Inconvenient Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery

by Amanda A. Allen

  “No. We don’t need help. Not with learning magic. But we do have a question about herbs.”

  “For Hazel,” Ingrid added pointedly.

  They walked past Autumn to Hazel and sat with her on the porch swing. Ingrid and Emily scowled at Autumn together when she didn’t leave.

  Emily asked anyway. “The sheriff confiscated some Latiny type herb from next to the witch hazel from the shop yesterday. Or maybe it was a French word? He seemed to know what he was looking for. Do you know what it is?”

  Autumn snorted at that question.

  Ingrid finished the question. “Could it be what killed dickhead? Is that why he took it? It was right?”

  Autumn rolled her eyes and muttered, “It was Romanian.” Ingrid shot Autumn a deadly glare.

  Hazel only said, “Come with me.” She turned on her heels and walked into the house. Autumn followed immediately.

  Emily held her hands out like she was going to strangle Autumn then looked at Ingrid, who shook her head.

  “Wait until Hazel isn’t around, then I’ll help you kill her,” Ingrid whispered. Then she laughed out loud as she stepped between Emily and Autumn.

  Once inside the front room, Hazel motioned for them to sit. Emily and Ingrid plopped down onto the sofa.

  “Have you been using your magic, Emily? You are going to have to increase your practice or the blackouts will get worse.”

  Emily waved her hand in dismissal. “Yes. I’m working on it. Just trying not to set my house on fire in the process.”

  Ingrid snorted, but neither explained.

  “Oh,” Autumn said knowingly, “You are still in that stage? This is worse than I thought.”

  Ingrid spoke up, saving Emily from another lecture. “She’s nearly done setting things on fire. Don’t worry about it. I’m making sure she uses her magic every day. But right now we need to know what this herb would be used for.”

  The aunt took the bunch of herbs from her and inspected it, smelling it and then tearing a piece off. She tossed the loose piece in the air and whispered something. Emily leaned in, trying to pay attention. As the piece of herb drifted to the ground like a feather, it suddenly burst in flame—black flame.

  The aunt raised her brow. “Just as I suspected.” She looked accusingly at Emily, then Ingrid. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was in the shop with the other herbs from Aunt Danna’s collection. It’s the one that the cops confiscated in their investigation. What is it? What is it used for?”

  “Danna should never have had this. What was she thinking! Owen was found with foam around his mouth?”

  Ingrid and Emily nodded in reply, both of their faces disgusted. “Were his lips dark blue?”

  Emily nodded.

  The aunt held up the scrap of paper where Emily had written the name of the herb. “Then this is what killed Owen. Who knew that you had this in the shop?”

  Ingrid responded. “I don’t know. We didn’t even know we had it. We knew we had this particular herb because we shipped it out with orders, but we didn’t know what it did. So I guess the person who ordered it from us knew about it. And then whoever Aunt Danna might have told or sold it to for that matter. I have no idea who knew that Aunt Danna sold this stuff. We could look at the sales records.”

  Emily cut in. “Your sheriff took all our sales records when he took the computer. Any chance he will give those back?”

  Ingrid smiled like a guilty cat. “I’d like to say I won’t kiss him until he does, but no. He’s a cop. He’s not telling us anything until he finds the killer.”

  “You two are idiots,” Autumn scolded. “You should never have sold that herb.”

  “You know what I found in the records last month, Autumn,” Emily asked sweetly. “The history of the many bottles of truth serum you’ve bought from Danna. What are you doing? Dosing your kids and then interrogating them?”

  “Well, they are intuitive, at least,” Hazel said, glancing at Autumn and confirming Emily’s guess.

  “That won’t do your niece any good when she is in a magic coma,” Autumn said, leaving the living room in a furiously smooth gate that said she was too good to stomp but that she was stomping on the inside.

  Ingrid laughed as she left.

  “Thanks, Aunt Hazel,” Emily said. They headed for the door as soon as they hugged her

  Aunt Hazel called after them. “Use your magic, Emily. Trust me. Your magic is building up inside of you. If you don’t give it an outlet, Autumn will be right. And that will be unacceptable.”

