Spellcheck (The Kitchen Witch Book 7): Witch Cozy Mystery Series

by Morgana Best

  I turned the little blue bottle over in my hands. “What is it?”

  “It’s a compulsion oil,” he said. “Before you go into the police station, rub this over your hands. Then make sure you shake hands with the detectives. It will bend them to your will somewhat—you know, make them less likely to see you as a suspect.”

  I smelt it. “Oh yes, like Bend Over Oil,” I said. “Liquorice and calamus.”

  Chapter 12

  I drove in trepidation to the police station, which was only a few blocks away. Were they going to arrest me? I shook my head. Surely not. They only had circumstantial evidence against me, at best.

  I took out the compulsion oil and rubbed it on my hands. When I walked into the police station, I was dismayed to see the two detectives standing at the front desk, waiting for me. I figured they did that to intimidate me.

  They indicated that I should follow them. Before they could turn away, I grabbed Detective Morrison’s hand. “Hello, Detective Morrison,” I said. He shook my hand, I suppose by reflex, and stared at me in surprise. Before Detective Scott could react, I grabbed his hand. “Nice to see you again,” I said, shaking his hand vigorously.

  They exchanged glances, and then wasted no time in showing me into a room. I had not been in that room before. It was a large room, with five panels of fluorescent lighting. The walls were a murky pale purple-grey, which contrasted horribly with the door that was the most unpleasant shade of green imaginable. The L-shaped interview table was likewise green. This room certainly needed a makeover.

  Detective Morrison indicated I should sit, and I did so, placing my car keys and my purse on the table in front of me. I did likewise with my phone, only I switched it off. Detective Morrison stared at a laptop in front of him, while Detective Scott made notes in an open book.

  I took the opportunity to study them. Detective Morrison was older, with a buzz cut although it did not look trendy on him. His shirt was the same colour as the walls, only several shades lighter. He looked as though he needed more sleep. He leaned back in his chair, occasionally touching the mouse. Detective Scott, on the other hand, appeared to be more energetic. His posture was much better and he looked full of beans, as if he wanted to burst out the door and run a marathon. He didn’t speak to me for a while, and I figured this was another tactic.

  I was about to say something, when Morrison spoke. “All police interviews are required to be recorded. In this case, it will be by video.” He nodded to a camera in the corner of the room. I was so nervous about being filmed that I didn’t hear what else he was saying, but apparently made the correct responses, as he kept talking. “Please state your name and address.” I did so. “Do you wish to have a lawyer present?”

  I caught my breath. “No.”

  He kept talking, telling me that I was entitled to a free copy of the interview tape within fourteen days.

  I was intimidated. I rubbed my palms on my jeans. I silently told myself that there was nothing to fear, that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but equally knew there were many innocent people in prisons.

  “Tell us about that substance you allegedly saw in the cupcakes,” Morrison said.

  “Well it was white, and it stood out against the chocolate colour of the cupcakes.”

  “And how far were you from the victim at the time?”

  We had already been through this. I supposed they were trying to catch me out. “I’m not good with distances, but I’d say about five metres.”

  “And do you have particularly good eyesight, Miss Spelled?”

  I was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a simple question,” he said. “Do you have good eyesight?”

  “Yes, um, I don’t really know,” I said, at a loss.

  “It would be difficult to see powder in a cupcake at that distance,” Morrison said.

  I shrugged. “I’m telling you what I saw. There was white stuff in the middle of the cupcake. Like I said, it stood out against the dark brown of the cake itself.”

  “And you didn’t put it there?” Morrison asked me.

  I was irritated. “No, of course not!” I snapped. “Why would I want to poison Celia? That was the first time I had met her.”

  “We did not say the poison was in the cupcake,” Detective Scott said, leaning back and tapping his pen. He looked smug, as if he had caught me out.

  “It’s obvious it was, or why would you be asking me about it?” I said, doing my best to remain calm. “If she was poisoned, then the poison actually had to be in the cupcake or the hip flask, and you’re only asking about the cupcake. Besides, I know that there were no centres in those cupcakes, and since I saw white stuff in the middle of one, I think anyone would assume that was the poison.”

  Both of them made notes as I spoke. Finally, Detective Morrison looked up. “And what was your relationship to the deceased?”

  “I told you before, I’d only met her that day. I didn’t know her from a bar of soap.”

  “Had you ever been to Happy Valley Gardens before that date?” he asked me, fixing me with a steely gaze.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Do you have any relationship with any of the residents, the staff, the contractors?”

  “No. Well, not as far as I know. I suppose we have the same mail lady, and things like that, but I have no direct relationship with Happy Valley Gardens at all.”

  Morrison looked at his screen and tapped his mouth a few times. “Tell us how you came to provide the cupcakes that day. From the beginning, Miss Spelled.”

  I let out a long breath. “My Aunt Angelica used to provide cupcakes as a community service for their occasional morning teas,” I said. “Someone from the nursing staff emailed me and asked me if I would donate cupcakes for the morning tea, and I agreed.”

  “Name?” Morrison barked.

