Thorn to Die

by Lacy Andersen

  I knew I should feel relieved that Ian was just being thorough, but the tension didn’t fade away. The Omaha team was already hard at work, setting up a screen to block the townspeople from view of the body. Tiny little Blythe and statuesque Raven still stood on the other side of the wrought iron fence. The crowd had grown behind them, nearly blocking the flow of traffic on Roosevelt.

  “Someone’s got to go set up some barriers,” Ian yelled at one of his coworkers, his command punctuated by the horn of an angry driver. “Before a pedestrian gets run over. Johnson, you got it?” He groaned as Johnson shrugged dumbly.

  It was then that the crowd of onlookers began to hum with the excited buzz of a hornet. Several people pointed at the Omaha forensics team as they pulled out a bright yellow tape from their bags and began to unroll it around the garden. In bold black letters printed repeatedly along the tape, it read CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS.

  So, it was a crime? Ian’s intuition was right. Allen White had died under suspicious causes.

  I looked down and realized I’d unknowingly gripped Ian’s arm tight. Forcing my fingers to release, I dropped them to my side and swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.

  “Darn it,” Ian said in a whisper. “I was hoping to be wrong.”

  No kidding. I was, too. Stupid witchy senses.

  One of the forensics guys came strolling over then. He had a baggie in his hand marked evidence. My eyes followed the sway of that little piece of plastic, and I couldn’t help wondering what might be inside.

  “It’s too early to call, but due to the foam present at the mouth, we’re thinking he died of acute poisoning,” the man said. He lifted the baggie up to eye level and clapped Ian on the back, as if congratulating him on a newborn baby. “We’ll get this sent to the lab, but my money’s on that. You’ve got yourself a murder.”

  Nothing could’ve prepared me for the buzz of magical panic that rushed through my body and to my fingertips. I clutched my hands against my stomach, willing the power to subside. Poison? Allen White had died from poison? But he had just been in my shop an hour ago.

  Instantly, I thought about the tea I’d made for him. With another surge of magical panic, I remembered Grammy Jo’s medicinal potion and the disastrous recipe she’d nearly destroyed the kitchen with last night. There was only one conclusion left to draw.

  Grammy Jo had killed Allen White!

  Chapter 6

  I burst through the door of Brunick manor, cradling Kat under my arm like a football. Blythe and Raven lagged only two steps behind, their breathless voices calling to me.

  “Hazel, wait up.” Blythe paused at the doorway and put her hands on her tiny little waist, bending over slightly to catch her breath. “What are you running for?”

  “Must. Find. Grammy Jo.” I wasn’t sure if she heard my staccato reply, but it didn’t matter. The sound of pots clattering in the kitchen drew me in. My aunts were probably still home. They ran a dusty little secondhand bookstore downtown called Witch Way and didn’t open most days until noon.

  “Girls, what’re you doing home at this hour?” Aunt Piper was busy canning something that looked suspiciously like eye of newt. Her tightly spiraled auburn hair sprung out from its messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her reading glasses hung from their usual pearl chain around her neck and rested on a frilly lace and floral apron. She’d passed on her short height to Blythe. “Did you forget something?”

  Aunt Viv stood next to her, sporting the same black turtleneck that only accentuated the frailness of her limber form and stringy dark hair. The only trait she shared with her daughter, Raven, was her bottle-green eyes. She looked at me with dread, her eyes opening wide. “Someone died, didn’t they?”

  I would’ve been shocked at Aunt Viv’s perceptiveness, if it hadn’t been the question she asked anytime someone seemed a little out of sorts.

  In my eagerness to find Grammy Jo, I’d sprinted into the kitchen. Attempting to make an abrupt stop, my ballet flats lost traction and I slid right into the table, knocking the air out of my lungs.

  “Someone did die.” Blythe was right behind me, moving her feet in an energetic little skip. “It’s all over town. Allen White kicked the bucket in his garden this morning. They’re taping off the crime scene right now!”

  Aunt Piper’s smile faded from her round cheeks. “Well, isn’t that a doodlecake?”

