Hotter Than Spell (An Elemental Witches of Eternal Springs Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Annabel Chase

  “I know, Gerald, but I can’t let laziness win the day.”

  Buddy’s laziness, I take it?

  “Exactly.” Buddy was the type of man who’d wear a diaper on a cross-country journey, just to avoid walking from the car to the bathroom. Abigail, on the other hand, wasn’t lazy, just incompetent.

  I’m sorry your day was unpleasant, miss.

  A smile tugged at my lips. “It wasn’t all bad, to be honest. There was one silver lining.”

  Gerald flew around me in a circle. Do tell, miss. That sounds encouraging.

  I plucked an imaginary loose thread on the couch. “Do you remember Skywalker?”

  Gerald landed on the rug in front of me with a gentle thud. The young Jedi-in-training from the Cottonmouth Copse?

  I bit back a smile. “Yes, that’s him. It turns out he grew up to be an incredibly handsome pilot.” I retrieved a mental image of his droolworthy man chest. A woman could feast on that image for months, maybe even a lifetime. “He seems to know who I am.”

  If I recall correctly, you and your sister witches enjoyed quite a bit of fun at his expense. Does he know it was you?

  I pressed my lips together.

  Your silence suggests not. No matter, miss. It was many years ago and I’m sure you’ll be forgiven once you confess.

  “Confess?” I wasn’t even sure if or when I’d see him again. He’d managed to elude me this long on the island. Why plan on a confession?

  Well, forgive me for saying so, but you seem a bit smitten with him, Gerald said. If that’s the case, you’ll want to start a relationship with him on the right foot.

  I froze. “A relationship? Who said anything about a relationship? I just mentioned that I met a hot guy. No need to book the reception venue.”

  And when was the last time you’ve made such a mention?

  “Um, never.”

  Exactly my point, miss. Young Skywalker must be something special to catch your attention. You’re often so laser-focused on your tasks.

  “Don’t call him that,” I said. “His name is Lucas Holmes, and he seems really nice.” And hot. Did I mention his scorching hotness? As a fire witch, I greatly appreciate that quality in a man.

  How do you intend to proceed with the murder investigation? Gerald asked. I’m here to assist you, as always.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know.” The mention of Pete’s murder put me right back in my funk. Even thoughts of Lucas’s blue eyes weren’t enough to lift my spirits. I closed my eyes and exhaled softly. Maybe a good night’s sleep would do the trick.

  Which shall it be then, miss? Bonnie Tyler or Mitzi?

  Gerald knows me so well. When I’m having a difficult day, I choose one of two paths—one is ’80s power ballads. Bonnie’s Total Eclipse of the Heart, Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’, Heart’s Alone, and Night Ranger’s Sister Christian are my go-to’s. I sing them as loud and passionately as I can—sometimes I even stand in the shower—without the water turned on—just for the acoustics. Gerald generally has the good sense to flee the house for half an hour for the sake of his little armadillo eardrums.

  I pulled my knees to my chest. “I think I’m going to go with Mitzi on this one.”

  Excellent choice, miss, he said, and turned on the radio.

  I stared blankly at the wall, waiting for the show to start. It was a mind-numbingly boring local show—Knitter’s Circle with Mitzi Montgomery. Mitzi, Buddy’s much younger wife, is almost as annoying as her husband. She’s an obsessive knitter, probably a coping device to avoid her grating husband. If he wasn’t careful, one of these days she might lose her patience and stab him with one of those knitting needles. Anyway, indulging in the show was my little secret. I use it to relax after a stressful day, not that I would ever admit it to anyone. Skye would never let me live it down. The fact that she knows about the power ballads is bad enough.

  Mitzi yammered on about the variety of yarn colors, but my brain refused to calm. It was firing on all cylinders, the image of Pete on the bathroom floor burned into my retinas. I had to come up with a plan to solve the murder. Mitzi’s description of what was certainly an ugly knitted scarf wouldn’t help me with that. I tuned out the show and rose to my feet.

  Cup of tea, miss? Gerald offered.