  My mind went blank. “Um, err, I can’t remember the name. When I get home, I can forward you her email. Oh, you’ll have to give me an email address to send it to.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, that was about it,” I said. “She asked me to provide cupcakes on a certain date and told me the number of cupcakes, and I said I would. And then we turned up on the day, and the rest is history.”

  “Did they specifically request chocolate cakes?” Scott asked me.

  “Yes, well, not only chocolate. They specifically asked for about half chocolate as they said it was the overall favourite, and they told us that we couldn’t have anything with nuts or anything that had even been in contact with nuts.”

  “Go on,” Detective Scott said.

  “But that’s all,” I said, frustrated. I felt like an outright criminal, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, I tried to look on the bright side. Ruprecht seemed to think that the fact that the police were questioning me meant they were doing their job properly. I sure hoped he was right.

  The questioning continued for some time, with them asking me the same thing over and over again. I suppose they wanted to see if I stuck to the same story. I don’t know if they were convinced that I had never met Paul, Celia, any of the staff or any of the residents before, but I told them over and over again.

  All I wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. It had been a rough few days, and being grilled by the police certainly wasn’t helping me.

  “And do you take any medication, Miss Spelled?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “And what is your headache tablet of choice?”

  “Nurofen,” I said automatically. “Sometimes Panadol.”

  “And if we were to search your house, would we find any other form of headache tablet there?” Detective Morrison asked me.

  I was shocked, but tried to compose myself. Search my house? What if the house did something to them? “You have already searched my store,” I said. “You would’ve found the headache tablets I keep there, and they’re the same ones that I have at home.”

  “Do you ever take codeine?”<
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  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Why not?” Detective Morrison asked me.

  “I had the flu a few years ago, and I took some flu tablets that had codeine in them. It made me violently ill, so I figured I’d had a reaction to it. I haven’t taken it again since.”

  I expected them to ask me more about it, but they didn’t. I hoped that was the compulsion oil working. In fact, I hoped it would work to the extent that they would not search my home.

  Chapter 13

  The chapel at the funeral home was depressing, but then again, I suppose that was to be expected. Thyme, Mint, Camino, Ruprecht, Alder and I were all there early, so we sat in the back row. From there, we could keep a good eye on proceedings. It seemed the detectives had the same idea, because Morrison and Scott arrived only minutes later. They murmured their greetings and then sat in the row of seats opposite us. Their very presence made me nervous.

  I looked around the small chapel. The carpet on the floor was particularly prominent for such a small space, being blood red swirls in a paisley design. The pews were highly polished wood, with hymn books dotted along at intervals. I sure hoped we wouldn’t be asked to sing.

  “I don’t know if you should have come,” I said to Alder. His skin was still pallid and he had a slightly stooped appearance.

  “I’m fine,” he said in a shaky voice.

  I knew there was no use arguing with him, so I simply nodded. Presently, a minister arrived and spoke with a lady I had seen earlier at Happy Valley Gardens, the lady I had assumed was the Director of Nursing. Soon, a procession of nurses and residents entered the chapel in single file. Many of the nurses were assisting the residents and helping them into seats. Jane brought up the rear, and came over when she saw us. “A solemn affair,” she said somewhat unnecessarily. I agreed. “Have you seen the minister?” Jane asked me. “The Director of Nursing has to go back and she wanted me to follow up with the minister.”

  I nodded to the front of the chapel. “He was there only a minute ago speaking with the Director of Nursing,” I said.

  “I had better search for him. Oh, here are Paul and Maria.” She gave them a little wave. “I’ll go and give them my condolences.”

  Jane made a beeline for Paul. She hugged Maria briefly, and then pulled Paul into a deep hug. I watched Maria’s face carefully to see if she minded, but she seemed completely oblivious. I turned my attention to the front of the chapel where the minister had emerged from a door at the side. Jane must have spotted him too, because she marched over to him. I noticed that she patted his arm and stood awfully close. He was rather good looking. I wondered if Jane was simply a flirt. Perhaps there was nothing between her and Paul, after all.

  “Have you seen Edith?” Alder whispered in my ear. I shook my head. “Point her out to me, will you? And I suppose that was Jane?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry, I should have told you. That was Jane, and that’s Paul and his wife, Maria. Oh, I suppose that’s obvious. I thought there was something between Jane and Paul, but now I think Jane’s simply a major flirt. See how she’s got her hands all over the minister?”

  Thyme was leaning over, listening in to the conversation. “Uniting Church ministers can get married, you know. They don’t have to be celibate.”

  I scratched my head. “I don’t think I’m following you.”

  “I mean, it’s not a sin if she flirts with the minister like it would be if she was flirting with a Catholic priest.”

  I thought I followed her train of thought. “Okay, but my point is that I thought she was having an affair with Paul, but now I think it might be just flirty behaviour on her part.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Paul and Maria by now were seated in the front row. I tapped Alder’s arm. “Look, there’s Edith.” I indicated the lady sitting a few seats along from Maria.

  “It would be good to talk to her later,” Alder said.

  “Do you suspect her?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “I suspect everyone. If you happen to speak to her without me there, ask if you can visit her at the nursing home.”

