5 Beewitched (21 page)

Johnny Jay, that’s what. “I’ll be back,” I said. “There’s somebody I need to follow up with.”

And with that, I made a beeline for the witches.

Twenty-two

For once, I didn’t barge right into the middle of a
scene. Instead I stayed in the apple trees’ shadows and slunk closer, trunk by trunk, until I was near enough to hear and see the action. And when I realized what was happening, it took every ounce of self-control not to burst out laughing.

Because Johnny Jay was trapped in the center of the witches. He was out of his element, and it showed.

“Back off,” he ordered. “Don’t crowd me.”

Nobody moved forward or backward. Talk about intimidation. And knowing this bunch, they were doing it for exactly that purpose, to rattle him.

Lucinda was putting him through the wringer. “We are guests and won’t be treated like common criminals . . . especially by such a . . .”—here she paused, then said with a whole lot of disgust—“common everyday bully. Besides, you’re out of your jurisdiction.”

Smart woman!

Dy stood right next to her.

“Dyanna,” Lucinda said, “do you have that detective’s phone number? I’d like to call him down here.”

“Yes,” Dy said, searching the folds of her gown. “It’s here somewhere.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Johnny said, abruptly deciding he’d had enough of Hunter’s wrath. “If you women will just back off, I’m done with you for the night.”

The masses parted, and the chief practically fled.

I wondered if he’d been hexed or bewitched. Wouldn’t that be great?

Lucinda dismissed him from her mind. “Where are our two replacements?” she wanted to know.

It dawned on me that Holly and I were those replacements.

“We aren’t prepared to go through with the ritual with all the extra commotion up at the main farm anyway,” Dy said, “whether the other two show up or not.”

“The authorities won’t be coming to the orchard,” Lucinda said to her, as confident as if she’d peered into a crystal ball and seen the future. “Let’s give those two a little more time.”

Another disturbing thought crossed my mind—what if Lucinda sensed my presence? What if the coven found me hiding behind a tree? What possible explanation could I give them? At least my sneakiness proved once and for all that I wasn’t under any kind of spell. If that were the case, I’d be right in their midst, excited for the dance, right? At least it proved it to me. Patti was another issue.

The other witches were dispersing, some to their tents, others to the picnic table to converse in low voices. Only Dy and Lucinda remained at the fire.

Just as I was about to slink away, Dy said, “I learned that Rosina had changed her name.”

“What’s your point?” Lucinda asked, her tone a little snotty, but taking the words right out of my mouth. Sure, Claudene had changed her name to Rosina, but I hadn’t thought that much of it. People do it every day.

“We all take new names during initiation,” Dy continued, ignoring Lucinda’s attitude toward her, “but we don’t go to the trouble of changing them through the legal process. Also, I’m pretty sure she originally told us her real name was Mary.”

Lucinda looked annoyed. “Well, that is kind of odd, but I still don’t follow.”

“What if she changed her name to disappear, to start over? Someone might have tracked her down, someone from her past.”

“Oh please,” Lucinda said, “it’s perfectly obvious that you wanted control of the coven and you’ll do anything to get it. I’ve got my eyes on you.”

“Are you accusing
me
of her murder? Really?” Dy’s face contorted in anger. “I never had a problem with Rosina. If any of us had a motive it was you!”

Oh my gosh, was I about to witness a real witch fight, flashing wands and all? My money was on Lucinda if it came to blows. She was scary, strong-willed, and forceful. Yet, this Dy was also dramatically different from the sunny person I’d met for the first time a couple of days ago. Her voice exuded almost as much power and confidence as Lucinda’s.

They were so preoccupied with their little argument (which was surprisingly similar to what went on between Hunter and Johnny Jay) that I spotted movement before they did. Someone was running toward them.

“You’ll never guess!” the shadowy figure shouted, coming up to the fire, panting from the exertion.

“Tabitha,” Lucinda said. “Calm down.”

Ah, so Tabitha was the witch with the pointy glasses, the one who had found Rosina’s body. Where had she come from? In all the drama I’d forgotten to count heads.

“I was almost ready to give up for the night and come back,” she gasped. “Then it happened. It’s over.”

Considering the direction Tabitha came from, they must have sent her up to the corn maze to spy.

“What’s over?” Dy asked.

“They’re arresting Rosina’s murderer. We can go home!”

At that breaking news, I backed away from my vantage point and reversed my steps, creeping off the same way I’d arrived.

Only to find the unthinkable: Hunter had Al Mason in handcuffs!

“They found whatever they were looking for,” Joan whispered to me, a catch in her voice and tears in her eyes. “Inside the house.”

“You have the wrong man,” I heard Al say as members of the Critical Incident Team escorted him to an awaiting vehicle, while Joan followed behind, crying. Greg caught up and helped support her or I think she might have collapsed.

Hunter came over and pulled me aside. “Is this it?” He held up a baggie. The blue crystal caught my attention.

I nodded, sad that I was the one who had to identify Rosina’s pentacle. Even sadder about where it had been found.

A little later, I suddenly realized I didn’t have transportation. I wasn’t about to call my grandmother for a return wild ride, and Hunter would be busy after this unexpected arrest, so I caught a ride home with one of his team members.

Several hours after that, Hunter called to say that Al’s fingerprints were all over their new piece of evidence.

What more did the cops need after that?

