by Nic Saint
Father Kermit, meanwhile, had stabbed his knife so deeply into the Nutella jar that his hand had disappeared along with it, and he now reeled it back in, only to find it covered in the brown sugary substance, much like Barnum’s face had been before he’d started practicing Miss Piggy karate chops on the priest.
I gave Gran a reproachful look but she merely shrugged and pretended not to notice the devastation she’d wrought with her ill-fated initiative.
“I told you,” she said in a sing-songy voice. “Sugar is bad for you.”
And so it was. And while Father Reilly sat staring at the Nutella covering his pudgy paw, Busby was wiping the OJ from his eyes, and Bancroft frowned at his can of Coke as if suddenly it had come alive, Estrella said, “It’s just not fair. We’re not allowed to practice… you-know-what, and you are. And it’s obvious you’re just as inept at… you-know-what as we are, Gran.”
“Gran isn’t inept,” Ernestine said sternly. “She just got carried away.”
“Well, last time we cast a you-know-what, we got carried away, too.”
“There’s a big difference between messing around with a pot of Nutella and moving entire buildings and the people inside them,” I said. “And being featured on the evening news.”
Gran flashed us a warning look, and said, “We’ll discuss it later. What are your plans for today, girls?”
“Oh, the usual,” said Estrella. “Looking at flowers. Sniffing at flowers. Selling flowers. And not doing what we were chosen to do,” she added with a pointed look at our grandmother.
Gran raised her chin. “I said we’ll discuss it later.”
“Discuss what later?” asked Bancroft, who wasn’t born yesterday.
“Oh, just some personal stuff Estrella has to work out,” Gran said airily.
“I think we might continue looking for the murderer of Mrs. Peach,” said Ernestine. “It just seems like the right thing to do.”
“Yes, and if a certain person would only allow us to use certain… tools at our disposal, this would go a lot quicker,” said Estrella.
Gran planted her hands on the table and leaned into her granddaughter. “I said we’ll discuss it later,” she snapped.
Estrella gulped. I think she was afraid Gran would make her disappear next, for she effectively shut up.
I thought about Snoozles, and how we were going to have to sneak his food past Gran. If we could find whatever the obviously spoiled rotten cat wanted to eat in the first place. Glass bowls? Kit & Kaboodle? I hoped the local deli carried some of those things. If not, he’d just have to be content with plain kibble.
Just then, there was a knock at the front door, and a loud voice that called out, “Anybody home?”
It was Sam, and when he walked into the kitchen and saw Busby’s face wet with juice, he arched an eyebrow. “That stuff’s supposed to go into your face, not on it, buddy.”
“I don’t know what happened,” said Busby, looking confused.
“Eye-hand coordination is a tricky thing to master,” Sam quipped with a wink in my direction. Then he saw that Father Reilly was licking Nutella from his fingers, also looking confused, and he laughed. “Things are never boring at Casa Cassie, are they?”
“They certainly aren’t,” said Gran cheerfully. “Have you eaten, Sam?”
“Yes, I have, ma’am,” the burly cop said. “I’m actually looking for my cat. He seems to have disappeared. The cat that my mom and I adopted?”
Gran turned a curious eye on me, and I gulped a little. Dang it. She knew, didn’t she? “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I said. “He probably just went for a stroll.”
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,” Gran confirmed, narrowing her eyes at me. “Very, very soon.”
“Well, if you see him, give a holler,” said Sam. “I can’t go adopting cats and then losing them. Lord knows the poor creature went through enough already.”
“Is this Mrs. Peach’s cat?” asked Father Reilly.
“Yep. The one and only Snoozles. Who luckily didn’t inherit his owner’s orneriness. At least I don’t think so.”
“He did inherit his owner’s fussiness,” said Gran.
Oh, God. She knew. Of course she did. Gran always knows everything, especially what goes on under her own roof. How did we even think we could deceive her?
“Look, I can explain,” I began, but Gran shut me up with one glance.
