Cursed at First Sight: A Witchy Cozy Mystery (Cursed Coven Cozies Book 1)

by Daphne DeWitt

  Dale was the first person I saw when I entered the Sheriff’s Department. I hadn’t made it out this way since my not so triumphant return to town, but I remembered it as being very sleepy. After all, this was Cat’s Cradle, not Chicago. Cats up trees and high school pranks aside, it wasn’t like law enforcement had much to do around here.

  That wasn’t the case today. The place was bustling with activity. There were more people in the building than I had ever seen gathered anywhere in town before, save for Christmas services and the annual Easter bake sale in the square.

  I locked eyes with Dale instantly and nodded for him to meet me in the corner. He made his way through the throngs of people and shot me a polite nod. The way his eyes drifted past me though told me he was looking for someone else.

  “Agnes isn't with me, Dale,” I said, moving my head to recapture his attention. “She had things to do; I'm afraid.”

  “Oh,” he answered, and I watched him deflate. “I…I wasn’t looking for Agnes,” he lied. “I just wanted to make sure you closed the door on your way in. Wouldn’t want you to let the draft in.”

  “It’s eighty-five degrees outside, Dale,” I said quickly. Though, because I didn’t have time to pretend not to know about the crush Dale had been harboring on my sister since the sixth grade, I continued. “Where’s Mason Blanchard?”

  “He’s in the interrogation room with Sherriff Dot--”

  “No, he's not!” I said, cutting Dale off and sticking an exceptionally pointy finger into the man's chest.

  “Um…yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is,” Dale answered.

  “Without his lawyer?” I asked, making sure my voice was loud enough to draw witnesses. Murder wasn’t something the police of Cat’s Cradle were very familiar with. If they were trampling on any of Mason’s rights as they ‘first timed’ their way through this investigation, I wanted to make sure there were witnesses to my dismay about it. “I don’t like the sound of that, Dale.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you do,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I mean, I wasn’t looking for her or anything, but if you happen to see Agnes, you can tell her I said hey. I mean, if you want, that is,” he said as I pushed past him and headed off to the interrogation room.

  “Sure thing, Romeo,” I said under my breath, and I rounded the corner and burst into the room.

  Mason was sitting on a metal chair in the center of the room. His elbows were pressed firmly against a red, wooden table, and his eyes were watery and more than a little foggy.

  Sheriff Dots sat across from him, his elbows resting on his pot belly as he twirled the left end of his white mustache between his fingers.

  “Ms. Norwood, I heard you were back in town,” Sheriff Dots said, though he didn’t bother looking over at me.

  “And not a moment too soon, I see,” I said, marching toward the table and settling at the end where Mason was sitting. “If I understood things correctly, my client asked for his lawyer and, while I know you’re not exactly schooled in the art of higher crimes, that means you’re not allowed to question him until I get here.”

  I hated being mean to the sheriff. I’d known him my entire life. He was one of the only older people in town whom I’d never heard refer to me as a witch or look at me with suspicious eyes. On a different day, I’d give him a pat on the back or even a hug. But this was business, and I needed to make sure he knew I meant business for my client. Especially since that client was Mason Blanchard.

  Thankfully, the sheriff seemed to understand that. There was neither shock nor hurt in his eyes as he answered.

  “You're absolutely right, Ms. Norwood,” he said. “Unless, of course, the client in question waived his rights and requested to speak with me. Which is just what happened here.”

  I balked. Looking over at Mason, he blinked and nodded at me, as if to confirm what the sheriff had just said. I had no idea why Mason would do something like this. He wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to throw himself on a metaphorical sword. But I also knew that I couldn’t afford to get the answers to those questions with the sheriff in earshot.

  “Be that as it may,” I said. “I’m going to need to speak to my client alone now. So, if you’d please give us the room.”

  Sheriff Dots grunted, looked between Mason and me and finally pulled himself up.

  “Let me know when you're finished,” he conceded and headed out. Closing the door behind him, he added,” Though I think you're a little late.”

