Murder of the Month

by Tegan Maher

“I am,” she said. “I haven’t so much as picked up a rag with magic, but I made some fresh batches of coffee and tea infusions. And ... I shouldn’t have, apparently.”

  “What do you mean, you shouldn’t have?” I asked, trying to figure out how coffee or tea blends could have gone wrong. Rae was an earth witch and had a knack for all things herbal. It’s what made her drinks so popular. When people said they were magical, most of them had no idea how accurate they were. She had a dozen blends for everything from energy to vitality and mood.

  “Just get here,” she said as a crash sounded in the background.

  I almost ran the two blocks to Brew4U from my place and stopped to catch my breath outside the front door before I went in to face the man-eating vines, deadly daisies, or whatever magic-gone-wild havoc awaited me inside.

  Movement in the front window caught my eye and I did a double take. Roy, an arthritic old timer who came to Brew most mornings to play chess with his buddy Jimi, was doing jumping jacks and boosting his cane over his head like a weight bar. Oh boy.

  I called to Addy because unless I missed my guess, I was going to need all the help I could get. She popped in and all I did was point at the window. She took one look and pulled in a deep breath.

  “Lordy. What’s that poor girl gone and done now?” She shook her head and motioned toward the entrance. “C’mon. Let’s go see if I need to go get Beth or if I can talk you through it.”

  I cringed in anticipation of whatever hot mess I was walking into as I pushed the door open. Raeann was standing behind the counter looking about five seconds away from bursting into tears. Roy was grinning to beat the band and did a back flip down the aisle. Ms. Simpson, one of our favorite little old ladies, tossed her walker aside and joined him in an odd version of some oldies dance to the canned country music song filtering through the speakers in the corners. Jimi, who’d been complaining he wasn’t as sharp as he’d once been, was tearing through his Sudoku book faster than a rocket scientist.

  It only took me a few seconds to put two and two together. Raeann had made a fresh batch of coffee and tea blends the night before. Roy always got Ja-Vitality, which, if memory served, is what Ms. Simpson drank too. Rae’d made a special blend for Jimi that she called Keen Kuppa. From the looks of things, it was working. Too well.

  “She super-powered her blends,” I whispered to Addy, who nodded, assessing the situation.

  “I think I can handle it though.” I wouldn’t have been too worried because, aside from the strange behavior, nothing horrible was going on.

  However, Olivia Anderson and her posse of trolls were standing in line waiting for coffee. On second thought, even that was probably okay. They were so self-absorbed, they’d never notice Jimi, and I could probably get Roy and Ms. Simpson to sit down. It wasn’t so bad.

  And of course, just as the thought flitted through my mind, the place went to hell in a handbasket. Roy and Ms. Simpson started singing along off-tune to the sexy duet now playing on the radio, yelling for her to turn it up. Roy gave his geriatric dance partner’s backside a swat, and I knew it was time to get to work.

  I used sign language, a skill we’d picked up in college, to tell Rea to deal with Olivia and the Boobsy Twins. When she jerked her head in a quick nod, I headed toward the centenarian singers.

  I got them settled and brushed off my hands. Mischief managed, to put it in the words of the greatest wizarding writer ever. Again, I got ahead of myself. A couple of yuppie types who came in every morning for Loca Mocha, my personal favorite energy blend, were literally vibrating in the booth they were sitting in. Since having somebody spontaneously combust in the shop would make an awful mess that I was not cleaning up, that one couldn’t wait. I did the only thing I could think of—I muttered a quick sleep spell and stepped forward fast enough to catch them before their foreheads plunked onto the wooden tabletop.

  Megan Porter, a timid girl who didn’t have a mean bone in her body, was drinking her daily cup of Bold Gold, one of Rae’s most popular teas. She infused it with just a touch of confidence and I enjoyed it on days I was feeling overwhelmed and needed an outside dose of I can do this.

  Megan stepped forward and poked Olivia on the shoulder. Olivia turned to her, and when she realized who it was, her typical mean-girl expression slipped into place. She curled her nose as her gaze slid over Megan’s too-large sweater, faded jeans, and utilitarian shoes. “Well look who it is. Megan the Mouse.”

