by Cindy Stark
Her first attempt at pedaling speared her ankle with a searing pain that culminated with her trying to stop the bike, only to crash to the ground once again, this time scraping her palms over rough gravel and dumping the contents of her basket.
The sound of an engine brought panic. She crawled and gathered the books, stuffing them into the basket as she hobbled to her feet. She didn’t look up as the vehicle approached, and she did her best to look as inconspicuous as possible as she pushed her bike away from the house.
The vehicle slowed, and she cursed.
When it was next to her, she glanced over.
Of course. With her luck, it would be none other than the gorgeous yet likely dangerous Chief Peter Parrish.
He lowered his window and nodded at her bike. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Then why are you limping? And if I’m not mistaken, you have blood on your hands.”
She glanced down and found several spots where the gravel had torn into her flesh, leaving crimson evidence in its wake. She momentarily closed her eyes and sighed. “I took a little tumble, but I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” He put his cruiser in park and opened the door, drawing panic deeper into her heart. She didn’t dare glance at Clarabelle’s spell book for fear of drawing his attention, but he was far too close for comfort.
“Really. I’m fine.” She waved him away with a flick of her hand. “You can be on your way.”
He caught her hand and turned it palm upward. Traitorous beads of blood glistened. He held it while he looked over the rest of her. “If you were fine, you would have been on your bike riding. Instead, you’re hobbling like…”
He released her hand and knelt in front of her. Warm fingers encircled her damaged ankle, and he squeezed.
Her gasp came involuntarily.
He stood. “Just as I thought. Looks like you could use a ride home. With your ankle swollen like that, you shouldn’t be walking or riding.”
She shrugged and shook her head in denial. “I can’t leave my bike.” As though that was a perfectly good reason to stay.
He leaned closer until his nose was only a few inches from hers. “It will fit in my car, you know. Grab your books and get in.”
“If I don’t?”
He narrowed his gaze and snorted. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Are you?” she countered.
A long moment drew out as he studied her eyes, leaving her heated and uncomfortable. “Yes,” he finally said. He reached for the books.
“Wait.”
He paused and turned to her.
She intercepted the books, clutching them against her. “I’ll go willingly, officer.”
Her compliance brought an engaging grin to his face. “Smart lady.”
He leaned her bike against the car while he helped her into the passenger seat. “Looks like you took me up on my suggestion,” he said and tipped his head toward the books.
She gave a quick nod before she faced forward, and he closed the door.
It took him a moment to wrangle her bicycle into his trunk, and she decided it served him right for being so insistent. Though she was ever so grateful to be off her foot. Even now, she could feel the blood pooling as it swelled bigger.
She’d ice it tonight, and then a long soak in Epson salts and ginger root would do her a world of good.
As soon as he climbed into the car, a frisson of energy swirled between them again.
She had to somehow put a stop to it before their flirtations went any further, but she wasn’t sure how. She could tell him what she was and cool the attraction instantly, but she’d also put herself in jeopardy. She’d have to leave Stonebridge immediately if he didn’t arrest her on site, and she wasn’t ready to do that just yet.
She held the books close to her chest. She’d just found something very valuable to her and wanted to learn much, much more about her family’s history that intertwined with the town’s.
“I have a question,” she said tentatively.
“What’s that?” He glanced out the back window and pulled out onto Hemlock.
“Rachel…Parker. What will happen to her if she is a witch? That’s not really a crime around here these days, is it?”
He released something that resembled a chuckle, but it held no humor. “It’s not an official crime. Nothing she can be punished for in traditional courts.”
He flicked a quick sideways glance at her. “You’ve heard of the KKK?”
She nodded.
“Stonebridge has its own version of that regarding those involved in witchcraft. People have been known to disappear. To die mysteriously. She’ll need to be careful until we get this figured out.”
Hazel widened her eyes in fear. “Does she know that?”
If Rachel had been an actual witch, she might not have feared as much for her. During the past three hundred years, since those terrible times, witches had grown stronger and practiced more in the art of self-defense. Not that they weren’t still vulnerable if caught, but the playing field was more even.
“She’s being careful. I questioned her this morning, and of course, she denied being a true witch. She’s staying with her brother on Beck Street, and he knows how to use a gun. If she doesn’t go anywhere alone or go out at night, she should be safe enough.”
She shook her head, trying to form a coherent thought. “I’m shocked. Stonebridge seemed like such a friendly place when I arrived. Outsiders would never guess such things take place here.”
“Luckily, we don’t have many incidents. The smart people involved in witchcraft left centuries ago. The less than smart, well, they’re no longer around, either.”
A terrifying shiver enveloped her. What did that make her then?
“Thank you for the ride,” Hazel said when he pulled in front of the small house she’d rented not far from her shop. She opened her door. He was out of the car and around to hers before she’d managed to get on her feet.
Problem was, the foot she needed to put weight on to emerge was also her damaged ankle.
“Cross your arms in front of your books and give me your elbows,” he suggested.
She did as he asked, and his warm fingers cupped her skin, giving her shivers as he hauled her to her feet. Standing only inches from him, she glanced up. A quick energy-charged moment passed and then he stepped back.