“Snoozles will come back, Sam,” she said. “And when he does, just feed him plain old kibble. He’ll just have to learn to like it.”
Gran gave me an almost imperceptible nod, and I gave her a grateful look. She was right. Plain old kibble would have to suffice. After all, Snoozles might think he was master of this domain, but the truth was that there was only one master at Safflower House, and that was Gran. She decided what her guests ate, and since Snoozles was now in her care, that went for the black cat as well.
“And make sure he doesn’t poop in my flower beds,” she added.
Sam frowned at her. “I’ll… make sure he doesn’t, Cassie.”
“Good. Because if he does, I might have to take drastic steps.”
Sam smiled a little uncertainly. “Not too drastic, I hope?”
A set look had come over Gran’s face. “Nobody touches my flowers, Sam. Anybody who does, will suffer the consequences.” She lowered her head to fix me with an intent stare. “And those consequences will be very dire indeed.”
Chapter 23
I was taking pictures of the flower shop, and comparing them to pictures I’d found online of other, more successful flower shops, when the doorbell jangled merrily and Renée walked in.
“Hey, girls,” she said, looking around. “Oh, my. This store already looks so much better. You must have put hours and hours into it.”
“Yes, we did,” said Estrella. “Hours and hours and hours.”
“Gran performed some of her magic,” I said. “That’s why everything suddenly looks so great. She doesn’t want us to fail.”
“Of course,” said Renée. “That was so nice of her. She used to do the same thing when she was running her own chain of flowers stores. They always looked amazing.”
“It’s easy when you have access to your powers,” Estrella complained. “But if somebody takes your powers away, and then expects you to deliver the same results, that’s just not fair.”
Renée laughed. “From what I hear you guys used to drop buildings on the White House. So maybe it’s not such a bad idea to take your powers away.”
“That was an accident,” Strel insisted. “Just a small error of judgment.”
“And then there was that time you cloned a person and his clones ran amok in Central Park,” said Renée, still grinning. “Or that big blimp you made appear that almost crashed into the buildings lining Central Park. That could have turned into a disaster if your grandmother hadn’t bailed you out.”
“Well, yes,” Estrella admitted. “That was another small slip. But we all assured Gran it would never happen again.”
“Or what about the time you salvaged an old shipwreck from the bottom of the Atlantic and you were attacked by a bunch of pirates?” asked Renée.
“Gran really tells you everything, doesn’t she?” Estrella said with a dark frown.
“Oh, yes, she does,” Renée admitted. “But only because I’m her best friend, and I’ll never reveal anything she tells me.”
“I understand why Gran took our powers away,” I said. “I really do. But sometimes it doesn’t seem fair. It is our heritage, after all.”
“I think in time she will slowly restore your powers,” said Renée. “When she feels you’re mature enough to use them wisely and not create a mess.”
“You think so?” asked Ernestine, looking up from the cash register.
“Well, that’s what she told me. So I guess it’s all up to you. If you prove that you can handle yourselves responsibly, without getting into trouble, she might give you back some of your powers. Not all of t
hem, mind you.”
“That’s great news,” I said, nodding.
“So do you have powers, Renée?” asked Estrella curiously.
“Oh, no, I don’t,” she said with a laugh. “Imagine me, a witch. I’d probably cause even more havoc than you guys ever did.”
“We didn’t cause that much havoc,” Estrella murmured.
“No, I’m quite happy being a regular person,” said Renée. “Though it would be nice if I could have some witchy powers. Like the power to bake a cake without having to do the work. Or to clean the house or do the dishes.”
“Just buy a Roomba,” said Ernestine. “That should do the trick.”
“And buy a dishwasher,” Estrella said.
“And buy your cake at Brown’s,” I added. “They’ve got amazing cake.”
“Brown’s Better Bread Bakery? Yes, they do have some great stuff,” Renée said. “Isn’t that where your former associate Skip used to work?”
