Inconvenient Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery (13 page)

Emily shoved her phone into her makeup bag, then slammed it inside the center console.

“That looked violent,” Ingrid said when she climbed in.

“More irritating texts from our favorite needy whore. Now she’s begging.”

“What’s her deal?”

“Who knows? She wants to talk. To tell me everything. Whatever that means. But she is annoying even via text. It’s like she is trying to become BFFs. I want every part of my life with Owen behind me. This isn’t the time to play sisters and bond. I’m not bonding with a needy whore.”

“Besides,” Ingrid said idly, “that role is taken.”

“Damn straight,” Emily replied. She blotted on her concealer and had one eye done. She changed the subject. If she heard Owen’s name one more time, she would throw up, and that would cause her eye makeup to run, and she didn’t want to have to do her makeup twice in one day. Once was torture enough.

“How was your make-out session, Ingrid? Did Gabe stay?”

Her friend snorted. “Too short. No, and you ready to see the aunts?”

“Yeah, just a second. I need to do my other eye.”

“Oh, wait.” Ingrid reached across the front seat and touched Emily’s arm. “Remember you are supposed to be using your magic. Why don’t you see if you can use it to put on your eyeliner?”

“Ha. Yeah, right. I’m not gonna practice my magic anywhere near my eye. And before you volunteer, you aren’t getting anywhere near my eye either, with your tendency to set things ablaze with your magic. I like my eyes, thank you very much.”

Ingrid laughed as Emily finished with her mascara the old-fashioned way. “Speaking of annoying texts, heard any more out of creepy gallery guy?”

Her makeup done, Emily deposited her makeup bag back in the center console and slammed it shut as she answered Ingrid. “He just keeps demanding his deposit back. I told him to take a swim in the strait.” She flipped her mirrored visor up and pulled out into traffic.

Ingrid laughed and brought the conversation back to her sheriff.

“So, which herbs did Gabe take?”

“I’m not sure. The one he asked to take was right next to witch hazel. I couldn’t pronounce it—some kind of Latin, I think. I think we shipped that out to someone before. Since the name was all irritating, I sort of remember it.”

When they arrived at the aunts’ house. Hazel was waiting for them on the porch looking classy and sleek with her perfect gray hair cut into a perfect sharp line and her square glasses set so perfectly straight on her nose.

“I hate how they always read our minds,” Emily said. “How’d they know we were coming? Honestly, I’m getting tired of being out-witched. We are gonna have to step it up. Maybe.”

“Oh dove, we’re always out-witched. We’re out-witched by children learning their first spells.”

Autumn was also at the house, leaning against the porch rail, arms folded across her ample and droopy chest, and she shook her red tresses condescendingly at Emily.

“Man, I hate her,” Ingrid said, as she opened the car door and led the way to the porch. “Why is she here so often?”

“She wants to be the elder who replaces Danna,” Emily replied.

Neither Ingrid nor Emily were trying to be subtle, or for that matter quiet, and Autumn’s eyelid twitched before she asked, “So, you finally decided to wise up and ask for help?”

“No. We don’t need help. Not with learning magic. But we do have a question about herbs.”

“For Hazel,” Ingrid added pointedly.

They walked past Autumn to Hazel and sat with her on the porch swing. Ingrid and Emily scowled at Autumn together when she didn’t leave.

Emily asked anyway. “The sheriff confiscated some Latiny type herb from next to the witch hazel from the shop yesterday. Or maybe it was a French word? He seemed to know what he was looking for. Do you know what it is?”

Autumn snorted at that question.

Ingrid finished the question. “Could it be what killed dickhead? Is that why he took it? It was right?”

Autumn rolled her eyes and muttered, “It was Romanian.” Ingrid shot Autumn a deadly glare.

Hazel only said, “Come with me.” She turned on her heels and walked into the house. Autumn followed immediately.

Emily held her hands out like she was going to strangle Autumn then looked at Ingrid, who shook her head.

“Wait until Hazel isn’t around, then I’ll help you kill her,” Ingrid whispered. Then she laughed out loud as she stepped between Emily and Autumn.

Once inside the front room, Hazel motioned for them to sit. Emily and Ingrid plopped down onto the sofa.

“Have you been using your magic, Emily? You are going to have to increase your practice or the blackouts will get worse.”

Emily waved her hand in dismissal. “Yes. I’m working on it. Just trying not to set my house on fire in the process.”

Ingrid snorted, but neither explained.

“Oh,” Autumn said knowingly, “You are still in that stage? This is worse than I thought.”

Ingrid spoke up, saving Emily from another lecture. “She’s nearly done setting things on fire. Don’t worry about it. I’m making sure she uses her magic every day. But right now we need to know what this herb would be used for.”

The aunt took the bunch of herbs from her and inspected it, smelling it and then tearing a piece off. She tossed the loose piece in the air and whispered something. Emily leaned in, trying to pay attention. As the piece of herb drifted to the ground like a feather, it suddenly burst in flame—black flame.

The aunt raised her brow. “Just as I suspected.” She looked accusingly at Emily, then Ingrid. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in the shop with the other herbs from Aunt Danna’s collection. It’s the one that the cops confiscated in their investigation. What is it? What is it used for?”

“Danna should never have had this. What was she thinking! Owen was found with foam around his mouth?”

Ingrid and Emily nodded in reply, both of their faces disgusted. “Were his lips dark blue?”

Emily nodded.

The aunt held up the scrap of paper where Emily had written the name of the herb. “Then this is what killed Owen. Who knew that you had this in the shop?”

Ingrid responded. “I don’t know. We didn’t even know we had it. We knew we had this particular herb because we shipped it out with orders, but we didn’t know what it did. So I guess the person who ordered it from us knew about it. And then whoever Aunt Danna might have told or sold it to for that matter. I have no idea who knew that Aunt Danna sold this stuff. We could look at the sales records.”

