Petal to the Metal

by Annabel Chase

  I had no idea what my magical services would entail, but the thought of working from home in cozy pajamas and watching Bravo while I stirred a few fragrant herbs together definitely appealed to me. No wonder Aunt Hazel lived so long. There was something to be said for not having to worry about meeting basic needs. That bills would be paid. That one bout of misfortune wouldn’t bankrupt you. That you would survive. I’d always been one unexpected bill away from disaster. It was a key reason I’d moved in with Andrew so quickly. He owned his apartment so I knew I wouldn’t need to worry about paying rent, although I ended up paying for more than I expected. It seemed that Andrew couldn’t really afford what he owned. I assumed I’d be able to save money and finally get ahead. I felt like a failure for being financially insecure at forty-two. On the other hand, I lived in one of the most expensive cities in the world and didn’t earn a CEO’s salary. Without family money to sustain me, it was very hard to get to a comfortable financial place without sacrificing every scrap of pleasure along the way. Without living a life rather than simply existing in one.

  I closed the bank website and went into the pantry to explore Aunt Hazel’s collection of books. I thumbed through each one on the shelf and found one that mentioned love potions, which made me think of Mimi Van Haren. I paused to read the information more closely. There would definitely be a market for people seeking love.

  I pulled out my phone and called Patrick. He answered immediately.

  “Is this a butt dial?” he asked.

  “No, why?”

  “Because that’s the only sane reason I can think of for receiving a phone call instead of a text.”

  I laughed. “You’ve shown up at my door unannounced. I think that’s worse.”

  “That’s friendly.”

  “And maybe I just want to hear your voice.”

  He hesitated. “I do have a nice voice, don’t I?”

  “You really do.” It was soft and melodious.

  “So what’s up?”

  “How much do you charge to cleanse a haunted item?” I asked.

  “Why? Did you find one? If it’s Hazel’s spirit, I wouldn’t recommend getting rid of it.”

  “No, I’m thinking about offering my own services and I have no idea what the going rate is.”

  “Scarlet and I think you might want to hold off on that until you know more.”

  “Okay, but if I’m going to build a psychic empire from the ground up, I need to know the basics.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I highly recommend putting on the brakes for now.”

  “So you won’t tell me?”

  “No, and it’s for your own good.”

  He hung up and I stared at the phone in dismay. Who was he to crush my psychic dreams? I had a long professional history in sales. Lynette used to say I could sell bark to the trees. The trick was convincing a client that they needed what I could provide. As tough as she could be, I appreciated that Lynette had seen potential in me that my own mother didn’t. The associated publisher had served as a dysfunctional surrogate mother—another reason that being fired was as hurtful as it was.

  I tapped my fingernails on the shelf, my thoughts returning to Mimi. She’d already expressed her needs to me so that part was taken care of. The rest would be simple. If I really had some sort of gift, then I should be able to tackle a simple love spell.

  I rummaged around until I found Mimi’s number. “Here goes nothing,” I breathed.

  Mimi arrived at the cottage twenty minutes later, dressed like she was prepared to meet Mr. Right in my kitchen. Her black sequined hoodie sparkled and her wavy red hair was flawlessly styled in a chin-length cut.

  “I’m so glad you called,” Mimi said. “I’ve been hopeless ever since Hazel died. She was my relationship barometer.” She paused and tapped her chin. “Weathervane? No, wait. Compass. She was my relationship compass.”

  I reviewed the recipe one last time before I began. I’d retrieved all the ingredients and accessories before her arrival and prayed I didn’t screw it up.

  “Do you have a particular someone in mind?” I asked.

  Mimi drummed her gelled nails on the butcher block. “That sexy beast, Derek Fairfax.”

  I started to cough. “Derek, the cop?”

  Mimi fluttered her lashes. “Isn’t he divine?”

  “He’s also about twenty years younger than you.” Honestly, it had to be thirty years, but I didn’t want to be rude.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Those older models can’t keep up with me. I need a stallion.”

  I cut a glance at the potential potion. “I don’t know that this is an on-demand service, exactly.”

  Mimi patted my arm. “Just do your best. Shoot for the moon and, even if you don’t get there, you’ll reach the stars.”

  “And Derek is the moon in this scenario?” I asked.

  She pointed to the blender. “Just get to work.”

  I dumped the ingredients into the blender.

  “Hazel never used modern appliances for this sort of thing.”

  I hit the button and let the electronic whir fill the air. Mimi gazed hypnotically at the contents of the blender and I felt a pang of guilt. Did she really believe a smoothie would attract a gorgeous younger man like Detective Fairfax? I vowed to learn more about Aunt Hazel’s abilities. If I was serious about taking her place, then I needed to truly understand what I was doing.

  Scarlet appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Sorry, I knocked.” She seemed surprised to see Mimi. “Hey there, Mimi.”

  “Scarlet, lovely to see you.”

  I clicked off the blender and poured the contents into a tall glass.

  Mimi studied the green liquid. “Should I drink it like a shot or sip it like a fine wine?”

  “You’re making smoothies, huh?” Scarlet asked and I heard the note of skepticism.

