by Bailey Cates
A scream echoed from the back room, and my chin jerked up. Mungo started barking, loud and urgent, and took off like a shot toward the sound.
I wasn’t far behind him, and Declan was right on my heels.
We barreled through the open door, nearly knocking Margie over. I caught myself on the doorframe. Gently, I pushed my friend to one side and stepped up to stand beside her. Adrenaline thrummed through my veins as my mind scrambled to process what I was seeing: dim light, cartons stacked on metal shelving units on either side, a haphazard pile of books on a small table, and a box half-full of more volumes on the floor. Straight ahead, the door to the alley hung open, and a slight breeze stirred the air.
Between where I stood with Mungo quivering at my feet and that open door, Dr. Dana lay sprawled on her back beside an overturned chair. And hunched over her was the woman Croft had kicked out of the bookstore.
Angie Kissel.
Chapter 4
“Ohmagod!” Margie rushed forward.
Angie held up her hand. “No. Don’t come any closer.”
“But she’s sick!” Margie protested. “We have to get her to the hospital.”
The other woman met my eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.
“Are you sure?” I asked, understanding at once.
“I’m sure.” She stood. “I was just feeling for a pulse.”
Margie gaped. “But . . . but . . . are you saying . . . ?”
Declan shouldered past me. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look.” He looked over at my uncle. “Try to keep everyone from coming in here.”
Ben nodded.
Angie Kissel looked peeved but took a step back. “She’s not breathing, and her heart isn’t beating.”
Beside me, Margie let out a small hopeless sound.
“He’s a fireman,” I said. “With medical training. He just wants to make sure.”
She gave a nod and stepped back farther.
Declan quickly knelt beside the author and checked her with a professional air. Then he looked up at me and shook his head in confirmation.
Behind us, I heard voices becoming louder, and then a shout. “That’s my wife! Let me through!” Nate Dobbs pushed through the door, despite my uncle trying to stop him. He saw his wife on the floor and stared in disbelief. “Dana?” He looked around with bewildered eyes. “What happened?”
Declan stood. “I’m afraid she’s gone, sir. I’m very sorry.”
Nathan Dobbs blinked a few times, then rushed toward his wife and kneeled beside her.
“Dana?” Phoebe said from behind me, and pushed forward. “Dana! What happened?”
“Sir, I apologize,” Declan said to Nate, “but I think it might be best if we cleared the room.”
Something in his voice. I felt the skin tighten across my face.
“I’m very sorry,” Declan continued in the smooth, calming tone he reserved for the worst emergencies. “But it’s possible the authorities will deem this a suspicious death. We all need to go out front until they arrive.”
Angie’s mouth dropped open at the same time I heard Phoebe’s sudden intake of breath. Nate rose as if in a trance and shambled over to stand with the rest of us huddled just inside the room.
So I hadn’t misunderstood the meaning in Declan’s tone. He didn’t think Dr. Dana had died of natural causes. From my vantage point, I could see that her face and one hand were flushed a dark crimson, but I couldn’t tell if there was any evidence of injury. Still, my boyfriend knew his stuff.
I stifled a sad sigh. Since moving to Savannah I’d learned that I was not only a hedgewitch, but also a catalyst and a lightwitch—meaning things sort of happened around me. In practice, that meant I stumbled into an unusual number of wrongs that required righting.
Wrongs that involved murder, unfortunately. And more often than not, some kind of magic.
But this was getting ridiculous. I’d already been involved in five murder investigations in less than two years. Now this? I had no connection to Dr. Dana, at least not that I was aware of. I bowed my head and sent an intention of grace to the soul who had so recently departed for the next plane. And then I allowed myself to hope that my presence this time was plain old coincidence.
I mean, a girl can hope, right?
“The police and ambulance are on their way,” Ben said from behind me. I glanced back to see Phoebe and Croft Barrow crowded in the doorway. Phoebe stared at her sister without blinking, tears slowly welling in her eyes.
Declan held out his hand in a silent gesture to Angie Kissel. She frowned but picked her way around the exterior of the room to where we stood. Declan was right behind her.
“You okay?” he asked me in a low voice.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “But I don’t think Margie is.” My neighbor’s face had gone waxy beneath her tan, and her pupils were huge. Her breathing was fast and shallow.
Suddenly, she lifted her hand and pointed at Angie Kissel. “She killed Dr. Dana! Arrest her! She killed her!”
Declan put his arm around Margie’s shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”
The fight seemed to drain out of my friend. She let out a long sigh, then obediently allowed him to lead her away. Declan looked back over his shoulder and mouthed, “Shock.”
I turned to see the Kissel woman watching Margie, her eyes wide and one hand on her throat.
“Now, I think we should all step back for right now,” I heard my uncle say. “Let’s all wait out here in the bookstore for the police to get here. Croft, how about we put some of those folding chairs back out for folks to sit in.”
Croft’s voice rumbled something like agreement.
Phoebe stared at the overturned chair as if dreaming. Suddenly, she shook her head and passed her hand over her face as she left to join the others. I had a feeling Declan would be treating her for shock next.
