Once Wicked: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Teas and Temptations Book 1)

by Cindy Stark

  “It smells good.” The timbre of his voice sent a shiver through her.

  She smiled as she set the tea on a table in front of him. “You need to let it steep for a few minutes to get the full flavor. If you take some home, I’d suggest buying a timer, too.”

  “I have a timer on my phone.”

  She shrugged. “That works if you prefer.”

  He glanced between the stack of clean cups and her. “Aren’t you going to join me? No one likes to drink alone.”

  She scanned her quiet store, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse why she couldn’t and failed. “Umm…okay.”

  “You deserve a break, too. Right?”

  “It has been a quiet afternoon, so I guess it’s a good time.”

  Hazel fixed her a cup of refreshing mint tea, something that would keep her mind alert and not let those gorgeous green eyes of his lull her into a relaxed, flirtatious state that would lead to dangerous places.

  When she’d finished, she took a seat in the turquoise chair near him. She gave him a brief smile and then focused on her teacup, letting it steep. She hadn’t felt this awkward around a guy since high school.

  When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she glanced in his direction to find him staring at her with an odd look on his face.

  “What?” she asked, acutely aware of the intense energy flitting between them.

  He blinked as though coming out of a trance. “What?” he echoed.

  “You were staring.” She rubbed the tip of her nose. “Do I have a smudge on my face or something.” She had been cleaning the shelves.

  “No. No,” he said again and smiled. “You remind me of someone from my past.”

  “Oh.” The nervous tension inside her eased. “Well, hopefully it’s someone you liked.”

  He nodded and graced her with a warm smile. “Very much so.”

  Electricity between them heightened, and she swallowed. “Your tea is ready whenever you are.”

  He lifted interested brows and grasped the end of the strainer. “I just take this out?”

  “You can put it on the edge of your saucer. I have cream and sugar, if you’d like, but you seem like a guy who likes things as they are, not all doctored up.”

  He tipped his head in confirmation. “For just having met, you seem to know me pretty well.”

  “I have a—”

  She stopped just short of telling him about her empathic abilities. Her heart thundered in her chest at her near blunder, and her mind swam with every warning her mother had plied on her as Hazel had packed her bags. “It’s just…I’m a lucky guesser sometimes.”

  He narrowed his gaze, his focus squarely on her face, and she swore beads of perspiration broke out in response. She sipped her tea. If nothing else, she could blame her response on the heat from her cup.

  He tasted his as well and gave her a nod of appreciation.

  “You like it?” Pleasure from his reaction increased the warmth building inside her.

  “Actually, yes.” He took another sip. “Something about the spices. It’s much better than I expected.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that. I’ll send you home with a sampler so you can try it a few more times.”

  “How about I take a regular tin, and one of Majestic Mint for my assistant, Margaret. She’s a big fan.”

  “Margaret is your assistant?” Why did she not know this?

  Mentally, she flipped back through the conversations she’d had with the eccentric, but smart-as-nails woman. Not once had the topic of her job come up. Margaret had been much more interested in her teas and what the properties of each could do for her.

  “Yep. She keeps me whipped into shape.” He shook his head, but grinned.

  Hazel couldn’t help but match his expression. “I can see where she might do that.”

  “How much do you charge for delivery? The way that woman goes through coffee and tea, I might as well set up a regular delivery.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, surprised that he’d be interested in her services. “Are you sure? Your office is only a block and a half away.”

  “True.” He nodded and straightened in his seat. “But I’ll never hear the end of it if I ask Margaret to stop for me, and I’m sort of the forgetful type.”

  She drew her brows together. “You don’t seem like a forgetful person.”

  He caught her gaze and held it. “I like things easy-peasy.”

  Easy-peasy? She snickered inside at his quaint, old-fashioned sayings. They were ridiculous but somehow charming at the same time.

  “I’d rather pay to have you stop by every week. It will give me a chance to see your smiling face. Something to look forward to.”

  Blessed Mother. He was flirting with her again. She wanted to ask why he’d be interested in her when he’d passed on the other town-ladies. She certainly wasn’t the smartest or most beautiful.

  “Um…okay,” she said. “But I’d feel bad charging you for it. I pass that way when I’m headed to the Winthrop house on Monday, so it’s no bother to drop it by.”

  “I don’t mind paying.”

  She shook her head. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to have another regular customer.”

  He tilted his head, and the light caught his eyes, making them sparkle. “I hope I’m more than another customer.”

  She choked on her tea.

  “Friends?” he offered.

  She cleared her throat and smiled. “Of course. Friends.”

  He made room for his teacup on his saucer. When he pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket, she tensed.

  He lifted a guilty gaze to her. “I have to admit, Ms. Hardy, that I’ve come here with dual motives. If you don’t mind, I have some official questions for you.”

  Eight

  The switch in Chief Parrish’s demeanor was slight, but Hazel noticed. Fun and games were over, and this was serious. “Ms. is it now?” she asked. “Instead of Miss or Mrs.?”

