Merlot and Murder

by Samantha Silver

  Ken flagged the waitress down, and without another glance he asked for the check.

  "No dessert after all?" she asked, almost sounding a bit put out. He simply shook his head and thanked her as she took off. Great. Just great.

  I hated how quiet the car ride back was. Neither one of us seemed to be able to come up with much of anything to say, and I got the feeling that the silence was affecting Ken even more than it was affecting me when he finally turned on the radio.

  Was it just his mom playing creepy matchmaker in the bushes outside, or was it something else? I just knew it was going to plague me for the rest of the night, not knowing.

  Once we pulled up to the house I wasn't sure what was going to happen next.

  "Come on, I'll walk you up," he said softly, coming around to open the door for me again. "I'm sorry we had to cut it short." I didn’t think had was the correct word, but if he felt that way, then so be it.

  We made it up the walk to the front door landing before I turned toward him, finally having figured out what I wanted to say back to him. "There's nothing to be sorry about, I promise. You had no idea she was out there watching us. And I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you helping us out yesterday. You really didn't have to. And I want the chance to pay you back."

  His finger brushed my chin as he tilted it up so that I met his gaze. "There's nothing to pay back. I'm glad you called me to help. Really. And even though my mom is completely off her rocker, I want you to know how much I appreciate you coming out to dinner with me. I had a great time. Well," he trailed off, shrugging with a sheepish grin, "before my mom weaseled her way in, that is."

  I bit back a giggle, pushing a loose wave of hair behind my ear. "She's a pretty skilled investigator. Who knows how long she was standing outside the window."

  He let out a groan and we both laughed at the same time. "I don't know that I'd use the word skilled in this instance. Persistent? Yes, absolutely." Another laugh, and it died off as he gestured to the door. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight, Taylor."

  My heart was doing a funny flip-flopping thing as I met his gaze again. "Of course. Thanks for taking me out tonight, Ken. And don't worry about Corrine. She's just protective of you, I think." I looked over my shoulder at the door, already feeling Karen's eyes burning holes through it, waiting on the other side. "I better go. I'll um, text you later?"

  Was it my imagination or did his smile turn downward?

  "Okay, sounds good."

  When I slipped into the house after a final quick goodbye, I shut the door behind myself and nearly came face to face with a very excited Karen.

  "How did it go? I want all the details!" she practically squealed, yanking me over to sit on the sofa beside her. "You look like something's wrong."

  Knowing there was no way around it, I explained Corrine's weird intrusion and sliding my shoes off with a grunt. "It was weird. And kind of funny, but mostly weird. I don't know. He was pretty embarrassed, I think, and we just decided that was enough for the night. He dropped me off here and we talked for a minute outside, but then he seemed like he was bummed out for some reason. And that was it."

  She leaned forward so far that I was worried she'd fall off the sofa. "That's it? No goodnight kiss, no nothing?"

  I snorted. "Definitely not. In fact," I let my voice trail off, pulling my arms around myself. "I'm not entirely sure there's even going to be a second date."

  "Oh no, no, no. There will definitely be another date. I guarantee it. You like him, right?"

  I shrugged. "Yes. I like him a lot. But that's not the problem."

  "You think Corrine's interference is going to mess things up. Or be too weird?"

  I wasn't sure that was what was bothering me until I heard Karen say out loud. "I'm just worried that he's going to be too weirded out by how gung-ho she is to pair us together, and it's going to scare him off. I mean, who wants their mom all up in their business like that? Or someone else's mom, for that matter?"

  Chapter 16

  "This is probably our worst idea yet."

  Karen whispered the words to unlock the Stowe's front door, tugging at my sleeve to follow behind her. "Let's just be glad that we saw them all leave together. And, since we don't know how long they'll be gone, I suggest we get a move on."

  In case the Stowes had some sort of security system set up, Karen used her magic to turn us both invisible, but even that wouldn't hold up for long.

