by Cindy Stark
She tapped from the phone’s gallery of photos to the browser and typed in a search for ancestry websites. When she found one that appealed to her, she created an account and logged in.
Immediately, she found connections between herself and her mother. Her aunts came up quickly, and she located an entry including a photo of the man who’d fathered her and then had left many, many years ago.
She wrinkled her nose, not liking to think about that part of her history. Or non-history as she liked to call it. He’d never been part of her life, and she had no interest in his or where he might be in the world.
She made it back as far in her research as her great, great grandmother before Gretta returned from lunch, and Hazel hurried to click off the phone screen. Her assistant entered the backroom and stowed her purse in a cubby beneath the counter. “What are you doing?”
Hazel greeted her with a relaxed smile. “Just a little online shopping. How was your lunch?”
“Wonderful. I walked to the park and ate my sandwich while watching the ducks. A few came close, wanting nibbles of bread, but most were busy defending their space on the water.”
“Sounds awesome. I should take my lunch in the park, too. Good for the soul.”
Hazel studied her assistant, still not happy that she’d felt she needed to test Hazel. But she had to get over that. “Hey, I have some work I need to do back here, so you’re going to be on your own up front, okay?”
Gretta gave her a swift nod. “Sure thing, boss.” She stacked a few tins of Pineberry Bush tea in her hands and headed out front. Hazel was happy to see that the citizens and tourists all loved her new iced teas.
Instead of getting to work, Hazel pulled up the ancestry website again. This time, though, she searched for Father Christopher’s name. She sat back in surprise when she found not only him, but a daughter’s name listed. Karen Bernard.
She didn’t know for a fact that this Karen and the one who’d died in Stonebridge on May Day were the same person. But those odds were too great to ignore.
The bigger question was what were the odds that a woman by that same name had taken up residence in Stonebridge and had died the same day as her father?
Had Karen known Father Christopher was her father? Had she been the one to kill him and then end her own life after she’d set events in motion, and there really was no May Day Curse?
Hazel would be very interested to find out. Peter would be, as well.
When she exhausted every interesting avenue on Father Christopher’s side, she returned to the main screen. This time, she typed in Peter’s name and began a search on him. She found his parents, grandparents, and Sarah.
Curious, she clicked on Sarah’s name and traced her back to her great-great-grandparents. It seemed her family had lived in Pennsylvania for generations. She scrolled over to close out the screen but stopped when the cursor crossed a name that seemed familiar. Ernest Hardy.
She shook her head thinking it weird that she’d encountered that same name on the search of her family, too. It might be a coincidence. Surely, there was more than one Ernest Hardy that had lived in the U.S.
Ignoring the sick feeling building in the pit of her stomach, she found a pen and jotted down his birthdate and parents’ names. Then she backed out of Sarah’s search and entered her own.
It took her several clicks to find the line that also included Ernest Hardy, and then she stared at the blatant facts staring her straight in the face.
She and Sarah shared ancestry.
Still, that didn’t mean that line would trace all the way back to Clarabelle.
But if it did…
She inhaled sharply and clutched her stomach.
Blessed Mother, if it did, that meant Sarah had had to die so that Hazel could find her way to Stonebridge. If she hadn’t, Hazel might never have known this world existed.
Might never have fallen for Sarah’s husband.
Eighteen
Hazel sat on the couch that evening with her laptop resting on her legs. A notebook with several lines drawn including names and birthdates lay next to her. Mr. Kitty loafed on the back of the couch, peering over her shoulder as though he, too, could read her computer screen.
She’d finished the workday in a fog, skipped dinner, and went straight for the computer instead. She’d been at it several hours, searching different veins of her heritage and writing them all down. Her stomach ached, and her head hurt worse than that. This couldn’t be true, couldn’t be happening.
The Blessed Mother couldn’t be that cruel.
Her phone rang, and she startled. Her actions made Mr. Kitty jump, and he growled in response.
She glanced at the phone screen.
Peter. Poor Peter.
She cleared her throat of emotion. “Hey there.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t see through the fake veneer that coated her words.
“Hazel. I know it’s late, but would it be all right if I stop by. I have something that I want to give to you.”
“To me?” She couldn’t imagine what it might be. “Sure. I’m still up, so stop by.”
He chuckled. “Actually, I’m just pulling up in front of your house now.”
She panicked and slammed her laptop shut. “Great. See you in a second.”
She hung up and dropped her cell phone. This time, she wouldn’t leave evidence where Peter might stumble upon it. She gripped her laptop and hurried into her bedroom where she slipped it beneath the bed.
Peter was already knocking before she made it back into the living room. She quickened her steps and opened the door. The smile on his face came straight from his soul, leaving him with the most handsome, dearest look. She almost cried.
