Thorn to Die

by Lacy Andersen

  My eyes popped open wide as I looked back and forth between him and the drawing. “Um…I guess Mr. White’s death has me all messed up inside.” I tried to step in front of it and shrugged my shoulders. “It isn’t even a good likeness.”

  “It sure looks like him to me. I think it’s pretty good, actually.”

  “Well, it’s not.” I took the canvas down and laid it on the floor, face down. “You’re not here to lecture me on my pig again, are you? Because that’d be like beating a dead horse.”

  I winced at the morbid analogy. Surely, I could’ve come up with something that didn’t involve death.

  “No, not today.” Ian slid the chair out that I usually had my subjects sit in, and made himself at home. “I’m on more important business today. Because my instinct about the murder was correct, the chief gave me this case to work. I’m following up a lead.”

  I averted my eyes and busied myself with cleaning up my paint station. In the three weeks I’d worked this job, not once had it been tidied. Trying to organize was a bad idea. A pressure washer and some turpentine were the only things that were going to solve this mess.

  “I suppose that’s good for you. It’s practically a promotion, right? Congrats, Ian. I hope it’s what you wanted.”

  He shifted in the creaky chair. “Yeah, I guess. Listen, I’m here because I had an anonymous tip from a witness who said he saw Allen White having tea here just an hour before he died. Is that right?”

  Blood flooded my face. I’d bet my entire stock of rare paint dyes that Butch Hall was that anonymous tip. What I wouldn’t give to go magically crazy on him. He’d end up with body parts in all the wrong places. All the witches in the world wouldn’t be able to put him back together again.

  “Yeah, I think he might’ve been here. Why do you ask?”

  “Because, Hazy, that’s suspicious!” He leaned forward and grabbed my arm. “You know Allen White died from poisoning. It’s only a matter of days before the lab figures out what kind. If you know anything about it, you’ve got to tell me.”

  I huffed and shrugged my shoulders. “So, what if he drank tea here? It’s not the first time Mr. White has stopped for a cup. Are you saying I’m a suspect?”

  “Cripes, Hazel, not yet.” He dropped my arm. “But I’ve got to ask you about it. Why did Allen White stop by yesterday morning? He wasn’t exactly known to be social. And he barely knows you.”

  I scooped up Kat from the floor and held him close to my chest, hoping that even this tiny little shield would help deflect the questions coming from Ian. Lying wasn’t a skill of mine. Momma Tula could always see right through my fibs. According to her, my ears would turn red and I had an awful habit of scratching my nose when nervous.

  “Ian Larson, how long have I known you? Since I was three months old? How can you seriously be asking me these questions?”

  That’s right, deflect. Classic technique. If only it would work on a trained law enforcement officer.

  He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. From this angle, I could see the tiny patch of beard he’d missed while shaving this morning. “I don’t think you did anything wrong, Hazy. But I’ve got to start somewhere. Besides, you’ve been gone the past ten years. Somewhere off in in the southwest, the last I heard. You can’t pretend we really know each other anymore.”

  His comment felt like a shotgun blast to the chest. I hadn’t really been gone an entire ten years. Momma Tula and I had visited a few times. But apparently it was enough time to forget a person’s character and suspect them of murder.

  “Allen White was just stopping by for some tea, that’s all.” I lifted my chin high and pushed my shoulders back. “I can’t help it if I’m particularly charming and Mr. White prefers…er, I mean…preferred my company. If that’s a crime, arrest me now.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Hazy…”

  “Don’t Hazy me, Ian Larson. Only people that know me get to speak to me in that tone of voice.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “How do you know all the right buttons to push to get under my skin? I swear, no one else in Uriville is as difficult as you are, Hazel Brunick. Can you just calm down and answer my questions? I promise, this isn’t as hard as you’re making it out to be.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He was probably right, I was being difficult for no reason. Grammy Jo’s potion hadn’t killed Allen White. There was no reason to be afraid. Ian and I had grown up together. He wasn’t going to bulldoze over my family. I could be reasonable.

