Pick Your Potion

by CC Dragon

  “I told him that’s crazy. He’ll give himself a heart attack. But he’s convinced someone did something to Mom. Her health was stable. She’d been diabetic most of her life, so she knew how to manage that. I think it must’ve been her heart or something just changed. But my father won’t consider that. He wanted to grow old with her.” She sipped her coffee.

  “I understand. He’s convinced someone hurt her. We were her first stop, and he probably heard her complain about us. Is there any way you could talk to him and make him understand?” I asked.

  She smiled. “I’ve tried. He knows she can be harsh and irritate people. But she’s worked at the library for years and been part of the garden club forever. She’s had the same friends all her life. Fights and getting over the fights. Ups and downs. You’re the new thing. Your shop is only a few years old. She liked the old diner that was there previously. She hated the coffee chains more than your café, but she did like trying all the different stuff without it being as pretentious.”

  “So, your father can’t blame her co-workers, friends, garden club, and so on. He probably is friends with the husbands of the garden club members. And friends’ husbands.”

  “They did a lot of couple things. And he likes going to the library. So, in his mind, it can’t be anyone there. Even though she’s made her share of enemies everywhere. I know she could be hard to please.” Dana rubbed her forehead.

  “I’m sorry; I’m not making this easier on you. I just wanted you to know that no one at our shop had any grudges against your mother. She tried all sorts of drinks, and the baristas liked that. They get bored with the same things every day. She had high standards, but that kept my people on their toes. She never said our place wasn’t clean or stocked. That made me feel good.” I shrugged.

  “She was very hard to please. I wish they’d just do those tests and we could know. I know there is a backup. Life in a city. The morgue and medical examiner’s office are understaffed, I guess. But that’s the only thing my father will listen to. Someone in authority saying it was her heart or a stroke. Or someone else confessing they did something bad.” She frowned.

  “Was there any enemy she especially had a problem with lately?” I asked.

  Dana shook her head. “Most of the stuff is old. History that bubbles up when they disagree. But, really, I shouldn’t be talking to you while the investigation is still open.”

  She stood, and I did, as well.

  “Your father said the same thing, I don’t understand why. I think you believe me that we didn’t do anything to harm her,” I said.

  “There were some threats made. The police are investigating. I don’t know who did it or why, but it’s hard to ignore. It’s scary to hear them. I think you should go,” she said.

  “Threats against you?” I asked.

  She stared at me.

  “Against your mother since she died?” I asked.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about them,” she said.

  “Why would you let me in your house if you thought I had anything to do with it?” I pressed.

  She walked to the front door and opened it. “I wanted to hear your voice. See if it felt familiar.”

  “Does it?” I asked as I approached the door.

  “Please just go. I’ll speak to my father about risking his health outside in this cold. My mother wouldn’t want that. My son only has one grandparent left.” She was near tears. This really hadn’t gone as planned.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I stepped out onto the porch. “I won’t bother you, anymore. Please just know that no one hurt her at my café. And I certainly didn’t threaten anyone, just for the record.”

  She closed the door in my face.

  I climbed into my little green VW Bug and warmed up. That hadn’t gone at all like I’d hoped. But at least she didn’t believe we’d hurt her mother. There was a logical reason her father blamed us—anyone else would mean blaming a friend, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

  But threats against Mrs. O’Conner? The voice sample from Esme made sense, now. Her voice was deeper with a bit of raspiness to it. Mine was much higher. Maybe I didn’t sound like whoever had threatened them. Wouldn’t they disguise their voice? I texted Detective Shelley that I needed more information. Trying to smooth things over might be making things worse, somehow.

  * * *

  Sipping hot tea, I sat at the back table in the café and waited for the detective. Mr. O’Conner was still blustering outside to keep people out. Fred from the sandwich shop next door had tried to convince Mr. O’Conner to go home or at least have some soup. The old man was stubborn. Detective Shelley walked up to the door, and they exchanged a few words.