  I'd pointed out all of the potential ways we could land ourselves in jail yet again, but there was no stopping Karen. And since I didn't want her going in and doing this whole thing by herself, I reluctantly tagged along, wishing there was a way to dig for the information we needed that didn’t involve committing a felony.

  The inside of the Stowe's home wasn't exactly how I’d imagined it. It had a homey feel rather than the professional and immaculate decorated touch I thought I'd see. Pictures of the family lined the wall leading up the staircase, and comfortable-looking furniture haphazardly displayed blankets here and throw pillows there. Even the dining room table was cluttered with mail. It looked like a normal house, as far as I could tell. There was nothing to insinuate that a killer lived there.

  "Where should we start first?" I asked Karen. The steps creaked and I jumped, clutching at my chest as she giggled going up the steps.

  "Maybe there's a home office here, or a guest bedroom or something."

  I followed her upstairs, and sure enough, the first door on the right was a room with a full-size bed, bland curtains, and a couple of black suitcases leaning against the wall underneath the window.

  "I'm willing to bet this is Kevin's room," I said.

  "Yup." The larger suitcase pulled itself away from the wall and magically rolled over to the side of the bed where the depression of Karen's petite form pressed down on the quilt. She laid it on its side and unzipped it, revealing clothes and men's toiletries. "That's interesting."

  I leaned over to see what she was looking at. "What is?"

  She held up a small stack of paperwork with flourish. "It's his bank statement. Hmm, I don't really see anything worthwhile in this transaction history other than a couple of instances where he withdrew over half of what was in his account at two different ATMs. But that could be for anything." She tucked the bank statement away until I could no longer see it. "My mom has an old friend who works at American National Bank, and he owes me a favor."

  "That doesn't sound ominous at all," I said, shaking my head. "Okay, so for now, we'll rely on Barbara's friend to help with looking into Kevin's finances. Now what?"

  She fixed the suitcase and returned it to where it was, walking past me out the door. "I think it's time to look at our victim and see just what reason someone might have to want him dead. Inheritance or not, there's got to be something out there that made the killer no longer care if Nick was dead or alive. I think those French doors downstairs led to a home office. Let's check it out."

  It took a few tries, but luckily neither of us went anywhere without our spell books, and Karen managed to find a way past Nick's computer password. She pulled up the web browser and cracked her fingers dramatically. "Okay. Where should we start?"

  "Facebook. He was in his mid-forties, right? So the guy probably had a Facebook profile." I tapped on the screen where there was a bookmark titled 'FB' at the top of his browser. "There. I bet that's it."

  Karen clicked on the bookmark, which took us right to Nick Stowe's Facebook account, where a slew of new messages was sitting in his inbox, waiting for him to read. It was kind of morbid to see the last couple of messages from what appeared to be old friends and distant relatives who had only just heard about the news of Nick's death.

  What really popped out though, was the oldest message from a week ago—sent by none other than Janice.

  "Are you seeing this?" Karen hissed at me. "Hold on. I'm going to scroll up to the beginning."

  The beginning was only a couple of days before the last message
, but I had a feeling that was because Nick probably had a habit of deleting any messages between the two of them. I read the messages out loud:

  “Nick: But I already told you we can't. If Alicia finds out it would ruin everything.

  Janice: How many times have you told me you were done? How many nights have you texted me? Why can't you just accept it? You don't love her. You already told me that.

  Nick: It's not that easy. I can't just drop her like that. It's not just Alicia, it's the kids too.

  Janice: She'd let you have partial custody, I think. You're the only father they've ever really known. That wouldn't be an issue if you confront her. If she finds out before you tell her though,

  Nick: I gotta go.”

  “So it looks like Janice was pushing Nick to divorce his wife,” Karen mused.

  “Yeah. The messages continue the next day,” I replied, reading aloud from the phone once more.

  “Janice: Why aren't you answering your work phone?

  Nick: Alicia and I were in a meeting.

