Sit for a Spell (The Kitchen Witch, Book 3): (Witch Cozy Mystery series)

by Morgana Best

  Ruprecht laid down his pointer and stepped forward. “Amelia, I have always tried to tell you that practical aspects go hand in hand with spell work. As I have always said to you, if someone is looking for a job, that person not only does a spell for a job but must also do the practical work of applying for jobs. They cannot rely on the spell alone. The two go hand-in-hand. We must take practical measures as well, and then, rest assured, the murderer will reveal him or herself.”

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice.

  “Amelia, I have a job for you.”

  I stood up. “No!” I screeched. “Please don’t make me. I can’t go through it again. It was bad enough having to make up a poem on the spot, and then I had to impersonate Camino!” I shuddered at the memories. “What is it now?”

  Ruprecht did his best to stop laughing, or so it seemed to me. “Nothing as bad as that this time, Amelia,” he said. “I overheard you talking to Simone at the Customer Appreciation Night and you mentioned you would make an appointment soon.”

  I wondered where he was going with this. “Yes. I’m overdue to have my eyebrows and eyelashes tinted and my eyebrows waxed.”

  “Well,” Ruprecht said, “how would you feel about making an appointment with Simone as soon as possible?”

  I pulled a face. “What’s the catch?”

  Ruprecht smiled. “Nothing, really. There must be some reason that the police didn’t arrest Simone. Just ask questions and snoop around. You don’t need to go over the top. Just play it by ear. If beauty therapists are anything like hairdressers, I imagine that they talk a lot.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I said. “I suppose that won’t be so bad. I was meaning to make an appointment soon, anyway. What sort of things do you want me to ask her?”

  He shrugged. “You could ask her if she’s had any robberies there lately, and perhaps ask her if anyone has requested to buy Botox from her. I’m sure it would be illegal for her to sell it, but it won’t hurt to ask her if anyone has made such a request.”

  “I suppose I could do that.” I couldn’t see any harm in asking simple questions while I was having my regular appointment, but that didn’t stop the horribly apprehensive feeling gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Still, I couldn’t see what could go wrong.

  As it turned out, Simone was able to fit me in that very afternoon. My eyebrows and eyelashes had both faded, and my eyebrows did need a good waxing, but knowing I was going there with an ulterior motive made me most nervous.

  “Dark brown, as usual?” Simone asked as she ushered me into the treatment room.

  “Yes, please,” I said. “Sorry my eyebrows are so overdue.”

  “No worries,” Simone said. “That’s what I’m here for. It might just hurt a bit more than usual.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I never find eyebrows are too painful, anyway.”

  While Simone was applying the hot wax to my eyebrows, I kept quiet. I didn’t want to make her annoyed while she was armed with hot wax.

  As soon as she ripped off the wax, she started applying the tint to my eyebrows and eyelashes. I took my opportunity to speak. “That’s a terrible thing that happened to Camino, isn’t it?” I said.

  “You mean being arrested for Sue’s murder,” Simone said.

  “Yes. You don’t think she did it, do you?” I asked her.

  Simone paused to look at me. “No, of course not!” she exclaimed.

  I pushed on. “Did the police question you?”

  Simone started applying the tint again. “Yes, they gave me the third degree,” she said. “I was very worried, given that Sue was poisoned with Botox. The police came and took samples from me. In fact, they searched the whole place and my home as well. It was an absolute nightmare.”

  “Just as well they didn’t think you were the murderer, then, given that you had the murder weapon in your possession.” I was careful to make my tone even.

  Simone did not appear to be offended. “Yes, they actually told me that because Sue had Botox treatment every three months, and had done so for years, that the murderer would have known that, and that’s why the murderer poisoned her with Botox on the very same day.”

  “Do they know how the murderer got the Botox?” I asked her. “Have you had any robberies or anything like that lately?”

  “No,” Simone said. “Of course, the police asked me that, too. The police told me that Botox is easy to get in Mexico.”