  Mr. O’Conner finally packed up and got into his car.

  The detective came in and headed right for my table.

  “Is that why you wanted to see me?” she asked and nodded toward Mr. O’Conner.

  “No, but thank you. The other shop owners have tried to talk sense into him or warm him up, but he doesn’t listen to anyone.” I gestured to the chair opposite me.

  “Want something to drink?” Ellen, one of our baristas, asked.

  “Large hot coffee, regular,” she said.

  “Refill, please. Thanks,” I said.

  “What was so urgent?” Shelley asked.

  “I tried to speak to Mr. O’Conner yesterday. He started talking but then said he shouldn’t be here, and we shouldn’t be talking. It seemed odd. Today, I went to see his daughter. Just to deliver a gift basket for condolence and talk about her father’s protest. His safety.”

  “It’s interfering with your business,” she said.

  Ellen dropped off the drinks.

  “Thanks, Ellen.” I nodded and took a sip.

  “Yes, fine. Mr. O’Conner is hurting my business and the other businesses in the area. I can handle it. Mrs. Stevens seems sure it was natural causes and her father is just grieving. But then, she said we shouldn’t be talking either. She mentioned threats. You took a voice sample from Esmeralda. I need to know the whole story,” I said.

  “The investigation is ongoing, but we’ve gotten far enough along. There were threats against Mrs. O’Conner after she’d made her insults to your shop and witches. Her husband got a phone call at home. The voice sounded female but also distorted. He let the machine get the rest of the calls that afternoon. It wasn’t Esmeralda, and no one thinks it’s you. There was a note left in the mailbox, as well. That’s part of why we can’t dismiss the idea that someone did do something to Mrs. O’Conner. Without the threats before her sudden death, there would be much less reason to put people on the case.” She was choosing her words very carefully.

  “I understand. She did threaten our witch theme and pagan ways. But more than a few people have made rude remarks. Especially if they don’t know the history of the city. Salem gets all the attention for the witch trials. It’s part of the history here, too, and brings in some tourists. People lash out when they’re having a bad day. I don’t take it personally.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Thank you for confirming that Mrs. O’Conner mentioned something about you being witches. I don’t believe you mentioned that, at first,” she said.

  I shrugged. “It didn’t seem relevant. No one has ever done anything more than a little protesting. We decorate for Christmas and Easter, as well as all the other major holidays. We’re not trying convert anyone.”

  “But someone took offense to her threats and made ones of their own. Were members of your coven here?” she asked.

  “Esmeralda. My aunt, but she couldn’t threaten a mouse in her kitchen. There might’ve been some customers. A couple of the staff are. I can give you a list, but I hate the idea of my coven being harassed. I can be sure of the staff that was here but not of all the customers. Plus, word travels.” I couldn’t believe someone would threaten a customer.

  “I understand. But it means someone heard about her threats and had a problem with her enough t
o make their own threats, and the woman was found dead the next day. You see, we have to investigate until the medical examiner comes back with cause of death. We did ask the family to keep their distance and not talk to you or anyone else about it. Tried to keep the threats a surprise piece of information, but Mr. O’Conner can’t seem to stay away.”

  “He’s upset. I just don’t want him to get frostbite or have a heart attack. He shouts at people and gets so worked up in the cold.” I shook my head. “I’m sure he loved his wife very much, but she wouldn’t want him to end up in the hospital.”

  “Thank you for calling me yesterday. The patrol car took him home. The officer had a talk with him. I called him later on. I’m not sure there is anything we can do short of arresting him to keep him from coming back. But if he’s there for more than an hour at a time, call, and we’ll have a patrol car take him home,” she said.

  “I will, and I’ll let every shift manager know, in case he tries protesting overnight. I hope he’s not that crazy. What a thing for your officers to do. Our tax dollars at work. Any idea how long before we get the information from the autopsy?” I asked.

