by Morgana Best
“Don’t you think?” Thyme asked.
I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t even realized she was talking to me. “About what?” I asked.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “About a new line of cakes for Victor. We want to make a big impression, after all, and we haven’t gone through all of your aunt’s old recipes yet. I just went over all this! Weren’t you listening?” She puffed out her cheeks angrily.
“Sorry, Thyme. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” I tried my best to smile, but only managed a weak kind of grimace, which was probably as unflattering as it was unbelievable.
“Cheer up!” Thyme was beaming again. “Everything’s looking up. Just try your best to be happy for a night, and we’ll work everything out tomorrow. Deal?”
Thyme was so sincere that I couldn’t help but cheer up, if only a little. “All right, you win,” I said with a sigh. “But we’ll need a lot of grog.”
Thyme smiled and poured me a glass of wine, which I quickly downed and passed back to her. She wisely refilled it and handed it straight back, knowing full well that when I said ‘a lot of grog’, I meant it.
I assured Thyme that I was starting to have fun, and let her go socialize on her own. Besides, it was true—I was halfway through my second glass, and I was never one to handle my alcohol well. Still, I was a bit distracted by everything that was happening, and decided to talk to Simone.
I found her before long, wrapping up a conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. I saw my opportunity and walked over to her. “Hi Simone!” I said, smiling sincerely.
“Hello, Amelia. This is going well!” She smiled back and gestured around the room.
“It is, thank you, but I was hoping you could help me make it a little better. Do you ever do wedding makeup?”
Simone raised an eyebrow. “I do, yes, but I didn’t realize you were planning to get married. May I ask who the lucky man is?”
“Oh, no! No! It’s not like that,” I stammered. “I was wondering if you know any wedding planners. We’d like to start catering weddings, and I figured the best first step would be to contact some planners.”
“Oh, of course.” When she realized I wasn’t getting married, a look of understanding washed over her, which probably would have offended me more if I wasn’t already distracted and slightly inebriated. “I can pass along some emails to you tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“That’s great, thank you!” I hoped I didn’t sound too forced, because I meant it. Having wedding planners as well as Victor making large orders from us could really benefit the business. “Do you…”
Before I could finish, from over Simone’s shoulder, I saw Thyme approach frantically. “Excuse me, we’ll chat later. Thanks again.” I smiled and brushed past her, eager to see what had made Thyme so flustered.
“It’s Kayleen.” Thyme was clearly upset. I sighed deeply. You could always trust Kayleen to ruin a good thing. “What’s she done this time?” I asked, not really sure if I wanted to know. “Eaten all the samplers?”
“Well, not yet, but she’s getting there.” Thyme replied, pointing toward the mean mail lady at the sampler table. I’d only asked as a sort of mean joke, but it turns out that Kayleen was well on her way to actually eating all the samplers. Like some kind of food-consuming machine, she was shoveling them into her mouth one after the other. I’d say she was eating like a pig, but I wouldn’t want to insult porcine-kind. I decided that I had to put a stop to it before she made her way into the back room and ate our ingredients.
“Hello, Kayleen,” I said, grimly. “I’m afraid these are just samplers, so everybody can have one and see which they like best.”
“Yes, I know,” she managed to reply between mouthfuls. “I have to eat a few before I’m sure. You make these samples much too small.”
If only you’d been made a bit smaller, I thought, but held back from saying anything.
“Hello, ladies.” It was Craig. He appeared from behind Kayleen, a sample cake in each hand. “How’s everything going?”
I finished the rest of my drink and immediately knew I needed a lot more. I’d been on my way to relaxation, but seeing Craig again had set me on edge. “Excuse me,” I said bluntly, not bothering to smile. I headed back to refill, downed it nearly instantly and refilled again—much better.
As I turned back to look for Thyme, I found myself standing toe-to-toe with a tall, middle-aged man. He greeted me with a friendly smile. “Hello, I’m David, Kayleen’s husband.”
My mouth fell open. “Oh, uh, hello.” I managed to sputter out a sentence. “I didn’t realize Kayleen was married.” He looked a bit hurt when I mentioned this fact. “Oh, but I don’t know her very well,” I hurried to add. It was true, I suppose, which made me feel a bit better. Of course, the reason I didn’t know her very well was because I was trying very hard not to.
“Ah, well, of course. I think I know you, though. You’re Amelia, yes?” David had difficulty maintaining eye contact as he asked, and didn’t seem very confident in his speech, though he came across as friendly. I immediately felt bad for him, given that he was married to Kayleen.
“I am, yes. Thank you for coming. I believe I saw Kayleen over at the sample table earlier, if you’re looking for her.” I almost felt bad about directing him to her, but I felt much worse when I saw her hand a cake to Craig and gently squeeze his hand. David turned to look.
“Uh, but, that was a while ago!” I said urgently, pointing in the other direction. “She might have even left by now, for all I know.” I couldn’t care less if Kayleen got what was coming to her—in fact, I’d probably enjoy it more than is healthy—but David didn’t seem like the sort of person who deserved to have his heart broken. Of course, if he really loved Kayleen, there was probably something wrong with his heart in the first place. I was conflicted, but had enough on my plate as it was, and didn’t need to deal with relationship drama.
