Witches' Secrets: Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series (Vampires and Wine Book 2)

by Morgana Best

  The aunts looked down at their knitting, their knitting needles clicking away. I knew they were into knot magic, so I wondered if they were focusing on a spell to keep me in the dark about something. Call me suspicious.

  “Is there anything else you’re keeping from me?”

  Aunt Dorothy and Aunt Maude continued to look down at their knitting, but Agnes looked up at me. “No, dear, of course not.” Her eyes flickered from side to side, a sure sign that she was lying.

  “I have a strong feeling that you’re keeping something from me,” I persisted.

  Aunt Agnes shrugged. “We kept telling you to be careful with that Lucas man, dear.”

  “Looking back, I can see you knew he was a Cleaner all the time,” I said. “You were so sure he wasn’t a Shifter, and now I know why. Do you think he killed Paul?”

  “I don’t think so,” Aunt Agnes said absently.

  “Linda thinks he did.”

  “Werewolves don’t know everything,” Aunt Agnes said haughtily.

  “I like her,” Aunt Maude said.

  I looked at Maude. “Do you think Lucas killed Paul?”

  Aunt Maude did not answer, but shot Agnes a glance. I was increasingly frustrated. “Okay, but please tell me this one thing. Am I in any danger from Lucas?”

  “Not if you don’t turn someone into a vampire,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “Or murder someone,” Dorothy added.

  Maude nodded. “Or do something else that’s illegal.”

  “So are Cleaners as dangerous as Linda says? I mean, would Lucas have found out whether or not Paul turned that person into a werewolf before he decided to execute him?”

  “I suppose so,” Aunt Agnes said in a bored fashion, as if she had entirely lost interest in the conversation.

  The aunts were infuriating when they were like this. I decided to try a different line of questioning. “How did you discover that Lucas was a Cleaner?”

  “Henry Ichor told Agnes,” Maude said.

  Agnes snapped at her. “Shush!”

  I smiled, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. It seemed Henry got around.

  “Does Lucas know we’re vampires?”

  “No, no one does,” Aunt Agnes said, “apart from that werewolf friend of yours, Valkyrie. You need to be more careful with your loose lips and who you make friends with. I certainly hope she doesn’t tell anyone.”

  I opened my mouth to say that she wouldn’t, but Agnes was still speaking. “We have to be very careful that no one knows we’re vampires.”

  “Why? In case the Cleaner comes and kills us, or something?”

  “That’s a conversation for another time,” Aunt Agnes said emphatically.

  “But you’re categorically telling me that I’m in no danger from Lucas?”

  “I suppose it depends what you mean by danger,” Aunt Agnes said snarkily, and the other two aunts chuckled. “If you want to use him as a plaything, then go ahead, by all means, but he’s not relationship material.”

  “Because he’s a homicidal maniac?” I guessed.

  “Cleaners aren’t homicidal maniacs,” Aunt Maude said, but Aunt Agnes waved a hand at her to silence her.

  “They certainly can be, not that I’ve ever had much to do with one. But the point is, Valkyrie, Lucas doesn’t know you’re a vampire. That means he’s not interested in a relationship with you.”

  “Why can’t I simply tell him I’m a vampire?” I asked her.

  All three aunts gasped in horror. “No, you mustn’t!” Aunt Agnes said. She looked deathly afraid, and as I looked at the other two aunts, I saw that they were, too.

  Chapter 18

  I left Mugwort Manor with more questions than answers. I headed straight back to Linda’s cottage to tell her what the aunts had said.

  She seemed to have the paperwork in some semblance of order, as it was neatly stacked into several heaps on the dining room table. “How did it go?” She looked anxious.

  “They said they already knew you were a werewolf,” I said.

  Linda’s eyebrows shot up. “How?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “And they didn’t mind?”

  I shrugged. “Aunt Agnes doesn’t seem too thrilled about werewolves, to be honest, but Aunt Maude seems quite taken with you. Don’t worry, they have no intention of kicking you out of the cottage, or from Mugwort Manor for that matter. You’re welcome to stay.”