  The other two women, Angelica Cotton and Bunny Scott, aka Rotten Cotton and Big Boobs Bunny, snickered behind her. Bunny sneered. “God, Megan. The homeless shelter called and wants their sweater and shoes back.”

  I pierced her with a glare and took a step toward them. She was the only one of the three slutateers I hadn’t punched in the mouth, but I didn’t have any qualms about doing it. It was just that she’d always had a half-ounce more sense than the rest of them when I was around and knew better than to run her mouth. Too bad for her, she hadn’t seen me yet.

  You could have knocked me over with a feather when, instead of looking down at her shoes and muttering like she usually did, Megan narrowed her eyes, strode toward Bunny, and belted her a good one right in the kisser.

  I don’t know who looked more shocked—Megan or everybody else in the shop who knew her. I, for one, was proud of her, and apparently she wasn’t done yet. After a stunned moment, she turned toward Olivia and stuck her finger in her face.

  “And you, you mouthy, entitled bitch. I’ve had it up to here with how you treat people. You’re rotten to the bone and always have been. And you stuff your bra, or at least you did in high school, with full-on tube socks no less because all you had were fried eggs on your chest. Then you had the nerve to make fun of the rest of us.”

  Megan gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. The abject horror written on her face about broke my hold on my delight. I’d recovered from my shock once I realized it was the tea talking and was doing my best to keep from bustin’ a gut laughing as Megan gave the mean girls what they had coming.

  I bit down on my knuckle, reminding myself this was a serious situation that I needed to fix. But I was willing to give it a minute to see if Megan was done. She’d deserved this moment for years, and there was no way I was gonna take it from her.

  Angelica took a step forward, her brow drawn down and murder on her face. Again, I stepped toward them because it looked like things were about to get real. Turns out, she didn't need me after all. Megan reached out and grabbed Angelica’s hair, yanking out a handful of extensions.

  “And you, Miss High-and-Mighty,” she said, a disgusted curl to her lip as she held up the extensions. “You’ve been going bald since high school. I’m friends with Knuckles and he says it’s so bad, you get a shipment of that spray-on hair every few weeks.”

  All three of the Trampy Trio were caught flat-footed. Just the looks on their faces were worth whatever the charge of admission would have been.

  Olivia was slack-jawed, Bunny was holding her nose as blood streamed down her face, and Angelica was howling, holding her head where a big bald spot had appeared when Megan yanked her extensions out. When I looked closer, I could see that her scalp really did have some sort of chalky substance that matched the color of her hair on it. Not that I had anything against that for any other not-mean woman who needed it, but it was nice to see Angelica get back a miniscule portion of what she’d given over the years.

  Olivia had recovered, squared her shoulders, and charged straight at Megan. By this time, the few other patrons in the shop were staring with rapt attention at the scene. One woman was tapping away on her cell phone and the girl with her was filming the whole thing. This would be the news of the week.

  For her part, Megan’s expression had gone from shocked and embarrassed to wondrous. She looked five years younger once she drew herself out of her perpetual slouch, and the wide smile on her face revealed a beauty I’d never noticed before. She snapped her left arm up just in time
for Olivia to plow face-first right into her fist. The beastly woman bounced back from the unexpected quick stop and landed square on her fat ass, her expression dazed.

  Megan regarded the havoc she’d wreaked with the glee of a kid at Christmas. It wasn’t until Raeann’s mortified face caught my eye that I remembered the importance of what was going on. I looked around. Roy had settled back down into his chair, leaning on his cane and holding his back. I hopped forward and snatched his coffee from his hand before he could take another sip and did the same to Jimi, who was flipping through a few pages of completed Sudoku puzzles, bumfuzzled.

  Addy floated over to me. “You should probably do that for everybody.”

  She had a point, but I didn’t want to start any rumors about the quality of Rae’s coffee or do any social damage to the shop. Lord knew that could turn vicious lickety split if I said there was something wrong with the drinks, plus everybody was likely drinking something different. At least there were only six or seven people in there.

