A Cauldron of Witch Tricks

by Constance Barker

  “How do you know he owns hotels all over the county?”

  “I’ve busted a few of them,” Keith shrugged. “That’s the hotel business. Illegal things happen in hotels a lot. We raided one no-tell motel on 104 a couple times, the Sunshine Inn. But Wozniak doesn’t have the criminal vibe. He fired some managers, cleaned up the place. We haven’t been called there in a long time. The man’s pretty clean. I don’t like him for it. Now, if Wozniak was the victim, I would be giving Blake Simmons a good hard look.”

  “Honestly, I don’t like him for it, either. I do have a pretty solid suspect.”

  “Oh, you do, do you? Who might that be?” Keith’s expression went a little gruff. Nann was pretty sure he’d be giving her the you’re-not-a-cop speech right now, except he hadn’t made any progress in the case.

  “I can’t say. Not until I’m positive. But if I come across solid evidence, could you round some people up for me?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “What if it could actually solve the murder?” Nann asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Okay, maybe.”

  From the substation, she drove east. The Ontario Arms hosted a bunch of Druids when Nann held the Beltaine ceremony at her place in the spring. It was the only hotel around that would rent the Druids rooms.

  Nann parked in a lot half full of cars and walked in. The faded grandeur she noted before seemed less faded now. Actual guests walked through the marble lobby, drank in the lounge, browsed the local to-do brochures on a rack.

  “Hey, toots, what’s happening? Can I book you thirty more rooms?” Methuselah, the owner, showed his oversized dentures as she approached the desk. His magnifying glass spectacles highlighted a gleam in his eye.

  “The place seems busy,” Nann said.

  Methuselah nodded, false teeth and heavy framed glasses bobbing with the motion. “Ever since your out of town guests booked in, it seems like this old place has been rediscovered. Booming. Almost.”

  Nann’s heart lifted. It was the Druid way to lift up family, friends and community. Maybe, just maybe, she was doing that a little bit. “I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

  “For Nann with two Ns and the hundreds of friends? Anything.”

  She pulled out her phone and showed him the pictures she’d downloaded. “Have you seen these two together here?”

  Methuselah ran a hand over his aged-spotted mostly bald pate. “Y’know, discretion is a big part of the hotel biz.”

  “I don’t think it will come to light, but I can’t promise.” Nann held her breath.

  “I gotta say, Nann, back in the spring, we were on the verge of closing down. If all your buddies hadn’t shown up, I’m pretty sure there’d be a dusty for sale sign on the door. Maybe things just turned around, the town turned around, whatever. Somehow, though, I feel like I owe you.” He gave her a nod. “Yep. I’ve seen them here. I know who they are, too.”

  “Now for the real favor,” she said.

  “That wasn’t it?”

  “Could you tell me what names they registered under?”

  With a little shrug, Methuselah turned to the booking computer. Through lenses that could probably detect the rings of Saturn, he scanned the screen. After a moment, he cackled. “Oh, that’s rich. Mr. and Mrs. Sneak.”

  Nann sighed. Gotcha. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe. “One more thing. Could you call the Sunshine Inn on Route 104 and find out if the Sneaks ever registered there? I’d do it myself, but I can’t come up with a good, hotel-y excuse why I’d need to know.”

  The man exposed his huge white choppers in a smile. “Oh, I could come up with a pretty good, hotel-y excuse. Hang on one second.”

  He grabbed the phone and dialed. Nann waited. She didn’t really need to. She already knew what the answer would be.

  SHE HEARD POKEY’S HOOVES on the stairs as she sweated in Aunt Nancy’s crafting room. It was filled with supplies and machines she didn’t know how to use. Still, she kept it the way she’d first found it. Even an untalented crafter like herself needed to do a Druid project now and then.

  Pokey oinked and grunted. Nann reached over and turned on the radio.

  “Whatcha doin? ‘Jaws’ is on TV.” He lifted his snout. “What’s that smell?”

