by Jinty James
“Mom and Dad went to a party they held at their house years ago. I think it was on Pine Lane. I remember Mom saying the house had an unusual turret at the top.”
“I know where that street is.” Maddie reversed out of the driveway and turned right, away from the town square.
A few minutes later, she pulled up outside a tan brick house, a small turret with cream shutters jutting out at the top of the dwelling.
“Yes, this must be it,” Suzanne said, pointing out the name Hodgeton painted on the large mailbox.
Trixie the cat had her nose pressed to the side window, her ears pricked in anticipation.
Did her cat really know what they were doing? It wasn’t the first time Maddie had asked herself that question. At times, her fluffy white Persian seemed almost human, as if she could totally understand everything Maddie told her. But at other times, it was as if Trixie couldn’t understand a word – or maybe that was what she wanted Maddie to believe, so she could get her own way. Maddie loved Trixie dearly, but she could be a handful at times.
“Trixie, you’ll have to stay in the car,” Maddie said firmly as she got out and swiftly shut the door.
“You heard Maddie.” Suzanne gently placed the cat in the driver’s seat, slid out, and closed the door.
Trixie swished her tail and turned her back to them, before curling up in the car seat and closing her eyes, as if the two of them didn’t exist.
“I think Trixie’s cross with us,” Suzanne said as they started up the path to the house. Plain green lawn greeted them on either side of the path, and a big red rose bush with flowers in full bloom dominated one corner of the garden.
“Yeah.” Maddie sighed.
They rang the brass doorbell which seemed in keeping with the turret above them.
Ding dong.
Silence.
Maddie and Suzanne looked at each other.
“I’ll press it again.” Maddie pushed the button once more.
Ding dong.
Silence.
“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Suzanne said.
“Yeah.” Maddie frowned. “There isn’t a car in the driveway, but that doesn’t mean anything. It might be in the garage.”
Suzanne looked at her watch. “The library will be closed by now, so I don’t think Joan will be there.”
“I don’t want to wait for her husband to come home.” Maddie hesitated. “What if he’s involved somehow – if the vision is true?”
“No way!” Suzanne shook her head. “When I saw them talking at the library that day, they just seemed like an ordinary couple – I didn’t get any kind of weird vibe from them.”
“That’s good to know.” Relief flickered through Maddie. “But still ...”
“I get it.” Suzanne touched her friend’s arm. “But just because you saw her ... dead ... doesn’t mean it will actually happen, does it? I mean, haven’t you had a vision before that didn’t come true?”
“That’s right.” Maddie nodded. “A few of them over the years, and it’s not like I cast the coffee spell every day – well, not before I started working as a barista, anyway. The only explanation I’ve come up with is that what I see in the coffee cup is only a possibility that can happen in the next twenty-four hours – it’s not set in stone.”
“So maybe nothing will happen to Joan and she’ll be at the truck tomorrow ordering a latte,” Suzanne said, looking relieved.
“I certainly hope so.”
MADDIE SPENT THE NIGHT tossing and turning, disturbing Trixie, who slept on the other side of the double bed. But she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the vision might come true.
Who would want to kill Joan? Why?
She and Suzanne had stayed at Joan’s house for about twenty minutes, alternately ringing the bell and waiting – hoping – for someone to answer the door, until they decided Joan wasn’t home. And for the reasons she’d stated to Suzanne, Maddie was reluctant to wait until Joan's husband returned home from work.
If only Joan had been there! She would have cautioned the older woman once more to be careful. But would Joan have heeded the warning? Or would she think Maddie was weird? But how could she tell Joan the truth – that she thought she was a witch, albeit one who could only cast one spell correctly – and that she had seen a vision of Joan’s death. No one knew the truth apart from Suzanne and Trixie the cat.
When the alarm buzzed at 6.30 a.m., Maddie was already wide awake.
“Broomf!” Trixie ignored the buzzing and curled up in a tighter ball, her silver tail firmly wrapped around her furry body.
Usually the Persian pounced on her to get up just before the alarm sounded. Maybe Maddie’s restless night had truly disturbed the cat.
Maddie grabbed a quick shower, spooned some of Trixie’s favorite cat food into her turquoise bowl, then poured herself a bowl of cereal.
She glanced at the white and silver kitchen clock. Almost time to drive the coffee truck to the town square for the early morning joggers. In addition to coffee, she also sold hot tea and bottled water, both of which joggers seemed to enjoy, especially those exercising to lose weight.
Maddie entered the bedroom and grabbed her purse.
“I’m going to work, Trix,” she spoke softly to the snoozing feline. “Do you want to stay here today?”
“Broomf.” The cat snuggled deeper into the pastel blue and lilac patchwork quilt on top of the bed.
Maddie took that as a yes.
“IS TRIXIE STILL MAD at you?” Suzanne asked as she hopped up into the food truck. Their official opening time was 7.30 a.m. but if they were ready a few minutes earlier, that’s when they started serving customers.
“Yes.” Maddie grimaced. “Or else she’s tired from all my tossing and turning last night – heck, I’m exhausted from it!”
