by Cindy Stark
With an exasperated sigh, Hazel finished putting together the tea service and headed toward Florence’s bedroom.
“She’s in the parlor,” Mrs. Jones called after her.
Hazel switched directions and headed toward the room where she’d found Florence and Peter on a previous visit.
She entered and found Florence with her head back on the chair and her eyes closed. She hated to wake the sleeping woman, but she knew Florence would be deeply disappointed if she missed their teatime.
“Hello,” she said softly.
The older woman lifted her eyelids and smiled. “There you are. I was just resting for a moment.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
Florence grimaced as she shifted in her chair until she was sitting upright. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
Hazel set down the tray and pulled the golden envelope from beneath her arm. Florence’s expression brightened. “Finally! Next time I’ll order much further in advance so that I don’t have to go without them.”
Hazel handed the package over and then poured hot water into their cups. “Today, I brought chamomile in case you need extra rest, or a fun, new hibiscus tea I’m trying that should give you energy. Which would you prefer?”
“I’m tired of sleeping. How about some energy?” Florence said as she tore open the package and dumped a small brown bottle into her hands. “Would you mind fetching a glass of water and a teaspoon from the kitchen so I can take this, too? Mrs. Jones will know what I need.”
“Of course.” Hazel filled tea strainers, dropped them into cups of hot water and went to collect the requested items.
Mrs. Jones was none friendlier, but she didn’t complain either. As surly as she could be where Hazel was concerned, she seemed quite devoted to the mistress of the house.
Hazel sank onto the old-fashioned brown settee while Florence unscrewed the cap on the bottle and dipped the tiny teaspoon inside.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Florence, about your husband? About his affair?” she added in a softer voice.
The woman met her gaze, wariness in her eyes. “You may ask.”
This wasn’t a question she could ask gently, so she’d be direct. “Was Rachel your husband’s first indiscretion in your marriage that you were aware of?”
The flicker of pain on Florence’s face was answer enough. She turned her gaze away. “There were others,” she said quietly. “When a man is unable to have relations with his wife, it happens.”
Unable to have relations? Obviously, Mr. Winthrop had fixed his troubles in regard to sex with a little blue pill, and Florence had expressed a desire to garner her husband’s interest when she and Hazel had painted their nails. She couldn’t imagine what might be their problem.
Hazel released a sad sigh. “You’re more understanding than I would be in that situation.”
Florence cursed under her breath and caught Hazel by surprise. “It’s not so much that I’m understanding, but what could I have done about it? Leave him? In a town this small and repressed, life would be unbearable after a divorce.”
Hazel was glad she wasn’t the only one to admit Stonebridge had its share of troubles.
“I could have left town, but this is my home, and I love it here. This is where my friends are, where I’m comfortable. I’m not in a position to pack up and start over somewhere new. So, I turned a blind eye to his affairs. If that makes me a pathetic, silly… woman, then so be it. When you’ve walked in my shoes, then you can judge.”
Hazel put a hand to her mouth as the woman’s anguish washed through her. “Oh, Florence. I’m not judging you. I completely understand why you’d want to stay, and I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wish they’d find the murderer and put this whole mess to rest. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve that.”
Florence nodded as tears filled her eyes. “It’s been more than anyone should have to bear. Losing him was bad enough. Even if he wasn’t the best husband.”
“Of course, it has.”
Hazel switched the subject to the upcoming spring festival while they sipped their tea, filling the older woman in on all the latest, harmless gossip floating around town. She omitted any reference to Rachel or her disappearance. If someone else wanted to upset Florence with that news, they could.
Thirty minutes later, a knock startled them both and drew their gazes.
A tall, lean man about Mrs. Winthrop’s age stood at the entrance to the parlor with a questioning look on his kind face. “Florence? Is this a bad time?”
A smile as warm as the sun blossomed on Florence’s face. “Teddy.” She held out both hands as the man entered the room, walking with a limp.
He wrapped his fingers around hers and kissed both of her cheeks. “So good to see you. I was sorry to hear the news. Are you okay? Anything I can do?”
She sniffed though still smiling and shook her head. “I’d like to introduce you to Hazel Hardy. She owns the new teashop in town and has been a good friend to me. Hazel, this is Theodore Cornaby, a long-time friend and Stonebridge resident.”
Hazel shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cornaby.”
“Teddy,” he countered.
“Teddy, then.” She returned his smile. “You live here in town?” She’d thought she’d at least heard of, if not met, everyone in Stonebridge.
“On Vine Street. I’m out of town frequently.”
Hazel wanted to ask about another certain house near Vine on Hemlock and its former owners, but held her tongue.
“He owns a large, very successful conglomerate company. Isn’t that what you call it?” Florence glanced at her friend, obviously pleased with his success.
He seemed embarrassed by her flattery. “Yes, Florence. I’ve done well with my once small-time business. But I’m not here to talk about me. When I heard the news about Albert, I came straight away.”
“Thank you, Teddy. You’ve always been such a dear friend to me.”
