Everyone flooded in, and Maurice’s worst nightmare became reality.
“Don’t break anything!” he hollered. To make matters worse, it was as though all the dogs and children of Tweed had made their presence known, on purpose, exacting revenge.
“Get these infernal creatures out of here!” he cried, presumably referring to both dogs and children.
“Everyone settle yourselves,” Muriel instructed. “We are all the police force of Tweed-upon-Slumber in this moment, and that means keeping a level head.”
The crowd hushed, and began to look around them. Lorna took out her notes, like that was going to do any good.
“Aah!” Bumblethorn screamed. All heads turned towards him.
“What is it, Bill?” Muriel asked.
Without uttering a word, Bumblethorn pointed to a dagger in the window.
“It’s from Peru,” Maurice protested.
“That’s irrelevant,” Bumblethorn said, and picked the dagger up from its display.
“You’re not supposed to touch evidence,” one of the other officers hissed, and Bumblethorn put it back down. The aviatored officers inspected it, and Lorna had to wonder how they could possibly see with their ridiculous glasses on.
“Look at the curvature of the blade,” one officer remarked.
“Not unlike the odd wounds in the victim,” the other mused, following his colleague’s train of thought.
They stood there and stared at it for a great deal of time, until the villagers grew restless.
“Speak up, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. What does it mean?” Muriel piped up.
Finally, the moment was ripe to take action.
“Maurice Crabtree, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder,” Tweedle Dum said. Tweedle Dee cuffed Maurice and led him outside.
Dejection was on Maurice’s face, and Lorna felt terrible for him. To be so publicly shamed when the only evidence was a bent dagger from Peru. It was all too much.
Maurice was escorted into the police vehicle and Bumblethorn turned on the siren again. Muriel smacked the side of the car.
“Is that really necessary, Bill?!” she screamed.
Bumblethorn was penitent, and turned the siren off, but he insisted on keeping the lights on as he drove away. It was only when he reached the next town over that he realized he should turn around and come back to Tweed.
“I just don’t know what to make of it,” Lorna said once the crowd had departed.
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Betty replied.
“Everyone is going about their business like the case has been solved,” Lorna observed.
“Yes, I was just told of a chili cook-off in the park,” Betty said. She literally had a flier in her hand. “It starts at 3 p.m.”
“Just think of how tasteless that is. Not the chili, but rather, to have an event on the very spot where John was murdered. Who can stomach a crock of chili at the scene of the crime?” Lorna mused.
Lorna and Betty stood there in silence for just a beat longer before deciding that they would, in fact, be attending the chili cook-off.
Chapter 10
“What a revelation,” Lorna said, walking from table to table. Not only did the folks of Tweed-upon-Slumber know how to throw a chili cook-off, but the chili was darn good, too. Lorna had expressed her doubts about such a thing, but she was met with the same dismay from everyone.
“You must have assumed that we only ate toad in the hole!” a villager laughed.
“I suppose that I did,” Lorna replied, having no idea what that was.
There were literally twenty different kinds of chili to choose from, and Lorna wished to sample them all. After sampling all of the chilis that were on offer, villagers had the opportunity to write the name of their favorite chili on a piece of paper and put it in the voting box. Once all the votes were tallied, the winner would be announced and receive a blue ribbon and a goose. An actual goose. Lorna wished that she had known ahead of time; she was a proficient cook and a chili lover, and would have been sorely tempted to try her hand in the competition.
“I think I like the Hawaiian chili best,” Betty said, taking a hearty bite of the pineapple-and-spam-infused stew.
“So far, the chili verde is my favorite,” Lorna replied. “But enough about chili,” she added, wishing to get down to business. She looked over at the ditch where John Larkin’s body had been found, visible in the distance.
“Yes, enough about chili,” Betty agreed. “I have to admit that I’m of the opinion that Maurice did not kill John. If he did it, why on earth would he put the murder weapon on display?”
