Beewitched

by Hannah Reed

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. But since Hunter was cooperating and sharing information so freely, I didn’t want to interrupt the flow by changing the topic, so I said, “The only positive in this whole mess is that Al gets to open the corn maze today right on schedule. But the poor man must be distraught.”

  Hunter was grim. “If the murder weapon hadn’t been found with the body, he’d have a financial crisis to deal with as well as a dead sister. If it hadn’t been there, we would have had to go over every inch of the maze, and that would have taken significantly more time.”

  “Didn’t you have to anyway?”

  “Sure, but if we didn’t have a weapon we would have had to rip the entire thing apart. It wouldn’t have resembled a corn maze by the time we finished.”

  “I wonder who she went to meet,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “What makes you think she was meeting someone?”

  “Lucinda mentioned it.”

  “Speculation,” Hunter scoffed. “Unless the leader of that group has information she hasn’t shared with us.”

  “It stands to reason, though, that Rosina went to meet someone, otherwise why would she have been away from the camp? I bet whoever killed her summoned her to the maze.”

  I put finger quotes around the word summoned just for effect.

  Hunter cocked his head to the right (a habit I think is cute) and appraised me. “Summoned? As in invoked? Don’t tell me you believe in all that stuff.”

  “No, of course not,” I said, not sure whether I was being truthful. The jury was still out on my beliefs. “Dy said that most of the coven members are new, that there were some power issues going on between them.”

  “Dyanna Crane is on my list of follow-ups for today. We talked yesterday, but I’m going to ask all of them to repeat their stories, starting with her.”

  “I’d like to find out more about Rosina’s past.”

  “That’s on my agenda today, too.”

  “Well then that’s one thing you won’t have to do. I’ll take care of it.”

  I felt a small flame of excitement at the thought of delving into the dead woman’s past. Genealogy has always intrigued me, so I know a little about digging for details on a person’s life. Before I opened the store and started the bee business, Grams and I had traced our family history way back to the colonial days. There was something magical (not the witchcraft kind) about searching through old documents—birth certificates, death notices, census logs—and hanging out in historical sections of libraries, not to even mention the wealth of information to be found online. Our own town librarians had been a huge help in our research.

  Not that I’d have to go that far back with Rosina, but researching her recent past could be fascinating. And might even lead to the one clue that solved this case. Someone wanted her dead and that someone had a reason. What if it was buried in her past?

  I told Hunter what Grams had told me about Rosina’s teenage antics, and how her family had shipped her out. “Grams said that my mother hung around with her and some others, including another girl named Iris.” I went on to tell Hunter about the love potion. “I’m going to see what Iris has to say.”

  “Good idea.”

  Music to my ears!

  Hunter stood up, ready to conquer the world with Ben at his side.

  “Any more information you want to share with me before I go off to solve this case?” I asked with a wide smile.

  Hunter grinned. “Let’s see what we each come up with and meet later at Stu’s Bar and Grill. And for now, remember our deal. I did my part; you do yours by staying away from the farm and those witches. We still have a killer loose, and more than likely that person is at the farm.”

  “Of course,” I responded, avoiding eye contact with him when I realized he still expected that to be part of the deal.

  After that, I watched Hunter walk over to Dy’s house and knock on the door. She opened it and he disappeared inside.

  I walked down to the store, where I’d left my truck . . . and took off for Country Delight Farm for one more go-around with the witches before immersing myself in the dead woman’s past.

  Hunter, as should be apparent by now, is not the boss of me.

  Fourteen

  I was waylaid on the way through town.

  I didn’t make it even one block before I pulled over at the Country Delight farm stand. I had two valid reasons—one of them personal, the other professional, due to my new position as Hunter’s right hand. (Was that going overboard? Maybe.) Anyway, the first had to do with thirst. I’d overdone the coffee between chatting with Dy and picking Hunter’s brain in the kitchen and hadn’t had any other fluids before or since. And apple cider is the perfect antidote to dehydration.

  The second reason was that I saw it was Al Mason himself manning the stand, which struck me as unusual. He wasn’t a sit-down type of guy, although after what had happened to his sister, he had every right to be weak-kneed. Besides, wasn’t the maze opening soon?

  And I really needed to offer him my condolences.

  I couldn’t imagine how awful it must feel to lose your sister. Just the thought of not having Holly made me want to break down and bawl. I steeled my resolve and pulled over before I’d barely started out.

  Al Mason wore overalls and a straw hat and looked every bit the country bumpkin, which worked to his advantage during the fall season. City visitors to the corn maze expected to run into clodhoppers, and Al didn’t disappoint them. He’s the spitting image of Captain Kangaroo’s sidekick Mr. Green Jeans.

  Underneath the hillbilly stereotype, though, Al is a shrewd businessman who cares about the community. On the downside, I feel he takes life a little too seriously and has a low tolerance for nonconformity, especially in family members who go off to delve into magic. Diversity is not his bag. If Al were a political animal (which he isn’t) he’d definitely be a right-right-right-wing ultra-conservative.

