A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery

by blake, heather

  “I thought you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

  “Hush!”

  We were on our way out the bedroom door when the clouds shifted and moonlight spilled into the room, and glinted off an object on the nightstand. I wiggled my hand free.

  “What are you doing?” Delia asked.

  “Just a sec.” I tiptoed over to the bed and aimed the flashlight downward. I didn’t dare pick up the object, but I knew immediately what it was.

  A lavender-colored stopper to one of my potion bottles.

  It was the stopper to the sleeping potion bottle I’d given Angelea. . . .

  With fresh eyes and a new understanding, I looked around the room. It suddenly dawned on me that the place hadn’t been ransacked at all—instead it looked like someone had come in and cleared their stuff out in a hurry.

  Someone like Angelea. Bits and pieces were finally starting to make sense in my head.

  “Carly, come on. She’s coming.” Delia walked over and grabbed my arm again, dragging me out.

  We were on the catwalk when Angelea’s shadow fell across the front windows. We’d just made it to the other side when we heard the key in the lock.

  Delia froze and I bumped into her. “What?” I asked.

  “She has a key.”

  I barely had time to register that before the front door swung open and Angelea slipped inside. Delia and I scurried into the hallway bathroom.

  My chest was pounding.

  Angelea had a key.

  What Delia had said earlier at her house came back to me: “I still have a key to Nelson’s house; he gives them to all his girlfriends.”

  Angelea and Nelson. This reinforced the conclusion I’d just come to. They had been a couple.

  I glanced at Delia.

  Her mind must have been spinning in the same direction, because she lurched forward. “Oh, hell, no.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down, but she wriggled free and charged toward the stairs. I reached for her foot, and she went sprawling on the landing.

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  From downstairs, Angelea yelled, “Who’s up there?”

  Delia had just squirmed her way loose when the front door flew open, and Dylan Jackson strode in and cut on the lights.

  His eyes went from Angelea at the foot of the stairs to Delia frozen midway down the steps, and me flat on my belly at the top. His gaze narrowed on me.

  My witchy feeling went from bad to worse.

  Much worse.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Delia and I sat on the bottom step, nibbling our nails, while Angelea fidgeted in an armchair across the room. Dylan paced the length between us.

  He kept shaking his head and muttering under his breath, and I was fairly sure I didn’t want to know what he was saying.

  I was still shaking my head about how he’d ended up here. Apparently Dylan had been worried about not being able to reach me, and he’d contacted Caleb, who’d ratted me out without a second thought. There would be payback. Soon.

  “Tell me again about this trap you set?” Dylan said to me.

  I’d already told him twice about seeing Angelea in the pharmacy and realizing she could probably sign Coach’s name better than he could himself. I ran through it again, and didn’t miss the fire in Angelea’s eyes as she looked at me.

  “I reckon Carly’s supposition was right,” Delia said, spitting her own fire, “since Angelea broke in here, looking for that handwriting report.”

  I’d already turned the report over to Dylan.

  “I didn’t break in,” Angelea said smugly. “I have a key. Nelson gave it to me.”

  In a flash, Delia came off the step in a lunge, and I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

  Angelea smiled a satisfied grin; she was verbally staking her claim on Nelson on purpose to get under Delia’s skin. It was the equivalent of saying, “Nyah, nyah. I won and you lost.” It made me want to yank her hair out by the roots in support of my cousin.

  Her little quest to prove she was the fairest in the land had a catch, though. A big one. “Why did Nelson give you a key, Angelea?” I asked.

  I already knew, but Dylan had failed to ask her as of yet.

  She glanced at Dylan and her smile faltered. “Because of the trial . . .”

  Even Dylan rolled his eyes at her lie. He said, “And why’d you come here tonight?”

  She tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “I, ah, was driving by and saw someone moving around in here.”

  I never realized how good a liar she was. Until now. I’d had enough. I’d pieced together a lot since I’d been sitting on this step, but I needed Angelea to confirm some details and clear up some hazy spots.

  “Here’s the real deal,” I said to Dylan, then glanced at Delia, feeling a pang for her. I didn’t quite know where we stood in our relationship, but I knew I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already was. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

  “I’ll stay,” she said stubbornly.

  “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

  Delia pursed her lips. “I’ll stay.”

  “Can I go now?” Angelea asked.

  “No,” Delia, Dylan, and I said in unison. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Dylan said, “Go ahead, Carly. Say your piece.”

  “Angelea has a key because she was seeing Nelson.”

  Delia threw me a disgusted look. “You mean ‘sleeping with.’”

  “I was trying to be tactful,” I said.

  “This here is no time for tact, Carly. Call it like you see it. She’s a tramp.”

  This time it was Angelea who came out of her chair and lunged at Delia. Dylan grabbed her and guided her back to her seat.

  “Anyway,” I said loudly, “they had a relationship. For a few months now, at least. They were planning to run off with each other to Birmingham.” I bluffed about that part—it was pure conjecture on my part (well, on Caleb’s part, really), but when Angelea didn’t argue, I figured I’d guessed right.

