by Iris Kincaid
“That was certainly uncalled for. Especially while you’re grieving a pet,” Sheriff Ortega sympathized. “Can you honestly tell me that you obeyed the restraining order and stayed twenty feet or more away from her after you threatened to give her a taste of her own medicine?”
“Of course we did. Why would we have wanted to go anywhere near her? She did deserve a taste of her own medicine, but it’s a lot harder to poison a human being than to poison a dog. Especially if you don’t have access to the inside of their house. You’d have to intercept their food delivery, maybe. Or you have to sneak into their place and put some poison on their utensils.”
“I see that you’ve given the matter a bit of thought,” the sheriff noted.
“Hush, Matthew. You’re going to make everyone think that we were figuring out how to poison her.”
“Well, we weren’t exactly figuring it out. Just a harmless fantasy of justice. Just thinking out loud. In the privacy of our own homes. Made us feel a little better. No crime in that.”
“So, you never set foot on her property?” Beryl asked, startling everyone.
“Never,” Cassie said. “Why would we?”
Beryl noticed a small bag of dog food near the door. “You still keep your dog’s food here?”
“Not usually. But we just pulled that out of the garage this afternoon because we want to bring a new dog home. We’ve been thinking about getting one for months, but we didn’t dare, because of Harriet,” Cassie said.
“Yeah, and I guess they’ll build a new place soon enough on top of that lot. Our new neighbor had better like dogs, that’s all I gotta say,” Matthew added.
“And what if they don’t?” the sheriff asked.
The Gomeses both glowered at him.
“We’re gonna do our best to think positive,” Cassie said.
“Thank you for your time,” the sheriff said. “We’ll be on our way now.”
Outside, they took a quick look behind the house. The fence separating the Gomeses’ and Harriet Jolly’s houses was still intact. Sheriff Ortega waved at an officer who was walking around Harriet’s back yard. Then, Beryl and the sheriff made their way back to the police car.
“Any thoughts?” the sheriff asked.
“Well for starters, I don’t think that I would’ve liked Harriet Jolly very much. Did she kill their dog?”
“Probably.”
“And she tried to kick Muriel out of school just for being a witch. This woman is going to have a list of enemies a mile long.”
The sheriff nodded wryly. “Welcome to the investigation.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
As the sheriff dropped Beryl off at the Shimmer home, she saw that Emerson had arrived and that he and Lucinda were standing in front of the porch, already hard at work, hashing out the details of the renovation.
It was clear from hearing him talk about measurements and blueprints that Emerson knew what he was doing. He was well-versed in building codes, wiring, plumbing, how to level floors that were no longer even . . . pretty much everything.
“Would you like to weigh in on the plans?” Emerson invited quietly.
But Lucinda was in her element, and this was far from Beryl’s area of expertise.
“I’m going to leave this one up to you two. When you’re ready to make a decision about muffins, give me a call.”
This made Emerson smile. Beryl had no idea why. She left them and went into the house, where she found Mosh in the living room, hovered over a computer, editing her travel blog.
Mosh looked up. “Thankfully, I’ve got enough unedited stuff to create a few weeks of videos. Hopefully, by the time I’m back on the road, my viewers won’t even realize that I was gone.”
Beryl decided to give her some space to work. She could also use a little private time herself.
She stepped inside her bedroom and gasped with pleasure. There was the bookcase! It stood at just over six feet, with five shelves of varying heights. The wood was a beautiful reddish-brown stained flaming maple, with just enough detailing to make it feel like a one-of-a-kind.
But just as interesting, the shelves were already stocked with old, dusty, colorful books. One had been set aside and laid on her bed. Beryl sat beside it and held it gingerly. This had been her father’s book. A grimoire, Gwynifer had called it? Full of . . . spells? This is going to be pretty intense. What kind of spells?
Beryl flipped open the thick volume. It was a handwritten journal filled with sketches, herbal lore, recipes, cryptic notes, and recipe ingredients that Beryl had never heard of to create substances for purposes that were often downright confounding.