The scene warmed Hazel’s heart. No one could mistake the affection between these two friends. “Have you known each other a long time?” she asked.
They looked at each other and smiled. “Since we were both youngsters,” Teddy answered. “In fact, in high school, I was so smitten I asked her to marry me.”
He chuckled. “She, of course, turned me down, which she should have. But we’ve never doubted we were meant to be friends.”
“It’s true, Teddy. You’ve always been dear to me.”
Hazel couldn’t help but think Florence might have been better off if she’d stuck with Teddy instead of falling for the nasty Mr. Winthrop. “I should go and let you visit.”
“Thank you for coming, dear,” Florence said. “You’re always a bright spot in my day.”
“Of course.” She sent the older woman a warm smile and then turned to her friend. “Very nice to meet you, Teddy. I hope we will run in to each other again soon.”
“Same here, Hazel. Any friend of Florence’s is a friend of mine.”
Fourteen
Gossip about poor Rachel Parker was all Hazel heard as she made her way through the aisles at the local grocery store after closing her shop for the day. It seemed the former maid and mistress of Albert Winthrop had been tried and convicted in the town’s eyes without any real evidence or a chance for her day in court.
Thank the Blessed Mother that Rachel had escaped this crazy town. Hazel hoped Rachel would be able to stay in hiding until authorities found the real murderer, and then, perhaps, she would go on to have a good life. That night when Hazel meditated, she’d send positive thoughts her way.
The clerk at the checkout counter was friendly as usual, but Hazel couldn’t help thinking how quickly that would change if someone accused her of forbidden activities. Which, she noted, she was actually guilty of, even if the town didn’t understand the nature of her spiritual practice.
Before she’d come to Stonebridge, she’d only spent a few hours researching what the town had p
ut online. It seemed like a beautiful place with a bit of unusual history. In her naiveté, she had hoped to come and little-by-little, change the remnants of the town’s perceptions of her kind and help them see what it really meant to be a witch.
At least what it meant to be a good witch. Both kinds existed in the world, but the good far outweighed the bad. Not only that, but she and her relatives did their part to help keep the bad in check.
Thoughts of Clarabelle’s questionable spells crept into her mind. Then again, there were always shades of gray. Maybe Clarabelle had done things she shouldn’t have. But one had to consider her reasons as well.
Hazel had her head down, focused on her deep thoughts as she exited the grocery store into the darkness and chill of early evening.
“Whoa,” a deep, far-too-familiar voice said, bringing her gaze up sharply. Peter’s hands caught her shoulders a second before she would have plowed into him. “Earth to Hazel,” he said with a chuckle.
“Sorry. I should have been paying attention.” She took a step back, creating a safer distance between them.
“Don’t worry about it. I got your back.”
Unless he learned of her heritage. If that happened, she had a sinking feeling he might have her neck instead. “Thanks.”
“Let me help you with those bags.” Before she could respond, he slid his hands between her stomach and the brown paper bags and pulled them from her. If she’d resisted, her actions would likely result in the bag tearing and freeing oranges to roll unfettered across the parking lot.
“Uh…thanks.” She sometimes wished the man wasn’t so helpful. The last time they’d been together in public had generated more than enough talk. This could only add to it.
“I haven’t seen you for a few days,” he said as they walked toward her car.
“Are you supposed to see me every day?” Her comment came out snarky, and she was immediately sorry. Just because he flustered her didn’t mean he deserved her rudeness.
“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind it when I do.”
She pushed the button on her key fob, and her trunk popped open. He set her bags inside and closed it with a loud whoosh.
“Thanks again.” She gave him a quick smile and turned toward the driver’s door.
“How are things going?” he asked, not dissuaded by an obvious brush off.
She let her fingers slide off the door handle in dismay and turned back to him. “Good, I suppose. Ankle is feeling much better.”
“That’s good to hear. Anything else you’ve heard regarding Mr. Winthrop?” He asked his question so casually that it caught her attention.
Inside, she smiled. He wanted information but didn’t want to admit she might be a better sleuth than he was this time.
She leaned back against her car, now enjoying their interlude. “No, not really. I did meet one of Mrs. Winthrop’s old friends today. Theodore Cornaby? Nice man.”
Chief Parrish leaned next to her, close enough she swore she could feel his body heat. “Ah, Teddy. The man who’s pined after Florence for fifty years.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Poor guy. They seemed like good friends, but you think he’s still in love with her?”
The chief gave her a friendly nudge with his elbow. “Did you not notice how he looked at her?” he said as though he’d one-upped her sleuthing skills that time.
Her pride bristled. “Maybe.” She thought back to the exchange earlier in the day. “Both of them were awfully happy to see each other. I thought it was just friendly, but…” She supposed the emotions she’d sensed could have been more than friendship.
“In all these years, he’s never married or had children. But, he’s always remained close to Florence. I recall one town festival when Albert Winthrop was out of town. She attended, which is rare, and if memory serves me, she and Teddy spent a considerable amount of time together throughout the evening. Not enough to cause gossip, but if one looked close enough…”
An outrageous, but possible scenario popped into her mind, and she turned to face him. “Are you suggesting that perhaps he and Florence have also had a love affair all these years?”
