“The remnant of Lily’s water-magic?” I suggested.
“I’m sure it is,” Naomi nodded, “but from what I could tell it’s harmless. Let it rain on the old place, it could use a good wash. I’m more concerned about how to help my baby. We’ve never had to deal with a black magic infection, not in this town.”
“Tessa and I will help you,” I assured her. “We’re a coven, all of us. Don’t think that just because you’re retired you’re free of us.”
Naomi smiled. “Thank you, sweetie. That reminds me—Mara is in no shape to perform her part of the Lammas ritual. Or any of her coven duties, for that matter. I can assume these until she is recovered.”
“The circumstances aren’t ideal, but it will be nice to cast with you again, Naomi. We’ll have Mara fixed up before you know it. I can start looking through my grandmother’s library tonight...I’m sure there’s something in there that will help.”
“It’s your library now, Samantha,” Naomi said gently. “And I am more than happy to do my part to make sure Lammas goes smoothly. And speaking of, how is the hunt for Goodsprings’ new water-witch going?”
“Terrible,” I confessed. “We have hit nothing but dead ends.”
“I’ll call around again,” Naomi promised. “Let me know if you find anything in your books. I will start going through my own collection. Now that I’m sure it’s a black magic infection it might be easier to find a cure.”
Naomi and I said our goodbyes and I walked her to the front door of the shop. She paused before going out, looking around at the vendors and crowds that had gathered on Main Street.
“It’s going to be a long week,” she said wearily. “Hope we make it.”
Chapter 7
I was late closing up that night on account of letting Genevieve and Allie have a few extra minutes to finish up that day’s work on the float. It was well past seven when I stepped into the warm, coffee-scented interior of the Goodbeans Cafe.
The cafe usually closes around sundown on weekdays but Jackie, the owner, keeps it open late during Harvest Festival. It’s a good move, business-wise—there was a line almost to the door when I arrived.
“Over here, Sam.” I saw Ada Gallagher waving from a corner table. I wove through the line, ignoring the disapproving looks of those in queue, and sat in the empty chair opposite Ada.
Ada had the same pallor and tired eyes as her twin brother, Ethan. Despite their having been in the South for a few weeks now, they had yet to develop that warm, sun-kissed look the rest of us enjoyed. Yankee origins, I suppose, are a tough thing to shake.
“I had to fight off a half dozen tourists to hold that seat for you.” Ada said, sipping at her tiny cup of espresso. She nodded at a mug of frothy, caramel-colored coffee on the table in front of her.
“That’s for you.”
I lifted the mug and sampled the foam. It tasted creamy and sweet, with a hint of cinnamon and chocolate.
“Mmm,” I sighed, “that’s perfect.”
“It would have been better hot,” Ada said lightly.
“It’s still warm!” I protested. “But I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Not to worry,” Ada yawned, looking around the cafe, “Harvest Festival is messing with everyone’s schedules.”
“Long day?”
Ada groaned.
“When Ethan and I moved here we thought we’d be bored. Bored!” She scowled over the rim of her cup. “Not only was there a murder the week we got here, but it turns out this sleepy little town goes full Wicker Man every fall. The job description said nothing about crowd control.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, “don’t tell me a few tourists have gotten the best of the Gallaghers.”
“More than a few,” Ada muttered. I choked back a laugh.
“What happened?”
“There was a...disturbance...at one of the campsites last night. One of the campers thought they’d heard something out in the woods. A few of their friends went out to investigate and never came back. The one they left behind waited all of five minutes before descending into a panic and calling us. So Ethan and I go out there, middle of the night, and guess what?”
“What?” I urged, already hooked.
“They really had just up and vanished. We walked around the woods for over an hour but the footprints we found seemed to run in circles from the campsite to the trees. We’re taking notes from their friends when this beat-up old car rolls up. There was Phineas Lichen, driving a truck even older than he is, dropping those hooligans off at the campsite.”
“So they were okay?”
Ada nodded.
“Turns out they’d decided on a whim to make a beer run into town. And by “beer run” I mean they ran into town, drank too much beer, and tried to walk back...in the dark. Mr. Lichen found them stumbling on the side of the road and very kindly gave them a lift.”
“Anyway,” she went on, “that’s just the start of it. They were so grateful that they invited Phineas to stay and “party” with them. The old man agreed and they broke out the booze—which, in case you didn’t know, is most definitely against the law outside of licensed properties. But Ethan and I weren’t about to throw the lot of them in the drunk tank just to make a point. So we tell them to keep it down and go about our night.”
“Big mistake,” I said.
“Huge. It’s maybe two in the morning when we get another call. The caller is complaining about the noise...and the smell. Somehow—and don’t ask me how this is even possible because I don’t know and don’t want to—the party had acquired a herd of alpaca. So we drive out there, again, but the tourists and Phineas are just sitting around the campfire, peaceful as can be.”
“Prank call?” I suggested, now actively struggling to suppress my laughter.
“That’s what I thought,” Ada leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and dropping her voice to a low murmur, “until I saw the tracks. Hundreds of tiny alpaca prints, all over the campsite. And not one alpaca to be found.”