  Releasing the calming breath, I sat stiff-backed in the chair opposite him and placed Kat on my lap. The little pink ball turned over to his belly and squirmed, waiting for a scratch. I obliged, never taking my eyes off of Ian’s blue ones. “I’ll behave. I promise.”

  He smiled, the left side of his mouth curling a little more than the other. “Thank you. Now, can you tell me what Allen was talking about during his visit yesterday morning? Did he mention having a problem with anyone?”

  I squinted my eyes, trying to recall our conversation. “I think he mentioned Angie Pine, the florist. But I don’t really remember. He was too busy insulting my career path to mention anyone trying to murder him.”

  His mouth pulled into a frown. “What kind of tea did you serve him?”

  “Green. It was just green tea. Grammy Jo likes the antioxidants. That’s what she recommends.”

  “Was Grammy Jo here?”

  I shook my head, momentarily confused. “No, why would you ask that?”

  “You said Grammy Jo likes the antioxidants of green tea. Why would she care what Allen White liked to drink?”

  The inside of my cheek began to burn, and I realized I’d been chewing on it. “She wouldn’t. I mean, she liked to give health advice, that’s it. Allen had arthritis.”

  “What kind of health advice?” Ian leaned forward in his chair. “Like, what kind of meds to take?”

  “No…” I could feel the conversation getting away from me, but I was powerless to stop it. “Just herbs and stuff. Natural health advice. Stuff to take to make the pain go away.”

  “And did she give you something to put in Allen White’s tea?”

  I shrugged and could feel my ears turning red. “I don’t really know…”

  “Hazy, just tell me the truth. Did you put something in Allen’s drink?”

  My nose began to itch with an incredible ferocity. I scratched it with my hand, abandoning Kat’s stomach. “It was just a little herbal tonic. Nothing bad, I swear. He drank it all the time. Grammy Jo makes it for a bunch of the elderly people in town.”

  He sat back in his chair, a frown tugging at his well-formed mouth. I didn’t know how it happened, but I had the bad feeling I’d just let my family down in a huge way. My intestines were twisted in all sorts of violent positions, like there was a freight train rolling through my digestive system.

  “Grammy Jo’s a suspect now, isn’t she?” I asked.

  Ian nodded slowly, as if afraid I’d freak out on him again. “It’s an awfully big coincidence. Allen White drinks some of your Grammy’s tonic and then suddenly dies? I’m afraid it doesn’t sound good.” He got up and walked toward the doorway, his heavy-duty police issued boots loud on the wooden floor. When he got to the exit, he turned to say something, but paused when he saw the look on my face and decided against it.

  At that moment, I didn’t care about Ian and his interrogation. The only thing I could think of was how a murder investigation was going to affect Momma Tula. If Grammy Jo got taken away, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. I wasn’t sure any of us would be able to handle it.

  Chapter 8

  I might’ve been asking for another hour-long lecture from Butch on the company policy to-serve-the-client-with-the-very-best-of-our-abilities, but I closed up shop and practically sprinted down Main Street toward Raven’s hardware store. The sign above her door told me in bright neon letters that she was already open. I burst through the door and headed for the registers
, ignoring the shocked expression of two little old ladies browsing through the curtain rods at the front of the store.

  “Raven!” my voice squeaked. “We’ve got to talk.”

  She waved at me from the other side of the store, a coffee pot in one hand and a decomposable foam cup in the other. Blythe sat perched on a metal stool next to her, coffee already in hand. I nearly tripped over a sale display of rakes and into a pyramid of paint cans, before righting myself and recapturing my dignity.

  Kat stumbled in behind, running straight past me and right toward Raven. The little traitor. Blythe reached down to pat his head, but he squealed and ran away, burying himself in Raven’s waiting arms.

  “Come on, piggy,” Blythe whined. “Why can’t I pet you?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Animals just don’t like you.” Raven stroked Kat’s fuzzy head and he practically purred. “It’s not your fault, but you’re not going to win them over. Sorry cous’.”