  I could fill a dictionary with her strange nonsensical made-up words. Sometimes it seemed like Aunt Piper spoke a language of her own.

  Shaking her flaccid black hair from her face, Aunt Viv looked to Raven. “Is it true?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, reaching down to take the squealing Kat from my arms and calmed him with a single stroke of her fingers. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

  “Where…where…where…” My lungs still couldn’t hold onto an ounce of air. I gasped and sputtered. “Where is…Grammy Jo?”

  Someone had to get to the bottom of this. If Grammy Jo killed Allen with her potion, we needed to spring into action. Maybe send her into hiding? A forgetfulness potion for the whole town? Or batten down the hatches and prepare to fight off the authorities. I was up for anything.

  “Settle down, child.” Grammy Jo strolled through the backdoor, still wearing her gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Dirt coated the knees of her psychedelic leggings. It wasn’t uncommon for my grandmother to sport the crazy patterns more suited to a younger generation. Still, if anyone with a striking gray pixie cut and a little too much blush around the cheeks could pull them off, Grammy Jo could. “What’s all this hubbub about?”

  “Allen…Allen White is dead.” Finally, my lungs fully expanded, filling my chest with the sweetest air. “He’s dead, Grammy Jo. We just saw his body.”

  Her lips pressed into a firm line and she paused in the middle of removing her gloves. “Really?”

  “Yeah, the whole town knows by now. He’s dead, Grammy. As a door knob.”

  Her blue eyes traversed the kitchen, making contact with everyone. The room was silent for a full thirty seconds. Then she shrugged and sighed, tossing the gloves on the counter. “Oh, well. When you got to go, you got to go. Better him than me.”

  I gaped at her casual brushoff of Mr. White’s death. Surely, she wasn’t that cold-hearted. The grandmother of my childhood had taught us how to rescue helpless birds and repair a squirrel’s broken leg. Of course, Raven was much better at it due to her ability to communicate with animals. Still, Grammy Jo had seemed so caring once upon a time. The last ten years I’d spent in Arizona with my mother hadn’t been long enough to erase the grandmother I loved. At least, that’s what I hoped.

  “Although,” Grammy Jo’s face wrinkled into a mask of deep sorrow. Finally, she was starting to think straight. “I will miss those roses of his. Gosh, that man could grow a flower. I wonder what’ll happen to them when he’s six feet under.”

  The kitchen broke into an uproar over Allen’s garden, remembering the scent of the flowers and the way they made the perfect addition to any beauty potion. I had to sit in the nearest chair to steady myself. This couldn’t be happening. A man was dead and all anybody cared about was his garden? Was that the kind of legacy I would leave behind someday?

  “The man might’ve grown the most beautiful roses in the state,” Aunt Piper confirmed, “but he certainly was no angel. Did you hear how he was evicting poor Rita O’Brady and her five kids from his rental property down on Jefferson? The woman got a yellow slip on her door just the other day. Ten years of paying rent and making that little cottage a home, and that’s what she got. He didn’t even want to give her a week to move out. Disgusting.”

  “I guess she won’t have to move out now,” Raven offered quietly, her fingers stroking Kat’s chin.

  Aunt Viv stared at the space above her daughter’s head, her attention drifting. I wanted to throw something at her, but doubted it would wake her up to the bizarreness of this conversation.

  Blythe threw her hands in the ai
r, her thin arms flapping like a bird. “Not unless someone equally awful inherits his property. Does he have any relatives?”

  “Not anymore,” Grammy Jo chirped. “It’s just him. I’ll bet he left everything to the city. That man wouldn’t give a dime to charity if the entire world depended on it.”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that house of his.” Blythe stared dreamily out the window. A pink blush flowered on her peaches and cream complexion. “That’s the kind of place you could get married in. I’ll bet it has a beautiful wooden staircase and oak floors. I’d have my wedding in there.”

  “To who? Drew Warring?” Raven snorted. “Did I miss the wedding announcement?”

  Blythe shot her a dirty look and perched herself on the edge of a wooden stool standing next to the breakfast bar. “Maybe. Who knows? I’ve got a good feeling about this one. I do have the power to see the future, after all.”