“That exactly what I thought!” Lorna replied. “And one has to wonder, where was Elizabeth Larkin at the time of Maurice’s arrest. She was the only villager not in attendance, and now she’s not even here eating chili.”
“She notoriously suffers from heartburn,” Betty offered.
“Oh, that would explain it.”
“But let’s pay a call to Muriel to see if she might know more. She’s overseeing the vegetarian chili booth,” Betty suggested.
“Oh, how unfortunate. She’ll never win.”
With that, Betty and Lorna made their way over to the booth where Muriel was dishing up warm ladles of chili into Styrofoam bowls.
“It smells like I have a winner on my hands,” Muriel said. She was still wearing her Bloody Mary outfit, and had added an impossibly tall chef’s hat to the ensemble.
“Muriel, don’t you think it odd that this whole chili cook-off came together so quickly?” Lorna asked.
“But of course not; I did it on purpose,” Muriel said, ladling up bowls for Lorna and Betty.
“Why ever is that?” Betty asked.
“It’s a diversion,” Muriel added.
“From what?” Lorna asked.
“My mistake.” Muriel didn’t look penitent in the slightest, but rather matter-of-fact about it all. “I was the one that got all the villagers to go to Crabtree Antiques because of that anonymous tip, but as soon as I got there I realized that Maurice Crabtree did not murder John Larkin.”
“That’s what we thought!” Lorna exclaimed.
“In fact, now I think I know who did it,” Muriel went on.
“Do tell,” Betty said, taking a bite of vegetarian chili.
Betty and Lorna took their first bite, waiting to hear Muriel’s latest bit of news, and both of them stopped cold in their tracks, food in their mouths, Muriel staring at them waiting for their verdict on her cooking, and both stifling the urge—nay, the desperate need—to spit the chili out at once.
Lorna couldn’t tell what was so awful about the chili. All she knew was that it tasted like a foot.
“Well?” Muriel said, a large smile on her face.
“Splendid,” Betty said flatly through her mouthful of food.
“Mm,” Lorna added, giving a thumbs up.
“Well, then. I knew that you’d like it!” Muriel said with victory. “But enough about the chili. I think Elizabeth Larkin killed her husband.”
Betty almost choked at that, but regained her composure almost instantly. “Do tell,” she said, mouth still full.
“Well, as it turns out, the rumors of John’s cheating were true. He was having an affair—and Elizabeth knew about it.”
“Hm,” Betty replied.
“Interesting,” Lorna added.
The flavor of the chili in their mouths was subtly shifting from foot-flavored to worse. It just kept enhancing itself.
“So you see,” Muriel went on, seemingly oblivious to the ladies’ discomfort, “Elizabeth had a clear motive, and I swear, the morning of the murder, when she was at my café, Elizabeth wouldn’t take a bite of food. Who wants to murder someone on a full stomach?”
“Precisely,” Lorna mumbled.
“Oh, and look!” Muriel said, leaning down behind the table.
Betty quickly spat out her food into her bowl and Lorna dropped her mouthful into her hand and flung it across the lawn.
Muriel reemerged, unawares.
“I have this,” Muriel said, a map in her hands.
“Why, that looks like a map of Tweed Park,” said Lorna. “Would you look at that, Betty.”
“That map was left on my counter the morning of the murder,” Muriel said. “And I do believe that it was left behind by one Elizabeth Larkin.”
“Wow, that would be a key piece of evidence,” Lorna said.
“Indeed.”
“Is there a little red ‘X’ where the murder took place?” Betty asked.
“Oh, you mean over there?” Muriel said, looking over at the crime scene. “Someone really ought to remove that tape.”
“I don’t see any markings anywhere,” Lorna said, inspecting the document.
“Well, then. It’s unclear whether or not it’s evidence,” Betty said. “Anyone could have been planning their morning hike in the park over breakfast.”
“Good point,” Lorna said, nodding. “Not to mention that Elizabeth Larkin probably knows the park like the back of her hand.”