  Mimi smiled. “This is no ordinary smoothie, my dear. This is going to attract the next love of my life.”

  Scarlet narrowed her eyes at me. “Is that so?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Might be.”

  Mimi raised her glass in tribute. “Don’t be modest, Mia. You’ve got the gift. You should embrace it.”

  “I think you mean the grift,” Scarlet mumbled.

  Mimi sniffed the concoction. “It smells like lawn fertilizer.”

  Scarlet intercepted the glass before Mimi could bring it to her lips. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. Mimi, why don’t you leave that glass on the counter?”

  Mimi’s focus flicked from Scarlet to me. “You don’t think I should drink it?”

  “No, I think one of the ingredients has gone bad. There’s a sour smell.” Scarlet maintained a neutral expression.

  “You do know your herbs, don’t you?” Mimi said.

  “Well, we can’t have that,” I said. I dumped the contents into the sink before Mimi could decide to chance it. She seemed the type.

  Mimi collected her purse from the counter. “I guess I’ll have to exercise a bit more patience.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Mimi offered a reassuring smile. “It’s no problem. I look forward to working with you.”

  I waited until Mimi left the house to turn back to Scarlet.

  “What would’ve happened if she drank it?” I asked, more than a little scared to hear the answer.

  “Probably diarrhea.” Scarlet paused. “Or death.”

  I gasped. “A literal crapshoot.”

  My mother always said the road to hell was paved with good intentions. This had been a lapse in judgment, although I knew myself well enough to realize it wouldn’t be my last.

  “Please don’t ever do anything like that again,” Scarlet said.

  “Is this where you tell me that with great power comes great responsibility?”

  Scarlet examined me. “Would you disagree if I did?”’

  I leaned my elbows on the counter. “I don’t know that I’m cut out for this. I’ve never
worked from home or had a job without a 401k and health insurance.”

  Scarlet patted my shoulder. “Give yourself time to settle in. Things have a way of working out.”

  “Not for me they don’t. You remember how I ended up here, don’t you?”

  Her lips formed a sympathetic smile. “I think you’re here for a reason, Mia, and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was thrilled to receive a text from Kurt the next day. Apparently the police told him that I was instrumental in securing his release and he wanted to thank me personally.

  “He’s really out of jail thanks to me,” I told Ophelia. The cat appeared unimpressed. “I’ve literally saved a man’s life.”

  The cat lowered her head and closed her eyes. I guess catnip was the only thing that appealed to her.

  I rode the scooter to the address he gave me. It was only once I got there that I realized I could’ve walked. I needed to pay closer attention to Google maps.

  I arrived in time to see Stella walking up to the front door. The realtor looked ready to keel over in her stilettos. This was Newberry, Pennsylvania. Why did the older women in this town insist on dressing for dinner on the Orient Express?

  “Hey, Stella!”

  Stella’s brow lifted. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said.

  “Kurt wants an assessment,” Stella replied in her raspy voice.

  The realization dawned on me. “This is Gladys’s house?”

  “That’s right.” She knocked on the door. “Kurt’s already inside.”

  The door opened and Kurt beamed at us. “Stella, thanks for coming.”

  “Hi, I’m Mia. You texted me.”

  Kurt seemed to register my appearance. “You’re the woman from the library.”

  “That’s right, but I have a confession to make. I lied about my aunt’s name.”

  Kurt waved me off. “It’s okay. The police told me it was the woman who’d inherited Red Clover. I just didn’t realize you were one and the same.”

  “Can we come in or should I have my future deliveries made to your front step?” Stella asked.

  Kurt chuckled and stood aside. “Sorry about that.”

  “You’re selling?” I asked, entering the house.

  “I’m weighing my options,” Kurt said. “You understand how it is.”

  “I suppose Carlton would’ve preferred that you use Jax as your realtor,” I said.

  “He asked, but Aunt Gladys specifically mentions using Stella in her will. I’m not one to go against my aunt’s wishes, dead or not.”

  The house was neat and tidy, exactly what I would expect from a woman named Gladys.

  Kurt’s gaze swept the room. “Gosh, I really miss her. She’s everywhere.”

  I guess that was the advantage of inheriting a house from someone you didn’t know. No memories.

  “The kitchen is the best room in the house,” Stella said, motioning for us to follow.

  “Aunt Gladys was a good cook,” Kurt said. “Her meatloaf is one of my favorite meals.”

  “Now if you decide to sell, you have to remember there will be tax implications,” Stella said. “Make a note to ask Carlton for help.”

  It occurred to me that I hadn’t filed my taxes yet for last year and they were due in less than three weeks.

  “I know it’s kind of late notice, but is there any chance you think Carlton would help me out with my taxes this year? I sort of left it until the last minute and with all the recent changes in my life…”

  “After what you did for me, I bet he’d be happy to,” Kurt said.

  Stella removed another magnet from the fridge. “Here’s one of his cards right here.” She handed it to me.

  I snorted. “On the fridge, no less. It’s like the adult equivalent of showing off a good report card.”

  I tucked the card into my pocket. Wow. A lawyer and an accountant in the span of a week. I hadn’t felt this grownup since the time I defrosted the freezer.

