Some Like It Witchy

by Ani Gonzalez

  Fiona took her place at the end of the long line, stifling her disappointment. Patricia O'Dare, the owner, would have no time for gossip this morning.

  But Fiona needn't have worried. She quickly figured out that her neighbors were all talking about last night's events. Eavesdropping was impolite, but they were right behind her, so she couldn't help but overhear.

  "Dead as a doornail."

  "Gwen is devastated. They had to sedate her when she found out."

  "They've always used weird stuff."

  "If she'd shared her recipes, other practitioners would've warned her of the dangers. But, no, she's too high and mighty—"

  "Be respectful. The poor woman's dead."

  "Poor Richard."

  "Poor? He inherits her shop and books. That's got to be a fortune."

  Fiona couldn't figure out who was speaking or what they were discussing, but the gist of the conversation was clear.

  Someone had died last night.

  She reached the counter and ordered the two daily specials. Patricia, as expected, looked harried and stressed. She took Fiona's credit card, and quickly handed over her order.

  "Can you stick around?" Patricia whispered as she handed Fiona her receipt. "I have something to tell you."

  Fiona nodded, intrigued, and grabbed her coffee and pastry. The seats were all taken, but she saw Luanne waving at her from the corner and went to join her. Luckily, the table next to Luanne suddenly became available and they both sat down.

  "I knew it," Luanne said triumphantly, beaming at the table.

  Fiona laughed. "You didn't get the special?"

  Luanne shook her head. "Mars is in Scorpio. I can't have any citrus."

  That made no sense to Fiona, but she chose not to ask Luanne to explain. The fortune teller would chat about houses and retrogrades for hours and Fiona would not understand a thing.

  "Did you hear about last night?" she asked instead.

  Luanne nodded and took a bite of her Satan's Own Red Hots Muffin. "Horrible," she mouthed between bites.

  "When we left, it seemed like everything was taken care of," Fiona said. "Who didn't make it?"

  "Alicia LeFay."

  "Oh, no," Fiona exclaimed, remembering the blonde woman who'd picked up the fire starters. "She was such a nice lady."

  Luanne's brows went up. "You knew her?"

  "Not well. She bought the sage and chamomile bundles I was working on last week." She paused. "How did she die? Did she have a heart attack?"

  Luanne shook her head. "From what I hear, they think it was something they threw into the fire, herbs or something. A bunch of coven members were sick, but they recovered. LeFay, however, was in really bad shape."

  "Maybe she had a bad reaction?"

  But that didn't sound right. Kat had said that Alicia LeFay was a master herbalist, and the botánica had several of her books in stock.

  "I bet it was a preexisting condition she wasn't aware of," Fiona said. "Sometimes people who practice natural medicine don't visit doctors as often as they should."

  "That could be," Luanne said. "There's going to be an autopsy, so we'll find out soon."

  "Autopsy? Did you hear that from the police?"

  Luanne, Fiona knew, lived with Sheriff Stickely. They'd been a couple for months. If anyone could obtain inside information on the case, it would be her.

  Luanne looked sheepish. "Er, not exactly."

  Okay, so the fortune-teller didn't need inside information. Good to know.

  Fiona looked up, noticing that the bakery had cleared up and Patricia was heading to their table with a tin full of cookies.

  "Tasting time?" Luanne asked.

  Patricia shook her head. "I made these for tanuki-san, Fiona. Cassie told me that it enjoys fish. These are savory shortbread cookies with wasabi and dried bonito flakes. I hope he likes them."

  "Thanks. I'm sure he'll love them," Fiona said, as she accepted the tin.

  Patricia's bakery was haunted by a brownie or brunaidh, and she put out a saucer of milk and a scone every day to appease the household spirit. As a result, the baker was very sympathetic about Fiona's tanuki situation.

  Her sympathy had a tinge of self-interest to it, though. The tanuki had expanded from the tattoo shop into Fiona's apartment. The next building over housed the candle shop, after that there was the bakery.

  Patricia did not want the tanuki in her place of business. Not at all. She'd bake treats until kingdom come to keep the Japanese spirit from coming over.