  “No, thanks, Gerald,” I said. “I’m going to take a shower and then go to bed. I’m exhausted.” Physically and emotionally.

  The armadillo appeared alarmed. A shower?

  “Not to sing, Gerald. To think.” And wash off the stench of death, not to mention the Anchors Away men’s room.

  He relaxed slightly. Sounds like a good idea.

  I trudged up the stairs, turning the morning’s events in my mind. If Buddy and Abigail were going to find excuses not to investigate, no one else would pick up the slack unless the family demanded it. Someone with a stake in the outcome. Like me. I couldn’t afford to have a killer running around the island in advance of the competition. It could ruin the big event, and I’d worked months to make this a success. My selfish reasons aside, Pete deserved better. His killer had to be brought to justice. As much as I wanted to turn the other cheek and focus on my own job, I knew finding out what really happened was the right thing to do. I’d turned the other cheek once and it had resulted in disaster. I’d never do it again.

  In my bedroom, I opened the dresser drawer and immediately noticed the abhorrent mix of colors. It looked like an underwear massacre.

  “Gerald!” I yelled.

  He fluttered into the room, huffing and puffing, his bottom dragging on the floor. He really did need to think about a diet. His butt was going to get carpet burns.

  Yes, miss?

  “What happened to my drawer?” I asked.

  Gerald peered inside. Oh, dear. Yes, I forgot to mention…

  “You forgot to mention what? Gerald, why are you rooting around in my underwear drawer?” It was uncomfortable on so many levels.

  It’s not what you think, miss. I’ve been trying to help you organize.

  I closed the drawer and looked at him. “I appreciate the effort, Gerald, I really do, but whatever you’re doing isn’t working. It’s an eyesore in there.” I pressed my fingertips to my temples. “I think I feel a migraine coming on.”

  I’ll fetch your ibuprofen and a glass of water.

  “Thank you. If you leave it downstairs, I’ll take it after my shower.” I needed ten minutes of peace and quiet. I adored Gerald, but sometimes I just wanted to be alone.

  I went into the bathroom and closed the door. My gaze drifted to the toilet and I pictured Pete’s body on the floor. Abigail and Buddy’s assumptions were wrong. I knew it in my gut. His pants had still been fastened. It didn’t appear as though he’d been using the facilities. Not yet anyway. Someone had caught him off guard.

  I turned on the water, the gears in my mind clicking away. There were so many possibilities. Pete’s brother would be a good place to start, though. If the two brothers worked together, then they were probably close, so Mike would know if Pete had any enemies. Not to mention—if Mike was deeply unhappy about Pete’s decision to leave their company, that was a solid motive for murder.

  As I showered, I felt a song rise in my throat. With a mental apology to Gerald, I began to belt out the lyrics to Sister Christian. It seemed appropriate. Although I didn’t know him, somehow, I knew Pete would have appreciated my choice.

  I woke earlier than usual, ready to start the day. If I was going to fit a murder investigation into my already-packed schedule. I needed to rise to the occasion.

  Gerald was unprepared for my change in plans. He fluttered anxiously around the kitchen, muttering about unionizing.

  “Just a banana for now, Gerald,” I said. “I’m heading to the forest before I go to the office. I’m going to make like a Girl Scout and be prepared.”

  When you say the forest, do you mean the Cottonmouth Copse?

  I shrugged. “It’s the only place to gather cackleberries.” If
I intended to interview potential suspects, the cackleberrries might come in handy. The key ingredient in truth serum, they only grew in this small area on the island.

  Zola should have the fruit available. Why not try her shop?

  “Zola and I aren’t on the best terms right now.” Zola is the earth witch in our elemental group.

  You only need tell her you weren’t involved.

  “What’s the point? She always believes Skye.” Skye had recently played a prank on Zola and made sure to frame me as the guilty party. More bang for her witchy tricks. I’d been too busy to defend my honor, so I knew Zola was probably plotting her revenge.

  Then I shall accompany you to the copse, miss. Those trees can be quite nasty.

