Murder and Marinade: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries Book 5

by Tegan Maher

  I lowered my brows at her and bit my lip to keep from laughing. Sometimes she got to have all the fun just because people couldn't see her, but I decided I was going to out-do her this time. I turned to the woman, who was tapping her foot and looking at me like I was a half-wit.

  "I'm sorry ma'am, but this isn't Macy's, and I'm not your lady's maid. Nor is that dress—which was made for an eighteen-inch waist—gonna fit either of us anytime soon. That being said, even if I had a dressing room and thought it would fit you, I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with rude people." I gave her my biggest fake smile when her jaw dropped. "Have a good day."

  She sputtered and well, I nevered a bit, but turned and left after tossing the dress onto the counter. The woman I'd been talking to grinned. "Ain't it great working for yourself?"

  "It sure is, sugar. It sure is."

  The woman ended up buying three of the sign clocks and a washboard Anna Mae'd turned into a memo board. When she left, I decided to close it up for the afternoon so I could go poke around a little before Justin's competition.

  A familiar, honeyed voice said, "I decided to come see you, since I had a few minutes to spare before I open up my booth."

  I took a deep breath and turned around to face Serena, a half-smile on my lips. "Actually, I was plannin' on comin' to see you," I said. "Time's just gotten away from me, between runnin' this"—I motioned around me—"and the murder that happened up at the barbecue competition."

  She raised a brow at the time reference.

  "Poor choice of words," I said, dipping my head, "but still accurate."

  "Do you have somewhere we can talk?" she asked, running her fingers over some of Anna Mae's peasant skirts. "And then maybe I'd like to take a better look at these."

  The bright colors suited her; in fact, she was wearing one at that very moment.

  "Sure," I said, motioning toward the chairs. "Let's sit down. Do you want something to drink? I have a gallon of tea, and Cokes, too."

  "A bottle of water, if you have one, would be lovely."

  I grabbed her a bottle of water and me a coke from the cooler, then joined her in the camp chairs arranged under the trailer awning.

  She examined me for long enough that I started to fidget.

  "Do you have any questions you be wantin' to ask me, chere? Or should I go first?"

  I pulled in a deep breath and let it out. "I have about a hundred questions, but don't even know where to start. Let's start with the easiest one. What did I do?"

  She smiled. "That's not exactly an easy one, but you're right—in this case, it's one of the simpler ones to answer. You slowed time. Nobody can completely stop it because of physics. As a matter of fact, you shouldn't even be able to slow it down. Temporal magic is rare and dangerous, as I'm sure you've already realized."

  Nodding, I said, "Yeah. I have. I'm already wondering if I changed the course of things yesterday and put us on the track for WW III or something."

  She smiled a little and waved a hand. "It's not a light thing, but it's a done thing. You can't undo it, so the best thing you can do is think positive. Maybe you took us off the track for war. The important thing is that you don't do it again."

  "Yeah, that would be my preference, but considering I don't know how I did it to begin with, I'm not sure how to avoid it."

  "It's all about intent," she said, shaking her head. "But you know that already, girl. That's what all magic's about."

  "I do," I said. "So you're saying I just need to be hyper-aware, and it won't happen again?"

  She pinched her lips together. "I hope for your sake it comes that easy for you, child."

  The way she spoke made me think she was much, much older than the forty or so she appeared to be, and she smiled as if she knew an inside joke.

  "You're not wrong," she said. "This isn't my first century on this planet."

  Scowling, I said, "Hey! Don't crawl around in my head."

  "What, like you tried to crawl around in mine last night?"

  I looked down; I was busted. "I was just trying to see if I could trust you."

  "Oh, girly, lesson number one is that skill there is only as dependable as the power of the person you're usin' it on, and on your own power and control. I show what I want to show, and if that means I want you to trust me, then that's what you'll see."

  Wow, that made me feel much better.

  She waved a long, slender finger with a large turquoise ring on it at me. "That don't mean I didn't show you the truth. It just means I didn't have to if I didn't want to, and you shouldn’t trust that so much. You're powerful, but unfocused. Given your new ... gift"—the way she said it made me believe she didn't consider it a gift at all—"you need to work on that, and fast."

