by Sam Cheever
“Wait!”
I glanced back his way.
He pointed to the small, white paper sack sitting on my seat. “You forgot a bag.”
“I didn’t forget that,” I told him. I winked. “I thought you could use a few sprinkles in your life.”
I closed the door before he could shove the bag toward me, but I turned back before opening the door to Croakies.
As Grym pulled out into traffic, he took a large bite of the donut I’d left for him. I grinned.
Sebille nearly tackled me at the door, grabbing the bag. “I’m starving.”
I tried to grab it back. “Two of those are mine,” I told her.
“Whatever,” she stuck a hand into the greasy sack and pulled out her first donut.
“I got you three,” I told her by way of sucking up.
Her eyes narrowed as she chewed. She swallowed. “Why? What are you up to?”
“I might need your help with something,” I said, grimacing.
Her gaze still narrowed, Sebille shoved the donut into her mouth on another bite. “Bwhat?” Crumbs flew as I grabbed the bag and extracted my first cream-filled donut.
“Can you manage things alone here for a while? I need to go talk to Lea about an artifact.”
Thankfully, Sebille swallowed before speaking again. “Why can’t she come here?”
“She could…” I dithered, trying to decide how much to tell my nosy assistant.
“You’re not going to Lea’s, are you?”
I grimaced. “I am. But then I’m going someplace else.”
Sebille lowered the donut, her gaze filled with suspicion. “Where else?”
“CoughQuilleransCough.”
“Did you just say the Quilleran’s?”
I started to stuff the donut into my face to keep from answering, but Sebille reached out and snagged my wrist. “Why are you going to Madeline Quilleran’s again? You barely escaped with your life the last time.”
Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Madeline hadn’t tried to hurt me. But her show of force when I’d shown up uninvited had made it clear she easily could.
And, she’d told me that was my one pass. The implication was clear. If I showed up uninvited again, she was going to make sure I understood why that was a bad idea.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” I told Sebille.
I almost smiled at that. Usually, that was her accusation to me.
8
The Plot Thickens - Unevenly
I ran into Mrs. Foxladle on my way to Lea’s. I’d only pressured a temporary backup from Sebille. She was holding out on promising me the whole day until I got Lea’s input on the contents of the plastic container.
I was frustrated by the lost time in explaining everything to Sebille and in a hurry. It took me a beat to realize who I’d nearly bowled over and adjust my attitude appropriately. Looking into the elderly woman’s pale, careworn face, I gave in to an impulse to hug her. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Foxladle?”
“I’ve been better, hon. Could we speak to you for a moment?”
I frowned. “We?”
Footsteps on the sidewalk brought my head around. The early morning sunshine glinted off the graying head of Franny Clauss and highlighted a network of fine wrinkles I hadn’t noticed before. “Hello, Naida,” Franny said, smiling sadly. “We’re sorry to bother you again.”
I shook my head. “No. Not at all. Come inside. We’ll have tea.”
Sebille looked up from the book she was reading behind the counter as I came back inside. She slid a questioning gaze over the two older ladies, frowning.
“Sebille,” I said, in a warning tone, “will you please make tea for Mrs. Foxladle and Ms. Clauss?”
Though Sebille gave me a look that told me she’d like to snip my fingernails off down to my knuckles, she came around the counter and headed for the tea station.
I pointed to the small, round table near the bookshelves. “Please, have a seat ladies. And tell me what I can do to help.”
Behind me, I could almost hear Sebille’s pointy ears perk up. The slamming around of tea making items softened a bit, no doubt so she could eavesdrop better.
I sat down with the two women and crossed my legs, waiting.
After sharing a look with Franny, Mrs. Foxladle spoke first. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you about why I missed book club this week,” she told me, her papery cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. “It wasn’t because of the book we selected…”
“Well, it was true that you hate that book,” Franny added helpfully. “Heaven knows, you’ve made no secret of it.”
