by Cindy Stark
Hazel squeezed her hand, noting the genuine warmth flowing between them. “I’m glad. I’ll stop by again in a few days and see if you need anything.”
“Don’t. I won’t be here.”
Her thoughts immediately jumped to what Mrs. Jones’s sister had done to end her suffering. “You’re not going to do anything stupid.”
“No,” she whispered. “Darrell is getting me out of here on Sunday. He has friends coming in to help, and we’re leaving even if we have to shoot everyone who might try to stand in our way.”
Her words didn’t ease Hazel’s apprehension. “That sounds very dangerous.”
“Don’t worry, sweet Hazel. We’re planning to sneak out. The guns are only in case something goes wrong.”
How could she think about trying to stop her? Hazel had recently had similar thoughts of running when she’d thought she might be found out.
“Be safe then. I’ll be happy when the only gossip I hear is that you managed to escape.”
A genuine smile curved Rachel’s lips. “Thank you. I’ll always remember your kindness.”
As Hazel left the rotting house, she couldn’t help but be hopeful for Rachel, despite the awful churning in her stomach.
Twelve
Hazel unlocked her shop Monday morning with a somber shadow hovering over her, much like the clouds that had rolled in during the night. A light mist shrouded their little town, leaving everything damp and gloomy.
She’d stayed up way too late glancing through Clarabelle’s book of spells. The original effects of it on her had dissipated, but her hesitancy remained. Some spells were familiar, things she’d learned from her mother. Some made no sense at all.
She’d found a simple one that intrigued her, and she’d garnered enough courage to try it out. They were her family’s spells after all, and the glamour one guaranteed to grow her eyelashes longer seemed innocent enough.
Except she’d misread it and used a dark blue candle instead of a black one. Her lashes hadn’t grown longer, but luckily, it hadn’t cast any other effect on her.
And then there were other malevolent spells that left her shivering. Those ones seemed experimental because many ingredients had been scratched out and replaced by others.
She couldn’t believe Clarabelle had been a bad person. That idea didn’t fit at all with the entity she’d encountered at the abandoned house. Perhaps she’d tried to create those spells for protection?
After that, Hazel had tossed and turned all night, imagining what Clarabelle and her family had gone through years ago. She alternated that with worrying about Rachel. She hadn’t heard a blaze of gunfire or sirens during the wee hours and hoped that was a good sign.
Even so, her mood hadn’t improved by the time Gretta arrived an hour later.
Her assistant’s demeanor was a different story, all bubbly and smiles, carrying two to-go cups of coffee from Cora’s as she came in. “Is it a sin to drink coffee in a teashop?” She grinned.
Hazel eyed her friend, her offering, and then really did smile. “Probably, but we won’t tell anyone.”
They shared a laugh, and Hazel absconded with the sugar and cream from her tea station. “I really needed a strong dose of caffeine this morning, and tea wasn’t cutting it. This is perfect.”
“Bad night?” Gretta skipped the extras and went for straight black coffee.
Hazel sipped, letting the hot liquid singe her throat and give her a little kick in the pants. “I couldn’t sleep. I think I finally dozed about an hour before my alarm went off.”
“Apparently, you weren’t the only one.”
A sick feeling gripped Hazel’s stomach. “You, too?” she asked innocently.
“Not me. Rachel Parker skipped town during the night.”
“What?” She did her best to appear surprised. “How do you know?”
“Heard it at the café. Her brother’s truck wasn’t in the driveway like it always is, so someone knocked on the door. When no one answered, an officer busted in for a welfare check. They were both long gone.”
And safe.
She silently thanked the Blessed Mother. “That is crazy. I saw her a few days ago when I stopped by and wouldn’t have guessed that’s what she was planning.” Which was true. She never would have guessed.
Still, Hazel decided it was best to come clean about her visit in advance because someone had likely noticed her car, and questions would certainly come her way.
Gretta widened her eyes as though Hazel was out of her mind. “Why in heaven’s name would you ever do that?”
Hazel shrugged. “Curiosity. We’d met at the Winthrop house, and I wanted to see if I could tell if she was a witch.”
“And…” Gretta stepped closer, obviously interested.
She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I didn’t notice anything weird at her house, and she didn’t say anything. How do people know that she is?”
Gretta’s gaze turned serious. “She did witchcraft with Mr. Winthrop, and now he’s dead. If that wasn’t damning enough, she has now run from the authorities.”
“Maybe she was just scared of being wrongfully accused.”
Her assistant eyed her curiously. “Is that what you believe?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know. She did tell me a few things that make others in the Winthrop house seem suspicious. Did you know that Mr. Winthrop blackmailed her into having sex to repay a debt her brother owed?”
Gretta waved off her statement with a flick of her hand. “Between Mr. Winthrop, an outstanding member of our society, and that white trash, I’d have to say she’s the guilty one, not him.”
“He was found having sex with her when he died,” Hazel countered. That alone made him guilty of a sin.
“She could have put a spell on him, coerced him into cheating on his wife. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened in this town.”
