by Cindy Stark
She gave him a sad nod. “Follow me.”
Gretchen’s cries grew harder, and he helped her to her feet.
Father Orien patted her back. “It’s okay. Let it out. Grief must pour forth to help the soul heal.”
The two had made it halfway across the foyer when Anya strode from down the hall, her eyes also red-rimmed and heavy with shock. She stopped suddenly, and tension flared in the room, hot and vibrating, like the second after a bomb detonated.
Gretchen straightened her spine as her eyes filled with rage. “You!” she yelled. “You did this. You murdered my sweet Isaac.”
Anya dropped her jaw, and her eyes widened in horror. “No. I didn’t do it. I swear.”
Gretchen wriggled free from Father Orien and strode toward her. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You killed my son, and now, everyone knows.”
“I didn’t kill him, Gretchen,” Anya shrieked. The energy vibrating from her deepened to red and became erratic.
Hazel rushed forward to intervene. She grabbed Anya’s arm and glanced toward Father Orien. “Please. Take Gretchen inside the room. This isn’t good for either of them.”
Father Orien must have agreed, because he quickly ushered Isaac’s mother inside the room and closed the door between them. The bereaved woman’s cries echoed from inside.
Anya dropped her face into her hands and cried in earnest.
Good gracious. The heartbreaking scene had quickly shifted into devastation. Bad timing all around.
Hazel wrapped an arm about Anya. “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know anything. She’s heartbroken from the loss of her son, and that’s where her hurtful words come from.”
Anya shook her head vehemently. “She hates me. She rues the day I was born. Always has.”
She turned them toward the exit. “You can’t listen to her, Anya. Both of you are in a raw place. All either of you can feel is anguish, so let her be. Focus on you.”
Hazel caught Margaret’s eyes. There was no way she could wait for Peter. “Could we get that lift home now? We’ve both given our statements. If Peter needs anything else, he knows where to find us.”
Margaret lifted the handset on her phone. “Absolutely. I’ll have someone right up.”
Gratitude filled her sad smile. “Thanks. I think we’ll wait outside.”
Margaret nodded. “Good idea.”
Neither of them knew when Peter would arrive, and neither of the two upset women needed to see each other again anytime soon.
Anya didn’t utter a word while Officer Larsen drove to Anya’s house and dropped them off. Hazel wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone without ensuring she’d be okay.
Most of Anya’s shock and fear had faded, leaving a dull, hollow person in its wake. Hazel helped her inside, ran home long enough to get some chamomile tea with a touch of sleeping magic and headed back to Anya’s house.
She found her sitting on the couch where she’d left her, staring straight ahead. She remained that way until Hazel returned with a cup of tea.
“Here you go. Drink this. It will settle your nerves.”
Anya blinked and seemed to come out of whatever dark place she’d been in. “Thank you.”
Hazel claimed the other end of the couch and turned toward her new friend. “Doing okay?”
A pained look crossed her face, and she turned toward Hazel. “They said he died from two gunshot wounds in his stomach. But I didn’t hear any shots last night, did you?”
Hazel squinted and tried to recall. “Maybe? Something woke me in the middle of the night, but my cat was on my bed, and I thought he’d knocked something over before jumping to the bed. Plus, I sleep with a fan on because I like the white noise.”
Anya looked at her, seeming bewildered. “I was up until two, painting. I did have on Mozart…at a medium-high volume because it quiets the voices in my head. But I don’t think it was so loud that I wouldn’t have heard gunshots right outside my house.”
That did seem odd. “Maybe he was murdered somewhere else and dumped there.”
She shook her head. “That’s what I suggested, too. But Chief Parrish said there was too much blood at the scene, plus blood spatter on the ground after the…” She paused to take a struggling breath. “After the bullet passed through.”
Interesting. Hazel didn’t see how they both could have missed the shots. “Maybe someone used a silencer?”