  Janice. Oh. Is everything ok?

  Nick: Yeah. I have to help Tom with some stuff out in the field today so it's going to be a long day for me.

  Janice: You could always come upstairs and relax if you need to.

  Nick: You know I can't do that.

  Then there are no replies until three hours later, when Janice messages him again.

  Are you still mad at me? I promise I didn't mean it, Nick. I don't want to come between you and your family. I love you too much for that.”

  “Crazy,” Karen muttered.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Plus, the next night, Janice sends four more messages to Nick that he doesn’t answer: You're really going to ignore me like this? After everything? Followed by, Please don't do this and We can fix this. Then, an hour later, she sends: Can we please talk without you biting my head off this time? Please?”

  “And that’s the end of the messages?” Karen asked, and I nodded.

  “Yeah.” I shook my head. “That’s pretty crazy.”

  "From the sound of it, Nick wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to leave Alicia for Janice like I thought he'd be. I mean, the guy's still a jerk for having an affair for sure, but he doesn't sound like he was into it so much at that point."

  I had to agree. "But did Janice know that? What if she wasn't willing to let go of him just yet?"

  "A femme fatale. It's like they ripped it right off a soap opera. The money-hungry brother and the stalkerish mistress."

  Soap opera indeed. All we were missing was the bout of amnesia, and Nick's evil twin brother coming back from the dead.

  Chapter 17

  With the content of the messages and bank statement filed away in our memories, Karen and I headed back home to shuffle off to our respective jobs.

  "I'll get in contact with mom's friend from the bank while I'm at Gilly Mills. It's intake day though, so I'll probably be home fairly late. If I make it home before four, then we'll go to the bank in town and talk to him about Kevin." Karen slipped her tennis shoes on and threw her long brown hair up into a top knot, wiggling her eyebrows. "And I'll make sure to give the animals some love on behalf of their future vet tech."

  "Thank you, as always," I said, grinning. It was no secret that I adored the animals at Gilly Mills. Sometimes, I even stopped by to volunteer there during my days off. "See ya later, girl."

  I grabbed a muffin and an apple and headed upstairs to catch my ride to work with Barbara. “All ready to go?” I asked her, my stomach growling in satisfaction as I took a huge bite from the apple.

  Barbara stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked up toward the ceiling before whispering a quick spell and snapping her fingers. All the lights in the house turned off.

  “Ready.”

  The shop’s lights flickered to life in the same way once we got to the shop, and I set to work, pulling out the cash register till and filling it up with loose change and bills. Thursdays were usually pretty laid-back, which to Barbara, meant magic.

  I flipped on the ancient computer in the back office and waited for the screen to come to life, leaning against the chair, yawning. After everything that had happened the night before, I’d barely had a wink of sleep. I should definitely have stopped in for a coffee first.

  “I don’t suppose we have anything here for an extra boost of energy, do we?” I asked Barbara, stifling another yawn.

  She clapped her hands together. “I know just the thing!” she said with a wink, returning a minute later with what could only be a pile of ashes. “Give me your hands.” She dumped the gray ashes into them with one hand and closed my palm over them with the other.

  “Um, what am I supposed to do with this?”

  “It will allow you to work a spell called Dead Tired. I wouldn’t worry about what it actually contains until you’re done. But it will give you enough energy to get twice the number of things done as usual. Just make sure you don’t start going too fast—you don’t want to hyperventilate, after all. Now, all you need to do is repeat after me. Fatigatis aptum. Fatigatis vis et navitasroa.”

  “Fatigatis aptum. Fatigatis vis et navitasroa.”

  I opened my palm to see that it was covered in a thin layer of ash, as if I had put out a candle with my whole hand, but the big pile of ashes that I had been holding a moment earlier had disappeared. The veins in my palm and the top of my hand pulsated a darker blue than usual, and I watched, completely mesmerized, as the ashes sunk into my bloodstream and raced up the veins in my arm. “What’s happening?”

