Just as easily as I could use hexes.
We’d chosen our paths.
I shied away from hexes, wanting to help people rather than cause harm. And, of course, Delia had chosen hexes instead of helping people with her abilities.
“Delia?” I said loudly. “Hello?”
Sunshine streamed into the room from a high window, highlighting stunning handmade brooms and wands. Small cauldrons, runes, and tarot decks were also beautifully displayed on tables of varying heights.
I couldn’t help but smile at the hex menu board on the wall behind a high wood-planked counter. Delia sold liquid hexes of every variety. Ones that caused baldness, misfortune, impotence, career problems, cramps, warts, cankers, relationship woes, bad breath, wrinkles . . . The list went on. As far as I knew she didn’t market anything truly dangerous—nothing that would cause chronic illness or death—but it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew them backward and forward.
And that was exactly why she shouldn’t have access to the Leilara. Just as the tears made my healing potions magically potent, they would do the same for Delia’s hexes. And that would be very dangerous indeed.
Someone had to be in the shop—it certainly wouldn’t have been left unstaffed. And though I was sure Delia had employees, if one of them were here they would have helped me by now.
A swinging door behind the counter probably led to a stockroom and office space. Skirting the counter, I headed toward it and was surprised to find it locked.
I was also surprised to feel a pinprick of concern for my cousin. Had something happened to her? A vision of Nelson’s lifeless body on my break room floor had beads of sweat popping up along my hairline as I imagined a similar fate for Delia. Did she even have a break room back there?
Before I went into full-blown worry mode, I tried another tactic. “Boo! Here, Boo!” I gave a short, sharp whistle and smiled when I heard a muffled bark from behind the door.
I hopped up on the counter, letting my legs dangle. “You might as well come out, Delia, considering I’m not fixin’ to leave until you do.”
Behind me, I heard customers come into the shop, their voices easily carrying the length of the store. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a young couple looking at a display of amulets.
“Howdy!” I called out. “Let me know if you need any help.”
The couple smiled my way and went back to browsing. I hopped off the table and walked over to the door. “And now you’ve got customers here,” I said. “Unless you want me sending them across the street to my shop, you’d best be getting out here.”
I heard a bolt slide across a metal plate and the door swung open. Delia strode out, calm as could be, with Boo tucked into the crook of her arm. He wagged his tail when he spotted me, and I reached over and patted his head.
Looking me dead in the eye, she said in a low whisper, “What do you want, Carly? This isn’t about the bottles again, is it? Last time I checked, it was a free country.” She set Boo on the floor and he raced off to greet the guests.
“He’s friendly!” she called out.
Sunbeams fell on her like a spotlight, making her look like some sort of fallen angel. There was no denying how pretty she was—at least on the outside.
“I still have questions about the bottles,” I said, keeping my voice low, “but what I really want to know is if you dated Nelson Winston.”
Her locket swung back and forth as she reached for a feather duster. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Bernice Morris.”
Swiping the duster across the counter, Delia rolled her eyes. “That woman never did like me.”
I knew the feeling.
“So, it’s true?” I asked. “You and Nelson?”
She stopped dusting long enough to nibble her thumbnail. The black polish had seen better days. “I wouldn’t call it dating. We went out a few times.”
“How few?”
“We were together for a month or so.” She shrugged. “No big deal.”
I wasn’t getting that feeling. I was picking up that she had cared a great deal. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him yesterday morning in my shop?”
Pain flashed in her eyes. “I was in a bit of shock.”
“Then you didn’t know he’d be there? That’s not why you showed up?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said angrily. “I came because I had a dream about you. And foolishly I thought—” She cut herself off.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re annoying.”
I ran my hand down a beautifully crafted broom. “I’ve been called worse.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Delia said, “I just thought it might be time we start acting like family and not strangers.”
She’d caught me off guard, and I found myself at a loss for words.
“It was stupid,” she went on. “Obviously.”
The thing was, I couldn’t tell if she was serious or if she was manipulating me in order to find out more about the Leilara. Because she was right: we were strangers.
“Not stupid,” I said, wanting to believe the best of her. But I also recognized I couldn’t trust her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Delusional?” she threw out.
“Closer.” I smiled.
She didn’t smile back.
I wandered around a bit before I got back to the reason I was here. Nelson. “How’d you two get together? You and Nelson?”
“What’s with all the questions, Carly?”
“He was found dead in my shop, remember?”
“Hard to forget,” she said quietly. Looking away, she grabbed her locket and held it tightly.
I thought back to yesterday morning and recalled she had been a bit off. I supposed she could have been in shock. I knew I had been.
Finally, I said, “How’d you two meet?”
“We bumped into each other at the bookshop, in the magazine section. Got to chatting. It went from there.”
“And then?”
“And then what?” she asked, heading with her duster for the display of miniature iron cauldrons. Boo wandered back to us and went straight to a doggy bed tucked into a dark corner.