  "I heard about Madame LeFay's death," Fiona said, as she put the tin in her purse. "So tragic."

  Patricia raised a brow. "I don't think you've heard everything."

  Fiona frowned. Something about Patricia's demeanor made her uneasy. "What do you mean?"

  Patricia sighed. "Olivia and DeShawn were here earlier—"

  "Are they a couple?" Luanne interrupted. "I have a twenty dollar bet with Sean about that."

  Fiona glanced at her friend. "Shouldn't you know? Isn't it written in the stars or something?"

  Luanne stuck her tongue out. "It doesn't work that way."

  "I don't know if they're dating," Patricia interrupted. "And I don't care." She turned to Fiona. "The important thing is that they were talking about some stuff Alicia LeFay got from your shop, Fi."

  Fiona felt her stomach drop. A familiar, sickly sensation came over her. All her life she'd been afraid of her power going berserk. That was what she was feeling now.

  Patricia grimaced. "They were picking up coffee and donuts for a big meeting at the station. Olivia was being cryptic and all, but I caught the gist. They think the items Madame LeFay bought in town might have something to do with her death."

  "No," Fiona gasped. "My products are completely safe."

  Sure, her abilities sometimes literally blew up in her face, but she took care to make sure that didn't affect her products. Her candles were full of power, but it was positive energy involving warmth, healing, and strength. In any case, her fiery mishaps all involved explosions and flames, not horrid, insidious poisoning.

  Alicia's death had nothing to do with her.

  "There's no way anyone could think..." She looked at Luanne. "Is there?"

  The fortune teller grimaced. "Don't worry. The chief is sweet on you. He'll give you a break."

  "I don't need a break," Fiona exclaimed. "I'm innocent."

  She just had to figure out how to prove it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GAVIN SURVEYED the gaggle of police officers in the fire department conference room. Civil service turf wars could get bloody. Under normal circumstances, Sheriff Stickely would not agree to a briefing on the firebug side of the building—the boys in blue defended their jurisdiction with fierce intensity—but, this time he made an exception.

  Sean Stickely didn't let politics stand in the way of an investigation. Gavin agreed. The departments worked together well, and that was one of the main reasons why Banshee Creek remained a safe place despite all the adventurous, and often delusional, visitors.

  Caine Magnusson, the PROVE leader, wouldn't agree with that, of course. He'd go on and on about the Powhatan sacred site that the fire station was built on, and how it protected the town. PROVE's theory was that the site had been built to protect the underlying geomagnetic fault line. Protectors, like the sheriff's department personnel and Fire & Rescue were naturally drawn to the area.

  Banshee Creek had to bring the paranormal into everything.

  Gavin paid no heed to those theories. Banshee Creek law enforcement and fire protection were among the best in the country because the town had a long tradition of hiring and developing quality personnel. No hocus pocus involved.

  The conference room was large—as befitted the place where Fire & Rescue conducted most of its community outreach—with red walls covered with safety posters. Some of them—like the Safety-Conscious Yeti Hunting and Alien Abduction Triage Operations ones on the far wall—were unexpected, but most dealt with the usua
l household and camping dangers. An entire wall, for example, documented common safety hazards found in abandoned houses.

  He should add a poster on best practices when conducting rituals or casting spells. Caine would have some ideas.

  Unlike the sheriff department's conference rooms, there were no Most Wanted lists. The sheriff had, however, brought a container of fresh coffee from Banshee Creek Bakery and a box of donuts. There was something to be said about stereotypes.

  The staff consumed the donuts while DeShawn drew a map of the festival site on the erase board.

  "It could have been an accident," Olivia said, munching on a powdered sugar donut. "An ingredient added by someone else, a or stray branch or leaf that made it into the pile."

  Gavin nodded, checking the contents of the box. "We try to keep things safe, but human nature being what it is, our efforts often fall short."

  Wait, these weren't donuts. They were those fluffy beignet things. Sean was going above and beyond the line of duty here.

  He aimed a suspicious stare at his law enforcement counterpart. What were Banshee Creek's Finest up to? This was a straightforward accidental death investigation, wasn't it?

