“I’m telling you, it wasn’t pixies,” I insisted.
“So you’re in the poltergeist camp?”
I was in the homicide camp, and apparently the only one aside from Captain Blue Eyes. “I don’t think Thomas was a cousin. Eliza didn’t either.”
“Oh, of course he was,” Feather said. “Why else would it happen?”
I could not go through this again. I knew what I’d heard, but no one was going to take me seriously until I could prove it.
Feather took a moment to inhale the steam rising from her cup. “So you really seemed to hit it off with that guy last night.”
“Yeah, but, I don’t think I’m ready to jump in,” Dot said.
“I’ll see you two later.” I gulped down the rest of my brew.
“Where are you going?” Feather asked.
“I’m…” I was heading over to the Dewdrop Inn, but I didn’t want to tell them. “I think I should try to talk to Isla.”
“Good luck with that,” Dot remarked.
“I hope you like leaves in your hair and bug bites,” Feather added.
“Hey, she actually came into town yesterday,” I said, getting up. Isla was one of the backwoods witches that spent more time in her cabin with her cats and potions than she did interacting with people. “And she’ll probably be around today.” I forced a smile. “Happy Hettymoot!”
“Happy Hettymoot!” my cousins answered me, along with more witches sitting around us, raising their mugs.
I was totally faking it, but no one could tell. I got an iced coffee with another shot of Hope to go.
Chapter 7
The sunlight made me squint as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Dewdrop was bustling with activity and more people than usual as it always did on Hettymoot. Lots of witches had just got in town this morning or last night and excited families were linked arm in arm as they enjoyed the unseasonably warm early spring weather. Well, unseasonable for everywhere else. Spring always arrived early here.
The man who I suspected was a plain clothed Sheriff’s deputy exited Wicked Brew just after I did. Not immediately as to appear suspicious, but quickly enough that he could see where I was going. I stopped and turned around to look him up and down, just so he knew that I’d noticed.
His dark blond hair sparkled golden in the light and his green eyes deliberately stayed away from mine. He was tall and muscled too, and at least as handsome as that grumpy Captain Kavanagh if not more. Did the Sheriff’s department recruit retired male models or something? He feigned interest in a frilly dress displayed in the window of the local fabric shop even though periwinkle totally wasn’t his color. I laughed and shook my head when Not-So-Secret Agent Man started walking as soon as I did.
There weren’t very many options to go out to eat in Downtown Dewdrop. Okay, there were exactly two. Wicked Brew didn’t really count because they only sold scones, cookies, and muffins to go with their coffees.
The best place to grab a bite was the restaurant that occupied the lower floor of the Dewdrop Inn, Sizzling Cauldron. They had absolutely delicious cheeseburgers, fried chicken, and all the other unhealthy stuff that humans had to eat in moderation. That restaurant should have been packed, but I saw through the window that less than half the booths were full. There was a family outside whose disappointed visiting members were wondering why they were being led across the street instead by an old woman with her nose in the air.
There was a long line outside Twig and Bone, even though they were a lot more expensive with smaller portions and their chairs were made of uncomfortable wicker. That didn’t make any sense to me until I remembered that everyone probably wanted Zinnia’s head on a platter for daring to rent rooms to the troublesome tourists. Her daughter Dahlia ran the restaurant below, and it appeared her business was paying the price for the town’s wrath. Well, her and everybody that was craving good burger.
I ducked into Sizzling Cauldron and sat down at the counter. I wasn’t exactly surprised when the undercover cop grabbed a stool three seats away. Dahlia looked at me like I was crazy when I asked her for a glass of water, along with a menu even though I knew it by heart. Then I told her that I needed a few minutes to decide and I shot a subtle sideways glance at the cop without moving my head. Her mouth snapped shut before she asked me if I’d lost my mind and she turned her attention to him.
I pulled out my phone and faked a silent laugh, then started tapping away, pretending to send a text message as the cop finally settled into a false sense of security and placed an order. Dahlia ignored me until his food was up and she sat it in front of him. As soon as he committed and took that first bite, I told her that I forgot that I needed to speak with her mother. At least he got a good burger out of my ruse and Dahlia needed some extra business.
I couldn’t stop myself from winking at him as I slid into the door that lead upstairs to the Inn. Apparently, the Clarity I’d ordered wasn’t quite kicking in, either. It probably wasn’t the best idea to egg him on.
A wonderful scent of lavender and honeysuckle greeted me as I opened the door to the Inn. Zinnia was leaning on her elbow at the front desk, looking entirely overwhelmed. I couldn’t blame her.
“Not you, too,” she said as I approached. “This isn’t my fault. How could I have known?”
“I’m not here to grill you, Zinnia,” I reassured her. “Okay, that’s not entirely true.”