Anya lifted her teacup with shaking hands. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Tears filled Anya’s eyes, and she struggled for a breath. “I just wish it hadn’t happened right here. I know what people think. His mother was the perfect example of how they’ll treat me. They are all going to assume I’m guilty.”
Hazel scooted closer on the couch and hugged her friend. “Well, we’ll just have to do what we can to reverse that opinion.”
An hour later, she convinced Anya to go to bed, where she promptly fell asleep. Thank you, magic.
Hazel left her number next to Anya’s phone on the nightstand with a note telling her to call at any time day or night if she needed her.
With a heavy heart and a mind filled with questions, she slipped out and walked the short distance to her house.
The ability to step inside her door and leave the chaos and pain outside was a gift that she knew several people wouldn’t be able to enjoy for a while. She hoped Peter and his men would find the killer soon, and she’d do what she could to assist with the investigation. Not only because she wanted to help the two women, but also because she wasn’t comfortable with a killer on the loose, someone who’d committed the crime on her very street.
Four
Hazel added a tin of chamomile tea like what she’d given Anya into her bicycle basket along with others for her morning deliveries. She’d crafted that one at home, though, before heading into work. Although she’d become braver in her use of magic that she shared with the town since the bee sting salve demands, she didn’t think it wise to be reckless.
She pedaled down the sunny streets of Stonebridge and headed toward Gretchen Egginton’s house first. She’d brought her usual request of Sweet and Spicy tea and added the chamomile tea as an extension of sympathy for her loss. If Gretchen wasn’t up for visitors, she’d leave them both and check with her another day.
It was crazy to think such a bright and beautiful day could be so horrendous for others. But that was life. One had to enjoy her happiness while she could because no one knew what the next moment could bring.
A black sporty Mazda sat next to Gretchen’s white sedan in her driveway. Hazel parked her bike near the cars, out of the way in case anyone at the house needed to leave.
She neared the porch and was surprised when the door opened before she was close enough to knock. A thirty-something man with dark hair and a receding hairline stepped out and closed the door behind him.
He startled when he caught sight of her, seeming as surprised as she was to encounter someone on the porch.
“Hello,” Hazel said and offered a kind smile. “I’m Hazel Hardy. A friend of Gretchen’s. I wanted to drop off some tea for her.”
He lifted his chin in acknowledgement, but no warmth emanated from his spirit. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
Hazel narrowed her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of new to town, but I don’t think we’ve met, have we?”
He perused her more closely. “Edmond Egginton. Gretchen’s son.”
“Oh, Edmond.” She nodded. “Gretchen has spoken often about you and…Isaac.” She spoke Isaac’s name softly, not sure what kind of territory she’d ventured into.
He gave a derisive snort. “I’m sure you’ve heard way more about Isaac than me.”
She shook her head, though, come to think of it, Gretchen had talked about Isaac the most. “You’re a consultant with a business in Salem, right?”
He didn’t seem impressed with her knowledge. “That’s right. The successful one out of the two brothers, but do you think she cares
?” He jerked his head toward the house.
Awkwardness leapt between them, leaving her uncomfortable. She should probably excuse herself and visit with Gretchen instead, but Edmond seemed free with his information about Isaac, and she wanted to learn all she could.
“I can’t remember what kind of consulting your mother said you did.”
He pinned her with a dull gaze. “Exactly. If it was Isaac, she would have told you the color of his socks.”
Hazel breathed through another uncomfortable moment, not willing to let him off the hook so easily. She wanted an answer, and he hadn’t given her one.
He cleared his throat. “I’m a certified Feng Shui designer if you care to know.”
She brightened her smile, hiding her surprise at his answer. “Really? That’s awesome. Perhaps I should have you take a look at my teashop. I’ve tried hard to make it a place where people feel at home and want to stay for a while, but I’m not sure I’ve accomplished it.”
Though, if she’d used magic, she would have known.
“It’s the one on Main Street,” she continued. “Teas and Temptations?”
