A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery (11 page)

The wildness I’d seen in her eyes yesterday was back. Apparently she was still in the market for a virility potion. “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from the sheriff’s department yet.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Dudley kept glancing at us. “Do you think stopping by is a good idea? I’m not sure Dudley’s too keen on using any of my potions.”

She winced. “I was hoping you wouldn’t pick up on that. You have to ignore him. He’s just nervous, with what happened to Nelson and Coach.”

I was done explaining that Coach had had himself a diabetic reaction. It was a waste of my breath. What exactly had happened to Nelson was still up in the air. I shook the image of him on my break room’s floor out of my mind.

“You know the potion won’t work unless the person taking the potion is amenable to it—it’s part of the magic.”

“That’s not just a rule for love potions?”

One of the first potions she ever bought from me was a love potion for Dudley. They’d been dating a couple of months at that point, and I warned her then about the Backbone Effect—that his heart had to be ready to accept it in order for the potion to work.

They were married not long after.

“The rule goes for all potions,” I said.

With her foot she swept the grass around us, separating blades, looking for that platinum band. Frown lines pulled at the corners of her eyes. “Well, I don’t think that will be an issue. No one wants to fix this problem more than Dudley.”

“But?” I asked.

“I don’t rightly know how I’m going to get him to drink a potion. But,” she drew in a deep, determined breath, “where there’s a will there’s a way.”

I looked over my shoulder at Dudley and suddenly had the feeling he didn’t get much say in their relationship. Maybe his
dudliness
was his way of having some control. . . .

“Well, I’m not sure if the shop will be open or not, but you can stop by later and see. Or call.”

“I’ll pop in after I’m done at the white-elephant sale.”

That’s right—she’d mentioned yesterday that she’d be taking her food truck over there today. She made the most heavenly cakes, and suddenly I was starving. I was grateful for those cookies Jessa had sent home with me.

I helped search the area for ten minutes more before I decided it was time to leave. I glanced at my watch, ready to make an excuse, when my eye caught something glittering in the grass.

“Oh!” I said, pointing. “Look!”

Dudley came running as Emmylou dropped to the ground and snatched up the silvery band.

Her sudden happiness vanished in an instant as she held up the bauble. “False alarm. It’s just a tin party favor.”

Tin rings were as common around Hitching Post as brides and grooms.

Dudley patted Emmylou’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep looking.”

She sniffled and nodded.

“I’m sorry, but I have to get going,” I said.

“Thanks for your help, Carly,” Emmylou said.

“Yes, thanks,” Dudley echoed, actually sounding grateful.

I said, “I hope it turns up.”

Emmylou said, “You don’t happen to know any spells or such that could find it, do you?”

“Emmy,” Dudley warned.

She ignored him. “A spell would be right useful about now.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a healing witch only. Mind, body, heart, and soul.”

“What about your cousin?” Emmylou asked. “Would she have a spell?”

“Delia?”

She nodded.

If Dudley thought my potions were bad, he deserved a dose of Delia’s hexes. But I couldn’t do that to them. “No, I don’t think so.”

“That’s what I figured,” Emmylou said, wringing her hands.

“I need to get going. Good luck—I hope you find the ring,” I said to them, and turned to walk away. After a few steps I slowly twisted myself around. I just couldn’t keep myself from bringing out a verbal pitchfork. “Dudley?”

Dark eyebrows raised, he said, “Yes?”

“If you want some help with your stomach pains, come see me, okay? I’ve got a potion that will work wonders.”

His hand went directly to the spot on his stomach that had been hurting me as well, and his eyes widened as if wondering how I’d known.

I gave him a wink, hopped on my bike, and pedaled away.

Behind me, Emmylou’s voice carried easily in the quiet morning. “Your stomach? What’s wrong with your stomach? Is it hurting? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you need to see a doctor?”

I smiled the whole way home, suddenly at peace with the sunshininess of the day.

I
t was a little after eight when someone knocked on the back door. I abandoned my do-it-yourself book, stepped over Roly and Poly, who were splayed out on the cool wooden floor, and trotted into the kitchen.