She sighed as her face fell. Zinnia looked much younger than her years. Like, three decades younger and could easily be mistaken for her daughter’s sister. Her inky black hair set off her icy blue eyes and her timeless short bob haircut perfectly suited her delicate features and tiny frame. Her cat hopped up on the front desk and rubbed his cheek against her wrist, trying to make her feel better. I would have pet him, but the felines here didn’t like me much, probably because I carried the faint smell of the only and most despised dog in Dewdrop.
“What people don’t understand, Gemma, is that there are discrimination laws,” Zinnia started. She had a habit of talking a mile a minute and she was super stressed out, so I figured it would be best to let her blow off some steam. “Actual laws, not arbitrary rules set up by Eliza and any Daughter’s Daughter that thinks she has some birthright to tell us what to do.”
“I hear that,” I said as she took a breath. Although, I had no idea why she was bringing up the Daughter’s Daughters distinction because she was one herself.
“Laws.” Her eyes narrowed with the emphasis on the word. “Laws that I, a US citizen, which everyone conveniently forgets, must follow. Madison County isn’t a sovereign state, you know. Laws!”
“I’m sure it’s—”
“Do you think I want outsiders under my roof?” she asked rhetorically. “Well, to be honest, I don’t really give a rat’s tail. No one understands how difficult it is to run a hotel in this little town. Everyone that visits Dewdrop is coming to see family! And they stay with their family! Which, I mean of course they do, it makes sense. They stay up late talking and eating their Gran’s famous dish of whatever it is that you can’t get back in whatever human enclave they live in.”
“Zinnia, all I—”
“You know where most of my business comes from? Husbands. Human husbands and their human families visiting the witch daughters-in-law who don’t want to see them. And whose job is it to make this place seem totally normal? Mine. It’s my job, Gemma.” Zinnia pointed at herself with her thumb to her chest. “As all the Daughter’s Daughters run around waving wands and rambling on about potions and spells and pixies and werewolves and—”
“It’s not your fault,” I broke in.
“I know that! But thank you.” She slumped down on the counter. “I didn’t even want them here. And last year, I turned away the outsiders just like I knew everyone wanted me to. Even during Hettymoot, only half the rooms are full, and I still turned them away. And of course, last year one of those visitors turned out to be a lawyer. She found out there were empty rooms here from some witch t
hat can’t keep her mouth shut. She told me she could sue if she wanted too. Sue! It was discrimination. And she was right.” Zinnia’s brow furrowed and she looked up at the ceiling. “You know, technically. I think. It’s all legalese to me. Was I supposed to turn them away again this year and roll those dice?”
“Of course not.”
“Of course not!” she said almost at the same time I did, although considerably louder. “And now who’s dealing with the cops poking their noses around, looking for a killer that doesn’t even exist. Stupid pixies!”
“It wasn’t pixies,” I said.
“Of course it was pixies.” Was that like a family quote I didn’t know about? “But even if it were imps, what am I supposed to say? These witches are lucky that I have years of experience dealing with their children’s human grandparents, keeping our secrets. And now everyone is lining up outside Twig and Bone instead of eating downstairs? Dahlia more than doubled her orders for Hettymoot, she always does. What kind of a name is that for a restaurant anyway? Who in the history of witchkind has ever eaten a tasty twig?”
“I think cinnamon might be a twig,” I replied without thinking.
“Cinnamon is not a twig, Gemma!”
She was right. It was rolled up bark. Now was not the time to bring up the recent popularity of grilled kabobs on rosemary skewers. A little vein popped out on Zinnia’s forehead and I swore I could see her pulse. Something told me Twig and Bone would be good and cursed by morning. “It is a silly name,” I said, fibbing a little.
“Bad food, stupid name, and a full house. That’s how they repay me for all this trouble? Like it’s my fault some boy wandered into the most haunted forest into the country and died?”
“He was in the forest?”
“I think so!” Zinnia’s shoulders finally relaxed. She was starting to wind down. “That’s what I heard. That’s what I told the Sheriff. They were arguing the night before. The boy that died wanted to go into the woods, he wanted to get away from the girls. That other one, Kyle, and what a little brat he is, let me tell you.” As if I could stop her. “Well, he didn’t want to go with, so his friend died alone and somehow it’s our fault. Who lets their friend wander off into some strange forest in the middle of the night? And who would want to go anyway? I doubt he was gathering any nightshade. Even we don’t do that alone.”
“Is that what you told the police?”
“Yes. Except for the nightshade part.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep her calm. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“The one that died…” Her forehead wrinkled and she looked up like she was trying to remember.
“Thomas,” I said, glancing up at the ceiling because she kept doing it.
“Yes, Thomas.” That didn’t exactly inspire any confidence in her memory. “He was chatting on the phone in the lobby. It was late.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who he was talking to?”
“What, are you working with the Sheriff now? How would I know that?”
“I’m not working with the Sheriff, Zinnia. I’m the one that found him, remember?”
