A Spell of Murder
an Ella Sweeting Aromatherapy Magic cozy mystery
Lisbeth Reade
Contents
1. A Spell of Murder
2. Sign Up
3. Chapter 1
4. Chapter 2
5. Chapter 3
6. Chapter 4
7. Chapter 5
8. Chapter 6
9. Chapter 7
10. Chapter 8
11. Chapter 9
12. Chapter 10
13. Chapter 11
14. Chapter 12
15. Copyright
A Spell of Murder
Lisbeth Reade
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Chapter 1
“Concentrate,” Trouble hissed.
“How can I if you keep saying ‘concentrate’? It’s very distracting,” I told the cat.
He immediately started licking one of his giant paws, though whether in annoyance or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. I turned my attention back to the spell at hand. I was trying to change an apple from red to green. It was a deceptively easy magical task. You stare at the apple and mentally whisper the color you want it to be, and poof!
Except… no poof. I could feel the tension — or tingling, whatever you wanted to call the sensation that signaled I was using magic — but the apple stubbornly stayed red.
I flopped down on the edge of my bed and Livvie, a smoky gray cat, bumped her head against my shoulder. I gave her ears a scratch. She sat on her haunches and I held the apple up for her examination. She sniffed it.
“Smells different,” she mused.
I knew what she meant. Magic seemed to almost leave a scent hanging in the air. It was a hint of something, but I wasn’t quite sure about it yet.
I had only become a witch about a week before, on my twenty-second birthday, and I hadn’t really got a grip on it yet. I was still dealing with the weirdness of not only having three magical aunts but two talking cats, to boot. The Aunts said the cats were their familiars and I might attract one of my own someday, but for now I had Trouble, who was the biggest black tom I had ever seen, and the slightly more delicate Livvie to keep me company.
“I’ll give it one more try,” I told her.
I placed the apple next to her. She eyed it. I eyed it. I summoned my magic and aimed a command at the apple.
“Are you doing it yet?” Trouble asked.
“Shh, I smell magic,” Livvie told him.
“Then why isn’t it changing colors?”
I frowned, putting my hands on my hips. “Well that’s disappointing.”
“It smells like magic,” Livvie insisted.
I picked it up and bit into it. Still tasted like a red apple, but when I looked down the inside was Granny Smith green. I whooped!
“Is that for me?”
Startled, I tossed the apple up in the air and spun around in time to see Rory catch it one handed. I clapped, delighted. He looked down at the apple. It was all green now.
He frowned. “Funny… thought this apple was red a minute ago. Maybe I need new contacts.” He shook he head and looked at me. “You ready to go?”
I shared a meaningful look with Livvie. She spun around in a circle. Trouble slunk under the bed. I turned back to look at Rory, knowing my eyes were sparkling with mischief. His hair was a lovely chestnut brown and disheveled in that way that made you just want to reach out and touch it. I resisted the urge just now since I had a cat audience.
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “Where are we going?”
He winked and my heart did a little flip flop. This was our first official date. We had hung out off and on since the Stewart murder case was solved but this was the first time we were properly going out.
I was wearing a white cotton dress with black and red poppies along the hem. I didn’t want to look too dressed up or down, and this outfit did the trick. My hair was loose, makeup light. He’d apparently dressed up a bit in a nice pair of slacks and an Oxford shirt.
“It’s a surprise,” he said, and glanced at his watch. “And if we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late.”
I stepped into a pair of high-heeled espadrilles and followed him down stairs. The Aunts were in the drawing room, arguing about the proper way to make candles. When my 60’s mod style Aunt Sarah saw him she waved, but kept the other two from rushing out to mob us. It didn’t stop them from calling out though.
“Have a good time, you two,” Auntie Joe said saucily.
“Have her home by ten, there’s a good lad,” Aunt Hazel added.
“Enough,” I said, laughing. “We’ll be fine.”
I thought I saw my mother peeking out from the kitchen but I was probably imagining things. Even though I’d read her the riot act for her resistance to Rory based on his social standing, and she’d finally agreed to tolerate my friendship with him, I figured she’d want to pretend this date wasn’t happening.
Outside, Rory’s old beat up car was sparkling. Maybe we were going for a drive? That would be exciting in that Chevy Nova. He opened the door for me and I hopped in.
My curiosity peaked when we passed my favorite pizza place and the excellent Chinese food place. We even passed the old movie theater that showed double features of old movies. Where were we going? The park? No, we passed that too, and suddenly we were heading into the heart of town. He slowed down outside La Beck.
“Here?”
La Beck was the most expensive French restaurant in town. Rory couldn’t afford this! He was a mailman. His father had lost all his money in risky ventures back when we were in school together. This was way out of his budget.
“Yup!” He got out and handed his keys to the valet. The valet beamed at me, but frowned at Rory’s car. “Take good care of her,” Rory told the valet.
“Yes, sir.” The valet sounded pretty doubtful, though.
He climbed into the old Nova like it was full of nasty things and drove it away, leaving us standing in front of the elegant fa��ade of La Beck. I felt like a skittish horse. How could I order something here? It could easily cost Rory a whole paycheck. But then, how could I not? That would be so insulting.
