by Morgana Best
One thing I knew, he didn’t want me for my cooking.
Chapter 8
I was walking from the restaurant back to my shop, to see if the police would allow me back in yet. I was sure that they wouldn’t, but it was worth a try. I was full of the warm and fuzzies after having lunch with Alder.
I saw Craig ahead of me and hurried to catch him. He saw me too, and suddenly turned and tried to cross the road. Unluckily for him, a truck went past at that moment and he had to wait. I quickened my pace and called to him.
“Hello, Amelia. I didn’t see you there,” he said in what was an obvious lie.
“That must’ve been a terrible thing for you to see,” I said. It was the first thing that came into my mind as a lead in to the subject of Scott Plank.
“What do you mean?” Craig said all too defensively. “I didn’t see him being murdered, of course. I wasn’t in your store when it happened. Did you tell the police that I was?” His tone had changed to belligerent.
“Of course not,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “I assume you left the shop before whoever it was strangled him.”
Craig nodded furiously. “That’s right.”
“Did you see anyone go to the store?”
“No.” Craig clearly wanted to be anywhere other than speaking to me.
“Still, it must’ve been a shock for you. I assume you knew the man.” I did my best to make my tone sympathetic.
“No, I didn’t know him at all. Not at all.” And with that, Craig hurried across cross the road, shooting a backward glance at me.
I would have to check into that. Craig was none too comfortable talking about the victim, and I found it hard to believe that two long term residents in the same small town didn’t know each other. Craig didn’t like me, and Kayleen particularly despised me, so if they did have reason to kill the man, then I had no doubt that they would plan to do so in my shop.
Yet they were in my shop buying cupcakes before the victim even came in. That surely meant that they hadn’t planned to kill him at that moment. Perhaps they took advantage of the opportunity, but that would mean that Craig had rope in his pocket. It just didn’t add up. There had to be more to it.
I reached my shop and saw to my dismay that yellow tape was still across my doorway. There were two police vehicles parked outside. I shouldn’t have been surprised, because the detectives had said they would call me when they had finished with the scene of the crime, as they put it. I was about to turn away and head for home when I saw Thyme waving from across the street. She hurried over to me. “Have you seen that spirit creature thingy again?”
I laughed. “Is that a technical term?” She laughed, too. “You’ll be glad to know I haven’t seen it since the police questioning,” I said. “I hope that isn’t just a temporary absence and that it’s gone for good.”
Thyme shook her head. “Don’t get your hopes up on that one, Amelia. Ruprecht said it won’t go away by itself—someone will need to send it away with a spell. At least there haven’t been any more murders in town.”
“Great,” I said, considering that was a good thing. Of course, murder is never a good thing, but I thought that if the entity was, in fact, homicidal, then it would have gone on a killing spree by now. “Well, it looks as if the two of us have the rest of the day off and probably tomorrow as well,” I added, “and goodness knows how long after that.”
Thyme nodded to the police tape. “It will probably be open in a couple of days. They’re taking cake samples and fingerprints—what else can they be doing?”
I shrugged. “Who knows! Perhaps having a big feast on my cupcakes back at the police station.”
Thyme chuckled. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I’ve heard the news.”
I was momentarily alarmed. Did she mean that she knew I’d had lunch with Alder? “What news?” I said, somewhat defensively.
“You know, the news. Ruprecht translated some of the Latin text.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh yes. He said it isn’t necessarily an evil entity, but it might be.”
Thyme patted me on the shoulder. “Why don’t we go back to your place? Ruprecht wants us to make a list of suspects. Of course, he doesn’t want us to speak to anyone or do anything. Just make lists, I suppose.”
“Yes, we need to find out if the murderer was a human, because then we’ll know what to do with the entity. Ruprecht said something about that. Come on home and we’ll figure it out.”
Thyme and I bought take-out coffee on the way, and Thyme insisted on getting take-out noodles. I didn’t want to tell her that I just had lunch with Alder, so I would just have to try to eat the second lunch. I’d be horribly overweight if my friends didn’t accept Alder any time soon.
It was a lovely sunny day, not too hot and not too cold. The only dark cloud in the sky was the murder of Scott Plank, so to speak.
As we walked up the front steps, the front door flew open. Thyme and I exchanged glances. I could hear the TV blaring, and walked into the living room. “Can you turn that off, or down?” Thyme asked me.
I shook my head. “No, the house is watching a Game of Thrones marathon. No spoilers by the way, or the house will get angry. It hasn’t seen Game of Thrones before.”
“It beats Jamie Oliver marathons,” Thyme said, “as much as I like the man, although I do think you should’ve watched Jamie Oliver to improve your baking.”
“I tried to do a spell for that,” I said dryly, “and look how that turned out.”
Just then, the house shook violently. Thyme clutched my arm. “What was that? Was it an earth tremor?”
I pointed to the TV. “No, the house does that every time somebody gets killed on Game of Thrones, and you know how often that happens! Oh look, now it’s Jon Snow.”
“But he…”
I put my finger to my mouth. “Shush! The house will get really angry if you mention any spoilers. Let’s go to my altar room.”
