by Cindy Stark
“The bees, though,” she muttered. “Is that another curse? Not part of this one?”
Not meant to be.
“A mistake? Can the curse be undone?”
Nooo...
“No, it can’t be, or no, you don’t wish it to be?”
A forceful wind knocked her hard enough to surprise her, and then everything grew quiet.
She sat still for a long moment pondering what had just taken place.
If she had to make a guess, she’d say that yes, there was a way to undo the curse…maybe all of them. Quite possibly Clarabelle had exited the room in a literal huff, throwing a fit because she didn’t want Hazel to attempt to break the curse.
Sixteen
Hazel drove into town late the following Monday morning. Fighting off Peter’s poison had taken a lot out of her. For the most part, she was much better, but the task had drained her of energy.
Gretta had opened the shop, allowing her to have a relaxing morning before heading in.
As she turned onto Main Street, the sight of a kid riding his skateboard down the sidewalk wearing a Darth Vadar mask caused her to push on her brakes and turn her head to watch. Silly kid. Halloween was months away, and it had to be sweltering to have his face covered.
When she spotted June Porter coming out of the hardware store wearing long-sleeves and a ball cap holding a piece of netting to her head, she understood. The town’s residents were protecting themselves against the bees.
She snorted at how silly June looked, and then sobered as she wondered if she should do the same.
Hazel parked in a small lot near her store since she couldn’t find anywhere to park on the street, which made sense. No one would be walking about. Not with the bees and in this heat.
She checked for any dark masses that might be hovering in the air and then hurried for her shop and the safety it offered.
As she approached the teashop, her concern shifted from the bees to a new direction. Through the glass, she could see at least fifteen people milling about. Her shop had never been so full.
What in the world were they doing?
Relief broke out on several of their faces when she stepped inside. Mr. Peterson rushed toward her and peered from behind thick glasses. “Thank heavens. We were worried you weren’t coming in today.”
Several others agreed, and she noticed the groom’s mother standing amongst them. What she wouldn’t give to vanish the rest of them from her store right now so she could question her alone about her son.
She smiled at the group. She hadn’t realized her store had grown that popular. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Gretta could have helped you.”
Her assistant stood behind the counter and gave her a dubious look.
Krissy Farmer, a cute mom-to-be shook her head. “We’re not here for tea. We need some of that salve you put on the guys at the bank. Lachlan said you made it with the herbs you use in your tea.”
Uhh…that was true, but the salve she’d used that day also contained a touch of magic. “Oh, I see.”
She didn’t know how to disappoint them all, but she couldn’t start selling magic-infused items. Not in this town. “I make it in small batches for my mother and her friends, and I don’t currently have any extra.”
Mr. Peterson put his hand on her forearm. “How long will it take to make some? I’ll pay anything. My sweet Edna was stung eight times last evening, and she’s a miserable mess.”
“Calamine lotion might help.”
Krissy shook her head. “Please, Hazel. We’ve tried calamine lotion and other things, and they don’t help much. My two-year-old cries and cries. We need some of your miracle salve.”
She swallowed as she glanced over the pleading faces. She couldn’t deny these people relief for their loved ones. “Okay, well…I probably have enough stuff on hand for a little batch. That will give each of you a small amount to start with, but I can’t sell it from the store. It would have to be cash or check, a friend-to-friend kind of thing because of regulations.”
Words of gratitude filled the air, and one woman actually cried.
Mr. Peterson hugged her. “Thank you, Hazel.”
She smiled wondering what they’d do if they knew what they’d asked from her. Would they still hate witches so much?
She walked through the logistics in her mind of what she was about to attempt. “I don’t have containers for it though.”
“What do you need? We’ll get it,” Mrs. Lemmons’ son, Tony said.
“Uh, maybe if you all have an empty pill bottle? That should work.”
“Done.” Krissy said.
The consequences of their request weighed on her. “Give me an hour. Bring your bottles then, and I should have it ready for you.”
Mr. Peterson leaned close to her. “You won’t sell it to others before us, will you? We were here first.”
“Yeah,” Krissy added. “Can we just pay now and pick them up later?”
The swelling need of the crowd overwhelmed her. “I’m not even sure what to charge.”
Tony Lemmons lifted a hand. “Will ten bucks cover it and give you enough for your trouble?”
“That’s more than enough. I don’t want to take advantage of everyone.”
The crowd muttered amongst themselves and decided ten dollars was a fair price that they were happy to pay because she was kind enough to assist them.
“It’s more than worth it to us,” Krissy said.
Sounded like it was a done deal. “Well, okay then. Gretta will take your orders.”
Hazel made her way through the crowd to the counter.
Gretta gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, boss. I didn’t know what to tell them.”
She held up a hand and smiled. “It’s okay. I think I can help them. I’m sure you heard that they’re going to pay ten dollars for a container of salve. I’m going to get busy making it, and after they pay, they’ll be back in an hour to pick it up.”
