Sweet Murder: Witches of Keyhole Lake Mysteries

by Tegan Maher

  My, my, my. If the entries and the amounts that they were paying Hank to keep his mouth shut were to be believed, some of them had been really naughty.

  One name caught my eye, and my heart fell as I read the description. Oh, Will ... no wonder you looked like seven miles of bad road. I remembered how much better he'd looked this morning and, though I now understood the improvement, I couldn't forget his explanation. I had a lot on my mind, but managed to work it out.

  Then my mind flicked back to that cryptic comment at the fair. What had he said? Something about holding a lot of power over good people. Now it all made sense.

  Hank had been blackmailing him because apparently Cody was caught cheating on a final at the end of last year—giving answers to somebody sitting beside him. He was threatening to put it on his permanent record and make the principal include it in his letter of recommendation if Will didn't pay him. Most colleges would have disqualified him out of hand at that point.

  I thought about Mr. Larson, the principal. He was a fair man who wanted to see his students succeed. It didn't make sense that, if he had chosen to overlook it, he would be willing to sabotage Cody like that, unless ... I flipped through the book and confirmed my suspicions.

  Apparently, Hank had caught him having an intimate dinner in Atlanta with another man. Keyhole was catching up to the twenty-first century, but it hadn't made it quite that far yet. It was fine for a gay man to sell fried baloney sandwiches, but it was another thing altogether, at least to many folks, for one to be a school principal.

  I thought sadly of all the times Principal Larson had helped me with my trigonometry, patiently breaking it down into bits of information I could understand, and tears came to my eyes. Nobody deserved to live in fear like that. Mr. Larson and Will were both good people and a surge of pure hatred for Hank pulsed through my veins.

  I understood how he was manipulating Will, but what evidence was he using to blackmail the others? I slapped the book closed; all of a sudden, I felt like a peeping tom. These people were paying Hank to keep secrets and it seemed somehow disrespectful to them to keep reading.

  Raeann's voice brought me back to the here and now. "Noelle, there's a big fat accordion folder clear in the back and neither of us are tall enough to reach it. Come get it."

  A binder? Oh, no. My heart sank as I realized the binder probably contained the answer to my question—Hank's dirt. I had no doubt that it exposed truly bad secrets, but it also contained information that good people had a right to keep private if they chose.

  "I don't think we should open it. I'd rather we should just call Hunter. It would be better if none of us touched it." It was true, but it was also an excuse to keep them from pulling out pictures and documents that had the potential to destroy people, good and bad. Hunter would make sure the bad was weeded out from the good; I didn’t know him well, but what to do with information like that is so integral to a personality that I knew already he wouldn’t abuse it.

  Mr. Larson's meal and Cody's singular fall from grace were private, and if I had my way, those secrets—and all the others the binder and book held—would stay that way.

  "Seriously. We've already tampered with evidence more than we should have. I'm calling." I pulled out my cell and told it to call Hunter.

  Both women were staring at me, and Raeann stepped forward and put he hands on my shoulders. "Noelle, what's wrong? You're white as a sheet. What's in that book?"

  I just shook my head and wiped my eye with a knuckle. "Suffice it to say that if the good sheriff were still breathing, I'd beat him to death myself."

  Too late, I realized his widow was standing right there. "Sorry Anna Mae. No disrespect meant to you, but what he got was too good for him."

  "I thought I knew what he was, Noelle. That was bad enough, but I'm guessing now I didn't know the half of it. Call it the way you see it." She bit her lip and flicked her gaze to the book. "It's really that bad?"

  "Worse."

  As mad as Hunter had been earlier, I was a little surprised when he picked up, even though his voice was cold enough to freeze the flame off a match. I gave him a generic rundown of what we'd found; the safe, the money, the book, and the binder. I asked him to come alone because the book left no doubt Hank wasn't the only cop in the know.

  "Thank you for calling. I'll be there in ten." His tone was abrupt and he hung up without saying goodbye.