Mrs. Foxladle flipped her fingers toward her friend. “It’s not my favorite of Dane Andress’s work. She’s so competent with a smoothly flowing sentence. Her descriptions are to die for, putting me right inside the story from the first page. But that book was just too uneven in tone for me. I couldn’t feel the tension between the characters and the world-building was less than satisfactory.”
“True, but the plot tension more than makes up for it,” Franny offered, settling back in her chair as she warmed to her subject. “The secondary characters are four-dimensional.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I just want to bring that pot-bellied pig home and dress her in pink ruffles.”
Mrs. Foxladle rolled her eyes, and I hid a smile behind my hand. “You’re much too easily led into the net, Franny. A cute pig is not enough to overcome the flaws in the story. I can’t believe you bought the whole missing heir subplot. It was just too outrageous to believe.”
“I couldn’t disagree more,” Franny began, leaning forward with an earnest look on her face to jump into the argument with both feet.
I cleared my throat as Sebille settled two dainty cups of tea in front of the ladies.
They blinked in my direction as if they’d forgotten I was there. “Oh my,” Mrs. Foxladle said, chuckling softly. “I do apologize, hon. When Franny and I get started arguing a book, we sometimes forget the world beyond our opinions even exists.”
Franny nodded, sipping her tea. She closed her eyes and sighed when she tasted it, giving Sebille a bright smile. “This is delicious, dear. Thank you so much.”
“Sebille is tea-talented,” I told the ladies, throwing my assistant a smile in thanks. “Now, what is it you wanted to tell me.” I grinned, “Other than to not buy any more copies of ‘Heiring on the Side of Murder.’”
Mrs. Foxladle’s eyes went wide. “You recognized the book we were referring to? Good for you, Naida.”
I gave her a non-committal smile. I’d actually seen the books lying on the table at the crime scene, but I didn’t want to distract them again by going into that. I’d never read the book myself, not being a fan of Dane Andress’s work. I agreed with Mrs. Foxladle. It was a bit uneven for my taste.
“As I was saying,” Mrs. Foxladle continued. “I didn’t miss the meeting because of the book. I stayed away because I had a terrible quarrel with Celia.”
Oh, oh. “What did you fight about?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t something that could be seen as a motive for murder.
Mrs. Foxladle skimmed Franny a look. The other woman nodded in what I perceived to be encouragement. She sighed. “I’m afraid Celia was misusing the meetings.”
I relaxed slightly. That sounded pedestrian enough so as not to inspire Grym to handcuff the sweet elderly woman. “In what way?”
“She’d begun selling those horrible cosmetics to us, sometimes taking up so much time during the meeting we didn’t have time to talk about the books.” Mrs. Foxladle’s small face puckered with disgust. “As a founding member of the Enchanted Reading Club, I was very vocal about my displeasure. I even went so far as to demand she stop peddling her junky products at the meetings.” She glanced at Franny again, earning herself a pat on the hand. “I’m convinced she selected that book hoping I wouldn’t show up for the meeting this week.”
Franny looked for a moment like she would disagree and then pinched her lips closed.
“D
id she try to sell these items every week?” I asked.
“Yes,” Franny said, nodding. “But it wasn’t too bad at first. She’d simply place a bunch of samples out on the sideboard, and we’d take some if we wanted, asking questions about the products as warranted. But lately…” Franny’s lips pursed. “She’d been giving us the hard sell. Glenny and I weren’t the only ones who disapproved.”
Glenny must be a nickname for Glenis, Mrs. Foxladle’s first name. “Were you vocal about your disapproval too?” I asked Franny.
“Of course.” She slid a sheepish look toward Mrs. Foxladle. “Not as strongly as Glenny of course, but enough that Celia and I had a few arguments. In fact, that’s why I really got to the meeting late, last night,” she admitted, her face flushing. “I’d gone early to talk to her about it. I’m afraid we fought about her doing the hard sell behind Glenny’s back.”
I nodded. “How did Celia react to your anger?”
Franny’s fingers knitted together, a clear sign of her nervousness. “She was horrible to me. I ended up storming out, not intending to return. But I’d forgotten my phone and I didn’t want to leave it there. The way Celia had been acting lately, I was afraid she might stomp on it or something.”
