A Cauldron of Hot Coffee: Enchanted Enclave Mysteries Books 1-3

by Samantha Silver

  “Oh, yeah? What’s the big occasion?” Leanne asked.

  “The coffee shop did much better than we expected in the second quarter,” Aunt Debbie replied. “Volume is up, and profit is up even more.”

  “Thanks to bringing in that new roasting machine,” Uncle Bob added, coming into the kitchen from the dining room and leaning against the door frame. “I knew it was going to eventually do good things, but I didn’t realize how quickly we were going to be running it at full capacity.”

  “A lot of our partner stores that we deliver to have started increasing their orders, which really helped,” Aunt Debbie said. “Now we have to think about buying another roaster. That would bring the total we have up to seven.”

  “It’s probably a good idea, Deb,” Uncle Bob said. “We’ll run the numbers next week, but if the orders we get continue, we’re going to find ourselves running at capacity again sooner rather than later.”

  “Which, while it would be a great problem to have, it would be even nicer not to have it be a problem at all. We’ll discuss it next week. For now, we celebrate a great quarter at the business. There’s shepherd’s pie and then I baked a cake.”

  “How on earth your mother does it after a whole day of work, I have no idea,” Uncle Bob said to Kaillie, shaking his head. “But I’ll take it.”

  “A lot of magic,” Aunt Debbie said with a wink. “And a lot of years of experience. Whipping up a cake takes me five minutes. Then it’s just about baking and cooling and spending ten minutes decorating. It’s really not all that much trouble.”

  “In that case, you should be making a cake every day,” Aunt Lucy piped up as she entered the room. She was wearing a sequined jacket that shone in the light along with jeans, and it was certainly a look.

  “Just because I can make something doesn’t mean I should,” Aunt Debbie said.

  “When it comes to cake, you always should,” Aunt Lucy replied. “You only get one life, so eat all the cake.”

  “Well, first you have to eat all your shepherd’s pie,” Aunt Debbie replied. “It’s just about ready, so if you all make your way to the dining room, I’ll set the table.”

  I still wasn’t used to the idea of cutlery and dishes whizzing past my head to the table as I walked, but as far as I knew, no one in the family had yet been stabbed in the back of the head by an errant steak knife, so I just kept my eyes forward and tried not to make any sudden movements as Aunt Debbie magically set the table. A huge round baking dish followed closely behind along with a bowl of salad.

  As soon as I laid eyes on the shepherd’s pie, I started drooling. The layer of cheese on top of the fluffy mashed potatoes bubbled away, and I quickly grabbed the serving spoon and took a heaping spoonful. The mixture of meat and vegetables smelled glorious, and I couldn’t wait to dig in.

  Aunt Debbie was an amazing cook, and I felt spoiled every time I got to eat a meal she prepared. For a couple of minutes, we all set about eating before the conversation began once more.

  “So luckily, because there’s been a murder here recently, not everyone is talking about what happened at the bank this week,” Aunt Debbie started, glaring at her sister. Aunt Lucy put on the most innocent-looking expression she could muster.

  “What? You say that as if any of it is my fault.”

  “It is your fault. You’re the one who broke in there and left the glitter everywhere.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “Maybe not, but I still know it was you. You ruined the entire day for me.”

  “Well, maybe you should be thanking the person who broke into the bank. After all, they were doing it for a good cause.”

  “Ah, yes, I hear that was also the excuse Bonnie and Clyde used,” Uncle Bob chimed in with a grin, earning himself a glare from Aunt Lucy.

  “The difference, my dear brother, is that Bonnie and Clyde actually stole money. Whereas whoever broke into the bank the other day was after information. Information that might reveal who a certain bribe-taker on the municipal council might be.”

  “Oh, no,” Aunt Debbie said, putting her face in her hands. “You can’t tell me that’s why you broke into the bank.”

  “Well, why else would someone – who I will not admit was me – have done it?”

  “I don’t know. But was there really no other way for you to find the information?”