  Thinking quickly, I closed my eyes and muttered a few words, drying up every cup in the place. One woman was mid-sip, but considering she was blowing on the top and barely tipped the cup, I hoped she hadn’t had enough to do any damage. She stared at her cup when she realized it was empty, then looked at the bottom for holes.

  I swooped in and grabbed her cup. “Free refills today. What were you having?” Whatever it was, I was going to have to witch the flavor into it. If she had a special shot of energy, focus, or anything else, she was going to have to do without. That was Rae’s gig, not mine.

  “Just regular coffee, please,” she said, scratching her head and glancing at the floor to see where her coffee had gone.

  “Back in a jiff,” then, I said. Just the fact that I used the word jiff was a good indication of how off-kilter I was at that moment.

  “You’re doin’ a fine job, sweetie,” Addy said before swooping over to see what Rae was doing. I cruised around the end of the counter to refill the coffee cup and Rae grabbed my sleeve. “Olivia wants the Raspberry Romp and won’t take anything else. It’s one of the tea blends I made last night.” She motioned to the store and sighed. “And you can see how that turned out.”

  And Olivia would be beside herself with joy to go forth and talk smack about Brew to anybody who’d listen. There weren’t many who would, but still, I didn’t want to give her the pleasure.

  “It’s a green tea, right?” I asked. It was a new blend she’d added in the last few weeks, so I wasn’t sure about it.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “But like I said, I don’t have any plain raspberry tea.”

  “What’s she doing here, anyway?” I hissed. “They don’t usually crawl out of their holes to come in when either of us are here.” I made a standard green tea while I was talking, then said a few words over it to add a hint of raspberry flavor.

  Rae lifted a shoulder. “Because beasts like them can sense weakness and misfortune and swoop in to feed off it?”

  That was as good an explanation as any. I plucked a lid out of the holder and was about to pop it onto the cup when she Olivia snapped her fingers. I cast her the stink eye and was pleased to see her skin was already starting to bruise where Megan had hit her, or she had hit Megan’s fist, whichever. It was gonna be a humdinger of a shiner. I could tell from her snobby expression she was about to say something sarcastic about me, Rae, or the tea—or all three—but snapped her mouth shut when Megan cleared her throat and raised a brow at her from her spot by the pastry case a few feet away.

  Gone was the wallflower who jumped at her own shadow. Megan stood tall, confidence oozing from her. I hoped it wasn’t just the after-burn of standing up to the bullies, because she was a great person and deserved to feel good about herself.

  I handed the plain coffee back to the still-confused woman, then took care of Olivia and tarts. By the time they left, Roy and Jimi were the only people still in the shop besides us. They were back to playing chess like nothing had happened and his dance partner shuffled out the door, a glint still in her eye.

  “I don’t know what just happened,” Megan said. “I don’t know what came over me.” She paused and her face took on a rosy hue. “But I’m glad it did. That felt amazing!”

  She did a little pirouette and practically floated out the door. I smiled as it closed behind her and nudged Rae with my elbow. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

  She heaved a sigh, tossed her bar towel into the sanitizer bucket, and bent down to start pulling out bags of the teas and blends she’d made the night before. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. “Only because I got lucky and only a few people got a dose of the batch I made last night.”

  I couldn’t say I knew how she felt because even though I was getting new magic, it was manageable. If my baking magic went screwy, I don’t know what I would have done. It’s such a huge part of who I am, I’d lose my mind if I couldn’t use it.

  I pulled her into a hug. “We’ll figure this out,” I said.

  Addy floated up behind us, sympathy etched on her face. “She’s right, sweat pea. We’ll get you sorted out and you’ll be good as new.”

  I wish I felt as confident as we tried to sound. I had a feeling that this, like everything else that had been going on, wasn’t anything with an easy fix.