  By now he must have discovered his lodgers weren’t exactly what a voter would label as moderate conservatives. The witches leaned so heavily to the left of center, they were in jeopardy of tipping over. Al threatened to go over the opposite way. Not a good combo.

  “Hey, Al,” I greeted him while surveying all the goodies on his table. Then I noticed he hadn’t sprung up from the lawn chair he occupied and that his right leg was propped up on a stool, the ankle encased in an ACE bandage. “What happened to you?”

  “Story, good to see you again.” Al actually lifted his straw hat in an act of old-fashioned courtesy. “Just clumsy on my part. Tripped and fell, somehow landed on my ankle, all two hundred pounds of me. Lucky I didn’t snap it in two.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Few days ago.”

  “Did you see a doctor?”

  “No sense in that. It’s only a sprain. What would he do but tape it up just the same as I did?”

  “That’s too bad what with the corn maze opening and all.”

  “Yah, nothing like this happens at a good time. But my family insists they can open just fine without me and since I need to sit, this is as good a place as any. I’ve been taking some painkillers I saved up, but they knock me out cold. Only use them at night.”

  “You really should go to the doctor,” I suggested.

  There was a pause in our conversation while I got ready to offer my condolences. What does a person say under these circumstances? What possible words could I speak that would comfort the man? Al filled the awkward space with small talk.

  “Since we’re on the subject of doctors, that friend of Lori Spandle’s doesn’t have swine flu,” Al announced. “The fat mouth realtor has been shouting from the treetops. I told her to shut it up or she’s going to scare away all the tourists and visitors to my farm.”

  “That’s good news.” At least on that topic, Spandle would have to stop brea
thing down my neck like the bloodsucker she is. “And anytime you want help stuffing Lori with sawdust and mounting her in the field as a scarecrow, let me know. I’d be happy to assist.”

  Al gave me a little smile, then said, “I don’t know how I would have managed without Joan. That woman is a saint. She’s over at the farm putting the final touches on the corn maze before it opens at ten. She and Greg have everything ready to go. Me?” He glanced at his leg. “All I’m good for is sitting around. Like you said, bad timing on my part.”

  “I’m glad to hear that you’re opening for business, after what happened and all,” I said, finally seeing an opening. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your sister. I met her at the store and she seemed nice.” There—not much, but something.

  “Thank you kindly. It’s been quite a shock.” Al shook his head sadly. “I wanted to shut down the whole thing after what happened, but Greg talked sense into me. The maze and the fall events at the farm are my bread and butter. I wouldn’t stay above water without the profits from this part of the year. I’d lose it all. The farm operates on a tight margin.”

  “Do the police have a suspect in mind?”

  Al’s face clouded over, and his jawline hardened into an angry line as he said, “Those witches did it—trust me. And they did it where they did it for a reason. What was Claudene thinking by bringing those people to my farm? And then going and getting murdered in some kind of cult ritual practically in front of my nose. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she planned it on purpose to hurt me.”

  “Hunter didn’t mention anything about a ritual,” I told him, a bit taken aback by his reaction. Was he actually blaming his sister for her own murder?

  Al was off on a tangent. He leaned forward. “The lot of them should be burned at the stake for what they did.” Al paused and thought about that idea for a few seconds as though he might arrange for it to happen. After all, he had plenty of flammable cornstalks. Then he said, “Claudene always was a problem, from the very beginning right until the bitter end. No love lost there.” He blinked at me. “Sorry, Story, but it’s true and it’s been true from way back.”

  “Easy now, Al. Nobody in their right mind would actually plan their own murder. Hunter will find whoever did this and punish them according to the law. We don’t have to take justice into our own hands.”

  “And Greg!” Al was gaining steam like a runaway locomotive on a downward slope. He hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “He failed to mention the witchcraft part when he came to me about letting them camp on the farm. Never mentioned that my sister was coming, too. Just said they were friends of his, and all the time scheming to get us face-to-face. Some friends they turned out to be. If I didn’t need the help, I’d send him packing right along with the bloody-handed coven of evil witches.”

  Al crossed himself, reminding me of his Catholic roots. Then he slumped back in the lawn chair and rearranged his injured leg.

  “It’s a hard time,” I reassured him. “But things will get better. You’ll see.”

  Al humphed like he didn’t believe it. “The worst part is that I can’t even run them off. That detective boyfriend of yours ordered them to stay right where they are, in my apple orchard.”

  “Hunter’s only doing his job. You’ll see. He’ll find the person who did this fast enough and they’ll be gone from town for good.” As I said it, I saw Hunter and Ben drive past, heading toward the farm, which had been my next stop. I’d have to rearrange my plans for the day, because I wasn’t about to blatantly flaunt my total disregard for that addendum he’d concocted as a condition to my being involved in the case. Why aggravate him right out of the gate?

  Hunter saw me and waved.

  Ben spotted me, too, and his ears perked up in what I’ve come to realize is a friendly salute.