I swished aside the thin white curtains covering the back door’s window and peeked out. My heart near to stopped.

Dylan Jackson was peeking in.

A deep ache settled in my chest, and I wasn’t altogether sure if the throbbing was his or mine. I had to get my stress levels under control—or lock myself in the house before I was completely overwhelmed with everyone else’s energy.

Clutching my locket tightly, I tried not to think too hard about him hurting—or else I would
definitely
start picking up on his feelings.

I wasn’t sure I could deal with that. I’d only opened myself up to his energy once—that time at our second, and final, failed attempt to get married. I’d barely recovered from that experience, and it wasn’t something I wanted to open myself to again. I took a few deep breaths, building up my walls against his energy.

Pulling open the door, I silently cursed that meddlesome Jessa, and turned on my most saccharine Southern belle voice. “My, my. Dylan Jackson, what a surprise.”

The engine of his truck parked in my driveway ticked as it cooled off. His lips quirked into a sassy grin. “You do something new with your hair?”

“Jessa has a big mouth.”

He laughed, a deep, muffled sound I liked more than I should. “But a kind heart.”

I agreed, though I questioned her motives for sending Dylan over here. I doubted she cared about my electrical woes; she had matchmaking on her mind.

Poor woman was going to be terribly disappointed.

“She shouldn’t have bothered you with my hair troubles,” I said.

“No bother at all.” He waited for me to invite him in.

I wasn’t sure I wanted him in. Having him close only served to remind me of all I’d lost.

He adjusted his ball cap, held up a toolbox, and said, “I heard you needed a handyman. I tried to call to let you know I was coming over. . . .”

“Along with my electricity, my phone’s out, too.”

“Well, it’s good Jessa sent me over. I can probably get both up and running.”

It was a nice offer, but I didn’t really want him hanging around all morning. “Surely you have other things to do. What with the murder and all.”

“I always have a few minutes for you, Care Bear.”

I ignored the sting of the endearment and eyed him warily. “Can you really fix it?”

“I can surely try.”

My head warred with my heart, but common sense won out. “By all means, then. Come on in.”

He clucked as he passed by. “You’d invite the devil himself in if he could fix your electricity, wouldn’t you?”

I think I just did.
I plastered myself against the door so we wouldn’t brush against each other. “Have you seen my hair?”

“Unfortunately.”

I pinched his arm.

“Yow!”

“Sorry. My hand slipped.”

He scowled and headed for the electrical panel, stopping to examine the Crock-Pot full of water on the floor that I’d yet to dump.

Looking up, he assessed the ceiling, then looked back at me. I shrugged. He shook his head and popped open the electrical panel’s door and started flipping breaker switches.

As if I hadn’t already done that.

The fact that he knew where the panel box was didn’t escape me. Once upon a time, he’d spent a lot of hours in this house.

Leaning against the counter, I said, “What’s new with Nelson’s case?”

He went about unscrewing the front of the panel from the box, revealing a maze of wires. “A few things.”

“Like?” I prodded. It was my shop Nelson had been found in, after all. I had a right to know some of these things.

“First things first: You can open your shop today. Business as usual.”

It was good news, but I hardly felt like celebrating. Business would hardly be usual, what with Nelson’s murder yesterday and the town thinking I was making tainted potions. However, I scared up some gratitude, because I knew Dylan had to have pulled some strings to get me back in the shop today. “That’s great. Thanks.”

Setting the metal frame on the ground, he said, “Second, did you happen to notice the lack of blood in your break room yesterday?”

“Lack of blood? Are you kidding me? It was pooled under Nelson’s head, spreading out like some sort of red halo.” Nausea suddenly rolled through my stomach, which was weird, because I wasn’t the type who was normally affected by such things.

Systematically, he tugged on wires. “But not on the walls or the cabinets.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors.”

“Nelson wasn’t killed in your shop, Carly.” He glanced at me. “Someone planted him there.”

Planted. Like a petunia or a daisy. “If he wasn’t killed there, where was he killed? At his house?”