  “Oh, there was. And I have it, now.”

  “Wait, really? You actually have proof of who took bribes? Was it just Tom?” I asked.

  “Tom Jeffers?” Uncle Bob asked, raising his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have thought it was him. He’s always seemed to me to be an honest sort. You know, it’s rare for people who go into journalism these days to do it for anything but altruistic reasons, what with the way the industry is going. There’s not a lot of money to be made there anymore.”

  “And yet,” Aunt Lucy said with a mischievous smile, “if you went south to Oregon, to Mt. Hood, you’d find a certain new house owned by Tom Jeffers there.”

  “So when they did the investigation into the bribes, they probably only looked at property purchases in Washington,” Uncle Bob said, nodding slowly in understanding.

  “That’s what you get when you let an idiot like Ron Jones be chief of police in a place like this,” Aunt Lucy said.

  “What I don’t understand is what you want in all of this,” Aunt Debbie said, narrowing her eyes at her sister.

  “What? You think I can’t just look into this as a civic-minded resident of this town?”

  “No,” Aunt Debbie replied. “I don’t. That’s literally never been you.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

  My mouth dropped open. Aunt Lucy had an ulterior motive that I didn’t know about? But what could it be?

  “Anyway, none of you are allowed to speak about this to anyone. I’ll reveal everything I know when the time is right.”

  “There have been rumors about who Barry bribed for months. I don’t think us adding to that fire is going to sway anyone, personally,” Uncle Bob said.

  “I want to know what Aunt Lucy is getting out of this,” Leanne said, mirroring my own thoughts.

  “Well, one day you’ll find out. Patience, grasshopper,” Aunt Lucy replied.

  “As long as it doesn’t get us in trouble,” Kaillie said, giving Aunt Lucy a careful look. “We’re doing our best to try and find out who killed Barry and put our names in the good books. We don’t need you ruining it.”

  “I’m not going to ruin anything for you, don’t worry,” Aunt Lucy said. “Besides, keep your eyes on your own paper. You’re not going to improve your reputation in the magical world if you can’t find the vampire who killed Barry.”

  “We’re working on it,” Kaillie said. “Maybe it would be easier if we didn’t constantly have to babysit you to make sure you don’t undo our good work.”

  “I can take very good care of myself without the magical world knowing, thank you,” Aunt Lucy replied.

  “We’ve gotten a few visits from Kyran that say otherwise.”

  “That elf doesn’t know anything,” Aunt Lucy said, waving away the complaint with her hand. “Anyway, how close are you to finding the killer?”

  “Frankly, we’re nowhere near it,” Leanne admitted. “We have some suspects but no one that stands out, and it seems like every day we get some new information that makes us think it might be someone else. Like, today, Ariadne told Sean she knew he wasn’t sleeping at home like he said he was when Barry was killed. So where was he? And does that mean he’s our killer?”

  “And at the same time, we have so many other plausible suspects,” I added. “I mean, Hugo says he wasn’t there because the workers decided not to show up, but he was scheduled to be at the site around the time Barry was killed. Maybe none of the other workers showed up, but Hugo did. It’s all a big mess.”

  “So you’re nowhere,” Aunt Lucy said, and I shrugged. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. �
��What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know what we can do,” Kaillie replied. “We’ve got all of this information, and it’s like none of it makes sense. I’m not sure where we can get more information or even if having more information can help us. It might just make everything more confusing.”

  “Well, if you’ve got all the information you can get, it means the answer is there somewhere. It’s just all tied up. It’s like a ball of string that’s all knotted. You can look at one end and not have a clue where the other end is, but if you follow the string through carefully and ignore all the other parts, you’ll eventually come out the other side.”

  “So you’re saying we’ve got too much information,” I said.

  “Right. You’ve got to figure out what the important pieces of information are and follow those through to the other side. Forget all the assumptions you’ve made so far; chances are most of them are wrong, or you would have figured this out already. The information you need is there. You just need to figure out how to use it.”