  Animals had never been a fan of Blythe. Dogs, cats, rats, birds, you name it, they hated her. When we were in the third grade, a random school field trip had us trail-riding through the prairies a mile out of Uriville. All of the horses were old as dirt and pretty much blind, so they barely moved. But for some unknown reason, Blythe’s horse sprung to life as soon as her behind hit the saddle. It reared, dumping her sorry petite frame to the ground. We could never laugh about that incident with Blythe in the room. It was still a sore subject.

  Blythe stuck out her plump lower lip. “But he’s such a cute piggy. I just want to love him, and hug him, and kiss him all over.”

  She reached toward him again, at which point Kat got the sudden urge to release a giant sneeze, coating her hand in a layer of pig smile. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Blythe shot back up to her stool and grabbed a giant handful of napkins to wipe herself clean.

  “What’s up, Hazel?” Raven asked, her unsettlingly green eyes staring me down. “What are you doing here?”

  “Officer Larson just stopped by my shop.”

  Blythe gasped. “Ian Larson? Isn’t he dreamy?”

  I shrugged, caught off guard by her outburst.

  “Hazel Brunick, do you have eyes? That man is downright kissable. Put him on a double fudge brownie Sunday with extra whipped cream, and I’d dive right in. He’s yummy.”

  Blotchy red spots appeared on my chest. I crossed my arms to hide them. “I don’t think I’ve ever noticed.”

  “Right…” Raven added with a tilt of her head.

  I glared at her. Not helping. “He’s not very yummy today. While I was getting ready for work, he came in and started asking all kinds of questions. And now, he suspects Grammy Jo of murdering Allen White.”

  My cousins both gaped at me, their jaw opening wide.

  “What?” They asked at the same time.

  “How could he say that?” spat Blythe.

  “That’s impossible,” Raven added.

  Careful to keep an eye on the ladies still browsing at the front of the store, I filled them in on what had happened the morning before Allen died, his visit to my shop, the tea and potion. Plus, the conversation I’d had with Grammy Jo later that day.

  “But Grammy’s made that potion a million times. There’s no way she’d screw it up that badly,” Blythe was saying. Raven and I both nodded in agreement. “It can’t be her.”

  “I need you guys to promise that none of this will get back to Momma Tula,” I added. “You know how hard it’s been on her since Arizona. Something like this might destroy her. We’ve got to do something.”

  “Like what?” Raven poured herself another cup of black coffee and took a sip. She was wearing a denim apron over her black tee and jeans. A measuring tape, box cutter, and pliers hung from the large front pocket. “The cops aren’t going to stop investigating until they’ve got someone pinned for murder. We can’t exactly stop them.”

  I ran my fingers over my temples, willing the tension headache to go away. We had to think of something without involving my aunts. Momma Tula had expressly forbidden me to get involved. My aunts would tattle on me the very moment they suspected I was involved.

  “Gosh, what good is it being a witch these days?” Blythe mumbled into her empty cup. She stared over it, her eyes wide and unfocused. “Can’t even defend an innocent witch accused of murder. A hundred and fifty years ago, we could’ve done something. Laramie Brunick didn’t sit around waiting to be burned for witchcraft. She outsmarted the town. Ugh…why do we have these powers again?”

  My tongue ran slowly across my upper teeth. Blythe was right. We had powers. Powers that the police didn’t have. If we were going to save Grammy Jo, we needed to use them to the best of our abilities. We needed to solve the crime for the Uriville police department.

  “Why can’t we do something?” I asked them. “We all have different powers. Let’s use them. Let’s solve the murder. We’re the only ones looking out for Grammy Jo. It’s up to us.”

  Shock passed over their faces, turning into disbelief.

  “You can’t be serious,” Raven muttered. “You’re an artist, I own a hardware store, and Blythe’s a wedding planner. We’re not detectives.”

  “Special Event Organizer,” Blythe hissed.

  “Whatever. We’re not cut out for this. It’s crazy.”