“His place had been ransacked, and there were signs he’d been ill recently, but there was no blood to be found.”

“Ransacked?” I swallowed hard. “Had there been a struggle?”

“I don’t think there was a struggle. It just looks like someone was searching for something.”

“Like a secondary audit report?” I asked.

He glanced at me. “How did you know about that?”

“I ran into Emmylou and Dudley.” I adopted Emmylou’s high-pitched voice and said, “Apparently Bernice Morris thinks that Dudley stole the money from the baseball league and framed Coach so Dudley can get back together with Angelea Butts—they dated a while back. She’s outraged at the accusations, by the way. Emmylou, not Angelea. Simply
outraged
.”

Dark eyebrows lifted, and he cracked a smile. “You do a good impression of her. But she can rest easy, at least about the audit. We found that second report in Nelson’s house, and it confirmed Dudley’s initial findings. He didn’t tamper with anything. Bernice is just desperate to prove her brother’s innocence.”

“Is he innocent?” I asked.

“Those checks with his signature are pretty damning.”

“Ainsley said she heard that Nelson had also ordered an independent handwriting analysis to prove Coach’s name had been forged. You didn’t happen to find that in Nelson’s house, too, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. You’re certainly hearing a lot of things.”

I shrugged innocently. “It’s a small town.”

He went back to work on the panel. I watched him for a few minutes before I said, “I don’t suppose it matters whether Nelson was killed in my shop or not. Someone wanted him found there for a reason. Why?”

“Revenge is my best guess.”

“Revenge on me?” It was the same theory Caleb had brought up yesterday. Maybe he’d been right all along.

Crouching, he rooted through his toolbox and came out with a pair of wire cutters. “Who’ve you done wrong lately, Care Bear?”

I bit my thumbnail. “I did have a strange run-in with Johnny Braxton last night.” I told Dylan all about it. “But that seemed to have more to do with my mama than me.”

“He’s on my list to talk to,” Dylan said.

“Because of the fight he had with Nelson?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not snooping into this case, are you?”

Of course I was. “Not at all. I can’t help it if I hear things.”

Grunting as if he didn’t believe me for a second, he said, “Who else have you ticked off lately? There have to be others.”

I crossed my arms. “
Have
to be?”

Smiling, he picked another tool from his box. “Do you deny it?”

I set my jaw. I could probably argue, but the truth was, he was right. My mouth and temper had gotten me into more trouble than I cared to admit. “Mrs. Kelvin didn’t like me telling her that her teenage son’s weight trouble wasn’t from a thyroid problem but from all the homemade cookies he taste-tested.”

“Mrs. Kelvin makes a damn fine cookie.”

“I know, but Lucas shouldn’t be eating all of them.”

“Ain’t no mama wants to hear that.”

“No,” I said, thinking of the scene in my shop. “She wasn’t too happy with me. I did notice, however, that the last time I saw Lucas, he’d lost some weight.”

As he worked on pulling down the panel, he said, “Who else?”

“Other than that, I can’t think of anyone.” I chewed on a nail. “Other than your mama.”

His eyebrows snapped into a deep V, making me clutch my locket to maintain my witchy equilibrium.

“It’s
true
,” I defended. Though now thinking on it, I probably should have kept that to myself. Sometimes my tongue gets the better of me. Patricia Davis Jackson might hate me, but I didn’t really think she would commit a murder quite so messy. She didn’t do well with stains.

“Keep thinking,” Dylan said tightly. “Something might come to you. Even the littlest of tiffs.”

The mention of his mama had brought a thick, choking tension to the air about us. I let him be with the electricity and set about pacing my living room as best I could—it was an obstacle course of building materials and lazy cats.

Tiffs. Well. There were a few of those. Minor things, mostly. Like when I got into it with a mama who was talking down to her kid that one time. And when a perfectly able-bodied tourist had taken a handicapped parking spot.

Hardly revenge-worthy stuff.

“When did your power go out?” Dylan asked, his voice carrying easily. There was still an edge to it, and I could have kicked myself for bringing up his mama. When was I going to learn?