Skip Brown was a young man who’d worked for us for a while, back when my sisters and I had wanted to start a security company, protecting famous and not-so-famous people by using our witchy powers. But when Gran had stripped us of our powers that endeavor had quickly gone south, and Skip had returned to work at the family bakery.
“Skip still works there,” I said. “He’s the skinny kid who stocks the bread.”
“Oh, yes. I think I’ve seen him.” She glanced out the window. “Oh, there’s Brandi Bluff. Have you talked to her? She’s the one who ran afoul of Leann Peach. Remember I told you about her? Let me just call her in.”
She quickly skipped out and returned a minute later with a busty woman with large blond hair and piercing blue eyes. “Brandi, these are the girls I told you about. The ones who’re looking into Leann’s murder? They have a few questions for you if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” said the woman. “Ask away. My, my, what a beautiful store you have. I didn’t even know it was here. Did you open recently?”
“We’ve been open for a couple of weeks,” I said, “but we’re still getting the hang of things.”
“I must tell my friends,” she said, looking around. “And my husband, of course. He doesn’t know it yet, but come Valentine’s Day this store will become his go-to place.” She laughed.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” said Renée, satisfied her work was done. She walked out with a pleasant wave, and I wondered what else she knew about us. It seemed as if there were no secrets Gran hadn’t revealed to her.
“So, Leann Peach,” said Brandi. “What can I tell you about her? She was not my best friend, that’s for sure, but I didn’t kill her if that’s what you think.”
“Oh, no,” I hastened to say. “We’re just looking into her death, and talking to all the people that knew her.”
“And hated her,” Estrella added.
“Put me on the list,” said Brandi. “She made my life pretty miserable at one point. Said she was my biggest fan and then she went and did that to me.”
“I’m your biggest fan,” said Ernestine, who’d trepidatiously appeared from behind the counter, and now walked up to Brandi, eyes glittering excitedly.
“Are you now? That’s great to hear.”
“Yes, I’m going through your Touch of Vampire series right now. I’m at book fifty-six and I can’t get enough. It’s so, so good!”
“Thanks,” said Brandi with an indulgent smile. “When you get to book ninety-six, tell me if I should stop or not. My fans keep begging me for more, but quite frankly I’m starting to run out of shit I can throw at my heroes!”
“Oh, Josh is so amazing! I hope he and Jennifer end up together. Do they?” she asked, eyes wide and sparkling. “End up together?”
Brandi displayed a mysterious smile. “Just keep reading, honey. I can promise you it gets better.”
“And can Jennifer cure Nicholas of the curse?” asked Ernestine, now going full groupie on the writer.
“Wait and see,” said Brandi blithely. She’d obviously gone through this kind of situation before, and knew how to handle it.
“Leann Peach,” I said, with a keen look at my sister. “According to Renée she did some truly horrible things to you.”
“She did. For some reason she didn’t seem to agree with the fact that I like to involve my family in my business. My oldest daughter does my marketing these days, and my youngest likes to help out with the posting of free books and giveaways. My son, who’s something of a computer whizz, likes to handle my social media stuff, and my other daughter reads through my books and makes sure I don’t make mistakes against the chronology or the characters.” She sighed. “And of course I post a lot of pictures about my crazy family on my timeline. In fact I post pretty much all the time.”
“And Mrs. Peach didn’t like that,” I said.
“She certainly did not. Filed a complaint with the police and social services. Called it child exploitation. Said I was a bad mother and my kids should be taken away from me.” She shook her head, her smile gone. “It was horrible. I had to endure hours of interviews with some psychologist, not to mention the police coming into my home to talk to my kids. Ask them if they thought I was a bad mother for posting their pictures on Facebook. The whole experience upset me so much I couldn’t write for weeks.”
“But why?” asked Ernestine. “She was your biggest fan.”
The blond-haired writer shook her head, her curls dangling freely. “I have no idea. I once confronted her, long after the ordeal, and she simply snapped she was disappointed in me. I’d betrayed her trust. And she also assured me she’d burned all my books and would encourage all of her friends to do the same. In fact she started a Facebook page called Burn Brandi Bluff Books. I think it was obvious what the purpose was. Luckily Facebook took it down after I complained.”
