Magic & Mercy

by Annabel Chase

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “If I minded, I wouldn’t offer.” He strode past me. “You smell nice, Rose. That a new perfume?”

  “No, I was in the woods with PP3 before I got here and I fell in a bramble patch. I didn’t have time to shower.”

  He shook his head. “Only you, Rose.”

  It had been quite the predicament. PP3 had run circles around the bramble patch, barking at it like it had ensnared me. I had to calm the dog before I could extricate myself from its grasp without slicing my arm to bits. It occurred to me afterward that I should have tried to use magic, but, after a string of recent fiascos, I wasn’t too eager to try a new spell.

  Laura Stanhope was muttering under her breath when we arrived. She had a glass of water in front of her and was in the process of retrieving a vial of swirling purple potion from her handbag.

  “What’s in the vial?” Deputy Bolan asked, as she moved to pop off the lid.

  “Mommy called it my morning vitamin,” she said. “It’s a rather strong anti-anxiety potion. It calms me down. I’m prone to anxiety, you see. Always have been. Mommy said I was born screaming and never stopped. Said I drove Daddy to an early grave.”

  Great balls of dysfunction. One more reason to be thankful for my relationship with Marley.

  The sheriff approached the table. “Any chance you could hold off on drinking the potion until we’ve had a conversation? I’d prefer you to be lucid.”

  “Oh, I’ll be lucid,” she said, “It takes the edge off. I know you have bad news. I saw it in my tea leaves this morning.”

  Under normal circumstances, I would’ve scoffed at the claim, but living in Starry Hollow changed my perspective on that sort of thing.

  Sheriff Nash pulled out a chair and sat across from Laura. “I’m afraid you’re right, Miss Stanhope. It appears Higgins was murdered at the PEMA conference.”

  Her face crumpled. “Higgins is dead? Murdered?” she whispered. “How? Why? By whom?”

  The shameful part of me was disappointed by her mild reaction. I was anticipating torturous wails and a beating of the chest. Maybe a sobbing drop to the knees. At the very least, a Real Housewives table flip. This was far too reasonable.

  “That’s what we’re trying to piece together,” the sheriff said. “We’ve spoken to a few butlers he spent time with before he died, and a couple of them mentioned a map. Do you know anything about that?”

  Laura’s nose wrinkled. “A map? Why the gods would a map be significant? He got lost in town and was killed in the course of a robbery?”

  “Not exactly.” The sheriff watched her attentively. “More like a treasure map.”

  “Oh.” Her expression passed from confused to enlightened. “He spoke about the treasure map?”

  “You know about it?” the sheriff asked.

  “Of course I know about it,” she said. “It’s been sitting in my mother’s vault for years, ever since my grandfather died and she inherited it.”

  “Apparently, it’s not in your mother’s vault anymore,” the sheriff said. “Higgins seems to have brought it with him to Starry Hollow and now it’s missing.”

  Laura fell silent, processing the information.

  “Miss Stanhope,” Deputy Bolan said gently, “do you have any idea why he would do that?”

  “Take the map?” She seemed confused by the question. “How should I know?”

  “Has he ever stolen from your family before?” I asked.

  Laura fixed me with a venomous stare. “How dare you. Higgins would never steal from us.”

  “Then how do you explain the map?” the sheriff asked. “Did he have permission to take it?”

  Laura fidgeted with her vial. “Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t have been to steal. Higgins was loyal to the estate and the family.”

  “So you gave your permission for him to take it?” the sheriff prodded.

  “No, but since the map belongs to me now, I grant him permission posthumously,” Laura said.

  The sheriff slumped against his chair. “The law doesn’t work that way, Miss Stanhope.”

  “The law works whatever way I choose,” she snapped. “I’m a Stanhope, for Mother Nature’s sake.”

  Whoa. That was the kind of pompous statement that was sure to set the sheriff’s teeth on edge.

  “Have you ever seen the map?” I interjected, before the sheriff could express his irritation. “Would you be able to tell us anything about it?”