She turned to smile at a sweaty jogger, his middle-aged bald head gleaming with perspiration – as well as the rest of him.
“Water,” he gasped, “please.”
Maddie handed him a bottle of chilled water, taking the slightly damp bills from his hand and giving him the change.
“Thanks.” He tore off the cap and chugged the contents of the bottle. “Thanks,” he said again in a more normal voice, before half-walking, half-jogging away.
“It was a genius idea of yours to sell water as well,” Maddie said. “I can’t believe how many joggers don’t carry a small bottle with them.”
“I know.” Suzanne nodded. “And I was thinking, what if we start making those health balls that you see everywhere? You know, the ones with “cacao—”” she made fingers quotes in the air, “—and coconut, dates, and all that disgustingly healthy stuff.” She snapped her fingers. “Maybe we could add coffee to give them a boost!”
“It’s a good idea.” Maddie nodded. “But when are we going to find time to make them? After work?”
Suzanne eyed the interior of the truck. “I could make them during our non-busy times. It’s all raw ingredients, so I don’t need to bake anything. And it will be okay to make them in the truck because of your permit. All I’ll need is a food processor.”
“I’ve got one at home.” Maddie’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t we find a recipe and buy the ingredients this afternoon? We could start making them tomorrow morning.”
“Already got a recipe.” Suzanne waved her phone in the air. “I did an online search last night. You know how I was talking yesterday about how we should make cookies or something to improve our profit margin? Well, I think these health balls will work out even better, since we don’t have to bake them. And I bet the joggers will buy them, whereas they probably wouldn’t buy cookies, as they’d feel guilty.”
“Awesome!” They high-fived each other.
Another sweaty jogger stumbled to the counter, and they turned their attention to their new customer, the first of many for the following hour.
During the morning rush period, Maddie scanned the customers lining up for coffee, tea, or bottled water, but she
couldn’t see Joan anywhere.
She gnawed her lower lip. Suzanne’s idea about making health balls had helped take her mind off the vision she’d seen yesterday, but now her anxiety returned full force.
It wasn’t as if Joan had regular days that she visited the coffee truck. Maddie tried to think which mornings Joan had ordered a beverage last week, but couldn’t quite remember. The older woman was only one of many regular customers she had. Although Maddie knew her regulars by sight, she was so slammed during the busy times that she focused solely on making the best drink she could each time, and not the exact time each customer arrived.
Was Joan okay? She only hoped the vision hadn’t come true.
Towards the end of their busy morning, a woman with red-rimmed eyes walked up to the counter. She held a crumpled tissue to her nose, and her short dark hair looked messy, as if she’d torn her fingers through it.
“Just give me a black coffee. Please.” She blew her nose.
“Are you all right?” Maddie asked, foreboding chilling her veins. She couldn’t remember this customer before, but something about her set warning bells clanging in her mind.
“No.” The woman sniffed. “And I feel so guilty ordering a coffee right now, but I don’t know what to do with myself. My best friend Joan has been murdered!”
CHAPTER 3
“WHAT?” MADDIE GASPED.
The woman nodded. “A detective has just finished talking to me. They wanted to know if I heard or saw something.”
“Did you?” Maddie asked.
“No.” The woman shook her head, regret chasing her features. “I wasn’t home.”
Maddie was so transfixed by the terrible news that her vision had come true, that she didn’t notice Suzanne subtly nudging her out of the way and beginning to make a black coffee for the customer.
“Do you know how...” Maddie swallowed, “... Joan died?”
The woman nodded, tears beginning to stream down her face again.
“They said she was hit over the head with a crystal vase.” She sniffed. “Joan loved that vase. And apparently, it held red roses from her garden in it. How could anyone do such a thing?” The woman blew into a sodden tissue.
“Where was she found?” Maddie asked, trying to be delicate.
“In her kitchen,” the woman gulped.
Just like her vision - apart from the fact that a vase hadn’t featured in the image that had arisen in the coffee cup yesterday.
“Here you go.” Suzanne handed a steaming paper cup to the distraught woman. “On the house.”
“Oh,” the woman swallowed, as if trying to find her voice. “Thank you, girls. That’s very kind.”
“Do they know when she was ... killed?” Suzanne asked.
“This morning!” The woman turned around, as if expecting to see a potential murderer standing right behind her, but only a puzzled looking senior citizen with tightly permed gray hair waited in line. “Her husband found her!”
Maddie frowned. “Does he work at the library?”
“That’s right. He’s the head librarian.” The woman shook her head. “They’ve been married for so long – even longer than myself and my husband.” She heaved a sigh. “I just don’t know how he’s taking the news. I wanted to go over there and see how he was, but the detective wouldn’t let me.” She sniffed. “They said they were just doing their job, and needed to speak to him right away.”
“I’m so sorry,” Maddie said, guilt running through her. She hadn’t been able to warn Joan in time! She didn’t know if that would have made a difference or not, but what was the point of having the power to cast such a spell if something terrible like this happened and she had no way to stop it?
“Thank you, dear.” The woman took a sip from the cup. “Joan kept telling me how delicious your coffee was, but I’m not a big coffee drinker. This is very good, though.”
