The Fifth Curse: A Cozy Mystery (Teas and Temptations Book 5)

by Cindy Stark

  It bothered her that he didn’t seem to believe her. And worse, that he hadn’t kissed her yet.

  She circled in front of him, slid her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his chest. “I know you’re mad at me, and you probably don’t want a hug, but I’ve missed you.”

  She would have died if he didn’t hug her back, but he did, and she relaxed in his arms, tilting her face upward to see him. She dropped a quick glance at his lips, hinting at what she wanted, and then met his gaze again.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I can’t kiss you and stay mad.”

  She allowed a tiny smile to curve her lips. “Then don’t stay mad. You’ll eventually forgive me. I can’t bear to think what would happen if you didn’t. So, you might as well do it now and give me what we both want.”

  He shook his head slowly but lowered his mouth to hers.

  Sparks erupted like firecrackers inside her, and she pressed harder against him, needing to soak up as much of his energy as possible.

  She really had missed him in the two days since the murder. He’d barely texted with her, stating he was too busy.

  He pulled back and studied her eyes.

  She placed a hand over his cheek. “I feel really off when I don’t see you. Like a piece of me is missing.” Or like someone had punched a hole in their tapestry.

  “I feel disturbingly the same.”

  She lifted questioning brows. “Disturbingly?”

  He snorted and pulled from her. “Like you’ve taken part of my life force, so when you’re not around, I don’t function the same, as crazy as that sounds.”

  She smiled. “I think it sounds wonderful, except when we’re apart. Will you forgive me?”

  He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her hard enough to make her head spin.

  Yes, this was exactly what she needed to put her world back on its axis.

  “I forgave you days ago, but I don’t understand why you couldn’t trust me and tell me before you went gallivanting around my crime scene, messing with potential suspects.”

  She schooled her features into contrition. “Margaret was trying to protect her sister and by extension her sister’s friends, who she believed to be innocent. I was just trying to help her.”

  He shook his head. “I wish you two could learn when to help and when to let things be.”

  She gave a sheepish shrug. “We’ll work on it.”

  She turned from him and glanced around. “You’ve never invited me to your house before. I like it. Your home has a nice feel, good vibes.”

  Hazel met his gaze again. “That only happens when love has left its mark.”

  She had to admit she envied the relationship he must have had with his wife. She knew Peter liked her a lot, but he’d married Sarah, had pledged his life to her.

  She wanted the same.

  “Yeah,” he glanced toward the pictures on the mantle. “We had some good times.”

  She gestured with her head toward the fireplace. “Are those pictures of Sarah? Can I look?”

  He stared at her for a long moment as though he wasn’t certain of his answer and then nodded.

  Hazel left his embrace and walked toward the picture of the woman who’d originally stolen Peter’s heart. Part of her was jealous that he still had photos of Sarah displayed, but she’d had been an important part of his life, and Hazel needed to honor that.

  A woman with auburn hair like hers smiled back from behind the glass in the frame. Pure light radiated from her expression. She’d been happy when that photo had been taken.

  “She’s beautiful,” Hazel said in a reverent voice, feeling him drawing closer behind her.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “Inside and out. Not strong like you, but her heart was pure like yours.”

  She smiled as tenderness welled inside her. It was hard to sort feelings of his loss from her gratitude, so she didn’t try.

  Peter cleared his throat, and echoes of his agitation filled the room. “I still have a hard time believing she was a witch and never told me. It seems like such a betrayal to our marriage, and I don’t want to believe she would do that to us.”

  Hazel turned and looked up into the devastating green eyes that owned her soul. “Maybe she didn’t know.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Like someone might have denied her heritage long ago and not told her children, so that knowledge didn’t get passed down?”

  “Exactly. Even today, it can be dangerous to show you’re a witch. People don’t understand the practice, the heritage. Especially in Stonebridge.”

  He seemed to accept her suggestion, and his angst quieted. “I looked for her hat the other day after we talked about it. I can show you if you’d like.”

  Oh, definitely. A witch could tell a lot about another from the essence burned into her hat. “I’d love to see it.”

  He led her through the house and into a back bedroom. The furnishings obviously carried a woman’s touch, and Hazel was sure he’d left things as they were before Sarah had died.

  A large cardboard box rested on a wooden desk. Peter strode to it and lifted the lid.

  Hazel peered inside, almost taken aback by the amount of energy it emitted. She couldn’t tell Peter and break his heart, but this woman definitely knew she was a witch. Traces of magic, perhaps even blood magic, filled the space.

  She glanced up at Peter. “May I?”

  He nodded.

  She lifted the black silk hat gently from the box. The brim was trimmed with gold edging and flowered ribbon circled the bottom of the cone. Greenery perched to one side with a gorgeous fiery rose nestled in the center.

  She turned it in her hand, loving the detail. She wouldn’t insult Peter or Sarah’s memory by asking to try it on. “It’s very lovely. She made this in a crafting class?”

  “Yeah. Several ladies in town would get together once a month for crafting night.”

  Or a coven meeting.

  “Belinda and a couple of others…” His voice trailed off, and he focused on Hazel. “They weren’t crafting nights, were they?”