  “Could be another week. The results will be accurate. They are short-staffed. And there were a lot of deaths over the holidays. More than normal need to be tested and autopsied. The tox screen should be soon.”

  “Odds are that’ll show nothing?” I asked.

  “Most likely. We talked to her family and searched her things. No sign of drugs or abusing alcohol. Someone would’ve had to slip her poison. But to time that so perfectly that it worked overnight? I think Mrs. O’Conner got what most of us want in a death. To go to sleep one night and just not wake up.” Detective Shelley smiled.

  “But she was only in her sixties. I’d like to make it to at least eighty before I didn’t wake up. She didn’t have cancer or any other disease that might’ve hastened things?” I asked.

  “Being Type 1 diabetic for as long as she was, it’s serious. We think of people living with diabetes all the time. So it’s not a death sentence, but it weakens the body and takes a toll. Type 2 can be cured and managed easier. Type 1 is rougher. I’ve had quite an education from her doctor and the ME. Mrs. O’Conner had some issues medically before. Her doctor wanted her to keep active but also rest and eat healthier. So, we’ll let you know when we find out about the results. And if we find out who threatened her, that would go a long way to removing suspicion from your café. If you could provide me with a list of coven members who frequent your café, that’d be helpful.” She nodded.

  “I’ll email it to you. I just can’t imagine any of them making threats to a regular customer over a bad morning. Mrs. O’Conner never would’ve done anything. I keep expecting her to come through the door.” I sipped my tea.

  “Well, now, you understand why this isn’t a closed case. I wish we could clear you and all your friends, but the threat specified witches. So, it sorts of shines a spotlight on your establishment. Thanks for the coffee. Send me that list by tonight, please.”

  10

  That night, I called a coven meeting. Technically, I had Esmeralda send the email. Everyone assembled on the second floor at ten p.m. The café was quiet but still had some customers, so we moved into my locked room.

  “Did they get the results?” Ellen asked.

  I sighed. “No. The autopsy could be another week or so. Hopefully, we’ll hear about the toxicology screen tomorrow. That may or may not help. The reason that the investigation is focused on us and isn’t just standard procedure is that someone made threats against Mrs. O’Conner the day she died.”

  “What?” Aunt Mandy gasped.

  “Yes, after she left here but before she died. Her husband let their machine record most of them for the police. As she was leaving, Mrs. O’Conner did make some comments about us being witches and the name of the café. Well, someone called her home and made threats. Someone also left a note in the mailbox that was found the next day after she had passed away.” I looked around at the stunned faces.

  “So, they aren’t just picking on us because we are witches?” Ellen asked.

  “No, they are following evidence. Someone left those messages. They even took a voice sample from me the day they told us about Mrs. O’Conner. They didn’t want us to know about the threats,” Esmeralda said.

  “Because we’d protect each other?” Iris asked.

  “Probably. I want to know who threatened Mrs. O’Conner. Someone went to a lot of trouble to find her phone number. To find her address. They were at her house. I need to be sure that we don’t have a snake in our midst. We don’t threaten people. We don’t hurt people or wish harm on them.” I made eye contact with many around the room, hoping I could discern the guilty party…if they were here.

  “You really think they’re among us?” Esme asked.

  “I don’t know. We must wait out the police investigation. That means bad publicity for the café. Mr. O’Conner has been protesting outside daily. And we must hope that the medical examiner has a clear cause of death. I don’t like waiting. I’m not very patient,” I said.

  “We know that,” Violet said.

  “What can we do?” Aunt Mandy asked.

  “We could cast a spell on Mr. O’Conner to keep him at home,” Esme suggested.

  “No, we’re not doing spells on innocent people unless it’s absolutely necessary. That could backfire and make us look guilty, as well.”

  “It’d make us look like witches,” someone from the crowd joked.

  “Cute. But since someone did something bad in the name of witches, we should find out who. That’s my first priority because I need to know I can trust my coven.” I’d worked on the spell most of the afternoon. There was a family spell book in the back. Most witches used standard spells, but I liked making my own.