  I spent most of the rest of dinner deep in thought. Was Aunt Lucy right? Did I really have all of the puzzle pieces, I just hadn’t put it together in the right way, yet?

  It was an interesting thought.

  After finishing dinner and having a slice of incredible vanilla bean cake with mango curd and vanilla frosting, the three of us walked back home. I loved this time of year; it stayed light for so long that even though it was after eight, the sun was only just beginning to set, and it could still really be considered daylight.

  I carefully hugged the Tupperware box with leftover cake that Aunt Debbie had given us to take home as we stepped into the house and got ready for another night.

  Despite the fact that I still hadn’t quite caught up on my sleep, when I climbed into bed that night, I still found myself tossing and turning for hours.

  “What is wrong with you? Some of us are trying to get our beauty rest around here,” Cleo eventually grumbled.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, getting up and making my way to the couch. How on earth my cat had managed to kick me out of bed, I didn’t know, but she did.

  Eventually, I got to sleep, and while it was fitful and I wasn’t always sure if I was awake or if I was dreaming, when I woke up, I had figured out the puzzle. I knew where I had screwed up, and I knew exactly who the killer was.

  I just couldn’t prove it.

  Chapter 25

  I was fairly sure I knew who had killed Barry Blackburn, but I couldn’t prove it. And also, to be totally honest, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that I was right. After all, it all hinged on one tiny little fact that I heard way too early in the morning. What if I had heard wrong? What if I had mixed it up with something else? Heck, I didn’t even know if my main underlying assumption was right. I needed to check on that first before I did anything else.

  “Do you mind opening by yourself?” I asked Leanne as we drove into town. “I need to check on something first.”

  “Sure,” Leanne said. “Anything I can help with?”

  “Actually, maybe you can save me a trip. Do you know Peter Toole’s wife?”

  Leanne frowned. “Actually, I don’t think I do. How about you, Kaillie?”

  She shook her head from the back seat. “Nope, sorry.”

  “Ok. I’m not going to do anything dumb. I just need to confirm a quick fact, and then I’ll be back. If my hunch ends up being right, I think I might know who killed Barry.”

  “Oh?” Leanne said.

  “I don’t want to say anything else until I know for sure, though.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s just a quick confirmation of one fact. I’m not going to be in any danger.”

  “If you’re sure,” Kaillie said. “Mom can help Leanne with anything behind the counter until you get back.”

  “Thanks,” I replied with a smile as Leanne pulled into a parking spot behind the store. I got out and started walking down the back street. I texted Aunt Lucy, asking her for an address, and a moment later she replied, so I knew where I was going.

  Peter Toole lived in a large house nestled in the woods about a five minute walk away. It was a modern wood-and-glass place that would have looked out-of-place in a lot of locales but somehow fit in perfectly here. Unlike Tom Jeffers, I suspected Peter got an actual architect to design his house.

  But I wasn’t here to admire the cool-looking house. I needed some other information.

  I pulled out my wand and cast an invisibility spell on myself. I grinned as soon as I looked down and saw it worked; casting magical spells successfully still definitely fell under the category of things that were a total novelty that made me feel like a rock star.

  I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell then quickly darted away like a teenager even though there was no reason for it. I mean, I was completely invisible. I could have stood directly in front of whoever opened the door and they would have had to reach or step forward to have any idea that I was there.

  But still, instinct had crept in, and I crouched behind a tree to see if anyone answered the door. Two minutes later, when I was confident that there was no one home as I suspected, I made my way back to the door, pulled out my wand, and cast an unlocking spell.

  I grinned as I heard the now-familiar click of the latch releasing. Opening the door carefully, I slipped inside and had a look around. Given the sleek and modern exterior of the house, the fact that the inside matched perfectly was not a surprise. Everything was white or black, the tiles underfoot so shiny I could practically see my reflection in them. Well, I would have been able to if I’d had a reflection right now. The lighting was mid-century modern, very trendy, and as I looked at the walls, trying to find a photo, I found myself instead looking at expensive-looking art.