Thyme was clearly impressed. “You have an altar room now?”
I chuckled. “Yes, I figured that every Dark Witch needs an altar room.”
“Don’t you want to eat first?”
“I’m not hungry,” I said truthfully.
I led Thyme to a small room next to the kitchen. The room was fairly bare, with just a small table, on which were several candles and crystals, sitting next to a computer desk, complete with a laptop.
“Well, that’s a good start,” Thyme said approvingly.
“The house made the room for me.” I realized how weird that sounded after I’d said it, but the house could change rooms seemingly at will, and had created this extra room for me. It had a lovely view through a sash window over the side of the house that overlooked the paved area of the garden. It was a pretty view. Purple and white native violets grew wild from between the pavers, and scarlet coneflowers grew along the borders.
“It’s much quieter in here,” Thyme said.
I agreed. “The only thing is, I think the house wants the living room to itself.” I turned on the computer. “Hang on a sec, I’ll have to get you a chair.” I soon returned with a kitchen chair and placed it next to my chair. “Do you want to fetch your food?”
“Let’s write a list of suspects first,” Thyme suggested.
“That won’t take long.” I typed: Craig and Kayleen, entity. I leaned back on my chair. “Surely there must be other suspects.”
“Here, let me.”
I pushed the laptop across to Thyme, and she searched Scott Plank’s name. It brought up a long list of entries, most of them about the Council. Finally, Thyme flipped to Google Images. I gasped when I saw the top middle image. “There’s a photo of Scott playing football with Craig!”
“But that doesn’t mean anything, Amelia,” Thyme said. “They were on the same team.”
I shook my head. “I ran into Craig on my way to the shop just ten. I brought up the subject of Scott, and he insisted that he didn’t know him.”
Thyme tapp
ed her chin. “Well now, that is interesting.”
I thought it over for a moment. “Perhaps he only said that because I was asking questions. He was awfully defensive about it all.”
Thyme opened a word document. “We need to make a To Do list. First of all, we have to ask around to see if Craig or Kayleen had anything against the victim. Then we need to ask around to see if anyone else had anything against the victim.”
“Is that it?”
Thyme shrugged. “Can you think of anything else?”
The house rumbling again prevented me from answering. “George R.R. Martin must’ve done away with another character,” I said. “No, I can’t think of anything else. Any idea where to start asking?”
Thyme looked a little too pleased with herself. “I think it’s about time you had a haircut.”
I was puzzled. “What’s that got to do with anything? Besides, I’m trying to let my hair grow. Last time I just wanted a trim, but the stylist cut off this much.” I held my fingers apart to indicate the length.
Thyme did not look sympathetic. “Who knows everybody’s business? Hairdressers, that’s who! Call and make a booking and just bring up Scott Plank’s name. You won’t be able to stop the hairdresser talking.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why don’t you go to the hairdresser and ask her?”
“I’m going to. There are three hair salons in town. I’ll go to the one in the main street, and you can go to the one down that little lane right next to that café with the cranky owners.”
“Thyme, my math is nowhere near as bad as my baking. Who’s going to go to the third hairdresser? Camino or Mint?”
“No need. That hairdresser works from home, and she doesn’t gossip at all. She’s absolutely no use to us.”
I turned my attention back to the laptop, hoping Thyme would forget that she wanted me to go to a hairdresser. I was trying to grow my hair, after all, and I didn’t want to color it. I supposed I could go for a treatment. Finally, I uncovered something of interest. “Look, Thyme. The Council is having a wake for Scott tomorrow morning.”
Thyme crossed to peer at the screen. “That’s interesting,” she said. “They say it’s not a wake or a memorial service as such, but it’s for his colleagues at the Council and all interested members of the community to pay their respects. It says all are welcome to attend.”
I stood up and walked to the window to stretch my back. It had been improving considerably, but sitting still made it sore. “Why are they doing that?” I asked Thyme. “Why don’t they just wait until the funeral?”
“Because the police will likely be hanging onto his body for too long,” Thyme said. “I could take a week or two, possibly even longer, for the tests to come back. Don’t forget, they’re testing him for poisons.”
“But wouldn’t that be up to the family to hold a memorial service?”
Thyme shook her head. “The article stresses that it’s not a memorial service as such. It’s just some kind of a service to honor him.”
“I wonder why the Council’s doing that? I can’t see how they’ll make any money out of it.”
“Oh Amelia, you’ve become so cynical! I have no idea why they’re doing it, but one thing’s for sure, we have to go.”
I groaned. “But it will be all full of speeches, and really long boring ones at that. You know how I hate being bored.”
Thyme stood up and put her hands on her hips. “You said yourself that the shop won’t be open tomorrow, but it will probably be open the day after, so tomorrow will be our last good chance to snoop. Besides, don’t they always say that the murderer goes to the victim’s funeral?”
“But this isn’t a funeral, it’s just some sort of service in his honor,” I protested.
“Good enough,” Thyme said firmly.
Chapter 9
I was struck by the musty smell of the old Council Chambers building as soon as I walked through the door. I was sure I could smell the boredom, too.