“Oh, you all think you’re so smart!” Muriel exclaimed in a huff. She ripped off her chef’s hat in frustration then stormed off, leaving her chili unattended. Muriel Clitheroe did not like being wrong.
“I do think that her idea has some legs. Elizabeth Larkin needs a bit of investigation,” Lorna said, taking out her notes.
“Should we tell Bumblethorn?” Betty asked.
“Don’t be silly. Do you want another scene like we had this afternoon? Heaven knows what’s going through poor Maurice’s mind right about now,” Lorna said regretfully. “If we give Bumblethorn the tip, soon enough he’s going to show up at St. Agnes’ with his megaphone.”
“Got on my last nerve, that thing did,” Betty said, shaking her head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he hired paratroopers this time,” Lorna said with a little laugh. “Okay, so we have to keep Bumblethorn out of this. That means that we’re taking matters into our own hands. I’m going to St. Agnes’. I’ll search her office!”
“I wish I could help,” Betty said.
“Why can’t you? Or…right.”
“What do you suppose was in that abominable chili?” Betty asked.
“That is a very good question.”
Both women leaned their heads over the pot, trying to get a better understanding of what went wrong.
God, it looks like something from my cauldron, Lorna thought in dismay.
“It smells like sulfur,” Betty commented.
“I can’t imagine where she got this recipe. I don’t know what swamp tastes like, but I would imagine that it tastes like this,” Lorna said.
“Oh, vegetarian chili!” Evie Ellis cooed. “It’s my absolute favorite!”
“Evie, I would err on the side of caution,” Betty advised.
“What could be more wholesome?” Evie added, oblivious.
“Evie, I think that you should listen to Betty,” Lorna advised.
“Just a small taste,” Evie said, helping herself. She picked up the ladle and poured a mound of steaming hot sludge into her bowl. “That’ll do it.”
Betty and Lorna looked on in terror. They had done their best to warn her, and now it was in God’s hands.
As Evie took a greedy spoonful, she brought it up to her mouth in what seemed like slow motion to Lorna and Betty. They saw Evie’s mouth open wider and wider and wider. The enormous spoonful went in, and Evie swallowed the lot.
The look on the girl’s red face was a detailed account of the subtle nuances of becoming ill. She went blank at first, and the blankness turned to confusion, confusion turned to shock, shock turned to dismay, and the last expression was of profound disturbance.
Evie placed her bowl down upon the table and placed a hand over her mouth.
“Oh no,” Lorna said, fearing for the worst.
Both Lorna and Betty wondered if they should back up. Luckily, they would not need to do so because Evie’s first inclination was to run. It was fight or flight, and Evie Ellis chose flight. The fighting was what was taking place in her intestines.
The girl just started running, and Lorna could see that she was about to run headlong into the crime scene.
“Not there, Evie!” Lorna cried.
Evie looked down in dismay and saw that she was standing on the outline of John Larkin’s body. She would have screamed if she could open her mouth to do so, but instead she began running in the opposite direction, through a rather large field that just went on and on.
“I do wonder where she’s going,” Lorna said.
“How very curious,” Bumblethorn said, stepping into the scene. He, too, was holding a heaping portion of the vegetarian chili, eating it without a care.
“Chief Inspector, how can you eat that?” Lorna asked in amazement.
Bumblethorn took a happy bite.
“Why, whatever do you mean? I eat it all the time. I’m the one who gave Muriel the recipe,” he said with pride.
And just like that, everything became illuminated.
And so it happened that the townsfolk of Tweed would not see Evie Ellis for two days. Still, it’s unknown as to where the girl ran off to.
Chapter 11
St. Agnes’ School for Girls was housed in a sprawling Edwardian mansion, off in the fields and positioned next to a bubbling creek. It was a good couple of miles outside of Tweed, but Lorna didn’t mind the walk. The path was well maintained and offered a charming view of the village.
While the building had been there for almost a century, it certainly seemed like the place was kept up to snuff. Lorna was told that Elizabeth Larkin took great pains to ensure that the school was manicured and polished at all times. Although set in an idyllic location, Lorna wasn’t sure that she would have been happy going to school there.
