Spirits, Pies, and Alibis

by Nicole St Claire

  With one eye on Gus to make sure he stayed put like the good kitty I knew he wasn’t, I moved to the window and gave the pane a sharp downward tug. It didn’t budge. The old wood had swelled in the humidity. I hit each side with my fist, sending the weights that were suspended by ropes inside the wall swinging and bumping. Still it didn’t move. I stared out the gaping hole. In a patch of moonlight on the lawn, once again, stood a giant blackbird. Deep inside, I knew it was the same one I’d seen at Cliffside Manor. It was following me for a reason, but what message was it trying to send?

  Unable to shut the window, I pulled the curtains across it as best as I could, not that the sheer fabric would stop a mischievous cat from going out, or a creepy bird from getting in, for that matter. Even so, I felt more secure once the view to outside was obscured. When I turned back around, Gus was watching me. “If you’re actually a magical flying cat with the power to speak, this would definitely be the right time to speak up and give me a clue, mister. Just sayin’.”

  He did no such thing.

  “Not a single word, really?” I chided. “Come on. You could at least tell me what’s up with your birdie friend out there. Is he an omen? Is he the reincarnated spirit of Douglas Strong?”

  Gus rolled onto his back with a little sigh as if to say “Stop talking, human. My belly needs scratching.” I’m embarrassed to say I gave into his demands without arguing. He’d had a rough day.

  “I just can’t shake it, Gus,” I said. “I can’t get Douglas Strong’s crash out of my mind. I was sure I’d figured it out with the embezzling. How could Curtis not be guilty?”

  “Meow.” It’s not like I could understand what Gus was saying, but I sensed he was raising an objection, or perhaps it was just my own uncertainty coming to light.

  “I know, his name doesn’t start with an L, but I’m not sure it has to. Madame Alexandria never said for certain. Marcus Levine’s name has an L, and he’s the reason Curtis needed the money from the life insurance.” I gasped as I made the connection. “Life insurance. Another L!”

  Gus stretched, but the movement didn’t give me any clue as to what he was thinking.

  “The problem is, Curtis says he needed his uncle alive, and I believe him. Plus, he was definitely on the island the day the plane went down, so he wouldn’t have had access to his uncle to slip him the sleeping pills anyway. Could it really have been an accident?”

  Gus grabbed my hand with his front paws and gave the flesh below my thumb a sharp nip. Apparently, his belly had been scratched enough. I tried to pull my hand away, but he secured it with his hind legs in an iron grip.

  “I wish I knew what was going on with the official investigation,” I said, managing to shake my hand loose. “But it’s not like Sheriff Grady is going to give me the time of day. If only there was someone else I could talk to.”

  “Meow,” said Gus.

  “Thanks, buddy. I know I can talk to you, but I was thinking more along the lines of a person. You know, someone who can talk back?”

  “Meow.”

  “Someone who might know what was going on.”

  “Meow.” Gus stood and spun himself in a circle. “Meow.”

  “You’ve been nothing but trouble, you know that? Ever since I saw you on the ferry.”

  The ferry. I’d seen that roadster before, the one that had nearly collided with the front end of Noah’s car. It had been parked on the deck of the ferry the evening I’d made the crossing to Summerhaven. Curtis had said neither he nor his mother had made the trip to the mainland since well before the party, but that had to be a lie. Someone had taken that roadster to the mainland less than twenty-four hours before Douglas Strong plunged his airplane into the bay.

  There was one person on Summerhaven Island who had personal ties both to someone on the crash investigation team and the two people who were most likely to have had a hand in the crash itself: Sheila Briggs. As the sheriff’s girlfriend and Audrey’s sister, I couldn’t think of a better person to shed some light on what had really happened to Douglas Strong. All I needed was an excuse to drop by for a chat. Luckily for me, I owed her an order of a dozen of Pinecroft Inn’s famous blueberry pies.

