Murder of the Month

by Tegan Maher

  They were kinda flying blind since they weren't even sure what the poison was yet. My mind drifted back to Hank's murder—death by pie—and I wondered if we had a copycat on our hands. That would suck. Ida was unpleasant, but Hank had been downright mean, so Ida didn't have nearly the number of enemies. She was a self-righteous old biddy, but she wasn't bad to the core like Hank was, and she sure hadn’t deserved to die.

  Raeann and Levana, a witch who had moved to Keyhole last Christmas under the oddest of circumstances, were busting their humps when I cruised through the back door. Brew4U was packed and there was a line that looked more like a mosh pit than folks waiting for coffee.

  I jumped in beside Levana, who was making the coffees, and listened as Rae called back the next order. Levana was adding the milk to a latte, so I slid in and made the double-shot mint mochaccino. She looked up at me, smiled, and made room for me in front of the machine. It was nice being back behind the counter.

  The three of us had worked together so often that we were a well-oiled, caffeine-producing machine, and the line was down to nothing in ten minutes. I wiped down the counter in front of the machine, then tossed the rag into the sanitizer bucket.

  "Well, ladies, it's been real, but I have to get this coffee to Hunter before my hair appointment, and the last thing I want is to listen to Belle's tardy tangent."

  Slipping the lids onto my own triple-shot caramel latte and the mocha latte I'd made for Hunter, I stuffed a couple bear claws into one bag, some random pastries into another, and scooted out from behind the counter.

  "Thanks, girl," Rae said, and Levana nodded.

  "Where'd everybody come from, anyway?” I asked. “It's the middle of the week." I cocked a brow at Rae and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "Did you accidentally grow the crowd?"

  "Ha-ha," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "It's been like that all week. It's just the fall push. Lots of tourists enjoying the tail end of summer, and locals hopin' for news about—" she stopped abruptly when the bell above the front door jangled. I turned to see what zipped her lip, and Rose Crenshaw, Ida's daughter, shuffled toward the counter, her hazel eyes red and watery and her face puffy.

  "Rose," I said, setting down the pastries and putting my hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry about your mama."

  I truly hoped she hadn't heard about our exchange at the Piggly Wiggly, but even if she had, nobody knew how high-hatted her mother could be better than she did. I couldn't even count the times I'd seen Ida embarrass her daughter in front of other people, berating her appearance or actions, or worse yet, the lineage of the people she was with. So I doubted she’d hold a grudge if she had heard.

  She gave me a watery smile. "Thanks, Noe. I appreciate that."

  Glancing at Rae, who gave her that smile reserved for people you know are grieving, she ordered a coffee and a blackberry danish. As Levana served it up, Rose turned to me, chewing on her lip and shifting her weight from foot to foot as if she wanted to say something.

  We'd been friends in high school but had drifted apart like people do. She'd gone her way and married her high school sweetheart, and I'd gone to UGA. We still chatted when we saw each other, but that was about it. She’d divorced several months ago, from what I’d heard, and moved back to Keyhole.

  Glancing at my watch again, I realized I was going to be late for my hair appointment if I didn't get a move on, but Rose obviously had something on her mind. Since I was going to surprise Hunter, it wasn't like he was waiting for me, so I did the only thing I could.

  "C'mon," I said to her. "You look like you could use some company."

  Her chin trembled a little, but she gave me a tremulous smile and nodded. "I really could." She seemed to notice the second cup in my hand for the first time, and her cheeks flushed. "But I don't wanna put you out."

  I waved her off and led her to a small booth in the corner. "He didn't even know I was coming, and I can stop to say hi after my haircut."

  What had been more of a dull roar of voices before Rose entered had turned to a low buzz of chatter as everybody tried way too hard to pretend they weren't looking at her, or at least most of them did. Some outright stared; I wanted to smack them, but settled for skewering a few of the worst offenders with death glares as I passed them.

