Merlot and Murder

by Samantha Silver

  The woman in question was in the parked van in front of us, half-hanging out of the driver's side with her hand shielding her eyes as she stared at something behind us. I looked in the sideview mirror but couldn't really see anything.

  "Whoa. Something's going on down the road."

  I whipped my head around, my stomach protesting at the tightness of the seatbelt against it, to see flashing red and blue lights a block down from us. "I hope it wasn't an accident."

  "Nah. I think the ambulance would've probably arrived first if it was - whoa!" Another cop car flew past us, this time an all-black sheriff's cruiser from the county. "What the heck is going on down there?"

  We weren't the only curious onlookers. A few others had already popped outside to take a look at all the commotion from the surrounding shops, including Barbara, who was across the street at the shop.

  "Oh my word, is someone getting arrested?" one of the older men coming out of the café asked.

  Karen and I picked up the pace, anxious to find out whether the old man's hunch was right or not. Judging from the fact that yet another cruiser was racing down the road, I thought the chances were pretty high.

  "Nothing ever happens around here," I said, knowing full well knowing that this wasn't exactly true. Even Rosemary Creek had its share of excitement every now and then, like the murder a few days earlier.

  "Well, apparently something is happening. Wait," Karen's voice trailed off as she squinted down the road. "Oh my god. Taylor! I think it's Alicia!"

  Our power-walking turned into a full on run as we raced down the sidewalk to get a better look.

  The sheriff's department was already blocking bystanders from getting any closer, the tallest deputy standing stock-still with his arms folded around his chest as if to dare us to try and get past him. I turned to look at Karen.

  "Do you think they're arresting her because of Nick?"

  "Probably. I don't know what else it could be for."

  I knew that if I didn't get closer my curiosity was going to drive me crazy. "Maybe we should listen in," I whispered to her, nudging her.

  She looked around to make sure none of the other people were close enough to hear us and nodded. "Let's make it quick."

  We bent our heads closer together and whispered the spell to listen in from far away. I was glad the sirens weren't on—the spell magnified sounds around us so much that I could hear the tall deputy's heart beating. Evidently, he wasn't as calm and collected as he made himself out to be.

  Alicia was facing a sheriff's car, being put in handcuffs. Next to her, her pretty purse was knocked over on the ground, spilling out its contents onto the street.

  One of the deputies was radioing in the incident from his driver's seat, while another stood by next to him, writing out what I figured was some kind of police report.

  "It's always the wife, Burt. I told you I had a funny feelin' about this," the deputy in the car said as soon as he let go of his walkie talkie.

  "And that's why you won't see me walking down the aisle any time soon," the other deputy said, shrugging his wide shoulders. "They get that vengeful streak after too many late nights and boom. You're not just sleeping on the couch. You're sleeping with the fish."

  "Oh man," I whispered. "So she did do it."

  Karen sighed. "I was kind of pulling for her. I liked her."

  Nodding, I threw my arm around her. "Yeah. I did too. I guess our work is done for us this time."

  Barbara leaned against the front counter of the shop with a frown on her face as Karen recalled what we'd overheard down the street. "Why do you feel so doubtful then, if the murderer was caught?" She was looking not at Karen, but at me.

  "I-I don't really know. I mean, I guess it was her if they say it was, but I was really starting to think that maybe it was Janice. We ran into her today at Stephanie's Café, and she was getting drunk well before noon. I know, drinking doesn’t mean you’ve killed someone, but what if it was guilt, and not grief, that was driving her to it?"

  "Even her friend was looking for her and ended up dragging her out of there to take her back home," Karen added, shaking up one of the snow globes on display.

  "Do you think the police even knew about the affair?"

  Barbara tapped her fingernails along the glass, frowning. "Should I even ask how you two know about it - if it is, indeed, true?"

  "You might not want to," Karen replied with a shrug. "And honestly, I was just wondering the same. I feel like Janice would have said something earlier. Something like the police suspecting her, anyway. She wasn't exactly in her right mind."