  Nann lifted one of her recent purchases. It was a bag of rough wooden discs with a hole in the center. “Cedar hanger ring,” she said. “You put your clothes hanger through the hole when you hang them in the closet.”

  “That’s a myth, you know, about the moths.”

  “I didn’t get them for moths. I got them for an anti-anti-magic charm.”

  “Is that the same as a pro-magic charm?”

  Nann frowned. “I don’t think so.” She explained about BJ and his anti-magic charms. It hurt him to make them, probably in the same way they affected Nann. “He said he had to put them in a cedar box, or wrapped them in foil, right away. So I’m trying to figure out how to use that to protect myself.”

  “Sounds pretty far-fetched. You’re, like, a half-step away from a tin foil hat to ward off the CIA’s mind control rays. You probably shouldn’t hang around with crazy people, Nann. You’re susceptible.”

  “Susceptible to crazy?”

  “Maybe emphatic would be a more positive term.”

  “Tin foil hat.” Nann sat back from the worktable and folded her arms. “Huh.”

  Nann had used hats in ceremonies before, and they usually worked. The problem with magic hats was that they made the wearer look crazy. Her last one was a knit cap adorned with freshly harvested leaves. It did what it was supposed to, but it left her head all scratched up. Luckily, she hadn’t needed to go out in public wearing it. She opted for something else.

  She looked through a jar of craft knives, finding a good sharp one. Then she laid a cedar disc on the green rubber cutting mat. It was about two inches across, less than half an inch thick. Nann tapped the mat with the covered knife, thinking. The Druid Way was an oral tradition. There weren’t a lot of symbols or glyphs, outside of the Wheel of the Year. There was certainly no glyph for anti-anti-magic. What had Pokey said? Pro-magic? How about positive magic?

  Cutting into the disc released a more pungent cedar smell. Nann liked it.

  “Nancy had a Dremel tool in here somewhere,” Pokey said.

  “I think I need to do this by hand.” She cast around, finding a metal straight edge. In the jar of knives, she found one that looked more like a chisel. Nann focused on her breathing as she worked. She felt her energy build. Her carving became more confident. “Look at me. I’m a woodworker.”

  “Let’s see.”

  She held it up.

  “You’re joining the X-Men?”

  Nann looked at it, then turned it slightly.

  “Not quite a cross,” Pokey said. “But then, this is your first one.”

  “It’s not supposed to be a cross. See, anti-anti-magic, like you said, could be considered pro-magic. It could also be considered—”

  “Oh, I get it. It’s not a cross or an X. It’s a plus.” Pokey looked pleased with himself. “You think it’ll work?”

  “Druid magic is all about intent,” she said. Nann pulled a sheet of heavy duty aluminum foil and ripped it carefully. She traced the center dot of the ring, then three quarters of the way around. Carefully flipping the disc, she traced the inner hole and the outside again. “Is there glue?”

  “Third drawer,” Pokey said.

  Nann wasn’t sure what to use, so she grabbed the one that looked newest. She folded the foil over the disc, keeping from wrinkling it. A little glue, a little burnishing to bring out the plus sign, and she was done. There were a zillion totes filled with yarn on a wall rack. She rummaged until she found some twine. She put it through the inside circle and tied a necklace. “Ta-da!”

  “Fashionable.”

  “I’m a Druid. Charms aren’t my thing. I need function, not form.”

  “Success, then,” Pokey said.

  Nann
smiled at her handiwork. “I’d better make one for Tink. She’s the one going into the lion’s den.”

  Chapter 17

  In the morning, she wrapped book orders for the mailman. Over the past months, her clientele had grown to the point where she had Saturday regulars. At least they knew the drill. The store closed for lunch. Nann realized that closing for lunch was a luxury reserved for stores that had no customers. Now, as Calamity Corners blossomed into a functioning town, she would need to rethink her hours.

  Zinnia taught art classes all day Saturday, and didn’t pop in until lunch. Tink’s truck pulled outside at the same time.

  “I gotta put up with Margie later. Let’s eat somewhere else,” Tink said.