  She pulled a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed the corners of her eyes, careful not to smear her mascara. “As a matter of fact, I can. I saw it recently.”

  “What was the occasion?” Deputy Bolan asked.

  Laura popped the lid off and downed the potion before anyone could object. “We reviewed the contents of the vault with the family lawyer after Mommy died.”

  “We?” the sheriff asked. “You have any siblings?”

  “No, thank the gods,” Laura said. “I’d make a terrible sister. I don’t like to share, you see.” She cringed as though ‘share’ was a dirty word. “We, as in Higgins, the lawyer, and me.”

  “What’s the lawyer’s name?” Deputy Bolan asked, taking notes.

  “Stu Storey.” She plucked a business card from her handbag. “Here’s his information. He’s been with our family for generations. Vampires make the best lawyers. If you’re ever in the market, the undead are the way to go.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” the sheriff said. “When you went through the vault, did you notice anything strange about Higgins? Did he react to the sight of the map?”

  Laura appeared thoughtful. “He was interested from the point of view of someone who likes tall tales. Higgins was an avid reader. In fact, his favorite author is a local resident. Alec Hale. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  The sheriff didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, we know Alec Hale.”

  I refrained from mentioning that he was my boss. I didn’t want to be pestered for a signed copy of his book, not from someone as unstable as Laura seemed.

  “Were you interested in the map?” I asked.

  Laura laughed. “I’m not interested in treasure, if that’s what you’re asking. My family has more money than it knows what to do with. I don’t think we could be poor if we tried.”

  “Do you know the origin of the map?” the sheriff asked. “How it came into your family’s possession?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said. “All I can tell you are some of the locations specified on the map.”

  The sheriff leaned forward. “Well, that would definitely help.”

  I knew what he was thinking. If the murderer had the map and was hunting for the treasure at any of the locations, we might track him down before he found it.

  Laura gave him a demure smile. “Glad to help, Sheriff.” She snapped her fingers at Deputy Bolan. “Little man, if you can find me a regular map of the town, I can point to the places I remember. I have a visual memory.”

  The leprechaun bristled. “The name is Deputy Bolan. Ember, would you be so kind as to bring us a map?”

  I peered at him. “You know I don’t work for you, right?”

  He rolled his eyes as he hopped off the chair. “Be right back.”

  “Maybe you could manifest a map,” the sheriff said to me. “All that training you’re doing might prove useful at some point.”

  Laura gazed at me with renewed interest. “Oh, a witch?”

  “That’s right,” I said, injecting a note of pride into my voice. “Ember Rose, direct descendant of the One True Witch.”

  Laura blinked. “How sweet. I’m afraid I don’t know very much about witches. I’m descended from a long line of norns on my mother’s side.”

  The sheriff covered his laugh with a loud cough. “The Rose family is very prominent here in Starry Hollow, Miss Stanhope. In fact, their butler had dinner with Higgins the night before he died.”

  “Is that so?” Laura asked.

  “What’s a norn?” I inq
uired.

  Laura tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Norns were once magical beings, but many of us ceased the practice of magic generations ago.”

  “For a reason?” I asked.

  “Not really. Each generation passed down less and less information, until there was no knowledge left to impart.”

  That seemed a great loss. Maybe it was because the discovery of magic was still new to me, but I couldn’t imagine letting something so incredible fall by the wayside.

  “Do you know Trevor Jenkins?” I asked.

  Her surprise was evident. “Of course. Jenkins serves the estate where my uncle lives. Mommy and Uncle Larry weren’t very close, so I don’t know Jenkins, although my uncle did attend the funeral.”

  “Would Jenkins know about the map?” I asked.

  “I should think so,” Laura said. “It was one of the reasons for Mommy and Uncle Larry’s falling out. Grandpapa left the map to Mommy when he died and she refused to give it to Uncle Larry.”