Sebille set a cup of tea in front of me. “Would you ladies like another cup?”
Both eagerly accepted. I knew Sebille was hanging close so she could listen in, but I was okay with that. I wanted to get her opinion about what I was learning after the ladies left.
“Celia’s behavior was not normal for her?”
“Not until recently,” Mrs. Foxladle said. “She’d been getting steadily worse since she took on the sales position.”
“Worse how?” I asked.
“Pushy,” Mrs. Foxladle said.
“Insulting,” Franny added. “She’d taken to pointing all our flaws out to us so she could sell us some magical cream to fix whatever it was.” Franny shook her head. “It had gotten so bad I overheard a couple of the others talking about leaving the book club.”
Mrs. Foxladle’s gaze darkened. “That breaks my heart, Fran. I didn’t realize the others felt that way.”
Franny nodded. “You can imagine…”
Mrs. Foxladle nodded, apparently filling in the gap in what Franny hadn’t said and agreeing with it. “The woman was a menace.”
“Was there anyone else?” I asked, hesitating as Sebille gave them fresh cups of tea. “Anyone outside of the club, who might have wanted to harm Celia?” I finished a beat later.
“Everyone, I presume,” Franny said matter-of-factly. “She was a shrew to everyone.”
Well, that just isn’t helpful, I thought. I decided to go in another direction. “Can you give me any idea where the cosmetics came from that she was selling? I understand there was a young man who came to her home regularly. Did she get them from him?”
“I assumed it was some type of pyramid scam,” Mrs. Foxladle said, settling her cup into the saucer. “She was so frantic to sell and she kept trying to get us to buy into selling them ourselves.”
“Yes,” Franny said, “I agree. I’m not sure it was even about the cosmetics. I think it was just one of those companies that roped people into buying tons of the stuff and getting others to buy tons of the stuff and so on and so on.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “Did Celia have a lot of the cosmetics somewhere? The police searched her home and didn’t find any, except for what was on her counter in the bathroom.”
Franny and Mrs. Foxladle shared shocked looks.
“Yes, oh my, she had boxes and boxes of the stuff in her spare bedroom,” Mrs. Foxladle said. “I can’t believe they didn’t find it.”
I couldn’t either. I’d have to talk to Grym about that spare room. If the boxes weren’t there when the police searched the apartment. I had to wonder where they’d gone.
I all but shoved the two older ladies out the door moments later, promising to keep them updated on the investigation. I wasn’t entirely comfortable by the new glint in Mrs. Foxladle’s eyes. It appeared she might be embracing the mystery lover in her soul as a means of dealing with her friends’ deaths.
The last thing I needed was for the two ladies to get hurt…or worse…sticking their well-honed mystery snouts into the current mess. They had no idea what type of artifact they might be up against.
At least one of them had no idea, I corrected myself. Franny Clauss might well understand what had happened to their friends. I only hoped she knew enough to keep Mrs. Foxladle from getting too close to the investigation.
Sebille came back into the store with the freshly washed tea things, sliding a look toward me as I pulled my purse out from under the counter. “I hope you’ve changed your mind about going to Madeline Quilleran’s home.”
I started to respond but was rudely interrupted by a snotty voice. “Have you lost your tiny little mind, sorceress?”
I swung around as Rustin floated into the room. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down his long nose at me. “If you have a death wish, there are much easier ways to die.”
I rolled my eyes, turning to Sebille to share my derision of the ghost witch. Unfortunately, she’d focused an equally judgy glare on me. Even Mr. Slimy, currently pressed up against the glass on the near end of his glass home, seemed to be giving me a froggy glare.
I gave an uncomfortable laugh. “I’ll be fine. Madeline and I have an understanding.”
Rustin snorted out a laugh.
“And what is that? You understand that you’re a bug on the rug and she understands that she can smash you to smithereens underneath her shoe?” Sebille asked.
