Parents and Poisonings: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Lainswich Witches Book 6)

by Raven Snow

  They set up in Rose’s room. The rest of the family was still giving them their space—probably so that they could go hassle Willow and Peony for answers. Those two had been calling around nonstop since Rowen had given them the go ahead for the article. Credit where it was due, they could motivate themselves to get serious work done when it meant beating Julia Martinez to a story. Even she didn’t know the full scoop here.

  Setting up for the séance didn’t draw any attention. Fortunately, Rose had everything she needed already in her room. “Your family is so weird,” Eric muttered as he watched Rose pull out a drawer jam packed with candles sorted by color.

  Rose and Rowen set up a circle. They lit the candles and gathered around it, Rose switching off the lights before she sat down. “I guess you’re going to lead?” she asked Rowen.

  “I guess so.” She was the only one here with this sort of thing in her blood, after all. The other two could lend their energy to the séance, but they wouldn’t be able to hear Trish if she spoke to them.

  “Don’t know who else is going to do it,” said Eric. He knew the drill by now. He held his hands out to Rose and Rowen. It was more a triangle than a circle, but it should work the same.

  “Clear your minds,” Rowen instructed, closing her own eyes as she did so. “Think of Trish Lydell. Focus on what she looked like. Focus on the sound of her voice. Focus on the last time you saw her.”

  “I can only focus on one thing at a time,” Eric said.

  “Just focus,” snapped Rowen. She tried her best to do the same, visualizing Trish in her mind’s eye. An image of her jumped easily into her mind. After all, she had only just seen her this morning. For some time, she sat there picturing her, thinking about her, willing her to speak.

  A slight breeze swept through the room. Rowen felt goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. “Trish?” she asked aloud. “Is that you? Are you here with us?”

  Rowen didn’t hear a ‘yes’ so much as she just felt a reply in the affirmative. Séances didn’t always work the way they did in the movies. Often times, vocalizing language through the veil of death was difficult for ghosts. Usually, you only got images and impressions to work with. That’s what Rowen was getting now.

  “Is she there?” asked Rose.

  “She’s here,” said Rowen. The Ouija board was a little unreliable in terms of attracting the right spirit. You left yourself more open during a séance, though. Rowen knew this was Trish. “We’re all very sorry this happened to you,” said Rowen.

  “Very sorry,” added Rose, sounding like she really meant it. She might not care if Mrs. Williamson went to jail, but she had actually liked Trish a bit. She did seem genuinely upset that she had died in the way she had. She seemed to maybe even feel a bit guilty. If Rowen was being honest with herself, she did too.

  A reply from Trish was immediate and a bit negative. Rowen could feel her acknowledging their apologies. She could also sense her indifference towards them. She didn’t care that they were sorry. Their sorries meant nothing to her. She was dead.

  “I hope you found your brother,” said Rowen, realizing there probably wouldn’t be much in the way of making amends in the time they had together. “I hope the two of you find some sort of peace.”

  Rowen sensed some confusion. After such a traumatic death, Trish was a bit turned around and out of sorts. She was scared, but mostly she was angry.

  “Calm down,” said Rowen. “You’ll get the hang of being a spirit faster if you calm down…I assume. That’s the way it seems to work, anyway.” Knowing that Trish didn’t have the best handle on what she was doing, Rowen decided it was probably best to get to the meat of why she was contacting her. “We understand you were murdered.”

  The air itself seemed to vibrate. “I felt that,” said Eric, sounding a bit excited by that fact.

  “Me, too,” said Rose, sounding less excited. She was right to be wary. The vibrations were unhappy ones.

  “Can you tell us who murdered you?” asked Rowen.

  The vibrations continued, but now pictures came paired with them. Images flashed before Rowen’s closed eyes. She saw Mrs. Williamson’s house. She saw Mrs. Williamson. ‘Anita.’ She heard the word ringing in her skull like someone was shouting it at her. There was hatred there and a great need for revenge.

  “Are you saying your sister murdered you?” asked Rowen. Again, she sensed an answer in the affirmative. “Are you sure?” she asked. This still didn’t feel right. It still felt like she was missing something important.

  The vibrations returned. They were stronger and angrier than ever. Rose’s lamp fell off her nightstand. Trish clearly didn’t like being doubted.

  “Do you know anything that might help us help others discover the truth then?” asked Rowen, switching tactics.

  The vibrations eased. A vision of a phone sprung to Rowen’s mind. She saw it clearly laying on a stretch of beige carpet.

  “We know about the phone call,” said Rowen. “We already—”

  A knock on the door made Rowen’s eyes snap open. “The whole house was just shaking,” Aunt Lydia called loudly through the door. “You’re not communing with the dead in there, are you?”

  Rowen tried to ignore her and focus on the spirit before it could get away. She could no longer sense Trish though. “Not anymore!” she called back, annoyed.