  I ran my hand through my hair and danced in place. “No, come on guys. Think about it. I’m a medium through my art. Blythe gets visions of the future and can freeze time. You can communicate with animals and throw up force fields of energy. No cop can say all that. We just have to work together.”

  Hope soared in my chest, nearly lifting me off the ground. This could work. We just had to redirect the suspicion on to the right person. Clear Grammy Jo’s name.

  “Her eyes are turning green,” Blythe whispered to Raven in a guarded tone. “I hate it when her eyes turn green.”

  “Yeah, that’s because anytime she gets excited enough for her eyes to change like that, we’re usually the ones that get in trouble,” Raven mumbled.

  I shot them both a dirty look and then shrugged my shoulders. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and mine were as clear as the windows Aunt Piper had scrubbed clean last night. They tended to turn green when I got determined. And I was determined to save Grammy Jo.

  It was then that the two ladies looking at curtains migrated our way. Their backs curved with age and silver hair cut in identical short permed styles, they clutched their purses tight and smiled at the three of us.

  “What could the Brunick cousins be whispering about?” one old lady asked the other.

  “Probably about the murder,” the second answered gleefully. “We all know Angie Pine did it. She’s had her eyes on Allen’s roses for years. He’d never contract out to her store. Now that he’s dead, she gets the roses and all the money.”

  That was interesting. Another suspect that fit the bill. I had to admit, Angie didn’t seem very sad to see Allen dead. Could she be a ruthless killer?

  The tickle of a bell announced someone entering the hardware store. We all turned to see Angie Pine strolling in, her large hips swaying past the cash registers. The two old women hopped at the sight of her and each scuttled off in a different direction like cockroaches exposed to the light.

  “I’ve got your invoice for the wedding, Blythe,” she said in a gruff tone. A frown pulled at her thin lips, leaving deep wrinkles in her forehead. She looked like a snapping turtle ready to bite. Maybe the rumors that she’d murdered Mr. White had already reached her ears. “Calla lilies this time of year are expensive, I’m afraid. You’ll see that reflected in the total.”

  Blythe nodded and then reached for the yellowed piece of paper. Their hands touched and she froze, her eyes glossing over. The paper swayed between their hands as she maintained a mannequin-like pose.

  Angie pulled away uncertainly, looking toward Raven for assistance. “Does she do that often?”

  Raven opened her mouth, but no sound c
ame out. Awkward.

  I recognized that facial expression. Blythe was having one of her glimpses into the future. Obviously, magic was at play here. How could we explain it to Angie without her thinking we belonged in a loony bin?

  “It’s a condition, I’m afraid,” I said, stepping in. My nose began to itch, but I clasped my hands into tight fists at my side. “Nothing to do but wait.”

  “Hmmm...” Angie took a step back as if it were contagious. “I hope she gets help.”

  “Of course, Ms. Pine.” I directed her toward the door and pulled it open. “She’s in therapy right now. The doctor said we came to him just in time. Any longer, and Blythe might’ve lost what’s left of her good brain cells.”

  Just because it was a lie, didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun with it.

  Angie nodded solemnly. “Always knew something was wrong with that girl. Let me know if she needs anything else.”

  I tucked my chin and waited for Angie to exit. As soon as the door closed, I spun on my heels and sprinted back to my cousins. “What did you see?”

  Blythe shivered in her pink lacy cardigan, a resentful scowl pulling at her pouty mouth. “This is your fault, you know? If you hadn’t suggested we become some kind of witchy detectives, I wouldn’t have had that stupid vision.”

  Her words nearly made me salivate. I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Right, right. So, what did you see? Did it have anything to do with Allen White?”

  Slowly she nodded her head up and down. “Yes, it did.”

  I couldn’t contain myself. “And…?”

  With a last shiver, Blythe wrapped her arms around her knees and sighed. “And I think I know who killed him.”

  Chapter 9

  As soon as the hardware store had emptied, Raven locked the door and unplugged the neon OPEN sign. We gathered around Blythe, still perched on the stool. She looked at me warily, her eyes becoming slits. I raised my eyebrows and nodded at her, ready to hear about the vision.