They were home now, sniffing around the living room as if they knew strange people had been inside the house. I, on the other hand, knew there had been strange people in the house, so I was on my way to Déjà Brew for my morning cup of coffee.
If there had ever been a morning I needed caffeine, today was the day.
It was a little past eight when I walked into the coffee shop, the bells on the door chiming loudly. Jessa took one look at me, tsked, and came around the counter to give me a hug.
“She was in a car wreck last night,” she said to the four customers in the shop, who all collectively tsked and blessed my heart.
Jessa smelled of vanilla and hugged me like Olive Debbs hugged her father’s leg. I wriggled free and took a seat at the counter. “I’m okay.”
She kept shaking her head, and not a hair in her rat’s-nest bun jiggled a bit. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news this morning. Coffee?”
“Please,” I begged.
“And Angelea? Any news?”
“As far as I know she’s still in the ICU.”
“Good heavenly days!” She kept on tsking as she held the coffee carafe over a cardboard cup. I reached over to grab the lid so she didn’t have to fuss with it. “And Coach?”
“Back in jail,” I said.
She set down the carafe. “I heard Angelea was having an affair with Nelson and that’s why Coach killed him and tried to kill her.”
News traveled fast. I reached for the cup. “It’s not that cut-and-dried. There’s still some investigating to do.”
It had probably been a mistake to come here, I realized. There was too much talk. Too much gossip. In light of that, it might be a mistake to open the shop today, too. The business would get by. . . .
I’d go clean up the glass, then decide. Technically, I didn’t open till eleven on Sundays, so I had time to figure out if I was ready to face the public.
The front door flew open, the bells nearly flying off their string. I spun around to find Ainsley in the doorway, gasping for breath. “Hell’s bells!” she cried when she spotted me, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
The coffee shop customers were getting quite the show this morning.
Ainsley gave a big smile and scooted to the counter. She took my face in her hands and examined each and every abrasion up close and personal. “Why didn’t you call me?”
She gave me such a stern, motherly look that I almost called her ma’am when I said, “It was late. Then it was too early. Then my phone was dead. Sorry.”
In a rush, she said, “I heard the news about the crash at church and ran straight to your house. Then you weren’t there, but then I saw Mr. Dunwoody . . . so at least I knew you were alive. I’m never going to hear the end of it from Carter about running out the way I did.”
“He’ll understand,” Jessa said, propping her elbows on the counter. “He knows how much you care for Carly.”
“Eventually, maybe.” Ainsley sat down and drew in a deep breath. “Can I get one of those, Jessa?” She motioned to the coffee. “To go. Now that I know Carly is alive, I need to get back to the church. I left the Clingons unsupervised, and that’s never a smart thing to do. I’ll come by the shop this afternoon and get the full scoop.”
Jessa slid a coffee cup and lid across the counter. I slipped off the stool and pulled a five-dollar bill from my pocket, but Jessa waved it away. “On the house today. Oh, and I found this after you left last night, under the chair you were sitting in.” She pulled a silver key out of her apron and handed it to me. “I tried to call you about it but no one answered.”
It was the key Bernice had given me. “Thanks, Jessa. I was looking for that.”
Affectionately, she patted my cheek. “Stop in this afternoon, Carly. Odell’s making your favorite cookies, on account that you didn’t die last night. Chocolate macaroons. “
“I’ll try.” I wasn’t making any promises, though it was sweet of Odell to be thinking of me.
The bells on the door rang out as Ainsley and I stepped outside. She looked at me long and hard. “Do you need me to stay with you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You wouldn’t be lying to me, now, would you, Carly Hartwell?”
“Maybe a little.”
“I’ll be by straight after services.” She squeezed my hand and marched off across the picnic green, passing Dudley and Emmylou on the way.
Dudley was busy with his metal detector, and Emmylou looked to be lecturing him on how to go about it.
I smiled; some things never changed.
While other things would never be the same.
• • •
As I unlocked the shop and went inside, I couldn’t help but think about Bernice Morris. She’d asked for my help in proving Coach’s innocence in the embezzlement case, and I’d actually done that. But in doing so, it had revealed him to be a killer.
I still had those questions about how Coach had known Nelson drank the potion—and how he’d gotten him into my shop. . . . I hoped Dylan was getting those answers at this very moment, because they were the only puzzle pieces that didn’t fit nice and neat and proper.
What a mess. A hot mess, as Ainsley would say.
I set my coffee cup on the counter and wondered if I should give Bernice a call. I actually picked up the phone, only to set it down again. There were no words I could offer that would set her at ease. Or at peace.
Her brother was going to jail for a long time.
I rubbed my temples and glanced down the hallway at the shards of glass littering the floor. Cleaning up would keep my hands busy, if not my mind.
I had started toward the supply closet when I heard a knock at the front door. I spun and found Delia peeking in. I waved her inside.
Boo was nestled in the crook of her arm. “I brought your bike back. I might have to get myself one. Boo loved riding in the basket.”