  I moved over to the table, sitting in the chair the sheriff had just vacated. I looked over at Mason and in an instant, I was back in high school. This sweet guy, the first guy I ever cared about, was in trouble. He was hurting.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Mason?” I said, surprised at the amount of anger noticeable in my voice. “You don’t just waive your rights without talking to me. You need a lawyer! I thought you knew that. I thought that’s why you called my grandmother!”

  “No,” Mason choked out, shaking his head. Tears welled anew in his eyes. “I didn’t call for legal help. I don’t know what’s going on with me, Mal. I need someone to explain it. I need someone to tell me what happened, and your family are the only people I can think of who…”

  His voice trailed off, and he laid his head down in his open palms.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’ll be okay. Just tell me what happened.”

  He spoke muffled into his hands. “I was at work, Malady. I was at the mill, and I was getting ready to leave. I remember punching my timecard and heading out to the car. But I never made it there. The next thing I knew, I was here. I was in this room, and I was confessing to murdering Allison, to pushing her off the roof of Meyer’s barn. But I didn’t!” he cried. “At least, I don’t think I did. I don’t remember anything that happened after I left work, Malady. It all just vanished.” He looked up at me, desperation coloring his face. “Just…just like magic.”

  I looked at Mason, seeing not only the brokenhearted and confused man who sat before me now but also the sweetheart of a boy whom I probably should have gone to prom with. He needed my help in more ways than one, and I wasn't about to fail him now.

  I swallowed hard and furrowed my brow, hoping it would be a sign that he'd take what I was about to say as seriously as he needed to.

  “Do not speak to anyone, do you understand me. If I'm not beside you, the only words that should leave your mouth are 'I'll have to consult my lawyer.' If someone asks you about what happened to Allison, you tell them you need to consult your lawyer. If they ask you about the wedding or what your relationship was like leading up to today, you tell them you have to consult your lawyer. If someone asks you what your favorite ice cream flavor is--”

  “I keep my mouth shut and send them to you,” he answered. “Got it.” Mason shook his head. “I don't know what happened to me. Those words, the things I was saying to the sheriff, the things I admitted to doing...”

  Tears filled his eyes anew.

  “Our relationship wasn't perfect, Mal. Allison and I had problems just like everyone else, but I would never hurt her. I could never do something like that.”

  “I'm going to help you, Mason. I'm going to find out what's going on here.” I squeezed his hand, my heart breaking and my gut filling with a drive I hadn’t felt in a long while. Back in New York, cases were important. There were no "nosy dog" complaints to contend with. I hadn’t been able to flex my legal muscles since coming back to Cat’s Cradle and, though I absolutely hated the reason it was happening now, at least I knew I was here for a reason. “I promise you that.”

  5

  By the time morning rolled back around in Cat's Cradle, the entire town was buzzing with the news of poor Allison Talbot and the way she was viciously killed by her husband to be. Nowhere was the buzz louder than on Main Street. As I walked toward the law offices of Norwood, Norwood, and Norwood, I was accosted by the curious townsfolk, all asking me question after question about Mason and what he did or d
id not do.

  Mrs. Grapel asked if it was true that Allison was pulled off the hayloft in the old Meyer barn. Mr. Frankfurt wondered if I could get Mason’s confession thrown out since he had heard Mason was under the influence of alcohol when he was arrested, and more than one person asked me how I could bear to defend someone who was so obviously a murderer.

  My answer was always the same. “I’m sorry. I can’t comment on ongoing cases.”

  It was true. Mason gave me a crisp dollar bill before I left him yesterday and that officially made me his lawyer, bought and paid for. Of course, our prior relationship made us more than that. At least, as far as I was concerned. Mason was important to me, an integral piece of my youth. I didn’t want to see him suffer more than he already had, and I certainly wasn’t going to stand by and watch him get thrown in prison for a crime I was sure he didn’t commit. Speaking out of turn about the case would go against the oath I swore after I passed the bar. It would also be tacky and more than a little foolish. Cat’s Cradle might have been the greatest town anyone could ever think of, but it was also a small town. That meant gossip spread around these parts like syrup on a hot cake, sticky and uncontrollable.