“How come no one knew about your relationship?” A couple like them would certainly be on the lips of every gossip in town.
“It was no one’s business. We went to Huntsville a lot to dinner and the movies.” Her head snapped up as another couple came into the shop. Boo went off to greet them, possibly the cutest welcome wagon I’d ever seen.
“Did he ever talk about having any enemies?” I asked.
“None. Everyone liked Nelson.”
Except for the person who killed him.
“And why did you two break up?” I asked.
Her body stiffened. “We just did.”
“Did it have anything to do with Coach Butts?” I could hope.
Delia looked toward her customers, then back at me, her eyes sparking with anger, with hurt. “It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Nelson falling for another woman.”
I was taken aback at her show of emotions. I’d always known her as being ice-cold, but apparently this breakup had hit her hard. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need your pity,” she seethed.
“It’s not pity,” I said. “It’s someone who’s had a broken heart and knows the pain.”
“Well, at least Dylan’s not dead.”
It was hard to argue with that.
I hated to push my luck but needed more information. “Do you know who his new girlfriend is? A local?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
I doubted that very much. “What about—”
Her eyes blazed. “It’s time for you to go, Carly.”
It was time to pull back and regroup. I nodded, and left her standing in her hexing room, looking a little lost and forlorn.
I knew that feeling, too, and cou
ldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
Which shook me to my core.
We were strangers.
Worse than that, we were enemies.
Weren’t we?
And as I walked back out into the sunshine, I realized that I hadn’t really learned anything new from Delia. She’d only confirmed what Miz Morris had said.
I was back to square one.
Chapter Fifteen
Pedaling slowly, I circled the Ring, headed toward my shop. My journey to work was a far cry from yesterday morning’s frenzy.
Today there was no crowd nipping at my heels, no mad rush for any of my potions. It would be a surprise if anyone came into the shop today. Anyone other than Emmylou Pritcherd, at least.
Heat haze blurred the sidewalk, the wilting trees, and the shops straight ahead. It was going to be an absolute scorcher today, and I was mourning the lack of air-conditioning in my house. Maybe it was silly that I was living there while it was under construction, but as much as I adored my parents—and I did—moving back to within arm’s length seemed so . . . suffocating. I’d just plug in another fan and make plans to get a loan from the bank to get my air fixed.
I eyed Déjà Brew wistfully. It would be so easy to go inside, pull up a stool, and pass an hour or two. Or four or five.
As I was gliding along, I recognized my desire for a diversion for what it was. An attempt to delay what needed to get done.
My shop needed to be reopened, and I couldn’t keep putting it off.
Resolutely, I kept pedaling.
In the picnic park, I noticed Dudley still sweeping the grass with his metal detector, which reminded me that I hadn’t stopped back at Emmylou’s booth to pick up my piece of cake. Hopefully she’d bring a slice by when she came to the shop later on. I could use some cake right about now.
As I watched Dudley swing the detector back and forth across the grass, I couldn’t help the twinge of pity I felt for him. Emmylou wasn’t going to let him rest until that ring was back on her finger.
Even though I fully knew I should be getting to my shop, I steered my way toward Dudley. Now was the perfect time to ask him about the baseball league’s accounting books—and to see if he was harboring any guilty energy. It was a good way to put Bernice’s theory to rest once and for all.
I left my bike on the pathway and walked over to Dudley. An ashen face looked up as I neared.
“I’ll find it,” he said, continuing to swing with the metal detector.
“I have faith.”
“I’m glad you do.”
Ah, so Emmylou’s nagging was getting to him. “I’ll help look for a few minutes.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s okay. It’s helping me procrastinate on opening my shop. I hate the thought of going back in there.”
His pale face turned a bit green. I had the feeling mine was the same shade.
“I appreciate the help,” he said.
“How’s your stomach?” I asked.
“Hurts. I’m going to the doctor later today.”
The sting of rejection hurt. One of my potions would have fixed him right up. “Glad to hear it.”
“It’s this stress. . . .”
I was grateful for the opening. “From the trial?”
He nodded.
“Do you think Coach is guilty?”
He tipped his head back and forth. “It was his name on those checks. They’d all been made out to cash and Coach signed them.”
“Seems rather foolish of him, doesn’t it?” I asked, testing the waters. “I mean, it’s so easy to get caught.”
“It’s actually not all that unusual a way to embezzle. It’s just that the amounts started to add up and there weren’t receipts to back up the withdrawals. And then a check bounced. That sent up big red flags.”
“He had to have known he’d get caught eventually,” I said.
“He’s not the brightest bulb,” Dudley said softly.
No. No he wasn’t.
“Could someone have forged his name?” Someone like you, I wanted to add but didn’t.
I lowered my defenses and tapped into his energy. I felt no guilt coming from him—only his stomach pain and a good level of frustration. Bernice had been wrong about him. I latched onto my locket, took a few deep breaths, and rebuilt the blockade against his pain.
