by Tegan Maher
Grant swore. “You didn’t touch it did you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I didn’t touch it. Do you forget I do have a little training in your field?”
“I’m sorry,” Grant said. “It’s just an automatic question.”
I blew out a sigh. “I’m sorry too. I’m just freaked out a little.”
“I’ll run to my Blazer and get an evidence bag,” Chief Hawkins said.
“You can put that out,” Grant said. “I have a light handy.”
I closed my hand and the fireball disappeared.
“Serena?” Tamara mused as she opened the door. “What’s going on out here? What’s on the door?”
“Careful of the note,” Grant cautioned.
“Are you kidding me?” Tamara demanded once she’d seen the note. “Who did this? Who do I need to fight?”
I threw back my head and laughed. A big belly laugh…and it felt good. “Thanks, I needed that.”
Tamara scowled. “It wasn’t meant to be funny.”
“I know.” I wrapped my arms around my best friend and gave her a squeeze. “Thanks.”
“You two girls stand back,” Chief Hawkins said as he sidled up next to us with an evidence bag. “Let me get this out of the way.”
I crossed over to Grant. “I didn’t say anything last night in my text to you, but I think someone was watching me as I walked to my car.”
Grant nodded but didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just kept nodding his head. “Notice how calm and rational I’m being right now? It’s all for show. Why the heck didn’t you tell me?”
I threw up one hand. “I don’t know. I just thought it was my imagination.”
“No, you didn’t,” Grant said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it this morning.”
I sighed. “Okay. Maybe I did a reveal spell last night and couldn’t see anyone.”
“Meaning?” Grant asked.
Tamara gasped. “Meaning someone cloaked who and where they were! Serena, why wouldn’t you say anything?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know it would escalate to this.”
Chief Hawkins closed the evidence bag and pursed his lips. “You’re gonna hate me askin’ this, Serena, but do you think you can call in your mom to help out at the store today? I could really use your help here. I have Officers Sparks and Hexton already assigned to cover the stores and park today, while I cover the rest of the island.”
“Chief, I can’t,” I said. “I can’t leave Tamara to—”
“You most certainly can!” Tamara exclaimed. “Piper should be here any minute, and if your mom and my mom come in, we’ll be more than covered. Finding out who killed Mr. Tinker and who stole the Yule Log is more important.”
“I agree,” Chief Hawkins said. “Serena, you know the suspects, the family feud, the island, and you might even be able to tune in to who threatened you.”
I groaned. “This is so not fair.”
“I bet we can be back by noon,” Grant said.
“Keep your head about you,” Chief Hawkins said to me, “and remember everything I’ve taught you.”
Five minutes later, I followed Grant to the Enchanted Island Police Department Blazer and hopped inside. I handed him a cup of hot coffee and settled back to think about everything so far.
“It’s almost like someone is playing with us,” I said.
“Come again?”
“The note. There was emphasis on ‘count’ and ‘lucky’ as though they were trying to confuse us as to who the writer was.”
Grant nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “I noticed that too. Extremely vague clue.”
“Turn here,” I said. “We’re about five miles away. So I should probably tell you a little about the land out here. The first house will be Mrs. Songbird’s. This is the original land Portia Bearer was granted when she moved to the island over three hundred years ago. The Bearer family has always lived on that land.”
“Mr. Songbird didn’t mind moving to her land?” Grant asked.
“It was known whoever married Bronwyn Bearer would be living on her land. But it’s a moot point now. Mr. Songbird passed away about ten years ago. Hunting accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So anyway, the Bearer land consists of over thirty acres of prime real estate. They were given the land because Portia was the most qualified at that time to watch over the coveted Midnight Belladonna.” I held up my hand. “And before you ask, I’ll let them tell you about it. Anyway, they have thirty acres here, and then bordering their land is the Night land.”
“Why am I not the least bit surprised two feuding families would live side-by-side?” Grant deadpanned.
6
“It’s this driveway right here.” I pointed to a small opening between two oak trees. “Goes back about half a mile.”
We bumped along silently through the woods until we pulled up in front of a small stone cottage. While ivy climbed both sides of the house, the most striking feature was the living roof.
“What on earth?” Grant mused.
“Cool right?” I opened the door, hopped down, then grabbed my purse since it had gloves and evidence bags. “The Bearers have grown vegetables and flowers on their roof for centuries. Long before green roofs were even popular.”
Grant frowned. “Before what was popular?”
I laughed. “Never mind.”
The front door swung open and Mrs. Songbird motioned us inside. She had a thin, slender build and barely reached my shoulders, yet strength and power radiated from her. She was dressed in a floor-length black house dress and a gray cardigan. Her long, black and silver hair hung loosely down her back.
A quick glance told me nothing had changed since the last time I’d been in the large one-room cottage. Herbs and flowers dried from the wooden rafters overhead, the hardwood floor was covered in hand-sewn rugs, and a massive walk-in fireplace in the kitchen was already cooking something in a cast-iron pot.
“Good morning, Serena,” Mrs. Songbird said. “And you must be the detective I spoke to on the phone?”
