Detective Whitman stopped walking and looked back at her. “What did you just say?”
Gwyn felt the blood drain from her face. Had she seriously just said that out loud? She tried to laugh it off by waving a hand in front of her face. “Oh, nothing.”
Detective Whitman didn’t move but instead narrowed his eyes as he stared closely at Gwyn. “You said serial killer? What are you talking about?”
Gwyn cleared her throat. “Oh, you know. Maggie Sutton’s death and everything. The whole town’s just a little on edge.”
“Maggie Sutton was only one person. One dead woman doesn’t imply that there’s a serial killer out there.”
Gwyn smiled and nodded at him politely. “Oh, yes. Of course. My brain is just all muddled up right now. Silly old woman.” She clunked her palm gently against her skull as a nervous laugh escaped her throat. “Sometimes the funniest things come out of my mouth.”
“Is there something you know that you’re not telling me?” asked Detective Whitman.
Gwyn giggled and headed towards the front desk. “Not at all. What would I know? I just moved to town. I’m sure Maggie’s death was just a coincidence.”
“A coincidence?” He rubbed a thick-fingered hand across the scruffy five-o’clock shadow that covered his chin. “A coincidence would also imply a second death. As far as I’m aware there’s been only one suspicious death in Aspen Falls that we’re dealing with. You know something, don’t you?”
She shook her head dismissively. “I don’t know anything.”
“You would make a poor poker player, Ms. Prescott.”
Gwyn nodded. “You’re right about that. My mother got all the poker playing genes, I’m afraid.” She looked at her watch and frowned. “Oh my, it is late! I need to get Mother home, Detective.”
“Listen, I can’t protect the citizens of Aspen Falls without all the facts,” he said softly.
Gwyn sighed. Should she just tell him what they knew about Kat? Why did they need to keep it a secret anyway? “Fine,” she sighed. “As you know, our friend Katherine Lynde died a few weeks ago.”
Detective Whitman nodded. “I remember you came in to see me about some questions you had. Did you ever find your missing book?”
Gwyn shook her head. “No, but we’re pretty sure we know who has it.”
He lifted one brow. “Oh?”
“Yes, we think the person who killed Maggie Sutton has the book.”
This seemed to intrigue Detective Whitman. “Is that so? And why do you think that?”
Gwyn looked around. She was oddly worried that the girls would be mad at her for telling Detective Whitman what they knew, but at the same time, she just wanted this all to be over and everyone to be safe. And she wanted justice for Kat. “Because the man who killed Maggie Sutton also killed Katherine Lynde before taking our book.”
35
Detective Whitman’s eyes widened to the size of half-dollars. “Why in the world would you think that? Katherine Lynde’s death was ruled accidental.”
Gwyn smiled at him calmly. “We’re witches, remember? We have our ways.”
He was silent for a moment as he mulled over her theory. “So then tell me who the killer is!”
Gwyn shook her head sadly. “I wish I could! Our magic got us as far as seeing Katherine’s murder happen, but the man wore a hooded black robe during both murders, so his face was obscured.”
“But you’re sure that he killed Katherine?”
Gwyn nodded. “Sure as I am that my mother’s going to fall asleep on the car ride home.”
“How did he do it?”
“He hit her across the head with a shovel.”
Detective Whitman’s jaw hung open. Then he inhaled a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he said in a low voice, “Maggie Sutton had injuries that would be consistent with that.”
Gwyn nodded. “See? I told you. The deaths are connected. Therefore we have a serial killer on our hands.”
“I really wish you had some evidence to substantiate your claim,” he said. It was almost a question. Like he was hoping she’d come forward with more to help his case.
“Evidence we do not have, unless you count a talking dog and a few magic spells. But we’re working on it. If we find anything, we’ll let you know.”
He nodded. “Please do. I am, however, concerned about you ladies snooping around on a killer. That’s not something to be taken lightly, and I’m concerned about your well-being. It’s dangerous to get involved in a murder investigation.”