  My heart pounded as a plan clicked into place. “First thing in the morning, Gus, I’m going to need to do some baking.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stared into Cassandra’s brown eyes expectantly as she swallowed a spoonful of blueberry pie filling. “Tell me a lie.”

  “The queen of England is having tea at the shop tomorrow,” she said blandly. “Mother’s very excited.”

  I swiveled to watch Sybil, who was licking the last purple bits off her silver spoon. “How about you?”

  “All of my dresses are hand sewn by enchanted mice.”

  “It’s still not working.” My shoulders slumped as I wiped a sticky hand across my sweaty brow. I pulled the recipe book closer and reread the directions. I’d followed them perfectly, including my great-grandmother’s handwritten note that berries gathered from a particular set of bushes in Pinecroft Cove were especially valuable for their truth-telling properties. If I’d cooked up the spell successfully, it should have been impossible for either of my friends to lie. Clearly, I’d gotten something wrong. Again. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a kitchen witch.”

  “Don’t say that,” Cass soothed. “You just need practice. That’s what they keep telling me, anyway.”

  “But I don’t have time,” I whined. “I need Sheila to give me answers right now.”

  Sybil tapped an index finger against her chin. “What about adding a potion?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, if the truth spell isn’t working,” Sybil replied, “maybe Cass could brew up a truth potion that you could sprinkle on the pie.”

  Cassandra’s eyes grew wide. “Wait. Why me?”

  “Because you’re the potion maker,” Sybil said. “Try as I might, I can’t think of a glamour that would be of any help in this particular instance.”

  “Can you do it?” I gave Cass my most hopeful, pleading look.

  She chewed on the edge of her fingernail for a minute, lost in thought. “Do you have any spicebush?”

  I frowned. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Check the pantry,” Cass said. “Your aunt Gwen probably has some.”

  I crossed the kitchen and pulled open the door to the spice cabinet, inside of which were hundreds of glass bottles with handwritten labels. I plucked them out one by one until I found one that said spicebush. “Well, what do you know? I do have that.”

  “Perfect. How about angelica root, rose hips, and juniper?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes,” I replied, scooping up three more bottles.

  Cass surveyed the ingredients as I placed them on the counter. “Good. I just need lemon juice, and we’re all set.”

  “Lemon juice.” I nibbled on my lower lip as I scanned the two-tiered silver fruit basket that Aunt Gwen kept near the windowsill. “I don’t see any lemons.”

  “Check the fridge,” Cass directed. “It doesn’t have to be fresh. Even one of those little plastic bottles that’s shaped like a lemon will be fine.”

  I scoured every nook and cranny of Aunt Gwen’s industrial-sized refrigerator. Finally, I straightened up, my vertebrae popping in protest. “No luck. How could I have stuff like spicebush and angelica root and not have any lemon?”

  “It’s okay,” Cass said. “I’ll just run home and whip up a batch there, and you can pick it up on your way to the diner.”

  I spent the rest of the morning ladling my magically useless but surprisingly tasty blueberry filling into a dozen pie shells. I was just finishing weaving the final piece of lattice pie crust topping when Aunt Gwen poked her head into the kitchen.

  “Look at you!” She surveyed my work, glowing with the pride of a mentor whose protégé has done her proud. “I knew if you practiced a little, you’d get the hang of it. Are those for the Dockside?”

/>   My face grew warm as her praise sent the blood rushing to my cheeks. “I thought I’d bring them over today and see what Sheila thinks of them.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she doubles the order.”

  I nearly choked. Double the order? I was exhausted from making a dozen and wasn’t at all convinced I could do it every week as I’d promised. Twice as many would put me in an early grave. Reluctantly, I loaded the boxes into Aunt Gwen’s car and drove toward the docks, all the while hoping I hadn’t done as good a job on the pies as I’d thought so that Sheila might rethink her order.

