A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  Tarquin raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

  "She's been practicing, we all know that. She has a grimoire. She's been testing spells. What's to say that she hasn't already dabbled in potions? She could have made the concoction, then accidentally poisoned Jade."

  They all considered that in silence. Cliff knew that it was not beyond the realm of possibility. For Scarlett to have poisoned Jade she would not only have to be dabbling in witchcraft that was far above her skills, but she’d also have to be incredibly reckless. He knew that mistakes were possible, especially in the beginning. Mistakes in any art were to be expected. It was part of the learning curve. But Scarlett did not strike Cliff as being particularly careless. She would practice on her own, and cautiously. Not in public, and not so recklessly that a mistake might kill an innocent bystander.

  No, he thought. That doesn’t seem likely at all.

  "She isn't like that," Cliff insisted. "And she wouldn't use her knowledge of us to get out of trouble. I'm sure of that. Besides, she's got no reason and no way to link us to the killing."

  "Except that she knows I'm a sorcerer,” said Tarquin. “She knows I'm a master of potions. She knows I could've easily made a poison that could have killed Jade. It's only a matter of time before the toxicology report comes back and tells them what kind of poison was used."

  “Do you know what kind of poison it was?” Ronnie asked, with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” Tarquin admitted.

  “And how would you know that, without the toxicology report?”

  “My dear boy,” Tarquin said condescendingly. “I’m a master of potions. It’s all a matter of cause and effect. If you know the cause, you can predict the effect. And vice versa, if you know the effect, you can deduce the cause.”

  “Go on,” Karl said.

  “Gladly.” Tarquin smiled like a professor about to expound upon his favorite subject. “Did you read the account in the newspaper?”

  None of them had.

  “Well, the report says that she keeled over, and that it looked like a heart attack. If we assume it was poison and not a heart attack—”

  “We know it was poison,” Ronnie said. “She was frothing at the mouth. That’s not a heart attack.”

  “Exactly,” said Tarquin. “But she collapsed like it was a heart attack, and the frothing came afterwards. No other symptoms reported, unless the police are withholding information from the press. So what does that tell you?”

  “It tells me nothing,” Cliff said. “You’re the expert here.”

  “Yes. I believe it’s a poison whose effects mimic the symptoms of a heart attack.”

  “And do you know such a poison?” Ronnie said.

  “Of course.” Tarquin paused, as if gearing up to land the punch line. “Aconitum.”

  If he had hoped to shock them, the word did not have its desired effect. All three men stared blankly at him.

  “What’s that?” said Ronnie.

  “A blue-purple flowering plant that is both beautiful and deadly. One of the Ranunculaceae.”

  “What does that mean?” said Ronnie.

  “It means,” said Tarquin, “that the poison could have come from flowers in my very own garden.”

  “Your garden?!” Ronnie exclaimed.

  “What flowers?” Karl asked.

  “Monkshood,” Tarquin replied.

  “Never heard of it,” Cliff said.

  “Also known as wolfsbane,” Tarquin added.

  Ronnie’s face lit up with recognition. “Wolfsbane!”

  “Ah,” said Tarquin. “A hit, a palpable hit.”

  “I know what wolfsbane is,” Ronnie said coldly. “Why would you grow wolfsbane?”

  Cliff could see the anger rising in Ronnie’s face.

  “Easy, Ronnie,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”

  Ronnie stepped up to Tarquin menacingly, his eyes darkening and his upper lip quivering with fury. “Tell me you weren’t involved.” The words came out with a deep, rolling growl.

  Tarquin seemed unperturbed. Dismissive, even. “I had nothing to do with it,” he insisted. “But you must admit, it solves your problem.”

  Ronnie wasn’t convinced. “You casually admit that you have a poison that could have killed my friend and you’re talking about it solving a business problem? Are you out of your mind? I’d expect that from Cliff,” he spat, “but not you, Tarquin. And besides… why are you cultivating wolfsbane? Are you planning on killing me too?”

  Tarquin took half a step back. “Of course not. wolfsbane has many applications, in many spells and potions. I can’t remember the last time I used it on a Were. Please Ronnie, you’re reading too much into this.“

  Ronnie seemed ready to pounce on the sorcerer, but in the end, he held himself back. Instead, he turned and stormed out of the store.

  The others watched him, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

  “It’s a full moon tonight,” Cliff commented quietly.

  Karl understood at once. “You shouldn’t have prodded him like that, Tarquin.”

  “If he gets angry, he could shift,” Cliff added.

  Karl seemed to share his concern. “And then we’ll have even more problems on our hands.”

  Cliff knew something had to be done. It was no good to anyone to have an angry werewolf stalking the streets during a full moon. Someone needed to calm Ronnie down, and neither Tarquin nor Karl seemed interested in the job.

  “I’ll go after him,” Cliff said, rushing after Ronnie.

  +++

  Police Station, Police House, Queens Ave, Bicester

  Detective Inspector Rogerson sat at his desk. The stationhouse had a small open office area behind the main desk that was cordoned off from the public, with half a dozen desks for the officers to use. Rogerson's desk was nearest a window, and the light streaming in through the blinds waxed and waned with the passing of cars.