“Hazel.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
She stepped back to let him enter, hoping she could keep it together while he was there. She closed the door and eyed the small brown paper sack he had in his hand. “I have to admit, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
He drew a finger down her cheek and across her lips, drawing shivers from deep inside. “Not a hard thing to do.”
“You’re one to talk.”
His presence lessened her worries, and she tried to put them out of her mind and focus on him. Despite her gut feeling, she had no proof yet that Sarah belonged to Clarabelle.
He tilted his head toward the couch. “Let’s sit.” He took her hand and led her to the couch where he sat next to her.
Something about his demeanor left her edgy. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Nervous, why?”
She narrowed her gaze and shook her head. “I don’t know. The energy you’re emitting is strong. More so than normal.”
He shrugged. “I am kind of excited. I’ve been sitting on this for a little while, not sure what to do. But after our conversation the other night, when you shared your magic with me, it became very clear.”
He placed the bag on her lap, and she wrapped tentative fingers around it.
His words didn’t help to settle her frayed nerves. At least his gift didn’t feel like a jeweler’s box. A marriage proposal would have made things so much worse.
She opened the end of the bag, wrapped her fingers around what felt like a book, and slid it out. Powerful energy reached out to her, and she realized what she experienced wasn’t coming from Peter so much as it was from this object.
She opened the front cover and then lifted her gaze to Peter. “Another spell book?”
He nodded. “This one belonged to a woman named Genevieve. I believe the town found her guilty of witchcraft and drowned her.”
Hazel’s heart thudded in a crazy beat, and she turned several pages. She had seen mention of a Genevieve in Clarabelle’s book. They’d crafted spells together. “Blessed Mother, Peter. I think you’re right. Where did you get this?”
He scrubbed his chin as he stared at her for a long moment. “If I tell you, you have to promise to never say a word. You could ruin me.”
Now, he rea
lly had piqued her curiosity. “I promise.”
“I found it in Belinda’s house when we searched it after her death. I have no idea why I stuck it in my jacket instead of keeping it as evidence of her involvement in witchcraft. Maybe I didn’t want to stir more trouble in town. Or maybe I didn’t want the investigation messed up by something that might not have been relevant. I regretted it the moment my officers and I left her house, but I couldn’t go back. I hid it in my closet after I got home for the day and haven’t touched it since.”
She snorted. “I’m glad you took it. Can you imagine if this got into the wrong hands?”
“That’s what I figured, too.” He slipped a hand beneath hers and twined their fingers. “After you shared your dark secrets with me the other night, I knew giving it to you was the right thing.”
His faith in her brought tears to her eyes.
“Oh, great.” He shifted in his seat and drew a thumb beneath one of her eyes. “I didn’t want to make you cry.”
She shook her head and sniffed. “Good tears.”
He didn’t seem convinced.
She placed a hand on his cheek and tried for a smile. “Thank you. It seems weird to now have three spell books from so long ago. Like what am I supposed to do with them?”
He lifted his brows, uncertain. “That part belongs in your court, Miss Hardy. I’m completely clueless. Maybe you’ll find better or easier spells in it.”
If Genevieve was anything like Clarabelle and Glenys’ grandmother, she was certain that wouldn’t be the case.
She fingered the edge of the blue leather tome. A year ago, she never could have pictured herself in this quaint, lovely town with a handsome police chief who seemed to like her very much, and be the owner of not one, but three ancient spell books. One choice in her life had led to so many dramatic changes.
She glanced up to catch his expression. “I’ve been thinking about the descendants of the other witches. Now that Belinda’s gone, someone else must be coming to take her place or is already living here in Stonebridge.”
Thoughts of how she’d come to be in town tried to push their way to the surface, but she squashed them.
“Eliza’s book belonged to Glenys who is still alive, but whoever takes Belinda’s place should maybe have this book. But neither Glenys or Belinda were very good people, and I wouldn’t want to give it to someone who isn’t.”
“You’re worrying a lot about chickens before the egg hatches.”
She narrowed her gaze and snorted at the ridiculous phrase.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “I mean it. What if, on the other hand, the next person to come along is great, someone you trust, someone that could partner with you and help you with spells? Someone who could help make Stonebridge a better place?”
She hadn’t considered that side of it. She’d absolutely love to have someone she could trust in addition to Cora. “I just don’t know how to figure out who it is.”
“Maybe you have to wait for that person to tell you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe so. But what if she’s like me and has no clue? What if she’s lived here for a long time and never knew?”
What if his dead wife had lived this close to her heritage without knowing?
“I guess that’s possible.”
Her throat closed so tight it hurt. What if that was why Sarah had been the victim of a hit and run? What if someone had found out, and they’d murdered her?
She couldn’t continue down this vein of thought right now and maintain control over her emotions. She inhaled several slow breaths, working to release the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her.
Enough of this discussion. She had other things to confess. “I’m kind of glad that you told me you stole Belinda’s book.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I have something to tell you, too, and it may or may not include breaking the law.”
