More Than Magic (Books of the Kindling)

by Donna June Cooper

  “Must be some drug. I’ve heard the side-effects of chemo and radiation can last for years and…well, I didn’t think they were reversible.”

  He sounded odd. When she looked up, he turned away to check on the brewing coffee.

  “Yes, well. Chemo and radiation save lives. But they can have some devastating side-effects. We’re— They’re working on it though.” There was something important she should remember about what he just said, but her brain refused to go in a straight line at the moment.

  “You were working on it, weren’t you? That’s what you do, create new drugs that work magic?”

  When he came toward her with the coffee pot in one hand, she wondered when his eyes had turned storm-cloud gray.

  “I don’t create drugs,” she waved at the windows. “Nature does. The mountain does. I only find them and make them better.”

  Nick was surprised. She hadn’t even flinched at the word “magic”.

  “And Jamie Lynn Campbell does talk too much,” she added, smiling.

  “All drugs came from plants at some point. I mean cocaine, marijuana, even crystal meth—” Nick pushed, watching her face.

  She looked meaningfully at the coffeepot. “Coffee.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed, then paused, looking down at the pot in his hand. “What?”

  “Anything man takes from nature can be transformed into something horrible or beneficial.” She picked up her empty wine glass and waggled it at him. “Grapes make wine, which can, in the wrong hands, ruin lives.” She recited all this as if she had said it many times before. “But coffee isn’t one of those things, yet. I don’t think. No, wait a minute. I’m wrong. There are the devastating effects of some methods of cultivation, but Ouida always buys organic fair trade coffee. And I’d like a cup, please.”

  She didn’t even blink. She was even smiling at him, in a dreamy sort of way.

  He shook his head and looked at the pot before pouring the coffee.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re doing research for your book again, aren’t you?” Grace said. “I’m not going to end up in there, am I?”

  “You just might,” he muttered under his breath, then said out loud. “Not unless you want to.” He set her mug in front of her. “Speaking of methods of cultivation, with all your greenhouses have you ever had a guest ask about marijuana?”

  “Actually, I’m absolutely in favor of legalizing medical marijuana. I can quote you some research studies—”

  Nick held up his hands. “No need. But what about recreational use?”

  “It’s illegal. That’s about the only thing that matters. Now, should it be?” She smiled. “That’s a whole other discussion. But we don’t allow any illegal activities up here.” She frowned. “So, still researching?”

  Nick sighed. “Sorry.”

  “If you want to talk about meth production up in these mountains, I can give you an earful about what making those drugs does to the environment, over and above the human toll.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’ve got a lot of data on that.” But Nick continued to be baffled. Everything pointed here, to her, to this place, like a giant red flashing neon arrow, and yet over and over again she proved that she had nothing to do with it. Even well on her way to being sloshed, she was pitch perfect. Dammit, no one is that good an actress. Maybe she has an evil twin.

  Leaning on the stool across from her, he tried to shove his suspicions into the background for a moment.

  “But, you know, there have been illegal activities on the mountain before,” she went on absently.

  Nick straightened.

  “Pops said that way back when he was young, Federal agents traced some moonshine to the mountain. The stuff was apparently the smoothest and strongest hooch the Revenuers had ever confiscated. They suspected the Taggarts of producing it up in the woods somewhere, although no one ever found the still.”

  Nick leaned back again. Moonshine was all about taxation, ATF territory, not his. Still, it was interesting. “The Taggarts?”

  “Our neighbors up the hollow. Well, neighbors is the wrong word. Tenants is more like it. Although that really isn’t right either. They live in the old Woodruff home free of charge. Only enough rent to cover maintaining the road. It all goes back to an accident which burned down their cabin, and they blamed the Woodruffs because of—well, because of a fire that they caused way back when. And so on. A bit of a feud.”

  Nick decided Grace could easily out-talk Jamie with the right lubrication. But he liked the way her eyes sparkled when she got really animated about something. And her hair was this close to tumbling out of that contraption she had it twisted into. He would love to see that.

  “So, you have a feud with your neighbors?”

  “Not anymore. My great-grandfather had built a house up here and when the old home place was empty he let the Taggarts live there for nearly nothing, if the feud came to an end and they kept up the place. I could probably toss them out for a few of the things they’ve done—mostly turning that lovely hollow into a barren dust bowl, but Old Annie Taggart’s nearly ninety now and kind of feeble, so I leave them alone, for the most part.” She sipped her coffee. “I’d love to get rid of that trailer of theirs though.”

  Nick’s instincts went on alert again. “Trailer?” A trailer separate from the house was a classic set up for a meth lab.

  “Well, they don’t really need it anymore, since Boyd Taggart’s girlfriend moved back to Atlanta. And they don’t maintain it. It really is an eyesore, and probably dangerous too.”

  Nick took a slow sip of his coffee. Atlanta. Another coincidence. This was getting interesting. “So, I guess they take advantage of your tower and cell extender too?”

