Beewitched

by Hannah Reed

  “Tabitha,” Lucinda said. “Calm down.”

  Ah, so Tabitha was the witch with the pointy glasses, the one who had found Rosina’s body. Where had she come from? In all the drama I’d forgotten to count heads.

  “I was almost ready to give up for the night and come back,” she gasped. “Then it happened. It’s over.”

  Considering the direction Tabitha came from, they must have sent her up to the corn maze to spy.

  “What’s over?” Dy asked.

  “They’re arresting Rosina’s murderer. We can go home!”

  At that breaking news, I backed away from my vantage point and reversed my steps, creeping off the same way I’d arrived.

  Only to find the unthinkable: Hunter had Al Mason in handcuffs!

  “They found whatever they were looking for,” Joan whispered to me, a catch in her voice and tears in her eyes. “Inside the house.”

  “You have the wrong man,” I heard Al say as members of the Critical Incident Team escorted him to an awaiting vehicle, while Joan followed behind, crying. Greg caught up and helped support her or I think she might have collapsed.

  Hunter came over and pulled me aside. “Is this it?” He held up a baggie. The blue crystal caught my attention.

  I nodded, sad that I was the one who had to identify Rosina’s pentacle. Even sadder about where it had been found.

  A little later, I suddenly realized I didn’t have transportation. I wasn’t about to call my grandmother for a return wild ride, and Hunter would be busy after this unexpected arrest, so I caught a ride home with one of his team members.

  Several hours after that, Hunter called to say that Al’s fingerprints were all over their new piece of evidence.

  What more did the cops need after that?

  Al had motive—he’d always disliked his sister. If only he hadn’t been so open about his feelings. Al also had opportunity, at least as much as anybody else. And Claudene wouldn’t have thought twice about meeting her brother in the corn maze, probably hoping for a reconciliation. Plus Al had means; he could have easily taken the witches’ ritual knife.

  What had the guy been thinking, keeping the pentacle?

  Al Mason didn’t have to worry about keeping the farm going, at this rate.

  Because Al was going to have free room and board for the rest of his life.

  Twenty-three

  “I still can’t believe Al killed his sister,” I said early Saturday morning as Patti Dwyre and I sat on a bench outside The Wild Clover wearing light jackets. I was enjoying the crisp fall air in spite of present company. The more I thought of Al as his sister’s killer, the less I believed it.

  Earlier, I’d walked through the quiet beeyard, thinking how lucky I’d been this year. None of my hives had gone rogue on me. Bees in the wild have a tough time surviving. They might find a nice nesting cavity in a hollow tree that’s as good as any hive I could provide, but diseases and parasites take a toll on them. So I’m major relieved that I can provide medical care as well as happy homes.

  Then I’d walked to the store and P. P. Patti called, saying she had “important classified information” that she refused to divulge over the phone, and since she also wouldn’t come near my house with the witch next door at home, we had arranged this meeting. Which I fervently hoped would be our last.

  From her point of view, though, we were back to business as usual. But not from mine. She’d crossed the line when she assaulted me, and I wasn’t about to forgive and forget. I saw a restraining order in her immediate future. Since Al would be charged soon, if he hadn’t been already, Patti’s expertise (prying where she doesn’t belong and digging up dirt best left buried) was no longer needed. Her usefulness was a thing of the past, and the bruise on my arm where I’d hit the floor was a motivating reminder of her outrageous attack on me.

  I went on, just thinking out loud, “Why would Al hide incriminating evidence in his house? And if he did something as dumb as hanging on to the necklace, wouldn’t he have at least wiped it clean of prints?”

  “You suspect a setup?” Patti asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. Al sprained his ankle recently. How could he have been able to pull off something so physically violent?”

  “Unless he injured it during the struggle.”

  What was she? The devil’s advocate?

  “What was so important that we couldn’t discuss on the phone?” I asked her.

  “You never know who might be listening in.”

  “Geez, Patti, that’s really paranoid. In your world, this bench we’re sitting on could be wired.”

  “It’s not. I checked.”

  “Fine. But anything you have to offer me is moot at this point. The cops have their killer. End of story.”

  Patti smirked. “You’re right,” she said. “The name of the boy involved in that love potion . . . you remember? . . . the one the witch concocted that almost killed her friend? . . . isn’t important anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

  No, it didn’t really matter. My search into Claudene Mason’s past was over before it began. Still . . . I was human, and we humans are n-o-s-y.

  Patti knew that and waited me out.

  “Who was it?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “Never mind,” Patti said, baiting me, which I realized right away. Was a name from the past worth a Patti in my future? No way.

  Before we got any further, before I could announce my decision to exclude her from my life on a permanent basis, Greg Mason pulled up to the curb right in front of us, got out, and headed directly for our bench. After another round of condolences for all his family’s troubles along with some statements such as I can’t believe this is really happening, I asked Greg, “What will become of the farm?”