  I could tell from the sheriff’s body language that we were having the same thought. Jenkins was already on our interrogation list. Good thing I was already planning to track him down at the conference to ask him about the argument with Higgins the morning of the murder.

  Deputy Bolan reappeared with a town map. “Here you go.” He placed it open in front of Laura.

  “I recognize a few spots,” she said, retrieving a pen from her bottomless handbag. She began marking places with an X. “I didn’t study the map closely, mind you, so it may not be completely accurate. I do remember the original map had a symbol of two crossed daggers dripping with blood.” She shivered. “I don’t do well with blood.”

  “Whatever you can remember is fine,” the sheriff said. “It’s not like you expected to be quizzed on it.”

  “Certainly not,” Laura replied, dropping the pen back into her bag. “But I want to do whatever I can to help you find his killer. In fact, I’ve decided to stay right here in town at the Aphrodite Hotel until you apprehend the guilty party. Higgins was like family to me and I’ve only recently lost Mommy. He must be avenged.”

  “We can’t promise vengeance,” the sheriff said. “But we can promise justice.”

  She snapped her handbag closed. “I’ll take it.”

  After the conversation with Laura, I headed back to the convention center for the continuation of the conference. I needed to follow up with Jenkins on the alleged argument with Higgins at breakfast the morning of the murder. The Sheriff and I agreed that I would have the initial conversation with Jenkins since I’d already established a relationship with him. We figured he'd be more likely to speak freely without the sheriff present.

  With the conference in full swing, I hunted him down in the room labeled ‘Master Bedroom.’ A small group was assembled in the room, listening to a lecture on bedroom etiquette. I had no idea how much thought went into their duties. They discussed everything from hospital corners to tact when the owner of the house had an unexpected overnight guest. They were the epitome of discretion. Once again, I found myself wondering about Simon's role at Thornhold. No doubt the man knew where all the bodies were buried. The brightly colored kaftans with fluffy animal heads fooled no one. Aunt Hyacinth was a force to be reckoned with.

  I spotted Jenkins at the back of the room. He seemed more interested in the diamond-encrusted candlesticks than the lecture. When he saw me watching him, he straightened and returned his focus to the lecturer.

  As I started toward him, the lecturer noticed my presence. "Ah, you’re the reporter. Have you come to cover my lecture? I'd be happy to provide you with the notes afterward."

  "Yes," I enthused. "That would be great, thank you." I winked at Jenkins, who suppressed a smile.

  “No photographer?” the lecturer complained. “Last year, I was featured on the front page.”

  Hmm. Slow news day, then.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and snapped his picture.

  “That isn’t my best side,” he objected.

  “Don’t worry. I’m a witch,” I said. “I’ll work my magic on it.” That got a few snickers in the crowd.

  The lecturer continued with his commentary. “Thankfully, the days of chamber pots are long over.”

  “Too right!” someone called from the back. “Butlers today don’t know how easy they have it.”

  “In my day, we didn’t have kitchens attached to the main residence,” someone else said. “I had a staff of pixies that flew the food in through the windows. Made it terribly drafty during meals.”

  How old were these butlers? After a few minutes of listening to their anecdotes, I realized that Jenkins had moved beside me.

  "You look as bored as I feel," I whispered. "Are you starting to regret your first conference?”

  "I'd be lying if I said no," Jenkins replied. "To be fair, I think I would find any conference dull. I'm not one for lectures."

  "Then you would hate my history class," I said. “It's one hundred percent lectures. And we don't get to stand in a pretty room like this to do it, either."

  "Regretting your choice to become educated?" he queried. Amusement danced in his dark eyes.

  "Actually, the class itself is interesting," I said. "I'm new to the paranormal world, so everything is still shiny and new to me."

  When the lecturer began to drone on about the right way to restock bathroom supplies, that was my cue to leave.

  "How about a coffee to stay awake for the rest of the sessions?” I asked. "I saw a coffee kiosk in the lobby area.”

  Jenkins nodded mutely and followed me out the door with the stealth I’d expect from a vampire.

