Sweet Murder: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries

by Tegan Maher

  My sister was relaxing in one of two amber overstuffed recliners, flipping through channels so fast I had no idea how she could read the guide.

  I flopped down on the sofa and took a drink of her tea.

  She wrinkled her nose when I set it back down. "Gross! Get your own!"

  "Why should I? There's a whole glass sitting right here," I teased.

  She slapped my hand away when I reached for it again. "C'mon. Let's get the torture over with," she said. "I know you think I'm just as good as you are if I just focus, but I'm starting to think you're wrong." She looked at me, her eyes soft and sad. "Just don't be disappointed if I don't ever get the hang of this, or if Camille finds something really wrong, okay?"

  I hugged her then pushed her to arms' length so I could look her in the eye. "I could never be disappointed in you, you understand? I just know you want this, and I refuse to let you give up. And it kills me, seeing you suffer with those headaches."

  Aunt Adelaide popped in and offered her encouragement, too.

  Shelby smiled and headed toward what we'd dubbed the practice room—an extra downstairs bedroom that now contained objects of various sizes and weights that she was supposed to move from one spot to another. Whether she did it using spell or telepathy was up to her. Personally, I'd started out using spells but had gotten to the point that all I really had to do was will something to move, and it did. I saved the spells for more detailed situations, like with the broom and mop.

  The events at the barbecue sparked an idea and I was eager to try it out. I put a hand on her arm. "I thought we'd try something different today. Let's go outside."

  She pursed her lips and looked skeptical. "Are you sure about that? What if somebody sees us?"

  Addy was as anti-establishment as most folks her age and had long ago placed privacy wards around the entire house and yard. She was good enough that they were undetectable by the council, so we didn't have to worry about them. I didn't understand why it was an issue.

  "We'll do what witches do—turn ’em into toads, of course."

  I laughed at her disgusted expression. "C'mon. That was funny."

  "Yeah. Haha. Seriously, what if somebody comes? What if Cody or Hunter shows up?"

  "We'll have Max keep an eye out. I swear you're going to love this!" Usually I was the one who worried about getting caught, so her lack of enthusiasm made me wonder what was up. Finally, the lightbulb came on. She liked Cody. Motivation!

  "Look at it this way—if my idea works as well as I think it will, you're going to be a few steps closer to full control. You won't have to worry about little things like, you know, flicking your wrist and knocking over a water glass in front of Cody."

  Slips like that were rare for her, but they had happened. That was one of the reasons I was so determined to get her to master this. Flynn witches were, without exception, powerful, which made me even more worried. Magic was energy and it had to have an outlet. Otherwise, bad things happened and the more powerful the witch, the worse the consequences.

  I hadn't told her that yet because it's kinda like telling somebody her pants are on fire, but not offering them a watering trough. I didn't want to freak her out and make the problem even worse until I could figure out how to fix it. Because of that, I've worked under the premise that, as much as it killed me, it's better for her to think she might not have enough power. Bass-ackwards logic, I know, but there you have it.

  I headed over to the cornhole set and tossed her a set of beanbags.

  "I thought we were practicing," she drawled, confused.

  "We are. It occurs to me that your problem may be that you don't have enough incentive to focus. We both hate losing and loathe folding laundry. So, whoever loses has to live with that, plus fold the laundry."

  She groaned. "That's not fair! You know there’s no way I'm going to beat you."

  "What do you have to lose? It's your night to fold clothes, anyway. Here's your chance to get out of it."

  Her eyes glittered as her competitive nature peeked through. "You're on. Play to twenty-one?"

  "Of course. You go first. Max! Will you please make sure nobody sneaks up on us? We're doing a little out-of-the-box training back here."

  Do I look like a guard dog to you? I'm taking a nap.

  No. You look like an ass who lounges around all day and mooches free meals. If I wanted that, there are plenty of two-legged men who fit the description around here. Get your big ears up there and earn your keep for once.

  He continued to grumble but pushed to his feet and ambled around front.

  Ugh. Why couldn't I have a normal donkey?