  I avoided the disapproving scowl on Barbara's face the best I could. It was silly, but I hated feeling as though I had let her down. She didn't want us investigating and sticking our nose in the Stowe's business, and we had just pretty much confessed to it.

  Something had been nagging the back of my mind when we were at the cafe, but I still couldn't quite figure out what it was. "If they didn't know about the affair, then Alicia must have admitted she did it. How else would the police show up so quickly after the funeral?"

  "Or," Barbara started, wiping at a non-existent speck on the counter, "maybe the police did their jobs correctly and found evidence that you two didn't. I think that's most likely the case here. There's really no need to look too much into it if you ask me. After all, that's what the sheriff's office is supposed to. Just like how we should be more worried about getting this inventory order out today."

  Karen stared at the back of her mother's head as if trying to peek inside of it. "I don't know. Maybe."

  It seemed completely pointless to argue with Barbara when she so obviously wanted to move on to another subject. Sure, it was possible Alicia killed her husband. Heck, it was even probable, at this point.

  "I guess we should just leave it to the professionals," I finally said, though Karen didn't look like she was truly convinced.

  I wasn't sure I was, either.

  Chapter 21

  With the case pretty much closed, Karen and I had no choice but to let it go and get back to our everyday, normal lives. Or, at least as normal as it could get inside a house full of witches, anyway.

  "Do we know what we're having for dinner yet? I barely had time to heat up my food at work before I had to go run errands for Portia." Karen plopped down at the kitchen table, throwing her bag over the back of the chair. "And please don't tell me we're just slapping together some sandwiches and calling it a night."

  I rolled my eyes. I didn't mind easy sandwich nights at all. "And what are you in the mood for, your highness?"

  The kettle let out a warning sound before whistling and steaming on the stovetop.

  "Confutoroa," Barbara said with a wave of her hand. The steaming and whistling came to an abrupt stop and the flames underneath it went out. "Would anyone like some tea?"

  "One of these days, I'm going to make some of my mom's favorite sweet tea." My mom was born and raised in North Carolina, so I knew a thing or two about some good sweet tea.

  "Can we just order some takeout tonight? I don't feel like really cooking anything to be honest," Karen said. Even as she said this, she still mumbled a quick spell under her breath and sent the tea kettle and a clean mug over to her. Every ounce of magical energy took some getting used to for me, but Karen and Barbara made it look easy.

  "Actually, I wouldn't mind learning how to do it. Cooking with magic, that is."

  The big, thick recipe book that stood in the middle of the kitchen island quickly flipped several pages until it landed open somewhere close to the end. Barbara smiled at me and gestured for me to come read through it with her.

  "We can most certainly arrange that. I'm always up for teaching cooking spells. They're a favorite of mine."

  She leaned in to follow along the words underneath a big picture of spaghetti. "We'll start off simple. Just boiling the water should do it. I’ll get the spaghetti."

  With a nod of her head, one of the corner cabinets opene
d on its own, and a large black pot came flying out of it, settling down onto the stovetop.

  “Now, you can fill it up with the water and get that boiling for me.”

  Karen slid off the chair and came over to watch, sipping on her steaming tea. “Do you remember the spell?”

  I concentrated on the pot, imagining it moving under my will. It wiggled for a moment before slowly beginning to float. “Veniroa ad me.” It wobbled in midair over to the sink, plunking down hard underneath the faucet. I fought everything in me to not simply go over and turn the water on by hand—that wasn’t the point. “Aquaroa.” Water shot out of the faucet until the pot was filled up enough. Once the pot was back on the stove, I grinned at Karen.

  “Not bad,” she said, taking another slow sip. “Not bad at all.”

  Without needing anyone’s help, I managed to get the flames on the stove started, and the water began bubbling not long after. Had I actually done magic and not screwed it up?

  The water bubbled faster and faster with the froth rising until it was level with the top of the pot, threatening to spill over. In my head I knew I needed to cast the reduction spell to make the flame and temperature instantly drop, but I froze, trying to remember my Latin

  “Er,Um,” I muttered, getting more and more flustered by the second.