  “Mexico!” I exclaimed. “So that’s why they were asking everyone if they had been to Mexico.”

  Simone shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “Has anyone ever tried to buy Botox from you?” I asked her.

  “No,” Simone said. “Of course I wouldn’t sell it to anyone, but no one has ever asked me.”

  “So the police think someone bought the Botox in Mexico?” I asked her.

  “No idea,” she said. “Now, Amelia, this tint has to stay on for fifteen minutes, as usual. Remember not to open your eyes or squint, or the tint will get into your eyes and sting. I have to leave the room for a few minutes because my husband’s coming in to do the books today.” She didn’t sound pleased at the prospect, and I wondered about the state of their relationship.

  I lay in the dark—the dark caused by my eyes being tightly shut—listening to what was meant to be soothing music. However, my overactive imagination sent me visions of Simone slipping in and stabbing me. I was terrified lying there, having my eyes firmly shut. What if Simone was the murderer? I had just asked her questions. What if that alarmed her and she decided to do away with me? I could hardly defend myself when I was lying on a beauty therapy table with my eyes shut. I broke out in a cold sweat. I tried to calm my breathing so I could hear if anyone was in the room with me.

  After what seemed an age, I heard the door open. “Who’s there?” I said in alarm.

  “It’s only me,” Simone’s voice said. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes, I’m fine,” I lied. “Is it time to take the tint off yet?”

  “Is it stinging? I have a bowl of warm water with me.”

  To my relief, Simone removed the excess tint from my eyebrows and my eyelashes without stabbing me once.

  Emboldened by my relief over that fact, I thought I should get in a few more questions before the appointment was over. “Simone, you didn’t have anything against Sue, did you?”

  “What do you mean?” Simone said abstractly as she applied some soothing cream to the area under my eyebrows.

  “Oh, nothing at all,” I said. I mean, she would hardly admit it to me, would she?

  “Did the police say if Sue was injected with Botox, or was it slipped into her food or drink?” I asked her.

  “I wouldn’t have a clue,” Simone said. “They were the ones asking all the questions. I can tell you, Amelia, I’m so glad that I wasn’t the one they arrested. Oh sorry, I don’t mean I was glad they arrested Camino, but I was sure glad they didn’t arrest me. I mean, after all, I was the one with the Botox. I thought that put me in a very bad position.”

  I agreed. “Whoever the murderer was, they must’ve wanted it to look like it was you, or Camino.”

  Simone appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. “Now, Amelia, can I book you in for four weeks’ time? You really can’t let your eyebrows get into such a state again.”

  “Sure,” I said. I followed Simone out into her desk area, where she booked me in and handed me an appointment card. I noticed a surly man sitting behind the counter. He kept glaring at me. It finally dawned on me who he was. “Hello Victor,” I said. It was Simone’s husband, of course, the owner of the conference center. For a moment, I had forgotten that they were married. I said goodbye to Simone and was about to leave, but Victor spoke up.

  “Can I have a word with you, Amelia?” he asked. “Outside.”

  I nodded. “Of course.” I figured that he wanted to speak with me about catering and cupcakes.

  When we stepped outside, Victor’s demeanor becam
e threatening. He loomed over me, and I involuntarily took a step backward.

  “So, Amelia, how well did you know Sue Beckett?”

  I felt defensive, and I didn’t know why. “Well, I met her for the first and only time at Camino’s that night, playing Clue.”

  Victor snarled at me. His lips peeled back, showing his teeth, and an ugly vein popped out in his neck. He looked for all the world like a wild animal. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “I am. Why do you ask? I don’t understand why you’re asking me this.” I tried to act as if I were not feeling threatened.

  He did not respond, but simply asked me another question. “Sue Beckett and your friend, Camino Abre, were very close, weren’t they?”

  I took another step back. “I don’t think they especially were. I met Sue for the first time that night, as I just told you, and I do see a lot of Camino. I had never seen the two of them together before.”