  Linda sank into the nearest chair. “What a huge relief! You know, Pepper, I’ve been thinking. If Lucas had executed Paul, it would’ve looked like a true accident. The police would never suspect foul play.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “I’m certain. From what I know about Cleaners, they make it look like natural causes.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “That makes sense,” I said slowly. “If their whole purpose is to keep things from the authorities, then it stands to reason that they have to make it look like natural causes. There would certainly be no green potatoes involved.”

  “That means we’re back to square one. Someone else is the murderer,” Linda said.

  I tapped my finger on my chin. “Lila Sanders is my best bet. I know we suspect Bella, but the Murphys and the Burrises have alibis.”

  “But the wife could be covering for the husband, or vice versa, or they could be in it together,” Linda said.

  I nodded. “True. I’d still like to find out if Lila arrived in town a day early. I keep going over and over it, but I just can’t figure out how we can find out.”

  “Is there CCTV on any of the streets?” Linda asked me.

  I laughed. “This is Lighthouse Bay, remember? There’s nothing so technologically advanced here. Any other ideas?”

  Linda pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything. I, too, fell silent, thinking so hard it almost hurt. There had to be away to figure out whether Lila had arrived in town a day early. I was stumped. “How could someone find out if someone was in town on a certain day?” I said, quickly followed by, “Sorry. That question was addressed to me, not you. This is doing my head in.”

  “Me, too.”

  I shot to my feet. “I have an idea! It’s probably not a good one, but it’s the only one I’ve got. What if we print out photos of her? Then we walk around the coffee shops and restaurants, show them the photos, and ask if she was there that night. I mean, the woman had to eat.”

  “Great idea!” Linda said. “I’m sure the men would remember her. She’s gorgeous in a stereotypical way, those long legs, that long blonde hair, that perfect face, that perfect figure.”

  I nodded, hoping Lucas didn’t share Linda’s assessment of Lila. Still, I had to admit she was right—Lila was in fact gorgeous, and most men would remember her. “Do you want to do it now?” I asked Linda.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Okay then, come over to my cottage, and I’ll print out some photos of her. I only hope that if anyone does remember her, then they remember that she was there that particular night.”

  When we reached the cottage, the cat was sitting at the front door meowing. “You do know you have a cat door around the other side of the house?” I said. The cat of course ignored me, as cats do.

  “I’ll have to stop calling her The Cat,” Linda said. “What’s a good name for a cat?”

  “I haven’t been able to think of one,” I confessed. “I don’t want to give her an obvious name, like Kitty Kat or Salem.”

  I opened the door and let Linda and the as yet unnamed cat inside. I switched on the printer, and hooked it up to my laptop. Linda and I spent some time looking through online photos of Lila. We finally settled on one of her in a tight fitting—a very tight fitting—white linen suit.

  “You know, Lila is supposed to be here writing a story on Lighthouse Bay,” I said over the noise of the printer, “so hopefully she spoke to people in restaurants and cafés and identified herself. That will help them remember her.”

  “I hadn
’t thought of that,” Linda said. “I find it strange that the police haven’t arrested anyone yet. It’s making me quite nervous, because I keep expecting them to pop up any minute and arrest me.”

  I sympathised. “It must be awful.”

  “Let’s go to town in my car,” she said. “As soon as probate is through, I’m going to sell the old heap of junk and buy myself something nice and modern.”

  I locked the door behind us, and we walked out to the front of Mugwort Manor, where an ancient, heavy BMW was parked.

  “How are we going to do this?” Linda asked me, as she found a parking spot on the west side of town.

  “I suppose we just start from here and walk,” I said.

  Five cafés later, everyone said they had not seen Lila before. I turned to Linda. “I’ve just had a horrible thought, what if she ordered delivery food?”

  “All the motels say that nobody by that name booked that night,” Linda pointed out, “and if she was hiding out in her car, she could hardly have ordered food to be delivered to her car.”