Emily cut in. “Your sheriff took all our sales records when he took the computer. Any chance he will give those back?”

Ingrid smiled like a guilty cat. “I’d like to say I won’t kiss him until he does, but no. He’s a cop. He’s not telling us anything until he finds the killer.”

“You two are idiots,” Autumn scolded. “You should never have sold that herb.”

“You know what I found in the records last month, Autumn,” Emily asked sweetly. “The history of the many bottles of truth serum you’ve bought from Danna. What are you doing? Dosing your kids and then interrogating them?”

“Well, they are intuitive, at least,” Hazel said, glancing at Autumn and confirming Emily’s guess.

“That won’t do your niece any good when she is in a magic coma,” Autumn said, leaving the living room in a furiously smooth gate that said she was too good to stomp but that she was stomping on the inside.

Ingrid laughed as she left.

“Thanks, Aunt Hazel,” Emily said. They headed for the door as soon as they hugged her

Aunt Hazel called after them. “Use your magic, Emily. Trust me. Your magic is building up inside of you. If you don’t give it an outlet, Autumn will be right. And that will be unacceptable.”

Emily rolled her eyes as she slammed her car door shut behind her. “She is so dramatic. Magic coma. Please.”

Ingrid laughed, but Emily heard the edge in her voice. “We might want to avoid comas, magic or otherwise. Start your car with magic, Em.”

“Uh, no. Once again. I’m not gonna blow myself to bits to avoid a blackout. Not a good trade.”

She looked at Ingrid and saw a tiny bit of concern in her face. “Don’t worry, Ingrid. I started a fire yesterday, who knows what I’ll burn down tomorrow. When we get home, I’ll pull out one of those spell books that has been collecting dust and conjure us some dinner.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Great. I guess we’ll have charred steaks tonight.”

But Emily heard the relief in Ingrid’s voice at the promise to use magic.

•

Monday Afternoon

“So.” Emily sat across from Ingrid as the delivery guy brought in the groceries. She sat at the overpriced and pretty table Ingrid had bought from some hipster store in Portland last summer. There was room for an army or possibly all the kids Ingrid wanted. Emily had caught her friend eyeing baby shoes. It was just a matter of time before Ingrid got knocked up. How would that change things?

“So,” Ingrid repeated. She looked over at the boy and said, “I’ll give you ten more dollars if you put it all away.”

The kid nodded his acne-covered face and began shoving milk into the fridge. “Where’s the bread go?” the kid asked.

“Follow your heart,” Ingrid said. “Also, I don’t care.”

“So,” Emily repeated. “What if I did kill him?”

The kid putting the groceries away choked.

Ingrid was momentarily concerned about rumors before she remembered that there was no way the entire island wasn’t gossiping already. If their bookshop were actually up and running at capacity instead of languishing due to their lack of doing anything with it, they would have an excess of clients coming in just because of the crime. She had decided that the town was, at its heart, nosy and gruesome.

That would be good for business when they reopened. They should make sure to have a section in the basement where he died so they could stage whisper it to their customers. They should fake a haunting, too.

But she said to the delivery kid, “If I hear you were talking about this, her aunt the witch who can actually do spells will curse you with genital warts.”

Ingrid’s voice was sweet but steely, and she lit her fingers on fire to show him that she was serious. It took her several tries to get the fire to go out.

“Um,” the kid said, shoved a whole bag of groceries into the fridge still in the plastic and said, “Okay, it’s put away.”

“Your heart and the way you follow it while putting my groceries away leaves something to be desired,” Ingrid said, tossing him some cash. “Now go away.”

“So, what if I did kill him?” Emily insisted as the boy hurried out of the apartment.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ingrid said. She looked into her cup of coffee and wondered whether it was worth making more.

“Ingrid!”

She looked up.

“What if I did kill him? I have those blackouts. He was here. I hated his guts. I think I could have killed him.”

Emily looked actually distressed. Poor Emily letting guilt eat her up like that just because she hated dickhead. It was hard to believe that they’d ever been in love enough to get married and have sexy times.

Ew.

“I get what you’re saying, but you’re still being a stupid dove.” Ingrid stood, walked to the sink, rinsed out her cup, and then remembered she’d given up cleaning. “It’s just that you would have killed him.”

“I know!”

Ingrid didn’t pause for her friend as she added, “Heck, I would have killed him. It’s just that you would have run him down and I really would have knifed him.”

“But,” Emily interjected.

Ingrid held up a finger, which immediately burst into flame. She yelped when it started to actually hurt, and hurriedly ran it under the faucet. “Emily, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re terrible witches. Like possibly the worst witches ever.”

“So?” Emily asked. She swirled her cup. “I’m being serious here.”

“Emmy, my favorite dove,” Ingrid said, sucking on her burnt finger as she came back to the table. “Whoever killed dickhead knew at least some of this witch crap. You know?”

“What?”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t have slipped the dickhead some bella donna, because he was driving me to it. But bella donna didn’t kill him and that’s the only poison I know how to use. What about you? What can you use?”

“Um,” Emily mused.

“Right,” Ingrid said without waiting. “Rat poison maybe. But since it was actual witch stuff that killed him, I think we can both assume, black outs or not, that we didn’t do it. When we find a body with a knife in the throat, we’ll have to be worried. Plus—” Ingrid shook her finger. “Man that really hurts. Don’t set your hand on fire to make a point. Anyhow, black outs or not, you’re not dumb. Your black-outed self would have called me to help you get rid of the body. We’d have buried him somewhere or did what that guy on Breaking Bad did with the chemicals and the rubber container. I think that’s worth trying out should we ever need to get rid of a body.”

“So what you’re saying is that I don’t have the skillset to have killed him.”