“Oh, Detective Whitman,” said Gwyn with a chuckle as they approached Officer Peterman’s desk. “I assure you, nothing is more dangerous than taking care of your elderly mother.”
“All I’m saying is, Mom, you shouldn’t have left Loni like that,” said Gwyn as they pulled away from the curb to head back to Kat’s house.
Char nodded from the backseat. “I agree, Hazel. If you and Loni would have stayed together, none of this would have happened.”
Hazel readjusted the cane that had settled between her knees. “It’s not my fault the loon crashed into the tree. When I landed in a bush, she wasn’t around, so I took off. Was I supposed to stand there and wait for her to crash too?”
Gwyn gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t you understand, Mom? Running off is the problem. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve run off and gotten arrested.”
“The other times weren’t my fault either,” snapped Hazel before looking out into the darkened town. “How was I supposed to know that there were male prostitutes in Scottsdale? I just thought I was looking especially hot that night.”
Gwyn groaned as she turned the steering wheel.
Phyllis piped up from the backseat. “Next time you run off, Haze, Gwyn’s putting your picture on a prune juice bottle.” Phyllis and Char laughed.
“Don’t give her any ideas,” said Hazel over her shoulder.
Char leaned forward, poking her head between the seats as Gwyn drove. “Now that we have Hazel back and everything’s somewhat back to normal, I want to know exactly what you said to Detective Whitman and what he said to you!”
“Yeah, I’m shocked you told him about Kat,” agreed Phyllis.
Gwyn leaned her head back against the headrest. “I’m so sorry, girls. It was an accident, really. I said something to him about a serial killer and a coincidence, and he just needled me until he got it all out of me.”
“Well, what did you say? What did he say?” asked Char.
“Basically I just told him that magic showed us that Kat was killed with a shovel and that whoever did it has our spell book. And he said that Maggie was killed similarly, so I think he believes me, but he can’t do anything about it without evidence. And a killer, of course.”
“Girls, we’ve got to solve this. Now that we know Ruben didn’t do it and Boomer Wallace didn’t do it, we’ve got to explore some other options,” said Phyllis.
Gwyn took both hands off the wheel for a moment and shook her open hands at the windshield. “What other options? We have no other options.”
“We have a swatch of vinyl belonging to the killer,” said Char. “You still have it, right, Hazel?”
Hazel lifted her chin but didn’t look back at the car full of women. “Of course I do.”
“Okay, then there has to be a spell we can do that would use the swatch to figure out the killer. Everyone, put on your thinking caps and think about spells you know that might work,” instructed Char.
The car went silent for the next few blocks before Gwyn piped up. “It’s too bad we didn’t have our book back. I bet it would have had some appropriate spells in it.”
“You know, I do know of one thing we could try, but there are no guarantees,” said Phyllis.
“What is it?” asked Char.
“My grandmother passed down her premonition blanket to me. It’s really old. It was one of my ancestors’.”
“A premonition blanket?” asked Gwyn skeptically. “How’s t
hat supposed to work?”
“Well, you wrap yourself in the blanket at night, and any dreams you have while wrapped in the blanket are actually premonitions.”
“So how does that help us?” asked Char.
Phyllis held up a finger. “Bear with me. So, what if we sewed that swatch of material to my blanket, and I slept with it? Maybe I’d get a premonition about the killer.”
“What good would that do?” asked Gwyn.
Phyllis shrugged. “You never know. I might see where he lives. I might see where he works. I might even see his face. If we could just get another clue, it might lead us to find him.”
“There’s no harm in it, I suppose,” said Char. “We’ve got no other leads, and it’s late. Are you sure you want to sew that thing your grandmother’s blanket? It could give you nightmares!”
Phyllis scratched the side of her face. “I don’t want to. But we’re running out of options. I’m willing to take one for the team.”
“Kat would thank you, I’m sure,” said Char. “Alright. So then we’ll meet back up again for coffee tomorrow morning and see if the blanket worked?”