  When I stopped at the Hollings’ house, a note on the door informed me no one was at home but I would find the potion I needed on the kitchen counter. I took the note down and crumpled it into a ball, stuffing it into my pocket as I chuckled over the strangeness of living in a place where people not only left their doors unlocked but left messages on the door announcing to the whole world that no one was home. As soon as I stepped foot into the kitchen, I saw the clear glass bottle that must have been meant for me. The amber liquid inside sloshed against the cork stopper, but the seal was tight, so I shoved it into my pocket as I returned to the car.

  The lunch hour rush was in full swing when I pulled into the parking lot in front of the Dockside. The smell of burgers and bacon mixed with the salty sea air. Inside the diner, every table was full. I approached the counter carrying a single pie box. I spotted Sheila and raised the box for her to see. “I brought your pies.”

  “Oh, that’s excellent news.” She ran a hand across her forehead then tried in vain to smooth the hairs that had come loose from her bun. “Did you just bring one?”

  “No. I helped Aunt Gwen by making up the batch, so this one’s for you to try first. If you like it, the rest are in the car.”

  “I guess I can take a break just long enough to taste it,” she said, eyeing the box greedily. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “It would make me feel better if you at least took a few bites. I’m still in the apprentice stages when it comes to my baking skills.”

  Sheila placed two dessert plates on the counter, along with two forks and a long, sharp knife.

  “Here, let me serve it,” I offered, reaching for the knife. “I need to double-check the consistency of the filling.” What I actually needed to do was sprinkle the top of her slice with the truth potion, which I did as soon as my hands were hidden from view by the open box lid. I’d considered dosing the entire pie, but since Cass hadn’t left specific instructions on how much to use, I decided the safest thing was to dump the entire bottle onto a single piece and hope it was enough. With the potion administered, I slid the slice onto the plate and slipped the empty bottle into my pocket.

  Sheila took the pie from me and looked questioningly at the second plate. “Don’t you want some?”

  “Oh, no thank you,” I said. “I’ve already gained five pounds with all of Aunt Gwen’s good cooking. I’m going to have to learn to pace myself, but every time I smell food, I can’t seem to resist.”

  “With your aunt’s cooking, it’s no wonder, although after thirty years in the diner, I have to say the very smell of fried food takes my appetite away, so there’s hope for you.” She laughed as she dished herself a generous slice. I held my breath as she dug in her fork and lifted the gooey bite of pie to her lips. “Delicious. If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have had any idea Gwen didn’t make these herself.”

  “Aw, thanks,” I replied, genuinely pleased, as well as relieved the truth potion hadn’t altered the taste.

  “Did you leave your car unlocked? I’ll send one of the girls out with a cart to bring in the rest.”

  “I didn’t,” I said, digging in my purse for the keys and handing them to her. “Here. I drove Aunt Gwen’s car since I still need to find a mechanic for mine. You can send someone out for the rest of the boxes. I still can’t get used to the way everyone just leaves everything unlocked around here.”

  Sheila took another generous bite of pie. “Oh, you’ll get used to it eventually, although my boyfriend’s constantly going on about people leaving their keys on the seat, but I just say, Joe, be grateful you’re a small-town sheriff. You want crime, you need to move to the mainland.” Something like confusion flickered in her eyes as though she wasn’t quite certain why she’d shared so much with me, considering her relationship with the sheriff was technically a secret despite everyone on the island knowing about it. But I knew why her life was suddenly such an open book. The truth potion was kicking in. “You need a mechanic, you said?”

  “Yeah. It started acting up on the ferry on the way here, and I haven’t had the time to have it looked at yet.”

  “Well, if you need someone, Larry Sloane’s the best. He’s a regular here. I’d point him out, but he hasn’t made it in yet today.”

  “I’ll have to look him up,” I assured her, then tried to shift the subject. “So, I saw your nephew and sister the other day…”

  “Oh, Audrey.” Sheila rolled her eyes. “How’s Miss Perfect doing, anyway?”