Ben came up behind me. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things.”
Angie Kissel turned her head as if considering a quick bolt through the open door to the alley, then took a deep breath and set her jaw as if making a decision.
Mungo whined. She looked down at him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. With my familiar in the lead, we went out to join the others.
“I’m Angie,” the woman said to me in a low voice.
“I heard,” I said in a wry tone. “I’m Katie Lightfoot.”
“Katie, I didn’t kill anyone. I mean, I’d never . . .” She trailed off.
“Okay,” I said. “So did you see anyone else?” Dr. Dana was still warm, and yet I couldn’t keep myself from asking questions. I wasn’t proud of that.
Angie shook her head. “I came in from the alley right before that woman started screaming. Dana was bright red, and I thought maybe she’d choked. But her mouth . . .” She blanched. Licked her lips and tried again. “I didn’t want to admit it, but that fireman might be right. I think she was poisoned. And Lord knows there were plenty of people who wanted her dead.”
Including you?
It was a quiet group who waited for the police to arrive: Lucy, Ben, Declan, Margie, Nate, and Phoebe. And Croft, of course. And me and Angie.
Declan had seated Margie in the corner and was talking to her in a low voice. He’d slung Ben’s jacket around her shoulders, and a half-full glass of water sat within easy reach. She still looked dazed and pale, but she seemed to be responding to his questions.
Dr. Dana’s husband and sister stood by the front window. Nate put his hand on Phoebe’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She shrugged it off without looking at him.
My aunt was perched on the edge of a chair and sprang to her feet when she saw me. “Is it . . . ?”
“She’s gone,” I said, holding out my arms for a hug.
“I know that,” Lucy said, sounding almost annoyed as we emb
raced.
I blinked in surprise. She was usually a bit of a delicate flower. Still, I knew what she was getting at. “We don’t know what happened yet,” I said noncommittally, and stepped back.
Her eyes shot to Angie, and her eyebrows rose. “What are you doing here?” Lucy’s unusual bluntness spoke to her state of mind.
Angie looked uncomfortable. At Lucy’s question, all eyes in the room had gone to the woman Croft had asked to leave the premises.
Croft himself looked livid, his face dangerously red. “Well?” he demanded. “I’d like to know that, too.”
Angie Kissel held up her palms. “I only wanted to talk to Dr. Dana.”
Silence greeted Angie’s statement, stretching into several seconds before being cut by the sound of approaching sirens.
Lucy whispered in my ear. “I’ll be right back.”
My surprise turned to understanding as she headed toward the restroom. Then it turned back to surprise as I saw her veer toward the back room, where Ben was keeping an eye on the body.
But Croft was already hurrying to open the front door for a bevy of uniforms, and no one else was paying attention.
What is my dear aunt up to? I wondered.
* * *
“I came back to talk to her,” Angie was saying again, this time to Detective Peter Quinn. “She needed to understand the kind of damage she could cause when she gave terrible advice to people who respected and trusted her. Heaven knows how many relationships she sabotaged. But I never would have . . .” She trailed off.
Quinn quirked an eyebrow but didn’t look up from the old-school notebook he was writing in. I’d met him for the first time shortly after moving to Savannah. He’d tried to pin the murder of a horrible old lady on Uncle Ben, and no way could I sit still for that. Over the last year and a half the detective’s hair had become significantly more salt than pepper. If anything, it made him even more debonair. He always dressed well, and tonight he wore a suit that matched his gray eyes, and a crisp white shirt. His shoes gleamed with fresh polish.
Soon after he’d arrived, Lucy had strolled casually from the back of the store, Ben close behind her. Quinn had talked to Ben and Margie so far, which hadn’t taken long but had certainly turned his attention on Angie. Now he was interviewing her, while I sat unobtrusively on a stool behind the Fox and Hound checkout counter.
Perhaps I moved and drew the detective’s attention, or perhaps he’d known all along that I was sitting there, but he looked up and snagged my gaze. When he’d first walked into the bookstore and gave me the evil eye, I’d been a little worried. After all, this wasn’t the first—or even the second—time he’d answered a homicide call to find me nearby. We’d butted heads a few times, yet I’d also helped him clear some cases. The result was a tenuous friendship built on conflict, mutual respect, and the occasional bribe of a Honeybee pastry.
Now a ghost of a smile passed across his face, and he shook his head ruefully. That was much better than a scowl and an eye roll.
“Katie, why don’t you wait over there?” He tipped his head toward the cluster of chairs.
I balked for a second but knew it was useless. As I slid off the stool and started toward where Lucy and Ben sat huddled with Margie, I heard Quinn ask Angie about her previous interactions with Dr. Dana.
Declan had gone out front to talk with some of his co-workers, who were wrapping things up from the perspective of the fire department. Ben’s 911 call had brought out a ladder truck and an ambulance, just in case. However, the body would be transported to the morgue in a county van, and a pot of beef stew was waiting for the firefighters back at the station. In the meantime, Nate Dobbs had requested to see his wife, and two officers had led him to the back room. Phoebe went with him but returned after only a few minutes. Now she stood looking out the window like she’d been hit with a stun gun. The expression on her face brought a lump to my own throat as I turned toward my neighbor.