  Waves of his pain crashed into her, and she accepted them, hoping to ease his suffering. “I’m not sure. They could have been.”

  He gave a derisive snort. “Funny how you think you know a person so well.”

  At that moment, she was terribly grateful she’d come clean about her heritage so that she wouldn’t ever cause him similar pain.

  She slowly lowered the hat into the box and carefully replaced the lid. Some things were better left alone.

  She took his hand and sent him a cheerful smile, hoping it would help. “Hey, I’ve been here almost twenty minutes, and you haven’t told me one thing about the case.”

  His demeanor turned from hurt to feisty. “And I’m not going to.”

  Hazel gave Peter a dramatic roll of her eyes and led him back into the living room. “You know you’re going to spill the details because you want my help.”

  He waited a long moment, and she was sure he’d done it to make her suffer.

  Then he sighed. “Fine. But only because I struggle to understand women and their emotions when it comes to love and betrayal.”

  “Like Sondra?” she suggested.

  “Exactly. I’ve tried to question her multiple occasions, but she ends up crying every time, and I have to stop the interview. I don’t want to arrest her in order to force information from her, but it might be my only alternative.”

  “I could try talking to her. She has an antique store in Salem. Margaret could tell me the name.” She might even be interested in accompanying her.

  He shook his head and snorted. “I can’t believe I’m asking you to do this.”

  She grinned. “Just admit we both know I can be a tremendous asset to you.”

  He chuckled. “In more ways than one.”

  His declaration felt like winning the lottery.

  “Just don’t call Margaret at work,” he said. “You’ll have to get in touch with her at ho
me.”

  Curiosity nipped her. “Because you don’t want it getting around that I’m acquiring information so I can visit with a murder suspect?”

  He met her gaze directly. “No, because I placed her on administrative leave for the time being.”

  Her emotions dropped to the floor. “You didn’t.”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t go getting all upset. Margaret asked if she could. She said it would be hard for her to watch us investigate her sister, and she couldn’t promise to be unbiased. I agreed. She’s on paid leave, so don’t you worry.”

  She relaxed then and smiled. “You’re a good man, Peter Parrish.”

  His expression seemed to doubt her. “That’s what Margaret said, too.”

  Six

  After Hazel finished her tea deliveries for the morning, she parked her car outside Cora’s Café. The sun beat down bright and hot, the weather promising another scorching day.

  Perhaps the town’s people would blame the extreme heat on the witches, too, like they did every other negative thing that happened. She rolled her eyes and headed toward the café doors.

  A panicked holler from across the street caused her to jerk around.

  A teenage boy wearing a ball cap and jeans flew down the sidewalk on his skateboard, traveling much too fast for the downtown cobblestone sidewalks. She opened her mouth to yell for him to slow down, but he jumped off the skateboard, dropped and rolled like someone abandoning a car with no brakes.

  A second later, he was back on his feet and dashed inside the hardware store.

  She stared bewildered at the abandoned skateboard that continued down the street until it rolled off into the grass.

  She was about to chalk it up to crazy teenage antics, but a swarm of bees swooped in, following the same path. With a frenzied swirl, they covered the kid’s skateboard as though they were hell-bent on murdering it.

  She hoped the kid, whatever he’d done to make the bees mad, had learned his lesson. Bees might be small, but the Blessed Mother had gifted them with nasty weapons.

  Hazel pulled open the door to the diner and inhaled the lovely, cool air as she stepped inside.

  “Morning, Haze,” Cora called from behind the counter where she refilled dear Mr. Fletcher’s coffee cup. Cora’s warm smile creased her cheeks and left her looking more like a twenty-five-year old than a woman in her thirties.

  “Hey, Cora.” Hazel strode forward and glanced about the restaurant. “Margaret here yet?”

  Cora shook her head, her blond ponytail swinging. “Not yet. Are you meeting for breakfast or early lunch?”

  Hazel slid onto the brown leather counter stool. “No, we’re headed into Salem.”

  Cora’s aura brightened. “That sounds fun. I’m sure Margaret could use it to counter the stress she’s been under with her sister.”

  She propped her elbows on the counter and glanced once at Mr. Fletcher. The senile old man was preoccupied pouring massive amounts of sugar and cream into his cup.

  She turned back to Cora and leaned close to whisper. “We’re going to investigate one of the bridezillas who was at Fiona’s wedding.”

  Cora laughed and shook her head. “Peter won’t like that.”

  “Actually, it was his idea.”

  She lifted her brows in surprise. “Seriously? What brought about that change?”

  Hazel snickered. “The fact that he can’t handle a crying female. Every time he tries to interview Sondra about the details of her previous relationship with the groom and what transpired afterward, she cries too hard to finish a sentence.”

  “Do you and Margaret think you’ll fare any better?”

  Hazel flashed her a sarcastic look. “We’re women with feelings. What do you think?”

  Cora chuckled. “Shouldn’t have asked.”

  Hazel thumbed over her shoulder to the café’s door. “Just saw the weirdest thing outside. Angry bees were chasing some kid on his skateboard. He escaped with his life inside Elmer’s.”

  She froze. “Oh, no. Not the bees.”