  “The media can’t legally release Dad’s name until he’s actually charged,” Greg explained, “even though the staff at the Reporter has that information. And thankfully the cops haven’t charged him yet. Everybody in town will find out, if they don’t know already, but I’m praying it won’t affect the out-of-town business, since that’s where most of our visitors come from.”

  Greg went on, “I’ll stay at the farm a little longer and run things. Joan has offered to help out until Dad is released. I’m not sure how to plan if he . . .”

  He didn’t complete the sentence, but it was easy to finish it for him. There was a possibility, a probable one, that Al wasn’t coming back home.

  Up until now, I’d been focusing all my attention on the witches. But with Al’s arrest for the murder of his sister, and my own refusal to believe it, I took a good, hard look at Greg. With his aunt dead and his father in jail, he stood to take control of the farm. Hunh.

  Right about then, Johnny Jay cruised by with Grant Spandle in the seat next to him. They were traveling in the direction of the library, probably puffed up like strutting roosters, plotting their current harebrained scheme. I’d bet the store that Johnny was really annoyed to be missing out on the bigger case. A normal person would learn their lesson, but not this guy. Let him stew and go chasing after book thieves.

  “Dad asked for you, Story,” Greg said. “He says he needs you. And from what I gather, you have a knack for helping in situations like these.”

  Patti piped up, “What about me, Greg? I should be on the case, too. I’m Story’s partner.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said.

  “Wasn’t I right at your side every single time something went down? We cracked those cases together. You needed my talent then, and you need it now.”

  Yeah, right. Patti has a special talent all right—she disappears every time the going gets tough. And she gets me in plenty of hot water because she doesn’t react to situations like a normal person. When they passed out common sense, Patti didn’t get her fair share.

  “In fact,” she said with that grating whin
e of hers, “I saved your life.” Then to Greg, “If it weren’t for me, Story Fischer would be buried in a grave over there . . .”—here she gestured toward the cemetery on the side of the store—“and I’d be placing flowers over her instead of sitting next to her like now.” Then to me, “I suppose you’ve forgotten that, haven’t you?”

  Darn, she was cashing in her one and only chip!

  “I remember perfectly fine,” I muttered, then said to Greg, “I’m not sure how I could be of any assistance.”

  “As much as I don’t want to admit it, I guess it must’ve been one of the witches who stabbed my aunt to death,” he said. “And Dad thinks whoever did it planted that pentacle inside his house to frame him.”

  I really hated to remind Greg of one very important, damning detail, but facts are facts. “Greg, his fingerprints were all over it!”

  But Greg wasn’t deterred by that. “You’re already close to the witches. They trust you.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “If this involves fraternizing with those witches,” Patti said, throwing in her unsolicited two cents, “we’ll have to pass on the case. Story already has serious damage from her last association with them.”

  I turned to her. “If you continue to fear them,” I advised her, “that fear will consume you. Nobody can harm you unless you believe they can. So get over it.”

  I wasn’t sure what I meant by those words of wisdom, but they sure sounded good.

  Patti glared. I glared right back. But my mind was on Country Delight Farm and what might happen to Al and his property if he stayed in jail.

  In spite of evidence to the contrary, I still believed that Al Mason was an upstanding member of our community. He always reached out to those less fortunate, taking excess crops to the food pantry, inviting classrooms filled with kids to tour the farm, showing up with his toolbox when a neighbor needed to repair a fence. At least I could poke around a little, do my part for him the way he’d done for me and others in the past.

  “What can you tell me about your aunt?” I asked, deciding to remain alert and cautious around Greg even while soliciting information from him. “Somebody said something about a man in her life at one time.”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Greg said.

  “I don’t, either, but humor me.”

  Greg thought about that. “Aunt Claudene was very private about her personal life. Although . . . there was a rumor, but I really wasn’t paying attention at the time.”

  Okay, now we were getting somewhere. “Go on.”

  “Something about an inquest. The family shushed it up. Nobody would talk about it, though, and I guess I was so busy with my own life that I didn’t get any more details.”

  “Inquest?” Patti said, suddenly all ears. Then to me, “That means a judge and jury were trying to determine how and why a person died. That means it was a suspicious death.”

  “I know what it means,” I said, which was sort of true.

  “Now that’s something I could get my teeth into,” Patti said.

  “All right,” I told Greg, making my decision. “Tell Al I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not making any promises.”

  “That’s all he’s asking.”

  “I’m in, too,” Patti said. “We will see what we can do.”

  Just for good measure, I added, “What if everything leads back to your dad?”

  “Then we’ll have to accept that.”

  After Greg left, customers began arriving, some walking up the street, others parking in front. I smiled to myself, glad to see how the store was becoming an integral part of their daily routines. Especially since last month when my smart manager Carrie Ann had suggested adding a coffee station to the store’s offerings so locals could stop for a cup of coffee on their way to work.

  My smile faded when I realized I couldn’t give Patti the boot quite yet. Here we were, back at square one, thanks to a sudden appearance by the accused man’s son. I was stuck.

  “What was the name of that boy who was the focus of a love potion?” I demanded.