  Emily rolled her eyes as she slammed her car door shut behind her. “She is so dramatic. Magic coma. Please.”

  Ingrid laughed, but Emily heard the edge in her voice. “We might want to avoid comas, magic or otherwise. Start your car with magic, Em.”

  “Uh, no. Once again. I’m not gonna blow myself to bits to avoid a blackout. Not a good trade.”

  She looked at Ingrid and saw a tiny bit of concern in her face. “Don’t worry, Ingrid. I started a fire yesterday, who knows what I’ll burn down tomorrow. When we get home, I’ll pull out one of those spell books that has been collecting dust and conjure us some dinner.”

  Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Great. I guess we’ll have charred steaks tonight.”

  But Emily heard the relief in Ingrid’s voice at the promise to use magic.

  •

  Monday Afternoon

  “So.” Emily sat across from Ingrid as the delivery guy brought in the groceries. She sat at the overpriced and pretty table Ingrid had bought from some hipster store in Portland last summer. There was room for an army or possibly all the kids Ingrid wanted. Emily had caught her friend eyeing baby shoes. It was just a matter of time before Ingrid got knocked up. How would that change things?

  “So,” Ingrid repeated. She looked over at the boy and said, “I’ll give you ten more dollars if you put it all away.”

  The kid nodded his acne-covered face and began shoving milk into the fridge. “Where’s the bread go?” the kid asked.

  “Follow your heart,” Ingrid said. “Also, I don’t care.”

  “So,” Emily repeated. “What if I did kill him?”

  The kid putting the groceries away choked.

  Ingrid was momentarily concerned about rumors before she remembered that there was no way the entire island wasn’t gossiping already. If their bookshop were actually up and running at capacity instead of languishing due to their lack of doing anything with it, they would have an excess of clients coming in just because of the crime. She had decided that the town was, at its heart, nosy and gruesome.

  That would be good for business when they reopened. They should make sure to have a section in the basement where he died so they could stage whisper it to their customers. They should fake a haunting, too.

  But she said to the delivery kid, “If I hear you were talking about this, her aunt the witch who can actually do spells will curse you with genital warts.”

  Ingrid’s voice was sweet but steely, and she lit her fingers on fire to show him that she was serious. It took her several tries to get the fire to go out.

  “Um,” the kid said, shoved a whole bag of groceries into the fridge still in the plastic and said, “Okay, it’s put away.”

  “Your heart and the way you follow it while putting my groceries away leaves something to be desired,” Ingrid said, tossing him some cash. “Now go away.”

  “So, what if I did kill him?” Emily insisted as the boy hurried out of the apartment.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Ingrid said. She looked into her cup of coffee and wondered whether it was worth making more.

  “Ingrid!”

  She looked up.

  “What if I did kill him? I have those blackouts. He was here. I hated his guts. I think I could have killed him.”

  Emily looked actually distressed. Poor Emily letting guilt eat her up like that just because she hated dickhead. It was hard to believe that they’d ever been in love enough to get marrie
d and have sexy times.

  Ew.

  “I get what you’re saying, but you’re still being a stupid dove.” Ingrid stood, walked to the sink, rinsed out her cup, and then remembered she’d given up cleaning. “It’s just that you would have killed him.”

  “I know!”

  Ingrid didn’t pause for her friend as she added, “Heck, I would have killed him. It’s just that you would have run him down and I really would have knifed him.”

  “But,” Emily interjected.

  Ingrid held up a finger, which immediately burst into flame. She yelped when it started to actually hurt, and hurriedly ran it under the faucet. “Emily, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re terrible witches. Like possibly the worst witches ever.”

  “So?” Emily asked. She swirled her cup. “I’m being serious here.”

  “Emmy, my favorite dove,” Ingrid said, sucking on her burnt finger as she came back to the table. “Whoever killed dickhead knew at least some of this witch crap. You know?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have slipped the dickhead some bella donna, because he was driving me to it. But bella donna didn’t kill him and that’s the only poison I know how to use. What about you? What can you use?”