  “I overheard you asking my wife some very nosy questions,” he said. “I think you’d be better off not sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m just telling you to mind your own business, or someone else will mind it for you, missy.” He shook his finger in my face.

  Chapter 22

  “Is everything all right here?”

  I swung around to see Alder hurrying up to us.

  Victor spun on his heel and ducked back into the building, slamming the door behind him.

  “What was that all about?” Alder asked me.

  “I’m pretty sure Victor just threatened me,” I said. “He said he overheard me asking his wife, Simone, questions. I was just in there having my eyebrows done.”

  “And they look very nice indeed.” Alder was being charming, as usual.

  I smiled, and my breathing returned to normal—sort of. Victor had given me quite the fright, but Alder raised my breathing and heart rates for an entirely different reason.

  Alder frowned. “Victor has an unfortunate personality. I’ve never heard anyone with a good word for him. And what questions did you ask Simone?”

  “We all figured that the police must’ve had a good reason for not arresting Simone, given that Sue was murdered with botulinum, and Simone does Botox treatments. She told me that she’d given Sue Botox treatments on a regular basis, and I asked her if the police let on whether Sue was killed with a Botox injection or whether botulinum was slipped into her food or drink. I also asked her if anyone had ever attempted to buy Botox from her.”

  “Well, I’m impressed,” Alder said. “Maybe I should hire you.”

  I smiled again. “Maybe you should, but everyone knows I’m just the most fabulous baker.” We both laughed at that one.

  “And what information did you get from her?”

  “Nothing at all, really. She said no one had ever tried to buy Botox from her, and she said she had nothing against Sue. She said Sue religiously came to her for a Botox treatment every three months.”

  Alder nodded. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Anyway, I was coming to see you.”

  “You were?” I hoped I didn’t sound as ridiculously happy as I was. The chemistry between us was so strong that I could almost hear the air crackling. I hoped it wasn’t my imagination. I hoped Alder felt it too, at least in some measure.

  He nodded. “Yes. What are your plans for tonight?”

  My plans for that night had been to hurry over to Glinda’s and tell the others what Simone had said, and how I had felt threatened by Victor. Of course, since I was in my right mind—although some would contest that—I would hardly say that to Alder. Instead I said, “Nothing.”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” he asked.

  I forced myself to hesitate for a moment. I didn’t want to look too keen. After what seemed to me to be the right interval, I said, “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  “Is now too soon for dinner?”

  “No, now would be just perfect,” I gushed and then silently chided myself.

  “Would you like to go to the Italian restaurant?”

  “Yes, I love Italians.” Wait, did I just say that? I’d meant to say ‘Italian’. Alder was Italian, so I hoped he didn’t read anything into my remark.

  “I have some interesting, although disturbing, news I want to share with you. I would tell the others, too, but of course that’s impossible, given that they don’t trust me.”

  “Oh.” I was crestfallen. This must be a business dinner, after all. I hoped my disappointment didn’t show on my face.

  There weren’t many restaurants in Bayberry Creek. I had only been to the Italian restaurant once or twice. There were two pubs that had good restaurants (as did most Aussie pubs), one motel with a good restaurant, and two Chinese restaurants, one of them good. The Italian restaurant was next door to my favorite coffee shop.

  We walked straight there. I thought again that Alder smelled like an old witch—in a good way that is—like ancient white sage. I had only been to Britain once, but Alder was someone I would expect to find there, under a tree of his namesake, or under ivy, or perhaps at a gate to a fairy grove. He reminded me of one of those people of legend who would appear to someone and ask them to accompany him back into an underground cavern to meet the queen of the fairies.