“Huh. Sounds like you detectives have a real mystery on your hands.”
“Oh, please,” Ada scoffed, though her mouth twitched into a half-smile. “So that’s basically how my day’s been. How about you?”
The Goodbeans Cafe had become even busier since I arrived. The buzz of conversation and the hissing of the overworked espresso machine eventually drowned out the soft cafe music. With so much going on, I could speak freely without risk of being overheard.
“You know me...making smoothies. Meeting new folks. Stressing out about not finding a water-witch.”
“Still?” Ada looked surprised. “Isn’t the Lammas ritual, like, this week?”
“Yes,” I said miserably, dropping my head into my hands. “There’s no way we’re going to find someone in time.”
“Don’t worry,” Ada chuckled, “you’ll figure it out. Now, let’s get your mind off of that business and talk about something fun. Like patching that roof of yours.”
“That’s not fun.” I mumbled into my hands.
Ada ignored me and started outlining her plan for getting my roof fixed up. I let her go on for a few minutes, listening to descriptions of materials, expenses, and project time lines.
“How’s your brother doing?” I took advantage of a brief pause during her description of shingle-laying techniques to change the subject.
“Ethan?” she blinked. “Oh, you mean since getting stood up. Yeah...he’s still pretty rough over it. I’ve tried talking to him, but it looks like he’s determined to keep moping over some cranky lady he only knew for a few weeks.”
“That’s too bad,” I sighed. “I really thought those two had hit it off. Tessa can be abrasive sometimes, but she’s really...”
Ada held up a hand and I trailed off.
“Please, Sam. I know Tessa’s your best friend so I won’t speak ill of her, but I don’t want you to try and defend her to me. She broke my brother’s heart.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” I cou
ntered. “After all, it was just one date.”
“I don’t know, Sam. I’ve never seen Ethan get like this over anyone. I’ve actually wondered once or twice if there isn’t some sort of love spell at work...”
“There isn’t.” I said firmly. “No respectable witch would even think about doing something like that.”
“If you say so.” Ada shrugged. “Whatever it was, I’m hoping he gets over it soon. I need him at one-hundred percent if we’re gonna survive this festival crowd. And speaking of...this looks interesting...”
I followed Ada’s gaze to the coffee shop counter, realizing suddenly that the shop had gone completely silent.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, you backwater barista!”
Chadwick Crane, the snobby patissier I had encountered earlier, was looming over the coffee counter, red-faced and snarling.
“Sir, please,” the barista cowering in front of him pleaded. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”
The other patrons remained still, watching the exchange.
“We can talk about this NOW!” Crane spat, slamming a hand down onto the counter. “Where did you get those pies you’re serving tonight?”
“P-Patty’s Pies,” the barista stammered. “We resell them d-during Harvest F-Festival—”
“You resell them during Harvest F-Festival,” Crane echoed in a high, mocking voice.
Ada stood up.
“Alright, pal,” she called, “whatever your issue is, you’re gonna have to address it another time. Preferably with civility.”
“You yokels have no sense,” Crane sneered, ignoring her. “You should all bear witness to this! Local shops in this hick town are openly favoring certain vendors. Where I’m from, we call that bad business.”
“I can give you the owner’s number,” the barista barely squeaked, “if you want to ask about selling your pastries.”
Ada began skulking through the crowd of onlookers, making her way to the counter.
“Selling my pastries? Here?” Crane laughed, loud and hollow. “You missed your chance when you partnered with that bumbling bumpkin Patty.”
“Let’s go.” Ada said, appearing behind Crane and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Crane whirled around, face contorting in fury.
“Get your hands off me!” He swatted at her. “Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the law in this hick town.” Ada held up her badge.
Crane’s shoulders squared up, then gradually slumped as he read the engraving on the shiny metal star.
“Let’s go,” Ada said again, nudging Crane toward the door. He obeyed grudgingly.
Ada paused at the door and looked back toward our table.
“Sorry to cut out early, Sam!” she called. “Rain check?”
“Sure!” I waved back. The crowd in the coffee shop, which had been watching the commotion, turned to stare at me and I felt my face grow warm.
Ada grinned, gave Crane an encouraging shove, and followed him out the door.
Chapter 8
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain and the blaring of Tessa’s car horn. Stumbling out of bed and looking out my window, I saw Tessa’s cherry-red 1964 Pontiac Bonneville parked in my driveway. Tessa waved up at me from the driver’s seat and held up her cell phone. My own phone started to ring.
I picked it up from my nightstand and clumsily unlocked it with my sleep-weakened fingers.
“Get dressed, it’s after seven already!” Tessa’s voice rang through the speaker.
“What’re you doing here?” I mumbled, peering back down at the car.
“Let’s see...I was a jerk yesterday and want to apologize. It’s raining and you shouldn’t ride your bike. A gal should be able to surprise her best friend. Pick a reason!”
I hung up the phone, pulled on the first weather-appropriate clothes I could find in my disaster of a closet, and bundled my hair onto the crown of my head with one of my grandmother’s giant clips. I picked out my favorite umbrella and scampered from my front porch to Tessa’s car.