  I told the girls he was on the way, then called Shelby to let her know what the hold-up was and asked her to keep it to herself until the gossip wheel caught wind of it some other way or Hunter released the information.

  Anna Mae wandered into the kitchen and we followed her. I was still clutching the book protectively.

  "I wasn't going to suggest it earlier," she said, "but how about we open another bottle of wine while we wait for the deputy to get here? I suddenly find myself sober as a judge and believe I need another dash of liquid fortitude." I winced at the comment, remembering something about a not-so-sober judge that I'd seen in the book.

  I nodded and went out to retrieve our glasses, though there wasn't enough alcohol on the planet to unsee the proof of what a douche Hank had really been. "You and me both, Anna Mae—you and me both."

  True to his word, Hunter was there in ten minutes, but he had to take a ton of pictures of the scene before he moved anything. By the time he was finished, he'd been there for an hour.

  Raeann and I waited with Anna Mae until he finished up. He took the binder and the book but left the cash. Technically, it was in a private safe in a private home and no crime had been connected to it ... at least yet. By the time she closed the door behind him, she looked exhausted. "Are you sure you want to stay here by yourself tonight? Shelby and I have plenty of room at the farm; you're more than welcome."

  "Or if you want, I'll stay out here with you," Raeann said. "Jake had to go out of town again, so I don't have anything else to do. We could have a girls' night."

  "Nah, I'll be alright. Honestly, I just want to light some candles, take a hot bath, and sleep in my own bed. Hank's folks will surely come around tomorrow to fill me in on the funeral arrangements. I'll probably end up spending the day with Mama Doolittle, so I'm gonna take tonight to enjoy the peace, such that it is."

  She did look exhausted. Her blue eyes were dull and had dark smudges, and her face was pinched. I tried to imagine how she must be feeling right now.

  I took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "You know none of this is your fault, right? Don't you dare go blaming yourself."

  She looked away as a lone tear rolled down her cheek.

  "That's sweet of you to say, sugar, but how can it not be at least a little bit my fault? I knew Hank was meaner than a rattlesnake and had an idea he was doin' some shady stuff, and I didn't say a word."

  Raeann frowned at her. "Who on earth would you have told? For that matter, who in town didn’t already know? He ran this town, for god's sake. Everybody knew Hank was crooked, but what were our options? We all lived right in the belly of the beast—there was nowhere to turn."

  The problem was that nobody was willing to step forward and reveal their secret in order to bust him at it. It was a vicious circle—if they tried to take him down, then the skeleton was dragged out of their closet. If they didn't, they had to do what Hank said. It was a no-win situation if they wanted to preserve their lives and livelihoods.

  Now mind you, a big percentage of them—the cheaters and thieves, and worse—deserved to be outed, but many of them, like Will and Principal Larson, were just doing what they had to do.

  "Trust me, Anna Mae, even if you'd gone to the council, you would have just dug your own grave. I didn't take a close look at that book, but I saw enough to know he had some of them under his thumb, too."

  I don't know if what we said made her feel any better but at least when we left, she wasn't crying. I guess that was a start.

  By the time I made it home, it was almost eight o'clock. I was glad to see Shelby
had brought the horses in by herself and fed them. We usually did the night chores together, but I was beat.

  Before I even opened the front door, the smell of garlic, Italian seasonings, and baking bread wafted out to me. My mouth began watering and I realized I hadn't eaten anything except that pastry in Hunter's office early that morning.

  I kicked off my shoes at the door and followed my nose to the kitchen, where Shelby was standing over the stove tasting a red sauce. I leaned against the door for a minute, just soaking in the scene.

  Adelaide was floating beside her gazing into the pot and sniffing. "Does it taste bland? It smells a little bland. It may need a dab more salt and oregano. If it's sharp, add another pinch of sugar."

  Shelby made to elbow her, but her arm, of course passed right through and she shivered. "It's fine—delicious, even." Little sister sounded like she was at the end of her rope. "Stop already!"

  Adelaide ignored her and pointed to the oven. "Check the bread. It's probably done."

  I cleared my throat and both of them jumped.