  "True," Sean admitted, with a guileless expression. "Let's explore that."

  DeShawn shook his head. "We checked everything. The logs were standard oak from our firewood service. The kindling was straw and dried oak leaves. The trees around the area are run-of-the-mill species, including cherry, oak, tulip trees, and evergreens."

  "Nothing toxic?" the sheriff asked.

  "No panic weed, no jimson, none of the usual suspects," DeShawn said. "We have poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac, and those can cause lung irritation when burnt, but they don't kill."

  "How about the unusual ones," Sean countered. "Like oleander? There was a death in Florida a couple of years ago."

  "Oleander is tropical," DeShawn replied. "And you'd have to burn a stack of it to cause even mild symptoms. The Florida kids used oleander branches to cook hot dogs and ingested the poison. It wasn't just the smoke."

  "We'll have a botanist check the site," Gavin said. "She'll tell us if she finds any alien species." He paused. "I mean alien as in out-of-state, not alien in the, er, extraterrestrial sense."

  Sean chuckled.

  "Oh, don't you start," Gavin said.

  Sean spread his hands out innocently. "I didn't say anything."

  "I could hear you thinking."

  "We sent the ashes and other fire detritus to the lab in Fairfax," Olivia noted, steering the conversation back to their case. "We'll be notified if they find any toxic substances."

  "Any artifacts?" the sheriff asked.

  Olivia checked her notes "A couple of pine cones were thrown into the fire, but those were deemed harmless."

  "They throw off sparks," Gavin grumbled, but even he had to admit that pinecones were not dangerous.

  "Some of the groups were using them to change the color of the fire," DeShawn commented. "No one reported ill effects, but we collected a few samples anyway."

  "Do we know what they're made off?" Gavin asked.

  "We can find out," Olivia replied. "Most of them were homemade, but a couple came from Wicked Wicks."

  Gavin stifled a sigh. Fiona's shop kept popping up. He was going to have to drop by the candle shop and ask her some questions. He usually looked forward to his visits to Fiona's store.

  But not this time.

  Maybe he could just let Sean do that. It was, technically speaking, police work.

  Sean threw a couple of printouts on the table. "What about these?"

  The grainy pictures showed cylinders of melted wax and what appeared to be a large metal bowl buried in the ground, surrounded by burnt cans. Sigils had been drawn on the ground around the largest can and the ashes had settled in, creating a pentagram pattern encircled by symbols. The wax from the cylinders had melted haphazardly on top of the pentagram, giving it the look of a snarling, melting face.

  Gavin had lived in Banshee Creek for years and he was used to all kinds of gothic and religious symbolism, but something about this particular choice of shapes made his skin crawl. It actually felt evil, which was surprising.

  Banshee Creek was no stranger to magic. He knew many people in town firmly believed in it. Yet it was usually seen as a positive, uplifting force. Sure, there were occasional feats of faulty judgement or expeditions gone horribly wrong, but there was never any malice.

  But these shapes felt malignant somehow.

  "Fire starters," Gavin said. "Very common scouting projects and also sold commercially."

  "We sent them to be analyzed." Olivia tapped her pen on the table. "But the chief is right. My niece has made these for her Brownie troop. They're called buddy burners and are not inherently dangerous."

  "But something inside them could be," Sean replied. "Any ideas?"

  The room was silent.

  "We'll wait for the ingredients list from the lab. That will give us a starting point."

  "Do we have any suspects?" Gavin asked.

  Olivia and DeShawn exchanged glances. Sean laughed.

  "We have too many suspects," the sheriff said.

  DeShawn shook his head. "Those guys..."

  Olivia rolled her eyes. "They have issues."

  "They were all fighting with each other," DeShawn added. "Every single one had a conflict with Alicia. Gwen wanted more responsibility and a larger role within the coven. She resented Alicia's domineering management style."

  "Manny felt his delicate medical conditions weren't taken into consideration," Olivia added. "He portrayed himself as a representative of a marginalized minority of practitioners who were unable to practice traditional Wicca due to health concerns. He felt that Alicia's ableist approach—she liked stuff like incense and labyrinth walks—was not sufficiently inclusive."