  “Well, as long as you’re finished!” Aunt Lydia replied, unfazed. “People are trying to sleep, you know.”

  Rowen groaned. It was moments like these that reminded her just how thankful she was to have her own home again. “Trish?” she called, but there was no answer.

  “Is she gone?” asked Eric.

  “It certainly seems that way,” said Rowen, letting go of Rose’s and Eric’s hands.

  “Contact her again,” said Eric. “You got in touch with her easily enough the first time.”

  “No,” Rose said quickly. “It sounds like she was already confused, and talking with us was making her mad. Let’s leave her alone. Let her get used to what’s happening to her. Too much interference, and she could be stuck here for good.”

  “Rose is right,” said Rowen. “It would be cruel to keep calling her back. Unfortunately, I think we have about all we’re going to get out of her anyway.”

  “We didn’t find anything out,” said Eric.

  “Exactly.” Rowen groaned and flopped onto the floor and onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

  “We found out Ben’s mom definitely did it,” Rose offered. “That’s what she said. That’s what happened.”

  “That’s what she thinks happened,” corrected Rowen, unwilling to let this go quite yet.

  “Seriously?” asked Rose. “How much more evidence do you need? The plant in the baggie. The voicemail. She’s just plain awful. Everything is sort of piling up, isn’t it?”

  “There’s nothing conclusive,” said Eric. “None of these things you guys have found proves something beyond a shadow of doubt.”

  “And if there’s a chance that Mrs. Williamson didn’t do this and you can prove it, I think Ben would appreciate that,” said Rowen. “I don’t think he’s going to thank you for condemning his mother based on your best guess.”

  “Well, I can’t condemn her,” Rose muttered. “A jury will do that, but…point made. I’ll keep an open mind.”

  “For now, we should probably get all the facts,” said Eric. “Let’s see what Willow and Peony have uncovered.”

  Willow and Peony were downstairs, stretched out on opposite ends of the sofa, watching Julia Martinez on television. They had a laptop on the coffee table and some notes scattered around it. Both jumped when Rowen came marching into the room.

  “I’m not sure this is what I had in mind when I told you two to gather facts,” said Rowen, unsurprised.

  “We gathered all the facts,” said Willow.

  “Well, most of the facts,” said Peony. “We gathered the facts we could find.”

  “We’re reviewing them
now,” said Willow, pointing to the television.

  “Julia Martinez has all the facts,” Peony explained.

  “Not all of them,” said Rose.

  Rowen decided not to elaborate on that just yet. “What have you found out?” she asked instead.

  Willow indicated the television again. When it became clear Rowen and company weren’t just going to sit down and watch it too, she sighed. Willow and Peony both sat up. Willow grabbed the laptop as Peony snatched up the notes and began to flip through them. “Well, we’re not sure if she was formally charged with anything, but Anita Williamson was taken into police custody at eleven forty-five tonight,” Willow told them.

  Peony nodded. “Sources say that there were signs of foul play. They originally thought it was a suicide. A key to Mrs. Williamson’s home was found on Trish Lydell’s keychain. She was thought to have let herself in while Mrs. Williamson was off on her usual afternoon run.”

  Willow tabbed down on her laptop and continued from there. “Mrs. Williamson returned home to find the door unlocked, the house in disarray, and Ms. Lydell hanging from…gosh, I don’t know. Somewhere.” Willow shuddered.

  “Further investigation revealed that Ms. Lydell suffered blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” continued Trish, picking up where her sister had left off. “They haven’t determined a cause of death yet. There hasn’t been time for an autopsy, but Ms. Lydell had enough superficial wounds to suggest there had been a struggle.”

  “And that’s about it,” said Willow. “More or less. Her family hasn’t been available for comment…But we had Ben here, so maybe we have a comment.”

  “What’s your source on all of this?” asked Rowen.

  Willow pointed to the television again. “Our friend Jenny from dispatch backed it up,” Peony added. Neither of them seemed thrilled about this story.

  “I should probably fill you in on the rest of the details,” said Rowen. They had a lot of work ahead of them if they were going to break this by morning, after all.

  Willow and Peony both sat up a little straighter. Their attention turned to Rose, Rowen, and Eric as they explained the whole weird tale. It took the better part of an hour. By the time they were done, Willow and Peony were wide awake.

  “Geez,” said Willow. “Poor Ben.”

  “Poor Trish,” said Peony.

  “All right,” said Rowen. “I guess I’m spending the night here. I’ll help you guys put a story together.” She looked at Rose. “Do you think you can handle getting this out there in the morning?”

  “Sure, but what are you going to be doing?”

  Rowen looked over at her husband who shot her a knowing look back. “Solving this mystery,” she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Working on the article lasted late into the night. It was difficult to find the right words. Rowen wanted to get the truth out there. They all did. At the same time, they didn’t want to just throw Ben and his family under the bus. Life was going to be rough for them in these coming weeks. It was important that they stay impartial, but it was also important that they didn’t paint their friend in too negative a light. He had only been doing what he felt was best.