“Did you ever feel like… taking revenge?” I asked, feeling awkward once again. I wondered how Sam handled these interviews. He probably just asked point-blank if they’d killed the victim. Maybe it was easier.
Brandi fixed me with an amused look. “Are you asking me if I killed Leann Peach?”
“Well…”
“The police asked me the same question. Some big, strapping cop. I’ll tell you what I told him. I could have killed her, but then I’d have to leave my kids motherless while I languished in prison. So for the sake of them, I’d never do such a thing, ever. Mrs. Peach already caused me enough trouble. I wasn’t going to let her take anything else away from me. In fact I’ve put the entire episode out of my mind, and have managed to avoid Leann successfully ever since. We used to meet at the park, but I’ve since stopped going there. I even changed my shopping habits. Now I buy all of my groceries at Cream of the Crop on Hogarth Street. It’s out of the way, but at least I didn’t have to see that woman’s face anymore, or listen to her disdainful snorts.”
“I guess now you can shop wherever you want again,” I said.
She smiled. “Yes, I guess I can.”
“Do you have any idea who could have killed her?” asked Ernestine.
“No idea, honey. Renée told me there were plenty of people Leann pissed off over the years, so I guess there are plenty of candidates, but I wasn’t in touch with any of them. I know it sounds harsh, but I don’t think Leann will be missed.”
“No, I don’t think she will,” I said, thinking about Leann’s sister. She seemed to be the only one who’d liked Leann Peach. Probably because they were the same personality type. And then there was Snoozles, of course. But he seemed to be the only creature in the world Leann Peach had loved and cared for. So maybe she’d had a heart after all. She simply hadn’t liked other people.
Chapter 24
I looked up at the house, then down at the snippet of paper again. The address Renée had given me was a rundown building in downtown Brooklyn. It looked more like the kind of place a bunch of drug addicts would be chilling out at, not a former star pupil of one of Brooklyn’s finest private institut
ions.
Didi Fizz, the woman I was looking for, had certainly fallen from grace, if her living arrangements were anything to go by. Then again, according to Renée she’d failed to pursue her chosen career as a medical professional and had ended up becoming a nurse. Still, I didn’t expect a nurse to live in such squalid conditions.
And just when I was about to enter the vestibule, a police car parked at the curb and the lanky form of Sam Barkley emerged. He took off his sunglasses and gave me a curious look. “Slumming, Edie?”
“No, actually I was looking for someone. Didi Fizz?”
He grimaced. “What a coincidence. I’m also looking for her. What’s your excuse?”
“Just wanted to have a chat with her about Leann Peach’s murder.”
“Right,” he said with a nod as he joined me on the sidewalk. “Nice digs, huh? Do you really think she lives here?”
“I kinda doubt it, though according to Renée she does.”
“Renée Reive. Your secret source.”
“Not so secret if you know about it.”
He gave me a comical look. “I’m a cop, honey. It’s my job to know stuff that nobody else does.” He searched around. “So where are your sisters?”
“It’s just me today. They’re running the store while I’m out here investigating.”
“Smart move. You can’t run a shop and hang up the Closed sign all the time.”
“Hey, that’s exactly what Gran said. You two should organize a meeting and share your thoughts.”
“Thanks but no thanks. I like your grandmother a lot, but sometimes she just scares the crap out of me.”
“That’s impossible. A big, strong cop like you?”
“Yeah, well, the way she went on about that damned cat this morning? It sounded like she was ready to strangle the creature. Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment. I’m not exactly a cat person myself, but she actually seems to hate the species.”
“Gran is crazy about flowers, and in her mind cats are her natural enemy.” Which was sort of strange, of course, seeing as Gran was also a witch, and witches and cats usually share a natural bond—especially black cats like Snoozles. “Oh, I didn’t tell you this before but he’s at the house.”