  “Oh yes. Those two Taggart boys give ‘taking advantage’—” she made air quotes, “—a whole new meaning. They pretty much live off of their grandmother’s government checks. For a while the eldest, Gabe, was sending money home. He joined the Army as soon as he could. But Old Annie told us that even he stopped helping out a year or so ago. Left her high and dry with those two—” Her cheeks went pink. “You see what happens when I drink. I get obnoxious and gossipy. My apologies.”

  “Not at all. It’s interesting to me, professionally. They sound like exactly the kind of people I’m writing about. The kind with troubles and debts and other problems, who might resort to cooking and dealing to meet the bills.”

  “Oh, trust me. I thought so too. When Boyd went off to Atlanta and brought his girlfriend back with him to live in that trailer, I thought she had brought her habit with her. But the county sheriff took his guys in and searched the place high and low, twice, as a favor to me. Nothing. And Old Annie—” Grace smiled. “Well, she’s a tough old bird. Runs that family with an iron fist. I think if she could, she’d forbid those boys to even have beer in the house, though she drinks a bit of whiskey now and again for medicinal purposes. She’d sniff out any drug use and throw the guilty party right out of the house.”

  The county sheriff. Okay. If he did it as a personal favor, that explained why it hadn’t shown up in any of their reports. But those guys were usually pretty good about ferreting out these things. They knew the usual techniques and hidey holes, especially in their own backyards. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get over there and check it out himself.

  “What’s sad is that they could’ve used that land to grow all kinds of things. Or harvested the woods right around the place. I wouldn’t mind, if they wild-crafted with respect for the mountain.” She drained her coffee. “Of course, you probably don’t even know what wild-crafting is.”

  “Trust me. I’ve been thoroughly educated in the techniques of producing Woodruff Herbs by your PR department. Fascinating stuff.”

  She frowned for a moment. “PR depart—? Oh, Jamie again. Talked your ear off, did she? And here I am doing the same thing. Now you see what drinking wine and topping it off with coffee does? I’ll be all kinds of embarrassed in the morning when I remember chattering at you like this.”


  “Well, perhaps we should fix it so you don’t remember. Champagne?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”

  “We have our list of things to celebrate, I believe.”

  “I didn’t hear you provide any,” she teased.

  “Well, let’s see.” The elimination of one Grace Woodruff as the prime suspect in the Smoky Mountain Magic case, for one. The news that some very smart people like you are working on ways to reverse the side-effects of chemo and radiation, for another. “I never need a reason to drink excellent champagne. So—” He looked around. “Point me to the glasses and tell me what I can carry for you on our trek tonight, ma’am.”

  She pointed at a cabinet, then got up and left for some other part of the house, with the dog unwinding himself to lope along behind her.

  Nick retrieved two flutes from the cabinet and the champagne bottle from the refrigerator, wrapping it in a towel.

  Of course, he still had a case to solve. The notebook Jamie had given him before heading home was burning a hole in his jacket pocket back in the sunroom, but no one needed to know about that yet. Not until he could come up with some alternate explanation. There were all kinds of strange coincidences dancing around her, but Grace Woodruff wasn’t producing toxic drugs in some underground lab in her woods. He was ready to stake his reputation on that.

  Grace returned dressed for the outdoors with a blanket over her arm, his jacket in one hand and what appeared to be a basket full of dried flowers and vegetables in the other. “You are looking so well, I almost forgot about your bout of fever earlier. Do you feel up to a bit of a hike?”

  “If you don’t mind the intrusion.”

  “Not at all. I was hoping for your company.”

  Nick could imagine what his boss would say if he saw him standing here with a bottle of champagne in his hand while a possible suspect held his jacket with the one piece of evidence that could blow this case wide open.

  Or, he could imagine what he and Grace were going to do on that blanket.

  Chapter Eight

  “So, is this going to be a really long hike with a picnic at the end?” Nick asked as they walked up the road in the moonlight.

  Grace laughed. “Not exactly.”

  “Good, because I think we forgot the food.”

  “Are you hungry again? Seriously?”

  “Well, yes, and that’s a good thing. Which reminds me—when do I need to take more of that, whatever it was you gave me earlier? Your special blend of eleven herbs and spices? I still feel great, but I want to keep feeling this way,” Nick asked. “I haven’t felt this good in a while.”

  “Me either.” In fact, Grace felt positively weightless.

  It had to be the combination of the news about Tink, the wonderful meal, the wonderful bottle—bottles—of wine, and Nick, who she had only known for a day. Less than a day. Pathetic, Gracie-girl. Pa-the-tic. But she grinned anyway. Who cared?

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So when do I need to take more?”

  “Oh yes, sorry.” She looked around the meadow and out at the view beyond it. A bit of the buoyancy went out of her step. I need to find a way to help you without endangering everything here. “I’ll give you some more when we get back to the house.”

  “The view from up here is phenomenal. I’m surprised you don’t have people clambering all over the place to see it,” he said, walking backward for a while to gaze behind them.

  Pooka led the way, tracking back and forth across the road.

  “You’d be surprised how many views like this there are up in these mountains. Max Patch is just over that way, and you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen that view.”

  “Max Patch? Sounds like a hair remedy.”

  Grace stifled a snort. “No. But it is a bald mountain. On a good day you can see it from here. And if you work at it, you might be able to see it tonight. The moon is bright enough.”