  Just in case, I cast a glamour that would make the back yard appear empty, then turned back toward the game.

  "Okay, Shel. Let's get started."

  Shelby wiped her palms on her jeans. Her hands were shaking. That was never a good sign.

  "Shelby, calm down. It's just a game of cornhole, not a campaign for world domination."

  She nodded sharply, took a deep breath, aimed at the board, and tossed. She strained to focus on the bag and I saw it waver, correcting course at the last minute. It was too late, though. The bag landed on the board several inches from the hole.

  "Not bad for a warm-up shot," I encouraged. "You landed it on the board."

  "I always land it on the board," she grumbled.

  "Yeah, well watch this." I aimed, threw, then when I realized I hadn't thrown it hard enough, gave it a little boost. It landed at the edge of the hole.

  "You missed on purposed! I'm not going to do this if you're going to let me win," she scowled.

  I furrowed my brow. "I didn't miss on purpose. This is just a little harder than I thought it would be. I was only messing around the other night, and truthfully, most of the ones I made were legit. Your turn. Focus on nothing but the bag going in the hole."

  She took a minute to aim again, then let the beanbag fly. It was going to be way off - she was going to completely overshoot the board. Suddenly the bag stopped, wobbling almost directly over the hole before dropped. It landed halfway in the hole, dangling by an edge.

  I almost laughed at the shocked expression on her face. When she finally realized what she'd done, she whooped and fist-pumped. "Yes! Beat that," she crowed.

  We continued, and she got markedly better the longer we played though it was still sporadic. I didn't lie when I said we were both competitive, so as the game progressed, so did the smack talk—and her focus.

  She was far from perfect and had a couple of complete fails—one of which landed on a tree branch thirty feet in the air—but all in all, it was the most successful practice session we'd had in a long time.

  I ended up beating her by six points. She accepted the loss, but was adamant that she'd win when we played again tomorrow. I mentally fist-pumped when she said that; normally, she did everything in her power to get out of practice, but now she was actually scheduling it herself.

  We'd just put the beanbags away when we heard a motorcycle coming up the driveway. Shelby raised her brows and gave me her best 'duh' look. "That's one of the reasons I was so worried about somebody catching us. You forgot, didn't you?" she accused.

  I nodded and chewed my bottom lip.

  Max chose that minute to wake up but only bothered to open one eye. Alert. Alert. Somebody's approaching, he thought in a monotone.

  "Thank you Captain Obvious," I snarked. "I'm hiding your scotch. See how you like drinking water with your oats this evening." Which was a good thing because I’d forgotten to grab a bottle from Bobbie Sue’s. Between the outrageous cost of hay and grain and rising liquor prices, it was almost impossible to turn a profit on a farm, even with a few boarders.

  That's not fair. I did what you told me to do, he complained.

  I chose to save my breath and let my actions do my talking; he was proof that mules got their stubborn streaks from the male side of the line.

  I eyed the aerodynamic machine in front of me. Last night, my wine-soaked b
rain had prompted me to write a check that my sober self now had to cash. Hunter shut the bike off and flipped the kickstand down before pulling off his gloves and helmet.

  "You girls ready to ride?" He asked.

  I examined the bike like it was an alien being about to rip my head off, then sighed. There was no backing out now, so I pasted on a smile and squeaked, "Sure—I've been looking forward to it all day."

  Hunter shook his head and gave me a half-smile. "I promise not to wreck you," he vowed, then added, "I don't want to scratch my bike."

  I scowled at him, but Shelby giggled and nudged me with her shoulder. "Don't be a baby. You strap yourself to a thousand pounds of dynamite with a brain every time you climb onto a horse. At least a motorcycle isn't going to spook at a deer or bulk at a mud puddle."

  That actually made sense, except a horse's maximum speed was like thirty miles per hour, and that's a thoroughbred in top racing form. Ours were about as close to that level of fitness as I was.

  Addy chose that minute to pop into view and circle around the motorcycle, then Hunter. "Now this is what I was talkin' about when I said you needed some excitement! If you back out, I swear I'll sing in your shower for a month."