  “Um,” Emily mused.

  “Right,” Ingrid said without waiting. “Rat poison maybe. But since it was actual witch stuff that killed him, I think we can both assume, black outs or not, that we didn’t do it. When we find a body with a knife in the throat, we’ll have to be worried. Plus—” Ingrid shook her finger. “Man that really hurts. Don’t set your hand on fire to make a point. Anyhow, black outs or not, you’re not dumb. Your black-outed self would have called me to help you get rid of the body. We’d have buried him somewhere or did what that guy on Breaking Bad did with the chemicals and the rubber container. I think that’s worth trying out should we ever need to get rid of a body.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I don’t have the skillset to have killed him.”

  Ingrid rubbed her good hand over Emily’s hair. “Don’t be sad. You have lots of murdering skillsets. Your tendencies are violent enough. Just not the witch skills. Maybe Hazel killed him. Or maybe he slept with Autumn, the red-headed witchy whore. We’d have to go old school with our murdering. With a gun. Or a candle stick.”

  “I could push someone out a window.”

  “Or smother them. There has to be visceral satisfaction in smothering someone, I think,” Ingrid added.

  “Or shooting them.”

  “Right in the gut,” Ingrid said. “But then you’d call me, we’d bury the body and go out for coffee. We’d really need to get our sugars back to where they’d need to be after burying a body. Probably coffee and manicures because I bet burying a body is terrible on your nails. Then the most epic stress shopping trip ever.”

  “We’d have to get black polish,” Emily said. “For when we go to prison.”

  “Nah,” Ingrid said. “I have been researching. I’ve got the name of some powerful coven. The North Island Coven. Doesn’t that sound completely not-creepy? But they can do enough black magic to get us off the hook. It’d be pricey, but we’d be okay. I’m going to hire them if Gabe doesn’t catch whoever really killed dickhead.”

  “That makes me think,” Emily said. “Remember how Autumn always used to show up when me and dickhead would visit? Remember how he sleeps with old broads like Melinda. I bet he banged Autumn.”

  “Ew!” Ingrid said, “But if he did, she’d have a reason to kill him. What if they did? How awesome would it be if they caught her and she did it. That would be the best Christmas present for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh, man,” Emily replied. “Hang on!”

  She ran out of the apartment and came back ten minutes later with three small bottles.

  “Are those the truth serums?” Ingrid asked, picking up one of the tiny vials full of clear liquid.

  “Yep, we’re gonna truth-serum Autumn and ask her if she killed dickhead.”

  “If she did, we’ll have to send her nice things in jail.”

  “Sweet,” Emily said. “So, bagels?”

  “Only if they deliver. I’m still rocking the rich and lazy boat. I’ve decided what I’m going to do, by the way.”

  “About what?” Emily called the coffee shop that delivered bagels from memory.

  “About my muscles atrophying. That hot artist type from down that way has a beach tai chi class. It’s all stretchy and balancey but you don’t sweat. I’m gonna do that. Plus he’s super-hot so it’ll either make Gabe jealous or be my backup for Gabe if he doesn’t work out. Since I’ve decided to get knocked up and have babies.”

  “I think tai chi is all old people.”

  “That’s cool,” Ingrid said. “They know all the good places to eat because they don’t cook anymore, either.”

  11

  Tuesday Morning

  Ingrid and Emily approached Autumn’s house, eyeing each other. They had a thermos of truth-serum laced coffee with them. It had coffee with a touch of cream and was made with Ingrid’s magic ability. Perfect for Autumn, who turned out to be bitter and burnt and could use a little cream to soften her blackened, soulless edges. They brought scones and brownies as well. Those were painted with truth serum. There was no way Autumn was getting out of the truth today.

  Ingrid knocked on the worn oak door since Emily was holding everything.

  Autumn opened a couple of minutes later. She looked them up and down with a thorough scowl. She was a large woman with red hair and a scowl. Ingrid told herself to think that the woman was kind, but she’d seen the woman’s two daughters at the few coven events that Ingrid and Emily went to. Those girls were as cowed as any two teenagers Ingrid had ever seen.

