by Cindy Stark
That would be because he hadn’t told her a thing. She squeezed his hand and took some of his anxiety as her own. “Is it all from Belinda’s case, or something else, too?”
“It’s all the investigation. People are saying suicide. Others call it an accidental drowning. Still more claiming she was a witch who deserved to be murdered.” He paused to fill his lungs. “Most of the evidence is compromised at best and not giving us many clues.”
Her train of thought derailed at the mention of witch. “A witch? Why would they say that?”
Peter flicked his gaze from her and focused on the duck pond up ahead. She had the distinct impression he was holding back, and that thought bothered her. If she had to guess, she’d say the inverted pentagram was at play on the authorities’ minds as well.
Finally, he scrubbed the day-old scruff on his chin and sighed. “I don’t know. That’s what they always say.”
She drew her brows together. “But you’re acting like you believe them. What if it has nothing to do with witchcraft?”
He snorted and smiled at her as though she was a child. “Trust me, Hazel. We’re following all leads and possibilities.”
She stiffened as though he’d schooled her. “I’m sure you are.”
He lifted a thumb and traced it down her cheek. “Please don’t be angry that you can’t be involved this time.”
She frowned, not happy that he’d read her so easily. “I’m not a petulant child who’s mad because I can’t go to the zoo with the other kids. I can’t help it if I’m interested.”
He opened his palms in a show of defeat. “I know. I know. I didn’t mean to insinuate that.”
Hazel inhaled blossom-scented air and let it cleanse her irritation. Then she sifted through what he’d said. “Has the coroner determined she was alive when she went into the water?” She knew enough about police procedures to know they could determine that sort of thing.
This time, he didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes, the coroner said she was still alive. He estimated she’d been there about eleven hours which would place her time of death around one in the morning. We don’t know whether she was conscious or not.”
They stopped at the center of the stone footbridge and leaned on the wall to watch the stream amble past. “I guess that still doesn’t tell you much other than she wasn’t murdered somewhere else and dumped in the pond.”
“Exactly.” He shifted to face her, and she took in the dark circles under his eyes and the desperation emanating from him.
His need tugged at her heart. She shifted so that she faced him squarely and wrapped her fingers around his arm near his elbow. “I’m so sorry.”
He relaxed slightly. “To make matters worse, apparently Belinda is the niece of a New Jersey state senator, and he’s pulling some strings. He’s insisting federal agents also investigate, hinting that I don’t know how to do my job. And while I wouldn’t mind the use of their lab, my men and I are fully competent.”
People with egos could be such jerks. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”
He stared at her for a long moment. Tingles erupted on her skin, and without warning, he slid a hand around her waist and pulled her tight against him. His mouth covered hers in a heated kiss.
Her heart thundered harder because they were in broad daylight. Part of her wondered if she should stop him before someone saw and started gossiping about the hot kiss between the teashop owner and the police chief. But he pulled away as abruptly as he’d kissed her.
Peter exhaled. “Thanks. I needed that.”
She chuckled at how he’d caught her off guard and how quickly he’d made his move. “I actually meant something more along the lines of helping you solve the case, but I’m not complaining.”
He kissed her once more lightly on the lips. “I wish I could tell you more about everything, but with the senator breathing down my neck and therefore the mayor, I shouldn’t really talk about it.”
She frowned. She understood there was a code of conduct he needed to adhere to and that perhaps he shouldn’t talk to her about cases like he’d done in the past, but it wasn’t as if she was a reporter or someone untrustworthy who might compromise the evidence.
He searched her eyes, his full of concern. “I hope you can understand.”
Disappointment and sadness curled into a tight ball inside her. “Of course.” She’d likely go insane from wonder, but she had no choice.
He wrapped strong arms around her and held her tight against his chest, so tight she could feel his heart beat. “Thanks. Your moral support helps.”
Although disappointed, she knew this wasn’t all about her, and she did want to help him, not just solve the case, but in everyday life, too. She stood on her tiptoes, placed a hand on his scruffy cheek, and kissed his tantalizing lips once more. She pulled back, and he smiled. “You can call me whenever you need me.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” He glanced down the path where they’d come from. “I should get back. Lots of stuff to manage. I just needed a break.”
She nodded in agreement and took his hand, and together, they walked back to their vehicles. He helped her into her car before he climbed into his and sped off.
She sighed. She did understand why he couldn’t talk to her, but that didn’t make it any easier. She certainly didn’t want him to jeopardize his career for a relationship that could never last. So, she vowed to help him however she could and try to be happy with that.
She put her car in gear and had driven half a block away from the old church before she realized that although he couldn’t share information with her, that didn’t mean she couldn’t poke around on her own.
In a small parking lot near her teashop, Hazel parked her car. She pulled out her phone and searched for Charlie Rossler’s number. She’d first met him when she’d called his landscaping business for help clearing tree limbs from her yard after Stonebridge’s epic storm had ripped through her trees.
It just so happened she’d been needing to do some heavy-duty spring cleaning in her yard, plus she’d already received permission from her landlords to put in another small herb garden.