“If you like, I can carry you into your house.”
“No.” Oh, no. That was not happening. “I can make it just fine. But thank you again for the ride. If you wouldn’t mind putting my bike between my car and the house, I would be so grateful.”
He tilted his head. “Anything for the lady.”
She gave him a warm smile and headed for her door. Her fingers shook as she unlocked it and stepped inside. She couldn’t resist a quick glance back before she closed it.
He hadn’t moved. He’d been waiting to ensure she made it fine before he handled her bike.
Blessed Mother help her.
Why couldn’t she have found a guy like him in the city? One who didn’t despise the blood that ran red in her veins?
She waved goodnight and closed the door.
After he drove away, she grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, climbed into bed and propped up her foot. Then she opened her grandmother’s book. Fierce energy bolted through her, and she gasped at the intensity.
She flipped through several pages, the energy growing stronger with each turn until nausea rose inside her and inhaling became a chore. She’d heard of lost books and buried objects becoming saturated with magic to the point they could turn lethal, and she quickly closed the tome.
She’d give it some time in the moonlight to cleanse and settle things before she opened it again. Just in case.
Eleven
When Hazel made her deliveries the next day, she drove instead of biking, with her ankle wrapped tightly. It was unfortunate, but if she wanted a quick recovery, she’d have to take it
easy for a few days longer. Her magic baths, as she liked to call them, helped tremendously, but her body still needed time to heal.
Gretta had offered to take over the delivery duties, but Hazel couldn’t stand the thought of being cooped up all day, not after the infusion of energy she’d received yesterday from the special grove of trees and finding Clarabelle’s book of spells. The strength encased in that book had left her skittish.
And then there was her interaction with Peter.
She wished he didn’t affect her like he did, but that was a consequence she’d have to deal with during her stay in Stonebridge.
The bright side of driving was that she finished her regular rounds in record time, which left her time to stop by to visit Mrs. Winthrop and one other person before her.
Hazel had bypassed second thoughts and gone on to thirds by the time she parked in front of the small home where she’d discovered Rachel Parker had taken up residence since leaving the Winthrop household.
She hoped visiting Rachel wouldn’t be a huge mistake for her or Rachel, but she had questions and needed answers. It would be bad enough for Rachel to be convicted, whether in a court or otherwise for a crime she didn’t commit, but she didn’t want any more blood to be shed in the name of silencing witches.
She opened the weathered white picket gate and proceeded a few steps up the walk and then stumbled to a halt. Her eyes grew wide in horror.
On the white front door where Rachel stayed, someone had spray painted witch in blood red along with a haphazard inverted pentagram, marking the house and its inhabitants.
“Blessed Mother, protect them,” she whispered.
She swallowed the bile in her throat and continued toward the door. Hatred flew off it in waves.
The hatred of uneducated people.
She lifted a hand and knocked, working to keep the angry feelings from penetrating her psyche.
Hazel had packaged up a few of her soothing teas to leave as a gift, and she hoped that they, along with a friendly face, would give her admittance into Rachel’s private world.
A gruff looking man with unkempt blond hair and a long goatee answered the door. “What do you want?”
Rachel’s brother, she assumed. Hazel opened her heart and gave him her kindest smile. “I’m here to see Rachel, if she’s up to visitors. We only met once at the Winthrop house, but I’m worried about her welfare. With this town the way it is, I don’t expect that she’s received much support, and I’d like to give her mine.” She sent him a hopeful glance.
He stepped back to let her enter. “You could have stopped at I’m here to see Rachel. She’s in the kitchen.” He jerked his head toward the back of the house and fell into a worn recliner where it seemed he spent a fair amount of time by the looks of it.
Scents of rotting food or old garbage assaulted Hazel as she closed the front door behind her. She didn’t fail to notice the handgun on the table next to the chair as she made her way toward the kitchen.
Peter had been right. He apparently could protect her as long as she didn’t leave the house.
Hazel found Rachel sitting at a table cluttered with dirty dishes. A shell of the vibrant woman she’d met the first time she’d delivered to the Winthrop household stared out a large picture window into a tree-filled backyard. She’d knotted her blond hair on the top of her head in a messy bun, and the once-slender woman now looked ghastly thin.
“Hello, Rachel,” Hazel said as she entered.
Rachel turned dull eyes in her direction, but then a hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Hazel, right?”
“Yes.” She strode to the table and took a seat next to Rachel. “Beautiful fall leaves. The colors seem much brighter here than in the city.”
She nodded, but the dismal expression on her face hinted that she didn’t care much for what the season brought, and who could blame her.
“I brought you some tea. A peach blend to soothe your nerves, and my special chamomile tea in case the stress is keeping you from your sleep.”
She snorted. “You’ve summed up my life pretty well, Hazel.”
The sadness and fear emanating from the young woman tugged at Hazel’s heart. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t. Out of everyone, I’m the innocent one, the victim. Mr. Winthrop was a pig. I didn’t kill him, but he deserved what he got, and now I’m being punished for it.”
