“Did I really raise you to be the type of young woman who goes around solving crimes?” Uncle Bob asked, turning to Leanne.
“You raised me to fight for what I want and take no crap for anyone, so I think this counts.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Uncle Bob replied with a shrug. “Do what you want, but don’t get arrested or we’ll have to find someone else to work as a barista.”
I couldn’t help but smile; Dad would have never reacted that way. Uncle Bob seemed like the most laid-back guy I’d ever met, and yet I knew that for him and Aunt Debbie to have successfully started a company from the ground up he had to be a pretty smart guy. Still, if I’d ever told Dad I was going to get myself embroiled in a murder investigation, I knew he wouldn’t have been as calm as Uncle Bob.
“Good,” Leanne said with a grin. “Now, what did you find, and what’s the next step?”
“Do we really have to talk about this at the dinner table?” Aunt Debbie asked, and she was met with a resounding “Yes!” from her nieces and one of her sisters, so she threw up her hands. “Fine. But Robert is right. No one gets arrested. And Lucy, for goodness sake, the next time you cast an invisibility spell on your niece either make sure she knows how to reverse it or plan ahead on how you’re going to reverse it. You’re lucky she had the good sense to come here and get me to do it.”
“It’s not my fault; it’s been ages since I’d had to cast invisibility spells on someone who doesn’t have magical powers. The last time was when Leanne was in high… I mean, never mind.”
I looked over at Leanne to see her glaring at her Aunt. “That’s right, never mind. I definitely never used Aunt Lucy’s magic for anything nefarious when I was in high school.”
I grinned into the mouthful of sautéed green beans I shoved into my mouth as no one at the table decided to pursue the subject.
“Alright, so now that it’s all out in the open, what did you find?” Aunt Lucy asked me from across the table.
“There was a letter in the office at the back,” I explained. “It was from Leonard, to Don.” I pulled out my phone and read the contents of the letter aloud to the table.
“Well, that’s a pretty solid reason for him to kill Leonard,” Leanne said. “He would have wanted to get Leonard off his back. The guy might have killed Leonard before Leonard did something crazy. I mean, we all know he could be a bit weird.”
“Oh?” I asked.
“A couple of years back Leonard threw a bunch of black paint on an oil executive who came to town,” Uncle Bob explained. “That was the most recent event I know of. He was arrested and spent the night in jail, but the oil executive declined to press charges. He said he just wanted to enjoy the rest of his holiday with his family.”
“Sounds like Leonard was pro-environment,” I said. “But yeah, maybe Don thought about things like that and decided he didn’t want to be Leonard’s next target. Or maybe Joe found out about it and hired Don to take care of things.”
“Either way, it’s pretty good evidence,” Aunt Lucy said. “You should tell the cops about it when you get the chance. I just wish I’d found the poison.”
“Me too,” I said. I did a decent check in the back room.”
“There was a bit of a crash that came from there a little while after you went in, did you have anything to do with that?”
“A crash? No, I don’t know anything about that,” I lied, shaking my head and doing my best to look as innocent as possible.
Chapter 21
With the coffee shop opening again on Wednesday I made my way in with Aunt Debbie once more, with Leanne and Kaillie arriving just after us.
“You should move in with us when you’re ready,” Leanne told me as she got the coffee machine ready for the day. “We have tons of space. Aunt Debbie is nice and all, but we’re way more fun.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I might take you up on that soon.” Honestly, a part of me was resisting because I didn’t want to change my living situation yet again only to find myself arrested, accused of murder, or simply made the town pariah. I was warming up to life here, and while I really hated the situation that had led to my being here, it was kind of nice having such a big family now. Different, for sure. But nice.
Uncle Robert poked his head in through the door leading to the industrial side of the business. “Hey, when you girls see Deb can you let her know I need a hand with the computer back here? Thanks.”
“Sure, I’ll go grab her now,” I said, making my way to the kitchen at the back. I passed on the message, then looked at the platters of delicious-looking baked goods that had just come out of the oven.
“These smell amazing,” I said to Kaillie, who grinned.
“Thanks! I was thinking that I want to expand our baked offerings here at the café. All we sell right now are basic muffins and donuts, and I want to be a bit more experimental.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.”
“I have a whole Pinterest board filled with recipes I want to try. That one there is a raspberry cheesecake crumb cake.”
I gazed at the luscious cake, which was cooling on a wire rack, and my mouth began drooling involuntarily.
“Do you ever use magic when you’re baking?” I asked Kaillie, and she shook her head.
“No. I don’t think it’s fair that people should have magically enhanced goods given to them when they’re not expecting it. Of course, I do use some magic here and there to help things along. It’s way easier to measure out flour with a spell than it is to do it by hand, or to get butter from the fridge. But that’s all I do.”
“What kind of enhancements can you do with magic?” I asked.
“Oh, tons of things. Most of them are done with potions. You create a potion that has a certain effect on a person, and you add them into the dough. For most potions, changing their temperature through baking won’t affect them whatsoever – you do have to be careful with a few that require temperature changes, but they’re rare – and so the only thing you have to watch for is the consistency of the dough after you’ve added potions. I could, for example, make a potion that would increase your energy levels. But then seeing as I work in a coffee shop, that’s probably counter-intuitive. There are also potions that can make you feel happier, that can reduce anxiety, that can create laser focus, that can soothe anger, all sorts of things.’