“Combine to sour and ruin for all time,” Beryl read out loud. Well, that didn’t sound like a very positive thing to do. Why on earth would you want to ruin something for all time? Or make it sour?
A number of the entries were a little more straightforward. But only just a little. “Nightmares.” Was that a spell devoted to eliminating someone’s nightmares? Which would be pretty cool if she could get rid of her dream about drowning. Or was it a spell that gave people nightmares? She’d hate to think that her father had wanted to inflict such a thing on anyone. On the other hand, why would he want to ruin things for all time either?
These were spells that she might be afraid to even experiment with. There was so much possibility of something going wrong. But she kept reading and came across a number of fascinating spells that might bear looking into. Pain. Wounds. Blood. Forget. Remember. Sleep. Protection. Hair. False symptoms. Skin. Deceive. Silence. Punish (oh, no!)
She got up and flipped through several other books on the shelf. A number of them were virtually encrypted in an incomprehensible ancient language. Very few of them were in plain English. No wonder Gwynifer had set that specific notebook aside for her. It was Witchcraft 101.
In a flash, Beryl remembered going through the kitchen cabinets looking for a few useful spices for breakfast and coming across dozens of bottles and bags that she hadn’t been able to make heads nor tales of. But now she was pretty sure that they must be the herbs mentioned in the grimoire. The thought of experimenting with them made her a bit giddy. No harm in going down and trying to match up the herbs with any mention of them in the book.
But when she got downstairs, Lucinda had come inside and she and Mosh were deep in thought, looking over design magazines and discussing possible decor arrangements for the café. That meant that Emerson was outside alone, and this would be a rare chance to have a quick word alone with him.
He was on his cell phone, ordering materials, and wrapped up his call quickly when he saw Beryl approaching.
“Hey, I have a few questions for you.”
“Shoot.”
“About how long do you think it will take to get the café ready? And then how long for the rest of the house?”
“The café could be good to go in four weeks. But if I bring in some help, it can be done in two. I would even say that you should go ahead right now and schedule a kitchen inspection two weeks from today. I can have it up to code by then, and there’s probably going to be a bit of a waitlist. But yeah, there’s plenty to do, but no really big issues. The kitchen is actually pretty sound. It just needs to be cleared out as soon as you all decide where you want to store Oberon’s . . . tools. Then just a little rewiring and painting. I can have it done in a week.
“The main dining area is easy. I can fix the dip in the floor in about two days. Then either put down tile, or a new wood floor, just two or three days for either option. The porch and the entryway—there are some structural issues. That’s actually the first thing I’d tackle. Just for safety, I’d recommend a whole new porch, to expand it and to make sure you’ve got something that can hold fifty people.”
“Hmm. So, only two weeks That’s quick.” It was too quick.
“Yeah, the rest of the house is another matter. I know you need it to be in selling condition. Your sister, Lucinda, mentioned that she’d like three bedrooms to be ensuite,
with their own bathrooms. That’s where money and construction time will both be substantial.”
Beryl had thought that providing private bathrooms to all the bedrooms, when there was already an upstairs and a downstairs bathroom, sounded like a ridiculous indulgence. But if that made the house more comfortable and appealing to the L.A. diva, then so be it. If there was any hope of changing Lucinda’s mind about staying, it was likely to involve some luxurious touches.
“And then there’s the back yard. That’s another potential lounge area. In good weather, there’s a lot of people who like their coffee with a fresh breeze. But you’ll be just as popular in the winter—we call it winter when it falls under sixty degrees here. You’ll be packed. That’s why we need to consider the basement as another dining area. It’s got the high windows already to catch the light. You could throw the laptop crowd down there and keep the talkers up here on the main floor.”
“Then, of course, there’s turning the attic into a more usable workspace and storage room. This is really hard to estimate. Also depends on how many subcontractors you want me to bring in. I can bring in three more workers and we can have this whole place sorted out in six to eight weeks.”