  Stella frowned and plucked a floral notecard from the refrigerator, clucking her tongue. “That woman is a real piece of work.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She held up the note for inspection.

  Dear Gladys,

  I want to let you know that the easement between our properties needs to be mowed and it’s your turn. Please mind my prize-winning azaleas.

  Sincerely,

  Maureen Englewood

  Talk about passive-aggressive. Despite the pretty stationery, there was an undercurrent of hostility in the message. This easement was plainly an issue between the neighbors.

  Kurt read the note over my shoulder.

  “Aunt Gladys didn’t care for Maureen,” Kurt said, “although she thought the husband was pleasant enough.”

  “Maybe talk to Dane,” I said. “See if there’s anything you can do about the easement.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Stella said.

  Pain surged through my head and I squeezed my eyes closed.

  What on earth was that?

  I felt a hand on my back. “Mia, are you okay?”

  I regained my composure and looked at Kurt. “Sorry about that. Just a weird brain freeze.”

  “Oh, I hate that. Sometimes I get one when I have one of those frozen drinks at the movies,” Kurt said.

  I offered a wan smile. “Yes, it was like that.”

  A knock on the door took us by surprise. Stella bustled to the foyer to answer it and returned to the kitchen a moment later with a blonde woman who looked to be in her sixties. She wore a tweed coat and brown trousers. Brown leather gloves covered her hands.

  “Maureen Englewood,” Stella said, “meet your new neighbor, Kurt Wiggins—unless he decides to sell, of course. And this is Amelia Thorne. She’s new in town.”

  “Hazel Thorne was my father’s aunt. She died a couple months ago and left her house to me.”

  Maureen brightened. “Oh, right. Gladys’s friend. I was sorry to hear about her.”

  “And now Gladys, too,” Stella said with a mournful shake of her head.

  “Yes, a terrible tragedy.” Maureen’s gaze shifted to Kurt. “I’m sorry for your loss. When I heard they arrested you, I was shocked. I said there’s no way you’d be capable of such a despicable act. Everybody knows you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  Thinking of Ophelia, I begged to differ, but I kept my mouth closed.

  Maureen bowed her head. “Gladys was my neighbor for twenty years. She’ll be missed.”

  “What brings you here now, Mrs. Englewood?” Kurt asked.

  “I saw activity and thought I would see who was here. Make sure it wasn’t a squatter or something.”

  I smirked. Maureen was the quintessential nosy neighbor.

  “Just us,” Kurt said. “I’m deciding whether to sell or move in.”

  “While I’m here, it’s probably worth mentioning the easement,” Maureen said primly. “Especially if there’s a chance you might live here.”

  Kurt played dumb. “The easement?”

  “There’s a strip of lawn on our side of the fence that actually belongs to both of us. That means we’re both obligated to take care of it.” Maureen practically harrumphed.

  “I don’t recall Aunt Gladys ever mentioning that,” Kurt said.

  “No, she wouldn’t, would she? I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Gladys was taking advantage of Marvin’s good nature.”

  “Marvin’s your husband?” I asked.

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes. He’s at the store right now. He forgot the potatoes for dinner so I sent him back.” She shook her head. “Men.”

  “How was Gladys taking advantage of your husband?” And did I really want to know the answer to that?

  “Marvin likes to mow the lawn, so he took care of the easement,” Maureen said, “but he’s been spending a lot of time on golfing
trips since his retirements.”

  Gee, I couldn’t imagine why.

  “It’s March,” I said. “How high can your grass grow that it became a nuisance?”

  Maureen’s mouth formed a thin line. “It was high enough to cover my shoes. That’s too high.”

  “And you couldn’t mow it yourself?”

  Maureen huffed indignantly. “I don’t mow.”

  “But you expected Gladys to mow,” I pointed out.

  “She didn’t have to do it herself,” Maureen said. “She could’ve enlisted the aid of either of her boys, but we shared responsibility and she was shirking hers.”

  I thought of the floral notecard. “And you let her know, I take it?”

  Maureen folded her arms. “We had a conversation about it, yes, after I wrote her a note about it.”

  “What exactly did you say?” Kurt asked.

  “What I told you. That she needed to pick up the slack. She said she’d take care of it,” Maureen said. “Then she died. I don’t consider that taking care of it, do you?”

  Someone was overly concerned with her lawn. It made me wonder what problems she was ignoring in her own life.

  “Anyway, I hope you’ll be better about taking care of things. It’ll be nice to have another man next door.”

  “Is that the last time you saw Gladys?” I asked. “When you talked about the easement?” I deliberately omitted the word ‘argued.’

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” She didn’t sound particularly sad about it. “Life’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

  I stared at the neighbor for a long beat, waiting to see whether my intuition offered any further information on Maureen Englewood. Nothing happened.

  “Is there something wrong with your eyes?” Maureen asked, and I realized she was talking to me.

  I relaxed my face. “Sometimes my mascara burns,” I lied. “I’m very sensitive.”

  Maureen inspected my face. “Huh. I wouldn’t have known you were wearing any if you hadn’t mentioned it. It does nothing for you.”

  Maureen had clearly attended the Madeline Albrecht School of Compliments.