“Wow,” I said, my eyebrows rising. “I had no idea. You know, you could probably make some super cool muffins and stuff for people if you added the potions in.”
“I know, I’ve thought about it before,” Kaillie said. “But then, I always come back to the fact that none of these people would know what I had done. I feel like giving people magical potions without their knowledge – even if I do advertise the fact that the goods would have an effect – isn’t fair to people. And of course, I can’t admit it’s done with magic. So I figure it’s best to not do it at all.”
“What about when you bake for family and stuff?” I said with a grin.
“Oh, I’ve been tempted to slip a sleeping potion into Aunt Lucy’s stuff a few times, let me tell you,” Kaillie said. “I like to tell myself it’s for the good of the whole town. But no, I don’t do that, either. Using magic sneakily is not using magic well.”
“Fair enough. Will you show me one day how to make these potions?”
“Of course,” Kaillie said, her eyes brightening. “I actually really enjoy potion-making. I think it’s because it’s so similar to baking. I’d love to teach you the basics.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself looking forward to learning how to make potions. After all, there were quite a few things on that list that I’d love to have access to. A potion that could make you happy? Give you energy? Make you forget your anxiety? Yes, please!
I would be all over that in an instant.
I made my way back out to the main part of the coffee shop, and a few minutes later flipped the sign on the front door and unlocked it, ready to welcome o
ur customers for the day.
“So, your mom is one of Lucy’s Floozies?” I asked Leanne. “How do you feel about that?”
Leanne grinned. “I think it’s hilarious. Mom met Aunt Lucy through Dad. She was always a bit of an independent spirit, so she naturally gravitated toward the crazy that is Aunt Lucy. They were friends throughout the marriage, and when mom and dad split up, mom kept Aunt Lucy as one of her best friends.”
“I’m glad that worked out, and there don’t seem to be any hard feelings between Aunt Lucy and Uncle Bob.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there were for a while. For about a year Uncle Bob refused to talk to Aunt Lucy, accused her of betraying him when he was just trying to do what was best for his family. But he eventually got over it. Dad doesn’t really hold grudges very well.”
“Do your parents get along now? Sorry, don’t answer if that’s too sensitive.”
Leanne shrugged. “Don’t worry, it’s hard to come up with a topic so sensitive I won’t talk about it. They’re fine. They don’t really talk, but it’s not like they’re constantly fighting or at each other’s throats or anything. They’re both, well, being adults about it.”
“That’s good,” I said. “I’m glad you’re not stuck in the middle of a nasty divorce.”
“No, I was fifteen when they separated, so I was already old enough to understand what was going on,” Leanne said, but before she could say anymore, Janice walked in, this time wearing leggings and a tight tank top, a water bottle in her other hand.
“Namaste, Eliza,” she greeted me with a smile.
“Namaste,” I said in reply, taking her re-usable coffee cup and passing it over to Leanne, who began making her regular order.
“The universe is telling me I should get a muffin to go with that coffee this morning,” Janice told me, carefully eyeing the goods on display.
“Did the universe suggest a flavor?” I asked with a small smile.
“She’s leaving that up to me,” Janice said. “I’m thinking lemon poppy seed. Could I get that to go?”
“Sure,” I said, opening up a bag and carefully taking the biggest muffin we had and putting it in that one. I worked under the concept of “the early bird gets the worm”. So long as the early bird was polite, that was. Rude birds, no matter how early they came in, always got the smallest worms. Or in this case, the smallest muffins.
“Thanks, ladies,” Janice said when Leanne finished making her coffee, holding up the cup in salute as she left the shop.
The next customer who walked through the door was far less welcome, as far as I was concerned. It was the police officer who took my statement the day Leonard died, Ross Andrews.
“Hi,” he greeted me as he came up to the counter. I couldn’t help but notice the dimples that appeared in his cheek when he smiled, and the way his eyes glimmered, as if he was just happy to be alive.
“Hi there, what can I get you?”
“I was hoping to have a chat with you, actually,” he said. “I have a few questions to ask.”
“Right now?” I asked, looking at Leanne.
“Go for it,” she said. “I can handle things on my own for a few minutes, and I’ll get mom to come back from helping Uncle Bob if I need it.”
I nodded and made my way around the counter. “Do we have to go to the police station?” I asked, and Detective Andrews shook his head.
“Oh no, this is far less formal than that. We can just chat at one of the tables in the corner here if you’d like,” he said, motioning toward a couple of them. I nodded and sat down, trying not to let my nerves show.
Was this just Detective Andrews trying to make me feel more comfortable before hitting me hard with questions intent to prove I was the killer? Should I insist on having a lawyer there? I just didn’t know.
It was hard to think that this particular detective was about to lull me into a trap, though. He opened up his notebook casually and grabbed a pen, but the way he looked at me was kind, like he knew what I was going through and just wanted to get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible for the both of us.