  I rolled my eyes in an attempt to show her she didn't scare me, but the crappy thing was that she'd do it, and her singing voice could peel paint.

  We'd no sooner settled onto the porch with icy glasses of tea than Cody came zooming up the driveway. Okay, zooming might be a bit over the top, but my baby sister was going to be riding double with him. I considered anything over ten miles an hour reckless driving.

  He stopped his bike beside Hunter's and it was then that I noticed each bike had an extra helmet strapped to the seat. I would have preferred full body armor, but I guess you take what you can get.

  "Hey, Cody." Shelby rose to greet him. "Tea?"

  " Sure."

  I tried to put off the inevitable by slowly sipping my tea, but within a couple of minutes, everybody but me had drained their glasses and were heading to the bikes.

  "C'mon, Noelle," Shelby urged. "You're gonna love it; I promise."

  I sighed and pushed myself to my feet. Apparently, I was the only non-suicidal one in our little foursome, or for that matter, our entire family.

  By the time I buckled my helmet, the guys had started the bikes and Shelby had already climbed on behind Cody. I looked at Hunter's bike, trying to figure out how to get on. Hunter moved his leg and pointed to his foot peg. "Put your left foot here, then swing your right leg over and put both feet on the back pegs. Lock your hands in front of me and squeeze with your knees to hold on. If you need me to slow down, just pat me on the leg."

  Okay, easy enough—kinda like mounting a horse. And I had the option to tap out. Good to know. I followed his instructions and found myself pressed tightly to his back. An unexpected tingle of excitement ran through me. As Addy had pointed out, I hadn’t had a speeding ticket in a while. When I’d been younger, before I had all these responsibilities, there was no such thing as too fast.

  "Ready?" Hunter shouted through his helmet over the roar of the bike.

  I took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be," I shouted back.

  He nodded to Cody and they maneuvered the bikes out of the driveway. Every lurch of the bike made my stomach clench, but after a couple of miles, I started to relax and admire the scenery.

  I have to admit, it wasn't as horrible as I'd imagined. As a matter of fact, after I realized none of us were likely to die a fiery death, it was downright fun. It didn't hurt that I was snuggled tight against the back of one of the best-looking men I'd seen in a long time.

  Every once in a while, he'd reach back and touch my leg and send me a muffled, "You okay?" Since my arms were around him, I just gave him a thumbs-up. As the ride progressed, the occasional touch turned into more of a caress that sent tingles up my leg. It made me hope for a goodnight kiss.

  By the time we pulled back into the driveway, it was starting to get dark. My back was aching a little from sitting in such an awkward position for so long but overall, it was worth it.

  Shelby climbed off Cody's bike and pulled off her helmet. Her face was flushed with pleasure as walked toward me, smiling from ear to ear. She hip-checked me and said, "See—nobody died or even lost an eye."

  I was trying to remain passive, but I couldn't do it; I grinned. "Okay, fine. You were right. Can we do it again?"

  I turned to Hunter, who was smiling. I'd never noticed, but he had a dimple on his left cheek. This happy, easy-going person was the man I'd imagined the first day I met him. I laughed when I remembered what I'd thought of him that day. I wanted to see more of this side of him.

  "Of course we can. I love riding and it would be great to get out and do it more. Just name the time and place." I rested my hand on the seat of the bike as he took my helmet from me and hooked it on the bike.

  I remembered how his hand had caressed my leg and was glad when the kids walked around back to hang out for a while.

  "Maybe this weekend. Cody's going on his fishing trip, but maybe we could go for a ride, just the two of us." I felt my face flush; I wasn't exactly experienced with this whole dating thing, but I knew I wanted to spend more time with him.

  "This weekend would be great," he said as he turned to me. We were so close that I could smell his clean, crisp cologne. It reminded me faintly of the ocean. His gaze slipped to my mouth and he brought his hand up to my face and leaned down toward me.

