by Nic Saint
“This is just so terrible,” Skip lamented. “Aunt Adelaide is absolutely devastated, and so is my dad. He closed the store. The first time in the history of Brown’s. He’s even thinking about shuttering the bakery for good. Says he can’t imagine going on without Uncle Gus, who was our resident genius.”
“You can’t close the store, Skip,” said Stien, who was a great fan of Brown’s. “I mean, you simply can’t. Haymill needs that store—and so do we.”
“Yeah, your uncle would have wanted you to go on,” Strel added.
“Maybe you can take his place?” I suggested.
Skip uttered a bitter chuckle at this. “I can’t bake. You know that as well as I do. I’ve never been able to bake. I’ve got butterfingers.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” asked Strel with a glance in my direction. “Baking requires a lot of butter, so butterfingers is what you want.”
“Skip means he’s all thumbs in the kitchen,” I said.
“Which is also a good thing,” Strel insisted. “You need thumbs for baking. Right?”
I gave her a withering look and she clamped her mouth shut.
“I’m a disaster with the baking tin,” said Skip, shaking his head. “Heck, all I’m good for is carting around deliveries. I’m one of the famous baking Browns and I can’t bake!” A set look came over him. “Which is why I want to work for you guys again. I was doing fine as your assistant, remember? My life finally had meaning. I was doing something good for a change. So I want back in.”
“But we’re not doing the Flummox, Inc thing anymore, Skip,” said Strel. “We had to close up shop after Gran took away our witchy powers.”
Skip was one of the few people who was aware of our witchy heritage. When we were still witching away to our hearts’ content, we’d launched Flummox, Inc, a private security and protection agency. The idea was that we would use our witchy powers for good. To protect people and solve crime. We were the first private security company that used witchcraft to help our clients. Unfortunately our plan had backfired in a spectacular fashion, and Gran had had to wipe the minds of a great portion of the country’s population after we’d accidentally landed Falcone Tower on the White House Rose Garden and pulled some other stunts that weren’t exactly inconspicuous.
“Yeah, but you have the neighborhood watch now,” Skip insisted. “Like I told Edie already, I want in. I want to catch my uncle’s killer.”
“Do you have any idea why anyone would target your uncle?” I asked.
He shook his head, and dragged his fingers through his long unkempt mane. He’d had dreadlocks woven into his hair recently, but the end result wasn’t anything to write home about. His hair now looked like the threads of a mop, and a very filthy one at that. They dangled about his face like a dirty wig.
“I have absolutely no idea!” he cried. “Uncle Gus was the nicest, sweetest, most wonderful guy I knew. Everybody loved him.”
“Maybe a disgruntled customer?” Strel suggested. We all looked at her and she added, “What? You’re always going to have disgruntled customers. It’s the cost of doing business.”
“Not Uncle Gus,” said Skip adamantly. “Like I said, he was a genius baker. Every single customer was crazy about the stuff he whipped up in the bakery. Raved about them.”
“What about that predator comment?” I asked. “What do you think the killer meant when he wrote that?”
Skip lifted his thin shoulders in a helpless shrug. “No idea. Uncle Gus wasn’t a predator.” He buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to make of this. I really don’t.”
Just then, the doorbell chimed again, and Renée Reive walked in.
Renée is our neighbor and Gran’s best friend. A kind-faced, gray-haired and slightly plump lady, she’s also one of the only people, along with Skip, who knows we’re a family of witches. She’s also the biggest gossip hound around, and might give Cindy Adams or Liz Smith a run for their money. If anyone knew what was going on in Haymill, it was Renée.
“You guys!” she now said, looking a little feverish. Red splotches on her cheeks indicated she had some very exciting news to share. “Gus Brown has been murdered!” Only now did she catch sight of Skip, who gave her a wan look. “Oh, my dear, dear boy. My deepest sympathies for your loss.”
“Thanks, Renée,” he said with a grateful smile.
“We were just discussing the murder with Skip,” Strel said. “He’s going to join the neighborhood watch and help us find his uncle’s killer.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news,” said Renée, who was pretty much an honorary member of the watch herself.
We all stared at her expectantly. “So? What’s the big news?” I asked finally.
She darted a quick glance at Skip, then decided to trudge ahead. “I think I know who killed him!”
Chapter 12
“I find that very hard to believe,” said Skip, shaking his head. “My uncle Gus? A molester of women? No way!”
“I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this, Skip,” said Renée, who’d taken a seat next to him on the couch, and was now nibbling from one of the chocolate crullers he’d brought, “but unfortunately it’s true. I’ve talked to several people and they all told me the same thing. Gus Brown couldn’t keep his hands to himself when he was around the ladies. More than one woman had to beat him off with a proverbial stick after he got frisky with her.”
“But that’s impossible! How come I never heard about this? Why hasn’t a single woman ever come forward? Filed a complaint or something?”
“Most women prefer to stay quiet. They’re anxious about the kind of scrutiny a full-scale investigation brings. They don’t need the aggravation.”
“So you’re telling me Uncle Gus… touched women inappropriately?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what he did. He wasn’t a rapist, mind you. At least not to my knowledge. But he was definitely a groper, Skip, no doubt about it.”