  "Now how bout those skirts, dollbaby? I may just take them all."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SHE DID END UP BUYING every last one of them that fit, and I set the wards on the booth. I sat back down, sipping my coke and thinking about what she'd said, the sound of the race trickling out through the window of the trailer. The only problem was that she hadn't said much. I was gonna have to wait ’til I got home to talk to the fam and the council.

  I thrust it to the back of my mind and sent a text to Shelby. She took a few minutes to answer, and when she did, she said they were slammed at the restaurant, but that Ranger still hadn't turned up.

  Frowning, I tried to imagine where he may go. There were several different farms around us, but none as big as ours. Surely if somebody had found him, they'd have come looking.

  Growling in frustration and kicking myself for the thousandth time for not getting the chair guy's number, I poked my head inside to see if Hunter wanted to go with me to snoop and watch Justin. He shut off the TV and followed me out.

  "Too many crashes anyway. Took out almost every guy in the running for points, so it's pretty much over anyway," he said. I'd never been a huge NASCAR fan, so I just nodded.

  "Oh wait," I said. "Lemme leave a card in case that guy comes looking for the stools." I pulled one out of my purse and taped it to the back of one of the chairs after scribbling a quick note on the back asking him to call me.

  "Now let's just hope he shows," I said, rejoining him. "Did you get the names of the guys who won with Earl's and Jimbo's recipes?"

  He nodded and pulled out his phone to check the time as we strolled up the grassy aisle between craft booths. "I was just thinking that. We have a few minutes before we need to be there for Justin," he said, slinging an arm over my shoulders. "Fancy a little barbecue?"

  I bumped him with my hip. "You read my mind."

  Jeff Acres—the one who'd used Jimbo's bean and sausage recipes—owned a truck called "Smokin' Hot." We stood back and examined the menu while a couple others in line placed their orders. There was sausage and beans on the menu, so I decided to take a shot in the dark and order them both, though I didn't figure he'd be ballsy enough—or stupid enough—to serve the food he'd made with the recipes to the public.

  I stepped to the window when it was my turn and placed my order. The guy looked to be in his early thirties and was just starting to get a gut. "Are you the owner? My sister came here yesterday and said y'all just had the best food ever."

  He turned on his thousand-watt smile, and I couldn't help but notice he had a chipped front tooth. No doubt from stealing from somebody else. "I sure am! Jeff Acres, miss. Glad y'all are enjoyin' my food. Matter of fact, I won my first awards with ’em yesterday! My grandpappy's recipes!"

  Okay, so he was a thief and a liar, unless Jimbo had kids he didn't know about. I gave him my best witchy smile when I paid him, because I couldn't resist just a little payback. I flicked my wrist and the fresh pan of beans his partner had just set on the counter slipped to the floor. Upside down.

  "Gosh," I said as he jumped back to avoid the splash, "that's a shame, all them award-winnin' beans wasted."

  Hunter waited ’til his back was turned to smile. "You're a little evil sometim
es. I like it."

  He reached for the sausage and I pulled it out of his reach. "No way. This is research. Now, what's the name of the other place?"

  "Grillin' and Chillin', owned by some tool named Al Cassidy." If the guy's actions hadn't already given him away, just him name sounded like it'd belong to somebody who should have 3/16 stamped on his forehead.

  There, I just ordered the sausage, and when I tried to engage the guy—a classy-lookin' dude wearin' a wife-beater and a grungy cowboy hat—he just grunted and shoved the sausage at me with one hand and snatched my cash with the other. Though he did take the time to try to look down my shirt.

  Armed with our potential evidence, we hurried to Bobbie Sue's.

  Justin's eyes about popped out of his head when he saw what I was carrying. "You ordered barbecue from somewhere else?"

  I scoffed and ruffled his hair. "Cool your jets, brat. This isn't lunch, it's research. Where's Earl? And aren't you supposed to be makin' steak?"