  Tears filled Angelea’s eyes but didn’t spill over. She whispered, “We loved each other,” and it was probably the only honest thing she’d uttered all night.

  “But then,” I went on, “a couple of things happened. One is that Nelson couldn’t quite tie down the job he wanted in Birmingham. It was Johnny Braxton who’d recommended him to that fancy law firm, right, Angelea?”

  She nodded. “But your aunt wouldn’t sell her inn to Nelson. He was going to keep trying, but then . . .” Biting her lip, she fell silent.

  “Then,” I filled in, “Nelson got the handwriting analysis that proved Coach was innocent. Most likely, he came to the same conclusion I did about Angelea, and broke up with her.”

  “That’s not how it happened.” Angelea sniffled. She glanced at Dylan. “I’m not saying I did take that money, but if I had, I might not want to start a new relationship with a lie and might have confessed to Nelson.”

  By phrasing it that way, she had all but just confessed to us that she had taken the money.

  “After he already figured out it was her,” Delia mumbled, setting her elbow on her knee and her jaw in her hand.

  “Why take the money in the first place?” I asked.

  Her red hair stuck out wildly. “If I had, it would have been to escape this town and get away from Floyd once and for all.”

  “But you’d let him take the blame?” Delia asked.

  Angelea stiffened. “Don’t judge till you’ve walked a mile in my shoes.” She stared out the window. “I was all set to pack my bags and leave town when Nelson took Floyd’s case. I fell for him hard.” She sniffled. “We planned to get married. Until he got that damn handwriting report. We had a big fight, and he said he needed some time to think.”

  I glanced at Delia out of the corner of my eye and wondered if she, too, was thinking of the engagement ring upstairs. I said, “Johnny Braxton and Nelson had a big argume
nt the day he died. Nelson told Johnny he was no longer interested in the Birmingham job. . . . I’m guessing that’s because being with Angelea was the only reason he wanted to move away . . . and he was no longer interested in being with her.”

  Delia said hopefully, “So she killed him! A woman scorned.”

  “Nooo,” I said.

  Delia tried again. “Killed him because she didn’t want to go to prison?”

  “Nooo,” I said.

  “Killed him for—”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Angelea interrupted loudly. “We talked about it. He promised he wouldn’t turn me in. He planned to clear Floyd’s name in court and return the money anonymously. All the fuss would have been forgotten in a couple of weeks. He loved me! He would have come back to me eventually. Especially when he found out about—”

  “What?” Dylan asked, dragging a hand down his face.

  “About the baby,” I said. “Angelea’s pregnant with Nelson’s baby.”

  Delia’s eyes flew open wide and her whole body stiffened.

  Angelea glared at me.

  “What?” I asked. “Do you deny it?”

  She went back to staring out the window. “Does it matter now? Nelson is gone. Someone killed him. . . .”

  “You?” Delia asked.

  Angelea whipped her head around. “I told you it wasn’t me!”

  “Well,” I said. “Maybe not on purpose . . .”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Angelea snapped.

  “I’m curious myself,” Dylan said.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said to Angelea. “But you probably spent a lot of time here, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Probably kept some of your belongings here, right?” I prodded.

  “Some.”

  I looked at Dylan. “I don’t think this place was ransacked by someone looking for something. It was trashed by Angelea. She found out Nelson had died and rushed over here and collected all her belongings before someone realized that she was Nelson’s girlfriend. She was in a hurry and made a mess. Right, Angelea?”

  She nodded.

  “Where are you going with this?” Dylan asked me.

  “One of the items she collected was the sleeping potion I made her. Coach doesn’t like her getting potions, so she once told me that she hides them in her car and at her friends’ houses. In this case, I think the sleeping potion was here. The stopper is still upstairs.”

  “So?” Angelea said, her brow wrinkling.

  Dylan’s eyes widened with understanding.

  “For some reason, the night Nelson died,” I said, “he drank that potion.”

  “He doesn’t really believe in the whole potion thing, but he hadn’t been sleeping well, so he decided to try it,” Angelea said, looking between me and Dylan. “Why does it matter?”

  Ah, this explained why she was flustered in my shop earlier. She knew exactly why the potion bottle Coach found had been empty, but she couldn’t tell me why without giving up her double life with Nelson.

  Dylan said, “That potion was poisoned. It’s what killed him.”

  Angelea gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s not . . . That’s not possible.”

  “Had you drunk any of that potion yet?” Dylan asked her.

  She shook her head. “No . . . The day I got it is the day I realized I might be pregnant. I didn’t want to take it just in case it wasn’t safe for the baby. I was waiting to tell Nelson until I knew for sure, but then that handwriting report came in, we had a big fight, and then he . . . he died.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Delia said, “So, was someone trying to kill Nelson . . . or Angelea?”

  I’d been debating the same thing. “I think Angelea was the intended victim.”

  Delia stood up. “I think I’ll wait outside now, before I say something I might regret later. I’ll get the car and meet you out front, Carly.”

  I nodded and watched her walk out.

  Dylan crouched in front of Angelea’s chair. “Is there any chance that Coach found out about your affair with Nelson?”

