Graves and Golf Carts

by Annabel Chase

“All I wanted her to do was stop by with an offering once in a blue moon. Was that so much to ask? We used to be friends, you know—before her potion business took off. She would’ve thought nothing of dropping by my place for a night of wine and television. She knew perfectly well that I appreciate company when I watch my shows.”

  I felt a flare of excitement at the mention of television. “What do you watch?”

  “Wheel of Fortune, of course. I always guess the puzzle first.”

  “What was Helen-Mary’s reason for not wanting to attend your offering sessions?”

  Fortuna rolled her eyes. “That witch seemed to think that all her luck was self-made. The she had a successful potion business because of her own hard work.” The goddess blew a raspberry. “Can you imagine?”

  I dug my shoes into the sand. “I don’t know. I sort of get it. If I have to give you credit for my good luck, then don’t I also need to blame you when I have bad luck? That maybe you didn’t make enough of an effort to help me?” I wasn’t sure that I’d want that level of responsibility for someone else’s well-being.

  The goddess seemed to contemplate the idea. “I never really thought about it that way. I prefer to be celebrated rather than blamed.”

  “Don’t we all?” I jumped aside to let the ball go out of bounds. “I should tell you that one of your petals was found clinging to her clothing the morning she was found.”

  Her gaze drifted instinctively to her headdress. “How do you know it was from my headdress? I’m not the only one partial to bellflowers here.”

  “No, but you have motive and it would place you at the scene around the time of the obliteration. I’m sure my associate could conjure a spell to test whether the flower petal came from you.” I didn’t name Mitzi in case Fortuna knew that the young witch’s abilities weren’t exactly foolproof.

  “As you can see, my petals drift off my headdress wherever I go,” she said. “I didn’t need to have any interaction with Helen-Mary in order for one of my petals to end up on her clothes.”

  “Where were you yesterday morning?”

  “If you must know, I was tied up all morning yesterday, so it couldn’t possibly have been me at the golf course.”

  “Mind telling me where and with whom?”

  “I was accepting offerings at the gazebo in Olympus Park, which any number of villagers can attest to. I had a steady stream of devotees, no thanks to villagers like Helen-Mary.” She flashed me a satisfied smile.

  “Can you give me a list of names so I can corroborate your story?”

  “Of course.” She made a sweeping gesture. “Half my team was there.”

  “I was there,” Dean called. “I needed a spot of luck for my upcoming weightlifting tournament.”

  “I was there, but only because I like hanging out with everyone,” a minotaur said from the front row.

  “You should come by and pay your respects one of these days,” Fortuna said. “I’m sure you could use a little luck.”

  “I have a coin for that,” I said, pulling the special coin from my pocket and practically shoving it in her face.

  Fortuna grimaced. “A coin? How banal and pedestrian.”

  I slid the trinket back into my pocket. “I’ll have you know that I had some pretty incredible luck last night, no thanks to you.” Maybe the coin was luckier than I realized.

  “I have plenty of alibis,” she said, ignoring my remark. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to rule me out.”

  I was disappointed because I really wanted her to be the killer, not just so that I could be done with this investigation, but also because she irritated me and it would’ve given me pleasure to arrest her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

  “Will there be any further questions?” The ball flew toward her and she jumped up to give it an impressive pounding.

  “Not now, but I’ll be in touch.” I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing for sure I’d ruled her out. I turned on my heel and almost crashed into Cole’s chest, not that I would’ve minded being pressed up against it.

  “There you are.”

  I looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I ran into Jules. She told me you were headed here.” He gave me a look that made my body burn like I was a toaster set on six. “Are you avoiding me?”

  The heat rose to my cheeks. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Because I haven’t seen you since we made out on your front step for like two hours and you seem to be hellbent on conducting this investigation without me.”

  I wanted nothing more than to grab his face in my hands and kiss him again, but I didn’t dare risk it in public. “I wasn’t sure…”

  He eyed me carefully. “Wasn’t sure about what?”

  “Whether you meant it.” I started toward the exit and he followed close behind.

  “What do you mean? You’re worried that I think I made a mistake?”

  I halted and whipped toward him. “Is that what you think? That it was a mistake?”

  He cupped my face in his hands. “Eloise, the only mistake I made last night was not following you into the house and staying the night, but we can remedy that at any time.”

  I released a breath. “In that case, why don’t you come with me now?”

  His brow lifted. “To your house?”

  “No, to Helen-Mary’s.”

  He hesitated. “That sounds both inappropriate and kinky.”

  I smiled and gave him a playful shove. “Not for that, goof. I need to look around. Fortuna and Fred both seem to be dead ends.”

  The demigod appeared somewhat relieved. “I’m glad we’re on the same page at least.”

  “And I’ll be glad when we’re in the same bed, but we should probably wait until this whole Helen-Mary thing is resolved.”

  “That’s very responsible of you.” He examined me closely. “Who are you and what have you done to Eloise?”

  A slow smile spread across my face. “Who cares? I’m more interested in what you could do to Eloise.”