Wow. Hazel bit her tongue to stop her next argument. She couldn’t appear to be too much in Rachel’s favor, or it would put her at risk.
Gretta had obviously drunk too much of the town’s tainted water and had bought into their fears. To argue against her now would be a mistake.
Instead, she sighed and sipped her coffee. “You may be right.”
Gretta studied her for a long moment, enough that Hazel fretted she’d given something away. “New makeup?” Gretta asked instead.
She shook her head and smiled. “No, just my same old boring routine.”
“Your eyes seem different.”
Hazel shook her head in response and wondered if the spell had worked after all. Maybe the wrong candle only delayed the action.
She brightened with a smile. “I know. We should head into Boston one Sunday and hit Sephora. Their makeup selection is incredible, and I feel like I’m in a candy shop.”
“Sounds fun,” Hazel said, grateful they’d moved onto a different topic.
They finished their drinks, and then together, they restocked shelves. Hazel gathered more tea for Florence Winthrop. She suspected the request was a ploy to get her to visit again, but Hazel understood Florence’s need for people to be around to distract and help her. She didn’t mind.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go out? You’re still limping, and I could entertain Florence for a while,” Gretta offered with a kind smile.
Stuff like that drove Hazel crazy. People in her town could be so sweet, but the dark side lingered like a dormant disease, ready to strike at any time.
“I’m sure. I promised Mrs. Winthrop I’d stay for a longer visit, and I only have the police department and June Stoker besides her. I can rest my foot at Mrs. Winthrop’s and the others will be easy-peasy.”
“Easy-peasy?” Gretta laughed. “Now you sound like Chief Parrish. You’d better stop spending so much time with him, or people will start talking.”
Heat rushed up her cheeks. “What are you talking about? I haven’t been spending time with him.”
“A couple of people sai
d they saw him outside your house the other night.”
She widened her eyes into innocent ovals. “Because he gave me a lift home after I crashed my bike and twisted my ankle. That’s it.”
“Okay, okay,” she mocked. “I think thou doth protest too much.” She narrowed her gaze. “Wait. Did you put on lipgloss?”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving before you drive me insane. Try not to cause too much trouble while I’m gone.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gretta said with a teasing smile.
Hazel was much more grateful for the chilly temperatures when she stepped outside as opposed to the morning when she’d arrived. The mist cooled her blood and restored the energy she’d lost while trying to maintain the façade with Gretta.
Blessed Mother, it was work living in Stonebridge.
She left a nice-sized package of fresh oolong tea with June Stoker’s maid, before she headed back toward town and the police department.
Her old Honda fit perfectly in the tight space between two oversized pickup trucks in front of the historic courthouse. Though the building was more than a century old, the gray rock appeared sturdier than many newer structures she’d seen. The ivy climbing from the gardens at its base added to the charm.
She inhaled a steadying breath before she gathered her deliveries for this stop and exited her car. She would need whatever help she could to remain calm if Chief Parrish was in the vicinity.
Margaret smiled when Hazel approached her desk. “Well, hello there, Miss Hazel. Looks like you’ve brought just what I need.”
Hazel eyed the chief’s assistant and her lime green business suit with lavender trim but kept her chuckle to herself. “I’m so happy you love it.”
Margaret leaned forward in her seat. “The chief is as big a fan as I am,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“I heard that,” Peter said from behind them, and Hazel startled.
Part of her had hoped she could drop off the delivery unnoticed. But there was another more reckless side that would have been deeply disappointed if she hadn’t caught sight of him.
She turned and worked to keep her composure despite his devastating smile. “Hello, Chief Parrish.”
“Hello, Miss Hardy.” He moved from the doorway of his office and joined her in front of Margaret’s desk. “If you have a few moments, I have more questions for you.”
She lifted her brows. “Of course. However I can help.” He wasn’t using that as an excuse to get her alone in his office, was he? Not right in front of Margaret. The rumor mill would catch like wildfire and beat her back to her teashop.
“Regarding Rachel Parker and the Winthrop case. You were seen at her house on Friday, correct?”
Whatever vestiges of calmness she’d managed to keep evaporated. “Yes, I stopped by.”
“If you haven’t heard, Rachel skipped town.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’d heard. I’m happy to tell you what I can, but it’s not much. I only dropped off tea.”
He nodded toward his office. “Then, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Margaret winked at her as she passed. The gesture didn’t help alleviate any of her fears.
Chief Parrish stood near his doorway and lifted a hand, indicating she should enter before him. Once she did, he followed and closed the door, setting off all kinds of crazy alarms inside her.
The shades to his office were drawn, and suddenly, they were in a confined space once again, and Hazel’s pulse raced like a hexed man trying to outrun his curse.
He pulled a chair closer to his desk. “Have a seat, please.”
She sat, doing her best to maintain her composure.
He released a sigh, obviously not thrilled they were having this discussion, and he pulled out a yellow notepad. When he had his pen ready, he glanced up.
He opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Then he leaned forward ever so slightly. “Your eyes are different.”
Panic flared. “Different?” Her lashes must have grown. She’d meant to check before she left the shop but forgot. She glanced upward as though that would help her see what he saw.