Ruprecht, Camino, Mint, and of course Thyme had accompanied me. I wished I had downloaded a book onto my smart phone so I could read it when they were making the long, boring speeches which I was sure were to come.
We were ushered into a large room at the back of the building, declining to take one of the offered pamphlets about the allegedly fabulous upgrades to trash disposal and how that caused Council to double property taxes. We sat in the back row so we could have a good view of everyone. There were huge photos of Scott Plank placed at intervals around the walls. One would have thought he had been some sort of hero. Still, I suppose Thyme was right—we did need more information on Scott, and this was the best place to find it.
A man stepped up to the stage. “Esteemed guests, fellow Councilors, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Bayberry Creek Council Chambers today. I’m the Mayor, Councilor Baldwin,” he said in a booming voice. He then adjusted the microphone, which squeaked loudly in protest. He started again. “Esteemed guests, fellow Councilors, ladies and gentlemen, welcome here today. We are having the service for our dearly loved Councilor Scott Plank in the old Council Chambers, simply because the official opening of the new building is only a matter of days away, and we didn’t feel it appropriate to have Councilor Plank’s Memorial Service there before the building had been officially opened, despite the fact we’re already using the new building.”
His voice droned on and on and I thought of pinching myself to stay awake. To distract myself, I looked around at the surroundings to try to find something of interest on which I could focus.
To my surprise, there was a coffin at the front, up on the stage. I pointed this out to Thyme.
“That’s probably Laurence Burleigh’s idea.” Thyme looked around before saying any more. “He’s worked for the Council for years. He always wanted to be the Town Planner. Well, he is a Town Planner, just not the Town Planner. He was Scott’s assistant. Before you ask, no, I’m sure he didn’t murder Scott just to get his job. I mean, who does that?”
I supposed people did murder others to get their jobs, so it didn’t seem all that far fetched. “But why the coffin?”
Thyme shrugged. “Laurence is a flamboyant personality, you know, way over the top. He probably should’ve been in musical theater rather than working as a Town Planner.”
I nodded. “Perhaps this service won’t be so boring, after all.”
Thyme laughed. “We’re here for information gathering, Amelia, not to be entertained.”
“But I want to be entertained,” I said with a laugh.
The Mayor’s long, droning speech mercifully came to an end. He was handing over to another Councilor. I elbowed Thyme in the ribs. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I can barely stay awake.” I yawned in an exaggerated manner.
The other Councilor crossed the stage, and just as his hand reached out to the microphone from the Deputy Mayor, another man appeared. I did a double take. This man was brightly dressed in a red suit with a bright yellow waistcoat and green spotted tie. A top hat was perched on his head. Surely this must be the flamboyant Laurence Burleigh. The man took the microphone from the Deputy Mayor, who appeared to be stunned.
At that moment, there was a boom of thunder and the coffin lid slammed shut. The entire crowd jumped.
“Welcome to you all,” the man said with a flourish. “No one wants a boring memorial service, so I’m here to sing the praises of Scott Plank. Whether those praises are actually deserved, I shall leave it up to you.” With that, he raised his top hat, and tap danced halfway across the stage, before tap dancing back to the microphone and swinging his cane. He took the microphone, and then sang what appeared to be an impromptu song praising the victim.
I was stunned. I sat there, speechless, until Thyme leaned over to me. “Well, you did say you wanted to be entertained, Amelia.”
It was then that it struck me. “Is that Laurence Burleigh?” I whispered back.
“No, no idea who he is.”
“Thyme, I’m prett
y sure that’s the entity,” I whispered urgently.
“Are you sure?”
I shook my head and then nodded. “No, but I’m pretty sure.”
Ruprecht, who was sitting next to Thyme, leaned over. “That’s him?”
I nodded. “I think so. I did say I wanted to be entertained.”
Ruprecht stroked his chain for a while before answering. “Yes, there was too much of a magical vibe around the man. I suspected at once that the man was, in fact, a supernatural being, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. And you said you wished to be entertained? He must be carrying out your wishes. Are you aware of the legend of the genie? The origins, I mean?”
Mint tapped him on the shoulder. “Grandfather, I don’t think this is the time to give Amelia a history lesson.”
Ruprecht appeared to be deciding between Mint’s words and his desire to give me said history lesson. “Amelia, this entity is carrying out your wishes. Be very careful what you wish for from now on, until we find a way to deal with it.”
I was aghast. “How will I be able to control my thoughts?” I figured it would be like one of my many attempts at meditation. Anything I try not to focus on, I invariably focus on.
Ruprecht shook his head. “You don’t need to worry, it’s only if you wish aloud. The entity can’t read your mind, so it can only obey your spoken wishes. Let me amend that, it will only do what it thinks are your spoken wishes.”
I sank down in the chair with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! He didn’t kill that man after all.”
My relief was to be short lived. Ruprecht leaned over once more. “Amelia, are you sure you didn’t say you wanted to kill Scott?”
I was horrified. “Of course I didn’t!”
Ruprecht frowned. “You told me that Scott threw a cupcake on your floor. When you walked away, did you mutter anything to yourself like, ‘I’d like to kill him,’ or words to that effect?”