  Inside, it was relatively quiet. This was a quiet town, generally speaking, though it did seem that the homicide rate had taken an ugly uptick the past few weeks.

  Rogerson wondered if there was some pattern to connect the poisoning of Jade Hogarth to the recent death of Bill Knight. There had been some speculation that Knight had been murdered, but the coroner's report had indicated an animal attack. As Rogerson read through the file from that case, he didn't see much that would connect it to the Hogarth poisoning. But there was a name in common between the two cases.

  Scarlett Slater.

  The military investigator on that case, Tim Clarke, had interviewed her, but apparently nothing came of it. There seemed to be some documents missing from the file, some evidence that may have been suppressed.

  Rogerson wondered about that. He knew the RAF dealt in classified matters and they worked with the local police force on a need to know basis. This often meant there were things that the military knew that civilian law enforcement was never told. It made these sorts of joint task force investigations difficult.

  The fact that Scarlett Slater was mentioned in the previous case file, and that she was a witness to the death of Jade Hogarth put her on his radar. She seemed innocent, but he had no better suspects at the moment.

  Of course the husband was automatically suspect, as was typical in these kinds of cases. But the fact that his wife had died at work meant that it would be difficult to pin the murder on him.

  Scarlett had suggested a motive for Frank, but Rogerson was skeptical. He would've had to administer a slow-acting poison to her in the morning before she headed to work. His research told him the specific toxin that killed Jade Hogarth was one of the deadliest in the world.

  As he considered the likelihood of Frank’s guilt, Davies approached his desk with a printout.

  "The warrant came through," Davies said, handing him the printout.

  Rogerson had requested several warrants. He glanced at the paper and saw the name and address of Frank Hogarth.

  "Thank y
ou," he said.

  As Davies returned to his desk, Rogerson picked up his phone. He dialed the number for Bob Asbury at CSI.

  Bob answered on the first ring. "Rogerson, what you got?"

  "A warrant for the residence of Frank Hogarth."

  "Is that the husband?"

  "Yes." Rogerson gave Asbury the warrant number.

  There was a brief pause. "Got it. I know where that is. I’ll send my guys over first thing in the morning."

  "I'm headed out for the night," Rogerson said. "I'll meet you down there tomorrow."

  "Anything special I need to know?"

  "Toxicology came in. The wife was poisoned. Wolfsbane."

  "Aconitum?"

  "Yep."

  "Jesus," Asbury muttered. "I'll tell the boys to take every precaution."

  "Good idea," Rogerson said.

  He passed Davies on his way out. "I'll be in late tomorrow, after the search is done."

  +++

  Outside Moretti Residence, London Road, Bicester, England

  Scarlett felt her blood boil as she walked home from the police station. Her mind churned with the events of the last few days, and the information she’d just learned.

  But now, she needed to get home to shower and change for her ‘meet-you-there’ date with Cliff.

  Walking past Tarquin’s place, she noticed the flowers out of the corner of her eye. Despite it being dark once again, the moon was bright. Bright enough to see colors and for one group of flowers in particular caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks and turned to get a better look.

  The poison plant, she thought.

  She checked her cell phone and brought up the photos she had taken of the toxicology report. She found the image of the flower and compared it to the deep blue-purple flowers in Tarquin’s garden.

  The two were a perfect match.

  He’s growing wolfsbane!

  But why would he do that? she wondered. Tarquin might very well have concocted the poison that killed Jade.

  He certainly had the means, if not the motivation.

  Scarlett wondered what she should do. Peering into the darkened windows, it was clear Tarquin wasn’t home.

  I need to show this to Aunt Tabitha, she thought. She’ll know what to do.

  She stepped into his yard and took a photo of the garden with her phone, then a close-up of the blue-purple flower.

  Chapter Twelve

  Slater Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett got home and took a quick shower. She didn't want to be late for her date with Cliff. When she stepped out of the shower and checked the time, she saw that she still had twenty minutes to get to The White Hart.

  On the walk home from the police station, she had thought about what to wear but hadn't yet made a decision. She decided her look for the evening should be casual and fun, so she went to her closet and pulled out a number of skirts and blouses and tried mixing and matching them on the bed.

  She selected a blouse with a black background and bright flowers, and tried it on, but when she looked at herself in the mirror she had second thoughts.

  Not flowers, she thought. Jade might have been poisoned by a flower. It wouldn't be a good omen to wear a flower pattern tonight.

  Jeans, she thought, but when she tried on her favorite pair they felt too tight. She took them off, and put back the skirts and blouses.

  Checking the time, she realized that she had already wasted five minutes.

  This was her first real date with Cliff, and she felt she should look her best.

  A dress, then.

  She looked through the closet and pulled out three dresses. One was the little black dress she wore for clubbing. She stared at it, then shook her head.

  That's for girls’ night out, she thought. Not a first date.

  The two remaining dresses were simple and colorful. One was a light blue, and the other a bright yellow. She tried them both on. The yellow dress showed a bit more leg and seemed more fun. The bright color would attract attention.

