by Lynn Cahoon
“I believe you. I’m sure there were many others with actual motive to kill my client. I just thought you might like to know what he was saying.” He glanced at the doorway. “John has been egging him on, at least in my opinion. You must have gotten on his bad side quick. You’ve only lived here, what, two months?”
“My grandmother told me years ago that it didn’t matter what people said about you, the only opinion that mattered was your own.” Mia glanced at the kitchen door. She wanted to rush through it, run home, put up her feet, and forget about tonight.
“True.” Barney Mann leaned closer to Mia, and she could smell the cologne covering an odor of sweat and decay. The man would be following Adele into the next life sooner than he knew. “Honestly, I think Mr. Danforth has a secret. A secret that could affect your grandmother.”
“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with Grans?” A chill hit the back of Mia’s neck under the collar of her chef jacket. Laughter sounded in the hallway; the rest of the guests from the party were arriving for their meal.
“I’ll keep you informed.” Barney glanced at the people coming into the room. “Just keep your grandmother safe.”
Mia reached for his arm to ask him more, but he shook her off and went to the hostess. “What an amazing spread. Did you spend all afternoon in the kitchen yourself?”
Mia heard Carrie’s laughter as she slipped into the kitchen, Barney’s words still ringing in her ears. Keep your grandmother safe.
Christina leaned against the counter, talking in a whisper into her cell. She froze when she saw Mia.
“You can go. I’ll need you back here at ten to help me clean up.” Mia pushed Christina’s coat into her arms. “Who am I to stand in the way of young love?”
Christina blushed, mouthed the words thank you, then exited the house through the back door. Mia watched as she climbed into a two-seater sports car, probably worth more than most houses in good neighborhoods in Boise. So much for hoping she wasn’t seeing one of the Sun Valley elite. “Lord help us if he dumps her,” she muttered to the empty kitchen.
Mia grabbed her purse and coat. As she dug in her purse for the envelope with the invoice for the Joneses, she pulled out the letter to Christina. The one she’d never given to her. She’d put it on Christina’s bed as soon as she arrived home.
When she arrived at the school she groaned. She’d forgotten to turn on the downstairs lights again. The building’s windows gaped black at her, reminding her of the haunted houses she used to draw in Mrs. Stewart’s second-grade class.
Fear trembled through her for a second and she gripped the steering wheel, considering her options. She could go to Grans for a few hours, she could go grocery shopping, she could . . . She could get her butt up out of this car and go into her house. She knew the feeling was a natural result of the attack. But there was no way a criminal would get away with breaking and entering, hitting her on the head, and make her afraid of her shadow. That was not going to happen.
Mia, determined to fight the fear, grabbed her bag and left the warmth and safety of her car. She slowly made her way up the walk, telling herself the lack of speed had more to do with the slight chance of an ice patch and less to do with the fact that she knew she’d be hit as soon as the door opened. And once again she’d be in the back of the ambulance, talking to Trent’s very charming brother.
Now why couldn’t Christina date Levi? The guy seemed nice enough. Maybe a bit of a player, with all the coven stuff. So many witches used the coven roster as their personal little black book. The thrill of the hunt, along with the risk of being turned into a frog, or a snake, or even a garden gnome.
Not for the first time, she wished her magic worked like normal witchcraft. She would have loved to be able to turn Isaac into the slimy, stomach-dragging creature he’d become. But as a hearth witch, her spells and charms seemed to be limited to mostly three things: healing, cooking, and world peace. She’d tried cleaning spells, but had had limited success. The world didn’t seem to be taking on the daily peace charms she chanted in her kitchen after Christina went to bed. Kitchen witches in history had been the village healers. Not the most scary or powerful image. Mia thought about Gloria’s smile as she pictured the kitchen witch doll in her kitchen. She knew more than Grans had explained. Mia wondered what secrets the doll carried.
She stood at her door, key in hand. Stalling; she was stalling. Glancing around, Mia didn’t see anyone lurking in the shadows. She slipped the key in the door and tried to push it open. It hit something on the other side. Mia’s stomach clenched.