Tears flooded Rachel’s eyes, and she swiped at them. “People are calling me a witch and sending death threats.”
Hazel rubbed the area below her neck, trying to ease the ache in her chest. “You’ve told the police about the threats, right?”
“Yeah.” She turned her gaze back to the window. “They can’t protect me, and they won’t let me leave town until the murder is solved.”
“So, it is a murder investigation, then.” Peter had told her as much, but she didn’t want to give Rachel that information.
“Apparently.” She faced Hazel. “Would you like a list of people besides me who’d wanted him dead? Mick for one. Mr. Winthrop was always on him about something. Mrs. Jones. His wife, for sure. I’m not sure who should hate him more, her or me.”
Hazel tilted her head. “For being Mr. Winthrop’s lover, you don’t seem to like him very much.”
Rachel banged a balled fist on the table hard enough to make Hazel jump. “Oh. My. God. Are you serious? People think I was his lover?”
Hazel blinked, so not prepared for that outburst. How did she say this delicately? “Uh…I don’t mean to belabor an obviously sore point, but you were found naked with him when he died.”
Hatred-filled eyes stared at her, and Rachel leaned closer. “He forced me to have sex with him.”
“Rape?” Hazel could barely get the word out.
Rachel’s anger dropped a notch, and she folded her arms as though that would protect her. “Practically. He…he…my brother owed him a lot of money, and he threatened to have him killed if my brother didn’t pay immediately.” She paused to take a shaky breath.
Rachel waved an angry hand toward the front room. “Of course, he didn’t have it. You’ve seen him. So, Mr. Winthrop offered an alternative form of repayment.”
“He’d forgive your brother’s debt if you’d sleep with him,” she said quietly.
Rachel sniffed. “It didn’t start that way. At first, he’d said I could come work for him at his big house. It seemed like a great opportunity, but I was there less than a month when he started demanding more than cleaning services.”
Hazel had sensed the ugliness inside Winthrop from the moment she’d encountered him.
“Does Chief Parrish know about this?”
“Are you kidding? They already think I’m guilty of killing him with witchcraft. If they discover I have a motive to go along with it, you might as well burn me at the stake here and now.”
Her chin quivered as she eyed Hazel. “Everyone is questioning me, but did no one stop to wonder why I’d have sex with an old man like him? No. Because he was prominent in the community, they’ve already convicted me.”
Hazel was grateful for the lead in to her pressing question. “First Rachel. I don’t think you killed Mr. Winthrop.”
Rachel met her gaze with hopeful eyes. “You don’t?”
She shook her head. “I’m a pretty good judge of people, and you don’t seem like the murdering kind.”
Tears filled her eyes again. “Thank you. Besides my brother, you might be the only friend I have in Stonebridge.”
“I’ll help however I can. Could you tell me more about this witchcraft you’ve been accused of?”
Rachel lifted her cell phone, tapped it a few times and then pushed it toward Hazel. A screen decorated with candelabras proclaimed to offer any spell a person could want.
“You tried a spell from a website?” Any good witch would tell you they were all fake, because any witch worth her cauldron did not give up the secrets from her book of spells to just any
one. It could put him or her at great risk.
“I told him it was an impotence cure that would help so he wouldn’t have to take Viagra all the time. Really, it was supposed to make him less frisky so he’d leave me alone. Needless to say, it didn’t work.”
Of course, it didn’t. “I’m sorry.” She truly meant that. Rachel was the true victim here.
Hazel paused for a moment while she formulated her thoughts. “So, how exactly did the police find out about the spell casting? Mr. Winthrop obviously couldn’t tell.”
Rachel shrugged. “Maybe Mick? He was always places where he didn’t belong. One time I caught him watching me and Mr. Winthrop. He spied on everyone all the time. Maybe he heard us trying the spell or something.”
Hazel nodded. “Maybe so.” If she had the opportunity, she’d inquire more about Mick when she visited Mrs. Winthrop later that day.
“Also,” Hazel added. “You mentioned Mrs. Jones might wish Mr. Winthrop dead. Why would you think that?”
“I found out a few days ago that he did the same thing to her younger sister as he did to me. She committed suicide to end her suffering.”
That seemed like a heck of a lot more motive than Rachel had.
“Well, there certainly are a number of people to consider. Chief Parrish is somewhat of a friend of mine.” Though how much, she wasn’t sure. “I might stop and have a word with him, and let him know about what you’ve told me.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bother. It won’t help.”
And he’d already convicted Rachel because he thought she was a witch. Anger welled inside her. She’d obviously overestimated the kindness in that man.
He had a beautiful aura, but apparently, he hid his true self very well like some people could do. She supposed that made for a fine quality in a chief.
But not much of one in a friend.
Hazel pushed her care package toward Rachel. “I should probably be on my way since I have other deliveries to make, but I hope you enjoy these.”
Rachel gave her a watery smile. “I’m sure I will.” She reached over and wrapped her fingers around Hazel’s hand. “Thank you for stopping, and thank you for listening. It helps more than you know.”