  “We’re sorry,” Ingrid lied, smiling at Autumn with the same grin Ingrid had used every time she’d dealt with Harrison’s know-it-all, uptight fellow professors. It worked for Autumn just like it had for the crew of jerks that Harrison worked with.

  “We brought treats,” Emily added. “They’re really good. I was hoping you could help me a little with my magic. Hazel told me that you’re a good teacher.”

  The lies were rolling off their tongues as if they needed to expel them before they dosed themselves along with Autumn. They weren’t sure how else to be certain that she partook of the serum without dosing themselves.

  Her house was too clean. And too perfect. It didn’t look like anyone even lived there. It started to bother Ingrid about the teenagers. What did they do? Were their rooms dirty or were they not allowed even that much latitude? It felt like they must live in a cave in the basement, but that wouldn’t be perfect enough for this woman. She led them into her large kitchen and pulled out a tray from perfectly organized cupboards. Three tea cups were put down on three saucers.

  Three plates and three forks were set on the table, and then Autumn arranged the treats on the tray. She carried the perfectly laid-out tray across the room and set it at her dark-wood shiny table that did not have a single scratch.

  Ingrid couldn’t help but remember feeding Gabe half-eaten Chinese food with the same chopsticks she’d used herself. Autumn would have been disgusted.

  She poured each of them a cup of coffee and set sugar and cream in front of them. Ingrid well knew how bitter, strong, and burnt the coffee she’d made was, so she added sugar and cream with a heavy hand. Emily followed suit.

  “You have a lovely home,” Emily said.

  It was lovely. It was as nice as any home Ingrid had ever seen. But it was lovely in a way that metal birdcages were lovely. Or Venus flytraps. Emily probably hated it. She had that look in her eye that said she was full of lies.

  “Thank you,” Autumn said. It was evident from her cat that ate the canary look that she was delighted to have the two of them asking her for help. “So what is it that I can do to help you?”

  Ingrid and Emily watched her take a sip of her coffee and follow it up with a precise
and careful bite of the brownie. They’d made a bet whether she’d eat the scone or brownie first. Ingrid had just won with the brownie. Sweet.

  “Well, mostly,” Ingrid said baldly, “we were wondering how long you were sleeping with Owen.”

  “Oh, years now,” Autumn said. And then she realized what she said, eyes widening she said, “You truth-serumed me.”

  Emily snorted as Ingrid nodded.

  “So did you kill him?” Ingrid demanded.

  “You think I killed him!”

  “Well, he was a dick. Maybe you found out he’d been doing Mary Martin, too.”

  “What?” Autumn’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.”

  Ingrid took a huge gulp of her coffee and said, “Of course it is. Mary Martin, his secretary, his secretary’s sister, Melinda, that coffee shop chick, the girl at the post office with the retro hair and glasses.”

  “My former friend, Lucy.” Emily added, “He was probably sleeping with the ferry boat captain on the way over every time we came here. The man was a whore.”

  “Yup,” Ingrid said. “A nasty, disease-ridden, cheating, no-good, bastard whore.”

  “It is against coven rules,” Autumn said, “to potion or perform magic spells on each other. It is against coven rules to betray our sisters like this.”

  “But not to sleep with their husbands? Surely there’s a rule about conduct toward your sisters.”

  “Emily wasn’t…”

  “Emily,” Ingrid cut in, “has been a member of this coven since before I knew her, and before she married dickhead, I joined this coven when I visited in college. I’m betting based off of your paling face that there is a rule. Since we’re junior members of the coven and you’re full on, I bet you’d get in more trouble than we do.”

  “You need to leave,” Autumn said. “Everyone knows that Emily hasn't used her magic since the incident. I don’t even consider her a sister of the coven.”

  “Did you kill Owen?” Emily asked, ignoring Autumn’s excuses.

  “I’m not helping you one little bit.” Autumn scowled. “Now get out of my house before I call the police.”