“A matching bike?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Blue is not my color.”
“Well, I’m sure you can find one with a skull motif.”
“If not,” she said, “I have a stencil and can design my own.”
I laughed. “I should have known.”
“I have something for you. Here, take Boo.” He licked my fingers.
“What’s she up to?” I said to him, as she dashed out the door.
He wagged his tail.
“You’re seriously too cute for your own good,” I said, rubbing his ears.
Delia was back a second later, a broomstick in her hand. “Here. It’s one of my favorites from my shop.”
Tentatively, I reached out. The stick was gorgeous, a dark wood that had been carved into a spiral. The broom head was thick and lush and expertly woven. “It’s gorgeous. Does it fly?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “I already told you about that. But I thought no proper witch should be without one.”
I wrapped my fingers around the handle. “Thank you.”
There was a softness in her eyes as she said, “I should get going and open my shop.”
“Wait a sec.” I pulled the vial off my neck. “I need to give this back to you.”
“I told you, it’s yours.” She gathered up Boo.
“I can’t keep it.”
“You’re going to have to, because I’m not taking it back.”
I sighed. “You’re stubborn.”
“It’s a Bell family trait. I’ll see you later.” She pulled open the door.
“Delia?”
She looked back at me, a question in her eyes.
“I wanted to say thanks. You know, for what you did last night. I owe you.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Enough to share the Leilara secret with me?”
“No.”
She shrugged. “You can’t blame a witch for trying.”
As soon as she stepped out, Caleb Montgomery came in, throwing a look over his shoulder as
Delia walked away.
“What was she doing here?” he asked.
“What, no ‘How’re you, Carly?’ or ‘I’m so happy you’re alive, Carly’?” I tsked, sounding very much like Jessa as I set the vial pendant on the counter next to the cash register.
He folded his arms. “Of course I’m happy you’re alive. Don’t be ridiculous.”
The phrase had me thinking about Delia. And him. Delia and him. Hmm. The matchmaker in me was at work.
“But really,” he said. “What was she doing here?”
“Bringing back my bike. It was at her house. I’m sure you already heard what happened.”
Caleb gazed at me, his eyes softening. “You could have been killed.”
I appreciated that he didn’t fawn all over me. I’d had my fill of smothering. “But I wasn’t. Mostly thanks to Delia.”
Tossing a look out the window, he said, “I don’t trust her.”
Okay, setting them up wasn’t going to be easy. . . .
“Don’t tell me you do,” he added.
I shrugged. I didn’t trust her. At all. Not yet. “I want to.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Carly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that why you came here? To lecture me?”
“Yes. And now my job is done.” He kissed my cheek and headed for the door.
“Wait! How was your hot date?”
“Lukewarm.”
“Good.”
“What?”
I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘That’s not good.’”
He eyed me warily. “Eh. Another girl will come along.”
I threw a loofah at him. “Get out of here before I sic Marjie on you.”
Laughing, he ducked out.
Before the door could even close, a hand reached out held it open. For being closed, I sure was busy.
A bolt of surprise went through me as the man stepped into the shop. “What are you doing here?”
Johnny Braxton said, “I need your help.”
Chapter Thirty
“If you’re here about my mama . . . ,” I started saying.
“I’m not.”
“Or to confess that you’re the one trying to buy my aunt Marjie’s inn, I already know.”
His eyebrows rose a bit at that.
“I saw you talking to John Richard Baldwin yesterday, and Angelea Butts also confirmed that you’re the one who recommended Nelson to that law firm in Birmingham. You weren’t happy when he quit that job, and that’s why you two were fighting the other day.”
He closed the door behind him. “You’ve been busy sticking your nose where it don’t belong. And it shows, by the looks of you.”
I gingerly touched the bandage on my forehead. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“I’ve heard most of it. Coach Butts in jail. Angelea near to dying.”
I didn’t want to go through it all again. “Why are you here? What’s this about you needing help?”
I allowed myself to read Johnny’s energy, because if he was here to cause trouble, I wasn’t in the mood. I let my defenses down and felt only neutral energy coming from him. Nothing bad; nothing good. Though his heart . . . I eyed his big barrel chest.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, stepping up to the counter, his boots clicking on the floor.
“Have you been having chest pains? Maybe it feels like indigestion?”
His hand went to his sternum. “No.”
I rolled my eyes at his obvious lie. “Your arteries are clogged. You need to see a doctor. Sooner rather than later.” My potions wouldn’t be able to clear that much of a blockage.
“How do you know that?”
Sassily, I said, “I’m a witch, remember? Now, why’re you here? I know it’s not for medical advice.”
He studied me, but not in the way he had the other night at the river walk, with a threat in his eyes. This time he looked at me more like I was a bug under a magnifying glass.
I truly didn’t appreciate it, either.
I stood firm. “Mr. Braxton? Why are you here?”
He snapped to. “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day.”