  To be fair, they had the decency to blush and look away, but weren't so ashamed of themselves that they resumed a volume of speech that would cause them to miss our conversation. Just to be spiteful, I muttered a spell that would make our voices sound like whispered gibberish. Let them do with that what they would.

  The poor girl probably felt like a bug under a microscope already. I knew I did when Addy passed; everybody was kind—well, except for Hank and his crew—but after I came out of the haze, all I wanted was for people to stop walking on eggshells and hovering.

  Thank goodness for Coralee and Bobbie Sue. They'd mourned too, but knew I'd needed normalcy and had done their best to provide that without crowding me. And I'd had Raeann and Shelby too. As far as I knew, Rose had nobody. She was divorced and had no kids. She had a much older half-brother who was living in China or somewhere and had been estranged from the family for years. Her daddy was around, but it wasn't like he was mourning the loss of the woman who'd stolen his house.

  So, long story short, the girl needed somebody who just wanted to have coffee with her, with no judgment or expectations.

  And because I knew how she felt, I was more than willing to be that somebody.

  CHAPTER 8

  I SLID INTO THE SIDE of the booth that allowed me to see the other patrons, while Rose got the street view. That was probably a good thing, because a few folks were still casting what they thought were covert glances in our direction.

  Rose fiddled with her cup for a couple seconds, not quite sure what to say. I wasn't either, so I pulled a bear claw out of the bag and took a bite of it. I knew which questions not to ask and which profound philosophical statements to avoid. No, she wasn't okay. Yes, she realized her mama wouldn't want her to be sad—though in her case, I wasn't so sure. Yes, she realized her mama had gone on to a better place. Again, not so sure on that one, but I wasn't going to be the one to cast the shadow of doubt. She knew her mama, and I was sure the thought had already occurred to her regardless of what she believed.

  There was one standard condolence I should offer though, seeing as how she obviously had something on her mind. "Rose, is there anything at all I can do for you? And it's an honest-to-goodness question, not just a platitude."

  "Actually," she said, looking up from picking at her danish, "there is."

  I glanced around to make sure the whisper spell was still holding. It must have been, because people seemed to have mostly given up on eavesdropping and resumed the business of drinking coffee and talking about whatever it was they were discussing before the gossip du jour had entered the building.

  "Whatever you need." I was happy she'd always been like us—tough and independent rather than mousy and spineless. It made relating to her much easier, and I knew she wasn't going to ask me to do anything cheesy like watch old family movies. We just didn't express things that way.

  She took a deep breath. "I have to go to her house to get her an outfit. We had a fallin' out a couple months ago, and I haven't talked to her since then. She died with that between us, and I just don't think I can go in there by myself without losin' it. Would you mind going with me? I hate to ask, but ..."

  Bless her heart, I couldn't even imagine having to do such a thing alone. "Of course I will, Rose. Just say when."

  "Tomorrow morning, if you don't mind." Her chin trembled again when I nodded. "Me and Mama had our differences, but she was still my mother, and I loved her. I hate that the last thing I said to her was that she was a miserable old bat."

  This is where most people would say her mom knew she didn't mean it. Since she was like me, though, that would have made her feel worse, because she probably had meant it, at least a little. Instead, I went w
ith the truth. "She knew you loved her."

  "I know, but it still sucks." She swiped at an errant tear that had escaped the corner of her eye, then sniffed and tried to smile. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

  I furrowed my brow at her and made sure I had her gaze. "You have every right to be a mess, so don't feel a bit bad about it. Grieve in your own way and in your own time.” I motioned to her plate. “But don't waste that danish. You need something besides regret in your belly, and those berries are fresh picked out of Addy's patch."

  Another good thing about having Rae and Beth in the family—year-round fresh berries.

  This time, she did smile and took a big bite out of the pastry.

  "Wow," she said around a mouthful, rolling her eyes. "Every time I eat one of these, I'm amazed again by how good they are. Magical."

  "Thanks," I said, tipping one corner of my mouth up at the unintended pun. "Baked with love to cure what ails you, or at least give you the energy to deal with it."