  CHAPTER 41

  I HELPED RAE PULL ALL the new blends, then popped back over to Coralee's to have my nail fixed. Roberta was there for her weekly style, which is what she called her gossip pit stop. She also had a mani-pedi day so she didn’t have to go a whole week without checking in for new fodder.

  "Noelle, I'm so glad you're here," she said, wringing her hands. "I just heard Wembly's Wine Club is poisoning people. Is it true? I have a membership!"

  What was I supposed to say to that? If I said yes, she'd go running off like Chicken Little, screaming that the wine was deadly and potentially ruin an innocent business. If I said no and she died because she drank a poisoned bottle, I'd feel terrible.

  I chose my words carefully.

  "Ida Crenshaw and Merriam Wallace were both poisoned by wine that came from that particular company," I said, "but we're not sure at what point the bottles were tampered with. Right now, we believe it was probably a local job targeting specific people. There’s a good chance it was tampered with after it left Wembly’s. There's no reason to believe that it happened where it was packed, or else there would surely be other reports from around the country."

  She looked confused. "Why would there be complaints from around the country?"

  "Because if the wine was tainted at the facility, what are the odds that two women in the same county were the only ones effected?"

  "Pretty darned good, I'd say," she said, looking at me like I was a dunce.

  Now I was the one confused. "Why?"

  Because the Wembly's Wine of the Month Club is local," she said. "Mable Wembly started the business a couple years ago to help bring in some extra money when her husband died. She has a better price and better selection than any of the larger clubs, plus we like to keep the money at home."

  Wow. Of all the stupid assumptions to make, we hadn't even thought to check where the wine club was based because we’d assumed it didn’t matter.

  Belle nodded. “She’s a good egg, though she’s a little gruff sometimes. It’s not been easy for her, getting by on her own.”

  Roberta sniffed and put her nose up a little. "I’m a little miffed at her right now. I didn't get my shipment Saturday like I was supposed to."

  Coralee scowled at her. "Mable's eighty years old. She's got arthritis and it's getting worse. Sometimes it's all she can do to get out of bed. It's why she hired on that boy, but he's not reliable. If you didn’t get your shipment, don’t blame Mable until you at least call her to see what happened."

  Belle huffed. "I agree. The only thing Mable can count on is that boy showing up to work soused most days. And if he ain't when he gets there, he sure is when he leaves. I don’t know why sh
e keeps him on."

  "I don’t know either," Coralee said as she swept up some hair from around her barber chair. "That's no doubt why you didn't get your delivery, though, Roberta. I'm sure you'll have it by tomorrow."

  “I’m not sure why none of you thought to tell us Wembly’s was local,” I said, amazed.

  Belle frowned at me. “We just assumed you knew.”

  “There’s that word, assumed,” I said, aggravated because she was right. It should have been one of the first things we checked.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Hunter. He was not going to be happy we'd missed such a crucial detail when all it would have taken was a call, or even the right question. I couldn’t believe it had slipped past us.

  I didn’t get an immediate response, so I plopped down into the chair across from Alyse. As soon as my nail was fixed, I slipped back over to my shop and called Kensey.

  "Hey! Quick question," I said when she answered. "Do you know where Wembly's Wine of the Month Club is out of?"

  "I don't," she answered. "In the US, I'd think, because Mom wouldn't have sprung for any fancy international wines. It never really came up because Mom was the wine drinker in the family. Except for when I was with her, I usually drink beer."

  I didn't feel so bad then. Even she didn't know where it came from.

  "Why?” she asked. “Does it matter?"

  "Oh, it definitely matters, I think. It's shipped from right here in Keyhole Lake."

  She was as surprised as I was. I hung up with her and called Rose to ask her the same question.

  "Mom," she called. "Where did your wine come from?"

  I heard Ida answer back. She knew Mable Wembly personally and vouched for her.

  "Put the phone on speaker," she said, her voice barely audible. Rose must have, because her voice was clear as a bell a second later. "Mable Wembly puts the boxes together," she said. "She's got arthritis something terrible, and I thought buying from her would help her get by."

  Well wonders never ceased. Maybe Belle had been right about Ida after all.