“What did I say?” Dang if I could remember.
“About me finding a woman. It’s time.”
My mouth dropped open, and I snapped it closed. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Interesting choice of words, considering your arteries . . .”
“You’re not very subtle, Miss Carly.”
“No one ever said I was, Mr. Braxton.”
Looking around the shop, he said, “I’m in the market for one of your love potions.”
I nearly laughed. “Maybe my matchmaking services might come in handy first.”
“No need. I already have my sights set on the perfect woman.”
I wasn’t sure if I was happy for him or scared for her. “Who?”
He shook his head. “Not telling.”
Probably so I couldn’t warn her. “My love potions have contingencies,” I said, explaining about the Backbone Effect.
“Sounds fishy to me that you can’t guarantee the results. What kind of establishment are you running here?”
I set my jaw. “Do you want the potion or not?”
He wavered for only a second. “I’ll take it.”
I grabbed a red potion bottle from the wall and set to making the magical formula. Johnny watched me like a hawk through the pass-through.
“What are you doing in there?” he asked.
“Working.”
I thought I saw his lip twitch. Or maybe it was a hallucination from bumping my head too hard last night.
I quickly wrapped the bottle, set the room back to rights, and set the boxed potion on the counter. “A little goes a long way. The directions are on the tag.”
Handing over his credit card, he said, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
As I ran the card through the machine, I thought I detected a derisive undertone to his comment. But when I glanced at him, there was no facial expression or look in his eye to substantiate what I thought I’d heard.
“Sign here,” I said, sliding the paper over to him.
Chuckling, he said, “With prices like that, I think I’m in the wrong business.”
I slid the potion box into a bag and forced a smile. I probably looked a little like the Big Bad Wolf when he first met Little Red Riding Hood. “Have yourself a good day, Mr. Braxton. You might want to consider walking really slowly home. Keeping your pulse low.”
His hand went again to his sternum, and he frowned at me before turning around and striding out the door like a bull on a charge to prove some sort of point.
He can’t say I didn’t warn him.
• • •
I turned the Closed sign to Open, seeing as how no one was paying a lick of attention to it anyway, and set to cleaning up the broken glass at the end of the hallway.
From the supply closet I grabbed a broom (not my fancy new one), a dustpan, and a paper sack. I kept my gaze averted from the break room while I swept up shards of glass. I’d start the major renovation in there as soon as possible.
My mind was abuzz as I worked, flitting between Johnny Braxton and his mystery woman and everything else that had gone on in the past few days. As I bent to swish the pile of glass into the metal dustpan, I couldn’t help but peek inside the break room.
It took no effort at all to conjure the image of Nelson on the floor in there, and though the floor had been scrubbed clean I could easily picture the pool of blood and exactly where it had been.
The glass made a beautiful tinkling noise as I dropped it into the sack. I sat on my haunches, staring into the little room and reflecting on why Coach had put him in there, reflecting on how he’d lost his mind. He probably had a good shot at an insanity defense, which kind of terrified me, thinking he might one day be let out, free to come after me again.
Standing, I shoved
the broom into the tightest corners and dragged it backward. The cracks in the old wooden floorboards were being stubborn about releasing the tiny shards of glass. I set the broom aside and pulled the vacuum from the supply closet, attached the soft brush, and took great pleasure in hearing the bits of glass being sucked through the tube.
I was just about done when I spotted something glistening in the crack between the wooden floor and the baseboard. I ran the vacuum hose over it several times, but the object wouldn’t budge.
Bending down for a closer look, I saw it wasn’t a piece of glass at all. It was something shinier. Sterling or white gold or platinum. I shut down the vacuum and went in search of something long enough to poke the object out of its spot.
I snatched two pens from the cup next to the cash register and went to work on the shiny trinket. Poking this way and that, I tried to pry it out, but it was having none of it.
Sitting back, I tried to imagine what it was. Maybe something my grandma Adelaide had lost decades ago?
Excitement flowed through me at the prospect, almost making me forget about my troubles over the past couple of days. I had to free the bauble.
Inspiration struck while I stared in the supply closet. There was an old chisel in there, left over from who knew when. I grabbed that and the hammer. If the shiny bit wouldn’t come out with the baseboard on . . . I’d just take the baseboard off.
I stuck the chisel into the crack between the baseboard and the wall, wedged it just so, and banged it with my hammer.
I eyed the result. Not so good. I’d lifted the hammer to bang it again when I heard the front door of the shop open.
“Carly?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Hey, Dudley.”
He came down the hallway and knelt next to me. “What’re you doing?”
“A rescue attempt of an unknown shiny object.” At his blank look, I clarified. “Something’s stuck in the crack down there, and I want to get it out. Did you need something?”
“A healing potion.”
I leaned back. His face was pale, his eyes troubled. I tapped into his energy and my stomach ached something fierce. “The doctor’s treatment not working on your ulcer?”
A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery Page 24