Gretta grinned. “You’re the best, Hazel. We all love and appreciate you.”
Hazel smiled and shook off her compliment. They might not if they knew what she knew.
An hour later, Hazel had created a decent-sized batch of healing salve. She could hear customers gathering again in the outer area, but the mixture required the final, magical touch. She had to wonder if she was insane to perform a spell, no matter how small, right beneath the town’s noses.
Probably.
She peeked out into her shop and found Gretta talking with several people. They all seemed busy enough and loud enough that she reasonably thought she might pull it off.
With her heart galloping, she lifted the mixing bowl full of salve and placed it on the counter in the back corner of the room. Keeping a watchful eye on the opening to the public part of her shop, she whispered healing words and stirred one final time.
The customary shiver of energy coursed through her, and she knew she was done. Pleasant sensations floated outward from there, and she couldn’t help noticing how nice this spell was compared to some of the other scary ones she’d performed.
It was too bad life couldn’t be happy with nice, and had to throw chaos into the mix instead.
With the mixing spoon and bowl in hand, she headed into the front of her store. Mr. Peterson was first in line. This time, he wore a baseball cap and had thrown the tulle he also wore over top of it to expose his face like a new bride waiting for a kiss.
She held back a laugh. “Looks like you’ve upgraded your protection.”
He grinned and thrust an empty pill bottle toward her. “Got the idea from Krissy earlier. Works much better.”
A good portion of the people in her store had done the same. Leave it to a woman to solve the world’s problems.
She filled each person’s plastic container and sent them on their way. Then another would step forward. She was happy to see Mrs. Wainswright had returned. The woman was toward the end of the line, but unless she hung about the store, Hazel would miss her
chance to talk to her about her son.
Unless she could think of an unsuspicious reason to detain her.
When the woman approached the counter, Hazel smiled. “Mrs. Wainswright. Good to see you. Were you stung as well?”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “My darned fool husband was. He’d been out to check on poor Arthur, and they attacked in the motel parking lot.”
Motel parking lot?
Thank you, thank you.
“That’s terrible. Which motel?”
Mrs. Wainswright widened her eyes as though she’d realized she’d said too much.
Hazel pretended not to notice and that her question wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve been trying to track where the bees have been, so I know where to avoid. Although I suppose they can go wherever they want.”
The woman relaxed a little. “I’ve been terrified to go anywhere since then, too.”
Hazel scooped some salve and scraped it into the brown bottle. “Where did you say it was?”
Mrs. Wainswright waved a dismissive hand. “Out along the edge of town. I wonder how long the bees will stay and where they’ll go from here.”
She sent her a smile infused with warm, friendly feelings. “I’m not sure, but let’s pray today is their last day in town.”
Even though she knew it wouldn’t be.
Seventeen
The moment Hazel’s shop cleared out, she pulled out her phone and headed toward the door. “I’ll be right back, Gretta.”
Her assistant’s expression filled with concern. “Be careful out there. We should both get some of that netting, too.”
“Definitely, and don’t worry. I’ll just be right outside the door.”
The wave of sweltering heat nearly knocked her over, and she struggled to adjust to the change in temperature. She sat at one of her bistro tables beneath the shade provided by the awning, sad to see that her petunias had succumbed to the vicious temperatures.
For the life of her, she’d never understand how people survived without air conditioning.
She dialed Peter’s office, and he answered on the second ring.
“Guess what,” she said with enthusiasm coloring her words. “I found out where Arthur is staying.”
“Tell me he’s close by.”
She sensed his excitement, and it added to hers. “Yep. He’s close. His mother was in my shop and accidentally let it slip that he was staying in a motel on the outskirts of town. That can mean he’s in one of two places, and they aren’t far apart.”
“Okay, good.”
“So, can I go with you?”
He chuckled. “No, you can’t go with. I’m not even certain how soon I can get away. I may have to send an officer.”
“An officer? I didn’t pass along this information so that one of your men could follow up. Peter, this could be important.”
“Hang on.”
She waited impatiently on her end of the call, and he returned a few moments later.
“Sorry. I needed to shut my door.”
She chastised herself for her lack of patience. “Of course.”
“As for Arthur, we’ve had a development in the case and could possibly be getting close to an arrest.”
Her pulse jumped. “Who? How?”
He released a weighted sigh. “It pains me to say this, but it turns out one of the partial prints we were able to retrieve from Fiona’s shoe belonged to Gwen. As you know, evidence leads us to believe this was the shoe that left the mark on her scalp and knocked her unconscious before the murderer strangled her.”
He might as well have punched her in the stomach. “Oh, no. Peter, this will kill Margaret.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. Telling Margaret will be one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my job.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m gathering everything together and meeting with my detective team shortly. We need to get our ducks in a row, and then I’ll send one of my men to pick up Gwen and bring her in for formal questioning.”
“Today?” she asked quietly, making sure she could be available for Margaret to lean on.