“Different color. They’re normally brown. Right now, they look like they have a purplish tint.”
Blessed Mother, what had she done? “Contact lenses. Purple. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” Did they even make purple lenses?
He stared at her for a long moment. “I notice everything.”
She shivered. That could be a good thing or a very bad one. “A good quality for a police chief, I would say.”
“Mmm…” he mumbled and then cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Business. What time did you visit Miss Parker on Friday?”
“She didn’t do it, Peter.” She knew she’d gone out on a limb by saying so, but playing these ridiculous games while a murderer roamed free bordered on crazy.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She crossed her arms in a defiant gesture. “No, but it does answer the question you should be asking.”
A hint of a smile crossed his face, and he leaned back in his chair. “Okay, then. Why don’t you tell me how I should run this investigation?”
Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t fold. “First off, you should consider all the suspects. Did you know that Mr. Winthrop was blackmailing Rachel Parker, forcing her to sleep with him? And if you give me the she-hexed-him crap, I might scream.”
He drew his brows into a frown. “No. I wasn’t aware of that.” He shifted in his seat. “You do realize that only makes her look guiltier.”
“Yes, I am aware, which is also why she didn’t come forward with that information.” Hazel wouldn’t have said a word, either, if Rachel hadn’t disappeared.
“Did you know that he did the same to Mrs. Jones’s younger sister, and then she committed suicide?”
He scribbled notes on his paper and then met her gaze. “Did you know that Renee Jones practiced witchcraft on a regular basis before she committed suicide?”
Hazel dropped her face into her hands and growled in frustration. What were these women playing at? They knew the town’s dangerous bias against witches and what their actions could cost them. They didn’t have the lineage or the training to protect themselves. Why would they play with fire?
She faced him. “Look, I realize I’m a newcomer to town, but I don’t buy into all this ‘witchcraft causes every bad thing that happens’ attitude. Rachel Parker wasn’t any more of a witch than you are. I doubt Renee Jones was either.”
Chief Parrish studied her for a long moment. “Anything else you’d like to add before you answer my questions?”
She huffed. “Rachel also told me that Mick Ramsey liked to spy on her and Mr. Winthrop, and that she’d caught him once watching them having sex.”
He raised his brows in interest. “Is that so?” He jotted down more information. With a sigh, he regarded her again. “It seems that you’ve garnered quite a bit more information from Ms. Parker than she told me.”
His statement carried an accusatory tone that she didn’t like. She leaned forward and placed her hands on his desk. “That’s what happens when you develop trust by listening instead of accusing before you have all the facts. I just asked questions and let her tell me what she wanted.”
Instead of taking offense to her words, he smiled. “You are an interesting lady, Miss Hardy. I admire your honesty.”
His words knocked her thoughts completely off track, confusing and charming her at the same time. Neither of which sat well with her.
She stood. “I’ve told you what I know, and I should go. I need to get back to my shop.”
He stood as well. As she reached for the doorknob, he caught her elbow and stopped her. “Just so you know, I did not accuse Rachel of anything. I merely asked her questions just as you did. The problem is there are those who believe certain things about my office that simply aren’t true. In a way, I’ve also been judged without others researching all the facts.”
He turned the knob and opene
d the door for her. “Have a nice day, Miss Hardy.”
Dumbfounded, she stepped into the outer office and then glanced back at him. “Same to you, Chief Parrish.”
Thirteen
By the time Hazel visited Florence again, several days had passed and her purple eyes had faded back to brown. Thank goodness it wasn’t a permanent spell. Few glamour spells were, but still.
She had promised Florence she would come more often, but her sprained ankle would have made traversing the large staircase painful. She had sent her condolences, knowing the older lady would miss her company, but that couldn’t be helped.
Hazel parked her car in the large driveway and smiled. She’d missed her friend and would be happy to see her today. She hoped the poor lady was faring okay.
Inside the kitchen, Mrs. Jones greeted her with her usual grunt. Hazel ached to ask about her sister, but knew that was a subject better left in the past.
“Good morning,” she greeted the waspish older woman, trying to raise good vibrations in the room.
“You’re late again,” she said without bothering to look at Hazel.
“Late? What’s late?” Hazel said before she could control her mouth. “I make deliveries and can’t give an exact time that I’ll arrive. You don’t need to boil water for me. I’m perfectly capable.”
Mrs. Jones nailed her with an annoyed look. “No one—”
“Touches my kitchen. I know. But cut me a little slack, okay?” Her sass surprised even her, but she’d been on edge since her last meeting with Peter.
The cook eyed her for a long moment, and Hazel was sure she was in for a verbal lashing.
“Take that package to Mrs. Winthrop when you go.” Mrs. Jones nodded to a fat golden envelope sitting on the edge of the counter. “It came in the mail a few minutes ago, and she’s been waiting for it.”
“I hope it’s her supplements.” Hazel said.
“The contents are none of my business,” she said, hinting they were also none of Hazel’s.
With an exasperated sigh, Hazel finished putting together the tea service and headed toward Florence’s bedroom.