  I laughed at the mental image. “You’re right, of course. Silly me.”

  We were still drawing a blank an hour later. “I had no idea there were so many cafés in this town,” I said. “My feet are killing me.”

  “Mine, too.” Linda hopped from one foot to the other. “Why don’t we split up? Why don’t I take the restaurants and you take the coffee shops, and if someone does remember her, then you can call me or I can call you.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Otherwise we’ll be here all day.”

  “And then we can meet up for lunch. Where should we have lunch?”

  “What about that little place that’s close to the water, down by the whale watching boats?”

  “Sure. Let’s make a time in case we haven’t finished our canvassing.”

  “Midday?” I asked her. “I’m already ravenous and all this exercise isn’t helping.”

  Linda agreed. I continued alone through the streets of Lighthouse Bay, calling into every coffee shop, showing them Linda’s photo. Some people did remember her, but said she had been there through the day. Not one person remembered her from the night in question. I was beginning to think she must have brought a packed dinner, but then I reminded myself that I could be completely wrong. Maybe she had arrived the morning after the murder, after all. Maybe she wasn’t the murderer.

  I pulled my iPhone from my pocket and checked the time. It was close to midday. I headed straight to the little café where Linda and I had agreed to meet. I walked to the counter and held the photo in front of the lady at the cash register. “Have you seen this woman before?” I asked her.

  She took the photo from me and stared at it. “She looks familiar.”

  “Could she have been here for dinner a few nights ago?”

  The woman shook her head. “We don’t serve dinners here. We shut at five every night.”

  I thanked her, and walked outside, looking down across the water. This was proving to be an exercise in futility.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I spun around.

  Lucas was standing there.

  “Sherlock Holmes, I presume?” The corners of his lips twitched.

  His proximity unnerved me. My heart raced out of control, and my breath came in short bursts. I hoped he thought I’d been hurrying. “Lucas.” I was dismayed to hear my voice tremble.

  “Pepper.”

  We stood like that for a moment, neither saying anything. I took in his scent, the cinnamon and cloves, the bergamot and rosemary. It was intoxicating—he was intoxicating.

  He took the photo from me, his hand lightly brushing mine. I jumped at the electric current that passed between us.

  “I see Lila Sanders is your suspect for the murder of Paul Williams.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t respond, which made me anxious. He handed back Lila’s photo, and then walked away.

  I felt like a silly, love-struck schoolgirl. I was quite smitten, to be honest, despite all the well-intentioned warnings of Linda and my aunts. I might be heading down a dangerous path, but it was one I could not resist taking.

  My knees were shaking, so I sat at the nearest table. I didn’t have long to wait; Linda arrived soon after.

  “Any luck?”

  I shook my head. “None whatsoever. What about you?”

  She took her seat opposite me. “The man at the Thai restaurant said someone who looked like her was there that particular night, but he couldn’t remember if it was her or not. He wasn’t sure if it was her, but he said it was a possibility.”

  “Not many people look like Lila,” I pointed out.

  “No, it’s a long shot. I think we can forget that one.”

  “Where do we go from here?”

  Linda shrugged.

  “Why don’t we investigate the murder weapon?” I asked Linda.

  “Green potatoes? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  The waitress came over to take our orders. I ordered my usual coffee, plus a large plate of potato wedges.

  “You’re lucky you can eat such fatty food and stay so slim,” Linda said when the waitress left.

  “Slim?” I chuckled. “I’d hardly call myself slim. Anyway, I don’t know why I ordered wedges when we were talking about deadly green potatoes. I sure hope those potatoes aren’t green.” We both laughed.

  “What’s your plan?” Linda asked me.

  “I don’t really have one,” I confessed. “We know it was green potatoes, but we don’t know whether it was served up as fries, mashed potato, or even potato soup.”

  “Or someone could have made hash browns with green potato peelings.”