  "Earl's over at Jimbo's for a minute." He jerked his head toward a prep table set up by the grill. There were three massive steaks wrapped in plastic lying there. "They can't go on the grill cold, else they won't cook right," he said, checking the temperature on the grill.

  "Okay then. How much longer?"

  "I won't be puttin' ’em on for another fifteen minutes or so," he said, puffing up his chest like a little banty rooster. "You got time to go talk before you watch The Master." He grinned, which was a good thing because I was about to give him a boot for gettin' too big for his britches.

  I rolled my eyes. "Phew. Thank goodness for small favors. I'll be back in a couple."

  Earl and Jimbo were heavy in conversation when we approached. Earl narrowed his eyes an nodded toward the food. "Whatcha got there?"

  "Well," Hunter said, "If you go by what the first guy said, we got us some award-winning sausage and beans. Figured we'd come share."

  While he was talking, I handed Earl the sausage from the guy who'd supposedly used his recipe, and Jimbo the sausage and beans that may have been made from his.

  Picking at the bun on his, Earl said, "Hmph. Potato bread. Way too soft to hold up to sausage, lessen it's so dry there ain't no juice to sop the bread. He took a tentative bite of the sausage sticking out the end and even from there, I could tell he was right about the juice.

  The look on his face as he mashed the meat around on his palate became freakin' terrifying—I was afraid maybe I'd gone too far.

  "That's my recipe all right, though he cooked it plum to death." Where'd you say this came from?"

  I held up my hand. "In a minute. Jimbo?"

  He'd just bit off the end of his sausage, but spit it out, grimacing. "It's my recipe all right, but same as Earl's, it's cooked to death." He took a nibble of the beans and scowled. "That's mine, too. And they're actually cooked decent."

  Wow. Not just one of them, but both of them had been either brave enough or dumb enough to sell it outright. Lookin' at the two grizzlies in front of me, I decided it had to be stupidity, at least if they knew who they were stealin' from.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "SO NOW WHAT?" I SAID.

  Earl pulled in a deep breath and blew it slowly out his mouth in an effort to get ahold of himself.

  "Well, now nothin'." This ain't nothin' we didn't already know. All we did was confirm it. A connection between the two of ’em would be good, though."

  Justin hollered for us to come over, and the tone of his voice told me it wasn't good.

  He was scrolling furiously through something on his phone, and when we got there, he glanced up from it, fear on his face.

  "Well what are you caterwaulin' about, boy?" Earl said.

  "I found somethin'. In that barbecue forum. And it ain't good. At all. I was scrollin' through, tryin' to figure out if I could find any ISPs or any other way to figure out at least where they're from, and I found somethin' in one of the subtopics."

  Jimbo rolled his fingers at Justin. "Okay, you're speak computer geek. Hurry up and speak English so we all know what you're talkin' about."

  Justin rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated. I found a comment in a chatroom that looks like it was wrote by Earl, ’cept we all know that ain't true."

  That much I could agree with. Earl wasn't exactly a chatroom kinda guy. He still had a flip phone.

  He handed me the phone and Hunter read it over my shoulder.

  Bobbie Sue'd popped out of the trailer while he was explaining it to us. "Well don't just stand there readin' to yourself," Bobbie Sue said. "Spit it out!"

  "In the comments section on a page discussing recipes, one person linked to the recipes for sale page, and a member usin' the handle BS BBQ KLGA replied, It ain't healthy stealin from others." BS BBQ KLGA—Bobbie Sue's BBQ, Keyhole Lake, GA. Oh, that was so not good.

  "Lemme see that!" Bobbie Sue said, snatching the phone from me before I could scroll through and see if there were any more comments below it.

  She read it then thrust it back to Justin.

  "Does it say anything else?" I asked.

  He glanced at the screen. "Not from him. A couple questions about to get the recipes, but that's it."

  Hunter ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at Bobbie Sue.

  "What are you lookin' at? You know as well as I do, Earl wasn't the one that did that. He don't even mess with computers. Anything needs doin', I'm the one—oh," she said, a look of comprehension dawning. "But I had an alibi. I was right here."