  “That won’t be necessary. I can handle the trees. They’re all talk and no action.”

  Then I shall come simply for the pleasure of your company.

  “Fine.” There was no point in arguing. The sun was shining and we were alive. I decided to focus on that.

  I placed Gerald in the basket of my scooter and backed out of the driveway. Despite my helmet, I heard the loud flapping wings.

  “Good morning, Stuart,” I said, not bothering to glance to my left.

  “An expedition, is it? I’m available to join.”

  “I’m not Christopher Robin and we are not headed into the Hundred Acre Wood,” I said.

  “Oh, I love Winnie the Pooh,” Stuart exclaimed. “Are you a fan?”

  I groaned and continued driving. Stuart flew along beside us.

  I don’t trust him, miss. He may try to off me while we’re in the forest.

  You can defend yourself, Gerald, I replied. Your magic is impressive in its own right.

  “Where are we going?” Stuart asked. “It’s the Cottonmouth Copse, right? I knew it. You’re hunting for cackleberries.”

  “Pipe down, Stuart,” I said. “You never know who’s within earshot.”

  I fixed him with my hard stare. “You really know more than you should.”

  “Then you may as well use it to your advantage,” Stuart said.

  I parked my scooter in a clearing and hung my helmet on the handlebars by its strap. “You know what? I will. Your job is to be the lookout. If anyone comes while Gerald and I are gathering berries, sound the alarm.”

  “Like this?” Stuart let loose an ear-splitting noise that made me wince in pain.

  “Maybe less blatant,” I said. “Fly above the trees so you can see further afield. Gives us more lead time.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain Kenna.” Stuart saluted me with his wing and flew off.

  I winked at Gerald. “That takes care of him. I mean, no one ever comes here except us witches.”

  I couldn’t avoid the sarcastic trees, not if I wanted cackleberries. Only the trees near the Blathering Brook housed the souls of the dead. That’s why we witches call it the Cottonmouth Copse. Thankfully, we’re the only people who can hear their chatter. It took a rather confident personality to stave off their abuse.

  “As I live and breathe,” Agatha said.

  “You may live,” I said, “but you certainly don’t breathe.”

  “I rely on oxygen, same as you,” Agatha countered. “That qualifies as breathing.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What happened to you anyway?” Agatha asked. “You were a lot prettier the last time I saw you.”

  I whipped around, ready to hurl my basket at her trunk.

  “Never mind them, Kenna,” Earl said. Hands down, he was the nicest tree in the copse. Well, he was the only nice tree in the copse. “I think you look like a young Elizabeth Taylor fresh off the set of Cleopatra set.”

  I swung my dark hair over my shoulder. “Thank you, Earl.”

  The other trees made kissing noises.

  “Why don’t you just marry her, Earl?” Myra jeered. “Have ten little saplings and live happily ever after?”

  I ignored the trees and began the search for cackleberries, parting every potential bush in sight.

  “If you’re looking for cackleberries, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Earl said.

  I straightened. “Why? What happened?”

  “Skye came through here not so long ago,” Agatha said. “Her and that inappropriate mouth of hers.”

  “She cleaned out the remaining cackleberries,” Myra said.

  “I wish she’d clean out her mouth with soap,” Agatha added.

  I smacked my forehead. I knew exactly when that had happened. Skye had accidentally fed us truth serum at Coconuts one night. The after-effects still made my head pulse with pain when I thought about it too much.

  Gerald began flying over the more difficult-to-reach bushes. Let me investigate these areas. Skye may have missed some.

  “Even if she did, we need a lot,” I said.

  “Incoming,” Stuart shrieked. He zoomed through the trees, nearly colliding with one of Myra’s branches.

  “Incoming?” I queried. “You can’t be serious. Who on earth…?” There was no time to finish the question.

  “Ooh, it’s Skywalker,” Myra cooed. “I love it when he comes to visit.”

  Sure enough, Lucas Holmes entered the copse, looking as shocked to see me as I was to see him. Gerald dropped to the ground as if he’d been smacked down by gravity.