  “What a mess.” That was Al’s parting comment.

  He could say that again.

  I returned to my truck with the apple cider and revised my to-do list while satisfying my thirst with the pure, sweetly tart beverage.

  My sister called my cell phone.

  “We’re having a meeting at Grams’s house right after lunch.”

  “About?”

  “The wedding, silly. What else could it be about?”

  I don’t know, I could have said, maybe to commiserate over one of Mom’s old schoolmates having been stabbed to death? Sometimes my family can be so insensitive. Instead I said, “And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”

  “You need to be there, too.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I made you my assistant.”

  “You did?” I felt annoyed and pleased all at once. Annoyed that my younger sister had the lead position and it was in her power to decide who got to play along and who didn’t (I’m used to being the one in that position). But also pleased that I was finally a member of the team.

  I let the annoyance go, just shook it right off like a pesky insect. Holly could be the pre-wedding queen bee as planner, and during the marriage ceremony Mom would be queen for the day. I’d take a backseat to both of them, and be perfectly happy there. Sort of like being the vice president. Having an important position without any of the responsibility.

  See? Absolute proof that I’m not a control freak like my mother. I can follow really well if I want to.

  “Grams says make sure you have room for dessert when you come.” And with that we disconnected.

  Since I couldn’t go to the farm, I decided to leave the truck parked where it was and walk back to Willow Street, where I headed up Aurora’s driveway. I found her in her garden center getting ready for her ten o’clock opening.

  Don’t I wish The Wild Clover opened mid-morning like the garden center and the corn maze? What a treat that would be. But my customers depend on me to be open for them as they come and go from work, so the store has to open at the crack of dawn.

  “Story,” Aurora said when the door chime alerted her. “I was hoping we’d see each other soon.”

  “Me, too,” I said, leaning against the counter while she fired up her computerized receipt system from the other side. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue yesterday. The chief had me in lockup.”

  Aurora grinned. “It’s the least I could do after you cared so much about me the other night.”

  “I’ll never admit this publicly,” I told her, “but Johnny Jay played a part in your rescue. Mine, too, even though he doesn’t know it. Showing up like that. When they chased us from the river, I thought we were goners.”

  “And then instead of working us over, Lucinda simply ordered us away,” Aurora added. “Being surrounded like that . . . it was freaky.”

  “Looking back, I might have overreacted,” I said. “Sometimes my imagination gets the best of me, and it was working overtime watching all those witches dancing around.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time I’d plowed right into a situation thinking it was worse than it was. But as the old saying goes, better safe than sorry.

  Aurora shook her head adamantly and said, “Something alerted you to danger. Look what happened to Rosina later. If you hadn’t sensed something wrong, I would have been out at their camp. That could have been me.”

  Now it was my turn to shake my head. “I don’t think so. Rosina went into the corn maze to meet someone. It certainly wasn’t a random act.”

  We thought about that for a few seconds, then Aurora said, “I’m not going back. Lucinda called and practically ordered me to appear for the next big event, but I’ve had my fill of them. After your warning and what happened to Rosina, I don’t want anything to do with that bunch.”

  “Did you tell Lucinda that?” I couldn’t imagine the witch being the type who took no for an answer.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to,” Aurora admitted. “I’m just going to be a no-show. If Lucinda confronts me later, I�
��ll come up with an excuse. Like my car broke down on the way.”

  Originally I’d planned to discuss my own participation in the upcoming ceremony, but I reconsidered quickly after finding out she was afraid to go back. I didn’t want her to worry about me or to try to talk me out of it, or pull the whole clairvoyance thing and tell me my future. Instead I said, “You better disappear for the entire night. Lucinda will be out on her broom with her flying monkeys searching for you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, but don’t worry about me. I know how to blend into the woodwork.” I had my doubts. As much as I like and admire Aurora, she is NOT blending material. She literally shines with her own special uniqueness.

  I asked the one question that had been on my mind ever since Lucinda marched into Johnny’s interrogation room. “How did you know I was in need of a jailbreak?”

  Aurora thought about that for a minute or two—brows knit together, concentration showing on her face, then puzzlement, like the question was too big and complex for her. “I guess the same way you knew I needed rescue from the witches.”

  What kind of answer was that? I’d expected something profound. Like she’d used her sixth sense, she’d heard my voice wafting through space, pleading for help, after which she would repeat my exact words back to me to prove she had, then go on to convince me of the existence of an alternate reality that interacts with our physical world.

  Proof one way or the other would be a welcome relief instead of so much doubt. Why couldn’t I just take a position regarding the practice of magic and stick with it?

  Why had I been so sure Aurora was in trouble?

  “It was instinct on my part,” I told her. “A scary thought popped into my head and it grew and grew and I just had to get you out of there.”

  Aurora nodded in understanding. “We’ll never know if you were right or not.”

  I leaned over the counter. “You’re playing me, right? Come on, admit it. You saw me get into Johnny’s car.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Now she was shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”