“Who’s there?” she called out. Instantly her face flushed heat. Did she really think her attacker would introduce himself before bopping her on the head again? She slipped her hand in her pocket and felt for her phone, just in case. Then she pushed the door again.
This time it slowly creaked open, and Mia realized a box blocked the doorway. She flipped on the light switch, and bright shop lights gleamed around the hallway. The electricians had been in today when she met with the contractors and had stripped out the old lighting fixtures, but apparently hadn’t gotten the new recessed lighting installed yet. So they’d left her with standing lights that made the entry look like an airport runway.
Satisfied no one hid in any dark corners—mostly because there weren’t any dark corners to be found, at least in the foyer—Mia slipped in the door, closing and locking it behind her. She needed to get in control of this fear. Maybe Grans had a safety spell she could wear until she felt more in control. Glancing at the object that blocked the door, Mia was surprised to see the box was wrapped in silver paper and ribbons. She picked up the gift and headed up the stairs to her apartment, leaving on the hallway lights for the moment. She’d be meeting Christina over at the Joneses’ in a couple of hours. She had just time enough to grab some dinner herself and maybe kick back with the mystery she’d been trying to read for the last month. Not like her life hadn’t been mystery enough.
After slipping into her apartment she set the box on the table and turned on the lights in the living room. Again she locked the door to her sanctuary. Better safe than sorry. She walked down the hall, turning on lights as she walked. The brightly lit apartment might be glowing from a casual glance from a townsperson, but the glow helped ease the chill Mia felt. She moved into the bedroom and went right to the bathroom. Slipping out of her chef jacket, Mia turned on the shower, letting the water heat.
She pulled her hair out of the clip that held it up and stared longingly at the bed. She’d been up since five, running from one fire to the next. Sleep would be nice, but she knew if she laid down her head, she’d sleep right through the cleanup. Regretfully, she turned away from the bed and walked to the shower, every muscle in her body screaming.
Ten minutes later she emerged from the bathroom and slipped on a black T-shirt and jeans. She sat on the bed and pulled on her leather boots. She leaned back and closed her eyes for just a second. Then she remembered the gift she’d left in the kitchen. She glanced at the clock as she walked through the hallway. Seven thirty; lots of time. She put the teakettle on to boil and grabbed a piece of bread, slathering on peanut butter. Putting the bread on a paper towel, she sat at the table. She watched the box as she ate her sandwich.
Couldn’t be Isaac. In the five years they’d been together, the man had never given her a gift. Trent? But why would a man she barely knew leave her a present?
She finished her dinner and brushed the crumbs from her hands, excited to find out. She unwrapped the box and pulled off the lid.
There, in a bed of red tissue paper, was her knife.
The whistle from the teakettle screamed.
CHAPTER 13
Even though Mia was almost twenty minutes late arriving back at the Joneses’ house, Christina hadn’t returned yet. The house, although empty, had been ablaze with light, a stark contrast to the way she’d found her house when she’d arrived home what seemed to be days ago.
After she f
ound the knife she sat at the kitchen table and tried to think this through. Why would someone go to the trouble of stealing her knife just to wrap it up and send it to her as some kind of practical joke? Did someone really kill Adele with one of her knives? Or was this John’s idea of a sick little joke? The guy was getting on her nerves.
Finally she picked up her cell and called Officer Baldwin. She’d reached his voice mail and left a message, and when she hung up she heated up a bowl of the soup she’d made earlier that week and turned on the television.
When the news came on she realized it was time to return to Carrie’s. She needed to clean up from the catering job. She may be arrested for a crime she didn’t commit, but she wouldn’t go without finishing her job.
As she moved the empty serving containers from the dining room into the kitchen, she tried to think through the last week. Adele’s nephew had come in as a surprise for her birthday. Then, the next day, Adele showed up dead. Stabbed. And who had a missing knife? Mia Malone, a new, thereby suspicious member of the community. Now the knife in question had been returned, so the evidence that had damned her before was irrelevant. Mia smiled. Even a bad made-for-TV movie would have better motivation.