  “That would be an easier way to do it. Anyway, like we discussed before, this seems to be an opportunistic murder. Someone with a grudge happened to find Paul in town so used whatever was on hand to kill him. As we said before, if they had simply bought rat poison, the police would’ve tracked them down easily.”

  “Does this mean you’re now discounting Lila Sanders as the murderer?”

  I shook my head. “No, of course not.”

  “But you just said it was an opportunistic murder,” Linda said.

  I put my head in my hands for a moment. “This is just too confusing,” I said. “Let’s just look at the green potatoes. Someone had access to them. So either it’s someone who lives in this town and had green potatoes lying around, or it was someone like Bella Barker who grows potatoes, or someone who had to buy green potatoes.”

  “Yes, like you said, someone living in town might grow potatoes,” Linda said. “Didn’t you say that solanine is in the leaves?”

  I waved my finger at her. “Good point! But don’t forget the police bagged the potato peels. That means someone prepared the potatoes at the cottage.”

  “Where would someone buy green potatoes?” Linda asked me.

  I chewed my lip for a moment. “What about potatoes that are being sold for planting? I vaguely remember seeing some around, but I can’t remember where. Potatoes that are sold for planting would surely be green, wouldn’t they?”

  “Okay, yes, exactly.” Linda nodded vigorously. “That might give us a lead. I bet the police haven’t thought of that one.”

  “Well if they had, they surely would’ve arrested someone by now.”

  “I’m only glad they haven’t arrested me.”

  “I’d love to go looking after lunch, but I have to get to work redecorating the Game of Thrones themed cottage. There’s a booking for next week and I have to make it look good by then. I have a lot of painting to do, with all the paintings of heads being chopped off and the like. I’ve taken too much time off already with trying to find out who the murderer is.”

  “A Game of Thrones theme, is it?” Linda asked me.

  I shuddered. “Yes, I haven’t come across such anatomical detail of killing since I read Homer’s Iliad.”

  “How about
we look into the matter of the green potatoes tomorrow morning?” Linda said.

  I laughed. “It sounds like the title of an Agatha Christie book, The Case of the Green Potatoes.”

  Linda joined in my laughter.

  Chapter 19

  I was sitting opposite Alex Burns in the most romantic setting imaginable. It was still daylight, but the evening had a soft glow, and our table looked out over the water. An expensive looking boat was on its way in from the open sea, as were some pelicans that looked as though they were getting ready to settle in for the night. Lights from the nearby buildings flickered on the gently ebbing waters. The whole scene was one of peace and tranquillity.

  There was one thing wrong with this scene. It was business, not romance. Make that two things: I was here with Alex, not Lucas. And then a third thing: Lucas was Lila Sanders’ dinner guest.

  My insides churned at the sight. What was wrong with me? My attraction to Lucas was wrong on so many levels. I had been warned by everyone in my life that he was dangerous, a deadly Cleaner, someone who acted first and asked questions later. Despite the fact I had done nothing wrong, I could not help but be a little afraid.

  No, that wasn’t exactly right. I was not afraid, although I thought I should be. Had I lost my judgement? Had my hormones taken over? This was such an animal attraction, that I had no idea how to fight it. Worse still, I had no inclination to do so. That was what made me afraid, not the man himself.

  Was I completely deluded?

  I looked up to see Lucas studying me from across the room. You have such beautiful eyes, I thought, the impossibly long lashes, the mystery held there. I at once averted my gaze.

  Alex was speaking to me. “How are you settling into Lighthouse Bay?”

  “I’m enjoying it. I love the beach, and I like the work.”

  Alex nodded, not taking his eyes from me. “Aren’t you worried about the murder at your business?”

  I thought that was a strange thing to say, but I nodded, regardless. “Yes, of course.”

  I should have known that question was simply a lead-in to his sales pitch.

  He shifted in his seat, and launched straight into it. “Then it’s even more important that you have a solid structure in place so the Mugwort Manor Bed and Breakfast looks professional. With a solid structure, you will make each and every guest feel special.”