His cold disposition fractured the slightest. “I know where it is.”
“Great. Do you have a business card, so I can call to set up an appointment? Of course, I will wait until your family has had a chance to grieve your brother.”
He pulled a card and handed it to her. “You don’t need to worry about my grief. If anything, I’ll be celebrating.”
He met her gaze with a hardened one of his own. “I’ve had enough of his crap to last a lifetime, and I’m glad he’s gone.”
She hesitated, not sure how to handle his anger. Honestly, she would be surprised if there wasn’t some grief hiding inside him as well. “Oh, okay then. I’ll give you a call in a few days.”
“Yeah,” he nodded and pushed past her. “Call anytime.”
Hazel gazed after him, a slight frown wrinkling her forehead. That man of little warmth designed places to help others feel at home? What an odd dichotomy.
She waited until he’d entered his car and driven away before she rang Gretchen’s doorbell.
Several moments passed, and she considered leaving the tins on the porch. If Gretchen’s demeanor at the police station the previous day was any indication, she may not be up for visitors anytime soon.
But then she heard footsteps on the opposite side of the door and the door knob turned. Gretchen regarded her with red-rimmed, swollen eyes and a deep sadness that threatened to strangle Hazel.
“Hi,” the woman said softly, as though she had no strength to speak louder.
“Hi, Gretchen. I hope it’s okay that I stopped by. I wanted to drop off your regular tea in case you were getting low, and I brought you my special chamomile that might help you in this difficult time.”
Gretchen offered her a watery smile. “How kind. Please come in.”
She stepped back, and Hazel slipped past her. Gretchen closed the door and then gestured toward the living room. “You can have a seat, if you’d like.”
“Of course. As long as you’re up for the company.”
She shrugged but didn’t turn Hazel away.
Hazel sat in one of the golden velour wing-backed chairs. Gretchen folded onto the green and ivory paisley couch that had seen better days. A box of tissues waited on the middle cushion, surrounded by many used ones.
Her heart broke for the bereaved mother and what was surely a tremendous loss. Hazel hoped to have children someday and couldn’t imagine the pain of losing one.
She sent kind and warm sympathy toward Gretchen. “I won’t ask you how you’re doing. Honestly, I don’t know why people ask that question during times like these.”
Gretchen attempted a chuckle, but it came out sad and depressed. “Me, either.”
Though to find the right thing to comfort a person was near impossible. “I guess they don’t know what else to say.”
Gretchen grabbed a fresh tissue as tears leaked from her eyes.
Hazel turned to her offerings. “When you’re ready to lay down for some rest, try drinking some of my chamomile tea. It will help calm your mind and let you sleep.”
She inhaled a forced breath. “How can I sleep when Isaac’s murderer roams free?”
Hazel’s empathy twisted tight. “I’m so sorry. I know Peter is working hard to find whoever committed this heinous crime.”
Her sob ended with a gasp for more air. “I already know who did it. He doesn’t need to waste anyone’s time. It was Anya.”
Gretchen’s gaze turned accusatory. “I saw you leave with her last night.”
Hazel gave her a gentle nod. “Yes. I thought it best if she wasn’t near you. I know she upsets you, and you had enough to deal with.”
Tears flooded her cheeks, and she nodded. “I’m sure she’s denying everything.”
Hazel wasn’t sure how to respond except with the truth. “She says she had nothing to do with it.”
Gretchen shook her head repeatedly as her emotions traveled closer to completely unraveling. “She made his life miserable from the first day. Poisoned him. Tried to run him into the ground. I told him he shouldn’t marry her, but he did. And now look. He’s dead.”
Poisoned him? She wished she could probe further into that detail, but she feared Gretchen had reached her limit. “I’m truly sorry, and I feel I’m making this worse for you. I should probably go.”
Gretchen nodded.
But when Hazel stood, she did, too. Vibrant anger shot from her.