  Chapter Ten

  On our way to Helen-Mary’s house, Cole and I stopped by True Brew to confirm the address with Mitzi. The young witch then decided to tag along in order to avoid senior hour at the shop. Apparently, there was a weekly hour where the elderly supernaturals flocked to True Brew for free potion samples and it was a real circus.

  “How do you decide which supernaturals count as elderly?” I asked. I nudged Cole. “You might qualify in years but certainly not in physical appearance.”

  “It’s more for Zone 2 types who aged before they died,” Mitzi said.

  “Like Harold,” I said.

  “He doesn’t come to senior hour,” she said. “That would involve mingling with the public.” She bit her lip, looking at me.

  My fingers flew to touch the side of my mouth. “Do I have mustard on my face? Wait, that would be especially weird because I didn’t eat anything with mustard today.”

  “No, your face is fine. I feel like there was something I wanted to tell you, but I can’t remember now.” Mitzi shrugged and started walking.

  “I would’ve told you if you had mustard on your face,” Cole said.

  I glanced up at him. “Really? You wouldn’t let me walk all around the village with a yellow face for your own amusement? Because I can’t promise that I’d do the same for you.”

  “You seem to have me confused with Jules,” he said.

  As we turned the corner, I caught sight of an older man with tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Hey there,” Mitzi said. “Senior hour is about to start if you want to get a good spot.”

  He nodded appreciatively. “You’re not staying?”

  “I’m more needed for the investigation,” Mitzi said. “The shop has plenty of coverage though.”

  He looked blank. “What investigation?”

  Mitzi told him about Helen-Mary and his crying intensified until it became a wail. Mitzi fished a tissue out of
her pocket and handed it to him. He blew his nose like a trumpet.

  “This is the worst stroke of luck this village has ever experienced,” he said. “We’re all doomed.”

  “Don’t worry, sir. My deputy and I are working to get to the bottom of this,” I said.

  “I promise you we’re far from doomed,” Cole added.

  The man wiped his nose and stuffed the tissue into his pocket. “I sure hope so. I can’t endure these uncertain times. It’s too stressful.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Mitzi said. “Go home after senior hour and brew yourself a nice cup of lavender tea.”

  The older man wandered away, sniffling.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Kokytos,” Mitzi said. “He’s the god of the underworld river of tears and wailing. He’s always depressed and crying.”

  “I’ll have to remember to keep him off any party invite lists.” What a downer.

  “Helen-Mary’s house is only two blocks this way,” she said. The street was lined with palm trees and squat pastel-colored houses like the ones in Zone 1. Many of them had covered front porches with swings and whirling ceiling fans.

  The witch’s house wasn’t at all what I imagined. Helen-Mary looked like a traditional witch, and so I expected some kind of woodland cottage with a cauldron and jars filled with eyes of newts. Instead, I was greeted by a house that was more beach bungalow than gingerbread. A lake motif ran throughout the interior, with a painted sign that read ‘Life is better at the lake’ and pillows with images of a pier and a fishing boat.

  “I thought witches and water didn’t mix?”

  “We don’t, but Helen-Mary was rather fearless.” Mitzi stopped to admire a framed photo of Helen-Mary on water skis. It was as though the Wicked Witch of the East had gone on vacation instead of chasing after Dorothy.

  “She must have a place dedicated to making potions,” I said. The witch’s version of a home office. I wondered whether the space was tax deductible.

  “It’s in the back.” Mitzi continued looking around the house for evidence.

  “She has surprisingly good taste,” I said.

  Cole seemed equally at home here. “It’s homey, isn’t it?”

  “Where’s her familiar?” Mitzi asked.

  “Maybe in the potion room?” If that was where Helen-Mary spent most of her time, then the cat probably liked to curl up there.

  “She’s probably so confused right now,” Mitzi said.

  My chest ached as I thought about how Mischief must’ve felt when I was no longer there to care for her. She must’ve felt so alone. No wonder she’d braved the Rainbow Bridge to find me. Her fear of the unknown wasn’t as powerful as her fear of being alone. I totally understood.

  We entered the potions workshop and found the black and white cat napping on a loveseat. She stood and stretched when she saw us.

  “Come here, kitty.” I tried to lure her over without reaching for her. I knew better than that.

  Mitzi dared to move closer. “It’s okay, Dahlia. We’ve come to help you.”

  “What will happen to her?” I had no idea what happened when a witch died before her familiar.

  “The coven will adopt her,” Mitzi said, scooping the cat into her arms. Dahlia was much sweeter than Mischief. My cat would’ve taken a solid swipe before letting someone other than me pick her up. “She can’t stay here. Another supernatural will move in soon enough.”

  “Except there’s been a slowdown in new villagers, so maybe she’ll have time to hang out.” I took a good look around the workshop. The space was reminiscent of a chemistry lab. Colorful beakers lined the shelves and a cast iron cauldron was positioned in the enormous fireplace. A work table cut through the center of the room. A stack of journals rested on the end and I crossed the room to flick through them. The most recent entries were fairly innocuous. It appeared that the witch was trying to perfect a potion for adult acne, which I wholly supported. I paged further back to see if there were any notes of interest.