That wasn’t going to be enough time. “I have a strange question for you. You’ve told me how quickly the house can be rehabbed. Now, I’m wondering how slowly the house can be rehabbed.”
Emerson sat down slowly on the edge of the porch, never taking his intensely curious gaze off Beryl. “I imagine there’s got to be an interesting story behind that question.”
Beryl quickly filled him in on the terms of the will and the extreme reluctance of both of her sisters to the idea of accepting the house as a permanent home. Their determination to find a legal get-around. Their aversion to establishing a life in Marvel Canyon when she not only longed for a secure roof over her head but was filled with sadness at the thought of callously getting rid of their father’s home.
Obviously, Oberon had wanted them to have it. He had wanted them to make a home here. She didn’t want to sell the house. Not in one year’s time. Not in two years’ time. Maybe her sisters would come to change their minds, but that wasn’t going to happen overnight. It would take time. A nice, slow, never-ending rehab would be just the thing.
Emerson let out a slow, impressed whistle. “Devious. A chip off the old block.”
“Do you think that you could do that? I mean, it’s okay to get the café up and going as quickly as possible. But the rest of the house . . . it would be kind of nice if that stretched out a few months. What do you think?”
Emerson grinned and shrugged. Excellent. He was on board.
“I’ll let you get back to work,’ Beryl said gratefully.
Inside, her sisters gestured for her to join them.
“We need a name,” Lucinda announced.
“I guess we do. I hadn’t really thought about that. Shimmer Café?”
“No, we can’t name it after our family. That wouldn’t be something that a new buyer would want to keep. It’s got to be a little more generic. But not dull.”
“How about The Blue Parrot Café?” Mosh suggested.
“Why The Blue Parrot?” Lucinda asked, wrinkling her nose.
“It just seems like there is a Blue Parrot Café in every small resort town. I think people come to expect that. We could have a little pirate decor. Maybe even get a few real parrots.”
“No, we don’t want anything that cheesy. We want something classy. Something with a little Panache. Hey, why don’t we call it Panache?”
“Because people will think we’re expensive and overpriced,” Beryl said. “We’re outsiders. We need to show that this café belongs here. What about Canyon Café?”
The other two considered it thoughtfully.
“Taps into local pride,” Lucinda noted. “And a little alliteration.”
“I think we have a winner,” Mosh agreed.
“This is going well,” Lucinda said. “Now we kinda need a slogan for advertising. Any ideas?”
Beryl shrugged. “There aren’t any other coffeehouses in town, apparently. So this really does not have to be a brilliant slogan. In fact, you could go with Have a cup of coffee at Canyon Cafe because . . . what are your options?”
Her sisters had to smile. “You need to stay out of the advertising business. ‘What are your options?’ ” Lucinda said. “That is truly awful.”
“But it’s true, and I know how much you like the truth,” Beryl said, mocking her sister’s self-designated, prize-winning honesty.
“There’s another thing that we need to talk about, something even more important than the slogan for the rest of the business. Now, we know the population of the town is declining since they lost the lake. I’m just wondering whether there’s anything we can do to get more people in this town. I mean, after all, what does Key West have going for it besides great sunsets?”
“Ernest Hemingway,” Mosh suggested. “Seriously, that’s essentially why people go to Key West. Ernest Hemingway. Just one major celebrity can put a place on a map forever. Oh, he used to drink at this bar. And then he would stumble over to that bar. Oh, he used to drink in all these bars. He used to eat Key lime pie here. He used to have his omelets over there. He used to have his shoes fixed in this store. He used to get his typewriter ribbons over here. You can create a whole cottage industry around one celebrity.”
“I think you’d need more than just a single famous person,” Beryl said.
“Have you heard of Lake Como in Italy?” Mosh asked.
“George Clooney lives there,” Beryl responded.