Al had motive—he’d always disliked his sister. If only he hadn’t been so open about his feelings. Al also had opportunity, at least as much as anybody else. And Claudene wouldn’t have thought twice about meeting her brother in the corn maze, probably hoping for a reconciliation. Plus Al had means; he could have easily taken the witches’ ritual knife.

What had the guy been thinking, keeping the pentacle?

Al Mason didn’t have to worry about keeping the farm going, at this rate.

Because Al was going to have free room and board for the rest of his life.

Twenty-three

“I still can’t believe Al killed his sister,” I said early Saturday
morning as Patti Dwyre and I sat on a bench outside The Wild Clover wearing light jackets. I was enjoying the crisp fall air in spite of present company. The more I thought of Al as his sister’s killer, the less I believed it.

Earlier, I’d walked through the quiet beeyard, thinking how lucky I’d been this year. None of my hives had gone rogue on me. Bees in the wild have a tough time surviving. They might find a nice nesting cavity in a hollow tree that’s as good as any hive I could provide, but diseases and parasites take a toll on them. So I’m major relieved that I can provide medical care as well as happy homes.

Then I’d walked to the store and P. P. Patti called, saying she had “important classified information” that she refused to divulge over the phone, and since she also wouldn’t come near my house with the witch next door at home, we had arranged this meeting. Which I fervently hoped would be our last.

From her point of view, though, we were back to business as usual. But not from mine. She’d crossed the line when she assaulted me, and I wasn’t about to forgive and forget. I saw a restraining order in her immediate future. Since Al would be charged soon, if he hadn’t been already, Patti’s expertise (prying where she doesn’t belong and digging up dirt best left buried) was no longer needed. Her usefulness was a thing of the past, and the bruise on my arm where I’d hit the floor was a motivating reminder of her outrageous attack on me.

I went on, just thinking out loud, “Why would Al hide incriminating evidence in his house? And if he did something as dumb as hanging on to the necklace, wouldn’t he have at least wiped it clean of prints?”

“You suspect a setup?” Patti asked.

“I don’t know what to think. Al sprained his ankle recently. How could he have been able to pull off something so physically violent?”

“Unless he injured it during the struggle.”

What was she? The devil’s advocate?

“What was so important that we couldn’t discuss on the phone?” I asked her.

“You never know who might be listening in.”

“Geez, Patti, that’s really paranoid. In your world, this bench we’re sitting on could be wired.”

“It’s not. I checked.”

“Fine. But anything you have to offer me is moot at this point. The cops have their killer. End of story.”

Patti smirked. “You’re right,” she said. “The name of the boy involved in that love potion . . . you remember? . . . the one the witch concocted that almost killed her friend? . . . isn’t important anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

No, it didn’t really matter. My search into Claudene Mason’s past was over before it began. Still . . . I was human, and we humans are n-o-s-y.

Patti knew that and waited me out.

“Who was it?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Never mind,” Patti said, baiting me, which I realized right away. Was a name from the past worth a Patti in my future? No way.

Before we got any further, before I could announce my decision to exclude her from my life on a permanent basis, Greg Mason pulled up to the curb right in front of us, got out, and headed directly for our bench. After another round of condolences for all his family’s troubles along with some statements such as
I can’t believe this is really happening
, I asked Greg, “What will become of the farm?”

“The media can’t legally release Dad’s name until he’s actually charged,” Greg explained, “even though the staff at the
Reporter
has that information. And thankfully the cops haven’t charged him yet. Everybody in town will find out, if they don’t know already, but I’m praying it won’t affect the out-of-town business, since that’s where most of our visitors come from.”

Greg went on, “I’ll stay at the farm a little longer and run things. Joan has offered to help out until Dad is released. I’m not sure how to plan if he . . .”

He didn’t complete the sentence, but it was easy to finish it for him. There was a possibility, a probable one, that Al wasn’t coming back home.

Up until now, I’d been focusing all my attention on the witches. But with Al’s arrest for the murder of his sister, and my own refusal to believe it, I took a good, hard look at Greg. With his aunt dead and his father in jail, he stood to take control of the farm. Hunh.

Right about then, Johnny Jay cruised by with Grant Spandle in the seat next to him. They were traveling in the direction of the library, probably puffed up like strutting roosters, plotting their current harebrained scheme. I’d bet the store that Johnny was really annoyed to be missing out on the bigger case. A normal person would learn their lesson, but not this guy. Let him stew and go chasing after book thieves.

“Dad asked for you, Story,” Greg said. “He says he needs you. And from what I gather, you have a knack for helping in situations like these.”

Patti piped up, “What about me, Greg? I should be on the case, too. I’m Story’s partner.”

“No, you’re not,” I said.

“Wasn’t I right at your side every single time something went down?
We
cracked those cases together. You needed my talent then, and you need it now.”

Yeah, right. Patti has a special talent all right—she disappears every time the going gets tough. And she gets me in plenty of hot water because she doesn’t react to situations like a normal person. When they passed out common sense, Patti didn’t get her fair share.

“In fact,” she said with that grating whine of hers, “I saved your life.” Then to Greg, “If it weren’t for me, Story Fischer would be buried in a grave over there . . .”—here she gestured toward the cemetery on the side of the store—“and I’d be placing flowers over her instead of sitting next to her like now.” Then to me, “I suppose you’ve forgotten that, haven’t you?”