“It would have had to have been a very good forger,” he said. “Nelson was waiting to get the results from a handwriting expert.”
“When was the report due?”
“Two days ago,” Dudley said solemnly.
The day Nelson was killed. “Bernice said Nelson had gotten some proof that day that Coach was innocent.”
He turned off the metal detector. “It must have been the report.”
“She didn’t say. I’m not sure she knew for certain.”
“Well, I’d like to know. If those checks were forged, it changes the whole outlook on the case.”
I would’ve liked to know, too. Because as I’d been saying . . . if Coach was innocent, it meant that someone else stole that money.
Someone other than Dudley.
Someone who might have killed to cover up the crime.
• • •
A half hour later, I decided I’d stalled long enough. I left Dudley on the picnic green, still looking for Emmylou’s wedding band, and I headed toward my shop.
Tossing a look both ways before I crossed the street, I couldn’t help but think about Nelson and who’d done him in.
According to just about everyone I’d talked to, Nelson was a likeable guy. No enemies. Yet someone had split his skull and left him in my shop.
My shop.
I still didn’t understand why. If there was some sort of message there, it was lost on me.
I drew up in front of the Little Shop of Potions’ large display window. My gaze fell on an antique cast-iron mortar and pestle. It had once belonged to Leila, and had been passed down through the family to me. I’d chosen not to use it—it was heavy and unwieldy—but I could easily picture Grammy Adelaide pounding the pestle into the bowl while she regaled me with stories of my heritage. Of Leila and Abraham. Of a love doomed from the beginning. Of a legacy born from their deaths.
My gaze wandered to my reflection in the glass. My hair still looked a sight, since I hadn’t had time to shower before Ainsley called. My eyes, too, had a strange look about them. A mix of confusion, trepidation, and determination that perfectly summed up my life these days.
A shadow fell over me. “You owe me big, Carly.”
I jumped as Caleb Montgomery appeared at my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him coming. My nerves were frayed. “How big? And for what?”
“I’m still weighing the enormity.” He leaned against the window and swiped a hand through his dark hair. “You can add it to my tab.”
I owed him for many things—it was true. He’d been my partner in crime for many years. And my savior, too. After I’d been arrested for setting that chapel on fire in Georgia, he’d been the one to bail me out and convince the police it had been an accident. I’d paid the deductible for the chapel’s insurance and had been asked kindly never to return once it was rebuilt.
“Well, why do I owe you this time?”
“I made some calls.”
“To?”
“Friends in Birmingham. I got the scoop on why Coach Butts fired Doughtree, Sullivan, and Gobble.”
I rolled Bessie Blue to a nearby bike stand and twisted a lock around her frame. “That is big,” I admitted. “What did they have to say?”
“The Birmingham lawyers had tried to get Coach to take a plea deal. Coach pitched a white-trash fit, including throwing some chairs and punching holes in the office walls.”
“That’s quite a fit.”
“By all accounts, it was a full-blown rage. Coach went on and on about how the lawyers were conspiring with the real embezzler. He fired them on the spot, though if he hadn’t they would have resigned the case.
Clearly Coach is not right in the head.”
“Because of the violence?” It did seem out of character. He was a bit pervy, but I’d never known him to even raise his voice.
In the shade of my shop’s awning, Caleb’s eyes looked more gray than blue. They held a hint of amusement as he said, “Because of the conspiracy theory. If he’d been thinking straight, he would have realized twenty thousand dollars was nothing to that firm. Hell, Coach has probably racked double that in legal fees, not that he’s footing the bill. . . .”
“Ooh, I do owe you big. Who’s paying?”
“Bernice Morris.”
That knowledge didn’t surprise me much, but it did make me feel a bit sad for the woman.
“And apparently Nelson hadn’t really wanted to get involved in a case that had the town split down the middle, but out of fondness for Bernice, he signed on.”
His blue button-down was immaculate, not a wrinkle to be seen as he crossed his arms. “I also heard another little tidbit. About Nelson and that Birmingham law firm.”
I couldn’t help a smile. “That he was freelancing for them, hoping to be taken on full-time.”
Caleb’s eyes filled with outrage. “How’d you know?”
“John Richard Baldwin.”
“Who?”
“Long story.” I bit a nail.
“Well, here’s the interesting part about Nelson and that firm. He called them the day before he died and said he was no longer interested in the position—said he’d had a change of heart and was going to be staying put here in Hitching Post.”
“Did he say why he’d changed his mind? Was it because Aunt Marjie wouldn’t talk to him?”
“He didn’t say, but I’ve seen this kind of thing before, Carly. Where a man is willing to pack up his life and move away on what seems like a whim.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed, and usually there’s a woman involved. Find her, and you’ll get some answers.”
It was the second time I’d heard that advice in as many days.
But finding Nelson’s mystery woman was turning out to be much harder than I thought. Which only reinforced one thing in my mind.
She didn’t want to be found.
A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery Page 14