  When I made it to the office, I found the door slightly ajar. That was strange, though not unheard of. My family was pushy and tended to invade every aspect of my life, business included.

  More than once I had seen Agnes and Abigail using the office as a spot to hang. Christopher had even brought a girl or two back here, though his liaisons were always quick given the strict hour a day limit he had as a human being.

  So, when I pushed the door open completely to find my little sister Sadie sitting behind the office desk, I wasn’t surprised.

  My sister sat there, perfect red hair laying on perfect shoulders. Her perfect fingers typed perfectly on the keyboard, and as she saw me, her perfect smile revealed rows of perfect teeth.

  “Malady, you're late,” she chimed. Looking up at me. Her fingers never stopped typing. She didn't really need to look at what she was doing or anything. Both of us knew she wasn't going to mess up. That sort of thing was beyond her because of my sister's curse - and wait for it, because this is a good one - is perfection.

  You heard that correctly. While the rest of my family has to deal with things like not being able to speak or being trapped in the bodies of winged animals or - I don’t know - bringing literal destruction to her family any time I so much as crack a smile, my sister’s curse is that things just go too well for her.

  It’s a pretty tough row to hoe.

  “No, I'm not,” I said, setting my purse down on the table. “We open at nine. It's nine.”

  “Oh,” she shrugged, still typing. “I guess I just figured you were, given how long everyone else has been here.”

  “Everyone else?” I asked, moving closer to Sadie. Looking over her shoulder, I saw that she was doing our books, hours and hours of bookkeeping I had been putting off. My guess was she had done it in about twenty minutes.

  “I’m just filling in for the day,” Sadie answered, smiling at me and completely ignoring my question. “What with everything that’s going on, I figured Grandma Misty could use the extra help and - as luck would have it - my boss at the flower shop called me today and told me I had the day off. Can you believe that?”

  “You know, I really can,” I answered, rolling my eyes, and pushing down the irritation that always surfaced whenever I was around my youngest sister. Here I was, unable to ever have a real relationship for fear of bringing harm to the people I cared about. Meanwhile, Sadie’s curse was that her smile was too bright and her hair fell too perfectly. It was infuriating. “But you didn’t answer me, Sadie. Who’s here?”

  “Oh,” she chimed. “Your partners, silly. They’re in the main office.”

  “Partners?” I gulped. “As in plural? As in more than one?”

  “You catch on quick,” she said, finishing up the books as our office microwave dinged in the corner. Sadie looked up at me. “I made a microwave cake for everyone. It’s chocolate. I saw the recipe on the internet. I hope it turned out okay.”

  “Something tells me it turned out just fine,” I answered, turning my attention to the main office door.

  If both my partners were here, it meant that not only had Grandma Misty rolled her way in today (broken leg and all), but that the business partner she acquired while I was in New York had finally come back from Atlanta.

  I had never actually seen Daniel Price. He had been dealing with the closing of his old law firm in Atlanta when I moved back home, and it must have taken awhile because that was over two weeks ago now.

  But - given Grandma Misty’s comments about him - I knew three things about the man.

  He was filthy rich, rich enough to swoop in and save Norwood, Norwood, and Norwood from the biggest fiscal emergency it had ever faced. Coincidentally, that crisis overlapped with when Nate and I got engaged and the blissful "honeymoon" stage afterward. Strange economic downturns aren’t things my family had ever faced before. In fact, the three Norwoods in the company name actually acted as an incantation to ward off that kind of thing (among other things). I guess my hard luck mojo and flair up it must have experienced when I got engaged was stronger. Just saying.

  He was a patient man, given the fact that Grandma Misty still hadn’t gotten around to adding his name to the ledger, and that he was kind of a hard head.