  As much as the flirtatious side of him made her nervous, she preferred that over this man who was all business.

  He cracked a small smile, giving her a taste of relief. “Apparently. At least until you tell me which it is.”

  Her breath came faster. Did she dare? It might distract him from whatever serious business he was about. “It’s Miss.”

  The smile he gave her darn near did her in. “I know.”

  “You know?” She drew her brows together in mock surprise. “Then why ask me?”

  “Because a woman who is available and open to interested men will let that be known. One who isn’t, won’t.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she quickly closed it. How could she possibly respond to that without drawing herself in deeper?

  She cleared her throat. “You said you have questions for me?”

  He laughed, obviously entertained by her quick change of topic, drawing a heated blush to her cheeks. “Yes, I do.” He managed to tuck away his smile as he flipped the pages on his notebook, but warm, interested feelings still reached out to her.

  She mentally pushed them away.

  He switched his gaze back to her. “Can you give me an accounting of your time the morning Mr. Winthrop died?”

  Blood drained to her feet, and a chill descended upon her. “Why—why do you ask? I thought Mr. Winthrop died from a heart attack.”

  The chief released a long sigh. “That was our initial expectation, but some new information has come to light, and we will be conducting a full investigation including an autopsy. So, I ask you again, can you give me an accounting of your morning, including who you saw and spoke with?”

  Murder? Hazel’s insides shook as she did her best to provide the chief with an accurate accounting.

  She thought about mentioning that Mr. Winthrop almost ran her over but decided against it. The incident really had no bearing on his case, and she didn’t relish the idea of explaining that she’d been bucked from her bike.

  He took notes while she talked and didn’t int
errupt to ask questions until she finished.

  “Did he interact with Mrs. Winthrop at all while you were with her?”

  She shook her head. “I sort of got the impression he didn’t want much to do with her. I guess a younger mistress on the side would explain that.”

  He directed a sharp gaze at her. “You’re referring to Rachel Parker?”

  She gave a small shrug. “She was with him at the time he died. They were both…naked,” she said, ending on a quiet note.

  “You were aware of their affair?”

  “No,” she quickly denied. “Honestly, I’ve only been going to see Mrs. Winthrop once a week for a month. I always enter through the kitchen, see Mrs. Jones who has a tea service prepared for me, and I take that directly upstairs to Mrs. Winthrop.”

  She frowned as another memory flitted into her mind.

  “What is it?” the chief demanded.

  She bit her bottom lip as she peered at him from beneath lowered brows. “I hate to say anything because I just don’t see how…”

  “You need to tell me what you know, Hazel. Every detail. It’s important.”

  He’d called her Hazel, and she liked it. She blew out a breath, trying to concentrate and not wanting to implicate anyone innocent. “It’s really a silly thing. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  He arched an impatient brow.

  She wouldn’t get out of this. “When I arrived, Mrs. Jones was in a very good mood.”

  He waited expectantly.

  “She’s never in a good mood. Like ever,” she explained. “She’s one of the sourest people I know.”

  “You’ve seen her four times including this one. Do you feel that is sufficient to judge her character?”

  Hazel threw her hands upward in frustration. “I told you it was silly. You’re the one who made a big deal of it.”

  He held his palms outward in a show of defeat. “Nothing is silly. It’s worth noting in any case.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, not liking this official questioning at all.

  When he finished writing, he met her gaze again. He eyed her folded arms and then released the stiffness in his shoulders. “I’m sorry. The detective in me gets carried away sometimes.”

  “I’m not on trial then?”

  “I have no reason to suspect you, Miss Hardy.”

  Except now he was back to Miss Hardy. The man frustrated her beyond reason.

  He studied her for a long moment and then sighed. “I have one more question, and then I’ll get out of your hair. Did you ever see or hear anything that might be considered witchcraft?”

  A chill crept over her. “Excuse me?” she managed.

  “I know it’s a delicate subject that most don’t wish to discuss. But a certain person gave information that Miss Parker had explored a spell with Mr. Winthrop at some point. With the history of this town and the natural aversion to witchcraft that most still carry, I have to consider it as a possible connection.”

  “How?” she demanded. When he’d said the fine folks of Stonebridge lived in another century, he wasn’t kidding.

  He tilted his head to the side as though weighing the information for himself. “Maybe he threatened to talk about their ritual, and she hexed him to keep him quiet.”

  He paused for a moment. “Or perhaps she created a toxic substance and poisoned him. Being labeled a witch can still carry serious consequences in this town. People won’t fill the accused’s pockets with stones and throw them into Redemption Pond like they did so many years ago, but…”

  She drew in a sharp, shocked breath. “People really did that?”

  He drew his brows together as he studied her closer. “Did you pay attention in history class?”

  Sort of. She hadn’t gone to regular school, and her history lessons tended to be different than others.

  “I might have fallen asleep a time or two,” she said sheepishly, trying to downplay her unexpected reaction. “I still can’t believe they’d just kill them.”