  “What excuse would I give her?” I asked him, but he did not have a chance to reply, because the minister started the service.

  The minister began with a rather short speech saying what sort of person Celia was. He lied, of course, saying she was a wonderful woman and had been a blessing to the lives of many. Edith had her head bent over the whole time, but I couldn’t imagine she was crying. On the other hand, Paul seemed to be upset given the way that Maria kept patting his back. Mercifully, the minister didn’t read any long passages from the Bible or make us sing hymns, but called Paul to give the eulogy.

  Paul spoke in a monotone, and I wondered if he would put many of the residents to sleep. I was certainly fighting to stop dozing off. He said that while Celia sometimes had a disagreeable manner, she had been very good to him over the years. I was surprised when he stopped. I thought he would have gone on for ages. I shot a look at the detectives to see they were craning their necks, looking around the chapel. It dawned on me that the murderer was right there with us in the room now. I shuddered at the thought. But who was it? I wasn’t any closer to the truth. And did the police have any idea? I rather doubted that they did.

  Jane was next to give a eulogy, and she looked quite uncertain. “On behalf of Happy Valley Gardens, I would like to express my condolences to the family of Celia Carmichael, specifically Paul and Maria Addams,” she said. “Celia had been a resident of Happy Valley Gardens for many years, and was well known to all the residents, particularly to Edith.” Jane looked wildly around the room, as if for inspiration. Her eyes lighted on me, so I nodded my encouragement. “Celia was a healthy person, until she died,” Jane said and then broke off, rubbing her forehead. She stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. The minister came over, took her hand, and guided her to the seat next to Edith.

  I leant over to Alder. “At least she didn’t tell a bunch of lies about how wonderful Celia was.”

  “Funerals are always full of lies about what a wonderful person the deceased was,” Alder said dryly. “Have you ever heard a eulogy that told it like it really was?”

  I resisted the urge to chuckle. I thought that would be rather inappropriate at a funeral, no matter how nasty the victim had been.

  “Would anyone else like to say a few words about Celia?” the minister asked. He looked hopefully around the room. When no one took him up on his offer, he added, “Refreshments will be served in the ante-room. Please feel free to stay, and celebrate the life of Celia Carmichael.”

  With that, the service came to an end. It had to be the shortest funeral I had ever attended.

  As we stood up, Ruprecht said in hushed tones, “Let’s mingle and see what we can find out. Surely one of the residents had to have seen something.”

  “If they did, they would’ve already told the police,” I said.

  Ruprecht shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, it can’t hurt.”

  Alder took my arm. “Let’s speak to Edith.”

  While the residents had taken a long time to file into the chapel, they took rather less time to head for the refreshments room. Two large hot water urns stood on a white tablecloth, next to packets of instant tea, and large jars of homebrand instant coffee. Store bought cakes were placed around at intervals. There was a tall pitcher of bright green cold drink next to a similar pitcher of red cold drink. “Paul sure did do this on the cheap,” Thyme said.

  “I feel sorry for him,” I said. “It can’t be easy to have to pay for all this, especially when he and Maria are in financial difficulties.”

  The staff busied themselves with providing cake and cups of tea to the residents, who were happily chatting amongst themselves. I could see Edith was off by herself, so Alder and I sat opposite her. “I don’t know if you remember me,” I began, “but I’m Amelia Spelled, and this is Alder Vervain. I was the one who provided the cupcakes for morning tea the other day.�
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  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Alder said.

  “She was no friend of mine.” Edith nearly spat the words. “She was evil, pure evil. I hated her.” She stomped her foot. One of the nurses hurried over to placate her.

  “Did you say something to upset her?” she snapped at us.

  “Certainly not. We were simply offering her our condolences for the loss of her friend,” Alder said.

  The nurse sat next to Edith and glared at us, so I could see it was no use sitting there. Alder and I wandered away and soon came across Paul. “That was a lovely funeral,” I lied.

  “I wish there had been more flowers,” Maria lamented. “I mean, I really didn’t like the woman, but funerals should have flowers. If only we were still staying at the B&B, because I could have pinched some flowers from the garden.”

  “Maria!” Paul snapped.

  Maria, suitably chastened, scurried away. Paul hurried after her, and soon had her cornered, and was clearly lecturing her. “I don’t think that marriage is such a happy one,” I said to Alder.

  Jane caught my eye and hurried over. “I’m a bit embarrassed about the eulogy I gave,” she said.

  “It was fine,” I said. “What else could you say, really? Jane, this is Alder Vervain. Alder, this is Jane Jenkins, the nurse I told you about.”

  Jane took a step closer to Alder and put her hand on his arm. He sidled closer to me and put his arm around me. Jane’s face fell with disappointment. “Are you two an item?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “We just tried to say how sorry we were to Edith, but she got very upset. Another nurse came over and thought we were the ones who had upset her.”

  “Which nurse was that?” Jane asked us.

  I looked around. “She’s the one still sitting with Edith now.”

  “Oh, Hannah! Yes, she’s a total control freak. Don’t let her upset you.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that I wanted to talk to Edith. After all, I was there when it happened. Don’t ask me why, but I’d really like to have a chat with Edith.”