  "Yeah," I said, "and Earl wasn't."

  Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay, I don't know why somebody's gone out of their way to sabotage you guys, or for that matter why the sheriff hasn't already seen this himself. But he needs to, and it needs to come from us."

  Earl'd been quiet for most of the time. "You reckon that's a good idea? Ain't like it was us, anyway. Don't they have some way to prove who wrote it?"

  I shook my head. "It doesn't work that way. You see it on TV all the time. He'd have to get a subpoena for the site, then there's all kinds of privacy laws they can claim."

  "She's right," Justin said. "Specially in a private group like that one. Our teachers told us that when we were talkin' about bein' safe online. You never know who somebody really is."

  I sent a silent thanks to a teacher that seemed to have some common sense and was trying to keep her kids out of the hands of predators, then a curse on thieves right behind it.

  Earl cleared his throat, but nodded toward the grill. "Ain't it about time for you to be seasonin' that meat, boy?"

  Justin jumped like he'd been stung, then glanced at the clock on his phone. "Ohmuhgosh, you're right!" He shoved past me and started flipping the steaks out of the plastic.

  I could see his little body shaking and his hands were fumbling with the plastic. Earl went to him and place his hand on his shoulder, giving him a little shake.

  "Calm down, son," he said when Justin finally looked up at him. "Slow down. When you hurry is when you make mistakes. It's just a steak. You've cooked a hundred of ’em, and you put your best into every one. These ain't no different."

  Justin took a deep breath, then nodded as Earl stepped back. "I got this." He muttered it to himself a few times as he turned back to what he was doing and I smiled.

  Earl was a good daddy; I was glad all over again that Fate had brought us together.

  While Justin seasoned his meat and dropped it onto the grill with a sizzle, we debated whether or not to call Sheriff Scottsdale.

  "I'm telling you, it'll be better if it comes from you," Hunter said.

  Earl kept glancing around us at Justin and starting to fidget like he had ants in his pants. He opened his mouth, then slammed it shut again.

  "We should probably listen to—" I about jumped outta my skin when Jimbo held up a finger and cut me off mid-sentence.

  "Don't you dare touch that handle, kiddo!"

  I looked over and sure enough, Justin was frozen with his hand over the
wooden handle, getting ready to lift it up.

  "Not that I'm coachin' you or anything," Jimbo said, holding up his hands. "Just thought I saw a bee on it. Didn't want you to get stung. Earl hid a smile and breathed out something along the lines of thanks.

  We debated for another few minutes as Justin finished cooking the steaks, then Hunter called the sheriff but got no answer. After leaving him a voicemail, he turned back and we all watched as Justin moved the steaks from the grill to the cutting board to rest while he readied the box with a bed of lettuce.

  He tested each of the steaks by poking them with his finger, then examined them to see which one looked best. Earl tilted his chair back on two legs, arms crossed while he watched him.

  "You nervous?" Hunter asked.

  He shook his head. "Nope. He's got it. Almost don't matter which of them steaks he picks. Every one of ’em is a winner. He nailed it."

  Justin placed the steak on top of the lettuce then fussed with it for a few seconds getting it just right before he added a sprig of parsley and loosely closed the lid.

  I looked over my shoulder at Bobbie Sue, who was standing in the doorway to the truck, leaning her shoulder against it with her arms and legs crossed. She was grinning like possum eatin' pumpkin seeds as she watched him.

  He glanced at Earl and Bobbie Sue as I got out my phone. "Y'all goin' up with me?"

  Bobbie Sue stepped down and Earl pushed out of his chair. "Course we are," he said.

  "Justin, grab your box and the three of you stand together,” I said, readying my camera.

  They huddled, with Justin in the middle holding his very first competition box, and all three of them grinning to beat the band. I snapped a few in a row just in case somebody's eyes were closed, then they rushed off to submit his entry.

  "How long will it take?" I asked Jimbo.

  "With steaks, not long. Specially considerin' there probably ain't that many entries since it's the kids. I'd say twenty minutes maybe."