She certainly could do the work on her own, but it would be nice to have help from a landscaper.
If she happened to learn anything from Belinda’s ex-boyfriend, that would only be a bonus.
Eleven
Hazel woke early on Saturday, happy to have the morning off. Today was the day Charlie was scheduled to help with her yard, and her mind raced with possible ways to mine information about Belinda from him.
Gretta would cover the teashop until late afternoon, and then Hazel would take over. Now that the weather was warmer, her number of customers had increased, and like many shops in town, she stayed open later to accommodate them. She and Gretta split the day, which gave Hazel a chance to tackle her ever-growing to-do list, and Gretta time to play in the evening.
The first tick mark was her weekly shopping at the grocery store. She managed that in record time and then headed home. When she arrived at the house, Mr. Kitty was nowhere to be found, and she wondered if he’d somehow managed to sneak out again. One of these days, she was going to figure out how he did that.
She rushed through her cleaning chores, and then just before noon, she threw together a ham and swiss sandwich, tossed some carrot sticks on the plate so she could say she was being healthy, and then added a lovely dill pickle as a treat. She carried her plate and a glass of lemon water to the table. When she slid out the chair to sit, she discovered Clarabelle’s spell book waiting for her. Again.
She wished she could say she was surprised. It seemed every time she turned around the last couple of days, she found the tome waiting for her. Mr. Kitty had memorized her routine and left it in places where he knew she’d have a moment to read it.
Though she had to say leaving it in the fridge was pushing things a little too far. She also wondered if that meant he thought she went looking for snacks too often.
She lifted the book of spells, placed it on the table near her lunch, and sat. With half the sandwich in one hand, she took a bite, and then opened the ancient tome to the kid’s bookmark she’d used to mark her spot. With nearly fifty potions and spells listed—yes, she’d counted them all the previous night when she couldn’t sleep—she wondered if she would ever remember them, let alone become prolific at using them. Her track record wasn’t so good, so far.
She flipped through a couple of the pages in the middle of the book, half noting the ingredients and words she would need to create a potion for wards or to cast a spell to make it rain. A page later, though, an interesting heading jumped out at her.
Clarabelle’s truth-telling spell.
Hazel leaned closer and read over the list of necessary ingredients. This was something that could certainly come in handy. She couldn’t imagine Peter would disagree with her. Although, he would have to accept witchcraft into his life if he truly were to benefit from it.
Then again, maybe she could find a way to use it and then help Peter with his work. He wouldn’t be able to ignore her usefulness then.
A crazy thought entered her mind. Maybe she could use it on Charlie when he showed up that very morning to help her with yard work. She could casually chat him up, and he’d happily volunteer information.
If she learned something valuable to Peter’s investigation, she would share with him. She didn’t need to explain how she’d made Charlie talk. If nothing came from it, she didn’t need to say a word about her clandestine activities.
Milk from a cow. Two drops of vinegar. Spoon of sugar.
Whether truth be sweet or sour, let it pour from thy mouth this very hour. I call upon the powers that be, bring forth the words, so mote it be.
The first thought that came into her mind was that this was such a simple potion, even the most novice of witches should be able to manage it. Then a quiet but snarky voice reminded her that the eyelash spell she’d tried had also seemed easy, but she’d ended up with purple irises in her eyes instead.
However, in her favor, she was pretty sure the money spell she’d tried had worked. Like, who couldn’t use an extra five bucks, right?
She sighed in defeat. There was no way she could attempt that spell on Charlie. Not without testing it first. Cora would probably be a willing test bunny, but if she waited until she had a chance to practice on her friend, she’d miss her opportunity with Charlie. She might get another. Then again, she might not.
She tilted her head as another idea popped into mind. She could give it a quick test drive on herself. She’d buried a few memories, had a few regrets in her lifetime that she didn’t necessarily want to be truthful about, but they weren’t anything she couldn’t manage if they came up. In fact, if she asked herself about them while under this spell, then she would be forced to tell the truth to herself, and the answers she received might help her with unresolved matters from the past.
She glanced at the clock. Charlie wouldn’t arrive for another ninety minutes. That should give her plenty of time for a quick experiment.
In her bedroom, she pulled her large suitcase from the closet and plopped it on her bed. She unzipped the lid, opened it, and then felt along the inside until her fingers ran across the small indent that would allow her to pull open the false bottom. She’d been careful not to bring too many items that might expose her as a witch, but there were some things that a lady couldn’t do without. Especially if they were items she’d be unable to get in Stonebridge.
Such as an object of protection. With her track record, she thought it best to be safe rather than sorry.
She opened a small pouch and pulled her black tourmaline necklace from inside. The chain was long, allowing it to slip over her head and let the crystal fall beneath her shirt and snuggle between her breasts close to her heart, where it also wouldn’t be seen.
She then pulled a small notebook from her nightstand and spent a few moments pondering what aspects of her life would be worth digging into to have answers. The first to surface was her previous, complicated relationship with Victor.