“Yeah, likely today. We can’t sit on it.”
She nodded though he couldn’t see her. “I understand. Will you call me when you can?”
“I sure will.”
She hung up feeling as if she’d just lost a good friend. Chances were, when all was said and done, Margaret wouldn’t care to see her any longer. Not as long as Hazel was with Peter.
A few seconds slipped past before she buoyed.
So, what if Gwen’s prints were found on the shoe? Hazel clearly remembered Carol stating that she and Sondra had kept watch while Gwen had powdered the wedding dress bodice and snatched the other items. Of course, her prints would be on them.
She quickly dialed Peter’s number again. When he didn’t answer, she growled in frustration.
Fine. Let him meet with his men. They could talk to Gwen and maybe they’d even get more helpful information from her.
In the meantime, she’d continue looking for the real killer.
Hazel headed back into the shop. “I need to leave for a bit, Gretta. If more customers come wanting the salve, tell them I won’t have any more until tomorrow.”
Hazel strode through her store, picked up one of her basic teapots, a strainer, and a mug. Then she chose a sampler package with three different teas from the shelf. She placed them all on the counter in front of Gretta.
“Will you hand me one of our brown paper sacks?”
Gretta did, and Hazel piled her items inside. When she looked up, her assistant eyed her with interest.
“I have a friend who needs cheering up. I’ll be back soon.”
Hazel took the bag, hurried to her car, and headed toward the outskirts of town.
She slowed as she reached the Double Pines Motel. The Do Drop Inn was a quarter of a mile down the road. Both were meant to catch weary travelers who just needed a place to sleep for the night. A fair amount of Stonebridge residents used them as places to get away for the night without really traveling, or to house out-of-town guests that they didn’t want underfoot.
She pulled into the parking lot and looked for the white Chevy sedan she’d noticed at the wedding that had been decorated with balloons and painted windows.
She straightened in surprise when she spotted it parked along the edge of the lot, hidden from view of anyone on the highway by a couple of tall pines. Hence, the name of the motel, she thought.
Flattened pink and white balloons were still attached to the windshield wipers as though they, too, had been murdered, and “Just Married” remained on the side windows.
Her heart wrenched at the awfulness of the situation. Such a tragedy.
She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to have finally found Peter and married him, only to have him stolen from her before they’d had a chance at a blissful life.
She grabbed her bag of soothing teas and hoped they’d provide some comfort to Arthur Wainswright. She also hoped he might be able to give her more information that might help solve his wife’s murder.
Twenty units stood before her. Ten on the top floor. The rest on ground level. Arthur could be in any one of them. She doubted the clerk would give out room numbers to a random person. Not with people demanding privacy these days.
With his car parked where it was, she would guess he was on the right side of the motel. He could be on the top floor, but there was only one other car in the lot, and she doubted the motel would make a guest hoof it up the stairs to the second floor if they didn’t need to.
So, she’d start by knocking on the doors of the bottom five to the right. She was good at playing innocent and apologizing if she picked the wrong room.
No one answered at the first two. The third door was partially open, with a cleaning person’s cart waiting outside.
She peeked in but couldn’t spot any personal items.
She stepped up to door number four and gave a fir
m knock. She was surprised when she heard movement inside, and the door opened.
The pained expression on Arthur’s face deepened. “I thought you were housekeeping.”
“I’m sorry, Arthur. I don’t know if you remember me, but I served drinks at your wedding. I knew Fiona”
He gave her a blank look and shook his head. “I don’t remember much about that horrible day.”
She could understand that. “Of course. I’m so sorry.”
How could she pressure this man for information when he was so obviously in distress? He needed peace and time to heal.
She held out the bag of goodies. “I’m sorry to bother you here. I wanted to express my sincere condolences before you left town.”
He took the bag and peeked inside. His gaze returned to her, and he nodded. “Thanks.”
He leaned over to drop the bag on a nearby chair. Next to the bed, she caught sight of a silky black negligee lying crumpled on the floor.
When she looked back to him, she found him watching her with a wary expression. “Fiona’s. I—”
He dropped his face into his hands and struggled with emotion. “It’s all I have left of her,” he said, his words full of anguish.
Oh, dear. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you, Arthur. I should go.”
He nodded without looking at her again and closed the door.
She stood and stared at the closed door for a long moment.
Without him in her face, she realized something wasn’t right.
He’d been sufficiently upset, all right. His words. His facial expressions. All in order.
But she hadn’t experienced the anguish in his soul.
Nothing was there beyond sight and sound, and it should have been. Her gut warned that he might not be as innocent as he’d seemed.
She couldn’t prove it yet, but she believed she may have just discovered who’d murdered Fiona.
She needed motive and how he’d accomplished it.
She needed to tell Peter and save Margaret’s sister.
Eighteen
Hazel parked as close as she could to the police station and then dashed from her car to inside. The second she spotted pickle-headed Polly still sitting in Margaret’s desk, she frowned.