  Cora had said that like they were a thing, not some random event. “The bees?”

  “I really thought since Glenys had been the one to murder Belinda, because they are both witches, that we wouldn’t experience their stinging curse this time. No wonder it’s been so blessed hot, too. You’d better start cranking out more iced tea because this will last a while. People will be clamoring for anything cool.”

  Hazel snorted and shook her head. “I refuse to believe Clarabelle and her friends are the cause of the bees and heat. You and the town can’t blame every bad thing on them.”

  Cora shrugged. “Don’t kill the messenger. But if you hear buzzing, I’d advise you to run.”

  “That is beyond ridiculous. My long-ago grandmother wasn’t a horrible person.”

  Cora pinned her with a sharp gaze. “No, she wasn’t horrible. She and her friends were persecuted witches with powers. There were those in town who sought to destroy their very lives. Think about what kind of person you might be in those circumstances.”

  Hazel let that sink in and sighed. She’d probably be the same.

  Time and again, she’d tried to imagine what life might have been like all those years ago, but she could never truly know. On an average day, she’d known more comforts than Clarabelle ever had, and that didn’t count any of the fear or horrific events she’d watched and survived. “Why didn’t you tell me about the bee curse? For that matter, how many other curses are out there?”

  Cora widened her eyes in frustration. “I’m not even sure I know all of them. But this one goes something like, if a witch is ever killed in Stonebridge again, starting on the next full moon, the Blessed Mother’s sting will find them wherever the townsfolk go. In winter, the freezing temperatures will be cold enough to burn. Otherwise, the sun will scorch the earth and the people upon it. In addition, they’ll also feel the sting of the killer bees.”

  “Bees don’t kill most people.”

  She lifted a non-committal shoulder. “Again, you’re talking about today’s world. Imagine having to survive extreme heat without good shelter and air conditioning. Imagine trying to escape a swarm of bees if you were out walking the road between your house and town. Most can stand one bee sting, but a swarm of them carries a lot of poison.”

  This was more than she wanted to consider. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  However, she would be checking the three spell books that she had in her possession for evidence of any such atrocity. “Besides, I’ve heard it’s supposed to rain on the weekend. Hopefully all this nonsense will be gone by then before everyone can go crazy over it.”

  Cora rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Me, too. We’ll talk on Monday, and you can tell me I was right.” She shifted her gaze toward the door and lifted her chin.

  Hazel turned and spotted Margaret making her way toward them. She almost didn’t recognize her wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of some elaborate outfit. She lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

  Margaret smiled at them both, but her friendliness was only surface deep. Worry and fear churned below. “Morning, Cora. Hazel. Are you ready?”

  She slid off the chair, exuding a cheerful attitude, hoping it would rub off on Peter’s assistant. She understood her fears for her sister, but there were plenty of other suspects to consider besides Gwen.

  “I’m ready and looking forward to learning more about Sondra. She certainly has plenty of reasons for wanting Fiona dead.”

  “Agreed.”

  They said goodbye to Cora and headed for the exit. Hazel pulled open the door and peeked out for a quick bee check before she stepped out.

  “Everything okay?” Margaret asked.

  “Yep. I’m good.”

  Hazel thought of not mentioning anything about the bees she’d seen earlier, but Margaret had lived in town her whole life. She could be a good source of information.

  When they were seated in her car, Hazel turned to her. �
�I saw a swarm of bees earlier. I think they may have been chasing a kid who’d probably provoked them.”

  Margaret did a frantic search through the windshield around the perimeter of the car, alarming Hazel.

  “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

  Margaret groaned as though reflecting on a bad memory. “Oh, yeah. They got me good a couple of years ago. Peter, too, at the same time. We were attempting to rescue a little girl, and they turned on us.”

  “That sounds really scary.” Like terrifying.

  “Oh, it was. Peter took the worst of it. Ended up in the emergency room. There were other attacks, too. We called them killer bees though I don’t think that was ever documented.”

  It made her sick to think her grandmother could be capable of such things. These people didn’t deserve her wrath. “How long ago was that?”

  Margaret squinted as though that would help her recall. “That would have been… Oh, yes. Not long after Sarah had her tragic accident. I remember distinctly how fierce Peter had been to save the little girl, and I’d wondered if his loss of Sarah had affected that.”

  She could see that being the case. “Maybe so.”

  “Not that he wouldn’t have saved her. But, he had a different demeanor after Sarah’s death. Has ever since.”

  Hazel started her car and pulled onto the street. She considered researching old newspapers to see if there was mention of the event and if it coincided with Sarah’s death, but she had a feeling it would only confirm what she knew in her soul.

  Her ancient grandmother was a vengeful person.

  And she’d be having a word with her about that.

  Seven

  Hazel pulled into the parking lot of a small strip of stores on the outskirts of Salem. When she spotted an empty space beneath a shade tree, she made a beeline for it and claimed victory when she slid into the stall.

  She and Margaret exited the car and fell in step together.

  “You know,” Margaret said. “I never liked Fiona, and I always thought life would be better if she wasn’t around. I was wrong.”

  Life loved to throw in surprises. “I guess I should be grateful I didn’t know her much at all.”