He narrowed his gaze as he considered her suggestion. “No, she seemed pretty devoted to her husband, even if he didn’t deserve it. But I’m not sure Teddy ever got over her.”
She opened her palms outward. “Then there’s another suspect for you to investigate. With Mr. Winthrop out of the picture, Teddy might have thought he’d have another chance.”
She released an exasperated sigh. “Except he’d mentioned today that he’d been out of town, so that eliminates him.”
“Unless he lied,” the chief countered. “I’ll check to see if he has a solid alibi. Then we can eliminate him if he does.”
He leaned away from the car and trapped her with his gaze. “Thanks for listening. You’re good at helping me think and process ideas.”
She blushed at his compliment. “Of course. You’re welcome.”
“We should have dinner sometime.”
His statement struck an equal mixture of fear and excitement into her heart. “Oh. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
He tilted his head. “Why not?”
She wrapped her arms about her to ward off the chill of the night. “People are already gossiping about us, speculating on a relationship. Dinner would only fuel that fire.”
He paused and seemed to consider her words. “So, does next week work for you?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Yeah. I did. I can’t see why that’s a problem, though.” He graced her with a heart-melting smile. “Think about it. I’ll check with you later,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
Hazel climbed into her car, still processing their conversation. Hadn’t she turned him down? She swore she had, but then why was he leaving her to think about it?
She briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. “Blessed Mother, please send strength and patience to me. I’m going to need all I can get.”
Fifteen
Hazel blended batches of herbs into tea in the backroom of the shop while Gretta tended the front. Snippets of information collided in her brain as she tried to piece together the murder.
Over the past few days, she’d puzzled over the chief’s suspicions regarding Teddy and Florence. Had they ever been more than friends back before she’d married? Were they more than friends now?
It didn’t help that she’d found Teddy at Florence’s house again the last time she’d delivered tea, which ramped up her concerns a hundred percent.
Rachel had been with Mr. Winthrop when he died, but Hazel didn’t believe she was guilty. Mrs. Jones certainly had cause to want him dead. After all, he’d been the reason her sister had taken her own life.
She had her suspicions about Mick, but she couldn’t see that there was any real evidence against him other than he was a voyeuristic creep. As far as she could tell, he’d gained nothing by Mr. Winthrop’s death.
Then there was Teddy, the jilted lover. He seemed like a kind man, and she hadn’t gotten any malicious vibes from him when he’d been near. That could be because he didn’t consider her a threat or because he wasn’t guilty.
Frustrated, she scooped the contents of her current creation into bags and tied them off.
Earlier that week, Gretta had noted that the summer season would be upon them soon, and they’d garner an influx of tourists wanting to experience a former witch town. Tea was likely to be a highly sought-after witch-like commodity, especially if she labeled them with catchy titles.
Hazel had expressed concern that she didn’t want others in town to question if she was a witch. Gretta had assured her that she’d passed the non-witch test months ago and that citizens of Stonebridge loved her.
Here she was a witch incognito, acting like a person who was pretending to be a witch, when really, she was the opposite. Talk about messed up.
She sighed a
nd stuck labels on tins for this batch. Love Potion #29. Drinking it would increase the chances of finding love before Valentine’s Day the following year.
She mentally shrugged. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Her concoction had worked on a friend in high school. Maybe it would work for others, too. Either way, it was a very sweet smelling, tasty tea, sure to please a lover’s palate.
When she finished, she gathered the five tins she’d just filled and hauled them out to the main room where she’d set up a special Witch’s Brew section and stacked them next to Heebie Jeebies Tea that promised to ward off bad spirits.
“What does that one do?” Gretta asked from behind the counter.
Hazel turned and grinned. “It’s a love potion.” She widened her eyes as though that made it more secret and potent.
They both laughed.
“Seriously, though. You watch,” Gretta said. “You’ll see an uptick in sales.”
Hazel straightened tins on the shelf and then crossed to where her employee stood at the counter. “I’m surprised the town goes for that sort of thing. They seem pretty against anything to do with witches.”
Gretta grinned and shook her head as though Hazel’s response was the silliest thing she’d heard all day. “Yes, but this is all for fun. It isn’t real.”
“Of course,” Hazel agreed. “That makes all the difference.”
She paused for a few beats and then plowed forward with the subject that had been on her mind all morning. “You know Teddy Cornaby, right?”
“Sure.” Gretta squirted cleaner on the glass counter and wiped. “He’s a very nice man.”
“He has been at Mrs. Winthrop’s the last two times I’ve visited, and she’s been very happy to have him there. Last time, I even felt as though they were in a hurry for me to leave, as though I was cramping their style. This is purely speculative, and I don’t want to start any gossip, but I wondered if you thought maybe their relationship could be more than friends.”
Gretta pondered for a few moments and then nodded. “Maybe. Yes, I could see where it could be a possibility. He is very protective of her. And, you know, there was this one time I remember very clearly that he took a swing at Mr. Winthrop.”