A noise from Hazel’s side of the car caused all the women to turn their eyes towards her. Her eyes were closed, her glasses had fallen off of her face, and her head lolled partially against the door frame. “Nughhh,” she snored, a guttural inhale escaping her throat.
Gwyn smiled at her mother and let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, girls. Consider it a date.”
36
Char was the first one to coffee the next morning, and by the time she entered Habernackle’s, she’d already gone for her morning walk with Vic, baked a loaf of pumpernickel bread to bring to an ailing neighbor, and read the morning paper.
“Good morning, Linda,” she chirped sunnily as she breezed into the restaurant.
“Don’t you look spry this morning, Char,” said Linda as she wiped a hand on her apron.
Char fluffed the puffy white hair that foamed out beneath her visor and tipped her head back. “Why, thank you. It’s all the herbal breads and such,” she said. “Vic wants to keep me looking young for him.”
Linda laughed. “Are you meeting the girls?”
Char nodded. “Indeed I am. I’ll just seat mys…”
“Yeah, I was just going to break the bad news. Your usual table is taken.”
Char furrowed her eyebrows as she stared at the men’s group who’d invaded her turf. “I see that. What’s up with that?”
“Oh, a group of tourists were the first ones in this morning. When I came out of the kitchen, they had already seated themselves. Then the men’s coffee club came in and just sort of spread out all over the tables back there.”
A door chimed behind Char. She turned around to see Phyllis wearing black shades and looking more hungover than she had the day after their little tequila party. Phyllis held her head.
“Coffee, Linda. Your mother needs coffee. Black.”
“Wow, Mom. You look terrible.”
Char looked her up and down. “For heaven’s sake, Phyllis. You look like you went to hell and the devil didn’t want you, so he spat you back up.”
“I feel like it too,” said Phyllis, rubbing her head. “The night I had…we need to sit so I can tell you about it.” She started walking towards their usual table when she pulled up short. “Why are those men in our seats?”
“They got here first,” sighed Char as she led them back towards the men, Linda following them both with menus. She immediately noticed that Sergeant Bradshaw was absent from the group.
“Where’s your fearless leader?” Phyllis asked, her tone sharper than the point of a pin.
Only Marcus Wheedlan looked up from the conversation at the table. “If you’re talking about Sarge, he’s late. His truck wouldn’t start.”
“So y’all just decided to steal our table?” asked Phyllis, slamming her purse down on one of the two tables they’d shoved together.
“Sarge is usually the first one here, but since he was late, we weren’t able to get our usual table,” said Marcus, nodding towards the tourists in their seats.
“Well, do you need both of these tables?” asked Phyllis, looking down at a ratty old camera bag on the table they usually sat at. “There are only four of you.”
“Well, Benny’s in the bathroom. Sarge will be here any minute, and Mayor Adams thought he might join us for coffee today.” He smiled at the two women kindly. “I’m really sorry. Everyone was here before I was, or I would have picked a different spot.”
Phyllis held a hand to her temple. “Ugh,” she groaned. “Fine. Come on, Char, let’s go sit at the bar today.”
“I’m right behind ya.”
The two women pulled up to the bar and seated themselves.
Phyllis looked around. “Where’s my coffee?” she grumbled. “Linda!”
“Gosh, I haven’t seen you this grumpy since…well, since last night. What has gotten into you?”
Phyllis crossed her arms on the bar and laid her head down in the cradle it formed. “Ugh,” she groaned. “I slept with that premonition blanket last night and had nightmares all night long.”
“So it worked?” asked Char, brightening up.
With her cheek smashed against her arms, Phyllis tried to nod. “Yes, it worked.”
“So what did we find out?”
“Aren’t we going to wait for Gwyn and Hazel?”
Char looked behind her. They still weren’t there, and she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to know what Phyllis knew now. “You can just tell me. I’ll tell them when they get here.”