  It was an intimate atmosphere. I noticed that fact as soon as I walked through the door. It was old and quaint, with walls in mismatched colors. One wall was a kind of a cross between burgundy and salmon, while the other wall appeared to be a mustard with a gold paint effect overlay, one of the paint effects that was popular late last century. Paintings and prints covered most of the mustard-colored wall, leaving not much paint to be seen. There appear to be no rhyme or reason to the paintings. On closer inspection, I saw they all had prices marked on them. Along another wall were many books haphazardly stacked along old wooden bookshelves. The books all appeared to be old, leather-bound and decaying. From them, an ancient musty scent emanated and pervaded the entire room.

  Still, all of that only served to add to the cozy atmosphere. There were dimmed, yellowed lights over the tables, and the only bright light came in the form of two low-hanging pendant lights over the service area. In fact, they were so low that the tallest staff member had to keep ducking to avoid hitting his head on them.

  The tablecloths likewise were mismatched. Some were bright red and white checks, while others were solid navy blue. There was one white one, and the rest looked like something an ancient granny had stored in a chest in an attic. On the other hand, the chairs all matched each other. They appeared to be from the Edwardian era, and looked somewhat uncomfortable. All around the room were thin wooden lampstands with shades adorned with fringes. These reminded me of lamps in bordellos in old western movies.

  The tall waiter greeted Alder enthusiastically, seizing his hand and shaking it vigorously. He showed us to a table at the back of the room, the most dimly-lit table in the room. A pang of jealousy assaulted me, and I wondered if Alder was in the habit of bringing women here.

  The waiter asked us what we would like to drink, and promised to return promptly with water. I looked at the menu, feeling awfully nervous being here alone with Alder. For some reason, I was even more nervous than when I had been alone with him in his house.

  When the waiter left, Alder leaned forward. He looked to me like a sexy vampire in one of those movies where the vampire is always portrayed as dashing rather than a bloodthirsty beast.

  “Now the reason I wanted to speak with you,” he said, “apart from wanting your company, is that Frida McGeever came to see me today. Do you know her?”

  I was puzzled. “No, I’ve never heard of her.”

  “She has that little knitting and crochet shop next to the hairdresser in the Main Street.”

  “Well, that’s why I’ve never heard of her,” I said. “My knitting is on the same level as my baking.”

  Alder laughed. I could barely
take my eyes from him. He had to be the most attractive man I’d ever seen. “To come straight to the point, she came to see me to tell me that Sue Beckett had been blackmailing her.”

  I had no idea what that was all about. This was all getting stranger and stranger. I felt like I had fallen into a chapter of Alice in Wonderland.

  I was keen to hear what he had to say next. Just then the waiter returned and asked us if we would need more time to see the menu. We both said that we would. I hadn’t so much as looked at the menu yet. To my disappointment, instead of telling me what Frida McGeever had told him, Alder left me in suspense while he perused the menu.

  To make matters worse, the waiter hovered over us. For that reason, I chose the first thing I saw that looked okay, cauliflower with pine nuts and mint. The menu described it as served with roasted Dutch carrots sprinkled with toasted pine nuts and coated with cashew cream.

  I sure hope it tasted okay. Alder ordered the tempura saltbush. That sounded a little adventurous to me; it sounded like something that Bear Grylls would eat.

  At least the waiter left at that point, so I waited for Alder to continue his story.

  “I’ll have to give you some background information,” he said. “Some months ago, Frida’s husband, Tom, employed my services to ascertain whether Frida was having an affair.” He held up his hand. “The name of my client, needless to say, is confidential?” He said it as a question rather than a statement.

  I nodded, wondering where all this was going. “Of course,” I said hurriedly.

  “As I said, Tom came to see me to ask me to look into whether Frida was having an affair. He didn’t have any suspects in mind, but he said she often hung up her cell phone when he entered the room and she was often home late. In fact, one time she said she was staying overnight with a certain friend of hers, but then he later found out that the friend was in another state at the time.”

  “And she was having an affair?”

  Alder nodded. “Yes, she sure was, and with two different men.”

  “Well,” I said. “Bayberry Creek seems like such a sleepy little town. I had no idea such things went on here.”