It looked like a quaint, charming prison, within which young ladies were transformed from happy-go-lucky adventurers with scuffed shoes and grass stains on their to knees to serious, strident women who wore turtlenecks.
There were no girls playing outside, but Lorna did spot a lovely garden that the girls must have been put to labor in from time to time.
Lorna stepped inside the entryway to the school, and there at the reception desk was Rachel.
This is not a joke: it was Rachel the librarian, who apparently had two jobs. She wore a cozy cardigan to cover her cold soul.
“I believe we met this morning,” Lorna said.
“Shh,” Rachel replied.
I should have seen that one coming.
“Might I ask if Mistress Larkin is in?” Lorna whispered.
Without speaking, Rachel heaved her dusty ledger onto the desk, asking Lorna to sign in.
Lorna did so, and as she spelled her name she began to cough. Rachel gazed at her with contempt.
“It’s the dust,” Lorna whispered.
“Mistress Larkin is in a meeting,” Rachel finally said. Lorna was taken aback by the volume of her voice, considering how much of a shusher she was. “You can wait in that chair.”
“I’ll wait in the fresh air, if you don’t mind.”
It was a lovely day, anyhow. Also, it was icy inside the school and she forgot her sweater. Lastly, she was going to break into Elizabeth Larkin’s office.
Locating the office was not difficult. After walking around the building, Lorna spotted a window that literally had a sign on it that said “Headmistress.” What good luck! Unfortunately, Lorna was going to need to climb a tree and traverse the roof in order to get in.
Oh, if only I had my broom right now, Lorna thought to herself. A lot of good that would do. The broom probably wouldn’t comply, or worse, turn Lorna in. When a witch can’t trust her own broom, things just aren’t right.
Climbing the tree wasn’t all that hard; Lorna was in good shape and wearing sneakers. She only had to go to the second floor, so luckily there wouldn’t be a whole lot of climbing to do. She met a squirrel on the way up.
“H
ello, Mr. Squirrel,” Lorna said.
She kept climbing. Things were going great. She’d located the office, created a plan of attack, and met a squirrel. This was going to be easy.
A branch cracked and Lorna lost her footing.
“Aah!” she screamed, then placed her hand over her mouth. She found herself hanging upside down, a knob in the tree holding onto the waist of her pants. From where she hung, she saw Rachel come out front to see what all the commotion was about.
Lorna remained silent. She desperately hoped that Rachel wouldn’t look towards the tree and find her there. Rachel looked left and right, as if sniffing the air. Okay, maybe she wasn’t sniffing the air, but she had that stink face.
After seeing no one, Rachel reentered the building, no doubt assuming that she’d been hearing things.
Lorna recovered. She managed to hug the tree, turn herself right-side up, and continue her climb.
She passed the squirrel again, only this time she snubbed him. The guy could have warned her.
Cautiously optimistic, Lorna finally made it to the portion where the tree meets the roof, and she crawled onto it. The roof was made of wood and this could go in either direction. If it was old wood, there would be problems. If it was new wood…well, it would probably present the same problems.
Lorna was not misguided in thinking so, for one sheet of wood after the next slid beneath her feet and off the edge of the roof.
“Bloody hell,” Lorna said, and was amazed that that was her first time using the words. Perhaps she was beginning to assimilate.
Luckily, the chimney was between the edge of the roof and Larkin’s office window. It could act as a buoy, but first Lorna would need to make a lunge for it. She took a chance and propelled herself towards the brick structure. Half the roof came flying off in the process.
So, Lorna had to admit that things were not going well, but at least she was holding onto that chimney and was within reaching distance of the window. She paused to catch her breath, and discovered that the roof of St. Agnes’ was a great place to get an aerial view of Tweed. There it sat, off in the distance—her new home. And there sat Lorna, proud citizen, destroying property whilst breaking and entering.
A New Witch In Town Page 8