can I call it a crime scene?” she asked.
“No! Don’t print anything with the word ‘crime’ or ‘murder’ in it. That is the police’s area of expertise; I’m the wedding planner, not a private investigator.”
“Maybe you should plan a change
in career.” Rosie smiled. “The latter sounds more fun. You wouldn’t have to worry about the size and color of paper napkins. Plus, we could work together.”
“I like worrying about the fold of napkins. It’s what I’m good at.” I shook my head. “And anyway, working with you would intimidate me.”
“Intimidate?” She grinned. “You think I’m intimidating.”
I took a sip of the deep red liquid, thankful for the warming sensation in my gut. “Only a stupid person would think you're not intimidating.”
Rosie smiled with all too much satisfaction. “I've been working for that reputation my whole life. You know, it's hard to get men to admit they're intimidated by a size like mine.”
I scanned her barely five-foot figure. She was more pixie sized than witch sized, which made a whole lot of sense. Her mother had pixie blood, or so the rumors said. That would also explain her bulldog-with-a-pink-bow attitude, the way she could get under the skin of just about anyone.
However, when Rosie had been twelve, her mother had remarried, and Rosie fell under the care of her fairy godmother, since Rosie didn’t want to uproot her life and move in with her mom’s new husband. Her mother supposedly lived in the jungle called New York with a rich banker, and I had a working theory that much of Rosie's independence stemmed from the fact that her mother had left her alone from such a young age.
“You scare the heck out of me,” I said, “and it seems like you're the only person in this entire town who can rile up the chief.”
Rosie became occupied with her wine glass, taking a dainty sip of its contents. Somehow, I didn't think the slight blush on her cheeks came from the alcohol. “You think?”
“I know.” I scooted closer. “What is between you two?”
“I've told you a million times.”
“Yeah, but it's different these days. It didn't seem like neighborly rivalry in there.”
She sighed, then set her head in her hands and took a few deep breaths. “I don't know. I don't know where it all went wrong. At one point we were best friends.”