I shook my head. “I’ve got this. Stop worrying, you two.”
Sebille’s response was to cross her arms over her flat chest like Rustin and deepen her glower. “You’re taking unnecessary risks.”
“What would you have me do, Sebille?” I asked. “Five women are dead because of this artifact. This is bad.”
“Ribbit.”
I glared back at Mr. Slimy. “Your input is not required, frog.”
Oh sure, disrespect the frog. Why not? What’s he going to do about it?
My gaze slid to Rustin and narrowed. “And, what exactly do you believe makes the frog worthy of my respect?”
Rustin blinked in surprise, frowning. “I didn’t…”
“Meow.” Wicked’s soft form wound itself around my ankles, his tail trailing over my shins as he gave me soft eyes. At least my cat didn’t seem to be judging me. I scooped him up, burying my face in his fragrant fur. “Hey, buddy.”
He whacked me on the nose with a tiny bit of claw.
“Ouch!”
Okay, maybe there was a tiny bit of judgment there, after all. I gave a frustrated huff. “My job is to find and deal with artifacts. How am I supposed to do that without taking the occasional risk?”
“You take the occasional risk,” Rustin said, seeming to agree with me. “But only when you have no other choice. It’s not necessary to take this risk. Use what you have available to you, Keeper.”
I stared at him a moment and then widened my gaze, shaking my head. “And that is…?”
“Me,” he said. “Madeline is family. Let me contact her and set up a meeting.”
I thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “That makes sense.”
“I’m going with you,” Sebille said, her glare telling me she wasn’t bending.
I stuck my chin out, prepared to do battle. She lowered her dense red brows, looking like a freckle-faced, pointy-eared Brahma bull. I half expected her to paw the ground and snort.
Throwing my hands into the air, I gave in. “All right! You can come, Sebille. I guess I’ll just have to close early.”
“I’m coming too,” Rustin said.
I didn’t even attempt that battle. “All right.”
I headed toward the door. “I’m going to talk to Lea.” I turned back to Rustin at the door. “Tell Madeline Lea’s coming too.”
His brows climbed his forehead. “What? No, Naida. Maddie’s not going to want another witch in her home…”
“Too bad,” I said. “I need Lea there to tell me if Madeline’s being honest.” When he shook his head, I wrenched the door open. “She’s coming, Rustin. Whether you tell your aunt or not. There might be less blow-back if Madeline knows, but I’ll leave that up to you.”
9
Frog Pee Happens
I found Lea in the greenhouse, harvesting herbs for her shop. She glanced up when I came through the door, a wide smile splitting her pretty round face. “Hey, Naida.” She pushed to her feet, wiping her hands on the apron she’d tied on over her long, gauzy skirt and spotless white tee shirt. “I’m glad you came. I have more fruit for you.”
Lea’s fairy-touched garden was full to bursting with thriving plants, including a small orchard of apple, peach, and pear trees that Sindra, the Fae Queen, had planted to thank her for giving them a home in her greenhouse when their village in the Enchanted Forest had been razed by the Quillerans.
I glanced around at the oversized plants filling every box. The air was sweet with a mixture of lavender, mint, and roses. Each garden box was bulging with plants in different shades of green. “Wow, every time I come in here the gardens look bigger and healthier.”
Lea beamed at me. “The fairies have been so generous. I’m truly blessed.”
The sound of wings beating the air had my head snapping up. Three dragonfly-sized fae buzzed in my direction, Queen Sindra leading the arrow-shaped delegation. She was flanked by two of her advisors, but no soldiers.
I was touched that she trusted me enough not to bring guards.
I smiled, waving as she hurried toward me. “Naida, Keeper.” She dipped her wings as she hovered before me, her tiny face aglow. “How are you this beautiful day?”
As always, I was struck by the sunniness of her personality, in direct contrast to her daughter’s. Sebille was the cloud cover to her mother’s golden sunlight.
“I’m fine, Queen Sindra. Your garden is lush.” It was the strongest compliment I could give the fairy queen, made stronger by the fact that it was the truth.