“A groper,” Skip said, looking undone. “Uncle Gus. A groper of women.”
“Did he ever go beyond groping?” I asked.
“Like I said, not to my knowledge. Gus Brown pinched butts. Fondled breasts. Kissed women without invitation.” She held up her hands. “The guy was a sex pest. He probably thought it was all innocent but it simply wasn’t.”
“And you think this is why he was killed,” I said.
“What else could it be? The killer obviously wanted to punish him and make people aware of his inappropriate behavior.”
“So who did it?” asked Strel, taking a bite from a cream donut.
“One of his victims, obviously. One of the women he harassed. She must have decided enough was enough.” She gave us a worried look. “And my fear is that this won’t end with Gus Brown. If I interpret the message the killer left correctly, more people are going to be targeted. More men.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” said Stien. “One murder doesn’t mean there’s a serial killer on the loose.”
“I think it’s prudent to be prepared,” said Renée. “I already talked to Cassie, and told her to be careful.” She fixed us with a serious look. “The killer is obviously targeting the watch, which means you’re going to have to watch your backs, girls.” She nodded at Skip. “You, too, young man, now that you’re part of the watch. In fact we all need to watch our backs from now on.”
We let that sink in for a moment. Renée had often proven right about the things she said, so it would be silly to dismiss her comments out of hand.
Still, this seemed like a big stretch, even for her.
“What did Gran say?” asked Strel, who seemed more worried than Stien.
“Oh, you know Cassie,” said Renée with a dismissive wave of the hand. “She said I was exaggerating and that everything was fine. But I’m not so sure.”
I breathed a little easier. “Oh, well, if Gran thinks there’s nothing to worry about…”
“Like I said, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,�
�� Renée said. “Your grandmother likes to play her cards close to her vest. I’m her best friend and she often doesn’t even confide in me.” She shook her head. “I have a sneaking suspicion Cassie is more worried than she appears. Something’s bothering her, I can tell. I don’t know if it’s the murder of Gus Brown or something else, but something has her spooked. When I tried to find out more she scoffed and said I was talking nonsense.”
I stared at Renée, the episode with the snake coming back to me. Gran had pretended nothing was going on, but I knew what I saw, and I also remembered Tisha’s parting words from before. Maybe Renée was right. Maybe someone was after us—and Gran. I suppressed a sudden shiver. In spite of the warmth of the morning, chills were running up my spine.
“Look, I’ll talk to my dad, all right?” said Skip now. “If anyone knows about Uncle Gus’s… groping business, it’s going to be him. They weren’t just brothers, they were business partners and best friends. I’ll ask him and I’ll also ask him if Gus received any threats lately. Threatening letters, whatever.”
“You do that, and we’ll talk to the people Renée mentioned,” I suggested.
Renée gave me a skeptical look. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, honey. These people confided things to me in confidence. I can’t give you their names, I’m afraid.”
“Oh. Well, maybe you can encourage them to go to the police? Put these rumors on record?”
“I don’t think they’re going to want to do that, either. Before you know it, their story will be out—maybe even printed on the front page of the Post. They don’t need that kind of publicity. But I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps I can convince them to speak to the police. Sam is very discreet.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Such terrible times we live in, don’t you agree?”
Skip nodded moodily. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any more skeletons in Uncle Gus’s closet. When this story breaks, it just might be the end of Brown’s. If Dad doesn’t close down the business, maybe the scandal will.”
At this, we all reached for the bulky brown bag Skip had brought, and fished out a cruller. If he was right, they might be the last tasty morsels produced by the legendary Brown’s Better Bread Bakery we’d ever sample.
Chapter 13
“Don’t you think we should have told the girls?” asked Pierre.
Sam shook his head. “No point in getting them all worked up. You know what they’re like.”
“I still think we should get them involved, Sam. Let them work their magic.”
Sam looked up sharply. “We need to protect them, Pierre. Not expose them to this kind of danger.”
They were standing in front of their case board. On top, a picture of Gus Brown had been taped… next to two other men, all of whom had died under similar circumstances.
“But the killer wants them involved,” Pierre argued. “That’s why he left that message.”
Sam tapped his chin as he stared at the picture of the message. “But why now? Why didn’t he leave a message when he butchered the two other victims?”
“Because this time there’s a connection with the Flummox sisters?”
“Skip Brown,” said Sam thoughtfully. They’d placed pictures of Edelie, Ernestine and Estrella to the side, connected to a picture of Skip Brown, connected to the picture of Gus Brown. “What does Skip have to do with this?”
“Nothing,” said Pierre. “The fact that he passed by that alley was pure coincidence.”
“Or was it? The killer must have known that this was Skip’s regular morning round. He could have picked this exact spot to kill Skip’s uncle and then waited for Skip to show up.”
“But why would he do that, Sam? Why involve Skip and the girls?”
Sam rubbed his eyes. “If I knew I would tell you, buddy,” he said. “But I don’t want them involved, you hear me?”
“I still think you’re making a big mistake. Edie, Stien and Strel are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. And they’ve proven in the past that they’re excellent sleuths. They could help us solve this case, Sam.”