  Done.

  She tried on three pairs of black shoes, and chose the one with the shortest heel.

  Be sensible. Don't want to trip and embarrass myself on a first date.

  With the time she had left, she applied her make-up, combed and dried her hair, and walked out the door five minutes later than she had planned.

  +++

  She made up most of that time on the walk to The White Hart, and her heart was beating fast when she arrived.

  Scarlett paused at the door, took a deep breath, and went in to find her date.

  Despite everything that had happened the last couple of weeks, she was excited to be going out again. It had been a while since she'd been asked out on a date that she actually accepted.

  She looked for Cliff at the bar and didn't see him. Next, she checked the tables but found no sign of her date.

  He might be out back, she thought.

  Before she went out, though, she decided needed a drink.

  To steady my nerves.

  She ordered a half pint of Guinness, and sat down at the bar, realizing she hadn’t eaten since lunch time. She sipped her drink and check the time again.

  He's late. Unless he is in the patio. I should check.

  When she walked out, she saw a few couples huddled together under heat lamps and a group of girls laughing together at a bigger table, but still no Cliff.

  She went back inside and saw Tim working alone at the far end of the bar.

  He smiled up at her.

  "I was wondering when you'd notice I was still here," he said and chuckled.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry. I completely missed you there. You’ve moved,” she noticed, pointing to where he had been sitting only a couple of hours earlier. “I was looking for someone else."

  "Yeah, I figured. You look amazing."

  She felt heat rising in her cheeks.

  "Thanks."

  "Pull up a stool, if you'd like."

  There was something different in the way he looked at her now. It often seemed to her before that Tim was trying to look through her to discover something that wasn't there. Now, he seemed to see her for the way she was. Whatever it was he saw in her now, it had brightened his eyes and softened his features. For the first time, she felt that she was beginning to see through his regimented exterior.

  "You don't usually wear a dress," Tim observed. "What's the occasion?"

  "Meeting a friend," she said.

  "Lucky friend." His facial expression was a mixture of playful and impressed.

  She checked her watch. "A late friend," she added. "Fifteen minutes late."

  "Well, I'm not here to cramp your style. Have a good night."

  Tim took his half-finished pint from the bar and sat over in the corner away from the action. He opened his file folder, and his notepad, and started reading.

  He didn't have to leave, she thought. Maybe that was because I admitted I was meeting someone else. And he deduced it was a man.

  She felt… snubbed. Or something. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but clearly he didn’t want to be sitting with her when her date arrived.

  Now she was by herself at the bar, and catching glances from some of the strangers in the room. She felt like she'd blown it with Tim. She looked over at him again and saw him with his head down, still reading. Ignoring her. Giving her the space that she didn't really want right now. She was tempted to go over there and join him, but she was technically on a date with Cliff. Even if Cliff wasn't there yet.

  She checked her phone for a message, but Cliff hadn't called or texted. He was probably on his way right now.

  I'll give him half an hour, she thought, and sipped her beer.

  +++

  Market Square, Bicester, England

  Cliff ran down the street, chasing Ronnie who was raging ahead of him. He heard Ronnie cursing and growling as he approached his real estate office.

  He's going to transform, Cliff thought. Not here,
Ronnie. Not now.

  There were other people out on the street. Pedestrians turned to see the two men running one behind the other, the man in front cursing loudly as the man behind him tried desperately to catch up.

  We’re drawing too much attention.

  The estate agent’s was still cordoned off with police tape urging caution. Cliff didn't see any police cars or policeman on guard, which was good. But he also knew that they shouldn't be in the area while the investigation was ongoing. If they went inside, someone might suspect them of trying to tamper with evidence.

  Cliff glanced back and saw an old couple standing on a corner, watching.

  Witnesses.

  "Ronnie, stop!" Cliff shouted.

  Ronnie didn't seem to hear him, but he did pause for a moment to rip away the police tape from the front door of his office building. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. Ronnie growled with frustration, then dug into his pocket for the keys.

  Cliff caught up with him at the door. "Ronnie, calm down. It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be alright."

  Ronnie glared over his shoulder at him, but there was no recognition in his eyes. "Get out of here. You don't belong here."

  Ronnie took his hand from his pocket, clutching his keys, and as he brought the keys to the door lock Cliff saw fur beginning to sprout from the back of his hand.

  It's happening.

  Cliff glanced up the sky and saw the full moon shining down on them, powering Ronnie's transformation from human to wolf.

  Ronnie's face was beginning to darken as stubble grew on his chin and cheeks.

  I have to get him inside, Cliff thought, and out of the moonlight.

  Ronnie fumbled with the keys, and they dropped to the ground. He shouted with frustration and bent to pick them up again, but Cliff grabbed them first.

  "Let me," he said, seeing Ronnie's hands and fingers distort.

  The hands were getting bigger, the fingers stretching and strengthening, the fingernails turning to claws. He was incapable now of handling the keys and opening the door. In a moment, he would be incapable of rational thought. He might start breaking things and attacking people.