“Yes, she does occasionally leave without me, so you might be right.” He managed a sad kind of smile. “Well, Amelia, best of luck with the rest of the night. I believe I’ll try to find my wife.”
She’s hard to miss, I thought to myself, but responded with the kindest wave I could muster.
Chapter 7
I made my way through the driving rain to Ruprecht’s store, Glinda’s, which sold both antiques and books. It had a decidedly wizard-like atmosphere and looked more like Dumbledore’s office than anything. Ancient leather-bound books lined the shelves, and the scent of sandalwood and more exotic incenses that I could not name wafted from one end of the store to the other.
It was Sunday morning and that mercifully meant no work. Ruprecht had summoned us to talk about Sue’s death.
Mint met me at the door. I shook out my umbrella and placed it in the umbrella rack inside the door, and then jumped as a loud crack of thunder rattled and shook the floor. In the mountainous area of New England, Australia, violent thunderstorms are frequent in the spring and summer months of the year. In fact, I had woken up to a tree down over my front fence. I would have to figure out what to do about that later.
“Tea?” Ruprecht said as soon as he saw me. He held up a tall green teapot adorned with zigzags and pin stripes as well as stylized shapes of flowers. “It’s a new one I’m trying, Melbourne Breakfast tea. It has notes of vanilla.”
“Yes, please.” I looked around the table. I was the last to arrive. Thyme was patting Camino on the shoulder. Camino’s eyes were red and swollen, obvious even in the flickering candlelight.
“Are we going to do a spell?” I asked, looking at the candles in the center of the table.
Ruprecht shook his head. “No, the power’s out, thanks to the storm.”
I nodded and sat down. I liked thunderstorms, with the electricity hanging on the air, bringing the promise of something to come. The same feeling of something looming filled the room now.
“She was murdered, I tell you!” Camino blurted out.
Thyme and I exchang
ed glances. I had no idea how to respond, and I guessed the others felt that way too, because Camino’s outburst was followed by a long silence. Ruprecht made a show of pouring tea.
“I did a divination and it was a murder,” Camino finally said.
We all nodded. “But how?” I said. “If Sue was murdered by anyone present that night, it would have to be Madison, because it wasn’t one of us.”
“What was she murdered with?” Thyme asked. “What was the murder weapon?”
“She wasn’t stabbed or anything,” I said. “What about poison?”
Camino was crying softly into a tissue. “I wasn’t able to do a divination to see what killed Sue,” she said, “because I already thought it must be poison, given that we know that she wasn’t shot or stabbed, and so on. That would’ve clouded any divination I attempted to do.”
I had learned that much about divination in my short time of being a witch, or rather, in my short time of knowing that I am a witch.
Ruprecht poured himself another cup of tea. “Logic dictates that it was poison.”
“And given that Sue died at Camino’s, the poison must have been given to her just before she went to Camino’s that night,” I said.
Mint shook her head. “Some poisons build up in the system. It’s possible she was poisoned over a period of days, even weeks.”
“Sue didn’t have any enemies,” Camino said softly.
Ruprecht leaned over to pat her hand. “She clearly had one.”
A single tear trickled down Camino’s cheek.
“Should we make a list of suspects?” Mint asked.
Ruprecht shook his head. “No. Let’s leave this to the police.”
Camino appeared not to have heard him. “I’ve been up all night thinking of suspects, but I can’t think of anyone who would have a motive. Sue was a wealthy woman and her sister, Barbara, will inherit everything, as far as I know, but would Sue’s sister murder her? I think not.”
Ruprecht opened his mouth, but Camino went on. “And who else would have a motive, apart from Madison?”
“Madison?” we all said at once.
“Madison had a motive?” I asked, shocked.
Camino waved her hand in dismissal. “Madison didn’t do it,” she said firmly. At that moment, the lights flickered and then came back on.
Thyme leaned across the table. “But why did you say Madison had a motive?”
Two faint spots of color appeared on Camino’s cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said anything, so this is confidential. I promised Sue I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She looked around the table before continuing. “Sue was having an affair with Bob.”
The others gasped, but I was still in the dark. “Who is Bob?” I asked.
“Madison’s husband,” Camino informed me, while the other three all spoke at once.
Ruprecht held up a hand for silence. I ignored him and pushed on. “But I thought that Sue and Madison were friends.”
Camino shrugged. “I didn’t say Sue was a saint, and I have no idea if Madison knew about the affair. Sue wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to scold her about it. She kept insisting she was in love with Bob. She was sure he was going to leave Madison for her.”
“No doubt the affair hadn’t been going on for long,” Thyme said.
Mint looked puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
“Small country town,” I said. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
Ruprecht smiled. “You’re a fast learner, Amelia, and what you say is indeed true.”
Camino nodded. “Yes, that’s right. It hadn’t been going on long.”