She glanced around the kitchen for her tote baskets. She glanced at the door to the basement. Crap; she’d told Christina to take them down and out of their way. She hated basements. Mia glanced out the window, but the only car in the driveway was her van. She sighed and opened the door. The wooden stairs looked new, not like the ones in her grandmother’s basement. Mia still shuddered, thinking about the cobwebs she might touch.
Just do it. God, she hated that shoe commercial. She glanced out at the empty driveway one more time for the sports car that had whisked Christina away. Nothing. Christina was going to get a royal lecture on the importance of being dependable first thing in the morning. Even if Mia had to drag her out of bed to do it.
She strained her neck around and could see the blue plastic totes just around the corner on the bottom of the stairs. Two quick trips and she’d be in and out. Taking a deep breath, she took one stair at a time. As she reached the bottom, she heard a door open upstairs. “Christina?”
No one answered. Mia called out again. “I’m in the basement. Come and help me with these containers.”
Mia heard footsteps, and then the lights to the basement went out.
“Not funny,” Mia called up the stairs. She had her hand on the banister. “Turn the light back on.”
Then the door slammed shut. Any light that had been streaming into the basement from the open door vanished, and Mia felt the darkness surrounding her. Her arm tingled and she felt little feet crawling up toward her face. She dropped the plastic container she held and sprinted up the stairs, pushing on the door. Nothing. She tried to turn the knob. Nothing. She kept turning and, with her other hand, banged on the door.
“Let me out of here. This isn’t funny.” Mia’s breath came fast and through her mouth. She felt her heart trying to beat out of her chest. Slow down, breathe. This is just some bad practical joke.
She banged on the door again. “Seriously, let me out. I’m freaking out here.”
She heard a door open in the kitchen, or at least she hoped it was opening and not closing. Who knew how long the Joneses would stay out partying with their guests? She’d rather not be locked in their basement until they wandered into the kitchen for coffee the next morning. Forcing tears out of her voice, she called again, “Hey, open the door.”
Visions of spiders dropping from the ceiling filled her mind and she banged harder on the door.
All of a sudden the light flashed on and the door swung open, almost pushing Mia down the stairs. She regained her footing and pushed through until she was back in the kitchen. Breathing hard, she turned to face her savior and/or the practical joker. “Christina?”
“Why were you in the basement?” Christina’s face scrunched up. “Are you okay? You look a little jacked.”
“Someone turned off the lights and locked the door on me.” Mia sat on one of the black kitchen chairs. She focused on Christina, “Tell me you weren’t just pulling a prank.”
Christina put her hands in the air in mock surrender. “Not me, man. I know I’m late, but we kind of lost track of time. I just got here.” Christina knelt by Mia and put her hand on her shoulder. “Besides, do you really think I could be that mean?”
Mia shook her head, unable to speak. Her thoughts raced. If not Christina, who? And if it was Christina, why? Things were spiraling out of control and Mia didn’t like that, not one bit. She closed her eyes, let her mind focus on the kitchen witch back in her apartment, and breathed. One, two, three, time to let things be.
She repeated the chant three more times. Calmed, she opened her eyes. Christina still watched her, concern filling her face.
“Someone shut and locked that door on me. But the sooner we get all this cleaned up and packed in my van, the sooner we can get out of here. Can you go get the totes? I’m . . .” Mia paused, not willing to admit the fear that crept in just thinking about going down the steps again.
“No worries. I’ll be right back.” Christina stepped toward the basement door. “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”
“Then we’d both be there in the dark together,” Or worse, Mia thought as she waved her away. “Go get the totes and let’s get this packed up.”
Mia stood and started gathering her tools. When she came to her knife case she ran a finger over the slot where her chef knife should be, instead of being back home in a gift-wrapped box. Maybe she was looking at this the wrong way. She felt Christina more than heard her approach. Turning, she pasted on a smile. “So, how was your date?”