  In the end, the article was pretty blunt. All the same, they were all happy with it. It was the best they could hope to come up with by morning. It certainly got the point across, and that was what was important.

  Rowen and Eric slept in the living room. The attic room had already been taken. The house was a full one, and any free space was always quick to be claimed.

  It was Aunt Lydia who woke them up. She didn’t do it on purpose. If anything, she was being unusually quiet. It was the smell of coffee that drew them both to the kitchen.

  “Well, good morning you two,” she said, standing next to the coffee pot in a fuzzy blue robe. “I thought you spent the night. Looks like I was right.”

  Rowen nodded. “Mind if I steal some coffee?” asked Eric with a yawn.

  “Go right ahead,” said Aunt Lydia, moving out of the way. He knew where the mugs were. He had stayed here for quite some time himself. “Can I expect any excitement today?” asked Aunt Lydia, sounding eager for some gossip.

  “Almost definitely,” said Rowen. “I’d stay and explain, but…well, you’re bound to read about it.”

  Aunt Lydia made a face at that. “You know I like being told before everyone else.”

  “I know,” said Rowen, unable to hide an amused smile. “And I would tell you, but we’re kind of in a hurry this morning.”

  “Are we?” asked Eric, still pouring his coffee. “I thought we were seeing Caitlin first. Is she going to be up and about at this hour?”

  “If I remember anything about her, she will be. Especially today,” said Rowen.

  “It’s fine,” Aunt Lydia said with a sigh. “If you think you can figure out this whole mess, please do. I always liked that Ben fellow. Honestly, if I had to pick someone for my Rose, it would be him.” She looked almost sad as she said that, like she was afraid it wouldn’t work out. “Honestly, I would believe Anita is capable of a lot of things. I don’t think murdering her own family is one of them.”

  “I agree with you,” said Rowen. After all she had heard, she still didn’t quite buy that Mrs. Williamson had done all of this.

  “You solve this thing,” said Lydia.

  Rowen nodded. “I intend to.”

  “You help,” Lydia told Eric.

  “Let me finish my coffee first.”

  Every morning since Rowen had known Caitlin, she went for a jog. It was a hobby she shared with her mother. Rowen saw Caitlin when she stopped at the donut shop before work. Her morning route always took her by there around eight—the time Rowen was sometimes picking up breakfast for the office.

  Today was no exception. From where she sat in the passenger seat of Eric’s car, she saw Caitlin running up the sidewalk at a brisk pace. She had expected to see her out today. Like her mother, Caitlin seemed like a person who carried around a lot of anger. She hid it better though. That was probably why she ran every day. Today, in particular, Rowen had expected to find her jogging. This whole business with her mother was, undoubtedly, weighing heavy on her mind.

  Rowen got out of the car as Caitlin approached. She stepped onto the sidewalk, followed by Eric. “Caitlin!” she called, waving. “Caitlin, hey! Do you have a minute?”

  Caitlin noticed Rowen and paused. She turned on her heel and began to jog in the opposite direction. Somehow, Rowen hadn’t foreseen this as a possibility. She took off jogging after her. She was horrible at it. “Caitlin!” she called, already getting winded. “Caitlin, wait! I’m not here as a journalist! I’m here as a friend!”

  Thankfully, Caitlin slowed her pace. That was good. Rowen wasn’t sure how long she could run, and Eric hadn’t even bothered. He was still standing near the car. Caitlin turned and removed her headphones from her ears. She frowned at Rowen. “How can I believe that?” she asked. “Julia Martinez already tried to ambush me with a bunch of questions, and I thought she was a friend.”

  “I’m serious,” said Rowen, unable to really expand on that until she caught her breath. Geez, her cardio was terrible. She really needed to work on that.

  “Good,” said Caitlin. “Because I lost her, and I can lose you, too.” With that said, she approached them, stopping when they were all at Eric’s car. “What’s this about?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

  “You know what it’s about,” said Eric, not unkindly. “We’re just trying to figure out what happened.”

  “I’m not doing any interviews,” said Caitlin firmly.

  “This isn’t an interview,” Rowen assured her again. She raised her hands to show she wasn’t even holding any sort of recording device. “I’d like to think you know me better than that. I’ve solved mysteries like this before. I’m trying to do it again. Honestly, I don’t think your mother murdered anyone.”

  Caitlin still looked skeptical, but the skepticism only lasted for a
few seconds. She sagged a bit where she stood. “I hate this,” she said. “Everyone is back at the house arguing and calling lawyers and…It’s just a mess. I had to get out of there, clear my head.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Rowen. “Is Ben at the house with your family?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “He’s down at the station,” she said. “They have Mom in holding, and she hasn’t been arraigned yet. I’m sure he’s free to take off, but he wants to be near her…so…” Caitlin shrugged.