“All the more reason for Madison to be a suspect,” I said. “You know, she could easily have slipped something into Sue’s drink while we were playing Clue.”
No one spoke, but I could tell by the looks on their faces that they all agreed with me—well, with the exception of Camino.
“I’ve been friends with Madison for years,” she said. “She’s not capable of murder. And mind you, it put me in a difficult spot, what with Sue telling me about her affair with Bob. If Madison found out that I knew, she’d be upset with me for not telling her.”
I murmured my sympathy. I was beginning to see Sue in a whole new light.
“Nevertheless, that is up to the police to decide,” Ruprecht said firmly. “No good will come of our involvement in the matter; mark my words.”
Camino snorted. “Hmpf! I think we should give the police some help.”
Ruprecht made to protest, but Camino forestalled him. “I mean a spell.”
“A spell?” I echoed.
Camino nodded. “Yes. A spell to ensure that the cops will find out that it was murder and not natural causes. A spell to make sure that they actually find the murderer.”
Ruprecht let out a long sigh of resignation. “All right.” He stood up. “I’ll go get what we need.”
Camino also stood up. “I’ll help you.”
“Do you both think it was Madison?” Mint whispered to us as soon as they’d left the room.
I shrugged. “Not a clue. She surely has to be a suspect, though, given that Sue was having an affair with her husband, and given that she and Sue had been friends for years. Madison must have felt awfully betrayed.”
“We don’t even know if Madison knew that Sue and Bob were having an affair,” Thyme pointed out.
Ruprecht’s return to the room stopped any further speculation. He deposited a white skull candle on the table. “Now,” he started, turning to us, “I will inscribe ‘Find the truth’ on the candle and anoint it with Clarity Oil. Amelia, Clarity Oil is made with rosemary, thyme, sage, and parsley. Well, that’s the way I make it, at least. Many use lemongrass as well.”
I nodded. I was sure I would never remember all of this.
“We will burn Solomon’s Seal root with Bay Laurel leaves to bring clarity, insight, and wisdom,” he continued.
“There’s always the black hen’s eggs,” Camino said.
Thyme gasped. “Surely you’re not thinking…”
Ruprecht interrupted her. “No!” he exclaimed. “It would be too difficult to do. Besides, we are doing a spell purely and simply so the police will find the murderer.”
I shook my head. “This is all going over my head like the joke about the ceiling. Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”
“Black hen’s eggs,” Camino said. “You put one in each hand of the murder victim, and then bury the victim with them. When the eggs break, the killer will unintentionally reveal himself or herself as the murderer.”
I thought that through for a moment. “But how do you put the eggs there with no one knowing about it?”
Ruprecht folded his arms across his chest. “Precisely!”
Chapter 8
Early the following morning, I went to Camino’s to check on her before I went to work. She greeted me at the front door, and I did a double take. This time she was wearing an oversized emu onesie. The brown-gray ruffles around her hips made her look like something out of a horror movie, and the beak on her head was as large as it was terrifying. She did indeed look like a giant emu, and an unfriendly one at that.
Camino had only just shut the door behind me when there was another knock. She opened it, and I could see past her to two men in suits. The one in front gasped and clutched at his throat when he saw Camino/Giant Emu. I didn’t blame him.
The other man stepped forward. “Mrs. Abre? I’m Detective Marsters and this is Detective Stewart. May we ask you some questions?”
Camino and I exchanged glances, but before I could speak, Marsters looked at me. “And you are?”
“Amelia Spelled. I live next door.”
He nodded. “Ah, Ms. Spelled. Yes, you were present. We need to speak with you, too. Detective Stewart will question you in the other room, and I will question Mrs. Abre here.”
And with that, Stewart ushered me into the hallway and then into the kitchen. I was surprised how quickly the spell had worked
. The fact that detectives were here meant that the police had now discovered that Sue was murdered.
The detective wasted no time in coming to the point. He pulled a long, silver pen and a notepad from his pocket, and without even looking at me asked, “How long have you known Mrs. Beckett?”
“I only met her that night,” I said, feeling guilty, although I had no reason to feel that way.
The detective looked up at me then. “So you only met her that night?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “Only that night.” I had a feeling he didn’t believe me, so I added, “I only just moved to town recently and I only met Camino and the other people in the town then.”
“I see,” he said. “And how did she seem? Was she anxious, or worried? Did she appear to be well?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t expecting her to die, so I wasn’t really studying her. Aloud I said, “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Did she seem short of breath or complain of being ill?”
I tried to recall. “No, she didn’t say she was ill, but she did appear to be short of breath. I do remember her gasping from time to time. I thought it was just part of playing the game. She did look quite pale, but I don’t know if she always looked that way,”
“I see,” he said yet again, scribbling furiously on his pad. “And did you all eat and drink what Mrs. Beckett ate and drank?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure she didn’t eat or drink anything different. She did ask for a glass of water, though.”
The detective once more looked up from his scribbling. “And you’ve never heard mention of the woman around town before?”