  This actually looked a lot more like a super expensive Airbnb than a home anybody actually lived in. I went through to the kitchen, which was equally spotless apart from three mugs sitting in the sink. They were probably waiting for the housekeeper to show up and put them in the dishwasher. This seemed like the kind of place that would have a housekeeper on staff.

  Finally, in the living room, I found what I was looking for. On the mantle was a wedding picture of Peter Toole with his arm around Michelle, Jordan Jeffers’s friend from yoga who had spied on Tom for her. Michelle had said her husband’s name was Peter, and sure enough, she meant Peter Toole.

  That was exactly what I needed to know, and I was more convinced than ever that my suspicions were right. I knew who the killer was.

  I didn’t want to be here when Michelle and Jordan came back from their yoga class, which should have ended a few minutes earlier, so I decided to quickly get on out of there. I darted back to the front door, checked the pristine floor to make sure I hadn’t left any tell-tale footprints – no problem there – and then quickly left the building.

  As soon as I left the driveway and found myself on the street once more, I reversed the spell, making sure there was no one around before doing so. It was more secluded doing it on the road here than waiting until I was back on Main Street. It was good timing; a moment later a dark BMW started driving towards me. I froze when I saw it was Peter Toole driving. He slowed down as he approached me and rolled the window down, smiling politely at me.

  “Hey there, you’re Eliza, right?”

  “That’s me,” I said.

  “What are you doing out here this early in the morning?”

  “Just going for a quick stroll before we open,” I replied, hoping I sounded more casual than I felt. “You know, it’s such nice weather out, and it’s not too hot this early in the morning.”

  “I know,” he replied. “Why don’t you hop in, and I’ll give you a ride back to the coffee shop?”

  “Oh, I’m good, thanks,” I replied. “I like the fresh air.”

  Peter stopped, reached over to the passenger seat, and when he pointed a
gun at me, my breath stopped.

  “I wasn’t asking. Get in.”

  My eyes immediately darted around as I tried to figure out what to do. If I ran, Peter was just going to shoot me and probably hide my body so it wouldn’t be found. It would be easy to hide any blood on the side of the road; it wasn’t paved over here, so all he had to do was scrape the gravel around and move it elsewhere.

  On the other hand, if he shot me inside his car, it would be a lot more difficult to hide the blood and make it more likely that he would be caught. I decided to get in just to buy myself more time to figure out a way out of this.

  “Now!” he barked, and I jumped, grabbing the door handle and quickly stepping inside.

  I hoped I hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

  As soon as I sat down and closed the door, Peter zoomed off, the acceleration pressing me against the back of the seat. I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, which felt a bit weird, but I figured if I had the chance to make a quick exit, especially near people, I wasn’t going to skip it.

  He trained the gun on me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding the weapon. His eyes darted from watching the road to watching me, and I wondered if I timed things correctly if I could manage to wrestle the gun away from him. It would be a pretty big call, though. After all, Peter was a vampire. Did vampires have other powers I didn’t know about? Were their reflexes faster than those of regular people?

  I had no idea and guessing wrong would probably end up costing me my life.

  At least I still had my wand. I had shoved it in the back pocket of my pants, and I could feel it rubbing against my lower back. All I had to do was reach back to get it, but I also wasn’t sure what spells I could cast that might help me.

  I could unlock doors and I could change the colors of things, but advanced spells like defeating vampires weren’t exactly in the Spells 101 textbook.

  I was going to have to get Peter to talk. “So you did kill Barry,” I said. “I knew it.”

  Peter nodded. “Of course I did. The bastard was going to build that monstrosity on the land when my plan was much better for the community and would have made me money. I spent years trying to get him to sell it to me. I told him if he did, he’d get his status back in town and not everyone would hate him for trying to destroy the fabric of Enchanted Enclave. I told him I’d even overpay for the land, that I’d give him five percent more than it was worth so that even after he paid back his investors he’d have made a tidy profit. But Barry wouldn’t do it.”