  Olivia nodded. "Sandy, on the other hand, disliked Alicia's contemporary innovations—tablets for rituals and apps that walk you through the spells. She wanted to stick to the tried and true."

  "Alicia's son, Richard, wanted to expand the business side of the coven. He made a logo and designed merchandise. He also wanted to open a retail space in Salem. Alicia felt that would distract from the religious purpose of the group."

  "He gets all the money," Sean noted. "Cherchez le moolah, as my mentor used to say."

  Olivia looked sympathetic. "But he seems honestly devastated."

  Gavin frowned. "Are they still around?"

  DeShawn nodded. "The Salem group is doing a mourning circle for Alicia, and the other groups are participating."

  "She was a beloved figure," Olivia noted. "By other covens, if maybe not her own."

  Sean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Sounds like you should show up and pay your respects. Talk to Caine, see if he's planning to bring the PRoVE guys or if other locals are planning to attend. You want to blend in."

  Olivia gave him a cheeky grin. "I don't do the blending thing, boss. I'm too fabulous.

  "Try," Sean said dryly.

  Olivia rolled her eyes, picked up her papers and exited the room. DeShawn followed her.

  Gavin leaned back in his chair. "That's my personnel you're ordering around, Sheriff."

  Sean grinned. "We're a small squad and our budget increase was recently denied. As a result, we appreciate the fire department's cooperative attitude."

  Gavin snorted. "Sure you do."

  The Banshee Creek Sheriff and Fire Departments had a long-standing cooperative agreement that allowed for precisely this kind of assistance, but the previous sheriff had ignored it. Sean, however, was embracing it enthusiastically.

  "It could be an accident," the sheriff said, toying with his pen, a tic Gavin knew all too well.

  "You keep saying that," Gavin noted. "Almost like you're trying to convince yourself."

  Sean shrugged. "Olivia and DeShawn spent all night interviewing the coven members and walked around the festival site, discreetly inspecting the other sites an
d chatting with the other groups."

  "They are both very thorough," Gavin said, starting to suspect where this was going.

  "Everyone agreed: Alicia LeFay knew what she was doing. The Wiccan community would no doubt vote her 'Least Likely To Accidentally Put Something Deadly in her Ritual Materials.'"

  "Get to the point, Sean."

  Sean nodded. "If I were to kill someone..."

  His voice trailed off.

  "You wouldn't choose smoke inhalation as your weapon," Gavin finished. "Neither would I. Carbon dioxide in a closed garage? Maybe. Hydrochloric acid gas in an enclosed bathroom? Sure. But smoke in an open glade with a ten mile-per-hour wind speed? Unlikely."

  Sean's eyes brightened. "I like your hydrochloric acid idea. You can get that by mixing household cleaners, right?"

  "Bleach and ammonia, that's correct. But no one suffered itchy eyes or blindness, and enough acid to kill LeFay would have offed at least two or three other coven members."

  Sean nodded. "So the murderer could have put something in her drink or food."

  "Murderer? Aren't we getting a bit ahead of ourselves here?"

  Sean spread his hands. "Hypothetically speaking."

  "Realistically speaking," Gavin countered. "She probably took it herself. These folks self-medicate in surprisingly creative ways."

  Sean laughed. "I love your faith in human nature, Chief." He checked his computer tablet. "Autopsy report should be coming in soon. Let's see if we can figure out what she handled before and during the ceremony. I should go ask Kat some questions about Wiccan rituals, just to get a feel for what they usually do."

  "That's a good idea," Gavin said.

  Sean aimed a meaningful glance at him. "Yes, it is. You speaking with Fiona is also a good idea."

  Gavin grimaced. "I was afraid of that."

  "Hey, you're the one who sticks by the 'accident' theory. Alicia not only inhaled the smoke, she and Gwen also handled the fire starters. We can't gloss over that."

  Gavin nodded glumly.

  "Fiona knows how to make these things," Sean said. "And what type of substance can be put into them. She'll also know what's commercially available or available through other means."