  Cole appeared in the doorway. “Nothing obvious in the kitchen. Anything in here?”

  “This is the center of operations for the potions, that’s for sure,” I said.

  “I’m going to run Dahlia over to my place for food and water and to spend time with Daisy,” Mitzi said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll be here,” I said. There seemed to be plenty to explore in the house.

  Cole inspected the shelves on the far side of the workshop, reading the labels out loud. “I don’t know what half of these are.”

  “That’s because you’re not a witch.” I flipped through the journal looking for any helpful information. I noticed the entry for the dry scalp potion that Fred had been given. The page was marked with a large red X. “Helen-Mary must’ve felt guilty for harming anyone with her potions.”

  “I can relate to that,” Cole said.

  I knew he was referring to his actions during his lifetime. He’d expressed deep regret over behavior that brought about death and destruction after the tragic loss of his wife and son.

  “The fact that you’ve been beating yourself up over that for centuries sort of suggests that you’re a good guy, Cole.”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder. “I have a long way to go before I’m absolved.”

  “And what will be the sign that you’ve been absolved?”

  He considered the question. “Ascension, I suppose.”

  “Cole, I honestly think the only thing between you and ascension is forgiving yourself.” My hand hovered over the page. “This might be something.” I reviewed the entire entry. “According to her journal, she was working on a private commission for someone called Heilyn. Is that a guy or girl?”

  Cole read over my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist as he did so. “Male. Celtic warrior.”

  “He commissioned her to create a potion that…” I squinted at the small print. “Made his sword glow to reflect his mood. That can’t be right. The guy wants his sword to act as a mood ring?”

  Cole began to nuzzle my neck, sending tiny shockwaves pulsing through my body. “Tell me more about your mood.”

  I turned into his arms and tilted my chin up to look at him. “I’m talking about Heilyn’s sword.”

  He pressed his body against mine. “Why don’t we talk about mine? I’ll show it to you now if you like.”

  I laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “You.” He kissed me firmly on the lips. “You’ve gotten under my skin, Eloise.”

  “Like a tapeworm?”

  He cringed. “Very romantic.”

  As much as I liked the direction this was going, I remained fixated on the potential lead. After all, afterlives were at stake. “What do you know about Heilyn?”

  Cole loosened his grip on my waist. “He’s pretty aggressive. Still walks around with his sword like he’s on the verge of battle.”

  “And that’s not against any HOA policy?”

  “He’s never actually hurt anyone with it. He mainly uses it as an extension of his arm.”

  I stifled a laugh. “He what?”

  Cole took a step back to demonstrate. “If there’s something out of reach, like a kite in a tree, he’ll use his sword to get it down.”

  “As long as it’s not a kitten.”

  He grinned. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a macabre sense of humor?”

  “Where can I find this aggressive, self-aware sword-carrying warrior?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Self-aware?”

  “He wanted a potion that revealed his moods,” I said. “That shows a certain level of self-awareness, don’t you think?”

  “Good point.” Cole stroked his rugged jaw, which brought my attention back to his kissable lips. Ack, now wasn’t the time. He seemed to notice where my attention was focused and smirked. “He lives in Zone 1 on Jefferson Street. Maybe we can interview him together and then regroup at your house.”

  �
��And, by regroup, you mean finish what we started last night?”

  He gave a casual shrug. “Unless you and Mischief already have plans.”

  “Mischief’s plan is to make sure that I live alone for the rest of eternity. I like your plan better.” I eyed him curiously. “How do you know where Heilyn lives?”

  “He’s outside a lot. He likes to spar on his front lawn with a few of his warrior friends.”

  “I can’t paint my golf cart, but they can run around with weapons?” I shook my head. “The HOA really needs to get its priorities in order.”

  “You can’t paint your golf cart?”

  “Well, I can now, but it wasn’t straightforward.” A thought occurred to me. “What color hair does Heilyn have?”

  “Sort of whitish blond. Why?”

  Hmm. “Do you think it could look gray in certain light?”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought. Why?”

  Mitzi reappeared in the workshop, slightly out of breath. “Those two are going to get along famously. They didn’t even hiss at each other.”

  “Didn’t hiss?” I asked. “Can they even call themselves cats?”

  “Not all cats are as…protective as Mischief,” Mitzi said.

  “Listen, Cole and I are going to interview Heilyn. Do you have the evidence bag with the hair we found on Helen-Mary? I want to see if it matches his.”

  Mitzi paled. “Oh, I knew there was something I needed to tell you.”

  My stomach tensed. “What?”

  “The hair didn’t match Agatha’s, so I was trying to do a spell on it to see if I could identify whose head it belonged to.” She inhaled deeply. “And I kind of destroyed it in the process.”

  Of course she did. “Did you at least get a name?”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. “No. The spell exploded halfway through. I’ve been trying to retrace my steps and figure out where I went wrong, but the evidence is gone.” She sniffed. “I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you.”

  The young witch looked ready to drown herself in the lake. I couldn’t be mad at her. After all, she was a voluntary helper and it wasn’t as though I could do magic. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I have questionable skills—everybody knows that—but for some reason I convinced myself that I could do it.”