  “You aren’t going to believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “The boy Iris was all gaga over was Stanley,” she said. “Stanley Peck.”

  Patti was right. I hadn’t expected to hear Stanley’s name. My fellow beekeeper and aging friend had had girls chasing after him? Somehow I’d forgotten that he was young once. Stanley Peck? But I played it cool, no jaw slamming open or wide-eyed stare. All I said was, “You follow up on that inquest and meet me back here later.”

  Patti’s eyes narrowed. “Stay away from that evil den of witches.”

  “I’m working at the store all day,” I lied. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on getting information that will clear Al’s good name.”

  Twenty-four

  Not surprisingly, the locals were completely “up in arms” about our latest town visitors and the so-called wickedness they were spreading around Moraine. It wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning, yet here they were, all fired up and ready for a shootout. And as usual, Lori Spandle, the biggest troublemaker on the planet, was leading the pack.

  I hung out with Carrie Ann at the checkout register, keeping an eye on Lori, who had a group gathered around the coffeepots. Lots of bad karma was in the air.

  “Ew,” Aurora said, coming in behind them. She was back to her normal self (if you could call Aurora normal) with her hair back in a ponytail instead of free falling. “Where did all the negative energy in your store come from, Story? What’s going on?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but Lori has something to do with it.”

  “Witch hunt,” Carrie Ann told her.

  “Last I checked,” Aurora said, a bit loudly, “we weren’t in Salem. And this isn’t the sixteen hundreds.”

  “Pact with the devil,” I heard someone say.

  “The mark of the devil will be on their buttocks,” someone else announced. “We could check.”

  Aurora went a shade lighter than normal and her mouth shut in a firm, tight line.

  “One of them has two pupils in each eye.”

  “Some of ’em can change forms. I saw one change into a black cat right before my eyes.”

  “They put a spell on Al, made him do their dirty work.”

  Oh geez, there’s nothing worse than a pack of animals. Most critters are perfectly fine one-on-one, but just get them in a gang of others of their kind and they go berserk, acting out in ways they’d never consider on their own. Humans aren’t a bit different than coyotes or wolves. I’d seen the same thing when Lori once led a mob over to my beeyard thinking she’d eliminate my honeybees. If Stanley Peck hadn’t been around to fire a shot overhead, who knows what would have happened.

  Where was Stanley, anyway? I really hoped he was on the schedule and soon, too. I needed to grill him about Iris. Not to mention that I might need backup.

  “Is Stanley working today?” I asked Carrie Ann, watching Aurora fade down the least populated aisle of the store, the one where vegan products were shelved.

  Carrie Ann nodded and glanced at the clock over the entry door. “He should be here any minute.”

  “Salt.” They were still at it. “Sprinkle it around your doors and windows. They can’t cross it.”

  “Turn a broom upside down next to your door and they can’t enter.”

  Carrie Ann and I exchanged eye-rolls.

  Some wiseacre piped up and made a suggestion. “Don’t even own any brooms, that’s the best way to stay safe. Vacuum instead. Throw your brooms out with the trash. That way they won’t have any reason to break in and steal from you.”

  “Lord knows who will be next!”

  “We have to take action!” Lori shouted, sensing the building of serious momentum.

  I jumped in and addressed the ringleader. “One m
ore yell in my store, Lori, and I’m kicking you out. Plus, you have no business instigating a mob in here.”

  “They brew up black magic in a cauldron,” another gang member added. “Over a blazing fire. Then they dance wild around it. Naked!”

  At least that stretch of the imagination had some semblance of truth to it. Okay, maybe a lot of truth. But really, I hadn’t seen any magic brewing in a pot.

  Lori’s followers were getting worked up good. “Their master is a goat,” I actually heard one of them say.

  Well, weren’t we descending into madness now?

  Aurora’s complexion when she came to the register to check out had gone fifty shades of pale. Which surprised me. She’d lived in Moraine long enough to witness enough displays of insanity that she should be more or less immune by now. Although this time things were much closer to home for her.

  “Goats?” I scoffed from the register. “You have to be kidding!”

  Nobody paid any attention.

  “So that’s why they’re out at Al’s,” some dim bulb said. “His goat is the reason.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Aurora said, breaking her silence. She opened her mouth to expand on that. But so many glares shot at her, she’d be dead and gone if those had been bullets. She shut right up.

  “They bewitched Al,” Lori said. “And you, too, Aurora. Who knows who will be next?”

  “That’s what he gets for inviting them onto his farm in the first place.”

  “He didn’t know what they were,” I said to a whole lot of closed minds. Then realized my comment didn’t exactly make me any better. “I mean,” I amended, “he wouldn’t have cared if he knew.” Which wasn’t a bit true. Geez, what a narrow-minded bunch.

  Everybody was really worked up at this point, ready to take the matter into their collective hands.

  “I know what will scare those witches out of town,” I called out in one last attempt to diffuse the situation. “And it’s guaranteed, or your money back. Trust me, they’ll run away for good.”

  Aurora gave me a confused look.