“Yesterday afternoon sometime. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Though Dylan might be handy, I wasn’t convinced he could restore my power. That electrical panel looked like a big ol’ box of danger to me.

“Are you questioning my capabilities, Care Bear?”

My teeth clenched at the way he said the nickname, all syrupy sweet. “Yes. Do you want to look at my wiring manual?”

“Well, now,” he drawled. “Why am I not the least bit surprised that you don’t trust me?”

I walked over to the kitchen and leaned against the doorway. Dylan fussed with exposed wiring that resembled a tangle of tentacles. It looked a slight bit worse than it had just five minutes ago. Folding my arms over my chest, I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glanced over, his eyes intent and focused. They locked on mine, and I could have sworn sparks flew. “It means that I know what I’m doing. That even though I
might
have some concerns about being electrocuted, I trust the decisions I’m making. That I don’t need someone else to butt in and make choices for me. Without even bothering to get my opinion on the matter, I might add.”

Damn me and my big mouth. Keeping my hand wrapped around my locket, I narrowed my eyes, knowing we were no longer discussing my power outage. I braced myself, ready to do battle. Anger bubbled. “Dylan Jackson, did you just compare marrying me to being
electrocuted
?”

He abandoned the wiring and straightened to his full six-foot-two. Taking a step toward me, he said, “If the shock fits . . .”

“I wasn’t the one who had doubts,” I snapped. “That was you.”

“Oh, that’s right. You use your witchiness to tap into my head for one second—unfairly, I might add—and you think you know my every thought. I dare you to go to any chapel in town and read the energy of the bride and groom. I guarantee they feel the same way at some point. Just like I guarantee you had doubts that day as well.”

It took all my strength to hold my ground and not lunge at him—or turn and run. “You’re wrong.”

He languidly leaned against the counter. “Am I?”

“Can you fix my electricity or not?” I said, digging in my heels.

“All I’m saying is that maybe you didn’t fall too far from the Fowl apple tree.” He turned back to the panel and used a screwdriver to tighten some screws. “Something for you to chew on.”

“The electricity,” I said, my jaw aching.

He threw me a long, hard look and, being a smart man and all, knew when to retreat. He drawled, “It’s as good as done.”

I flipped the light switch at my elbow. Nothing happened. I cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s not done
yet
, Care Bear.” Apparently thoroughly amused, he gave me a slow smile.

“I don’t have all day. I need to get to work. Maybe you should just leave it be.” I wanted him gone. As in “long gone.” I heard Alaska was nice this time of year.

His smile widened, and it threw me for a loop. Just what was he so pleased about?

“I’m done leaving things be,” he said softly.

I stared. He stared back. I didn’t even want to imagine what
that
meant.

“How long will it take you?” I debated whether I should leave him here alone to finish up, but I didn’t trust the man to be near my underwear drawer unsupervised.

“Depends,” he said.

“On?”

“You. I can be done here right quick . . . on one condition.”

I tapped my foot. “That reeks of blackmail, Dylan Jackson.”

He winked. Winked! The nerve of him.

“It’s called negotiating,” he said.

Maybe I just ought to wait for my electrician to come back to town. Then I thought about moving back to my mama’s chapel—and what that would entail. “What do you want?”

“I want you to go with me to Marjie’s,” he said casually.

Too casually.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “I need to get some answers from her about Nelson’s murder. Having you along might loosen her lips a bit.”

I sized him up pretty easily. “Are you scared to go over there alone?”

He smiled that sexy grin again. “Terrified.”

• • •

If the slamming of the door in our faces was any indication, Marjie wasn’t too pleased to see us.

“Go away, Dylan Jackson!” she shouted.

He had the look of a man caught in the crosshairs—which was appropriate, considering Marjie was taking aim at him with her shotgun through the front window.

“Should I be taking this personally?” he asked me.

“Can’t rightly say. You did do me wrong. She’s family and all, so she might be a wee bit protective of me.”

“What?” he gasped. “You did
me
wrong.”

Not this again.

“I’m not carin’ a whit who did who wrong,” Marjie yelled. “Go away!”