  I’d hoped that Sheila would take the bait and start dishing the dirt, and it looked like I would not be disappointed. “She seems to be taking Douglas’s death hard. Has Noah talked to you?”

  “You mean about her reckless driving?” Sheila snorted. “Yeah, he called this morning. Not sure what I’m supposed to do about it, though. It’s not like my sister has ever listened to me. Not since she got it into her head to marry a Strong in the first place.”

  “Curtis’s dad you mean?”

  She snorted. “I guess you can call him that.”

  I frowned, trying to puzzle out her meaning. “Are you saying he wasn’t a good father?”

  “Oh, he was great with Curtis. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just…” Sheila’s voice trailed off, her eyes shifting uncertainly.

  “Have some more pie,” I urged.

  Sheila shoveled the last pile of the blueberry filling onto her fork and popped it into her mouth, licking her lips. “See, the thing is, that summer when Audrey got pregnant, Jeremy Strong wasn’t the only guy my sister had her eye on. She dated at least two other boys that summer. I guess I’ve always wondered.”

  “Wondered what?”

  Sheila cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I really should get back to work.”

  I took in the empty plate with dismay. Her slice of pie was gone, and the spell was fading rapidly. “Would you like some more?” I offered, reaching into the box for another slice, only to realize that it wouldn’t matter anyway, as all the truth potion had already been used.

  “Oh, I’d better not, but here comes Gracie with the pies. How much do I owe you? We’ll make it a standing order going forward.”

  I waved the suggestion of payment away, noticing a spot of blueberry on my finger as I did. “This was a test batch, no charge. You can work out the cost for the weekly order with Aunt Gwen.” I popped my finger into my mouth and silently congratulated myself that even if the magic hadn’t worked, the pie filling really did taste as good as Sheila had claimed.

  “Well, that’s real generous of you. Hey, everyone!” Sheila raised her voice several notches to be heard throughout the diner. “Blueberry pie all around, on the house.”

  There were murmurings of approval from the diners, mixed with a smattering of applause. As Sheila and Gracie set out plates on the counter and started to slice the pies, the door opened, and a man in blue coveralls walked in.

  “Larry, there you are,” Sheila called out. “Come on over and have some pie. Tamsyn here was just saying she needs her car looked at.”

  “Sure, I should have an opening coming up soon. Do you have a number I can text you at when I do?” I told him my number, and after he’d entered it into his phone, Larry leaned against the counter, turning his head to look at the heaping dessert plates. “Is this Miss Gwyneth’s pie?”

  “Uh, mm-hmm,” I mumbled, frowning. I’d intended to say that it was, not wanting to i
nvite another long conversation about my kitchen training, but for some reason the words had gotten tangled up on the tip of my tongue. Confused, I scurried out to the parking lot as quickly as I could and was surprised to find Cass standing, out of breath, by the car.

  “Tamsyn,” she called out as soon as she saw me, “why didn’t you pick up the potion?”

  I froze in place. “What?”

  She held up a glass bottle that was identical to the one I’d grabbed from her house, but the liquid inside it was green. “The truth potion. I set it on the kitchen counter for you. Did you not stop by?”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the empty bottle, holding it out to her. “If that’s the potion, what is this?”

  Cass took the bottle from my hand and removed the cork, lifting it to her nose. “Vanilla.”

  My eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Then why did Sheila just tell me all that stuff about Audrey?”

  “Everyone loves to gossip,” Cass said with a shrug.

  Reeling from my latest magical screwup, I grabbed the last of the blueberry pies, the one I had set aside on the front seat, and headed to the clinic. After all, I’d promised Noah a pie, and the least I could do was deliver.

  The receptionist barely looked up as I entered. She just reached for the phone. “The Bassett girl’s here again.” she said. “Fine, I’ll send her back.” She inclined her head in the direction of Noah’s office, and I took that as my cue to proceed.

  “Tamsyn, what brings you in today?” Noah asked as I stepped into the exam room. “Your head’s doing okay, right? No dizziness, blurry vision?”