  The ringing of his phone broke the spell and he stepped back, pulled it from his pocket, and answered it. He walked away from the bike a bit and turned his back to me. After a few crisp questions, he told the caller, "I'll be there in fifteen. Don't let anybody in."

  He gave me a bittersweet smile and reached for his helmet. "I have to go," he said as he pulled it over his face and buckled it. "Somebody ransacked the sheriff's office and Hank's house.” His look of passion had turned to one of regret. “Plus, I really can't get involved with you until I put this murder to bed."

  My heart dropped a little as he slung his leg over the bike and revved the motor. I didn't realize until after his brake light disappeared from view that I'd forgotten to tell him about the real estate investor.

  Chapter 19

  By the time I made it to town late the next morning, the gossip mill was churning at record speed. Hunter wasn't taking my calls, so I grabbed a coffee and headed to the salon. I figured I'd just cut out all the middle men and go straight to the hub.

  When I entered, Marge was in the chair getting her weekly fill and gums were flapping furiously. They didn't even notice me until I cleared my throat.

  "Hey, Noelle," Coralee greeted me. "How you doin', sugar?"

  "I'm fine. I just figured I'd stop by and see what y'all thought about the break-ins."

  Beating around the bush wasn't necessary with this crowd; they were happy to share their speculations with anybody, especially if there was a chance of gleaning new information. Since I had no doubt I'd been seen with Hunter yesterday, I'd earned my in.

  "Honestly, we haven't been able to decide who mighta done it," Marge answered.

  "Yeah," Belle continued. "Best we can figure is it was somebody looking for Hank's little black book. We reckon maybe it was Butch Davies or Ronnie Dean, or both."

  Marge snorted. "Only problem with that theory is that they're both worthless as tits on a bull without Hank to tell 'em what to do."

  I couldn't argue with that. "Little black book?" I queried.

  "Yeah," Coralee replied. "Marge here says he had a book he used to keep track of all the people he was dealing with. He used it to record who'd paid him and who owed him. It's not like he could keep blackmail and extortion files in his office."

  Marge nodded so vigorously that it was testament to Coralee's skill that her curlers didn't fall out. "It's true. I saw it one day when he came to collect the money for those trumped-up fines."

  "Huh," I said, my mind whirring. "I wonder
if Hunter knows about this."

  "If he don't, he needs to," Belle said. I've been tempted to introduce myself a few times, but he don't seem like he'd be real receptive."

  "That's probably for the best right now," I agreed, "at least until he settles in. He's already noticed some things—I think Angus has been messing with him a little—but finding out about ghosts and witches right now may send him right off the deep end."

  "Well somebody needs to let him know about the book," Coralee stated. "Though even if it was handed to him, that man of yours would still be diggin' through a needle in a haystack to find out who killed Hank. Everybody in the book would be a suspect, and I doubt there's many folks who ain't in the book."

  I growled when they referred to him as mine, especially after he rebuffed me last night. "He's not my man. We haven't even been on an official date."

  She waved her hand dismissively. "Details, sweetie, details. But back to the book. At least it would give him somewhere to look besides at Anna Mae."

  I promised to go talk to him right away, then headed back over to Brew4U to tell Raeann what I'd learned.

  When I got there, Jake was leaning against the front counter and Raeann was restocking the coffee bar. I headed to the espresso machine. I needed more caffeine, and Hunter could probably use some, too.

  "So ... what did you find out? What's the latest speculation?" Jake asked.

  I shrugged. "They really don't know much more than we do about who may have done it, but they did mention Hank may have used a little black book to keep track of his alternate business ventures. They figure somebody was looking for that."

  "Huh," he said. "Do you think it really exists?"

  "Marge from the hardware store claims to have seen it," I added a pump of caramel to my cup and a pump of chocolate to Hunter's. "What do you think, Rae?"

  Raeann furrowed her brow. "Well, Marge is a lot of things, but she's not a liar. If she says she saw a little black book, then she did."

  "I find it hard to believe he'd keep a book, though. Wouldn't he be running the risk of somebody getting their hands on it?" Jake asked.