  I opened my hand and a red ball of light floated from my palm.

  “What’s that going to do?” asked an older witch.

  “Find the guilty party. Whoever threatened Mrs. O’Conner will have the red light hover over their heads,” I said.

  When I pulled my hand away, the ball of light darted around the room, reading all the individuals. It zigged and zagged briefly near every woman in the room. Finally, it darted out the window.

  The twins ran to the window. “It’s gone,” they said.

  “Damn. Did you put a tracker on it?” Esme asked.

  “No, I just wanted to rule out us,” I replied sheepishly. I was good at spells, but sometimes, I wasn’t as good at thinking things all the way through. But Esmerelda had a hundred years on me.

  “Well, it wasn’t anyone here. But the police won’t accept a spell as proof, anyway,” Ellen said.

  I smiled. “True, but I feel better. I know some of you are out to defend Wicca and paganism. You want to make more of a statement. I’d understand if Mrs. O’Conner’s threats upset you. We have the freedom of religion. We also have a responsibility to the paranormal creatures out there. The magical world must be protected. At least I feel like we have that obligation. If you don’t, there are other covens focused on more traditional Wiccan things. But we don’t want witch hunts, vampire hunts, or werewolf hunts. Can you imagine what big game hunters would pay to hunt a werewolf?”

  “You’re giving the humans all the power,” Ellen said.

  “No, I’m not forgetting our history,” I replied.

  “Then, why are you keeping a hunter in your basement? Protecting them and the werewolves is a bit of a contradiction,” said one of the members.

  “I understand it’s hard to reconcile for some people. Some people believe vamps and weres should run wild. If they kill, it’s their nature. But they are sentient beings capable of making choices, and choosing to kill is a crime. I won’t tolerate it. If they kill too many humans, we’ll be at war. The humans will hunt all of us down. Hunters have controlled the killing vamps and weres for centuries. It’s not a perfect system, but it works. Sometimes, a hunter is caught on tape, and the
police want to charge them. So, we’re helping one. He was severely injured. Right now, the police are watching us, so moving the hunter is not an option. Once the case is resolved, he’ll move on. You have my word—I’m not running a bed and breakfast for hunters.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose as tension built behind my eyes.

  “Maybe the café wasn’t a great cover for this. Maybe a yoga studio?” Aunt Mandy suggested.

  Esme shook her head. “Yoga is too much of a trend. You’d have to change out the main offering. Pilates is more in, now.”

  “Fortune telling?” Iris suggested.

  “The gypsies have that market sewn up. You don’t want them for enemies,” I said.

  “Candles and incense,” Violet said.

  Ellen stood. “Coffee and tea is good. We do a great business, and people talk. They talk on their phones and to their friends about anything. And we baristas listen. We know who hates Trump and who secretly supports him. Who never orders anything with the witch themes—those tend to be the strict bible thumpers who like our coffee but not the theme. Most people don’t care. But we get all sorts of people in here for coffee. If you go to something more new age, you lose the people we want to keep an eye on. We need to be more Harry Potter.”

  “Harry Potter was protested in some areas,” Esme said.

  “But the vast majority of kids and parents approved. It was full of witches and werewolves but made people feel good. We can do that,” Aunt Mandy said.

  “A Harry Potter party?” I asked.

  “Maybe for Halloween. I think we can revamp the wall by the front door. That plaque dedicated to the fallen witches in the 1600s that tells people about the history—it’s good, but it might be in the wrong place,” Aunt Mandy said.

  “Hide the truth and put out the happy fake version?” Esme asked.

  “It’d probably work. Move that plaque behind the counter. Move some of the cute witches from TV and movies around, so it’s a mix.” Iris nodded.

  “Right. What if we made up a quiz? Which witch or wizard are you? They fill out a quiz and turn it in for a free small drink and the results.” Violet pulled out her phone and made notes.