“It’s too dangerous,” he insisted stubbornly. “They might be the neighborhood watch, but they’re not trained to deal with a cold-blooded serial killer like The Slasher.”
Both men’s eyes cut to the name written in bold on top of the case board. The Slasher wasn’t the name the killer had chosen for himself but one Sam and Pierre had assigned to him. So far he’d murdered three men in a similar fashion.
The strange thing was that none of these men had a record. No complaints had ever been filed. No women had ever come forward to state they’d been harassed. Now that they’d started their investigation, though, rumors had begun to surface. Rumors that the victims hadn’t been able to keep their hands to themselves. Nothing major, and nothing actionable so far.
Sam wondered if the same thing would be true about Gus Brown, The Slasher’s third and latest victim. So far no one had confirmed he was a ‘predator’ as the killer seemed to indicate. But Sam had a sneaking suspicion they hadn’t gotten to the bottom of the cesspool. Not by a long shot.
“Let’s go and have a chat with the victim’s brother,” he now said.
“And his wife,” said Pierre, not sounding too thrilled about the prospect.
“And the wife,” Sam confirmed.
If anyone knew what kind of a man Gus Brown had been, it would be his nearest and dearest. He just hoped the killer was wrong, and that Gus had been the family man he’d claimed to be. If the two previous murders were any indication, though, the exemplary baker’s life just might have been one big lie.
Chapter 14
Tisha looked up when Tabitha Templeman walked into the store. She’d just finished cutting the stems from a dozen lilacs and placing them in a crystal vase. She kept imagining she was cutting up Cassie’s face instead. The result was that there wasn’t all that much left of the lilacs when she was through.
“It’s not working,” she lamented as the old lady approached the counter.
“Oh, yes, it is,” the woman assured her.
She had a sweet smile on her powdered face, her lips bright red and her hair like white cotton candy. She reminded Tisha of Helen Hayes. She half expected her to show up in Herbie the Love Bug one of these days.
“No, it’s not,” she insisted. “Cassie is still going from strength to strength and so is her flower shop. And those three demon girls are simply laughing in my face every time they see me. This has all been a terrible, terrible mistake.”
Tabitha placed a soothing hand on her arm and Tisha cut out the cutting for a moment and looked up into the woman’s pale blue eyes. That sweet smile was still firmly in place, though there was more steel in her eyes than one would have expected.
She now saw that Tabitha was dressed in a teal coat over a patterned dress that reminded her of the kinds of outfits the Queen of England always wore. The bright color gave her a cheery aspect, and now she remembered that last time Tabitha was in here, she was wearing a similar coat in a canary yellow.
“Listen to me, Tisha,” said the old woman. “Things are going according to plan. You just keep sending those snakes into Cassie’s backyard and she’ll be forced to keep fending them off. I can sense that her powers are waning, even though she doesn’t know it yet.”
Tisha gave the woman a hopeful look. “Her powers are waning?”
“They are. It’s inevitable. And I would suggest you up the challenge and send in more snakes. Blanket the whole place in them. Drown the woman in the pesky creatures and soon Cassie will topple and that’s the moment we’ll strike out and hit her where it hurts.”
“But she seems to defeat them so easily,” she said. “I’ve been watching her like you said, and she simply flicks them away as if they mean nothing. As if they don’t pose a threat at all.”
“Looks can be deceiving, my dear,” said Tabitha with the sweetest smile. “She’s weakening, I can tell. Now what we want is for her to dig deep and conjure up some o
f that old Fallon Safflower witchcraft. That’s when we’ll have her by the throat.” The woman’s expression darkened, and her voice took on a determined tone. She’d balled her gloved hand into a fist, and Tisha could see that Tabitha Templeman was not someone you wanted to mess with.
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Tisha asked. She was a novice in this witchcraft business, and found it all extremely fascinating.
“Simple. We keep bombarding her with challenge after challenge. We don’t allow her any respite. Soon she’ll have exhausted her witchy reserves and will have to tap into Fallon’s. And that’s when we’ll have her cornered. When that happens, it’s only a matter of finishing her off. Deal her the final blow.”
Tisha swallowed a little uneasily. “You mean… she’ll die?”
Tabitha gave her a curious look. “Of course she’ll die. What did you think was going to happen?”
“Well, maybe make her feel a little under the weather,” she said hesitantly.
Tabitha shook her head. “These are serious games we’re playing, Tisha. When you first accepted my offer I think I made it exceedingly clear what the endgame was.” Her pale blue eyes bored into hers. “Don’t weasel out now, you hear? We’ve come too far to turn back.”
“Oh, no,” she assured the old lady. “Of course not. I’m in this to the end.”
She briefly wondered what the end would be, but decided not to dwell on that. The prospect of owning her own chain of flower stores and becoming richer than Croesus squelched any qualms she might have had.
For good measure, Tabitha decided to remind her. “You will be the richest flower store owner this country has ever seen, Tisha. Pretty Petals will pop up in every state, in every city, all across the country. You’ll become rich beyond your wildest dreams. Isn’t that worth a little exertion?”