  She took a drink of coffee, then set down her cup and reached across to lay her hand on mine. "Thank you, Noelle. For goin' with me and for givin' me a few minutes to breathe."

  "Anytime. Have you talked to your dad?” I asked.

  She shook her head, her lip curling a little bit in disgust. “Not really, other than to give him the news. I hadn’t even talked to him since I’ve been back. When I called, he was up in Atlanta, though I have no reason why. He’s not exactly torn up about mama.”

  Her relationship with her father was complicated. They’d been close when she was small but after the divorce, he’d pulled away. It was probably because Ida had been brutal to him, but the side effect was that he’d essentially abandoned Rose. She’d gone from being a daddy’s girl to being ... not. I didn’t have anything to say that would make that better because I knew how it felt to have a crappy dad, so I just sat with her and gave her some room to breathe and get some calories in her belly.

  We finished our coffee, then agreed to meet at my shop the next morning. As I watched her go, I felt bad that she was going to have such a bumpy road ahead of her.

  CHAPTER 9

  I SLIPPED IN THE FRONT door of the Clip N Curl just under the clock; another minute and I'd have been—gasp—late. As it was, Belle glanced at the clock and gave me the stink eye as the bells over the door jingled as it closed. Her translucent, painted-on brows lowered in a glower that had probably killed women more faint of heart than me.

  "Hey sweetie," Coralee said, sweeping up the last of the hair from her last client. "How you doin'? Just give me a couple minutes; Sueanne Jennings just left, and it took me longer than expected. That girl's so cheap she tries to cut and color her hair herself, then I have to fix it. It never fails. This time, she highlighted it too. Fried it to a frizzy crisp and left big blobs of white at the roots." She shook her head. "You'd think she'd learn."

  Belle hmphed. "She keeps that up, she'll be bald, and you won't have to worry about it for a while."

  "True enough," Coralee replied, leaning the broom in the corner, the dustpan locked to the handle. She brushed off her hands and gave me a brilliant smile, then motioned to her chair. I set a bag of goodies I'd brought from Brew on top of the mini-fridge in the corner. Coralee loved my apple fritters.

  "Where's Alyse?" I asked, wondering if I was going to be able to get a pedicure while I was there.

  "Took off right in the middle of her shift to go piddle-shittin' around town," Belle groused.

  Coralee slammed her hands on her hips and scowled at her mentor. "For the love of little green apples, what in the world is wrong with you today? You've had a mood on since I got here." She turned to me. "Pay her no mind. Alyse took her mama some soup and cold medicine because she's under the weather. She'll be back in twenty minutes or so."

  Belle started to say something but snapped her mouth shut—a rare occurrence for her. Now I was curious, too. As former owner of the salon, she was overbearing and bossy, but, like Addy, it was rare for her to truly get her bloomers in a wad. And wadded, they were. She was pacing midair and grumbling.

  “I’m so glad to be gettin’ my hair trimmed this morning,” I said, trying to regain a little of the levity that usually resided in the shop’s atmosphere.

  “You know, you should consider cutting it short,” Belle said to me. “You’ve got the face for it, and all you do is complain about what a mess it is.”

  I turned to her, unable to believe what I was hearing. “The one time I thought about cutting it, you threatened to sing 99 Bottles of Beer every time I came in until it grew out again.”

  “Ignore her, sugar,” Coralee said, waving a hand in Belle’s direction. “She doesn’t mean it, and I wouldn’t cut it off in any case.”

  Shooting Belle the side-eye, I slid into the barber chair, and Coralee wrapped the cape around my neck, then tucked cotton in around the band.

  For the next ten minutes, I just enjoyed the feel of the warm water and Coralee's nails massaging my scalp. That alone made it worth the twenty-five bucks she charged for a cut. Unlike those prissy shops in Atlanta, she thought everyone should be able to afford to look nice, and thought it was ludicrous that a wash, blow-dry, and style cost extra.