“Yes. Grant Wolfe.”
The two shook hands.
“Any news this morning about Mr. Tinker’s killer or my Yule Log?” Mrs. Songbird asked.
“Not yet, Mrs. Songbird,” Grant said.
“Call me Bronwyn, please. Come, let’s sit in the kitchen. My daughter, Brenna, should have the tea ready.”
“I just set it on the table,” Brenna Songbird said. “Serena, it’s nice to see you. I haven’t been to the bakery in a while. With blooming season going on, I’m taking the graveyard shifts, so I don’t get out much in the mornings.”
Grant and I sat down at a table I knew was at least two hundred years old. No one said a word until Bronwyn poured the hot tea and we all cradled the mugs in our hands.
“I’m not sure what more information I can give you about the Yule Log other than what I said last night.” Bronwyn brushed a tear from the edge of her eye. “I’m terribly sorry about Mr. Tinker, but I’m heartbroken about the Yule Log. It’s been in our family for over three hundred years, and this is the first time…”
Her voice trailed off as she looked toward the fireplace.
“We’re all taking this rather hard,” Brenna said. “Bailey, my younger sister, offered to take Mom’s shift this morning so she could be available to help in the recovery of the log. I do the graveyard shift from about eleven until seven. Mom usually relieves me around seven.”
Grant set his mug down on the table. “What’s with all these shifts, and what is Midnight Belladonna?”
Bronwyn set her mug down on the table. “The Midnight Belladonna only blooms on our land. It’s the whole reason the Bearers were given this land over three hundred fifty years ago. We were entrusted to make sure the plants live and thrive, but do no harm.”
“Harm?” Grant mused.
“The Midnight Belladonna only blooms once a year for about two weeks. But when it bl
ooms, it’s very dangerous. Poisonous. It always blooms around the first two weeks of December. Because there’s no set date, my family and I start watching the flowers around the end of November, just to be safe.”
Grant frowned. “How many flowers are we talking? And if they’re dangerous, why haven’t they been destroyed?”
Brenna gasped. “We don’t kill flowers just because they may be dangerous in the hands of the wrong person. The Bearers are watchers, caregivers over the land. We don’t kill.”
“Okay,” Grant said, “how many flowers are we talking?”
“Five now,” Bronwyn said. “About ten months ago one of the plants was stolen. Since it wasn’t in bloom, it wasn’t as harmful. Sadly, whoever stole the flower has probably killed it by now because they’d have no idea how to care for it. We let the chief know, but nothing ever came of it. With the flowers in bloom right now and extremely dangerous, none of us will be leaving the land the next few weeks.”
“I know this doesn’t really get us closer to who killed Mr. Tinker and who stole your log,” Grant said, “but I’m curious to know what would happen if the Midnight Belladonna was stolen when it was in bloom?”
“Picked when it blooms,” Bronwyn said, “it could kill. It’s loaded with poison.”
Grant sighed. “So another thing to be on the lookout for.”
Bronwyn smiled. “Detective, that job has fallen to my family, and we take that job very seriously. There is no need to trouble yourself over the safety of the flowers right now.”
“What’s so dangerous about it?” Grant asked.
“If ingested when fully bloomed, even the tiniest bit, it can cause immediate death,” Bronwyn said. “When it’s not in blooming season, which was when the plant ten months ago was stolen, I really don’t know. I’m not a scientist or researcher.”
“Show the detective the letters, Momma,” Brenna said.
Bronwyn rose from the table and walked over to the wooden kitchen island.
“That’s the largest fireplace I’ve ever seen,” Grant said.
Brenna laughed. “It’s how they used to make them. Since it heated the whole house and most of the cooking was done in the fireplace, it had to be spacious enough that the women could maneuver around safely inside.”
“Here are the notes I’ve received over the last two days.” Bronwyn handed the letters to Grant. “This is why I called Mr. Tinker yesterday to check on the Yule Log.”
Grant slipped on a glove I handed him, opened the first letter, and read aloud. “You take from me, and I take from you.” He laid it down on the table and selected the next one. “I have a stake in that log.” He picked up the last letter. “You’ve led a charmed life up until now.”
“Do you know the story of the Yule Log?” Bronwyn asked.
Grant nodded. “Serena told me.”
“So you know the Nights and the Swindells have always been a threat to me and my family.”
Brenna sighed. “Mom, times have changed. Your generational conspiracy theories aren’t relevant anymore. Kyle and his dad wouldn’t do that.”
“I think it’s the Nights,” Bronwyn said, as though her daughter hadn’t spoken. “They’ve always hated the Bearers and have always felt the log belonged to them. I believe they finally took it back, and Mr. Tinker paid the price with his life.”
“We will be questioning the Nights,” Grant said. “We have a witness that states Kyle Night was in Mr. Tinker’s store around three yesterday.”
Brenna gasped. “No! It’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid so,” Grant said. “If you can think of anything else I need to know, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I understand how important this log is to you and your family. I’ll do everything in my power to see it’s returned.”
7
“I assume since we’re right next door,” I said, “we’ll go see the Nights next?”