“Oh, don’t look so worried,” he said, taking my arm. “I’ve got this covered.”
“How could you—?”
“Ella, your face gives away every single emotion. But seriously, don’t worry. Tonight is just for us,” he said with a wink.
Inside, the atmosphere was open but still felt intimate. Little tables covered in white and silver damask tablecloths filled the room like dollops of cream. The decor was a little too Louis the XIV for me, with the heavy brocade on chairs and the delicately carved lintels and columns, but the scent of the food was fantastic.
The ma��tre d’ led us to a small table under an arch dripping with fleur-de-lis. Rory pulled the chair out for me, and I sat, his chivalry making me feel a bit tingly inside.
The waiter handed us menus and crystal water glasses and disappeared. He was tall and thin, with neatly trimmed black hair, and pale blue eyes that didn’t meet mine. I frowned as he walked away. He looked so familiar; I was sure I knew him, but his name wasn’t coming to me. Grr. It was like a jigsaw missing a piece.
“It’s Thomas Cambridge,” Rory whispered.
“Oh,” I breathed. That hit hard. Thomas went to
school with us, too. What was he doing working as a waiter?
“You should really be looking at the table to the right of you, anyway,” Rory whispered.
“Why?”
“Just look,” he said, eyes wide.
I turned and saw four older couples about my parents’ age sitting at a large table. What was Rory talking about? And then the one with longish, silver-touched brown hair with turned and I gasped.
“Oh my goodness! Is that Hank Stillwater from that band? Oh, they were all the rage when we were kids… What was it called, Run something?”
“Run of the Indifferent!” We said it together and collapsed into giggles.
“Their drummer Neil is there too. Neil Campbell, I think? That’s definitely Hank’s wife Evelyn. Wow,” Rory gushed. “I have all their CDs.”
He grabbed my hand in his enthusiasm and I felt a warm blush creep into my cheeks. It was still there when Thomas came back to take our orders.
“Did you see who is at the next table?” Rory asked him.
Thomas rolled his eyes. “His Majesty Hank Stillwater? Yeah, I’m working that table, too. He’s already sent back two perfectly good, perfectly expensive bottles of Cabernet. Nothing’s good enough for the bastard.”
I was taken aback by the intensity of his anger, but then he took a deep breath and put his waiter face back on. He told us the specials, but I already knew what I wanted.
“I’ll have the Sole Meuni��re,” I told Thomas.
“Um, I’ll have the Magret de Canard,” Rory said, his French accent better than mine. I beamed at him as I ordered a white and he ordered a red wine.
“Okay, I’ll put that right in for you,” Thomas said with a smile. The other table called out for him and Thomas’ smile became fixed, looking more like a grimace, if you asked me. “If you’ll excuse me…”
I turned back to Rory and kept beaming. We were still holding hands.
“This is wonderful,” I said. “Talk about spoiling a girl. We could have just had pizza, you now.”
He snorted. “Yeah, no way. I need to make a good impression on you. We can save the sauce and cheese flavored cardboard for the second date.”
“Good,” I joked. “‘Cuz I was going to offer to pay for the second date and that makes you a pretty cheap date.”
He pulled his hand back. What did I say? Oh, I had a bad habit of sticking my foot in it sometimes. He looked down at his water glass. I bit my lip. It was probably about money. Rory’s dad had lost all his and now here I was trying to do what? Remind him? Ugh.
I glanced over to see everyone staring at Thomas. He had his waiter’s notepad out and said, “How would you like that cooked? Well done, like you’re career?” he said to Hank.
The tips of Hank’s ears turned pink. “Medium,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “And if I were you I would watch what I said to my betters.”
“You’re not my better,” Thomas told him. “You’re just the jerk that cheated my father out of our fortune.”
“Or maybe I was just smarter than your father. Did you ever think of that? Your father was a fool and it looks like his son is, too,” Hank said dismissively. “Make sure the sauce doesn’t break this time will you? Can you do that much?”
Thomas took a step towards Hank, but a well dressed older man came out of the back and stepped between them. “Hello, Hank. Not having trouble here, are you?”
“I don’t think much of the caliber of your servers,” Hank said.
Rory was frowning at the other table but not at me. He clearly didn’t like the way his idol was talking to Thomas. I didn’t think much of it either, but famous people could be rough on waiters. Somehow it seemed personal this time.
“Hank,” Carl said, exasperated. “Give the kid a break.” He turned to Thomas. “I think you should go check on the kitchen, okay?”
“Sure, Carl,” Thomas said too brightly and disappeared into the back.
“You should fire him,” Hank said. “He’s a bad seed Carl, just like his father.”
“Jim Cambridge is a fine man. All my customers are,” he said diplomatically. “Come and have a cigar with me when you’re done dinner.”
Hank nodded. “Just go back there and make sure that idiot doesn’t spit in my food and you have a deal.”
Suddenly I was reevaluating my enjoyment of Run of the Indifferent. Judging by the uncomfortable looks the rest of the diners were giving Hank, they were, as well.