Christina turned beet red from the roots of her blond hair to where her neck met her collar. “Good.” Then she turned back to the basement. “One more trip and all the boxes will be upstairs.”
Mia tried to let a smile curve her lips as her helper disappeared into the basement, but she just felt cold. Christina had it bad. She grabbed one of the boxes and started stacking plates into the tote. She’d developed this system when she catered for the hotel. The lid of each tote listed what should be packed into the box. Implementing the organizational system had saved the hotel over $10,000 in lost or misplaced kitchen tools and supplies the first year after she started the process. Another feather in Isaac’s cap, not her own, as she’d found out later.
Ten minutes later she’d put the lid on the next-to-last tote. All that was left was the one Christina was working on. “You about done?”
“There’s one thing missing from the list, and I know it should be here because I used it today.” Christina glanced around the now-bare kitchen counters.
Mia’s heart sank. Not again. She carried the tote she’d finished packing over to the door where the rest were stacked. “What’s missing?”
“The corkscrew wine opener.” Christina glanced at the closed door to the dining room. “You think someone borrowed it to open another bottle after we left?”
Mia considered the idea. “Possibly.” She walked over to the table where Carrie Jones had left a check for the catering with a big thank-you written on the receipt. “I’ll just leave a note for Mrs. Jones. Maybe it will turn back up.”
She wrote out the note on a slip of paper from her notepad, slipped the check into her purse after verifying the amount, and started helping Christina to load the totes. The profits from this one catering job would go a long way to paying back the costs of the Adele party. She thought of the man she’d met that night. Maybe Barney Mann could cut her a check for her costs out of the estate. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Maybe it was tacky, but the dead woman had ordered the party, as well as the two different proteins. She’d call the guy first thing in the morning and get a fax number so she could send the bill for the party that never was.
As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the minivan, she looked over at Christina.
“What? Why do you look like
the Cheshire cat?” Christina set her purse on the floor of the van and pulled out a bottle of water. Cracking open the lid, she offered a sip to Mia.
Mia accepted the bottle, then, handing it back, asked her sous chef in training, “Ever hear of a kill fee?”
The next morning, Christina still tucked away in her bed, Mia paced in the kitchen. Baldwin had yet to call her back. She glanced at the box holding the kitchen knife and her blood chilled. Glancing at the clock, she decided to call the lawyer. Earlier, she’d completed her invoice, cringing a bit when she added in the thirty steaks and additional supplies from Adele’s request, but she had bought the stuff. It wasn’t her fault the birthday girl had been murdered. Her gaze dropped to the still-boxed knife.
“Mann Law Offices, this is Sheila. How can I help you today?” a bright, cheery voice bubbled in Mia’s ear.
“My name is Mia Malone. I understand your office is handling the estate for Adele Simpson. I have a bill I need to submit for payment. May I get your fax number?” Mia held the pen over her scratch pad.
“Honey, that thing hasn’t worked since the last snowfall. We always lose fax and, before we switched up to this other provider, sometimes phone service too. I wish Barney would just bite the bullet and add the fax line to the new guys.” Sheila had a touch of drawl in her voice. Mia wondered if she was more than receptionist to the portly lawyer. Sheila’s voice broke through her vision, bringing her back to reality. “Can you just drop it in the mail? Or come by? I’ll be here until five.”
Mia wrote down the street address and told Sheila she’d be right over. Too much energy ran through her body to sit there and do nothing. She didn’t have another catering job lined up, the renovations were still in full force on the first level, and writing up a marketing plan just didn’t seem like fun. Besides, she needed to drop the Joneses’ check into the bank. She jotted a note for Christina, promising to bring back supplies for breakfast, maybe for a cinnamon roll French toast recipe she wanted to try out. A lot of people loved having breakfast for dinner. Especially families with kids. It might turn out to be a popular menu choice if she could make it more special.