  “You need to turn the flames down, Taylor.”

  I could feel Karen’s watchful gaze on me but it didn’t matter. It was helping exactly zero percent. “I know, I know,” I said through clenched teeth. “I just need to remember it.”

  Was it Caloroa? Or was it Ardoroa? I was going to bite right through my bottom lip if I didn’t hurry the heck up and figure it out. Water sizzled and hissed on the burner as some of the bubbles began to burst, spattering boiling water every which way.

  “Ardoroa!” I finally shouted, only to realize the mistake I’d really made.

  The water had all turned to steam with a hiss, billowing up and being sucked out of through the exhaust fan overhead. I jumped back with a yelp before slowly looking back into the big pot that was now totally empty.

  I smacked my forehead with my hand. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No big deal,” Karen said, sending the pot zooming toward the kitchen sink to refill it back up. “I may have done that once or twice before. Don’t feel bad—the words are pretty close.”

  “This is all just part of the process, dear,” Barbara said as she re-emerged into the kitchen with a container full of dry pasta. “Karen, would you mind grabbing the pitcher of sauce? It should be ready now.” She turned to me as the pot sailed back past us and landed lightly onto the flaming burner. “It’s an old family recipe.”

  Old family recipe or not, I was starting to think that maybe I wasn’t cut out for the cooking lessons just yet. Maybe I needed more practice. Much more practice. “I can just cook it the old-fashioned way,” I suggested, shrugging my shoulders as I adjusted the dial on the stove. “I don’t mind.”

  But Barbara stepped right in front of my path to the pasta she’d just placed on the counter, her piercing eyes narrowing at me. “I don’t think so. We know you can cook. That’s not really the focus here. Don’t let one little mistake make you go back and overcorrect everything else. Back to the water.” She gestured for me to turn back around and face the stove. “There you go.”

  It was so aggravating, knowing how painstakingly simple it was to cook spaghetti without magic, yet having to take all the extra necessary steps to learn it with the magic. By the time the noodles had finished cooking I was sweating, and I wasn’t entirely sure it was from the heat in the kitchen.

  My nerves felt shot. And when the sauce had finished cooking on the stove, and it was time to serve the food on the plates, my mind’s focus finally caved. The plate wobbled to the side just enough to send half the food spilling onto the floor, and the moment I panicked about that, the plate unceremoniously dropped to the floor, smashing into a million little pieces with a piercing screech.

  “No! Ugh! Seriously?” I groaned, smacking my fist down on the island. “I was so close! It was all done!”

  "It's like I told you before. When you have complete faith and confidence in yourself, you'll find that magic comes much easier to you. The two of us demonstrating our powers is all fine and well, but if you don't work on your own and really learn to trust your ability, it won't ever come as naturally for you."

  Barbara sent the last of the broken plates into the air, where the little chips mended back together like some kind of supernatural super glue.

  A deep-seated voice nagged at the back of my mind, twisting my inner thoughts. What if she was wrong? What if my power simply wasn’t good enough?

  "That. That right there is what you should focus overcoming. The crippling self-doubt. It's not just hazardous for your magic, it's bad for your mental health. Taylor," she continued, flicking her finger in the direction of the pot of spaghetti until the ladle scooped up a bunch of sauce and poured it over the closest plate of noodles. I sometimes forgot just how good Barbara was at sensing feelings and emotions. "It never comes easily to anyone at first. We may have been small when we first realized our powers, but just like for us back then, you have to learn your strengths and limitations. And one of those strengths, especially for you, is your instinct."

  "For example," Karen piped up, whispering a spell until the plate of spaghetti zoomed into her outstretched hand. "Using your fight or flight instinct."

  I barely had enough time to say a word before she flung the plate right at me, sending sticky noodles and bright red tomato sauce all over my chest, face, and arms before it all landed in my lap.