  “Your armadillo is so cool,” he said.

  “What are you doing here, Lucas?” I asked.

  “He’s checking out your boobs, that’s what he’s doing,” Myra said.

  Agatha sniffed. “He’d need a magnifying glass for those mosquito bites.”

  “They’re solid grapefruits,” I said heatedly.

  “Maybe even cantaloupes, depending on where you are in your cycle,” Earl added.

  I cringed as the trees cackled.

  Lucas’s brow creased. “I don’t think you’ll find grapefruits here. Just some weird berries.” He surveyed the area. “Though I don’t see any now.”

  “Where’s Leia?” I asked.

  “I left her home,” he said. “This is where I come to…to…”

  Play with your lightsaber, I nearly said. This was the spot where we’d caught him, all those years ago.

  “He’s a regular,” Agatha said. “We see him all the time.”

  “He’s the highlight of my week,” Myra said.

  “A line of ants in front of your trunk is the highlight of your week,” Agatha said. “That’s not saying much.”

  Lucas grinned sheepishly. “I come here to think, actually. I call it my thinking spot.”

  I’d never heard anything so adorable in my life. And I lived with a pink fairy armadillo.

  “Me, too,” I lied. I didn’t know how else to explain my presence.

  “I think he likes you,” Agatha said. “And here I thought he was normal.”

  “Of course he’s going to like her,” Myra complained bitterly. “She’s not a tree.”

  I did my best to ignore their running commentary so I could focus on Lucas.

  “Have you been coming here since we were kids?” I asked. I found it difficult to believe this guy had escaped my notice for the past thirteen years. Then again, I did run around the island with my head up my keister most of the time, as Skye would say. I was hyper focused on achievement and little else.

  “Pretty much,” Lucas replied.

  “Why didn’t you leave the island at the first opportunity?” I asked. That was what half the high school graduates did anyway, not that I was resentful of their freedom or anything.

  “I wasn’t going to leave Carly behind,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s my younger sister. She still had three years to go.”

  “What about once she graduated?”

  “Her senior year, my parents announced their divorce, which was the best news Carly and I ever heard.”

  I laughed. “That’s not what most kids say.”

  “They would if they had parents who fought the way ours did,” Lucas said. “That’s one of the main
reasons I started coming here, to escape the shouting and the name calling.”

  “You came here…to escape?” That boy with his lightsaber that we ridiculed mercilessly had come here to escape his horrible home life. Oh, Goddess. I was a monster.

  “My parents moved to different parts of the mainland as soon as Carly graduated, so we decided to stay. Carly had a serious boyfriend, and I…”

  “You, what?” I asked. Oh no. Did he have a serious girlfriend?

  “I didn’t have anywhere I’d rather be. Without the dark cloud of my parents hanging over me, I discovered I actually enjoyed living here. I left to train as a pilot and came straight back to take over the charter flights when Larry retired.”

  Larry Highland had been the main island pilot for as long as I could remember. His lush white hair and deep tan were famous among the older ladies of Eternal Springs.

  “Do you and Carly still live together?” I asked.

  Lucas blushed. “No, I think that would be weird at our ages. She lives with Todd, her boyfriend. The same one from high school. I have a small place on the beach, not far from the airfield.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “Ask him if there’s room for you,” Agatha urged.

  “It’s a little more isolated than where you live, but it suits me,” he said.

  I cringed, imagining a cramped bachelor pad with stacks of newspaper and dirty dishes scattered over the countertops.

  “And you still come out to the copse to think?” I asked. “Why bother when you already live in semi-isolation?”

  “A change of scenery helps me think,” he said. “I like nature. The breeze that shakes the leaves. The sound of the babbling brook.”

  “You weren’t kidding,” I said. “You really do like living here.”

  He turned the interrogation toward me. “And you don’t? You’re the director of tourism. You’re the island’s biggest cheerleader.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. “I have a complicated relationship with the island.” I was telling the truth—involuntary imprisonment was complicated.