Her posture instantly became less defensive. “Oh. That’s right. Are they asking you a million questions, too?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure one of them has been following me around town all morning.”
“That isn’t good.”
“No, it’s not,” I replied. Her cat sniffed the air around me and tentatively rubbed his cheek against my hand, rolling on his back to expose his belly. A sweet gesture, but tempted as I was, I wasn’t foolish enough to rub it. “So Thomas was on the phone, alone in the lobby. What time was this?”
“Around ten.”
“How long was he on the phone?”
“He came in babbling. There was something cocky about his body language. It made me think that perhaps he was talking to a girl.”
“Do you know if he was dating either of the girls staying here?”
“Doesn’t seem like it. The boys stayed in one room, those girls were in the other.”
“Were they in their rooms?”
“The girls had come back a few minutes ahead of him. Then Kyle came in right as Thomas hung up. I wasn’t really listening, but I definitely heard something about going to the woods. Kyle was tired. He’d been driving all day, he just wanted to rest.”
“So Thomas left?”
“Yes. Kyle went upstairs and that foolish boy headed off on his own. I went to bed right after. I’m not sure who was coming in and out after that. But only three of them were at the breakfast table that morning.”
“Juno, Alicia, and Kyle, right?”
“Those are indeed their names.”
“Do you happen to know their last names?”
“Well, they all signed the guestbook, but the police took that.” That wasn’t good. “Thomas was the one who paid for the room, though.”
Zinnia dipped down behind the desk as I traced a finger under the kitty’s chin, making him purr. I wasn’t totally ignorant when it came to cats. She reappeared with her ledger and a stack of receipts. She still used one of those old carbon copy credit card sliders, unwilling to invest in an electronic system.
“Here.” She showed me the receipt. “Thomas P. Madigan.”
“Madigan.” The last name didn’t sound familiar.
“Why do you want to know?” Zinnia asked.
“I…” I didn’t want to tell her that I’d overheard the tourists talking about how Kyle and Thomas weren’t descendants and that I suspected it was a real human-on-human murder. Or witch-on-human. The human part was what mattered most to me. “I found him, you know?”
“Well, I don’t know what we’re going to do. I hate to say this, but I hope that boy had a history of suicide threats or something. That’s the only way I see the police leaving us alone. I’m sure they’ll leave no stone unturned.”
“No, they probably won’t.”
And neither would I.
Zinnia was still ranting under her breath about pixies when I finally managed to end our conversation and make my way out of the Inn. I was about to lose my mind if I heard one more word about pixies.
But really, I didn’t know for sure that I was right and they were all wrong. Maybe I hadn’t overheard the tourists correctly. Or the family tree on that website could have been incomplete, so even if Thomas’s name wasn’t there, he might still be one of our distant cousins and subject to our unfortunate ‘natural order.’ I’d often thought of families that didn’t know anything about the fate of Hetty’s male descendants and had to suffer through the shocking loss of their sons and brothers, never knowing why.
Whatever the case, there was a possibility Thomas was one of Hetty’s descendants after all. And pixies could have done it. Until I could prove otherwise, I had no ground to stand on and no one would listen to me. Except perhaps Eliza, and I had absolutely no interest in talking to her. But she was the only one who also suspected that this unfortunate boy wasn’t related to us, and knowing her, she would want to confirm it almost as much as I did. There was only one place to do that.
Chapter 8
I slipped out the back entrance of the Inn so I could walk behind the shops and make my way to the Dewdrop Museum without being seen by Not-So-Secret Agent Man, who was hopefully still enjoying his burger. No such luck. I got to the cobblestone alley between buildings and found him loitering on the corner, waiting. I didn’t have any potions on me to create a distraction -who just carries those around?- so I held my breath and stepped quickly into the sunlight filtering through the trees.
Of course he saw me. At least the Sheriff’s Department didn’t send someone incompetent. I breathed out a sigh of relief when he didn’t turn up the alley to follow me, though I was sure he just walked in the direction I was headed down Main Street. I could have turned around, maybe hid in the woods and called someone to come get me, but I decided that it was best not to look
even more suspicious than I already did.
The realization that I seemed sneaky, because I was totally acting sneaky, immediately made me incredibly paranoid. I thought about Dot and her panic attacks, and how she always came up with some type of detailed cover story whenever she chickened out and couldn’t go to student meetings. There was really only one thing to do in the woods behind the town’s shops. Foraging. I glanced around and didn’t spot any useful herbs. The cop wouldn’t know a handful of St. John’s Wort from a bouquet of daisies, so I gathered up a few of the golden blossoms and turned down the next alley.
Plucking off dead leaves and leaving a breadcrumb trail behind me, I kept my eyes occupied with the flowers and pretended that I didn’t notice him. The cop had gotten ahead of me and the heels of my boots clopped sharply on the sidewalk as I passed him, brushing his shoulder.
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