He shifted and scolded her with a stern look. “You didn’t.”
She bit her bottom lip, hoping for understanding, and nodded. “I mean I didn’t technically break into any buildings. Or even Rosalinda’s office for that fact. But I may have broken into her files. Is that still illegal?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should put you in a jail cell for a night to teach you a lesson so that you don’t keep putting yourself into situations like this.”
“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “I couldn’t help it. I just knew she’d kept information about Father Christopher from me when I was in her office the other day, and I needed to know what it was.”
He lifted a disagreeing brow. “You didn’t need to know. You wanted to.”
She waved away his clarification. “Semantics. Anyway, I found a file that she’d been keeping on all the people who were possible suspects. She’d compiled several notes from their original files and then added her own thoughts and speculations. I think she might be trying to figure out who the killer is, too.”
“Oh, great. Now, I have two novices to worry about.”
She frowned. “I’m not a novice. I’ve helped you successfully solve three other cases, remember? In fact, if it wasn’t for me, Glenys would still be strutting around town planning the end of life in Stonebridge as we know it.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her tight against him. “May I remind you that you could have gotten us killed in the process?”
Like she would ever forget that. But that wasn’t the point right now. “Again, semantics. I’m a capable person who helps with cases. Rosalinda is a meddling, old woman.”
She waved her hands in front of them, mimicking erasing their conversation to that point. “Forget all that. Don’t you want to know what I learned?”
He straightened, and she knew she had him. “I took pictures of the pages. Most of it was information we already know about, but I learned something interesting about the mayor’s wife.”
Hazel paused for a moment for effect. “She had an affair with Father Christopher.”
His eyes flew open wider. “She what?”
She pointed a finger at him. “Just as I thought. Rosalinda didn’t tell you that information, either, did she?”
He scowled. “No, she did not.”
“I swear, that docile old lady is up to something. You’d better keep an eye on her before she gets into trouble.”
He lifted his chin in agreement. “I want to hear more about the mayor’s wife.”
She filled him in on the sparse details of their affair. “There wasn’t that much in there other than Rosalinda speculated that someone else found out about them years later and had blackmailed Father Christopher. She guessed that’s why some of the money had gone missing from the church. That was right about the time the Father fired Rosalinda, so I’m wondering if he tried to blame her.”
Peter drew a hand down his face. “I need a pen and paper to write this all down.”
If he’d been in uniform, he would have had his trusty notepad in his pocket.
“Don’t worry. I’ll send you a message with all the information and pass along the pictures, too, so you can see everything.”
He didn’t seem particularly thrilled with her answer. “Okay, but don’t forget. I’d like to look at it as soon as possible.”
She turned on her phone to forward the photos. When it opened to the website where she’d been searching family trees, she panicked and nearly dropped it trying to close out the screen.
But seeing it reminded her of what else she’d discovered on the website besides her possible connection to Sarah. “Oh, my gosh, Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. Forget about what I learned at Rosalinda’s.”
She squeezed his hand to get him to fully focus. “Peter. You are not going to believe this, but Karen Bernard was Father Christopher’s daughter.”
He stared at her for several endless moments, his expression blank. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.” She grinned, trying not to let pride in h
er sleuthing skills go to her head.
“That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Agreed. I’ve tried, but I can’t figure out the connection between the two deaths. Still, it seems like there has to be one.”
“Yeah.” He leaned his head against hers. “I’ll get right on that, too, in the morning.”
Nineteen
Hazel left her house the next morning and followed the familiar path into town. She wouldn’t be doing tea deliveries and the weather was perfect, so she opted to walk, which would give her a chance to work through some things that she hadn’t managed to sort that morning.
The information she’d learned from Rosalinda had been the front-runner in her mind. Once she’d tamed that train of thought, she’d turned to thinking repeatedly about what Peter had said concerning making friends with a possible new witch.
She’d also taken what he’d said about worrying about chickens and applied it to the research on connecting her and Sarah’s heritage. Many times, she’d discovered a connection between herself and an unlikely person, only to comment on how small the world really was.
Sarah could be her relative without Sarah being in Clarabelle’s direct line, and then she didn’t need to worry about the world caving in on her.
She kept these thoughts in mind as she made her way to the bank that morning. No reason to fret over a disaster that hadn’t happened. She needed to live in the moment, and this moment was all about checking on the status of her soon-to-be new house.
Or at least, she hoped Clarabelle’s house would be hers soon.
Her happiness dimmed when she recognized the sandy-haired average built officer walking half a block ahead of her on the opposite side of the street, and she slowed her steps.
John Bartles. A man she never cared to see again. Especially not this morning when she didn’t feel particularly partial to conjuring her fake, non-witch personality.
When John stopped quickly and slipped between two buildings, her curiosity came alive like a zombie during the apocalypse. That was odd behavior for one of Stonebridge’s finest, even if it was John.