  They picked a diner that had just opened up on the east side. It was a dining car style joint, all shiny aluminum on the outside. The place was packed. As they waited, Nann looked up and down the street. She saw new paint on houses, new shingles on roofs, a busted up building that used to house tweakers was now cleaned up, a sign reading: Pet Grooming Coming Soon hung on a new front door. A bike shop opened a block down next to a drive-through coffee joint. You could hardly call the town Calamity Corners anymore.

  “Here, if you’re on for the AMN meeting, you’ll need this.” Nann handed Tink one of the medallions after they were seated.

  Zinnia, an artist, gave the aluminum foil disc the side-eye. But Tink was a magical creature at heart. “A charm?”

  “Some of the women in town have anti-magic charms. This will counteract them,” Nann said. Hoped.

  Tink’s eyes went wide. “Y’know, I had some hoity-toity lady come in the other day. The type that never does any car maintenance and wonders why it runs funny. The moment she walked in, I felt sick as a dog. When she left, I was fine again.”

  “Who was that?”

  “I think her name was Ann? Annie?”

  Nann nodded. “Anne Walker. She’s the AMN treasurer. I’m pretty sure she’s one of the women who bought charms from BJ. You’ll get to hang out with her tonight, too.”

  “Well, as long as she doesn’t make me sick, I’ve got my spy camera at the ready.”

  “Just try not to be too obvious about it. We don’t want these people to suspect we’re on to them.”

  “Obvious? It’s ready now.”

  Nann and Zinnia looked Tink over. They couldn’t see a camera. That was the idea, of course.

  “What do we even suspect these women of, Nann?” Zinnia said. “Murdering Blake Simmons? You really want to send Tink into that group?”

  She hadn’t thought about it that way. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. These are... Sneaks.”

  Tink made a gesture, as if brushing Zinnia’s concern away. “I’m not worried about the pants-suit-wearing, snooty rich gals.”

  “If you say so,” Zinnia said.

  “You want me to text the pictures if I get them?” Tink asked.

  Nann shook her head. “Wait until after the meeting. That’ll be fine. Like I said, I don’t want them suspicious.”

  “There’s that word again,” Zinnia said. “I’m suspicious of your suspicions, Nann. Why won’t you let me in on this? I could spy.”

  Nann thought it over. If what she thought was right, she could definitely use Zinnia’s help. “You really want to be included?”

  “You betcha.”

  “I’ll let you know what to do.”

  This satisfied Zinnia. “Finally some action.”

  “What time is the AMN meeting again, Tink?”

  AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, WITH Audra chairing the Helping Hammers golf meeting, Nann took the opportunity to return to the Simmons’ house. She spelled up to get in unnoticed. Nann thought she was getting pretty good at it. The front door remained unlocked. On the one hand, it was suspicious. A murder had taken place inside. On the other, if you knew you were safe from the murderer...

  Once inside, she immediately headed to the panic room. Even though she remembered the ferocious taxidermy bear standing just inside the door, it still made her jump. It still looked like a crime scene within, all the open hidden safes and shelves gaping. But Nann had a much better idea what had actually happened in this panic room on the night of the murder. She dispelled herself, and took the Athame from the pouch on the bottom of her conjure bag.

  “Reveal to me what my eyes can’t see...”

  A glow issued from the desktop. Nann waved the knife before her eyes as she approached. What she saw was nothing. There was a pattern of dust, of sprayed blood, on the surface. All except a clean, triangular patch that glowed with residual magic. Part one of her scenario could be checked off. Now, for the second part. She retraced her steps toward the door. Even though she was looking for it, it took a long time to find. But when she did, she put her hands on her hips in triumph. “I got you,” she said.

  All she had to do was convince Zinnia to go along with her plan.

  “YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT? No frickin way, Nann.”

  “I thought you said you wanted in on the action.” She sat on the couch with Pokey, talking on her cell phone.

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes. I’ll give you the signal.”

  “How would I possibly hear the signal?”

  Nann sighed. “Keep your phone on you. I’ll text you.”