Linda split the swinging doors open, two empty coffee mugs in hand. She put them in front of Char and Phyllis and poured them each a cup of coffee. “You need some ibuprofen, Mom?”
Phyllis shook her head as she stirred a packet of sugar into her coffee. “No, thank you, dear.”
“You want your usual breakfast?”
“Yes, but I need carbs. Throw down an extra slice of toast for me this morning.”
Linda nodded. “You got it. Do you want that extra bacon too?”
“Yes!” said Phyllis emphatically.
“Okay. You, Char? Oatmeal?”
“Yes, dear. Same as always.”
When Linda disappeared back into the kitchen, Char turned to her old friend. “Come on, now. I’m dying to know. What did you see?”
“It’s going to happen again,” said Phyllis in a hush.
Tingles raced down Char’s arms. “What’s going to happen again?” she breathed.
“The killer is going to strike again.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I could sense it.”
Char’s lungs felt dammed in her chest, and she couldn’t catch a deep breath. “You sensed it? Like how?”
“You know when you have a dream, and you’re vaguely familiar with what’s going on, but you don’t really see it? You just know you’re late for something, because you have that feeling, but you don’t actually see it in the dream.”
Char shrugged. “I guess.”
“Well, that’s what happened. I had this horrible sense of dread through the whole dream. You and I and the girls were all looking for someone, but we couldn’t find her. But throughout the whole dream, I knew he was going to kill her if we didn’t find her in time.”
Char’s eyes widened. “Who were we looking for?”
With her cup to her lips, Phyllis shrugged. “That’s the thing. I really don’t know. It was just that we were looking and he had her.”
“But did you see him?”
“I saw his house.”
Char’s face brightened. “The outside?”
“I wish. But I did see the inside. And you’re never going to believe what I saw!”
Char put a hand to her mouth. “What?” she breathed.
“I saw something hanging on his wall.”
Char made a face. “And that’s supposed to help us figure out who this guy is? By some decor hanging on the wall of his house?”
Phyllis put her cup down and turned to Char. “It was a cross, Char.”
“A cross? As in Jesus died on the…” Char’s words trailed off as she made the sign of the cross.
Phyllis nodded. “Yup. As in that.”
“Oh my gosh,” breathed Char, her mouth dropping open as Gwyn and Hazel pulled up barstools next to them.
“Good morning, ladies,” sang Gwyn.
The two women looked up at Gwyn with slack jaws and wide eyes.
“What?” asked Gwyn.
When no one spoke, Gwyn looked at Hazel, but Hazel was busying herself with her barstool. Gwyn turned to face the girls again. “What?!” asked Gwyn again.
“We think we know who the killer is!” said Phyllis.
Gwyn’s eyes widened. “The premonition blanket worked?”
Phyllis nodded. “Sort of. There was a cross on one of the walls inside his house.”
“I don’t get it. A cross? That tells us who it is?”
Phyllis shrugged. “It doesn’t tell us with certainty, but I feel like it points us in the right direction.”
“It does?” asked Gwyn, shaking her head in mild confusion.
“Gwyn, you need to have some caffeine, and maybe your brain will kick into gear,” said Phyllis.
Char rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind Mrs. Grumpy Pants. She didn’t sleep very well last night. She also had a premonition that the killer is going to strike again. And then, of course, she saw the cross on the wall.”
“Well, we assumed he was going to strike again,” said Gwyn. “That’s not a shocker to anyone. I mean, don’t serial killers usually keep killing until they’re caught?”
“Well, yes, but we didn’t know for sure that he was a serial killer. He could have been a two-time killer, and that was it.”
Gwyn nodded as Linda slid a cup of coffee in front of both her and Hazel. “Thank you,” she said with a kind smile to Phyllis’s daughter.
“Would you like some breakfast?” asked Linda.
“Mom, you want another one of their rolls this morning?” asked Gwyn, leaning towards her mother. “Weren’t they good the other day?”
That Old Witch!: The Coffee Coven's Cozy Capers: Book 1 Page 27