  She could have charged more and most people would have gladly paid it, but she refused. And I knew for a fact she cut some folks breaks, too. When I was poor, she'd never take more than $10, even with the tip included. If it weren't for my pride, she would have done it for free.

  Disappointment washed over me when she finished rinsing and wrapped the towel around my head. Once she leaned me up, she wasted no time in toweling my hair dry, then spritzing in conditioner and combing it out. Then the questions started flowing.

  "So, dish," she said, spritzing in more leave-in conditioner when she hit a particularly large snag. "I know you've talked to Hunter about it, so set the record straight. Was she really poisoned?"

  There was no need to deny it because she already knew the answer anyway; it was just a warm-up question.

  "Yeah, she was," I said, wincing as she hit another tangle with the comb. It wasn't her fault—I had so much hair, and as curly as it was, it was impossible for me to ever get a comb through it. At times like these, I was tempted to follow Belle’s advice.

  "What kind?" she asked, pulling that section of my hair into a bunch and working patiently at the rats nest.

  "No clue," I replied. "They went to her house last night and all they found was a dessert plate, a cup, and a wine glass, all three of which were in the dishwasher, mostly washed already."

  "That don't surprise me," Coralee said, releasing the section of untangled hair and moving on. "She was a stickler for tidiness. Her car was always spotless and so was her house, the few times I was ever there, anyway."

  I nodded, then regretted it because she poked me with the comb.

  "She was brutal with Rose, too,” I said. “Any time I went to her house, her room was like a model room. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Made me feel like a pig when she'd come to my house, but at least I didn't feel like I had to smooth the quilt if I sat on my bed. Her mom was a tyrant."

  Belle scowled. "Maybe she just didn't want her things all messy. Maybe she wanted a clean house so if anybody came over, she wouldn't be embarrassed. Did you ever think of that?"

  Studying the grouchy, living-impaired matron, I said, "Coralee's right. You're all in a snit about something. What's going on?"

  She heaved an unnecessary sigh. "Fine. I used to babysit Ida Crenshaw. She grew up to be a money-grubbin' bitch, but she wasn't always that way, and a lot of it was her mother's fault."

  "How so?" I asked. "Was her mama as horrible and entitled as she was?"

  Belle shook her head. "No, it wasn't like that—just the opposite, really. They were dirt poor, and Ida's daddy was meaner than a snake, at least before he ran off. Glenna—that was Ida's mama—was always drillin’ it into Ida’s head to marry money. She said if you had to be shackled to a man and mi
serable, you may as well do it in a mansion as a shack."

  I'd heard that said, but was too idealistic to believe it. Of course, I guess it was true if you didn’t have anything to fall back on and got stuck with a horrible spouse. When you were poor, it was easy for other people to tell you to pack up and leave when things got bad, but not nearly as simple to do. It was hard to go out on your own when you didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, especially if you had kids. Not saying it couldn't—or shouldn't—be done, but it would be a lot easier to do if you had money to get a place and didn't have to worry about your kids going hungry.

  "In fairness," Belle continued, "I don't think she meant for Ida to do it three times and rob the poor men blind, but I know where it came from. Now she's dead, and I can't help but remember what a sweet child she was."

  "Just out of curiosity, where does bein' a clean freak come in?" Coralee asked as she pulled my hair from the comb, then plopped the tool into the sanitizer jar.

  Belle huffed. "I don't think Glenna ever washed a dish or touched a vacuum. Their house was disgusting, and Ida never asked friends over because she was so embarrassed. I reckon she went too far the other way on that one, too. She was so eager to slam the door on that life, she didn't realize she was making her own daughter just as miserable, except in a different way."

  That explained Belle's surliness, then. She was gruff and prickly, but she had a good heart and these types of situations were never easy. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't realize you knew her."

  "Thanks," she answered, averting her eyes and running filmy fingers across the edge of the table in thought. "I'm not just mourning her death; I guess I'm mourning her life a little, too. I'd always hoped she'd find happiness, and now she won't."