  “You can still see the stars pretty clearly. It sounds like a cliché, but up here it feels like you could reach out and touch them.” Nick actually did reach his hand up. “I can understand why you want to protect this place. It’s…”

  Grace sensed he was struggling for the right word. “Magical?”

  He stumbled, then righted himself. “Yeah. That’s the word.”

  They walked in silence for a while, until Grace noticed Nick wasn’t beside her. She found him back in the meadow standing still, staring upward, just as he had last night.

  “Pops renamed this meadow Star Crossing because he said he had to stop the truck sometimes to let them cross,” she said.

  “What was it called before that?”

  “Woodruff Meadow. Boring.”

  “So, your family’s owned this mountain since…?”

  “Forever?” Grace quipped. “Honestly, I don’t know. I know my great-great-great-grandfather Zach made a lot of money in the herb business, and other things. But it was my great-grandfather who built the farm up here.”

  Nick glanced back at the house sprawled in the trees below them. “That old?”

  She laughed. “Not that house. Well, the house he built is under there somewhere. Pops designed the new house on top of the old foundation. It’s pretty recent.”

  “I wondered. It looks old, but with the solar heating and the electrical set up—”

  “Trust me. I had to live through the construction of that place and I can take you to the source of nearly every piece of wood and stone and plaster used to build it.” Grace stopped and looked back herself. “Anything that looks old was mostly reclaimed from buildings around the property. It was Pops’s dream for the house to be an example of sustainability, but still look like it belongs.”

  “You said ‘sustainability’. I think we need to open this champagne sooner rather than later. So, how far’s the cemetery?”

  “Not far. Just the other side of the meadow,” Grace answered. “We need to get off the road now, so you’ll have to watch your step. No more star gazing. Are you all right to hike for a bit longer?”

  “I’m great.”

  “We’re lucky. This is probably our last warm night for a while,” Grace said.

  Nick blew out a breath and watched it fog. “Only someone well and truly lubricated with spirits would call this a warm night. You’re doing pretty well for walking while intoxicated.”

  She laughed again. He seemed to have that effect on her. “You aren’t noticing me weaving because you’re weaving around yourself. The view does that to you.”

  “Oh, it’s not that view that’s intoxicating me.”

  Something in his voice made her turn to find his eyes fixed on her. The warm fuzziness that had been residing in her head all night wound down and through her, pausing along the way to tingle in places that hadn’t tingled in a while.

  There was a long hooting call from the woods they were approaching: a barred owl, probably upset that they were ruining the night’s hunting on the meadow.

  “That’s an owl,” she explained, willing her feet to move.

  “So, you feel pretty safe out here at night,” he said, following after her. “I notice you didn’t bring your shotgun.”

  She was glad it was dark enough to hide her blush. “Well, I’ve been walking around up here since I was a toddler.”

  “So the bears and wild boars—” That dimple of his had to be showing.

  “Pretty much avoid the meadow most of the time?”

  “Uh huh. You’re going to have to explain your method of greeting guests to me sometime,” he responded with laughter in his voice. “I imagine this is a great place for kids. Like summer camp every day.”

  “A summer camp with a lot of hard work, but yes, it’s a great place. A lot of families book our cabins every year, and Pops did special seasonal programs for the families: plant walks, geocaching, herb gardening, egg gathering, and even—”

  “Goat milking?”

  She grinned back at him. “Di
d Jamie introduce you to our goats?”

  “Not yet.” He sounded as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to meet them. “But Trish said you were thinking about shutting down that part of the business.”

  You really did charm our Trish into sharing all kinds of things. “Well, it was hard this summer, without Pops. He was the heart and soul of this place. And we only have a few cabins. Most of our focus is—was on the herbs, and, after he—well, I halted production because we were having quality issues. But I hope we’ll be able to start up again soon. If I can get control of…”

  “Of?”

  “Oh, it’s technical stuff. Boring.”

  “Yeah, well, you have a lot to offer up here, but it’s all hidden away except for those who manage to stumble over it somehow.”

  Exactly. “Not really. People are more interested in electronic diversions and chemical solutions these days. They don’t look up, like you did,” she pointed up at the stars. “And see the diversions and solutions nature has to offer. Perhaps you should write a book about that.” She cocked her head at him. “Did you always want to be a writer?”

  “Actually, no. I got kind of sidetracked looking for…well, I think I’m still looking for what I really want to be.”

  Grace understood. “I think we keep doing that until the day we die.”

  “Probably beyond,” he answered out of the darkness.

  She pointed her flashlight ahead to pick out the shadowy objects in the grass and caught Pooka in the light, bounding happily back to meet them.

  Nick looked up at the sky, then all around them again. “It’s a great place to spend eternity,” he said.

  She peered at his face. He’d said it in such an odd tone. “Well, yes. You could look at it that way. Although, if that’s the case, I wish Granny Lily would stay put and not wander into my dreams so much.”

  Nick stared at her for a moment. “You’re serious?”

  “Oh yes.” Her flashlight picked up the color of a few flowers here and there in the carefully arranged mounds of plants and bushes scattered among the gravestones. “Look, some of the asters are still in bloom.”