The rain was coming down in deafening sheets, turning the roof of Tessa’s car into a drum line.
“I need to grab melons!” I shouted at Tessa’s car window, gesturing toward my garden. Tessa rolled her eyes, but turned off the car and got out, joining me under my umbrella.
“Is this for the float?” Tessa asked as we piled watermelons into the trunk of the Bonneville. “Because the cat’s out of the bag now...Allie’s a terrible liar. I know those girls have invaded your patio to put it together.”
“Sure is,” I said, counting two dozen melons. I figured that would be more than enough for Allie and Genevieve's Harvest Festival float.
“Watermelons just don’t seem very autumn-y.”
“They’re not. The girls are going to carve them into jack-o-lanterns on account of the pumpkin scarcity.”
Tessa and I climbed into the car. A small, open box of muffins and a to-go coffee cup rested on the dashboard, fogging up the rain-splattered windshield.
“Those are for you,” Tessa indicated the goodies. “Baked them fresh this morning. Please accept them as an apology offering. I’m working through some things and let that get the better of me when you visited the restaurant yesterday.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Tessa shook her head. “Thanks, darling, but I’m not ready to go into it just yet. Maybe later. For now, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted!” I picked up one of the muffins and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still piping hot. “Is this banana walnut? You should be rude more often.”
“Banana and chocolate-chip,” Tessa said apologetically. “It’s going to be a long autumn without pumpkin muffins...and pumpkin pie...and pumpkin bread...and pumpkin seeds...” she sighed.
I finished two whole muffins on the short drive from my house to Happy Blendings. Tessa helped me haul the watermelons into the shop, both of us getting soaked in the rain.
“Thanks for the help,” I told Tessa, setting the last of the watermelons down.
“You’re very welcome,” Tessa winked. “Now what do I have to do to get some service around here?”
“Ask nicely?” David’s guttural voice startled us. He laughed and closed the front door behind him. “Good morning, ladies.”
His jacket, motorcycle helmet, and boots were all dripping onto the tile floor.
“If it isn’t the Tank!” Tessa exclaimed, grinning. “How are you, darlin?”
“Wet,” David chuckled and swept some water off his helmet. “I haven’t seen you around here in a long while. Festival keeping you busy?”
“Terribly,” Tessa confirmed. I slid behind the counter to start assembling ingredients as they talked. It’s sometimes tough to hear the “smoothie sense” when it rains. Rainy days usually call for tea and fresh-baked bread, not smoothies. But that doesn’t mean I don’t try. I took a deep breath and reached out with my magic. The scent of earth magic, freshly-turned soil and honeysuckle, filled the air.
I went to the fridge and got out a pitcher of cold brew coffee David had made the day before. I poured half of it into a blender and added a couple frozen bananas, a dollop of almond butter, a few dashes of cocoa powder, and a glug of almond milk.
I had just started the blender when the Gallagher twins entered the shop, soaking wet and looking even more exhausted than usual. They paused at the front door and stared around the room, looking first at the three of us then at each other. I turned off the blender.
“So, bad news,” Ada said, just as the whirring faded into an uncomfortable silence.
“We thought we should let you know,” Ethan said, looking everywhere but at Tessa, “before you hear it from someone else. We know how productive this town’s rumor mill can be.”
I exchanged a confused look with David and Tessa.
“What’s going on, detectives?” David asked worriedly. “Is something wrong?”
Ada laughed hollo
wly and ran a hand through her hair.
“I’d say.” she said. “There’s been a murder.”
David’s mouth fell open. I felt the earth magic that I’d invoked crinkle and drift away like a dry autumn leaf.
“Who?” I barely whispered, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
“One of the street vendors,” Ethan said solemnly. “The body was found this morning.”
The dreadful silence that fell on the shop made me wish for the awkwardness again.
“Are you kidding me?” Tessa said suddenly, looking peeved. “We just did this.”
Chapter 9
Chadwick Crane’s body had been discovered in a pumpkin patch just outside of town. His injuries did not immediately reveal the manner of his death (that would be determined during the autopsy that afternoon) but the nature of them led the detectives to suspect foul play.
“He wasn’t armed or carrying anything,” Ethan had explained, “so we can cautiously rule out self-inflicted injury.”
“And there was a second set of footprints,” Ada added, “so we know he wasn’t alone.”
The whole conversation was making my stomach knot up. I excused myself to the prep area, where I poured the coffee smoothie I’d been working on down the drain and started to mix up a batch of Detective’s Delights.
The news of the murder had me distracted to the point that I forgot the pomegranate juice and spent a few moments looking at the muddy green smoothie I’d produced, perplexed. I had always considered Goodsprings a safe town. The kind of place where folks keep their doors unlocked and you don’t have to be afraid of the dark. The events of that summer had changed that—even though the town didn’t know for sure that Amelia Windermere had been murdered the tragedy of her death had resounded with everyone. The people of Goodsprings weren’t ready for another murder...and neither was I.
“Hey? Earth to the earth-witch.”
I blinked and suddenly noticed that Tessa had joined me in the prep area. She looked concerned.
A Pumpkin Potion Explosion Page 3