  This was all too much. I shot up from my chair and waved my arms. “Hello? Does anyone even care that the man was murdered? Someone poisoned him. They’re looking for a killer.”

  Silence fell on the kitchen as everyone stared. It took me a minute to realize no one was actually looking at me. They all gazed at something just past my shoulder. I turned around to see Momma Tula, her blonde wavy hair in a wild bird’s nest on top of her head. An oversized t-shirt hung off her frame, nearly hiding the boxer shorts she wore underneath. She turned her bare feet inward, swaying from the effort it took to stand.

  “Someone was murdered?”

  I rushed to her side and put my arm around her shoulders. Stupid, stupid me. “Momma, I didn’t know you were here. Take a seat.”

  She pushed my hands away and shook her head. “No, who was murdered? You said someone had been killed.”

  I wanted to pinch the inner flesh of my arm for bursting out like that when Momma Tula was in the room. She had enough to work through. Escaping Arizona and the man she’d called her boyfriend had been rough on both of us. She didn’t need any more worries on her plate.

  “It’s nothing, Momma. Really. You just sit down.”

  Again, she waved me off. I could see the effort from standing was already beginning to weigh her down. She leaned against the door frame and grabbed my hand tight. “Hazel Marie Brunick, you promise me you won’t get involved in any murder investigation, you hear me? I don’t want any talk about crimes or murders. Am I understood?” She lifted her chin to look at her sisters. “And I don’t want any of you encouraging anything, either. It’s the last thing we need around here.”

  This unexpected flicker of my old mother sprung tears to the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away and nodded. “Yes, Momma Tula.”

  She nodded and shuffled back toward the staircase, the t-shirt clinging to her bent form.

  If I knew a hex to strike someone mute, I would’ve used it on myself that very moment. Momma Tula had finally managed to wander downstairs from her cave and all we’d done was freak her out and chase her away. What a wonderful daughter I was.

  “Well, the peonies aren’t going to weed themselves,” Grammy Jo said with a shrug. She pulled on the stained gardening gloves and straightened her hat. “Ladies, I imagine you have to get back to work.”

  Raven and Blythe both hopped up, their faces red. Without the hardware store open, the people of Uriville might revolt. And Blythe had a wedding coming up this weekend. They both had better things they could be doing.

  I followed Grammy Jo out the back door and onto the patio. A disorganized display of wildflowers and vines, separated by the random pot of flowers, surrounded us. It was as if nature had taken over the backyard and was knocking on our door.

  Grammy Jo knelt at the nearest pot, her hat shielding her face from view. “Yes, child? Don’t you also have someplace to be?”

  Yes, and Butch would probably have some harsh words for me when I returned. But this was a million times more important than painting some snotty little kid.

  “Listen to me, Grammy. This morning, Allen White came to my shop for his medicine. I gave him that vial of potion you told me to stir in his tea.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I remember. I may be older than dirt, but I’m not senile, you know.”

  I shook my head. “Yes, but remember what happened to your potion last night? It melted the cauldron and nearly destroyed the kitchen.”

  She looked up from her flowers and squinted. “What’s your point, child?”

  A lump was beginning to grow in my throat. I swallowed it down with as much effort as I could muster. “It’s just…you know, kind of worrying me. The police said Allen White died of poisoning. You don’t think…?”

  The words were too hard to say aloud. Did she think that she’d killed Allen White? Did my fiery and stubborn Grammy Jo accidently send me out this morning with a potion fit to kill a healthy old man? I hoped the look in my eyes said enough.

  “Are you suggesting that my potion did this?” She dropped a trowel and stood to face me. “Is that what you think?”

  I shrugged. It sounded so much worse when she said it.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve made that potion a million times. A pinch of Artemisia, the eye of a stinging horsefly, the tears of a mother goat, and a few shakes of wormwood. Boil over low heat and under a pale moon. Stir clockwise 13 times. It wasn’t that.”