  “A plain latte with a shot of success, please,” I said.

  The kiosk was manned by a troll whose fingers were so huge, I watched to see whether he could operate the machinery without breaking anything.

  Jenkins smiled. "Success, yes. I'll have the same, please."

  I looked at him askance. "What kind of success are you looking for? Top marks as the new household manager? That’s unlikely if you keep ditching lectures.”

  "I could ask you the same question," he said. "What kind of success are you looking for? Finishing the story in time to meet your deadline?"

  "Maybe," I said coyly. "My boss is a real piece of work. Very difficult to please. I'm sure there are a whole bunch of butlers here who know exactly what I'm talking about."

  I paid for our drinks and we ambled down the nearest corridor.

  “They even have a replica of a butler’s pantry,” I said, indicating the room to my right. “It’s empty. Should we go in?”

  Jenkins smirked. “You’re a bad influence, Miss Rose.”

  “I’ll take pictures for the paper,” I said. “Easier to do when there aren’t bodies in the way.” Living or dead.

  We slipped into the room and went to the shelves to check out the magical herbs and spices.

  “I feel like you need to have such a vast knowledge of everything,” I said. “Simon is a font of information. My aunt relies on him heavily.”

  “Yes, I think the longer the relationship lasts, the more reliant the owner becomes on the butler,” Jenkins agreed. “It’s a co-dependent relationship at its finest.”

  “Simon knows what my aunt wants before she does,” I said. “Is it like that for you?”

  “Not so much,” Jenkins admitted.

  “My aunt was furious with the sheriff for interviewing Simon about the murder,” I said, feigning interest in a row of tonics. Sore muscles. Headaches. Visits by the in-laws. Who didn’t need a tonic for that?

  “Sounds like she’s very loyal to him,” Jenkins said.

  “It works both ways,” I said. “By the way, I spoke to a few other butlers and they mentioned you’d had a dispute with Higgins during breakfast the morning of the murder. Do you remember?”

  Jenkins soured. “Of course I remember. It isn’t every day you argue with someone who drops dead a couple of hours later.”


  “He dropped dead because someone murdered him,” I said. “You make it sound as though he keeled over from an aneurysm.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Jenkins adjusted his cuff links, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “The argument was nothing. I offered my condolences on the loss of Lottie Stanhope. He then made a less-than-complimentary comment about Mr. Stanhope, so I responded in kind.”

  “Right. You serve members of the same family.”

  “Different residences. They have nothing to do with each other.”

  “So you were defending your respective Stanhopes,” I said, smiling. “That’s kind of adorable.”

  Jenkins relaxed. “I suppose it’s the butler version of smack talk.”

  I laughed. “Do you know anything about the map?”

  He looked genuinely confused. “What map?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. It was probably best not to mention a treasure map to someone with no knowledge of it. “Was breakfast the only interaction you had with Higgins?”

  “Basically,” he replied. “He just happened to be in front of me in the line that morning and I heard someone greet him by name. We’d never met prior to here.”

  “Did you expect him to give you a hard time?” I asked.

  “Not particularly,” Jenkins said.

  “Who started the conversation?” I asked.

  “He did,” Jenkins said. “Like I mentioned, he made a comment and I rose to the bait. It was a foolish response. I should have brushed it off because I could see he was itching for an argument.”

  It sounded similar to his uncharacteristic behavior at dinner the night before. Something had obviously been on the butler’s mind. Maybe it was the death of Lottie Stanhope. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

  “I should probably get back and take notes,” I said.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Jenkins said. “Will you be dining at Palmetto House again during my stay?”

  “Never say never,” I said.

  Jenkins saluted me with his cup. “I never do.”

  Chapter 9

  It was the day of the pack barbecue and I was in complete meltdown mode. I paced the length of the kitchen, debating what to contribute. After the meatloaf massacre, I was afraid to delve into the world of magical cooking. Unfortunately, I left it until the last minute. Procrastination did me no favors.