  "Karen!" Barbara scolded her, her eyes wide as I let out a shriek of surprise.

  "Ugh!" I said, standing up, blinking and wiping the sauce away from my eyes. "What on earth was that for?"

  Karen winced. "Well I, uh, I was trying to prove a point. I thought maybe your instinct would kick in and you'd stop it."

  I twisted my mouth into a grin. "Oh, you thought I'd stop it, did you?" I asked slowly.

  She raised a brow at me. "Yes?"

  "Roseus pigmentumroa!" I shouted, pointing my magic right at her until an explosion of pink powder covered Karen from head to toe, leaving her looking like a piece of bubblegum.

  "Really, now?" Barbara groaned, sending a feather-duster to clean the pink powdery substance off of the kitchen island behind Karen.

  Karen looked down at her hands, grinning. "That's what I'm talking about! Augeoroa!"

  I ducked just in time, but the bowl of bananas couldn't say the same. It grew four times larger in size and Barbara clutched her chest. "Oh my goodness. That just gave me a brilliant idea for a recipe."

  I laughed. "Were you trying to turn me into a giant? Purpura pigmentumroa!"

  Karen had the sense to dive behind the island this time, and my spell drenched part of it, and the wall behind it, in a vibrant shade of purple goo.

  "Taylor!" Barbara screeched.

  "No—just your nose!" Karen yelled before causing the lights in the kitchen to flicker on and off in as she tried to confused me as she threw a spell my way.

  I felt for my nose, glad to see it was still its normal size. "Rude!" I shot back with a blind sort of intention.

  Karen screamed and I saw her flail her arms from behind the island as the empty tea kettle started chasing her around the kitchen.

  "Girls! I didn't realize I was living with a couple of preschoolers!" Barbara announced over the shouts of spells from our respective corners of the kitchen.

  Karen dived again, and a moment later jumped up waving a white dish towel around. "I surrender. I surrender!" she giggled.

  Peeking my head around the edge of the kitchen table, I grinned at her. "Haha! I finally get the upper hand!"

  Karen let out a snort as she tossed the dish towel onto the table and sat down. "I could so whoop you if I chose too, you know. But I'll play nice. For now."

  I sat down on the chair next to m
e, pulling my knees up to my chest. "That was actually pretty fun. Way better than the food fights back in summer camp."

  "And surely much messier," Barbara mumbled as she reversed the color spells on Karen and the rest of the kitchen. Karen's skin faded back to its natural olive complexion.

  "I did it for a reason. You're good at magic. Like actually good at it, Taylor. Believe it or not, not every witch can say the same. See how all of those spells worked when you were trying to defend yourself and attack?"

  "But it's different then. My fight or flight kicks into full gear and the sub-conscious part of my brain takes over. Sort of like I don't have a whole lot of say in the matter," I said, shaking my head.

  "Right, but if you stop worrying and overthinking when you're doing spells in a calmer, usual state, it'll work just the same. You just have to remember that you are good at magic and the rest will come instinctively."

  I pulled myself to a stand, surveying the now spotless kitchen. "I'm sorry," I muttered, seeing the nick on Karen's chin from the exploding plate.

  "No biggie," she smiled.

  But I placed my finger against her chin anyway, and the tiny cut disappeared as if it were never there to begin with.

  I wasn't sure if I'd ever be as effortless with my magic as Barbara was. Or as quick with my magic as Karen was. But my magic was worth something. I just had to learn to remember that.

  Chapter 22

  Karen swilled the glass of wine in her hand, absent-mindedly flipping through the channels. Settling on an overly dramatic soap opera, where a husband was confessing an affair to his wife, Karen sunk down lower into the couch and sipped her Pinot Grigio. "We seriously need to get new hobbies or something. This is totally pathetic."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "Speak for yourself. I'm actually enjoying the peace and quiet for once."

  It should have been the case every day, but with our penchant for finding dead bodies, it was hard not to feel the lull in activity since the other day when Alicia Stowe admitted to murdering her husband.