“Precisely. No one knows anything about Lake Como besides the fact that George Clooney lives there. And it’s become a must-see place for everyone visiting northern Italy. The hotels and B&Bs are packed. And George Clooney could be 6000 miles away, filming. It doesn’t matter. That’s the power of celebrity.”
Gwynifer appeared at the entrance, letting herself in the open door. “What’s this about George Clooney?”
“You see,” Lucinda said, “it’s all a matter of targeting. George Clooney would be a more appealing draw for older people, in their fifties, like Gwynifer.”
“I think I might be in danger of completely losing track of my age if I didn’t have you here to remind me, Lucinda. Very thoughtful of you.”
Lucinda flinched. She certainly didn’t want to wind up on the ceiling again. Best to tread a little more lightly around Gwynifer.
“We were just trying to think of a celebrity or attraction that might help make the town more popular now that the lake is gone,” Beryl said, trying to distract and get back on point.
“It’s too bad this house isn’t still haunted,” Mosh said. “Ghost hunting is actually kind of a thing. And it always turns out to be some kind of scam. But if we could produce some real ghosts, people would have come from all around the country to see them.”
Gwynifer was about to respond but turned her ear toward the door and listened carefully. None of the others could hear anything or figure out what she was listening to. But the look on her face turned grim. And then the door opened, and in walked a woman who looked to be in her late sixties and seemed to have an ever-present scowl on her face, even when she was trying to smile.
“Gwynifer, aren’t you going to introduce me to Oberon Shimmer’s daughters?”
Gwynifer sighed. “Girls, this is Morfydd. Morfydd, this is Beryl, Lucinda, and Mosh Shimmer.”
“Morfydd. That’s Welsh, isn’t it?” Mosh asked.
“Ah. Cyndi Lauper here knows her geography,” Morfydd said. “How nice. I see they are as green as green can be. And about as useful as kittens. But anything that increases our numbers is a good thing. I hope you have been educating them about our history in this town and how things stand between us and the Moles.”
“I have,” Gwynifer said guardedly.
“Hmmph. But I suspect you’ve been filling their heads with nonsense of peace and harmony and neglecting th
e details of the atrocities and indignities the Earthborn have suffered in this town.”
“I have told them about the Cassaday sisters. And about our wrongly-accused friend behind bars. But there is enough good in this town to outweigh the bad, and I certainly wouldn’t want for them to believe that there was nothing but bad here. After all, we do want them to stay.”
“Of course, they will stay. They are Earthborn. This town belongs to us. It is our birthright. It only becomes an unbearable place when we allow the Moles with all their inferiority to dominate and intimidate us. We need to assert ourselves. And we need to let them know they will pay the ultimate price with their lives if they think they can obliterate us. I hope these newcomers can be counted on to strengthen that cause.”
Beryl was pretty sure that Morfydd was among the Bad Seed that Muriel had mentioned. She was pretty hardcore. Why should anyone be paying the ultimate price with their lives?
“Hopefully, their education will extend far beyond your influence, Gwynifer. In fact, I’ll see to that myself. After all, you know what they say.” Morfydd grinned evilly. “It takes a village.”
And with an effortless swirl, she glided out of the house as suddenly as she had appeared.
“Umm, Bad Seed?” Mosh guessed.
“The baddest. She has no regard for human life, and even the lives of our own kind are expendable if she is thwarted. Steer clear of her as best you can.”
Emerson poked his head in the door. “Beryl, your date is here,” he said, keeping a straight face.
The other three women looked at Beryl with great curiosity.
Beryl shook her head at Emerson. Had a teasing side, did he? “That would be the sheriff. He’s going to take me to Harriet Jolly’s school so we can talk to some of her coworkers and figure out if there are any other credible suspects, I guess.”
At the mention of the sheriff, Gwynifer frowned. “Go on, then,” she said gruffly.
The sheriff greeted Beryl warmly and they drove toward the school.
“So, the CSI report came back. We had been thinking that the explosive might have been left at her front door. But it actually came from inside. And from the items that were melted and fused together, the most likely theory right now is that it was inside her purse.”