  “How do I know I won’t get arrested?”

  “I’ll vouch. Believe me, you aren’t the one Keith will want to arrest.”

  “I don’t like this at all.”

  “But you want to solve a murder, don’t you?” Nann knew Zinnia couldn’t resist.

  There was a sigh and a long silence.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 18

  She arrived at the sheriff substation in the late morning. There wasn’t much going on, given it was Sunday. But Keith was in his office. Stacks of paperwork looked taller than ever. He gave her weary eyes. “I have a full day of interviewing adulterers who might’ve wanted Blake Simmons dead. What’s up, Nann.”

  “I know who did it.”

  He perked up a little. “Great. Give me what you got, and I’ll go arrest him.”

  Nann shook her head. “We have to do this my way.”

  The perkiness vanished. “Oh boy.”

  “I need you to round up some people and get them to Blake Simmons’ panic room at six-thirty.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Audra Simmons, Gene and Helen Wozniak, Anne Walker, and Barb Buford.”

  His brows lowered. “One of those five murdered Simmons?”

  “No.” She see-sawed her head. “Sorta.”

  It looked like he might put his head on his desk and cover up with his arms. “Investigations don’t work like this, Nann. Who do you think you are, Miss Marple? How could I convince any of them to come? How could I convince Audra Simmons to even let you in the house? She doesn’t like you, as I recall.”

  “Just tell them the murderer of Blake Simmons will be revealed. If any of them don’t want to join us, you could bring them in for an interview.”

  “Blackmail them, in other words.”

  “Fire with fire.”

  Keith hung his head. “The sheriff won’t go along with this.”

  “Trust me, there will be plenty of conventional investigating when this little meeting is over. Plus, you’ll have a murderer in custody.” Nann shrugged. “Won’t the sheriff go along with that?”

  “Why not just do it now?” Keith asked.

  “These people run small businesses. Just because I take Sundays off doesn’t mean they get to.” And, if business kept picking up, Nann might have to be open a half day on Sunday herself.

  “How kind of you.”

  “Well, they’re not all murderers,” Nann said. “Besides, you said it would be tough convincing them. This gives them one less excuse.”

  “They’re all going to want to lawyer up,” Keith said.

  “No lawyers.”

  “I don’t think that will play.”


  “The panic room’s not big enough for the suspects and their lawyers, and you and me, and that stuffed grizzly bear.”

  He folded his arms. “The funny thing is, I believe you. I believe you know who murdered Blake Simmons. But I’m a cop, Nann. I need some kind of evidence. Even if it won’t be used in court, I need something. Anything.”

  “Ah. Like a judge needing evidence for a search warrant.”

  “You watch too much ‘Law & Order.’”

  Nann took her phone from her conjure bag. She flipped through her e-mails until she found the one from Tink. “This was taken last night.”

  Keith stood up and took the phone. After a moment, he handed it back. “Interesting.”

  “Proof enough?”

  “Well, considering I have twenty weak leads to follow, I like yours better.”

  “See you at the Simmons at six-thirty.”

  He smirked. “Try not to get me fired, Nann.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “WHAT A HORRIBLE ROOM!”

  Nann knew most of the players, but not the speaker. Through a process of elimination, the silver-haired woman must be Anne Walker. The others trooped in, Audra giving Nann a look that could kill.

  She braced herself. Nann suspected at least three of the guests wore anti-magic charms. But as they came in, she felt no dizzying nausea. Instead, she felt a heat against her sternum. The positive magic charm, she thought, doing its work. Except it seemed to be getting warmer and warmer. Hopefully, she could get this over with before it reached curling iron temperature.

  “Looks like Blake is gonna get his final wish fulfilled. We are gonna sue the pants off you, Nancy Ann Szymanski.” The one guest who wasn’t invited to the party spoke. He folded his arms in defiance, even if his stature didn’t back it up. Doug Baker stood at Audra’s side.

  “He’s absolutely right,” Audra said. “I’m not interested in staging ‘The Mousetrap,’ directed by my husband’s killer.”