I sat down next to Margie and put my arm around her shoulders. “How are you doing, hon?”
She looked at me with a bewildered expression, but she nodded and gave me a little smile. “I feel better. That boyfriend of yours is good at his job.”
Warmth flooded through my chest. “He sure is. I’m glad you’re feeling more yourself. Have you talked to Redding?”
“Uh-huh. He wanted to come downtown, but I told him to stay home. It’s too late to call our regular babysitter, and his mother lives out toward Pooler. I’ll be able to leave soon, won’t I?”
“I sure hope so,” I said, eyeing the slight tremble in her hands. “Maybe I should give you a ride home.”
I thought she’d pooh-pooh the notion, but instead she nodded in relief. “That would be great.”
My heart ached for her. My neighbor hardly ever got away from her family to do something just for her, and now this had happened. I gave her another squeeze.
“Are they going to arrest that horrible woman?” she asked.
I glanced over to where Quinn seemed to be finishing up with Angie. “I don’t know. Did you see her doing something suspicious?”
Her lips turned down in a thoughtful frown. “Like what? She was right there, kneeling over the poor thing when I walked in. But she wasn’t supposed to be here, not after Croft told her to leave. She was so mean. You could tell she really hated Dr. Dana.”
“Katie, may I speak with you a moment?” Lucy said.
I patted Margie on the hand. “Detective Quinn will be done with us soon, okay?”
She nodded gratefully.
Lucy led me to the reading alcove in the children’s section and spoke in a low voice. “Do you smell that?”
I sniffed. “The mulled cider?”
“No! Almonds.”
I tried again, then shrugged. “Sorry.”
She sighed. “I guessed you must not be able to. From what I’ve heard, not everyone can.”
My brow knit. “Lucy, what on earth are you talking about?”
Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m not being very clear. After all the ruckus in the back room, I smelled almonds. But we didn’t bring any pastries made with almonds, or even almond extract. Ben said Dr. Dana may have been murdered, so I got to thinking. I went back there, and Ben let me close enough to her body to make sure. The smell was much stronger the closer I got to her.” She gave me a knowing look.
“I still don’t . . .” I flashed on an image of Sherlock Holmes. Yes, the Benedict Cumberbatch version, thank you very much, even if the Conan Doyle tale that came to mind was one of the old classics: A Study in Scarlet.
The scent of almonds, which only certain people were able to smell . . .
“Cyanide? Lucy, are you serious?”
Her grim expression showed just how serious.
Flushed face. And something about her mouth.
“No one uses cyanide anymore,” I said.
A stubborn expression settled on her face. “Well, I’m going to tell Peter Quinn.”
Suddenly a stuffed animal fell off the bookshelf above and bonked me softly on the head. I bent to pick it up, and my breath caught in my throat.
It was a poufy dragonfly, complete with smiling face and fat blue-and-yellow wings.
Silently, I held it out toward Lucy. Her eyes widened. She’d been the one who’d explained to me that the dragonfly was my totem. They’d been attracted to me my whole life—a handy thing in mosquito-y Savannah—and since I’d come into my own as a witch it had served as a kind of metaphorical tap on the shoulder when they appeared.
Pay attention.
“Dang,” I said. “Coincidence?”
She gave me a look.
“Yeah, okay,” I sighed. “You should definitely let Quinn know. Gosh, Lucy. That’s something, you putting that together.”
My aunt smiled but still looked sad as she peered
around the end of a bookshelf. “He’s done with that woman. I’m going to tell him now.” She strode toward Quinn with a purposeful set to her shoulders.
I sidled over to where Angie Kissel now hovered alone near a display of Harry Potter books. She looked up at me with wide brown eyes, and I realized she was terrified.
Because she’d just committed murder? Or because she was innocent? I got the feeling that either way, it hadn’t gone well with Detective Quinn.
Mungo had been shadowing me around the bookstore, and I hadn’t had the heart to ask him to sit out of the way. Now he made a noise in the back of his throat. Angie looked down at him, and her gaze softened. He had that effect on a lot of people. There was something different about her response, though. I couldn’t put my finger on what.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Her head bobbed yes, but her eyes still said she was anything but okay.
“Can I get you some cider or something?”
She shook her head.
Well, this is going nowhere.
We were silent for several long seconds, watching the hustle and bustle of uniformed men and women.
“That detective thinks I did it,” she said.
My eyes cut sideways to her. “You sure didn’t like her.”
“No, I did not. Not a bit. But I wasn’t the only one.”
“From what I understand, that’s true,” I said.
We were quiet for a few beats. I debated what to say next. Probably my best option was to say nothing at all. It wasn’t any of my business who killed Dr. Dana. I didn’t know her, and I sure didn’t see any connection to magic in her death. Still . . . Mungo was gazing up at me with an urgency that bordered on hunger.
And I couldn’t help being curious. So I asked, “Care to tell me why you disliked her so much?”