  "It smells amazing in here. I haven't had anything but a turnover all day." I walked over to the stove and dipped the spoon in the sauce, blowing on it to keep from burning my lips off. I was shocked when I slurped it off the spoon.

  "Shel, this is really good—well done!"

  She blushed with pride or embarrassment; sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. "I was going to just make plain old spaghetti with jar sauce because I figured you'd be hungry when you got home, but Aunt Adelaide decided to teach me how to make hers."

  Adelaide made a show of clearing her throat and pointing to the oven again.

  Shelby scowled at her. "I'm not gonna forget the danged bread!" She pulled the oven door open and grabbed a potholder. The rolls were perfect and my stomach growled when I saw the golden crowns on them.

  She pulled them out of the oven and ran a stick of butter over the top, then followed that with a sprinkle each of Italian seasoning and Parmesan cheese.

  I stepped in and helped her finish up by draining the spaghetti and grabbing plates.

  We ate in silence for several minutes before their curiosity got the better of them. It was obvious by the palpable tension and frequent glances that they were doing their best to let me eat in peace, but Shelby caved first. "Do you think they'll be able to figure out who the people in the book are?" she blurted.

  I rolled my eyes and took a drink of milk. "Oh, I'm sure they won't have any problems. Hank had first and last names written at the top of each page, along with contact information."

  "You gotta be kidding—I knew he was dumber than a box of rocks but he named names?" The look on Aunt Adelaide's face was priceless.

  I raised a brow and swallowed my spaghetti. "You did know him, right? Though to be honest, I don't think he was stupid. Crooked, mean, cocky? Yeah. Stupid? No. He had quite the scam going—I'm talking more than a million bucks, easy—and that's not something a stupid man could manage, at least not for so many years."

  Shelby reached for another roll and dipped it in the seasoned olive oil. "Well then that will make Hunter's job easier then, right?"

  "It may seem so, but no. I mean, he now has a list of prime suspects, but there are so many that it's still a needle in a haystack. Plus, unless I miss my guess, he's going to be opening at least ten or fifteen new criminal investigations."

  Addy, who had remained silent up to this point, finally chimed in. "Plus he can't just assume the killer is definitely one of the people in the book. Don't forget about the method of the murder—if he ate a piece of poisoned pie, it's likely it's a woman. Were there any women in the book?"

  Huh. She was right. I'd lost sight of the method because I was concentrating on motive. I tried to remember if there were any women, but none popped to mind. Of course, that doesn't mean there weren't any; with the exception of Will and Principal Larson, I'd just skimmed through enough pages to realize I didn't want to read any more.

  "None that I remember, but I didn't read through the whole book."

  "That doesn't surprise me—Hank was a pig. Dealing with women would have been beneath him. In his eyes, the men were the sources of money in the house."

  I reached for another piece of garlic bread and ran it through my sauce. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  Shelby took a drink of milk to chase down the huge forkful of spaghetti she'd just stuffed in her mouth. "So, who all was in the book?"

  Unbidden, the names ran through my head—many of them men who were just trying to live their lives and protect themselves and those they cared about. I pushed my food around on my plate, my appetite gone. "Too many, Shel. Too many."

  Chapter 23

  I tossed and turned until five the next morning, then gave up any hope of sleep and padded to the kitchen. There were so many things running through my head that I didn't even know which end was up, so I did the one thing that always calmed my mind—I baked.

  After I made a pot of coffee, I pulled out the ingredients for cinnamon rolls and decided to skip the bread machine in favor of doing the work myself. The steady rhythm of turning the dough and kneading it in upon itself was comforting and was so ingrained in my muscle memory that my brain could work while my hands stayed busy. It was a good combination.

  My mind sifted through all the events that had occurred over the past week. I was missing something. It had niggled at the back of my consciousness all night, but it was like trying to catch smoke. I'd catch a glimpse of it, but when I tried to grasp it, it just slipped away.

  Knead, turn, flip. Knead, turn, flip. I lost myself in the repetition and the anxiety began to drain from my body. I felt my magic begin to flow, and the dough became pliable in my hands. Soon it was glossy and elastic, so I floured the butcher block and began to roll it out.