“Thank you.” Maddie forced her lips to move upwards in a semblance of a smile.
The woman nodded, then left, allowing the gray-haired senior citizen behind her to place her order.
Maddie numbly set about making a cappuccino on auto-pilot.
She shouldn’t have left Joan’s house until she’d spoken to her last night and warned her about the vision she’d seen. Joan might still be alive if she’d done so. Instead, Maddie had taken the easy way out and gone home.
For the next couple of hours, half of her customers seemed to have heard about Joan’s murder and muttered about it among themselves. One old man with a bundle of library books under his arm even complained about the library not being open when he’d turned up on the dot of nine o’clock. Apparently, Joan’s husband, being the head librarian, was in charge of opening the library in the mornings and closing up at night.
“Now my books are going to be overdue,” the grizzled old man grumbled, before picking up his coffee and taking a little sip before walking off.
When there wasn’t another customer in sight, Suzanne looked at Maddie. “Do you want to close up for the day?”
“Because it’s my fault Joan was killed?” Maddie shook her head.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Suzanne said loyally. “You didn’t kill her.”
“But I didn’t tell her what I saw in my vision.” Maddie slammed a stack of paper cups onto the counter. “I didn’t hang around her house until she came back so I could warn her properly.”
“Even if you had, it doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have been murdered,” Suzanne pointed out. “The killer didn’t know about you having a vision. If he – or she – did, then maybe they would have had second thoughts.”
A sudden thought struck Maddie, chilling her veins.
“Suzanne, don’t tell anyone about my vision. What if word gets out and the killer think I know who did it?”
“You might be next.” Suzanne paled.
Maddie swallowed hard. “If anything does happen to me, promise you’ll look after Trixie.”
“You know I will.” Suzanne nodded.
“Unless ...” Maddie hesitated, “... unless she finds another witch to live with. I often wonder how she just turned up like that, at the coffee shop, and why nobody reported a lost cat.”
“Don’t worry.” Suzanne patted her arm. “If Trixie wants to live with me, I’ll take good care of her. And if she wants to live with another—” she lowered her voice “—witch, I’ll make sure she’s happy there.”
“Thanks.” Maddie hugged her friend, blinking back sudden tears.
“But this isn’t going to happen,” Suzanne injected a bright note into her voice. “Because no one will find out about what you saw.”
“I hope not.” Maddie stiffened her spine. “Because we’ve got a lot to do. Since I feel it’s my fault Joan was murdered, I’m going to find out who did it.”
CHAPTER 4
“HOW ARE YOU GOING TO do that?” Suzanne asked.
“Any way I can,” Maddie said determinedly. “For instance – oh, it’s Joan’s neighbor, who ordered a black coffee a couple of hours ago. Mind the truck!” She dashed off across the green square, dodging a young woman wheeling a pram along the concrete path that bisected the expanse of green lawn.
Maddie puffed, out of breath, as she caught up with their customer outside a boutique, the warmth of the Spring sun shining down on them.
“Hi,” she tried to catch her breath, hoping her face didn’t look as red as it felt. She really must get more exercise – after she discovered who the killer was.
“Hi.” The woman’s eyes now looked pink around the rims instead of red raw. She summoned a smile. “Thank you again for the coffee.” Blinking, she set her lips in a firm line. “I’ve told myself not to cry any more today.”
“I think it’s okay if you do,” Maddie said gently, feeling like a heel for her ulterior motive in hailing the woman. “I just can’t believe someone killed Joan,” she continued, each word the absolute truth.
“I know!” The woman burst out. “If only I hadn’t cancel
led jogging with her this morning. But I wasn’t feeling well—” she dropped her gaze “—and now I feel terrible. Because if we’d been out jogging, maybe she wouldn’t have been murdered.”
The woman sniffed, her eyes blinking.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Maddie said sincerely.
“I’m Linda, by the way.” She dug out a clean tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. “I’ve lived next to Joan for the last fifteen years. We were more than just neighbors – we were best friends.”
“Maddie,” she introduced herself. “Did Joan have any enemies, or problems with anyone?”
“No.” The woman looked at her with wide eyes. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering if that might have something to do with her murder,” Maddie said, her voice low.
“I never thought of that.” Linda clapped a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes in apparent thought. “No, I can’t think of anything troubling her. She had mentioned her husband was thinking of retiring soon, but that was a few weeks ago.”
“How did she feel about that?” Maddie probed.
“Well, let’s see ...” The woman shook her head. “We were close, but sometimes I don’t think she told me everything, just like I don’t – didn’t – tell her everything. You know, little things that are just between a husband and wife. That sort of thing. So when she told me her husband was talking about early retirement, she didn’t sound upset about it, really.”
“Did she sound happy about it?”
Linda pursed her lips. “She didn’t sound ecstatic about it. But she’d just mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think afterward, Joan doesn’t sound thrilled about that.”
Maddie nodded. “Does – did Joan work?”
“Oh, no. She said they were quite comfortably off with her husband Brian’s job. I know their house is paid for, so they don’t have to worry about making rent or mortgage payments.”
“I see.” Maddie paused, not sure what to ask next.