But maybe that was just what he wanted me to think. I did know that every time I looked at him butterflies fluttered inside my stomach, but I forced myself not to think about that. I couldn’t think about it, especially not right now.
“So, Eliza,” he said, flipping to a new page and getting his pen ready. “I just wanted to run over some things with you.”
“Ok,” I replied.
“First of all, you said you didn’t know Leonard Steele before you served him the morning he died?”
“That’s right,” I replied with a nod. “I had only arrived in town the day before. Everyone who came in that day I met for the first time.”
“Have you ever visited Enchanted Enclave before you came to live here?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, I was born here, but we moved away when I was a baby. I don’t remember this place at all.”
Detective Andrews gave me a questioning look. “Really? You never once came to visit family when you were younger?”
I shook my head. “No. Dad never told me about this side of the family. My mom died when I was a baby, and that was when he left. It was only now, when my dad died, that my mom’s family found me and told me about this place.”
“Ok,” Detective Andrews said, scribbling into his notepad. “So I’m guessing you had no reason whatsoever to have a grudge against Leonard?”
I shook my head. “Same answer as last time, detective, sorry. I didn’t know him, I didn’t know anything about him, I had nothing against him.”
“Alright,” Detective Andrews said. “Thanks. Do you know of anything else that might help us solve this case?”
I was about to open my mouth to tell him about what I’d found in the hardware store – although I had yet to come up with a good reason as to where I would have come up with the letter – when another man approached the table. I had seen him at the crime scene, although I hadn’t been introduced to him. Medium height, with a beer belly that he liked to stick out to make himself seem more important, beady black eyes and a balding head with wisps of reddish-brown looked down at me. I wasn’t completely sure, but a part of me felt like I could smell beer on him.
“Right, this the server girl?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly.
“This is Eliza Emory, yes,” Detective Andrews replied, fidgeting slightly in his chair.
“Good. I wanted to talk to her.”
“And you are?” I asked, and the man scoffed.
“Ronald Jones, Chief of Police here at Enchanted Enclave,” he replied, grabbing a chair from a nearby table and sitting down with us. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Eliza. Now, why isn’t this conversation taking place at the station, Ross?”
Detective Andrews shrugged. “I didn’t see a need for it. Her initial statement says that she was new in town and didn’t know Leonard at all. Her statement now backs that up, so why would I drag her in to the station for an interview when I could just do it here? Especially since this way she doesn’t have to leave her job in the middle of the day on a whim.”
“Because it’s not just about the reality, it’s about appearances,” the police chief growled. “Half this town thinks she did it, so we need to bring her in to make it look like we’re getting the job done.”
“Ah, yes, because that’s so much easier than actually doing the job,” Detective Andrews replied, looking his boss straight in the eye, and I had to admit, I was impressed. He was obviously right, and I wasn’t just saying that because Chief Jones had just said to my face what I had secretly known. It was better for the police to actually find the real killer rather than pretend they were looking into someone.
“Well, just because you’ve gotten that information doesn’t make it correct,” the police chief replied. “Now, lookie here, girl. You say you didn’t know Leonard Steele?”
“No, I didn’t know him,” I replied firmly.
“The first time I saw him, the first time I met him, was when he came in to order the coffee.”
“Then why did you kill him?”
“I didn’t!” I exclaimed instinctively, blood draining from my face. For all the rumors that had been going around, no one had actually accused me of killing Leonard yet. At least, not directly to me.
“How do we know that? Everyone in town seems to think you did it.”
“Well, everyone in town is wrong, then,” I answered, crossing my arms. “I didn’t have any reason to kill Leonard, and I didn’t have any way to kill Leonard either.”
“You’re one of the Marcet family, aren’t you?”
“That was my mom’s maiden name, yes.”
“Well, they’re a weird bunch, those ones. Wouldn’t put it past one of you to have ground whatever-that-poison-was-called.”
I stared at him incredulously. “Seriously? Just because my family can be a bit weird you’re going to try and pin this on me?”
“Yes, sir, come on,” Detective Andrews said. “This is getting ridiculous. We have absolutely no evidence that Eliza is the killer, beyond the fact that she had the opportunity to kill Leonard, and no reason to think she would have done it.”
“You might not, but I know for a fact that none of the other people with the opportunity would have done it, either,” Chief Jones said, his voice rising. I glanced around to see the couple of customers at other tables staring toward us, and I did my best to sink low into my seat, as far away from view as I could.
Here I was, being accused of murder by the chief of police in town, in full view of a handful of people. This was not going to do wonders for my reputation.
“Well then find someone else,” I said. “Because I didn’t do it.”
“Someone did it,” Chief Jones replied. “And frankly, I’m more inclined to believe the newcomer to town than people I’ve known for years and years.”
“Well, what you believe and what reality dictates are often two different things,” I said, crossing my arms. I wasn’t normally the type of person to stand up to authority like this, but this was my life we were talking about. And here was Chief Jones, talking about locking me up for murder like he was just looking to do it because it made his life more convenient.
Wake Up and Spell the Coffee Page 12