  Names from the book swirled through my mind, along with the indiscretions attached to them. My thoughts drifted back to the previous afternoon at Anna Mae's and snippets of conversation flitted through my mind, like my brain was turning over the rocks searching for something.

  I continued to work the dough—pushing the edges out, and giving it a little nudge of magic when it wouldn't cooperate. I was pushing out the edges and squaring them off so I could brush the butter over it when my brain finally slipped the puzzle piece into place.

  I stopped what I was doing. "Aunt Adelaide!"

  I paused for a moment and called her again.

  She appeared, though she didn't look happy about it. I'd asked her once where she went when she popped in and out, and she'd told me that sometimes she was just somewhere else in the house or around the farm, and sometimes she just ... wasn't. She described it as feeling similar to a nap—she was just not there until somebody called her name—so, for lack of a better term, that was what we called it.

  "Holy moly, girl — stop yellin'. You'll have Shelby awake and you know what a bear she is. What's got you all fired up?"

  I glanced at the clock on the stove as I rinsed the dough from my hands. It wasn't even six yet. "I'm sorry. Were you napping?"

  "No. I was just down at the barn watching the horses sleep. I always did love being there in the middle of the night, when they're all soft-eyed and resting instead of pacing or rattling their feed buckets. Now, what's with the 911?"

  "Anna Mae made a comment about Cheri Lynn yesterday, and it made me think."

  Adelaide laughed. "I'll bet she has plenty to say about her, but what, in particular, has you in a dither?"

  I pulled the butter out of the microwave and began brushing it onto the dough. "She called Cheri Lynn a gypsy, but I didn't know that about her. Do you know anything about her family? Because if that was accurate rather than just Anna Mae slinging slurs, it certainly would give her a reason to know about belladonna."

  "Huh." Adelaide floated a little closer, rubbing her chin. "Now you mention it, her grandmammy was an herbalist. I'd forgot all about that. That was back in the day; Tryphena Hall was an odd woman, but I liked
her. She had the sight, and I think that was why she tended to stay to herself.

  "We got along well, though. I could shield myself from her, so it made it easier for her to be around me. She was probably the best healer I've ever met—that woman knew what she was doing with plants."

  "So you're saying she may have shared that knowledge with Cheri Lynn?"

  Adelaide crinkled her forehead. "I don't know, sugar. Tryphena was old when Cheri Lynn was born. I suppose it's possible. She used to have one of the most extensive herb gardens around."

  I covered the rolls and put them in the warmed oven to quick-proof. I'm too busy—and too impatient—to wait three or four hours for the traditional way.

  "Where did they live? I know Hank owns the trailer she lives in now."

  "Oh, that's where she grew up. That property used to be Cheri Lynn's, but Hank picked it up for taxes. I suspect it's why she was so ... accommodating, though I doubt that's the only reason." Adelaide shook her head and sighed. "Her poor grandmother has rolled herself about out of her grave over that girl, I suspect."

  "So, you're saying it's possible remnants of Tryphena's old garden are still around the property?"

  She snorted, an odd sound coming from a ghost. "With all the stuff that woman grew, I'd say it would be almost impossible for there not to be, but she kept it hidden and warded somewhere in the woods at the back of the property."

  "Well, still. Belladonna's perennial, right? So that puts the murder weapon right in the hands of one of the prime suspects."

  Adelaide shivered. "I know what I'd choose if my only options were sleepin' with him or killin' him."

  I couldn't agree with her more.

  "You gotta tell Hunter this, Noelle. If for no other reason than to clear Anna Mae once and for all. Besides, women can't just go around killin' men when they want; otherwise, the species would die clear out."

  Fair point.

  I rubbed my hand over my face. "It's not that simple. I can't hardly just call Hunter and say, Hey, by the way, I thought I should let you know Cheri Lynn's grandmother was a gypsy witch and had a garden out back where she grew plants for potions and spells. You should go check it out."