He’d been her first real love, and though she’d convinced herself she was over him and the damage he’d done to her by cheating, she’d like to know for sure if the sting she still felt every time she thought of him was residue or the result of her still trying to process his betrayal.
Did she truly believe she could forever be safe in Stonebridge?
She added a fun question about whether she’d rather be thinner or eat more cherry macaroons.
Finally, she acknowledged the haunting question that had been hovering at the edges of her mind for a while now. Would she ever consider trying one of Clarabelle’s dark spells? If necessary, she added.
Satisfied with her questions, she headed to the kitchen and stirred together the truth-telling concoction, going easy on the vinegar, which she felt must be tied to negative truths, just in case Cora had been right about things being more potent in earlier times.
Determined to learn the boundaries of the spell, she downed the contents, whispered the words, and waited.
A tingly feeling hummed low in her chest and radiated its vibrations outward. The power of it left her nervous, and she inhaled to calm the sensation, but it remained.
Blessed Mother, she hoped that was a normal reaction. In a way, it made sense. Many things in her world had consequences, good or bad. She believed it was how the Blessed Mother kept balance among living things.
A spell that caused vulnerability by making a person unable to hide her feelings was balanced by the fact that person would be able to detect the magic that caused it. Those natural boundaries protected everyone. Though she doubted anyone outside the magical world would know she’d been drugged.
Hazel relaxed into the feeling and reminded herself to breathe. Witchcraft was in her blood, and she needn’t be afraid of it. If she’d lived back in Clarabelle’s time, this would probably be a spell she would have tried on her friends like Truth or Dare.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a hint of ginger, and she turned her gaze to find Mr. Kitty watching her from the doorway. His body was taut and alert, and she was certain that he’d sensed her magic and had come to spectate.
However, she was not going to do this in front of him. It might seem silly, but there were some things she wanted to keep private. Especially if she totally screwed it up.
She crossed the kitchen and paused next to him. “Sorry. This one is for me only.” She continued to her bedroom, glanced back to find him not far behind, and closed the door in his face.
He wouldn’t like it, and she took a moment to appreciate that fact. Too bad for him. She didn’t feel obliged to share her magic with him. The cat was far too sassy for his own good, and she didn’t need him mocking her if she made a fool of herself.
She just hoped he wouldn’t be able to magically walk through a door like she wondered if he could sometimes.
She crawled onto the soft pink patchwork quilt that covered her bed, another heirloom from her seamstress master grandmother. She’d wanted to save this one, but her grandmother had insisted she’d made it to be used, and she would be sad if Hazel locked it away somewhere.
She’d learned never to argue with her grandmother.
Hazel crossed her legs beneath her and leaned back against the pillow. This experiment was harmless, she reminded herself, and she then lifted the notebook with her questions from her nightstand.
She hesitated to read them. Now that she was faced with answering some difficult questions, she wasn’t so sure this had been a good idea. Not everyone was meant to be completely honest with themselves, either. Not when memories and thoughts had been put into place to protect hearts and minds.
But if she didn’t go through with it, she wouldn’t know before Charlie arrived if it worked, logic argued. That had been the point of trying the spell in the first place.
After expelling a deep breath, she skipped the first ques
tion about Victor and focused on the next. Did she believe that she was safe staying in Stonebridge like she had convinced herself she was?
No. The answer came immediately and with enough force that it stole her breath. She took a moment to calm down.
Okay. She’d known there was an inherent risk by being here, but one she could mitigate.
Another wave of doubt rolled over her, drawing her anger. Fine. It was dangerous. But this was a risk she wanted to take.
Yes. A sense of peace washed over her, and she knew she’d discovered the depth of that question and could be okay with it.
Holy harpies, she realized. Her spell had worked. Clarabelle and Mr. Kitty would be proud.
Onto a harder question. She’d convinced herself that she knew she was over Victor. He’d broken her heart, but she’d pieced it back together, and it was as good as new.
No.
She growled, growing frustrated by the answers. She was over him. She had to be.
No.
“Yes,” she argued. She’d moved on. In fact, she had a new man in her life. She had no room left in her heart for the one who’d decimated it.
Wrong.
She slammed the notebook closed, tossed it on the bottom of her bed, and stood. Enough of this. Obviously, the spell worked. Continuing further torture wouldn’t prove that to her any more than she already knew, and there was no sense ripping open old wounds to prove her point.
She already knew she’d choose cherry macaroons every time, and she didn’t want to know what she thought about using Clarabelle’s dark spells.
Yes, you do.
Her mind began to explore that question, but the sound of a car door slamming distracted her. She peeked out her bedroom window and found a green truck parked along the curb. A Rossler Landscaping Services logo covered the driver’s door, and Hazel muttered a quick prayer of thanks that Charlie had saved her from herself.
Twelve
Charlie arrived ten minutes early. Hazel wished she’d had a few minutes to chill after her unpleasant question and answer session, but his interruption was well-timed, and she couldn’t complain.