  A huge wave of relief swept over me. I knew we couldn’t have killed that old man. The idea was absurd. A tiny bit of shame caused my cheeks to burn, and I stared at the ground.

  “Well, now, wait…”

  My gaze swept back up to Grammy Jo as she pondered for a moment.

  “Was it stir 13 or 14 times? Maybe the latter. Oh, it doesn’t matter. That couldn’t have killed him.”

  I chuckled nervously and buried my hands in my pockets. Phew…

  “At least,” Granny added with a tilt of her head. “I don’t think it would kill anyone.”

  Chapter 7

  The acrid scent of paint was usually enough to pull me from my worries, but not this morning. While I sat in my shop, waiting for a new round of tourists to enter the park, it did nothing for my nerves. The clean, fresh surface of a blank canvas wasn’t enough either. As my sketching pencil swirled and moved over the unsullied material, seemingly on its own, I became lost in my own thoughts.

  By the time I’d left work yesterday evening, the entirety of Uriville knew about Allen White’s untimely demise. You couldn’t even walk into Ray’s Grocery without overhearing someone gossiping about it. I’d taken the opportunity to head to bed early. After my conversation with Grammy Jo, a migraine had decided to engrain itself into my cranium.

  Which brought me back to the present and a new day of mind-numbing work. It was exactly what I needed to get over this feeling that something bad was about to happen.

  “Just give it a few days,” I told Kat as he rummaged about the corners of the shop for some forgotten scrap of food. “Give it a few days and the fuss will die down. Maybe the cops made a mistake. It could’ve been a heart attack, for all we know. Grammy Jo and I had nothing to do with it.”

  Not even Kat was fooled by the false bravado in my voice.

  The magic in my fingers began to crescendo into an all-out frenzy. My hand swept back and forth, despite my protests, and a picture began to form before me on the canvas. I’d been sensitive to weird vibes before, but nothing like this.

  At the Academy, I’d drawn my roommate’s breakup with her boyfriend as it was happening. The emotions had been so strong, it’d carried into my art and onto the canvas. Safe to say, when she saw it later that day, it hadn’t lasted long. My roommate had been a fire witch. If it wasn’t for the extinguisher I’d purchased for kitchen mishaps, the canvas would’ve caught our whole dorm room on fire. No more showing off my special gift – even to fellow witches.

  This time, the urge grew even stronger to bring the vibrations on the air to life in my art. It was as if my arm had been attached to someone else. I couldn’t have stopped
, even if I wanted to.

  A face appeared in the scribbles. Wild hair. Thick glasses. It didn’t take me long to recognize the figure. Mr. White’s profile was clear as day on the easel. He was looking off to the left and slightly down.

  My head screamed with exhilaration and panic. It was like a message from the great beyond. “Um…Kat? Are you seeing this?”

  Maybe my sensitive witchy powers had picked up on Allen White’s sudden death. Maybe they had even picked up on his murderer. I ached for the photo to finish, praying that it wouldn’t be a picture of Grammy Jo standing menacingly next to poor Mr. White.

  My hand flew across the page, filling in the last of the details. A single luscious rose, its petals spread wide in bloom, appeared. With its approximate positioning next to Mr. White’s face, it looked like he’d picked it to sniff.

  My mouth fell open in disappointment. So much for getting a firsthand look at the killer. What good were these witchy powers if I couldn’t get a little peek at the deadly secrets of this town?

  I tried to pull my hand away, expecting to be finished, when it sprang to life again. Moving with a speed unlike I’d ever seen, it began to scribble madly over the rose, shading in the petals. It wasn’t until my hand had dropped that I realized the beautiful rose had been transformed into a black and dying rosebud, dripping with something deadly. I jumped back at the sight, fear pulsating through my veins. Spooky.

  “Good morning, Hazy.”

  My skin nearly left my bones lying in a heap on the ground. Swirling around, I found myself face to face with Ian Larson in his uniform, freshly groomed and smelling of aftershave. He stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over me and then over to the morbid picture.

  Drawing his mouth into a tight frown, he narrowed his eyes at me and took a step inside. “That’s an interesting drawing. What could’ve inspired that?”