  Even though I asked the question, I knew right away what it was. My heart skipped a beat once, twice, then started beating at a slightly faster pace and I began to feel like someone had taken a load of weight off my shoulders I didn’t even know was there. My pupils dilated and Barbara grinned at me.

  “Whoa. I feel like I could probably go run a marathon and not break a sweat!”

  Needing to test out this crazy new spell, I grabbed the broom from the supply closet and swept the shop floor in record time, adding a quick dusting of the aisles’ display shelving.

  “The energy will also give you an added confidence. Why don’t we try mixing some soap again, dear?” Barbara called out from the back. She emerged, balancing a container of soap-making ingredients on her hip.

  Usually, I balked at the idea of working on my magic in the shop. I’d had enough close calls with nearly ruining Creekside Trinkets that it always felt like tempting fate every time I tried. But I did feel a little more confident in my abilities after the last time she worked with me, and with this Dead Tired spell running through me, I thought maybe I’d do alright. It only took me a split-second to make a decision. “Okay, sure. Let’s take a crack at it.”

  “You remember all the steps, right?”

  I stood beside her at the front counter, looking over everything in the container. “It looks like we need to make a new essential oil mixture first, then we can take the base oil carrier and skin-softening oils and heat them in the double-boiler.”

  “Correct. I was thinking since it’s summer we could use some more cleansing and refreshing soaps. Any suggestions?” Barbara asked casually, unloading the double-boiler from the container. I knew she was testing me to see if I could remember some of the soaps and what they were made for.

  I tapped my finger to my chin. “Cleansing and refreshing. Maybe we could do the cucumber pine spritz?”

  “That would be a fine idea,” she replied with a smile. Sliding the dropper toward me, she called out the oils by name and they all appeared in front of her on the counter. “Now what?”

  “Water. We need water in the double-boiler.” Without being prompted, I took the initiative and called out for the water under my breath, asking it to fill the bottom pot halfway up. It worked! “And now the heat.”

  Once the oils were all mixed in the right amounts and just warm enough, I pulled out the herbs to color the soap a pretty minty green and added them to the mixture.
The air around us was warm and moist, and I could already feel the toxins leaving my skin, as if I’d just washed with the soap myself.

  With the soap mixture enchanted and poured into the pretty molds Barbara had designed for them, I was finished with them until they had a chance to steep in their magic and harden up overnight. Standing back from the counter, I could feel the burst of energy from the Dead Tired spell already wearing off. Who knew it took so much out of you to make some soap?

  “Well, how did I do?” I asked, wincing as she ran her fingers over the softened soaps, still in their molds.

  “You did a lovely job, Taylor. I’ll have to get started on the labels for these so we can put them for sale in the shop first thing in the morning. But do you see, dear? This wasn’t as bad as you built it up in your mind to be. I could feel the apprehension in there, even with your energy spell working. You really must give yourself some more credit.”

  All I could do was grin back at her, still not sure how I’d managed to pull the whole thing off so much better this time around. “Okay, okay. So it wasn’t that difficult. There are still a lot of ways for me to screw it up though. I’m just saying. Not to mention the fact that it’s always easier when you’re standing by.”

  Barbara folded her arms across her chest, her bangles clanging together around her skinny, elegant wrists. “Then perhaps we should challenge that thought. Our bath bombs are half gone after yesterday, so it would be a good idea to work on the next batch to be prepared.”

  The bath bombs? I glanced over at the wicker basket of them sitting up front, taunting me with their colorful round bodies. Soaps were one thing, but bath bombs were a bit different. “Uh, I guess?”

  The door chime rang out and in came an older woman with a cane and a pair of oversized sunglasses, waving at us. “Barbara! Good morning!”

  Barbara gave me a knowing look. “Best take it out back, dear.” She swept toward the older woman, her gauzy dress billowing out from behind her. “Greta, my love, it’s been too long!”