  “They were witches,” he said as though that was a sufficient reason.

  “They were people,” she countered.

  “Not good ones.”

  She worked to keep her breaths slow, even as her heart thundered. “Are you saying all witches are bad?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she ached to cast a forgetful spell on him, run home and pack up her stuff, and never return to Stonebridge.

  Instead of pressing her further for her lack of knowledge, he pocketed his notebook and stood. “Thanks for answering my questions and for the tea. If I think of anything else, I’ll be in contact.”

  She got to her feet, accepting his façade that everything was kosher between them when she knew it wasn’t for her, and she sensed a deep rumbling of curiosity in him, too.

  “Okay. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know, too.”

  He held out his hand, and she shook it. Panic sprouted when he kept his fingers folded around hers, with his middle and forefinger on her wrist. “If I may, I’d like to give you a few more bits of friendly advice.”

  She nodded, unable to trust her voice to create coherent words.

  “Since you’ve decided to make Stonebridge your home for now, you might want to visit the local library and catch up on some history. I think you’ll find it will help you to navigate the town’s customs and quirks much easier.”

  Was that a warning? “Okay.”

  After a few seconds of unnerving contact, he released her, and she tucked her hand against her stomach as though she’d been burned.

  He smiled. “Don’t forget to deliver tea for Margaret and me. Which day did you say?”

  “Monday,” she managed.

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then. Would you mind picking out a teapot and a couple of those tea holder thingies and bring them, too? I’d be grateful.”

  “Of course.” She exhaled and gave him a warm, if forced, smile. “I’ll see you then.”

  He dipped his head in farewell and strolled out of her shop as though he hadn’t completely tipped her world upside down.

  The second he was gone, she dropped into a chair, her shaky legs no longer willing to hold her. She buried her face in her hands and took several deep breaths.

  She wasn’t an imbecile. She’d heard of the horrifying Salem Witch Trials and the travesties bestowed upon people of her kind, but she hadn’t known that had happened here, in a town her great, great grandmother several times over had once lived.

  Was that why her family had left the area so long ago, supposedly fleeing in the middle of the night?

  As soon as she finished her deliveries in the morning, she’d hurry over to the library. She could steal an hour to investigate the quaint and charming Stonebridge’s bloody history and how that might have intersected with her family.

  Nine

  Under the guise of marketing, Hazel headed out the next afternoon, leaving Gretta in charge of the shop for the rest of the day. It wasn’t a complete lie. Hazel had brought along a few sample packs of her most popular teas. She placed them in her basket, hopped on her bike and rode the short distance to the library and parked along the side.

  According to a plaque on the side of the building, the town’s library was housed in a lovely historic structure built from rock that had been hauled in from a quarry back in the 1700s. The building had once been the hub of activity in Stonebridge including school, church, and social gatherings of all kinds.

  She found it hard to believe something manmade could withstand the ravages of time and still look this good. The people of the town for generations had obviously taken excellent care of it. That kind of pride seemed to be missing in the bigger cities where she’d lived.

  Or maybe she’d been around the wrong kinds of people. Despite its dark history, she liked this quaint town and the slower way of life. She liked getting to know the names of people she passed on the street. Liked having them know her and smile in return.

  She lifted h
er care package from the basket on her bike and headed inside.

  The scent of things timeworn tickled her nose, and she withheld the urge to sneeze. An aged wooden counter that shone with polish separated her from the overweight young man who stood behind it.

  Half of his white shirt was tucked in his pants while the other side had come loose. Dark, unruly curls topped his head, and the smudged glasses he wore had slid part way down his nose.

  Confidence emanated from him despite his disorganized appearance, but she detected something of a negative vibe from him.

  “Hello,” she said with a smile, waiting to make up her mind about him. “I’m Hazel Hardy. I’ve recently opened the teashop over on Main Street.”

  “Hi. Yeah, I’ve seen the place.”

  The teas might be wasted on him, but one never knew. Maybe his mother drank tea.

  She lifted the gift package. “I stopped by to do some research and thought I’d bring some samples for you.”

  She glanced beyond him. “And any co-workers. The head librarian, maybe?”

  “It’s just me. Timothy Franklin, at your service. I am the head librarian and everything else,” he said as he accepted her gift and sniffed. “Smells good.”

  “I hope you like them,” she said hopefully.

  Timothy grunted, set them aside, and then focused on her. “Is there something I can help you find?”

  “Since I’m new to town, I wanted to learn more about Stonebridge’s history. There are so many beautiful buildings like this one and pretty places.”

  He eyed her with an even gaze. “You’re looking for more information on the witches.”

  He didn’t even phrase it as a question. Apparently, she wasn’t the first curious customer. “Yes.” No sense in lying.

  “Had you pegged the moment you walked in. Follow me.” He walked from behind the counter and down an end aisle toward the back of the library.

  She rolled her eyes as an embarrassed flush heated her cheeks. He couldn’t have known. He was just guessing.