Grant grinned. “Nope. Let’s go see Laverne Swindell next.”
“Word of warning,” I said. “She’s kind of—well, she likes to hit on men. I only tell you that because you’re about the right age for her to start fawning over.”
“Fawning over?” Grant mused.
I grinned. “Yeah. Laverne Swindell is kind of a resident cougar. She’s about fifty-five, but likes to date men in their thirties. That’s about your age, right?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not thirty yet.”
I shrugged and grinned. “Probably close enough for her. Besides, serves you right for throwing a wrench in the questioning plan. I don’t see why we can’t save time and just question the Nights next.”
“I have a suspect in mind,” Grant said exasperatingly. “My next step is to eliminate the others. So next I want to talk with Laverne Swindell. I don’t care if she’s next door or thirty miles away. She’s next in line.”
“Fine,” I huffed, snapping my seatbelt on. “We’ll go fifteen minutes in the opposite direction then swing back this way later.”
“Glad you see it my way.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. His reasoning, while probably spot on, would cost me precious time away from the bakery.
Fifteen minutes later, Grant turned left onto Bewitched Drive and then made a right onto Haunted Lane. I frowned when I realized he knew exactly where to go.
“How did you know she lived around here?” I asked.
“I recognized the street name when I pulled her information last night. My grandparents live around the corner on Mystic Drive.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten.”
Laverne Swindell lived in a two-story mint green house with white shutters and a black door. Snow-covered bushes surrounded the façade, while a cobblestoned sidewalk led to the front. There was no porch, just a straight shot into the house.
Grant lifted his hand to knock on the door then winced. “Do you hear that?”
I looked around. “No. What?”
He inserted a finger in his ear then wiggled. “I guess it was nothing.”
In the distance, two dogs barked, and I couldn’t help wonder if they were hearing the same thing Grant was.
This time when Grant lifted his hand, he knocked heavily three times. We didn’t have long to wait before the front door opened and Laverne Swindell stood in the archway dressed in a red and yellow kimono.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Ms. Swindell around town, but I would bet the bank the last time I’d seen her she didn’t look near as lovely as she looked this morning. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, and her fifty-something face was sans makeup, wrinkle free, and glowing.
Flickering a dismissive gaze my way, she slowly looked Grant up and down, licking her lips. “Well, hello there. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Grant cleared his throat. “Ms. Swindell, my name is Detective Grant Wolfe. This is my civilian partner for the day, Ms. Serena Spellburn. I need to come in and ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind?”
“You may enter.” She took a step back and we stepped inside the foyer. “Is this about Mr. Tinker being murdered and my family’s charm being stolen from us years ago?”
“This is about Mr. Tinker and the theft of Mrs. Songbird’s Yule Log.”
“I know nothing about it,” she said. “I wasn’t even aware of the incident until my cousin contacted me about an hour ago.”
“Then I guess we won’t take up much of your time, Ms. Swindell.”
“You can call me Laverne.” She shifted, and her robe slid down one shoulder. “And you can take up as much of my time as you like, officer.”
“Detective,” Grant corrected. “Where were you yesterday afternoon between two and five?”
“I had nothing to do with the murder or the theft. But I will say Portia Bearer—the girl who stole that charm from my family centuries ago—had no right to it. Maybe this is just karma coming back finally. You ever think of that?”
“Ma’am, I’m not going to ask you aga
in,” Grant said. “Where were you between two and five yesterday afternoon?”
Laverne crossed her arms under her chest, jutting her breasts up and out. It was all I could do not to laugh outright at the look of pure panic that crossed Grant’s face. I’d tried to warn him. “I was alone here at my house most of the afternoon. Then I drove to The Craft & Candle to pick up my standing order.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Unfortunately, this beauty isn’t one hundred percent natural, and I must pay an exorbitant amount of money to the Wartons to keep me looking this way.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what products she used, because I had to give it to her…she looked fabulous.
“What time were you there?” Grant asked.
She sighed. “Detective, I have no idea.”
“Surely you can look at your receipt and see, can’t you?” Grant asked. “Aren’t times usually stamped on receipts?”
Her nostrils flared, and I could tell she was angry, but somehow the fake smile stayed plastered on her face. “I’m sure you’re right. I bet the time is stamped on the receipt. How smart of you to think of that.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing at her obvious attempt at snark. If Grant was affected by her words, he didn’t let on.
“Unfortunately, I can’t think of where my purse is right now.” She fluttered her lashes. “Maybe you can stop by later tonight. I’m sure I’ll have found it by then. Or if you have to work the parade and lighting ceremony tonight, maybe I can buy you a cup of hot cocoa?”
Grant gestured to a brown leather purse sitting under an antique entry table at the end of the hallway. “Would that be the purse down there?”
Laverne scowled but didn’t bother to turn around to see where Grant pointed. “Wait right here.” She pivoted, her sheer kimono curling around her legs, and marched down the hallway, her head held high.
“She’s lovely.”
I snorted. “Yeah, she’s always been a little bit of a spitfire. I tried to tell you. But I have to say, she does look amazing. I’ve got to find out what cream of Liza’s she’s using.”