  “I don’t think so,” she mumbled, her eyes glazed. “He would have confronted me about it. He has no filter lately. He did go ballistic when I asked for a divorce last week.” Her nose wrinkled and fresh tears filled her eyes. “Do you think Floyd tried to kill me because of that?”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan said. “It’s possible. If he knew you wanted out of the relationship, he might have wanted it to be on his terms.”

  His deadly terms. I shuddered at the thought. He could have tampered with the potion before she brought it to Nelson’s. She suspected someone had been following her. . . . If Coach had seen her going into my shop for the sleeping potion, he might have hatched his evil plan then and there. It also explained why Nelson’s body had been found in my shop—because Coach hated me and blamed me for his troubles.

  I bit my nail. But it certainly didn’t explain how Coach knew Nelson had drunk the poisoned potion or why Nelson had also been hit in the head with a bat . . . or how Coach got Nelson’s body into my shop.

  Or—and this was my biggest question—why Coach had accused me of poisoning him after he crashed into my porch if he was the one to put the poison in the bottle in the first place. Was he simply trying to frame me? Was it his delusions at work?

  I sighed. I supposed those were questions for Dylan to ask Coach . . . when he found him.

  “Let’s call it a night,” Dylan said. “You both need to lie low, though. Coach is still running free, and if what we’re guessing is true, then he might have it out for both of you.”

  I glanced at Angelea. “Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?” I wasn’t about to offer up Delia’s place, but I wanted to make sure she was out of harm’s way.

  She nodded. “A friend’s house in Rock Creek.”

  “I’ll follow you there,” Dylan said, “to make sure you get there safely.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  Dylan ushered us outside, and Angelea climbed into her little hatchback. Delia’s SUV idled on the side of the road, and I started toward it before I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me back.

  Dylan’s eyes were in shadow as I turned to him, his fingers hot on my skin. “Be careful,” he said.

  I tugged my arm out of his grasp. I said, “I will be.”

  He sidestepped a bit and light fell across his eyes. The raw emotion I saw there nearly knocked me to my knees.

  Cupping my face, he said, “I’m not sure I could bear losing you for good.”

  Tears suddenly stung my eyes. I wanted to yell that I wasn’t his for the losing, but my chest ached so badly that I could barely whisper anything at all. “I’ll be careful.”

  And as I walked to Delia’s car, I wasn’t sure whether I was talking about staying safe from Coach or protecting my heart from Dylan.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “What was that about?” Delia asked as soon as I slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “What was what?”

  “The way Dylan was looking at you. The way you were looking at him.”

  I glanced out the window. Dylan was getting into his sheriff’s cruiser. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She slipped the car into drive, and Angelea pulled out behind us as we started down the steep hill. “If you say so.”

  “I say so.”

  Flipping on her high beams, she said softly, “Do you really think the baby is Nelson’s and not Coach’s?”

  The bright light made the road a bit less scary, but not by much. In the side-view mirror, I noted that Dylan had pulled out behind Angelea. It was quite the little parade we had going on. Dylan’s voice was ringing in my head, and I fought to silence it. “I think so.” I told her about how supposedly Coach wasn’t able to have kids, and how she and Coach hadn’t had much of a marriage recently.

  “But there’s still a chance the baby might be Coach’s?”
<
br />   “I suppose.”

  Her silhouette bobbed as she nodded. “Good.”

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it?” she countered, frowning as she adjusted her rearview mirror.

  “Call me crazy, but I’d much prefer a little Nelson running around than another Coach.”

  She bit her lip. “I suppose you’re right, but it just . . . The thought of it . . .”

  “I know,” I said. And I did. I’d often lain awake at night, torturing myself by imagining a time when Dylan would find someone else, get married, and have kids. It had been like a searing-hot knife to my heart. I’d been lucky—my dark flights of fancy had not become reality. Delia’s had.

  I’m not sure I could bear losing you for good.

  Delia glanced into her mirror again and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, peeking back.

  “Angelea is following a little too close for my liking.”

  She was. In fact, she continued to speed up. “What’s she doing?”

  There was a hint of panic in Delia’s voice as she said, “I don’t know.” She pressed on the gas, but going fast on this road, with the sharp curves and no guard rail, was a death wish. “Is she crazy?”

  I peeked back again. The lights on Angelea’s car were too bright to see inside the vehicle, to catch a glimpse of her frame of mind. “I’d tap into her energy, but I’m afraid all I’d pick up is yours.”

  “Try!”

  I let down my guard and immediately felt pure panic and desperation come over me. “I think she’s scared.”

  “Then why doesn’t she slow down?” Delia cried as we rounded a corner, tires squealing.

  The lights atop Dylan’s car came on, and flashes of blue and red colored the night. I saw him try to speed up next to Angelea, but the road was too narrow, and the drop-off on the other side too terrifying to contemplate.

  “Is there anywhere to pull over?” I asked, fear taking root in the pit of my stomach.

  Her hands gripped the steering wheel. “Not here. Down a little farther there’s a scenic overlook.”

  Shadows fell across our path as we flew down the road. I looked back and wished I hadn’t. “She’s going to hit us! Go faster!”