The bereaved woman pointed a sharp finger at Hazel. “Don’t you believe a word she says, Hazel. That woman is a convincing liar. That’s how she trapped my boy. Then as soon as she had him in her clutches, she started telling him he needed to eat right. He needed to earn more money. The wretch was never happy.”
She paused to inhale a shaky breath. “When she’d finally worn him down to nothing, she sent him packing. He was never the same afterward. He would cry to me about how awful she was. Anya Worley is a murderer, and that I know with my very soul.”
Hazel exhaled, unsure how to diffuse the situation. She was reminded of Peter’s saying about how she couldn’t close an opened can of worms. Boy, was he right.
She needed to leave, but she couldn’t with Gretchen in such a state. “Would it be alright if I brewed you a cup of chamomile tea before I go? I would really like to do that for you.”
Gretchen’s anger crumpled, and she collapsed onto the couch. “Thank you. I think I need it.”
No doubt about that.
When Hazel left thirty minutes later, Gretchen struggled to keep her eyes open. She knew she’d be asleep before Hazel made it to her bike.
Hazel was grateful that she’d be riding her bike to the next delivery stop. Time in the fresh air would help her to cleanse the sadness and anger she’d absorbed.
She felt it was her duty to enter her clients’ houses on a positive note. Spreading kindness and love was part of her commitment to her community. She hoped one day she’d spread enough that they’d open their hearts to her kind.
It would happen. She knew in her soul that it would.
Five
Hazel bustled about her kitchen, pulling chilled chicken salad from the fridge and placing homemade crusty rolls she’d picked up from Cora’s on a plate. After dinner, she and Peter could share some of the peach cobbler she’d made from scratch topped with vanilla ice cream. Eating dessert while sitting on the porch swing he’d helped her install the previous week sounded like heaven to her.
She’d already packed several helpings of salad into a disposable container, added two rolls, and some of Cora’s cherry macaroons, and delivered the care package to Anya. Her friend’s despondent mood had saddened her, and she’d promised to be back the following day to check on her.
For now, Hazel needed time with her man.
Hopefully, she’d hear details about the case, too. Good thing he knew she loved him for him and not just the informa
tion he’d share with her.
Usually, she was just as happy to give him information as get it, but this time was different. She was well aware that things didn’t look good for Anya, but as much as she’d tried to consider her guilty, she couldn’t. Everything in her heart told her Anya was innocent.
Navigating a one-way flow of information might be tricky. But if she told Peter what Gretchen had said, it would cast Anya in a worse light.
Determined to have things go her way, Hazel placed plates and silverware on the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old wood table she’d discovered in Salem a week ago. Peter had driven it home for her and helped her place it beneath the now-sparkling chandelier. She owed him dinner for that, if nothing else.
As she turned toward the fridge, she caught sight of Mr. Kitty through the window, lounging in the shade at the edge of her property where the trees grew thicker. Upon further inspection, she realized shadows partially hid the black cat that lay curled against him while he licked behind her ears.
She sighed. Young love.
Or would that be old love since Mr. Kitty could possibly be three hundred years old? She had no idea the age of his sweetheart. Perhaps she’d been hanging around that long as well.
At least they had each other. She found that very sweet.
A knock sounded on her door, and she turned. Speaking of sweet…
She moved quickly through the house to the front door and opened it to find the handsome man with dark wavy hair and devastating green eyes that had stolen her heart.
“Hi.” She smiled and stood on tiptoes to kiss him.
“Hello,” he said with his mouth still pressed against hers, which made her giggle.
She stepped back and allowed him entry, and he closed the door behind them. “Now that’s the proper way to greet a man. I love it.”
A smile blossomed in her heart and radiated outward. “And I love you.”
He gripped her waist and pulled her to him. He devoured her with his mouth again, and she reveled in the feelings his kiss created. “Love you more.”
She took his hand and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s eat. I’m hungry, so I know you must be starving.”