  He and Grandma Misty had had more than a couple disagreements since he jumped on board a few months ago, and as I listened to the sounds of arguing as I stood outside the door and waited for the perfect time to step in - it seemed like that number was about to go up.

  Taking a deep breath, I figured now was as good a time as any, and pushed through the doorway.

  “It’s just not done, Misty,” the man said, his hands spread wide in the air. “It’s just not how things are done.”

  As I took him in, it occurred to me that my grandmother had left out one crucial aspect of Daniel Prince from her conversations.

  He was hot.

  With sandy blond hair, piercing green eyes, and shoulders you could lay lumber across, he looked more like a magazine model than a buttoned-up lawyer. Even the suit he wore was less than conventional, silver with an untucked shirt and no tie.

  As he looked at me, his eyes steeled over, telling me he probably wasn’t having the same awestruck reaction to me that I was having to him.

  “And why you’d let Suzie Q represent him is beyond me,” Daniel said, turning from me back to Grandma Misty.

  “I-I’m Suzie Q?” I asked, pointing at myself, instantly irritated. This guy had a lot of nerve. “My name is Malady actually.”

  “I don't care if your name is ‘not guilty.' You had no business taking the case of a murder suspect without running it past me,” he huffed, though he pulled none of his attention away from Grandma Misty. “That's not a decision you make on your own, Misty, not when you have a business partner who owns half the practice.”

  “Half the practice?” I balked before I could stop myself. I knew Grandma Misty had to sell off a piece of the family business, but I had no idea this stranger ended up with an equal share of what my ancestors built.

  “Right!” he snapped, misunderstanding my reaction. “Suzie Q gets it.”

  “She certainly does not,” I answered, and walked toward the pair. “And in case you didn’t hear me the first time, my name is Malady Norwood. You know, like the name over the door.”

  “But not exactly like the name,” Daniel folded his arms and looked at me. “Misty assured me the other two Norwoods were just cosmetic; a sort of nicety to keep her sisters involved in spirit if I’m not mistaken.”

  It was true. I wasn't a full-fledged partner in the practice. Grandma Misty legally owned the entire thing lock, stock, and barrel. Well, her and Daniel Prince apparently.

  “This is still a family business, Daniel,” Grandma Misty said, wheeling forward. “I made that clear to you before you
signed on the dotted line and as such - my niece will always have a place here.”

  “I’m not trying to break up your family, Misty. I’m just trying to keep this place above water,” he answered, tapping his finger against his leg. “Do you know what happens when someone is killed in a small town? People take notice. When the person killed is a beautiful bride-to-be, and the suspect is her oversized former jock boyfriend, the whole world takes notice.” He threw his hands out again. “The news will be here, Misty. And not the local news. This isn’t a cat show we’re talking about. The big boys are coming, national networks. And because of Suzie Q, we’re left holding the bag.”

  “Are you hard of hearing?” I asked, anger warming my cheeks. “I said my name is--”

  “For what?” he asked, looking back over at me. “For a dollar bill? Do you even know if this Mason guy can pay? Do you have any idea what the evidence is, because I do, and it’s pretty convincing? Confession aside, his DNA is all over her.”

  “He was her fiancé!” I shouted. “Of course his DNA is on her!”

  “Did you even take the time to look at things because, as I understand it, you just walked into that jail like you owned the place and offered up your services.”

  “I did that,” Misty said, shaking her head, “Mason called for my help, and I gave it to him. This is a small town. We look out for each other here.”

  “Tell that to Allison Talbot’s family,” Daniel shot back. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Look, it’s not that I wouldn’t have taken the case on. I’ve won harder cases, and I’m always up for a challenge, but I deserve to be brought into these decisions before they’re made. I’ve earned that much.”

  I stepped closer to him, thinking about my grandfather and his father before him; all of the people who preceded my Grandma Misty in ownership of this place. “Listen bud, I'm sure you think you--”

  “You’re right,” Grandma Misty cut me off, addressing Daniel.

  “Grandma Misty!” I proclaimed.