But enough of all that. I was on a date! I turned back to Rory and gave him a bright smile. He returned it. I decided to forget about the other table. There were much more interesting things happening at my table anyway.
Thomas reappeared carrying our food. He placed our food on the table with a flourish. “Here you go, some fancy eats. I hope you enjoy. Bon app��tit!”
I pointed to Rory’s plate. “That looks delicious.”
“Yeah,” he beamed. “It does. As does yours.” He took a forkful and hummed with pleasure.
I took a bite of my own and it was thrilling. The fish was perfectly cooked and the sauce was bright. My wine complemented it perfectly. I took a few more bites before stealing a bite off his plate. He retaliated and soon we were laughing and joking.
“How is everything?” Thomas asked reappearing at our table. His smile was definitely brittle.
Oh, forget my good resolutions. I couldn’t help myself. “What does Hank Stillwater have against you?” I asked.
“What do I have against him, you mean? Don’t worry about it. Carl pulled me off their table. Rich people are the worst,” he said. “How’s the food?”
“Great,” we said together, grinning at one another.
Thomas snorted. “Dessert?”
“Yes, definitely,” Rory said. I bit my lip. The bill was already going to be outrageous. Adding desert on top was going to break Rory’s bank. Why was he doing this? He didn’t need to impress me this much. I would have been happy with a kiss and a picnic.
But Thomas was handing me a dessert menu, and Rory clearly wanted me to choose something.
I picked the mocha pots de cr��me. “Why don’t we share it,” I suggested. Then I waggled my eyebrows at him until he snorted. He nodded and Thomas wandered off towards the back near the bathrooms.
“My dad used to bring me here,” Rory said.
“Really? I can see why, the food is amazing,” I said. He took my hand again.
“I didn’t think so then,” he confided. “My dad loved to order frog legs and escargot. They would always have to make me macaroni and cheese. It was much better this time.”
“Because you like grown up food?”
“Well, that too, but mostly because of the company,” he told me. I felt a little melty on the inside when he said that, just like the dessert that was on its way.
A different server brought out the mocha pots de cr��me. At first I figured Thomas was busy with something else in the kitchen, but then when I looked at the other table I saw a few servers bringing out an impossibly large cake. Carl was right behind them, along with Thomas and what looked like every other employee in the restaurant.
“To my dear friend Hank, the happiest of birthdays,” Carl announced. He clapped his hands together and all of the servers sang Happy Birthday while Thomas lit the candles on top of the cake. The band joined in, making it the most harmonious version of that song I had ever heard. Even Rory and I joined in, laughing at ourselves. When the song ended, Hank stood up and blew out the candles.
“Well, isn’t this nice,” Hank said, grinning at all of us. He stuck a finger in the icing. “Sugar, my favorite!” The table applauded. He grabbed a handful of cake and shoved it into his mouth. His wife frowned, but everyone else loved it. “Thank you my friends, my family. Every day is sacred, especially birthdays. Thank you, Carl. You’re a true friend.”
Carl slapped him on the back. “Or maybe I’m trying to kill you with diabetes?”
Hank laughed. “Well good going then, be
cause I am going to eat this whole thing. Minus a few pieces for my fellows here.”
That signaled the end to the show and the servers drifted away in ones and twos. Carl and Thomas disappeared into the back. Neil and Hank ate some cake and then stood up and excused themselves from the table.
I turned back to Rory, feeling guilty for being obsessed with the show going on at the next table. But he was also rubbernecking. It really was like our own tabloid show.
We ate our the mocha pots de cr��me like warriors. I circled to scoop up as much of the whip cream as possible. He would circle the other way to get as much of the creme as he could. We actually clashed forks over it a few times. But like a true gentleman he offered me the last bite. I took it. How could I not? I just love chocolate.
He didn’t even let me see the check when Thomas brought it out. He just signed off on it and handed it back. I sipped the last of my glass of wine, savoring the crisp taste.
“I’m going to go powder my nose,” Rory told me, and I giggled. He always had something cute and funny to say.
He got up and headed to the back of the restaurant. I glanced over at the celebrity table and noticed Hank still wasn’t back. Now where could he have gotten to?
Someone let out a yell. Everyone in the restaurant froze, looking around wildly. Then Rory came stumbling out of the back, his face drained of blood.
I stood up and raced towards to him, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. What had happened? He was trembling.
“Someone call 911,” he said shakily. “Hank Stillwater is dead.”
Chapter 2
It was as if someone had shouted, “Fire!” The people in the restaurant started screaming and edging towards the door.
I let go of Rory so I could get a look at Hank’s body. He grabbed me and tried to pull me back, but I needed to see. I could see Hank’s legs in the hallway from where I stood. I took another step forward and saw his face. His eyes were red and I saw the ends of a red tie lying across his neck. I turned back to see Evelyn standing behind me.
“Is he…” she began before dissolving into hysterical sobs. I heard Carl on the phone calling 911 but they were probably already on their way, judging from the amount of people who had rushed out of here.
A Spell of Murder: An Ella Sweeting Aromatherapy Magic Cozy Mystery (Ella Sweeting: Witch Aromatherapist Cozies Book 2) Page 1